“Jena?” A tap at the door.
“Mmm?”
“Come downstairs! Quick!”
My heart plummeted. What now? I got up and opened the door.
No fewer than three sisters were clustered outside, their expressions mingling excitement and anxiety.
“There’s a man here,” Iulia babbled, “for the quest. Cezar’s absolutely beaming! I think he thought he’d have to do it himself—”
“So you need to get the potion ready—” put in Paula.
“Quick, quick!” urged Stela, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the steps.
We reached our chamber. Marta was down in the kitchen with Florica right now, waiting to find out if there would be any call for her services.
“Make sure none of your party clothing is in sight,” I told my sisters. “We want both Marta and this man asleep before we show any signs of getting ready. Where’s that ţuicǎ?”
We had a silver tray ready, with a pretty Venetian flask and a set of matching glasses, though none of us actually drank plum brandy. Tonight, Tati and I would make the gesture of taking a small glass each, just so our victims would not be too suspicious.
“Put the marked glasses on this side,” I said. “Good. Now the potion …” I retrieved Drǎguţa’s tiny bottle from its hiding place under my mattress, uncorked it, and let two drops fall into each of the two glasses that had an unobtrusive ink dot on their stems. “There. We just pour the ţuicǎ on top, and—if the witch was telling the truth—this man won’t detect a thing, and nor will Marta. Then we wait. I hope it works quickly. I can’t believe Cezar is making us let a stranger into our bedchamber.”
We sat through supper. There were so many guards now that Florica couldn’t feed them all in the kitchen, so she had to send provisions out to the barn. Cezar failed utterly to conceal his excitement. The look in his eyes sickened me.
There was no conversation. Florica brought dishes in and out; Cezar smiled his little superior smile; I divided the mămăligă and shared out the boiled mutton and pickled cabbage. My sisters ate what they were given without a word. Apart from Tati, that is: she cut up her meat into tiny pieces and prodded her mămăligă with a spoon. I didn’t see her eat so much as a crumb.
After that, things grew more and more unreal. A man was waiting outside in the hallway, cap in hands, feet shuffling awkwardly. He looked rather pale. Our cousin introduced us by name, as if this were a polite tea party.
“Now, Ioan,” said Cezar expansively, “you understand what is required of you tonight?”
“Yes, my lord. Find the entry; go in; come out; make sure I don’t attract notice. Bring back information. I’m sure the young ladies will assist me.”
Cezar raised his brows. “Well, good luck to you. I’ll be waiting at dawn to let you out.”
“What do you mean, let him out?” I asked, alarmed. “We’ll be doing that. The bolt’s on the inside.”
“I have made suitable provision,” Cezar said. “There’s to be no trickery, no funny business, understand?”
“I understand that it excites you to shame your own kinsfolk in front of strangers,” I said, seething.
“You’ve brought it on yourselves.” Cezar’s tone was dismissive. “Go on, then. Take Ioan here up to the bedchamber and get on with things. Where’s that frog, by the way? I haven’t seen it at all lately. I must say I very much prefer taking supper without the wretched creature dripping all over the table and slurping its soup.”
“I let him go,” I said through gritted teeth. “This way, Ioan.”
There was indeed a new lock, on the outside. One of the men must have installed it while we were at supper. When all of us were in the bedchamber, including Marta, who had toiled up the stairs after us, Cezar closed the door and we heard him slide the bolt across. The inside bolt had not been removed. I fastened that as well. Then we all stood about, awkward and silent: we sisters, our chaperone, and the unfortunate man.
“Would you care for a drink?” Tati asked politely.
Ioan muttered something and took the glass she offered.
“Marta?” Iulia favored our chaperone with her most charming smile. “I’m sure you’d enjoy a small glass?”
“Thank you, Mistress Iulia.” Marta was clearly embarrassed by the whole situation. She accepted her glass and retreated to sit on the very edge of her pallet, ill at ease.
All of us tried hard not to stare at either of them. We were deeply suspicious of the contents of Drǎguţa’s potion. Tati poured drinks for herself and for me; we perched on the end of our bed, sipping.
