The Black Swan (51 page)

And
that,
in turn, meant another change for the old man and, indirectly, for Odile.

Directly after the ceremony, when Wolfgang was closeted with Siegfried and the rest of the councilors, Odile found Ilse sitting all alone in the chimney-corner of the library. Since Ilse couldn't read, that was a very strange place for her to be—and since the girl's face was full of woe, Odile knew that there must be something wrong.

She hesitated a moment, and thought about going back to her own room before the girl saw her, but something in the girl's expression made her decide to say something. “Ilse, you look as if you just lost your best friend!” she said, walking into the library. “Did you quarrel with Sofie? Can I help?”

Ilse, of all the little swans, was the most direct, and the one least likely to hide anything from anyone. She took one look at Odile, and burst into tears.

Odile dropped to her knees and took the girl's hands in hers, seriously alarmed now. This seemed more serious than a simple quarrel with a friend. “Blessed Virgin, Ilse, what on earth is the matter!”

Ilse never thought before she spoke—so her words came straight from her heart. “I—I—I—” she sobbed “I w-w-want to m-m-marry W-W-Wolfgang!”

That was the last thing Odile would ever have expected, and she stared at the girl for a moment in sheer astonishment. “You do?” she managed, incredulously. “Then why on earth
don't
you?” She warmed to the idea, and continued, “I think that would be wonderful for both of you! Wolfgang is
very
fond of you!”

That only brought forth a torrent of tears. “I h-h-haven't any
dowry!
” she wailed.

Oh, my—
Odile was torn between sympathy and laughter, and had to stifle the laughter lest poor Ilse be further traumatized. Instead, she comforted the girl until she stopped crying, dried her tears, assured her that the idea of a young girl like her marrying an old scholar like Wolfgang
wasn't
absurd, and sent her off to wash her face. She made no promises—not yet.

But she did lie in wait for Wolfgang until he left the Council chamber, and came directly to the point with him—feeling absurdly like a gossipy old village marriage broker.

To her great relief, Wolfgang was not only
not
horrified by the idea, he went as red as any peasant boy, and stammered out a confession that he thought Ilse was the most delightful girl he had ever seen. “But she
can't
want to shackle herself to an old man like me!” he protested. “She'd waste her youth—she's so sweet, so pretty—there must—”

Odile stopped the flood of protests with an impatient shake of her head. “She was once betrothed to a miserly, miserable old bastard who beat all his previous wives and worked them to death,” she pointed out. “
She
thinks you hung the moon—and that a great thinker like you needs someone to take proper care of him. If you can manage to scrape together enough courage to propose to her tomorrow,
I
will take care of the rest today.”

Wolfgang agreed, and went off in a kind of glowing daze. Odile went straight to Odette's chambers, where she was fairly certain of finding the entire flock, sewing and gossiping together.

She was right—and even more fortunate in finding that, for once, there were no “outsiders” among the ladies. That meant she could post a page at the door with orders that the queen and her friends didn't want to be disturbed. This shouldn't take too long, for after all, it was
bad
news that was long in the telling, not good news.

Then she went in, took a seat off to one side, and waited for the conversation to come to a lull before clearing her throat. By now the rest were so comfortable in her presence that conversation no longer ceased when she entered a room, and the current topic was an interesting one for all of those here—Ilse, and her infatuation with Wolfgang—so it took a while for the buzz to die down.

When it did, she coughed to get everyone's attention. She got it, in no small part because she usually did
not
spend afternoons in the queen's solar with the rest of them. “Majesty,” she said, with a little bow to Odette, “this situation with Ilse has shown me that there is at least one more thing I can do for the flock to make up for what you all endured.” She met the eyes of each of the maidens in turn, and sighed as she saw only friendliness and curiosity. “I'm sure that you know—or surmise—that the baron was a man of wealth. As chatelaine of his household, I know where that wealth was kept. There is no reason why his hoard should not be divided among you to provide dowries.”

Well,
that
certainly put the cat among the pigeons! She had to wait for the excited babble to die down until she could continue, but she flushed with pleasure and a little excitement herself as she waited. Finally Odette signaled for quiet, as the only way to get the babble under control.

“This is going to take time,” Odile warned them. “I can't bring a great weight at once, and coin is heavy. You saw me bringing food and corn, so you know what I'm talking about. It will probably be a month or more before I have enough for everyone, and if there's no objection, I'd like to fetch over enough for Ilse's dowry first.”

Ilse went pink, then red, and for the first time since Odile had known her, was left completely speechless. Odette answered for the flock.

“I think that would be perfectly correct,” she replied, with a gentle twinkle in her eyes. “And if there are any more of you who have—how shall I put this?—potential suitors?—I think that a hint that
I
am to stand in place of your parents as the person to ask for permission to court would not be amiss.”

Given the number of pink faces, Odile was fairly certain that the surplus of unwedded young knights among Siegfried's train was about to take an abrupt drop. Hiding her smile, she absented herself, and set to work on her latest task.

When spring truly arrived, in a torrent of flowers and birdsong, there were so many weddings being planned that it was decided to make them double and triple ceremonies, so as not to encumber the priest and the chapel overmuch. There was a new priest; the old one had been less than understanding about the presence of the swan-maidens. After he had sent two of the girls running from the confessional in tears, and had made the paramount error of calling Odile a “witch” to Odette's face, Siegfried had turned him out of his place and had found a more reasonable man. The new priest, a gentle old man with a fine sense of humor, was a better match. What he lacked in energy, he made up in wisdom, tolerance, and understanding.

When he could, he often joined in the late-night discussions.

It was with spring well in flower that Odile sought a private audience with Odette. The arrival of spring had reminded her of a queen's duty to her kingdom—“an heir and a spare“—and she wanted to give her friend a little help with that before she left. She could not stay here forever, after all; sooner or later, she would cease to be a welcome guest.

