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WILDWOOD

DANCING

WILDWOOD

DANCING

Juliet Marillier

Alfred A. Knopf

New York

this is a borzoi book published by alfred a. knopf This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition of this work as follows:

Marillier, Juliet.

Wildwood dancing / Juliet Marillier.

p. cm.

summary: Five sisters who live with their merchant father in Transylvania use a hidden portal in their home to cross over into a magical world, the Wildwood.

[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Magic—Fiction. 3. Sisters—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.M33856Wil 2007

[Fic]—dc22

2006016075

eISBN: 978-0-375-84944-2

Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

v1.0

To my granddaughter Claire

Many people assisted in the preparation of this book. Mircea Gastaldo took me to parts of Transylvania I never could have reached on my own, and shared his wealth of knowledge and his love of Romanian culture and landscape. My son Godric was a stalwart minder and assistant on that trip. Elly, Bronya, Ben, and Rain read the manuscript in various forms and provided invaluable feedback and creative input. Fiona Leonard, Tom Edwards, and Satima Flavell helped with brainstorming and critiquing as the book progressed, and kept me sane during some difficult times. My thanks to Michelle Frey, whose perceptive editorial input helped shape the book into its final form, and to Brianne Tunnicliffe, Anna McFarlane, and Stefanie Bier-werth, who worked on the Australian and UK editions. Last but not least, heartfelt thanks to my agent, Russell Galen, for his ongoing support and enthusiasm, and to Danny Baror for his efficient work on foreign rights.

Wildwood Dancing will take you to another time and indeed another world. For proper pronunciation of names and for details about select Romanian terms, please turn to the back of the book.

Chapter One

I’ve heard it said that girls can’t keep secrets. That’s wrong: we’d proved it. We’d kept ours for years and years, ever since we came to live at Piscul Dracului and stumbled on the way into the Other Kingdom. Nobody knew about it—not Father, not our housekeeper, Florica, or her husband, Petru, not Uncle Nicolae or Aunt Bogdana or their son, Cezar. We found the portal when Tati was seven and I was six, and we’d been going out and coming in nearly every month since then: nine whole years of Full Moons. We had plenty of ways to cover our absences, including a bolt on our bedchamber door and the excuse that my sister Paula sometimes walked in her sleep.

I suppose the secret was not completely ours; Gogu knew.

But even if frogs could talk, Gogu would never have told. Ever since I’d found him long ago, crouched all by himself in the forest, dazed and hurt, I had known I could trust him more than anyone else in the world.

It was the day of Full Moon. In the bedchamber our gowns 1

and shoes were laid out ready; combs, bags, and hair ornaments were set beside them. Nothing would be touched now, until the household was safely in bed. Fortunately, it was rare for Florica to come up to our room, because it was at the top of a flight of stairs, and stairs made her knees hurt. I did wonder how much Florica knew or guessed. She must have noticed how quiet we always were on the night of Full Moon, and how exhausted we were when we stumbled down to breakfast the next morning. But if she knew, Florica didn’t say a thing.

During the day we kept up our normal activities, trying not to arouse suspicion. Paula helped Florica cook fish ciorb˘a, while Iulia went out to lend a hand to Petru, who was storing away sacks of grain to last us over the winter. Iulia did not enjoy the hard work of the farm, but at least, she said, it made the time go more quickly. Tati was teaching Stela to read: I had seen the two of them ensconced in a warm corner of the kitchen, making letters in a tray of wet sand.

I sat in the workroom with Father, reconciling a set of orders with a record of payments. I was good with figures and helped him regularly with such tasks. The merchant business in which he was a partner with his cousin, whom we called Uncle Nicolae, kept the two of them much occupied. Gogu sat on the desk, keeping himself to himself, though once or twice I caught his silent voice—the one only I could hear.

You’re upset, Jena.

“Mmm,” I murmured, not wanting to get into a real conversation with him while both Father and his secretary, Gabriel, were in the room. My family didn’t truly believe that I sometimes knew what Gogu was thinking. Even my sisters, who 2

had long ago accepted that this was no ordinary frog, thought that I was deluding myself—putting my own words into the frog’s mouth, perhaps. I knew that was wrong. I’d had Gogu since I was a small girl, and the things he told me definitely didn’t come from my own head.

Don’t be sad. Tonight is Full Moon.

“I can’t help it, Gogu. I’m worried. Now hush, or Father will hear me.”

