The Black Swan

The Black Swan by Mercedes Lackey

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Authors: Mercedes Lackey
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threads was particularly effective, giving quite a lifelike character to the background figures as well as the mythical beasts of the foreground.
    There were one or two faded places where the sun struck fragile colors, but invoking the Law of Similarity put those right, and eventually she was able to stand back and admire her handiwork with pardonable pride. The hangings were quite splendid, all in all—though the swan-maidens would probably find them terrifying. She supposed that was the intended effect; the idea of holding court here was to impress your underlings, and the hangings would make them realize just how inadvisable it would be to anger a sorcerer.
    Not that Father has any human underlings to terrify. I wonder how the Silent Ones are taking this?
    The banners would be much easier; there were no jewels to work around, and by now she had the knack of the spells. She slipped a bit more speed into the process, bringing up the trophies in all their barbaric glory, then polishing the beams and cleaning the ceiling of its layer of soot for good measure. The last bit of magic swept the formidable pile of dirt into the ash pit below the fireplace, and the Great Hall was cleaner than it had been since the day it was built.
    She had timed her work to a nicety, for the rush of Silent Ones to the doorway gave her just enough warning to turn and curtsy as von Rothbart entered his domain.
    â€œI see there is no need to ask you today what you have been doing.” As usual, there was very little inflection in his voice, but as was not usual, the faint hint of emotion was positive. She rose from the floor and looked up at him with hooded eyes, warily.
    â€œI hope I have not overstepped my authority, Father,” was all she said in reply.
    His lips curved in a faint, but real smile. “Such usurpation would be most acceptable in the future.” He stared over her head at the tapestries, but this was the closest she’d gotten to praise from him in months, and she felt limp with pleasure. “I had half-forgotten what these hangings portrayed. . . .” He stared a moment longer. “I should not be ashamed to receive the Emperor here, now. This is a pleasant surprise indeed, daughter.”
    She curtsied again, quickly, bowing her head to hide her face, for she was afraid that if he saw her flushed, happy expression, she would lose all the approval she had just gained by betraying her feelings.
    As she remained in that pose, he moved past her—and actually laid his hand for a moment on the top of her bowed head! The caress made her dizzy with a fierce joy that burned away every bit of resentment and discontent she’d felt over the past several months. If he’d asked her to cast herself into the mouth of Vesuvius at that moment, she’d have done so without a moment’s hesitation. Reveling in her joy, she remained in her kneeling position while he passed on to his own quarters.
    It was only when she rose and found herself momentarily off-balance that she realized it might not be only joy that was making her dizzy. Ah . . . I don’t think I should move very far. I don’t think I can. She put out her hand to balance herself, and took a few careful steps to one of the chairs at the side of the room to sit down.
    â€œBring me honeyed wine,” she ordered aloud, hoping that at least one of the Silent Ones had remained with her. If they aren’t—I’ll just have to manage. She was in luck; she put her head down on her knees to clear it, and when she straightened up again, a silver salver hovered at her elbow, with a matching goblet on it. She seized the vessel and gulped the potion down, then leaned back against the ancient wood of the chair, and waited for her weakness to pass. It didn’t matter, really; the important thing was that her father had finally shown open approval of what she’d done.
    And even if it wasn’t impressive magic, it was clever, even if

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