Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing
“Jena?”
“Mmm?”
“If Ileana won’t help about Sorrow, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t go on without him. I just can’t.”
It seemed an enormous effort to answer. All I wanted to do 296
was curl up into a ball with my misery. I hated Cezar. I hated fate for making Father ill and for not sending anyone to help us.
I hated Dr˘agu¸ta most of all, for twisting my dearest friend into a thing to be feared and loathed. I hated myself for still loving him.
“We just might have to go on, Tati,” I said. “There might be no choice.” I thought of a future in which Cezar was master of both Vârful cu Negur˘a and Piscul Dracului. That future seemed to be almost upon us. Without Gogu, I wasn’t sure whether I would be strong enough to protect my sisters—
strong enough to act as Father would wish.
“There’s always a choice, Jena.” Tati closed her eyes. “Even giving up is a kind of choice.”
As Full Moon approached, Cezar’s mood deteriorated. He could often be heard yelling at the guards, who had evidently been chosen for both their intimidating size and their reluctance to engage in conversation. I wondered that he had anything to chide them about, since they seemed utterly obedient to his rule. They slept out in the barn.
Petru, displeased with the new arrangements, grew still more taciturn. Florica was distracted and fearful. The five of us applied ourselves to helping her in the kitchen and around the castle and to keeping out of Cezar’s way. He was furious, and Petru had his own theory as to the cause. “Can’t find a taker for this job he’s thought up,” he muttered as I passed him in the hallway. “Nobody wants to venture into the other realm. All too frightened of the Night People. A reward’s no good to you if you’re dead.”
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Iulia had become unusually quiet and often had red eyes.
We were all uneasy at the presence of armed minders in our house, but this seemed something more.
“It’s R˘azvan,” Paula told me when Iulia had burst into tears over a trivial matter and rushed out of the room for the tenth time in a week. “She’s upset that he left so suddenly.”
“R˘azvan?” I stared at her. “She liked him that much?” I had noticed the boys’ admiring glances at Iulia, and thought them inappropriate. My sister looked like a woman, but she was only in her fourteenth year—surely too young for such attentions. I had seen, later, how kind Daniel and R˘azvan were to my younger sisters. All the same, this was a surprise.
“He has a sister Iulia’s age, and his father keeps a stable full of fine riding horses,” Paula informed me. “He half invited her to visit in the summer; she was really excited about it. Now that’s all changed. The boys left without saying goodbye, and Cezar’s not letting us go anywhere, let alone all the way to R˘azvan’s father’s estate—it’s on the other side of Bra¸sov.”
“Why didn’t Iulia tell me?”
Paula regarded me a little owlishly. “You’ve been wrapped up in your own misery, Jena,” she said. “With you brooding over Gogu, and Tati counting the minutes until Full Moon, Iulia’s got nobody to confide in except me. And Stela’s got nobody to be a mother to her except me. She’s frightened. She can’t understand why all these men are suddenly hanging around. It would actually be quite nice if you went back to taking a bit more notice of the rest of us.”
Her words were a slap in the face. Was this really true? In my misery over Gogu and my concern to keep Piscul Dracului 298
and the Other Kingdom safe, had I forgotten that my sisters, too, were unhappy? “I’m sorry,” I said, tears welling in my eyes.
“It’s just that I miss him so much.”
“All the same,” Paula said, “you could make a bit of an effort.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Talk to Iulia. Make some time for Stela. Tati doesn’t tell her stories and play with her the way she used to, and Stela thinks that’s somehow her fault. I wish Tati would be herself again. She doesn’t just look thin, she looks really ill. I wish Full Moon was over.”
When I saw Iulia, I told her I thought Father might consider her old enough, next year, to go on a visit by herself, provided Aunt Bogdana approved all the arrangements. The expression on her face was reward enough: her eyes lit up. My little sisters were growing up faster than I had expected. It seemed that the prospect of a summer of riding in the company of an admiring young man was now more enticing to Iulia than the magic of Full Moon dancing. Was it possible to grow out of the Other Kingdom?
I took over the job of teaching Stela her letters—a task that Tati had abandoned when thoughts of Sorrow began to crowd other matters from her mind—and was rewarded by my small sister’s smiles. I made myself available for bedtime stories.
There was not much I could do for Tati herself. I could not force her to eat, and the rumors that were going about the valley made me reluctant to send for a doctor. I watched her fade a little each day, and prayed that Full Moon would bring solutions.
Up in our chamber, Gogu’s jug and bowl stood empty on 299
the side table. Eventually I would put them away, but not yet; it seemed so final. Although I knew that beneath the semblance of the green-eyed man there was something dark and terrible, part of me still longed to go out into the forest and search for him, to see whether he was safe and well, to ask him . . . what?