“Chilly weather, isn’t it?” observed Paula brightly.
“Brilliant observation, considering it’s winter,” snapped Iulia, on edge with nerves.
“That’s rude, Iulia,” hissed Stela.
There was a sigh from Marta’s corner. When we turned to look, she was collapsing onto her pillow, eyes shut. Iulia retrieved the glass before it could fall from her limp fingers, and Paula tucked the blankets over her. Ioan swayed, staggered, then lay down on the floor, snoring faintly. After a moment, I picked up my pillow and put it under his head. It wasn’t really his fault that he’d been so desperate for a few coppers that he’d been willing to risk the reputations of five wellborn young ladies.
“So far, so good,” I said shakily. “We just have to hope it will last until we get back. Drǎguţa’s unreliable—she might try anything. Get changed quickly.”
Tati put on the gossamer dress. White silk on white skin: she looked like a sacrificial victim. The crimson teardrop around her neck, on its black cord, was her only note of color. She seemed all bones and hollows, a shadow of herself. Looking at her, I felt a chill deep inside me.
“Jena.” Iulia’s voice broke into my reverie. “Are you planning to get dressed, or come in your working boots and apron?”
Quickly, I put on my green gown and pulled my hair back in a ribbon.
“Come on!” Tati was already crouched at the portal. “Hurry up!”
It felt very strange indeed. I could hardly believe this might be the last time we would gather here, a semicircle of pale faces by candlelight, a pattern of shadows on the wall, conjuring the magical, long-ago day when we had first discovered our wondrous secret.
Tati looked at me; I looked back. Her eyes were full of anxiety, but there was a brightness there all the same: the gleam of love and of hope. She had not quite lost that, not while Sorrow might be no farther away than a single doorway and a walk through the forest. I shivered. It seemed to me there was nothing ahead for them but heartbreak and loss.
The portal opened.
“It’s the last time.” Stela’s chin was quivering. “The really, really last time.”
“Maybe not,” said Paula briskly. “Anything’s possible, Stela. Come on, take my hand.” They vanished down the spiral ahead of us, and we followed. I was the last out; I looked back over my shoulder as I went. Both Marta and Ioan lay where they had fallen, motionless.
We reached the bottom of the steps and headed along the Gallery of Beasts. The gargoyles were hanging down from their vantage points, staring at us with their big, vacant eyes. None made a move to join us. Tati had gone ahead, but there was no call to the boats. As we approached the shore, I heard her urgent undertone. “Jena!”
Someone was there before us. A young man stood by the water’s edge, and my heart stopped as I saw him. Pale skin, dark, tangled hair, steadfast green eyes … I could move neither forward nor back—my feet refused to budge. What was he doing here? This was Full Moon, Ileana’s night: the night of lights and music, of friendship and good things. It was our chance to make things right again, if the queen of the forest would help us. If anyone did not belong here, it was him—the creature from the mirror, fair mask over foul reality. And yet I longed to go over to him, to touch him, to ask him if he was all right.
“Jena,” whispered Paula, “who is it? What do we do?”
“It’s him: Gogu,” I said grimly. I
walked on, ignoring my sisters’ gasps of shock and murmurings of curiosity. “You mustn’t go anywhere near him—it’s dangerous. Don’t speak to him. And don’t let him in your boat, if he tries to get a lift.”
We advanced to the shore. “Ooo-oo!” called Tati, glancing nervously at the young man. “Ooo-oo!”
Not so long ago I had wished Ileana would banish the Night People for good, and Sorrow with them. I had hoped fervently that my sister would never see her black-coated sweetheart again: it had seemed to me that even if he truly loved her, he could bring her only grief. Now, as I watched the little boats come one by one through the cracking ice of the Deadwash, part of me was willing Sorrow to be there, just to keep the spark of hope in Tati’s eyes alive. One, two, three boats came. The first was poled by a dwarf—not Anatolie, but one of his many cousins or brothers—and a cold hand clutched at my heart. Paula, Iulia, and Stela were swept away across the water. The boatmen glanced at Gogu as they came in to shore, and their faces showed nothing but mild curiosity. None seemed afraid.