Father was trying to write a letter. He kept coughing, and in between bouts he struggled to catch his breath. Tomorrow he would be leaving on a journey to the port of Constan¸ta, in the milder climate of the Black Sea coast. His doctor had told him, sternly, that if he tried to get through another winter at Piscul Dracului in his present ill health, he would be dead before the first buds opened on the oaks. We five sisters would be looking after the place on our own, right through the winter. Of course, Uncle Nicolae would help with the business, and Florica and Petru with the house and farm. It was not so much the extra responsibility that troubled me. Father was away often enough on business and we had coped before, though not for so long.

What chilled me was the thought that when we said goodbye in the morning, it might be forever.

At supper we were all quiet. I was thinking about what Father had confided to Tati and me earlier. Up till then, none of us had mentioned the possibility that Father might die of this illness, for to say that aloud would be to put the unthinkable into words. But Father had wanted his eldest daughters to be prepared for whatever might happen. Should he die before any of us girls married and bore a son, he’d explained, both Piscul 3

Dracului and Father’s share of the business would go to Uncle Nicolae, as the closest male relative. We were not to worry. If the worst should occur, Uncle Nicolae would see we were provided for.

Uncle Nicolae’s family home was called Vârful cu Negur˘a: Storm Heights. His house was quite grand, set on a hillside and surrounded by birch and pine forest. He ran a prosperous farm and a timber business, as well as the trading ventures that had made him wealthy. When we were little, we had lived in the merchant town of Bra¸sov, and Vârful cu Negur˘a had been a place we visited as a special treat. It was hard to say what I had loved best about it: the dark forest, the forbidden lake, or the excitement of playing with our big cousins, who were both boys.

But there was no doubt at all what Father had loved. Next door to Vârful cu Negur˘a was Piscul Dracului, Devil’s Peak. Father had first seen the empty, crumbling castle, set on a high spur of rock, when he was only a boy. Our father was an unusual kind of person, and as soon as he clapped eyes on Piscul Dracului he wanted to live there. There’d been nobody to inherit the ruin and the tract of wildwood that went with it; perhaps the many strange tales attached to the place had frightened people away. The owner had died long ago. Florica and Petru had been custodians of the place for years, looking after the empty chambers and eking out a living from the small farm, for they were hardworking, thrifty folk.

Father had waited a long time to achieve his dream. He had worked hard, married, and fathered daughters, bought and sold, scrimped and saved. When he’d set enough silver aside from his 4

merchant ventures, trading in silk carpets and bear skins, spices and fine porcelain, he’d quietly paid a large sum to an influen-tial voivode, gone into partnership with Uncle Nicolae, and moved our family into Piscul Dracului.

I think Mother would have preferred to stay in Bra¸sov, for she feared the tales folk told about the old castle. It looked as if it had grown up out of the forest, with an assortment of bits and pieces sprouting from every corner: tiny turrets, long covered walkways, squat round towers, arches, and flagpoles. The eccentric nobleman who had built it had probably been someone just like Father. People seldom ventured into the forest around Piscul Dracului. There was a lake deep within the wildwood, a place unofficially known as the Deadwash, though its real name was prettier: T˘aul Ielelor, Lake of the Nymphs.

Every family had a dark story about the Deadwash. We got ours soon after we moved into the castle. When I was five years old, my cousin Costi—Uncle Nicolae’s eldest son—drowned in T˘aul Ielelor. I was there when it happened. The things folk said about the lake were true.

Before Father became so ill, Tati and I had scarcely given a thought to such weighty matters as what might happen to Piscul Dracului, with no son to inherit our father’s property. My elder sister was a dreamer, and I had a different kind of future in mind for myself: one in which I would work alongside my father, traveling and trading and seeing the world. Marriage and children were secondary in my scheme of things. Now—with Father’s cough ringing in our ears, and his white face regarding us across the supper table—they had become a frightening reality. I remembered Aunt Bogdana saying that sixteen was the 5

ideal age for a young woman to wed. Tati was already in her seventeenth year; I was only one year younger.

Father went off to bed as soon as the meal was over; he’d hardly touched his food. The others disappeared to our bedchamber, but I waited for Florica to bank up the fire in the big stove and for Petru to bolt the front door, and for the two of them to retire to their sleeping quarters. Then it was safe, and I ran up the stairs to our chamber, my worries set aside for now, my heart beating fast with an anticipation that was part joy, part fear. At last it was time.

