The Black Swan (38 page)

He might be setting up a trap,
she thought uneasily. As she knew from her own experiments, establishing the transformation spell was arduous and difficult; was there someone hereabouts that he felt deserved the punishment of being added to his flock?

But there won't
be
a flock if Odette succeeds. . . .

Maybe he was arranging for Odette's success; maybe he was doing something about getting places for the swan-maidens to go once they were no longer under his control.

One of the swans had told her that there was a strange island in the middle of the lake, a tall, tree-crowned rock with steep, vertical sides that looked like an owl. Was that where von Rothbart had made his lair?

It would be like him,
she thought, irritated again.
He could have his servants and soft bed, his meals prepared for him, and his luxuries without having to share them with us.

She forced herself to find a more charitable explanation. It could be that he just needed a more defensible dwelling place than they did; he wouldn't be able to sleep anywhere that wasn't completely secure. It was difficult to kill him, but not impossible, and if any of the swans' relatives came looking for revenge, they were probably intelligent enough to know not to come after a sorcerer when he was awake and alert. Odile didn't know the exact parameters of the spells protecting her father's life, but she could make some good guesses.

He can't specify invulnerability, because that's impossible, but he's probably protected against weapons made of steel, iron, bronze, copper, lead, and wood. He's probably done something about poison and strangling. I
know
he's guarded from drowning or being drowned, and against fire. I suppose you could bury him alive and smother him, or wall him up in a cave and starve him, but only if he wasn't conscious, because the minute he woke up, he'd have himself out of there.
Two things she knew he had
not
warded himself against were silver and gold; she knew that because when she was just learning her first incantations, he'd twice showed her spells that needed a drop of the sorcerer's own blood. The first time, since it was a moon-spell, he had cut his finger with a dagger made of silver, and for the second, sun-spell, he'd used a needle of gold. Unless a sorcerer was willing to traffic with real and undisputed demons to obtain true invulnerability, the best he could do would be to ward against common weaponry.

She had her own little silver dagger to use when she needed to shed her own blood, for she had already warded herself with similar protections. The only one she hadn't needed was the one that warded against drowning, for she could swim like an otter, and had been able to for as long as she could remember.

She had the dagger with her this afternoon, although she didn't usually carry it; it was sheathed and in her lap as she read, and she ran her finger up and down the smooth silver hilt in a self-soothing circular motion. There was something she wanted to try, although she wasn't quite sure she was ready for it yet; it was a scrying spell, but not one that would see into the future. It was a more difficult spell than anything she had yet tried. She wanted to see into the past—her
own
past. For that, she would need to let a single drop of her own blood mingle with the water of her scrying glass.

That was what she was studying today, searching through the deceptively straightforward spell to make sure there were no hidden catches or pitfalls. Too many times she had uncovered such things and she was not about to let her guard down just because this was a book von Rothbart himself used on occasion. When sorcerers wrote their grimoires, they never intended to make life easier for those who followed (or attempted to follow) in their footsteps. On the contrary; most sorcerers appeared to be so jealous of their power that, although they could not resist the notoriety that publishing would bring them, they left the path of the would-be initiate strewn with pitfalls.

This was a completely harmless spell of white magic, though, and one that the author of this grimoire himself had written was an odd, though complicated bit of sorcery, one he considered useful only to impress clients. Unlike another version, which could be used to discover lost secrets or hidden treasures, this one revealed only the past of the one whose blood was used. So unless one could somehow obtain the blood of the one who had known the secrets or hidden the treasures, it was of little practical use. This was Odile's fifth reading of the spell, and so far the only thing she'd discovered was a simple bit of deliberate transposition that would result only in simple failure if the instructions were followed exactly. She'd found
that
on the first reading, before she'd even begun to look seriously for tricks. It might not even be deliberate; it could be a copying error.

But she never attempted a new magic until she'd searched the text seven times, so she perused the instructions in their crabbed black-letter printing with the same single-mindedness she'd given them the first time. A frown of concentration creased her brow and she lifted her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes against the glare of sunlight off the water before her.

“Ah, hallo.”

Odile shrieked and jumped, the book tumbling out of her hands and heading for the water. She snatched it up a hair's breadth from disaster with her left hand while she pulled her dagger from its sheath with her right, twisting up onto one knee to face the intruder. Her heart still pounded with the fright he'd given her.

The young man gazing back at her after a startled step backward of his own didn't appear to be anything like a bandit or robber, though. In fact, he was dressed in a fashion very similar to the clothing worn by Prince Siegfried the night before. Hunting costume, certainly; expensive deerskin and fine linen, with buckles and buttons of stamped silver. He was armed with a crossbow, but he carried it on his back, unstrung; his sword was still in its sheath, as was his dagger. In short, just at the moment, he was at a greater disadvantage than Odile.

She did
not
like being frightened like that, and irritation made her clamp her jaws tight.
She
was not going to speak first; let
him
make the first move!

Guileless brown eyes blinked at her as she regarded the dagger in her hand. As she got slowly and cautiously to her feet, still holding tightly to the precious book, he cleared his throat.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to frighten you—” Now his eyes passed quickly up and down her body, assessing her. She was suddenly conscious of her bare feet and unbound hair, and flushed, but evidently the evidence of her black silk gown, simple though it was, outweighed the bare feet. “Truly don't mean any harm, my lady,” he continued, with a little bow. “I thought you'd heard me tramping up through the bushes—”

But as he straightened up, his eyes narrowed, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Beg pardon, but you wouldn't be the Lady Odette, would you?”