“He has to be here,” Tati muttered. “He must be, he must be.…” She had her arms wrapped around herself: the ice might be melting and the winter starting to lose its grip, but this shore was no place for fine silk gowns. She looked at Gogu again. “Aren’t you going to say anything to him?” she whispered.
“What is there to say? He’s a monster—a thing from the darkness.” I peered over the water, wondering whether I could see a light through the curtains of mist. I willed myself not to meet the gaze that I knew was fixed on me from a little way along the shore. He’d made no attempt to go with any of the others, though the ferrymen had looked amenable enough. With luck, we could leave him behind us.
“They’re coming!” Tati exclaimed, peering across the ice-strewn water into the vaporous cloud. A moment later her shoulders slumped, for the two craft that emerged were poled by the massive troll, Sten, and tall, dark-locked Grigori. Sorrow had not come.
Tati went with Sten. I could see her questioning him as they crossed the lake. I went with Grigori. As our boat moved away from the shore, I caught Gogu’s eye. His face was white, his mouth twisted in what looked like self-mockery. Don’t think about him, I ordered myself. You have a mission to perform tonight, so do it. But I thought about him all the way across the Bright Between. He wouldn’t go out of my mind.
I asked Grigori whether he would take the letter. “I’m desperate. There’s nobody else I can trust.”
“I’ll take it, Jena. This Gabriel—can he be trusted?”
“He may look at you twice, but I know he has Father’s best interests at heart. He’s not the kind of man to make a fuss about things. All the same, be careful. I’ve made too many mistakes this winter and hurt too many people. I don’t want to put you at risk, Grigori.”
He smiled widely. “So my great-aunt finally turned the frog back into his old form,” he said.
I was taken aback. “You know about that? Does everyone know?”
Grigori nodded. “Drǎguţa made no secret of what she had done. All of us knew when the spell was cast, and when it was broken.”
“You knew what Gogu really was, all the time?” I was shocked. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? And what do you mean, his old form? What was he before, man or monster?”
“There’s a right time for such answers to be made known, Jena, and it’s not up to me to determine it. Drǎguţa’s rules bind us all. We were forbidden to tell.”
“There was no right time for what she did to us,” I said. “To Gogu and me. It was unforgivable.”
“My great-aunt enjoys setting tests and playing tricks. There’s a reason for every one of them. It pays to listen carefully to her words.”
“Tell me about Anatolie.” I forced the words out, wanting the truth before we reached Dancing Glade.
Grigori bowed his head. “We lost him,” he said simply. “Some cruelties are beyond the endurance of the most stalwart. We will remember his laughter, his heroic strength, his nimble feet. No need to speak Jena. I understand that this wounds you as it does every being in the Other Kingdom. Here we are,” he added as the little boat grazed the far shore. He laid the pole in the craft and stepped out, extending a hand to help me. “There is a right time, Jena. You simply need to be open to it. Anatolie would want you to be happy.”
I knew I would not have the heart to dance, even though this could be our last visit to the Other Kingdom. The confirmation of Anatolie’s death weighed heavily on me. I could not escape the feeling that I could somehow have stopped Cezar if I had been just a little stronger, just a little braver. I was on edge, waiting until Ileana was ready to hold her audience so I could tell her what I needed to. Tati was in a worse state than I was. There was no sign at all of Sorrow, or of the other Night People. My sister was circling the sward, speaking to one person after another. As she came past me, I heard her asking where he was, where they were, and everyone giving the same answer: Ask Ileana. But Ileana and Marin had not yet appeared. I wondered how I would get Tati home if she refused to come.
The young man who was Gogu had managed, somehow, to get across the Deadwash. He was not dancing, either. As I refused one invitation after another, I stole glances at him and wondered why he had come here. If Tadeusz and the pale Anastasia had not put in an appearance, along with their somber retinue, why was this one creature from Dark of the Moon among us? And why did none of the patrons of Ileana’s glade seem afraid of him? When I tried to warn people, they simply laughed.
