My father was tall and dark, with intense eyes and wild hair that would never stay combed; I thought, when I was very young, that he was a giant from the tales he would tell. I remember long, long walks in the wild woods around the castle, though Father had to pause often for my short little legs; sometimes we would only walk, but more often he would teach me the names of flowers and trees, bugs and birds. When I was a little older, he taught me the magical properties of plants, and to beware the rusalka in the river.
He never spoke of my mother.
I do not, now, remember that I ever asked after her. I suppose I thought she was dead, but I rarely gave the matter any thought. I had always lived alone with Father; only his colleagues came to visit, or once in a great while someone wishing his services. A woman in the town, once when my father took me to market with him, said it was a shame for a girl to grow up without a mother or sisters. My father only said that I would do well enough with him. I agreed with Father; he smiled and bought me a pretty locket.
There were four towers in my father's castle; one was crumbling and unsafe even for a light-footed child, and another home to a colony of bats. The third was Father's observatory, where he would spend many nights watching the sky; I would take him a pot of hot tea and a loaf of bread, and he would tell me of the stars. The fourth I had claimed as my own; I fancied that I could see the world from the top. There was a great castle, larger than Father's, to the west; it was the King's summer estate, and it was entirely hidden in the trees when I was on the ground. There were hints of color I took to be flags flying, and I told myself I could see people moving on the battlements. When Father taught me a spell to see over a distance, and set me to practice it, I determined to see the castle; I was wildly curious about the King and his doings, which the marketplace gossip made sound terribly interesting.
The spell was hard to maintain, but I held it long enough; I held it long enough that even now I do not know whether to be glad of it or regret it. The King was a disappointment, a pudgy balding man who had once been handsome; his magnificent hall did not elevate him. It was the Queen that shocked me; I had heard, in the markets, that she was beautiful. She was beautiful, I will give her that; she did not look like a mother past thirty, with her carefully coiffed golden hair, porcelain-fine skin and eyes as brilliantly blue as my own. My hair was only a few shades darker than the Queen's, and she had my slightly snubbed nose and full lips.
That night, at dinner, I asked about my mother for the first time.
He set his spoon down, and looked at me across the table. "So. You have seen the castle beyond the woods." The candles burned steady and bright, and the fire roared; it was perhaps not quite cold enough for such a fire, but wood we had in abundance.
"Yes, Father," I replied, nodding. "Who is that Queen? Why does she look so like me?"
Father shook his head, then picked up his wineglass, turning it absently in his fingers. "Odile, this is a tale best not told over dinner." He took a sip from the glass and set it back down. "Finish your dinner, daughter, and I will tell you."
I cannot now remember what I ate, and I do not think I knew then, for I was so curious. Father was not so anxious. I was impatient with him, I am afraid, and he was sharp with me for it. He took me to his study, and lit the fire; the light played strangely on the dark polished wood of his desk, making the carvings dance. The wind crept through the cracks around the window; it was early spring, and the air was still biting cold. He walked to his desk and looked over the two shelves of precious books above it. He did not look at me or speak for the first few minutes, and I huddled by the fire in my green linen dress and white woolen shawl.
"Your mother," he began abruptly, "was an ambitious peasant girl, pretty enough, but not beautiful. She wanted to be Queen." He took a small bag from a small drawer in the desk and came back to the fire; he opened the bag and cast the herbs within onto the fire, filling the room with aromatic smoke. "She had heard of me, Rothbart the wicked, Rothbart the greedy." He laughed, bitterly, and replaced the bag in the drawer, then sat in his chair. "At any rate, by whatever name she had heard of me, and she asked for my assistance."
A log shattered in a haze of sparks, and in the sparks I saw a young girl's figure, and my father's, talking; my father waved his hand in angry dismissal. "Bah! I had no need to cast petty spells for peasants. I told her to go. She would not listen and finally offered me an audacious bargain." He stared into the fire himself, then, and I wondered what he saw in it; I would not ask, for fire-scrying can be very personal, showing things one might not wish others to see. "She offered me her first-born child in return for the spell. I had been seeking an apprentice for years, by then." Indistinct, half-formed figures came and went in the flames, and my father remained alone. "There was no magic in her, nor in the prince she hoped to catch. The child would have to be mine."