Why it was that Dr˘agu¸ta had made him into a frog and put him in my path so I could save him and befriend him and love him and then have him torn away from me and revealed to be a monster? What she had done seemed not only pointless, but unreasonably cruel. I struggled to make sense of it.
On the eve of Full Moon I took ink, quill, and parchment up to the little tower with the starry ceiling and sat on the rug to write a letter. This was one place Cezar’s watchdogs had not discovered. I recalled Gogu sitting on my midriff here and astonishing me by talking about true love. Telling me he liked my soft brown hair and my green gown. Saying he liked sleeping on my pillow so we were side by side. “I love you, too, Gogu,”
I whispered into the silence of the tower room, where the rays of the setting sun came low through the seven windows, touching the painted stars to a rosy shine. “At least, I loved you when you were a frog, before I knew the truth. But . . .” It was unthinkable that I could still feel that tenderness, still remember the good things as if they were not tainted by the horror of his true nature. He had watched me undressing, had traveled everywhere in my pocket, warmed by my body. He had snuggled against my breast and cuddled up to my neck under the fall of my hair. He’d been dearer to me than anyone in the world.
“I wouldn’t mind you being a man, once I got used to the 300
idea,” I muttered. “I could have liked that man, he seemed kind and funny and nice. Why couldn’t he be the real Gogu?” I imagined my friend hopping across the dragon tiles to conceal himself in their green-blue pattern. I remembered his silent voice: You left me b-b-behind.
No more tears, I ordered myself. I’d had enough days of weeping myself into a sodden mess. There was a letter to be written and it must be done just right. Without Gogu to advise me, I must try to think of what he would suggest and do the rest myself.
Dear Gabriel, I wrote, I have addressed this to you, hoping you will read it first, then share it with Father. I have already sent several letters, but we have received only one from you, telling us he was too unwell to have the news of our uncle’s tragic death. I am sending this by a different messenger.
Gabriel, if Father is dying , I need to know. My sisters and I would want to be at his bedside to say goodbye. If he is improving , then he should be told that we are having some difficulties at Piscul Dracului. . . .
I kept it brief. Nothing about Sorrow or our Full Moon activities, of course. I told him what Cezar was doing: from the one-sided decision to take over our finances to the establish-ment of a force of guards to curtail our freedom. Telling that last part without revealing what we knew of the portal was tricky, but I managed it. I told him Cezar planned to start cutting down the forest as soon as spring came, and that I believed he had sent Aunt Bogdana away so she could not hold him back. I told him there were dangerous rumors in the valley, rumors about Piscul Dracului and about us.
If Father cannot come home, Gabriel, I ask that we be provided with some other assistance. I am afraid of Cezar and his interference, and I want 301
him kept away from Piscul Dracului. I do not know where to turn. Please discuss this with Father. Do not send a reply with Cezar’s usual messengers, the ones employed for the business, as I believe letters may have been intercepted.
My own messenger is prepared to wait for your response. You must honor his wish to remain unidentified. You can trust him. I and my sisters send you our respects and our heartfelt thanks for your loyalty to Father. Please give him our love and fondest wishes for a good recovery and a speedy return home. Jena.
I folded the parchment and slipped it into my pocket. Then I lay on the rug, staring up at the ceiling as the sunset moved through gold and pink and purple and gray, and birds called to one another in the dark forest outside, winging to their roosts.
I made myself breathe slowly; I willed myself to be calm. It wasn’t easy. As far as we knew, Cezar had found nobody willing to undertake his mission. But I knew he would make it happen somehow, even if he had to do it himself. An elderly servant called Marta had come down from Vârful cu Negur˘a earlier in the day, her job to act as our chaperone. We had made up a pallet for her in our bedchamber. It all seemed quite unreal.
I hoped the letter would reach Father before Cezar did anything worse. Tonight, at Dancing Glade, I would ask Grigori to take it to Constan¸ta for me, and both Tati and I would seek an audience with the queen of the forest. If Ileana had no further answers for us, I thought this might be the very last time we would visit the Other Kingdom. To risk exposing the folk of that realm to Cezar without good reason was something we could not do, not if we loved them and valued the wonderful opportunity they had given us month by month and year by year 302
since we’d first found the portal. Tonight we might be saying our last farewell to Grigori and Sten, to Ildephonsus, to Ileana and Marin and all our friends from the Other Kingdom. I knew I must drink my fill of the colored lights, the exquisite music, the glittering raiment and delicious smells, and store it all up in my memory. The rest of my life might be a long time.
When I was an old woman, I wanted to be able to remember every last jewel, every last gauzy wing, every last thrilling moment.
“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 ¸ tuica˘?”
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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 Dr˘agu¸ta’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 ¸ tuica˘ 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
˘ ˘
mamaliga˘ 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 prod-
˘
ded her mamalig
˘ a˘ 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.
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“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 kins-folk 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.