The long room we sisters shared had four round windows of colored glass: soft violet, blood-red, midnight-blue, beech-green. Beyond them the full moon was sailing up into the night sky. I put Gogu on a shelf to watch as I took off my working dress and put on my dancing gown, a green one that my frog was particularly fond of. Paula was calmly lighting our small lanterns, to be ready for the journey.

With five girls, even the biggest bedchamber can get crowded. As Tati fastened the hooks on my gown, I watched Iulia twirling in front of the mirror. She was thirteen now, and developing the kind of curvaceous figure our mother had had.

Her gown was of cobalt silk and she had swept her dark curls up into a circlet of ribbon butterflies. We had become clever, over the years, in our use of the leftovers from Father’s ship-ments. He was good at what he did, but buying Piscul Dracului had eaten up a lot of his funds and, even in partnership with his wealthy cousin, he was still making up for lost ground. I saw the books every day—he had been unable to conceal from 6

me that finances remained very tight. We sisters had to impro-vise. We made one new dancing gown anytime a cargo contained a little more of a certain fabric than the buyer had requested. I wore Tati’s hand-me-downs; Paula wore mine.

Iulia, with her fuller figure, did rather better, because she could not fit into either Tati’s clothes or mine. All the same, she complained; she would have liked a whole wardrobe of finery.

Tati was clever with her needle, and adjusted old things of Mother’s to fit her. Mother was gone. We had lost her when our youngest sister was born. Stela was only five—easy to dress.

Paula had finished lighting the lamps. Now she crouched to bank up the fire in our little stove and ensure its door was safely shut. One year Iulia’s junior, Paula was our scholar. While I was good at figures, she shone in all branches of learning. Our village priest, Father Sandu, came up to Piscul Dracului once a month to provide Paula with private tutoring—I shared in the mathematical part of these lessons—and went home with a bottle of Petru’s finest ¸ tuica˘ in his coat pocket. Most folk believed education of that kind was wasted on girls. But Father had never cared what people thought. Follow your heart was one of his favorite sayings.

“What is it, Jena?” Paula had noticed me staring at her. The heat from the stove had flushed her cheeks pink. Her dark eyes were fixed on me with an assessing look. Tonight she was wearing dove-gray, with her spectacles on a chain around her neck, and her brown curls disciplined into a neat plait.

“You look pretty tonight,” I said. “So do you, Stela.” Stela, our baby, was rosy-cheeked and small, like a little bird, maybe 7

a robin. Her hair, the same ebony as Tati’s, was wispy and soft, and tonight it was tied back with rose-pink ribbons to match the gown Tati had made for her. She was standing by the oak chest, jiggling up and down in excitement.

“What about your hair, Jena?” asked Tati, doing up my last hook. “It’s all over the place.”

“Never mind,” I told her, knowing nobody would be looking at me while she was anywhere near. My elder sister’s gown was a simple one of violet-blue that matched her eyes. Her hair rippled down her back like black silk. Tati didn’t need jewelry or ribbons or any sort of finery. She was as lovely as a perfect wildflower. It always seemed to me a generous fairy must have presided over her christening, for Tati was blessed with the kind of beauty that draws folk’s eyes and opens their minds to dreams.

I didn’t make a big effort with my appearance. When people commented on our family of sisters, Tati was always the beautiful one. If they noticed me at all, they called me sensible or practical. I had bushy hair, brown like Paula’s, which refused to do what I wanted it to, and eyes of a color somewhere between mud and leaf. My figure was a lot more straight-up-and-down than Iulia’s, even though I was two years her elder. The one special thing about my green gown was the pocket I had sewn into it for Gogu, since he needed a safe retreat if he got tired or upset. Tonight the only ornament I carried was the frog himself, sitting on my shoulder. You look lovely, Jena. Like a forest pool on a summer’s day.

Tati darted across to make sure our door was bolted. Then, 8

by the shifting light of the lanterns, we moved to the most shadowy corner of the chamber: the place where we had once sat playing games by candlelight and made the most astonishing discovery of our lives.

We dragged out the heavy oak chest from against the wall and set our lanterns on it so their light was cast into the little alcove where the chest had been, an indentation that wasn’t even big enough to store a folded blanket in.

“Come on,” Iulia urged. “My feet are itching for a dance.”

The first time we had done this, in our earliest days at Piscul Dracului—when I was only six, and Stela was not yet born—Tati and I had been amusing the younger ones by making shadow creatures on the wall: rabbits, dogs, bats. At the moment when all our hands had been raised at once to throw a particular image on the stones, we had found our forest’s hidden world. Whether it had been chance or a gift, we had never been sure.

