The Black Swan (12 page)

Every finger beringed, and a baronial coronet of gold and topaz about his brow, this man carried a small fortune on his person. If he wore this much for an unannounced visit, what must he and his holdings be worth?

Granted, he intends to make as much of an impression on me as I wish to on him, but still . . .
That much wealth, displayed by a man whose name and title were completely unknown to the queen, made an intriguing package.

The last oddity about the man was that he had in his right hand a staff of ebony, as tall as he, bound with rings of chased gold. The staff was intricately carved, although Clothilde was too far from him to see what the tiny carvings represented, and it was topped with a globe of water-clear, citron-colored crystal. It surely must be crystal, yellow quartz, perhaps. No topaz was ever that big. . . .

All this Clothilde took in, absorbing it in a single measuring glance. She assumed that he was doing the same to her, and was pleased to see that his pleasant half-smile did not waver.

“Please take refreshment, my lord baron,” she said, waving the servant forward, and deciding to dispense with the intensely formal use of the royal plural. “And in deference to the fact that you have traveled far to come here, I believe we can waive some of the strictest of etiquette between us. I will have my servant bring you a seat.”

The servant gave a goblet of wine to the baron and offered him cakes, which the man declined. The servant took the refreshments to the sideboard and left them there, returning with a single, low chair. Uwe, of course, could not be seated. He was scarcely above a mere servant in rank, so far as the baron was concerned, and Clothilde was determined not to let this stranger know otherwise just yet. Uwe tactfully removed himself to the sideboard, where he poured himself a goblet of wine and remained standing as he sipped it; an observer, not a participant, so far as the baron was aware.

“This is a gracious gesture, Majesty,” the baron replied, in a low voice, like a distant rumble of thunder. “And it is much appreciated.” He sat down without looking, rightly expecting that the servant would get the chair under him before a disaster occurred. Once seated, he leaned forward a trifle, resting the staff on both knees. “The matter which brings me to Your Majesty is, however, a delicate one. . . .”

Clothilde was not slow at taking the hint; she signaled her handmaiden and the servant to leave the room, and gave an inquiring glance at Uwe.

“The minstrel is in my confidence, Majesty,” von Rothbart said, correctly interpreting the glance. “I encountered him when visiting the court of King Iosef, and when I learned what had brought him, I knew that you would be very interested in my own proposal concerning your son's future, for I believe I can be of great service to you in that regard.”

“We are referring to the marriage of my son, Prince Siegfried?” she replied, allowing her right eyebrow to rise a trifle. “In what way can you be of service to me?”

“I have a daughter—” von Rothbart began, and raised his hand in a gesture of disclaimer. “And under ordinary circumstances, I, as a mere baron, would not dream of proposing to Your Highness that she be considered as a bride for the prince. However, as I am sure you have deduced, I am a baron in name only—and only because I choose not to exercise my considerable power in the realm of the material world more often than absolutely necessary. I possess wealth that kings might envy, and abilities that bring kings to seek
my
aid.”

He paused, waiting for Clothilde to make some remark, but she remained silent. The last sentence had given her the answer to the riddle that was Baron Eric von Rothbart.

He was a sorcerer. No other “mere baron” could be so wealthy, so powerful, and so completely unknown to her.

“Nevertheless, it is in the material world that I must
live,
and so must my daughter,” the baron continued. “She is of an age to wed, and is enough of a prize that I have misgivings about the suitors that may come to seek her hand, should I make it known that she exists and is eligible to wed. I would see her well bestowed so that I may continue my—studies—with an easy mind.”

“As would any father,” the queen murmured. “And I assume you wish to present her to me as a bridal candidate for Siegfried. Nevertheless, the choice of bride is to be my son's, not mine, and young men are often swayed by appearances, favoring a pretty face above other considerations.”

Von Rothbart's smile widened just a trifle. “In that case, I believe there will be no difficulties. Behold!”

He pointed with the topaz end of the staff to the floor between himself and Clothilde, and without so much as a puff of smoke (which was, to her mind, more impressive than all the flashes and bangs of charlatans) a life-sized image appeared of a young woman.

She impressed even Clothilde. Of her beauty there was no doubt: enormous, childlike blue eyes, a broad, white brow, chiseled cheekbones, a grave mouth, delicate chin, a neck like a swan's, and the most amazing cascade of silver-blonde hair Clothilde had ever seen, hanging loosely down her back, entwined with ropes of black seed pearls. Her gown impressed Clothilde as much as the girl's beauty; of black silk, embroidered with black pearls from the size of grains of sand up to the size of Clothilde's thumb, it embraced the girl's willowy figure in a way achieved only with endless hours of labor and the expertise of a seamstress more skilled than any in Clothilde's household.

Or else, it was made by magic,
she reminded herself. But to have made such a gown magically was as impressive, if not more so, than making it with human hands.

“My daughter is sweet of disposition, learned enough to beguile your son with her conversation, and entirely biddable,” von Rothbart continued, in the fatuous tones of a fond father, as the girl's image moved gracefully, as if she strolled in a garden. “And lest you think this is only the opinion of a man too easily swayed, let me assure you that she is absolutely obedient to authority. In point of fact, she has never once in all of her life been permitted to disobey. I have given her the strictest of training, and she will abide by the word of her elders even though it cost her dear.”

“Your daughter is clearly lovely, and I will take your word on her temper, lord baron,” the queen said smoothly. “But there is the matter of the dower. . . .”