“I have—a little something for you,” she said, with a touch of shyness. “Two somethings, actually. My belated wedding presents.” She held out two pendants; one of silver, with a modest sapphire, the other of gold, set with a pearl. “This—” she held up the gold ornament “—is a—ah—fertility charm. This—” the silver, “—is the opposite. Wear the one you want constantly for three months. If you change your mind, don't wear either for a month, then switch.” She found herself with burning ears, as Odette regarded her with a look of curious surprise. “It took me a while to find spells that were—gentle.
Men
seem to want things to happen all at once, and they don't seem to care what harm that does. These work, though, and they won't hurt you at all. I tried them on rabbits.”

Odette accepted both, placed them carefully on her dressing table, and surprised Odile with a spontaneous embrace. “You keep doing so much for us. Odile, isn't there anything you want for yourself?”

She shook her head, and the arrival of a page gave her the excuse she needed to leave.

She went out onto the walkways on the walls of the palace, and chose a spot where the wind was in her face and she had a good view of the countryside. It was time to think about her own future, now. She had done all she could for the flock; she had done her best to make up for what von Rothbart had put them all through. The rest was up to them.

What
do
I want for myself?

The truth was, she didn't know. If a home was a place to live, she had that, and she had already decided to let it molder away—though it was more likely, given that von Rothbart had brought other sorcerers there on occasion to impress them, that once word spread that he was dead, some rival would come to take the place for his own. That was a good enough reason for her
not
to be there. Contesting with another sorcerer of von Rothbart's ilk for possession of the manor would serve no real purpose now that she'd gotten everything she wanted out of the place.

Whoever takes it, is welcome to it—though if they're anything like von Rothbart, I hope the traps he set for trespassers still work.
A malicious wish, perhaps, but the world would be better off with fewer sorcerers like von Rothbart.

She could travel, as she had considered doing, and there was a certain restlessness that the spring had set off in her. Impulsive acts were just not in her nature, though; she couldn't imagine just taking off to see the world without a clear plan in mind.

The sound of booted feet on the walkway made her glance to the side. She expected to see a guard come to ask her courteously if she required anything; she did
not
expect to see Siegfried.

He smiled at her and nodded, but said nothing at first, only leaned on the wall beside her and gazed out at the countryside, his eyes half-closed against the brilliant, warm spring sunlight. It was only after they had both watched a hawk make a stoop on something in one of the distant fields that he spoke.

“I come up here all the time,” he said idly. “The wind seems to clear out my head. Especially after Council meetings, when I've had to do more mediating between two stubborn old goats with opinions instead of ideas than I have been doing decision making.”

She laughed, and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I can see that you would need fresh air after that. Isn't Wolfgang any help?”

“Wolfgang is occasionally part of the problem. Not often, but occasionally.” But he laughed anyway, and shook his head at the folly of “stubborn old goats.” “I could use—no, that's not strong enough—I truly
need
—someone to act as a mitigating force in my Council. Furthermore, there is no one on my council with any actual experience of magic, and given the antecedents of my beloved Queen, I begin to think that could pose a serious weakness.”

She turned her head and saw that he was looking at her with one lifted eyebrow. “Are you preparing to flout all custom and insult your other Councilors by having a
woman
on your council?” she asked incredulously.

“Why not? Once you're on, they won't dare object to having Odette as well, which I also want and need.” He shrugged. “Odette reminded me this morning that you have a remarkable ability that very few people possess, and I don't mean sorcery. You don't look at a situation and see what can't be done, you look at it and find solutions. As a ruler, I find that talent rare and useful, and I wouldn't care if the person who had it was a man, a woman, or a blue-faced ape.” He made a sour face. “Actually, a blue-faced ape would probably be equally useful in breaking up arguments by flinging things at the offenders. I don't suppose you'd care to do that, would you?”

Now she was forced to laugh. “I doubt it would be as effective—but you
are
serious, aren't you? You want me to become a permanent part of your court and Council?”

“And I'm not the only one.” He made a little signal with his hand, and up the stairs came Odette, Wolfgang, and Benno.

“Please stay,” Odette said, reaching out and taking Odile's hand in both of hers. “Sooner or later, all of the rest of the flock will go off with their young men as wives and chatelaines of their own keeps, and only return to court on state occasions and fêtes.” Her huge, dark eyes were wistful as she gazed at Odile. “That's only right; they need to be where they can raise families, and they can't do that if they're dancing attendance on me. But—” she gestured helplessly with her free hand “—the ladies that Clothilde gathered to make her court—they don't understand—”

Odile nodded; she had met with that more than once. Those who had never
experienced
what magic could do to someone had nothing in common with those who had. And those who had only heard of magic in tales tended to look on those who had lived with it as odd at best, and suspect at worst.

“Please stay,” Wolfgang said, taking her other hand. “You have no notion how
wonderful
it is to have a fresh mind about! And I could use some help with those ancient monuments Siegfried chose to appoint as Councilors. They seem to think nothing should ever change!”

“Please stay,” Benno said softly. He didn't move, but there was something in his eyes that made Odile's heart beat just a little faster. “I would really be very grateful to you if you would. We could all use a friend like you.”

Then he grinned, and his eyes sparkled with silent laughter. “Besides, you still haven't taught me to swim, and you promised.”

“If you'll stay, I'll not only appoint you to the council, but I'll appoint you Court Magician,” Siegfried said firmly. “Maybe even Seneschal, if I can hammer it past the council. I've already talked to Father Timon; he says that he'll vouch for you to any ecclesiastical authority if they challenge you. He'll even get a dispensation from Rome for you to practice magic.”