I looked away from the fire, my eyes wide with astonishment; my father met my eyes and smiled, a little of the strain disappearing from his eyes.
"You are truly my daughter," he told me, his eyes warm and his voice gentling; it grew harsher as he continued speaking. "So we sealed the bargain: I would give her beauty, and she would give me a child to raise as a magician." The fire showed the young girl and my father again, my father taking a lock of her hair in the ritual agreement. "I gave her beauty and she won her prince." The fire showed a great, grand wedding in the hall of the castle beyond the woods, far more people than I had ever seen at once, their jewels catching the light from hundreds of candles and giving it back redoubled. "Little joy it has brought her. I came to her when she was wedded, and she held her half of the bargain, though most unhappily."
The fire showed me two swaddled babies, who spun apart and stood with their backs to each other as they grew. I was on the left, my sister on the right; I was dressed in good, if plain, clothes with a touch of tatted lace, and she in silk and velvet dresses with fine lace and jewels. My hair was plainly braided, for I had no patience with the fancy Court styles she preferred. But she never ventured further than the manicured gardens of the castle, and I had the woods.
"I was first-born?" I asked.
Father nodded, thoughtful. "I have never known how she had twins; it is near-unheard of among magicians. They called your sister Odette."
I watched the fire, but all it showed me were birds in flight, and I, I thought it meant nothing. "Is she a magician like me?" I asked finally, almost timidly.
"No," Father said, and shook his head, his eyes dark and unreadable. "She has the talent, but unused, it withers and dies. They will marry her off soon enough, and she will live out her life with no touch of magic."
I felt sorry for Odette; I could no more imagine life without magic than I could life without air. I suppose that I did envy her, sometimes, especially when I had to bake the week's bread myself (I had not yet quite mastered housekeeping magic) or when my skirts sometimes became as much patch as cloth. I was very curious about this person I might have been if I had been born second, I will admit that freely enough.
I used the spell Father had taught me to watch them, and whatever else took my fancy, but I always came back to them. The King was of minimal interest, for he turned whichever way the wind blew; I was most glad he was not my father. My mother the Queen was a quarrelsome woman, sharp and bitter; she was not a foolish woman, for the most part, nor any more cruel than the rest of the court. Indeed, I will admit even now that she had a good eye for dealings of trade, and an ear for the politics of the court. But she hated my father. I never knew why; Father believed firmly that it was to protect her position, but I, I was never sure that was all the reason for her hate.
My sister ... I will call her that, I suppose. For she was my sister, as little as I wished such a sister. My sister was a court lady to her bones, who loved to play at intriguing and the little games of the court, though she was never fool enough to take the romantic games as far as they could go. She knew her worth, my sister did, and she would not settle for a penny less. I envied her the men who came to court her, for a while; but I had magic, and thoughts of courting paled in comparison to the gleaming lines of a spell, or the shimmering webs of wild magic. My mother the Queen taught her to hate my ... our father, and my sister learned her lessons well.
She and my mother would harangue the King with invented tales of my father's wickedness and debaucheries (no one person, magician or not, could have committed every act they claimed for him) until even his patience reached its end. To placate them, he would put out proclamations against my father, no one would be fool enough to take action, and everyone was content with this who was not my mother nor my sister.
My sister, even on her better days, was petty and quarrelsome, her maids and ladies kept busy finding ways to keep her temper sweet. It was not pleasant viewing, and often enough I dropped the spell in disgust; but I could never stay away. They were a threat, even so young I knew it, and I would not turn my back on them any more than I would on a hungry wolf. I watched for the better part of a year, with the same fascination of probing a hole where a tooth had been.
"The Queen and Princess wish to war against you," I told my father. It was late spring, almost summer, the weather warming, and we had spent hours gathering magical plants for a spell my father wished to attempt. The air smelled of good wet earth and damp leaves, and my skirts were thoroughly muddied at the hem; my hair was falling from its braids, and I had not been so happy since last autumn.