She surprised him and herself by breaking into a nervous laugh. “Lady
Odile
von Rothbart,” she corrected him, and added, “And it's
Princess
Odette, not mere ‘Lady.' Surely you don't expect to find a princess dangling her feet in the water, do you? Furthermore, if you've had her described to you, you must know that I'm nothing like her.” She smiled bitterly. “If you had even a glimpse of Odette, you would never mistake a plain little creature like me for a great beauty like her.”

“Ah.” The young man fidgeted uncomfortably, clearly unable to come up with an answer that was both gallant and truthful, or at least that was Odile's cynical assessment of his discomfort. “But by your words, may I assume you do know the la—ah, princess?”

Von Rothbart had given Odile no instructions regarding the intrusion of
friends
of Siegfried's, and she felt just malicious enough toward all men at the moment to answer him honestly, but in a way that misdirected him if Siegfried had just let drink do his talking last night.

She put on a haughty air at odds with her bare feet and loose hair. “I know the princess quite well, actually, but you'll have some difficulty getting to speak with her, I'm afraid. She's not available until moonrise, and I believe she has a prior engagement.” She took some pleasure in treating him as if she were Princess Odette's social secretary, seated at a table in a receiving room, rather than a barefooted, bare-headed sorceress standing beside a wild lake. If he didn't know that Odette was flouncing about in white feathers at the moment, this should really confuse him.

“Ah.”

Odile decided to be the one asking questions. “And just who might
you
be?” she countered. “I do not believe that the princess has made more than a single acquaintance in this country, and you, sir, are not he.”

The young man flushed the most vivid crimson Odile had ever seen. “Ah—beg pardon, Lady Odile—failed to introduce myself. Landsknecht Benno von Drachheim at your service.” He made a much better bow this time, and Odile sheathed her dagger and graciously extended her hand for him to kiss, all the while holding in an unexpected burst of hysterical giggles.

Benno kissed her hand without any hesitation, and only straightened after letting go of it. “My—ah—friend Siegfried is the acquaintance you mentioned,” he said carefully. “He told me some things last night that frankly seemed rather fantastical in nature. That your princess was—had a double nature. I thought perhaps, given the—ah—
unusual
quality of their meeting, that I ought to—”

Odile interrupted him, unable to bear with this chasing about the barn any longer. “He told you that he'd seen a swan that turned into a maiden, and you thought he was mad or bespelled or worse, so you decided to come see for yourself. Well, have a look about you.” She indicated the shore and the lake with a wave of her hand. “I rather doubt you'll find the princess; she's shy of being seen in her current form. That's understandable, considering how many people there seem to be with crossbows and bird-hunting quarrels hereabouts.” She eyed the bow at Benno's back ostentatiously, and he flushed again.

“He did say that, my lady.” The young man abruptly dropped his silly-ass manner, and she blinked in surprise. “And I was not prepared to allow my friend and my prince to go unwarded into a moonlight encounter with someone who might be dangerous.” He stepped forward deliberately, and it was her turn to step back a pace. “I do not know how you have come here, or what you and this princess intend, but I warn you, no magic will save you if my prince comes to any harm. And you would do well to tell me now just what your plot is.”

A thrill went through her, not of fear, but of excitement. The moment he turned from idiot to dangerous, Odile glanced about for an escape route. She couldn't get past him, and there was a good chance that if she bolted, he would be able to run faster than she and chase her down, for
he
wasn't hampered by long skirts. But there was a perfect way to escape that would even provide a place to hide waiting at her back, if she could just distract him for a moment. If she could manage that, he wouldn't be able to seize her when she turned to flee.

And she had the means of distraction in her hand.

Before he could move again, she readied a small spell in her mind, and flung her book straight at his head.

He was so startled that he didn't even duck, but she didn't intend to hit him; the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him even slightly. Just before the book reached his face, it vanished in a clap of thunder right in front of his nose.

Now it was his turn to yell and jump back—while she took advantage of the moment to turn and dive into the lake behind her, arcing gracefully toward the dark waters.

Then she hit the surface of the lake and plunged beneath it, and fought back a gasp. The water was very cold; she knew that already, of course, since she'd been dangling her feet in it, but it was still a shock when it closed over her body. She managed to hold in most of the breath she'd taken as she struck the water, and once out of sight she added to the momentum she'd brought with her from her dive with powerful strokes of her arms and legs. The silk gown hampered her a little, but not as much as one of heavier material would have, and the color helped hide her in the somber water.

Odile could swim underwater for quite some distance, and she used that ability now. She knew where she was going; an overhanging rock she could hide beneath farther down the arm of the lake that formed a kind of grotto. She surfaced near it and quickly ducked under the shelter of the overhang when she heard the young man crashing through the brush, looking for her.

He wouldn't find her, of course; not unless he could swim, and most nobles couldn't. Only peasants learned to swim; nobles had boats and bridges to get them across the water. Even if he could swim, would he be willing to dive into the frigid water, and chance ruining his clothing? She didn't think so.

Odile had learned to swim only because she hadn't known she shouldn't, and one of the Invisibles helped by keeping her from drowning. Her father had seemed indifferent when he saw her cutting through the waters of their own lake, so she'd kept improving her skill. Now she felt another thrill, this time of triumph. She had tricked this man and escaped him, all by herself!