The Black Swan Read Free Page B

and banished the pockets of mist—and the graceful heads of von Rothbart’s flock of enchanted swans rose from their recumbent, feathered forms, dark eyes shining softly in the rosy dawn light.
    By ones and twos, they stretched out their necks, ruffled their feathers, and stepped into the water of the lake. Eight black swans swam amidst the white ones, dipping their heads in willing obeisance to the most beautiful and graceful of all as she glided toward the gathered flock from the shore of the island refuge, a swan wearing a tiny golden crown on a necklet resting on her snowy breast.
    Odette was as flawless and lovely as a swan as she was as a maiden, and Odile experienced a twinge of jealousy, and tried to banish it.
    If she had been as beautiful of heart as she is of face and figure, she would not be paddling in Father’s pond wearing nothing but feathers . She allowed her control of her expression to slip just a little as she met the mournful gaze of the queen of the swans. Her lips twisted in a sardonic smile. You brought your fate upon yourself, no matter how much you would like to deny it, Odette. If you had paid half as much attention to the state of your soul as you did to your mirror, you would still sit at your father’s side .
    But the swan turned her eyes away, and led her flock across the lake, taking them into the shelter of the reeds where they could not be seen. Odile wasn’t worried; they couldn’t escape, and in the form of swans, they couldn’t work any harm on themselves. Her father’s spells prevented them from flying off unless he led the flock, just as they prevented the maidens from leaving the grounds and gardens.
    But she paused at the edge of the water as the last of the swans vanished into the reeds. The surface of the lake, unruffled by bird or breeze, mirrored the pink-streaked clouds overhead. There were no mirrors in the manor; von Rothbart forbade them. She knelt on the bank and leaned over to look at her reflection, automatically putting her hand to her hair to smooth it from her brow.
    Her reflection looked back at her, solemn blue eyes above sharply defined cheekbones, skin pale as porcelain, hair of spun silver. She studied herself, critically. Not unattractive, but too thin and too odd for beauty. My hair is the wrong color, my eyes are too pale. No, I am no competition for any of the swans, and certainly not as beautiful as Odette. Surrounded by beauties as she was—even the four little swans were lovely, and getting more beautiful as time went on—she could not help contrasting her appearance with theirs.
    Even her father had made comments. “Take more care with your looks,” he would say in irritation. “Peasants look more pleasing than my own daughter. My captives look like queens, and my daughter a drudge.” And yet, she was not supposed to take overmuch care of her looks, either—for he would chide her for vanity if he thought she spent too long in the hands of the Silent Ones. It was hard not to feel jealous of the so-perfect Odette, supernaturally lovely without effort.
    In a burst of impatience, she flicked her fingers in the water, destroying her reflection, and rose to her feet. Her duty was at an end for the night, and she could seek her own bed until the sun dropped below the horizon tonight. While she slept, the Silent Ones would see to it that the swans were fed, with bread and grain, with crisp greens and savory herbs.
    Odile walked slowly toward the steps as the early sun gilded the granite and gave it a spurious warmth. Birds caroled joyfully all around, the same birds that shivered in silence and fear when von Rothbart donned his feather cape and took to the sky as a great owl. Now the garden that had been a study in soft black and silver-blue last night showed the true colors of its palette—yellow lilies and white, pink, and red roses, the blue of cornflowers, the purple of violet and pansy, the gold of