His boots were as muddy as my hem, and there were bits of greenery caught in his wild dark hair. "The Queen is afraid I will reveal the truth," he replied, unsurprised. I thought he had been watching them as well; it was something he would do. He dismissed the Queen with a wave. "Princess Odette, I do not know. Perhaps the Queen has told her the truth, and she is afraid she will be as nothing if I tell."
I laughed; I would never be afraid to name my true father, I would lose nothing that mattered if the world turned against us. "It was I got the best of the bargain you made, Father."
Father smiled, and laid his arm across my shoulders, as we took our finds home. Whatever evil may be said of him now, and there is much, he was never anything but good to me.
We had little more than four years left together.
It was some months after my sixteenth birthday when the nobleman came. It was a cold, blustery fall day, the bare branches of the trees sighing in the wind; clouds were building in the west, and there would be rain. Father did not let me see the man; I could watch, and listen, from my chambers in the last tower, but he would not let me speak to him, nor let the man see me at all. I thought he meant to protect me.
The man was pompous and overdressed, his fine clothes torn from the trip through the wood. His horse, a fine beast with fine manners, was much too good for him. The man wished my father to curse someone to death. Father, of course, refused; such things were chancy enough, and if done for gold, they would always return far worse to the caster and everyone associated with him. The nobleman took it poorly, flying into a screaming rage and frightening his horse. It was not a long ride to the castle beyond the woods, even going around the woods, and he found a receptive audience in my mother the Queen. His tale grew wilder as he retold it, until he claimed my father had threatened him with a horrible disease, cursed his fields to barrenness and hexed the livestock. Such things were folly, of course; hexing livestock and cursing fields is work for a village witch, and Father, had he wished to cast a disease-curse, would have done so without the man ever knowing.
The King could not let such a thing lie, and began the muster to assault our castle. I did not know, then, why Father was so unsurprised; he told me only to keep watch, and to think on the castle's defenses. No matter what else I said, that was his answer, and I finally accepted it. I had defensive spells to arrange, and materials to gather; I did not know, then, any magics that might be used to wound, but I knew many that could protect, and more to confuse and befuddle.
I spent, now, most of my time watching the King and his advisers; my mother and sister had no say in the planning. The advisors, no less than they, were angry and impulsive, though the King kept a firm hand on them; perhaps he was not as weak as I had thought. They planned a great, grand assault; it was a foolish thing to do to a magician. They sent foot-soldiers and woodsmen to cut down the forest to clear their path; the rusalka took one or two, and the others fled before ever they cut down a tree, swearing that the trees had bled at the touch of the saws. I cannot claim the rusalka (nor would I, rusalka being the chancy spirits they are), but the bleeding trees were a lovely piece of work, the blood hot and thick and smelling just as it should.
Father was most impressed with it.
After that, the King's impulsive advisors were chastened. It might, perhaps, have been better to let them run wild, but without the forest, what defense would we have had? They were chastened, and their plans became much more realistic, but no less angry. I let my studies fall as I watched them, wondering when they would attack.
I did not learn that from them; that decision must have been made when I slept, or some other time when I had to drop the spell. One day they were simply arguing about whether the levy would arrive in time; I could tell they meant soon, but not how soon. It was my sister and our mother who told me, though they did not know it, of course.
"You must sleep, Odette," our mother the Queen said. "You must be fresh to see the men off tomorrow."
My sister, brushing her hair before putting it up for the night, said hesitantly, "Will they succeed, Mother? Will they kill the wizard?"
"Of course they will," the Queen said. I did not think she believed it as firmly as she wished my sister to think. "They will kill him, and you will be safe. Remember that. You will be safe when he is dead."
I did not know how my sister or our mother thought my father's death would protect them. I had no time to care, and rushed from my tower to my father's study to tell him.
"Thank you, Odile. Please make tea, and we will do what needs to be done."
We had not been idle. The castle's defenses waited only on need, and I had a plan to protect us from further attacks. My sister, their only heir, would be our hostage; I had suggested that we keep her in the shape of a bird, or a doe, something that would be hunted should she stray. My father had chosen to allow her a human shape on the grounds of the ancient temple; I had argued against that to the point of anger, until Father refused to speak of it again.