“She will be dowered like the daughter of the Emperor,” he told her promptly, and named a sum that made Uwe's eyes bulge for a moment. “And, in addition, of course, you will have
my
services to call upon, from time to time, services which King Iosef found very useful.” His eyes gleamed with dark promises, and the Queen reined in her imagination with a sharp tug. “I am not averse to exercising my power in the material world . . . now and again in a good cause.”

“There is the matter of my son's choice,” she reminded him. “He and he alone shall have the responsibility for choosing his bride.”

Von Rothbart waved his hand and the image of his daughter vanished. “I think we can take it as read that he will choose my daughter,” he replied negligently. “In fact, once she appears, I suspect he will see no one else.”

Clothilde thought of love spells and other bewitchments possible to a powerful sorcerer, and nodded. “Nevertheless, he must have the . . .
appearance
of making a choice. For his sake, if not for mine.”

“I agree completely.” The sorcerer nodded. “It is best if he has maidens to compare with my daughter. She will outshine them as the moon outshines the stars, and there will be no question in his mind but that he has chosen the fairest beauty in all the land.”

The queen smiled and extended her hand to the baron. “In that case, all conditions seem to be agreeable,” she told him. “Uwe will give you my invitation to the birthday fete, and you may present your daughter to my son at his celebration.”

“Your Majesty has made me a supremely happy man,” the baron told her, rising to kiss her extended hand. “Now, with your permission, I shall take my leave. I have far to go, and even a man with—power—at his disposal cannot go from hither to yon in an instant.”

She nodded. Uwe gave the baron the last of his invitations, and the man departed with a dramatic bow and a swirl of his cape, leaving minstrel and queen alone.

Clothilde sat back against the support of the throne's cushions. “Well!” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “That was—interesting.”

“I thought you'd be intrigued.” Uwe poured himself a goblet of wine, and sat down on the lowest step of the dais. “Believe me, he's no charlatan; he showed up to give Iosef a little help—for an undisclosed fee, of course—when Iosef's brother started eying the throne a little too closely. That was right after I arrived, and I was just about to leave with the invitation in my pocket.”

“God's Blessing, I should think so,” the queen exclaimed. “I do
not
need to multiply my problems by adding a father-in-law with a shaky throne in need of propping up! What did he do, kill the usurper?”

“Nothing so crude—as he pointed out to Iosef, that would be murder, which is a sin. He turned the man into a swine.” Uwe smirked. “Right in front of the entire court, mind you. I was there, I saw it; it was no mere illusion, and as far as I know, a swine he remains, to this day. Told Iosef that he couldn't do that sort of thing without Divine blessing, mind you—the rule is evidently that the magic doesn't work unless the victim has betrayed someone or otherwise broken faith. Still.”

“Still.” The queen pursed her lips, then rose. Taking Uwe's goblet from him, she sipped it herself as she thought for a moment. “Not so difficult to get someone to swear to something, an oath he has no intention of keeping. Should it become necessary, of course.”

“Of course.” Uwe's expression was bland. “And, of course, our prince is a lusty fellow and has a wandering eye. I doubt that a love spell can be made to hold him to one woman for very long. Be a pity if he broke his marriage vows and his father-in-law took exception to the fact, hmm?”

The queen smiled blandly. “A very great pity,” she murmured. “A very great pity indeed.”

Siegfried couldn't imagine what his mother had been doing that made her smile so much at him that night at dinner, but whatever it was, he was glad of it. Maybe it was just that her pet minstrel was back; she always seemed out of temper when his wandering feet took him off to another court. But as long as the queen was happy, everyone breathed a little easier. When she
wasn't
happy, it didn't do to display anything but sobriety and melancholy in her presence.

For his part, Siegfried was entirely contented when he sat down to dinner beside his mother at the head table. His previous mistresses had quietly and gracefully taken themselves out of his life, with not a single tear or complaint, at least according to Arno. They'd taken their final gifts with expressions of gratitude, and left him free to install that delicious wench from the tavern in the palace as soon as Arno could find her a position. There was something to be said in favor of experience, and there was no doubt in his mind after his little trial of her that she'd had experience in plenty.

Which means it should take a long time before I'm tired of her.
He smiled into his cup, thinking about the novel turns she'd shown him in that cozy chamber in the inn—and a couple of things she'd suggested that he'd never even heard of before. With a woman like that in his bed, he could afford to take the time to court Sir Hans' sister-in-law; he could enjoy the chase without going mad with frustration.
But I'll have to make it clear from the start to both of them that I am the master, and I won't tolerate either of them acting as if she has any rights over me.
He'd made the mistake of letting that happen only once. It had been the same occasion that prompted his resolve never to take a leman from the same rank as his last—or current—bedmates. The resulting hair-pulling match in the laundry had even come to the attention of the queen, and
that
had resulted in a lecture that still made him want to cringe.

Never mind. They will both understand from the beginning what the rules are, and that they will abide by them. They have more to gain from me than I from them.
There were always plenty of women ready to take his presents and grant him their bodies. His main difficulties came from being selective.

The final course of subtleties had been brought in while he was thinking; as usual, he waved everything away but a single ripe pear, peeled, cored, and drenched in honeyed wine. He didn't have much of a craving for sweets, though everyone else had helped themselves generously. Uwe the minstrel was singing some new ballad in the latest style, something he'd probably written or picked up on his travels. The queen toyed with a bit of marzipan window from the pastry palace in front of her as she listened, a definite smile still lingering on her lips. She'd crumbled most of the sweet rather than eating it, another sign that she was well-pleased with something; she only devoured her sweets as everyone else did when she was in a bad humor.