The Black Swan (34 page)

It was her turn to step back an involuntary pace when he gave her his name, and another, hand going to her throat, when he rose.

“I am—Odette—” she faltered, staring at him, as her face alternately flushed and paled, going from pink to white and back again.

Behind her, as they stared at each other, the maidens slowly straightened and stood, then when he showed no signs of attention toward anything but their would-be protector, silently slipped away until only Odette was left in the clearing with him.

He fought the unwonted paralysis of his mind and speech as he continued to look down at her, filling his mind with her face so that if she vanished in the next moment he would always have that much to carry inside him. In the moonlight it was not possible to tell the true color of her eyes, though he guessed they were blue, so wide were her pupils; some nameless, lambent shade, they held mysteries he had not dreamed of until this moment. Her hair must have been spun of moonlight itself, so silken silver it was, and her brow was encircled by that coronet—which meant she had some high rank, surely. A face sculpted of alabaster by master artist could not have been wrought with purer lines, and the full, trembling lips betrayed the fear she was determined not to display.

He could not think, but his body acted for him. He took her unresisting, delicate hand and went once again to his knee, dropping a kiss so gentle on the velvet-skinned back of it that it would not have bruised a rose petal. The cool hand continued to tremble in his, but she did not withdraw it.

“I am very sorry that I frightened you, Odette,” he said, putting as much earnest feeling into his words as he could, hoping she would hear it. “I would not have done so for the world.”

He let her hand go at her slight tug of resistance, and stood up again, full of earnest dignity of his own. “Now, since I am disturbing you and your maidens, I ask your leave to go.”

“No!” she cried sharply, startling him and herself as well. Her hand flew to her lips, then she managed a faint, shy smile. “Please—do not go. These are your lands, then? It is we who trespass . . . and we who should be gone from here since we did not ask your leave to be here.”

“No longer,” he replied firmly. “You might not have come here at an invitation, but now you are my guests; I will vouchsafe as much to anyone who should challenge you. Stay or go as you will—but I hope you will stay.”

Once again her cheeks flushed, then paled, and she looked down at her hands, nervously clasped to hide their trembling. “If you would allow us to remain—you are too gracious.”

“Not gracious enough,” he told her, feeling bolder by the moment. “But I would like to hear who my guests are, and why they have come. May I beg the honor of your company for an hour?”

She looked up, and he read his answer in her eyes.

Odile was as contented as she had ever been; curled in a little nook she'd formed to fit the curve of her body in the tree trunk, a magic light above her head to illuminate the pages of her book. Here and now, she felt free to devote her time to herself alone; she'd seen to the care of the flock, and until the mysterious suitor arrived, she need not waste her time spying on Odette. If this situation continued,
she
would be perfectly, if selfishly, content.

“Odile!” Sofie, one of the little swans, came running into the tree-shelter in a high state of excitement. “Odile! He's here! He almost shot us, but Odette got between, and he's with her now!”

Odile looked up from her book, and for a moment her thoughts were a muddle before she managed to sort out the sense of what she'd been studying from the excited girl's words. She leaped to her feet in alarm, the book tumbling unheeded to the ground, as one word penetrated her confusion. “Who's here? What's all this about shooting?”

“Prince Siegfried!” Sofie forgot every bit of dignity she had ever acquired and squealed like any peasant wench, bouncing on her toes and clapping her hands in excitement. “Prince Siegfried is here! He came hunting while we were still swans and he almost shot us, but Odette flew down and protected us until the moon came up, and now he's with her!”

Odile had no difficulty recalling her father's orders.
Watch her, he said.
“He is, is he? Where are they now?”

“The low spot, where we all get out, by the big oak. Do you think—?”

Odile interrupted her, but tried to be as gentle about it as possible, for the child couldn't help the fact that she had more hair than wit. “I don't think anything, since I haven't seen him. I don't even know if this is the prince. He could be some nobody hoping to trick a poor girl into—Oh, never mind. Just go on about your business, and leave them to me. Don't bother them! If he is who he says he is, we mustn't interfere with Odette. If he isn't—” She smiled grimly, secure in the new knowledge she'd been gathering of more powerful, darker sorceries. “I will deal with him myself.”

She slipped past Sofie and out into the moonlight, gathering it about her in one of the simplest spells of invisibility, one that confused the eye into seeing only moving shadows that looked nothing like a human form. Thus protected, she trod her way carefully to the grassy bank where the swans usually came ashore, taking care not to disturb a single twig.

She realized as soon as she got within earshot of the two that she needn't have bothered with stealth; she could have ridden a battle charger through the woods right up to them and they'd never have noticed her until the horse trampled them.

She also knew as soon as she saw the man's carelessly discarded weapon that he was what he claimed to be; perhaps she was sheltered from the great world, but she knew fine and costly materials and workmanship when she saw them. Only a prince could have afforded hunting gear of glove-tanned deerskin, finely dyed and worked with silk embroidery, with a silk shirt beneath a jerkin fitted closely to his body. Only a prince would have a silver-ornamented crossbow, or be so careless about dropping it in dew-damp grass, because only a prince would be followed about by people whose sole purpose in life was to pick up after him.