There was now no time left to argue; I hastened through the woods to the castle, spells held ready to cast. I arrived just after dawn; my sister was awake and dressing with the help of her maids. The first spells very nearly escaped me; the illusions meant to draw my sister down from her rooms wanted to run riot in the castle, until they would have set all the people in it chasing after whatever dreams they had lost. I held them to their limits, and they settled; the charms and enchantments to keep her on the trail I set and to keep others from seeing her go resisted my will much less.
I had not expected the maids to come with her. The spells had all been meant to enchant one, not seven; perhaps that was why they had nearly escaped me. But I could not let even one return, lest she rouse the guards; there were limits to my enchantments, and someone who knew where to seek Odette would find her. I drew them all into the woods, far enough that the trees screened them from casual searchers, and let loose my final illusions.
The trees tore at their clothes and skin, rasp of bark and whisper of leaves became vindictive glee, and the roots rose up to trip them. A doe drinking at a stream raised her head to show hungry eyes and vicious teeth, with blood crusted down her slender throat. The boar that burst from the bushes spat brimstone and left sparks where it pawed the ground, screamed unnatural rage as it charged beyond them into the woods.
I had not expected the boar. I spun spells faster than ever before to change its shape and send it away; Odette dead was no use to us. But the effort left me weak, and I stumbled like a drunkard in their wake . Only their own terror kept me hidden from them.
The ruined temple on the lake must have seemed a blessed haven; they fled straight to it and huddled within in a sobbing, shuddering mass. I let my spells unravel, the horrors faded, and I sank down on a rock to gather my strength.
Odette wailed when I seized her, but the others could only stare dumbly as I dragged her away. She sobbed and struggled, until she nearly sent us both tumbling down the narrow stairs to the top of the wall. I slapped her hard across the face, and she went sullenly up to the top of the wall.
Father stood surrounded by a lattice-work of spells, the magic so dense that even a blind man could see it. He raised his hands, and lightning crashed down onto the massed army, flying from metal weapons to metal armor and back again. Odette clutched at me in terror, then shoved herself away and stood unsteadily on her own, glaring at my father with all the offended pride she could summon.
Father stepped back from the parapet, and gave me a tired, weary smile. He did not smile at Odette.
"There will be no joy from your war," Father told her, as he seized her and dragged her forward.
He was suddenly as much a giant as he had seemed in my childhood, looming ominously, his hair wild in a sudden wind and his eyes full of rage. I, I who knew this for illusion and sorcery, I was frightened of him, and Odette fell into a swoon. He swept her up in his arms, she shocking pale against his darkness, and held her over his head at the wall.
"This is your reward!" His voice, unnaturally loud and harsh, echoed deep in my bones, and the sounds of battle ceased as they saw who he held. Odile's hair had fallen from its coif to fall in tangled waves, and her tattered gown tore further in the wild wind around my father. "Retreat now or your daughter will die!"
"Return my child!" The King's voice was weak and faint after Father's command.
"You will never see her again," Father declared. "Go! Never return!"
The army retreated in disorder, leaving their dead and wounded to their fate. They and their mounts would have to be properly buried or cared for, the destruction of trees and plants healed and the gate repaired; I had thought, foolishly, that this would be an end, not a beginning. Father set a recovering Odette down, and sighed.
"Watch for me, Odile," he said. "I must not be disturbed while I work this enchantment."
I would have liked to watch, to learn how the spell was done, but I agreed, and engaged a spell to keep a watch on all the army. They stopped for nothing on their retreat, even their own fallen men. There would be months of work ahead. But hours later, they were all fled, and I left the wall to find Father in his study.
"They are all enchanted. I will tell you all when I have rested." He spoke to the empty air behind me, and leaned heavily on his chair.
"You must rest, Father." I had not expected them all to be enchanted, though in truth I should have considered some method of keeping the maids from causing trouble. The enchantment would have been tiring to cast on one, much less seven, and it was a testament to his will that he had made it back to his study at all. "Please rest."
His chamber was only a short walk from his study, and still I was nearly carrying him before we reached it. He fell across his bed and was asleep at once. I removed his boots and his coat, then drew the blankets over him before retreating to my own chamber.