My younger sisters had not been able to resist the lure of the music; even Paula was out on the sward, dancing. My feet were itching to be out there in the midst of it. The lilt of the bone flute, the throb of the drum, the thrum of the harp, stirred my blood. My mind showed me, cruelly, the dream in which I circled and swayed in the arms of the green-eyed man and felt a happiness akin to nothing else in the world. I couldn’t do it. I was too full of sadness and guilt and fear.
Sten loomed by my side, huge and craggy. “One dance,” he said. “Come on.”
“I can’t. I’m waiting for Ileana.”
“The queen’s audience won’t be until later.”
“I’m worried about Tati. I need to keep an eye on her.”
“Come on, Jena,” the troll said. “I want to see you smile.”
“I shouldn’t—”
“Yes, you should. Come on! Iulia and Grigori are waving us over.”
“I—”
The troll seized my arm in a friendly grip. In a trice we were out in the double circle of merrymakers, facing Grigori and Iulia for a dance called Haymaking. The band struck up the tune, and I had no choice but to join in. It was a dance in which the circles moved in opposite directions, so everyone changed partners after sixteen measures. In the Other Kingdom this was an interesting experience, since some dancers were only as tall as one’s knees, some had a tendency to use their wings to accentuate their moves, and some were so big that a girl my size had to crane her neck to make conversation. For a little, I half forgot my troubles in the constant effort to keep up and remain on my feet. The pace was frenetic.
I danced with Grigori and with the dwarf ferryman. I danced with the tiny Ildephonsus and with a mountain goblin who complimented me on my light feet. Then everyone moved on again, and the man standing opposite me was Gogu.
A chill ran through me. I whispered, “I can’t—” but there was no extricating myself from the circle of folk moving in intricate pattern to the quick beat. With a crooked smile, the green-eyed man took my hand in his and led me around in a figure-of-eight. His touch alarmed me: it felt every bit as tender, as thrilling, as it had the day he’d first become a man again and I’d had to leave him. It seemed to hold out the promise of a joy beyond measuring. He made no attempt to converse with me, simply looked. In his eyes I could see confusion and reproach and a forlorn sadness that made me want to draw him out of the circle, to sit down and sort things out sensibly once and for all, to get to the truth.… But I c
ould not find any words.
The circle moved on, and he was gone.
A forest man in a garment of salamander skins took my hand and led me into the next maneuver. At the far side of the sward, I spotted Gogu again, moving out of the crowd to stand alone under the trees. Somewhere in the throng there was a person without a partner.
When Haymaking drew to a close there was a fanfare, and the throng parted to allow Ileana her grand entry. She wore a cloak of peacock feathers and, under it, a gown that sparkled with silver. I wished she would go straight to her willow-wood throne, ready to receive folk with requests or praise or complaints. Instead, she went from one dance to the next, her tall headdress bobbing like a bright banner above the sea of revelers. I sat on the sidelines, watching Gogu, with a mass of conflicting feelings chasing one another around my heart. I had such a longing to get up and dance with him again that I had tears in my eyes.
“Trying to fill a lake with your tears?” A little voice spoke up right beside me, making me start. I looked down. There was Drǎguţa, in a long cloak of tattered green and a hat of leaves, under which her white hair shone like moonbeams. Around her neck she wore an ornament of tiny bones threaded on a cord.
“I got it wrong, didn’t I?” I said, wiping my nose. “I messed it up.”
The witch grinned. In the undergrowth not far away, a pure white snake raised its head to stare at me: I had no doubt that it was her creature in another form, for its eyes were just the same. “Mess and mend,” Drǎguţa said. “Lose and find. Change and change again. The solution was right at your fingertips, and you never saw it, Jena. Now it’s moving farther away every day. Best wake up soon, or it’ll be beyond your reach.”
Wildwood Dancing Page 26