But oh, they made a handsome pair—that was not to be denied, and for a moment Odile felt a pang of jealousy as she saw the expression on Siegfried's face, the look in his eyes. No man would ever bend such a look to her—not her, the pale, poor shadow to Odette's delicate, luminous beauty—

Don't be ridiculous,
she scolded herself immediately, as she slipped into the shelter of a tree trunk, completely unnoticed by either of the others.
What do
you
want with a stupid prince? Magic is worth a hundred princes—if you learn enough, you can even make a suitor out of a mouse or a bird if you want!

Besides, this was to be Odette's chance for escape from the punishment von Rothbart had inflicted on her for so long. Nothing must spoil that chance!

The surge of jealousy hadn't a chance against
that
promise; she turned her attention to the low-voiced conversation on the other side of the tree trunk.

“ . . . I cannot tell you,” Odette was saying uneasily.

“Cannot, or
will
not?” Siegfried asked.

Odette shook her head. “Please—not now. Do not press me further,” she begged. “Later, perhaps, I can tell you more. When I know enough—”

“To trust me?” As Odette bowed her head in embarrassment, he touched her hand. “Don't look away—I understand perfectly. After all, a moment ago I was pointing a crossbow at you, so you have no reason to trust me!”

At his careless-sounding chuckle, Odette looked up, and smiled weakly.

“Let us pretend we are at some ball, some fête, and have met by chance,” he continued. “We are two strangers, but I have seen you from across the room, and I am—”

“Oh please,” she cried, falling in with the pretense.
“Don't,
I pray you, say that you are dazzled by my beauty!”

“Too much of a commonplace? Let me say, then, my lady, that I am intrigued.” He backed up a pace, then bowed formally, from the waist. “Good evening, my lady. Allow me to present myself.”

Odette smiled, showing a dimple that Odile had not even known was there. She made a brief curtsy. “You do me great honor, Your Highness. How may I serve you?”

“Well, since I do not seem to have brought any minstrels with me—” He pretended to examine his pockets, then his game bag, while Odile stifled a chuckle and Odette openly laughed with delight, “—I think we should stroll beside the lake, and discuss—the weather, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I shall frighten you back to simpler maidens by discussing the philosophy of the Greeks?” Now she tilted her head and gazed at him with challenge in her eyes.

“That, I promise you, would only encourage me to reply with the poetry of the ancient Romans,” he retorted, “which is far better a discussion topic by moonlight than Plato and Socrates.”

You have an interesting way of trying to ensnare this man, Odette,
thought Odile with amusement.
Anyone else would be trying to seduce him, not challenge him. Or is that the point? Perhaps you are being cleverer than I thought; perhaps so many women have tried to seduce him that a challenge is more exciting to him.

Oddly, though, Odette didn't act as if she had thought any of this through; she acted as if every word she spoke was spontaneous. Perhaps it was neither craft nor cleverness, but pure instinct that guided her. Odile had come to know her fairly well over the past few weeks, and she thought as she watched the changing emotions flitting over Odette's face that all of this was as much a surprise to the Swan Queen as it was to Siegfried. Odette was not very good at covering what she thought and felt with anything but a stony mask; the mask had been put aside, if Odile's past experience was anything to go by.

The two moved off slowly, walking side-by-side, but without touching, as any well-bred strangers who had just met. Odile followed, flitting from shadow to shadow, but she might just as well have followed them openly for all the attention they paid to their surroundings.

For quite some time they spoke of ancient poets, of Virgil mostly; poetry held very little interest for Odile, and she ignored the words in favor of the unspoken messages passing between the two. Words were only weaving a net binding the two of them closer together. They could have been talking about the weather, or the hunting season, or the price of cattle; it wouldn't have mattered.

“Tell me about this place, your kingdom,” Odette urged, when they seemed to have run out of complimentary things to say about Latin poetry. “This lake—”

He gave her a curious glance, puzzled; perhaps he wondered why she didn't already know, but he was perfectly willing to tell her whatever she wanted to hear. “This lake is called the Lake of the Black Pines,” he began, leaning up against a tree trunk without taking his eyes off Odette's face. “It lies in the far northeast corner of our land; the village nearby is the only habitation for miles 'round about, and the rest is wilderness. It is said that there was once a stone tower here, used as a hunting lodge by some long-gone ancestor, but the hunting hereabouts is not good enough to keep it up, and it fell into disrepair so long ago that I have never heard of anyone using it. I don't even know where it lies.”

Hmm. Unless I am greatly mistaken, that would be where Father has taken up his abode,
Odile decided.
And I think, Prince Siegfried, that you would probably be very surprised to see what it looks like if he has.
She amused herself with a brief vision of Siegfried's face if he came upon the tower, repaired, furnished in all the luxury von Rothbart demanded, and tended by the invisible servants.

“I have not seen your tower, but I have not explored the lakeshore to any extent,” Odette replied. “It might be hidden.”

“So it might,” Siegfried agreed. “My father was a great hunter, and his father before him; the men of my line all seem to share that trait, so I suppose it shouldn't surprise anyone that the game is so thin near where a former hunting lodge is. I only come here because—”

Here he stopped, and looked profoundly embarrassed.

“Because you had heard there were swans here?” Odette prompted. He nodded.

“My birthday is soon, and there is to be a great feast on the occasion,” he replied awkwardly. “My Lady Mother specifically requested swans for the feast.”

“Well,
I
would rather you disobliged her,” Odette told him impishly—another expression that Odile had never seen her show before. Really, the Swan Queen was displaying facets tonight that Odile had never suspected under that somber exterior!