When we were both recovered, he showed me the spell. They were bound in the shape of swans, as the King had a great fondness for roast swan. Despite my objections, they would be human women on the temple grounds during the day, and swans at night, or if they should attempt to flee. It was a splendid creation, as graceful and strong as a many-antlered stag, with neither a wasted breath nor line. It was far beyond anything I could then accomplish, with certain lines only noticeable through reflections on other lines. The method of breaking seemed to me then to be perfect: the spell could only be broken by the man Odette loved, who loved her in return, and who would then die for her.
My sister cared nothing for the magnificence of the work. She was furious at her imprisonment, enraged at the quality of the food she was expected to eat, and equally furious at the plain gowns I had brought as replacement for their tattered clothes.
"I am to dress like a peasant, drink from a lake, and eat only coarse bread and vegetables?" She stamped her foot and threw a hunk of good bread into the lake. "I am a princess, not a peasant!"
I looked at her coldly. That bread had been much work on my part. "You are no princess here, Odette. You are only a hostage. If you wish to go naked and hungry, you may do so." The maids gasped in dismay and looked pleadingly at Odette as I took back the clothing and the platter of food.
Odette paled and clutched her rags tightly about her. "Please, forgive me! I only wish to go home."
"Do not waste good food," I said severely, and put the platter and the clothes down once more. The maids snatched a share of clothing and food with little decorum, though I could hardly blame them.
"Will you speak to the magician for us?" she asked sweetly. "Perhaps he will listen if you ask for mercy."
"I cannot," I said, and walked away.
Odette had not eyes enough to see any likeness between us; my plain clothing and plain hair made me only a servant girl in her eyes. Nothing would convince her that Rothbart was not an incarnation of evil, nor that I did not live in terror of him. She hated him far more than the enchantment warranted.
"You brought this upon yourself, Odette," he said quietly, early in her imprisonment. "You have been urging your King to make war upon me; did you think I would not defend my home?"
"You are evil! You tried to murder my mother!" she shouted, near tears, pretty face in a unflattering scowl. "Why do you hate her so?"
Father shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. "I have done nothing but what she asked of me. If you should see her again, in this world or the next, you might ask her what bargain she struck with Rothbart."
He would never discuss those conversations with me, but I heard them too often for my liking; even now I do not know what Father sought to gain from them. I heard much from Odette, enough to show me the lies our mother had spewed in defending her position as Queen. Perhaps she had even come to believe them.
"If you are afraid of Rothbart," Odette said months later, "my father will protect you if you take us away with you."
"I am not afraid of him," I replied, setting down the platter with a sigh. "Why should I be?"
"He is evil!' she exclaimed, impatient with my stupidity. "He consorts with demons to work his spells! Look you, I am already beginning to change!" She had made a fan from the feathers she and her maids dropped, bound roughly with grasses, and it fell from her hand as the magic began.
"Swans are lovely birds. You should feel privileged." The spell was such a wonderful work; it was a shame to have wasted it on Odette. But then, if she was the sort of person who deserved such work, events would have been different. It was worth the cost to be safe from the Queen's hatred.
"Peasant!" she snapped. "I want to be a princess, not a bird! He has no right to do this!"
"He is defending his castle," I said, watching as the transformation began. It began at the edges with shimmering outlines of feathers and a change in the shape of the eyes. "It is no different than if your king was to hold me hostage against him."
The sneer made her ugly and contempt made her voice repulsive. "Rothbart would let you die, peasant."
"No. He would not."
The transformation took her before she could reply, or before I could say anything I could regret. No matter how close I watched, I could never see it happen; there would be a woman standing there, ghost feathers covering her skin, and then there would be a swan. The moment of transformation itself always eluded me.
She and her maids never flew out of reach of the lake, but they returned only at dawn, and sometimes barely then, the transformation beginning even as they landed. They would rest during the day before flying again at night. I scryed them out when I could, but it was not as much as I should have done.
"My father will have his revenge," Odette said, months later, when the trees were greening. She said it perfectly calmly and quietly, as she might have said it was windy.
