The Black Swan by Mercedes Lackey Read Free Book Online Page A

were—well, the only word to describe them was domestic. When she had learned how to banish the mice and insects from the pantry, for instance.
    Or here, the time that he complained about seeing the Silent Ones wielding brooms, and I concocted a way to keep the floors spotlessly clean without needing to sweep.
    Kitchen magic! The dismay lessened, the anger and sense of insult grew. Was that all she was good for in his eyes? To conjure glorified housekeeping? Her fingers curled into fists; the stylus broke with a sudden snap, and her nails cut into her palms, making her wince with the sudden pain.
    She uncurled her fists and stared at the four little red crescents in each palm. It was the pain that brought her back to her senses, made her reestablish her control. Anger would win her nothing but von Rothbart’s contempt, and she already had her fill of that. It was only foolish, childish, womanish creatures like the flock who gave in to their tempers, or worse, let their emotions dictate their actions.
    After the anger came resolution. I don’t care what Father thinks. I am going to master everything he has. Perhaps it was foolish, but—
    No! There is nothing foolish about it!
    Resolution gave way to thought as she worked her way out of emotion and into a state of calmness. She should not jump to any conclusions; that was the first thing. She should think things through and not assume insult; this was her father, not some stranger. There might be a reason why he was so reluctant to praise her for mastering his magics. He might wish her to save herself, her energies—after all, she herself had noticed how exhausted she was by her efforts. How was he to know that she didn’t care how much it took from her to manage the greater spells? He might believe she was too young yet, too vulnerable—but at the same time didn’t want to forbid her to try. After all, she was supposed to be achieving, learning. If he didn’t encourage her, but didn’t discourage her either, that might be the way to keep her from trying too much, too soon.
    And why shouldn’t he approve of the—the domestic magics? They make his life easier, and more pleasant.
    The last of her anger faded; how foolish she had been! She was very glad now that he hadn’t been here to see her lose control of herself so badly. And this is exactly why he wants me to keep my emotions controlled—look what silly ideas, what flawed reasoning they led me into! After all, von Rothbart was probably thinking like a father, not a master sorcerer—he only wanted to protect her, forgetting that she was fast becoming an adult, and in no need of protection.
    So here was her answer; she would avoid his disapproval easily enough from now on. I will still work to master his spells, but I simply won’t show them to him. What I will show him is more of what he approves of. “Kitchen magic” was hardly difficult; in fact, the reason she’d stopped doing it was because it offered so little challenge.
    At some point when he needs the help, I will do just that—help him, without making any fuss. He’ll realize that I am his equal, and he can count on my help from then on. Then, oh then, he would surely open his tower and his own workroom to her, and together they would devise new enchantments, create new spells! He would open to her the secret of where his power came from, so that their strength would be doubled, and she truly would become his equal.
    As for what her first little touch of domesticity should be— Clean something, I think. Clean something impressive.
    She immediately thought of the dim and dusty hangings in the Great Hall; the floors were clean, but one could scarcely make out the figures of the tapestries for all the centuries of soot and grime. Since the tapestries had always been filthy and there had never been any attempt to get the Silent Ones to clean them, she herself had overlooked their state.