"He has not yet," I said, taking back the picked-clean dish. There had been many messengers, most blustering and rude, sent back in gathering darkness. The few that were polite were fed and allowed to return in the morning, though never permitted to see Odette. One had treated me as a lady; he had never returned.
"He will," she said. "What will you do when your master is dead?"
"I have been provided for," I said. Father had hidden a cache of gems and jewelry for me, goods easily transported and sold anywhere in the world. I could find a place as apprentice to one of his colleagues. But I did not wish to lose him,
She laughed, still too blind to see. "Do you think he will remember you on his deathbed?"
"Yes." I walked away, thinking hard on a complex magical task Father had set me.
She never spoke to me again. They were planning something, all of them, and I did not know what; I was afraid they had learned how to break the spell, though I could not imagine they could find a man to do it. Father seemed unsurprised when I told him; he only nodded and set me another magical task.
I was distracted from my studies, weeks later, by the sound of a terrible fight by the lake. I engaged a spell, and by the moonlight could see my father holding a hunter's bow, shouting at a cowering Odette. I abandoned my books and ran, to meet him coming up the stairs. He led me to his study.
"Odette has found a suitor," he said. "She may destroy or evade my spell."
I frowned, thinking through the spell. "He has only to be willing to die for her?"
"Not precisely." He shook his head, and went on, "If the oath is strong enough, it will be as if he was dead to the magic. I think Odette does not know this; she knows only that with a strong oath, he will bring an army to crush me."
"She has made him promise to swear the oath. Must we leave?"
"Not yet. There is a way around even this," he said. "Siegfried is the man's name. He is a princeling; he will not simply swear an oath in front of no one. There is to be a great ball two days hence, where he intends to present Odette as his betrothed and swear his oath. But he will swear it to you instead."
I was afraid of what such an oath might bring; they should not be treated lightly. "To me?" I had never been to a ball, though Father had taught me to dance.
"To you," he said, firmly. "You are her twin, he has seen her only a handful of times. And that shall prevent him ever breaking the spell."
It would be no easy matter for Odette to find another man; I pushed aside my fears and agreed. "I will find a gown for the ball, Father."
He took my hands in his and smiled at me. "Odile, my daughter. Always remember that I love you."
I blinked back tears. He did not say he loved me often. "I love you, Father."
He let go of my hands then, and I hurried to my rooms to seek something appropriate; I had little need for ball gowns, here, and settled on a fine dress of black and gold with dagged sleeves. I had made it for the rare occasions one of Father's colleagues visited. It had been some three years or more since I wore it last, and the necessary alterations took me very nearly until I had to leave.
We had no horses, and even if we had, I would not have ridden them to death to reach Seigried's manor in time. We worked, instead, a fine spell, though to my regret my half was not so smooth and clean as Father's. I had dressed my hair as Odette did, with a handful of ebon pins and a black ribbon, and carried a fan of black feathers. Perhaps I should have been more careful to mock her; Odette never would have worn black. But then, I think it would have changed nothing.
The expected guests had all arrived, but the guards drew back respectfully as I climbed the steps, bowing deeply; the major-domo threw open the doors. The room was brilliantly lit with an extravagance of candles, and the ladies' gowns were as colorful as the spring outside the walls. The air was thick with perfume, and sharp with chatter as everyone saw me.
A pleasant-looking young man rushed up the stairs to me and took my hands; his large brown eyes were worshipful. I almost pitied him; he reminded me of a puppy I had once nursed back to health.
"Odette!"
"Siegfried," I said, softly.
He did not lead me to the dais where his parents sat, but to the dance floor, gesturing at the musicians to play. Odette flapped wildly around the windows, but she could not be heard over the charming music and the chatter. Siegfried was a wonderful dancer; even now I wish it had been possible to simply enjoy the dancing.
The dancing ended just before midnight, much to my regret. Siegfried led me to the dais and presented me to his parents; I made my best curtsy. The room hushed, eager to hear. "I swear an oath to Odette. I shall love her and no one else, make no other woman my bride, give her my life and my death, to die should I ever break this oath." I did pity him then; he did not deserve this fate, but fate cares nothing for deserts.
Odette's despairing scream broke the silence. Siegfried forgot me and turned, reaching out, only to see her flying away. He slumped where he stood, staring after her until she was gone.
Screams echoed painfully through the room when the candles all went out at once, and again when the doors blew open. Father strode through them, and there were more screams as I relit the nearest candles.
"That which I have taken, I keep," Father said clearly. "You have lost her, Siegfried."
Siegfried screamed like a beast with a not-quite-mortal wound. I am sure the guests heard it in their nightmares; it has haunted mine ever since. He threw himself to the floor, still screaming. I stepped carefully around his thrashing body and set my hand on Father's arm.
"It is time to go home, Odile," Father said gently.
"Yes, Father. Let us go home." Father was too weary to complete the spell; I caught up the spell and took us home, wanting nothing so much as hours of sleep.
Father would not rest as he needed to; he consented only to sit in his study with the fire built up, and drink a little mulled wine. I gave up my gown for a plain dress, and sat with my knees drawn up to my chest in front of the fire. I saw only falling feathers in the flames, and Odette asking what I would do when Father was dead circled endlessly in my head.
It was just past dawn when I heard the horse, one horse, hard-ridden, crashing recklessly through the brush. Father, I think, had dozed, but woke at the sound. "So. The final course to run," he said, only to himself. He took the shape of an owl, and flew from the window.
He had no weapons, and I had not thought him strong enough for any magic; I was sick with dread. I gathered the skirts of the gown and ran, ran until my legs screamed with running and my breath ripped in and out of my lungs like a knife. I ran heedless of mud, heedless of sharp stones and branches, and still I was too late. I do not know if I could ever have been in time.
Odette stood on a rocky outcrop over the deepest part of the lake, her dress ripped and stained. Her fan was trampled into the mud, and her maids sobbed wildly behind her. Father was perched on a branch, still wearing an owl's shape.
"Forgive me, Odette!" Siegfried screamed.
"I forgive you." She turned her back on him, and went on, "But I cannot live like this any longer!" She dove into the lake and did not surface.
"Damn you!' Siegfried howled. "Damn you and your daughter both, sorcerer! I keep my oaths!"
Siegfried plunged a dagger into his chest. His oath had backfired, Father's spell had been deprived of its proper breaking, and I cannot, even now, accurately describe what I felt. It was as if I had lost all contact with the ground and tumbled endlessly through burning fire. And yet it was not that either.
It would have been far, far more painful for Father; I heard him screaming when I could hear at all. He had lost his owl-shape and lay contorted where he had fallen. Blood soaked his chest and his breath rasped in his throat. My arms, hands and dress were stained with his blood when I straightened his limbs and settled his head in my lap. He smeared blood on my face when he tried to brush away my tears.
"I could not cheat fate," he whispered. "Odile, my beloved daughter."
He could say nothing more. His eyes widened briefly, as if seeing something I could not, and then gently closed. His last breath whispered softly out of him, and his head rolled to the side.
"Father!" I wailed. "Father, I love you ..."
The maids had fled when I looked up. One of them undoubtedly began the story, embellishing it at every turn, painting my father in the blackest of terms. I could not care about them then; I cared only that my father was a cooling corpse.
I weighed Siegfried down with rocks and flung him into the lake with Odette. Let the fish eat the rotting flesh from their bones, let their bones molder at the bottom of the lake for eternity, let them be lost and forgotten.
There was a place in the woods Father had loved, a place filled with flowers spring through fall, where he had given me my first lessons in magic. I buried him there, buried him with his blood still drying on my skin and my dress, buried him and enchanted the grave so no one would defile it.
I fled, then, fled my home before the soldiers came to sack it, fled my memories. I took the books and the cache, hid all that remained where no one would find it. Father's colleagues took me on as a student, and I studied in Paris, in Rome, in London and even in Madrid for a while. But I came home. I could not do otherwise.
If people choose to see me as a pawn, they will not bother me with foolishness. But no matter what the fools who tell and the fools who hear choose to believe, my father was not a monster. He was always good to me, and he loved me.
Copr. ©2001 Sara A. Keating. This work will enter the public domain January 1st, 2032.