It made no difference that we had done this over and over.

The sense of thrilling strangeness had never gone away. Every Full Moon, our bodies tingled with the magic of it. The lamp shone on the blank wall. One by one, we stretched out our hands, and the lantern light threw the silhouettes onto the stones. One by one, we spoke our names in a breathless whisper:

“Tatiana.”

“Jenica.”

“Iulia.”

“Paula.”

“Stela.”

Between the shadows of our outstretched fingers, a five-pointed star appeared. The portal opened. Instead of a shallow alcove, there was a little archway and a flight of stone steps snaking down, down into the depths of the castle. It was dark, shadow-dark. . . . The first time it ever happened, back when there were only four of us, we had clutched one another’s hands tightly and crept down, trembling with excitement and terror.

For the others the fear had dissipated over the years; I could see no trace of misgiving in any of them now, only shining eyes and eager faces.

I was different. The magic drew me despite myself; I passed through the portal because it seemed to me I must. There were eldritch forces all around, and the only thing sure was that the powers of the wildwood were unpredictable. It was curious: from the first I had felt that without me, my sisters would not be safe in the Other Kingdom.

Lanterns in hand, we made our way down the winding stairway, holding up our long skirts as our shadows danced beside us on the ancient stone walls. It was so deep, it was like going to the bottom of a well. Gogu rode on my shoulder down the twists and turns of the stair, until we came to the long, arched passage at the bottom.

“Hurry up!” urged Iulia, who was at the front of the line.

Our slippers whispered on the stone floor as we glided along under the carved extravagance of the roof. Here, there were enough gargoyles and dragons and strange beasts to decorate the grandest building in all Transylvania. They clung to the corners and crept around the pillars and dripped from the arches, watching us with bright, unwavering eyes. Subterranean mosses 10

crawled over their heads and shoulders, softening their angular forms with little capes of green and gray and brown. The first time we saw this Gallery of Beasts, Tati had whispered, “They’re not real, are they?” and I had whispered back, “Just nod your head to them, and keep on walking.” I had sensed, even then, that respect and courtesy could go a long way to keeping a person safe in a place such as this.

As we passed now, I felt something jump onto my shoulder—

the one not occupied by Gogu—and cling there, its needle claws pricking my skin through the soft fabric of the green gown. It was doing its best to look like a frog, rolling up its long tail and bulging its eyes, while casting surreptitious glances at Gogu.

The frog tensed. Interloper.

The little creature poked out a forked tongue, hissing.

“Lights out!” ordered Iulia, and we each covered our lanterns in turn. As our eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, a pale expanse came into view ahead of us: the mist-wreathed waters of a broad lake, illuminated by the moon. Through the vaporous cloud we could see the bobbing torches of those who were waiting to escort us on the last part of our journey.

“Ooo-oo!” Iulia called in a falling cadence. “Ooo-oo!”

The little boats came, one by one, out of the tendrils of mist—high-prowed and graceful, each shaped in the form of a creature: swan, wyvern, phoenix, wood duck, and salamander.

In each stood a figure, propelling the craft by means of a slender pole: push and lift, push and lift. The response to Iulia’s call came in five voices, each different, each as uncanny as the others. Our guides were what they were; the only human creatures in this midnight realm were ourselves.

The boats pulled in to the shore. The boatmen stepped out to help us board. The next part, my frog didn’t like. He began to quiver in fright, a rapid trembling that went right through his body. I was used to this; he did it every time. I held him against my breast and, as I climbed into the boat, I murmured,

“It’s all right, Gogu, I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.”

T˘aul Ielelor: the Deadwash. This was the place where Costi had drowned. Our mother had warned us about it, over and over: we should never go there, for to do so was to risk harm at the hands of the vengeful fairy folk who had robbed us of our cousin. And yet, since the very first time the portal had opened for us, the realm that lay beyond had shown us warmth and kindness, open arms, and welcoming smiles. I was still cautious; I did not have it in me to trust unconditionally. All the same, it was impossible to believe that the person who had drowned our cousin was one of those greeting us on our nocturnal journeys.

The folk of the Other Kingdom had their own name for this expanse of shining water—at Full Moon, they called it the Bright Between. The lake waters spanned the distance between their world and ours. Once we set foot in their boats, we were caught in the magic of their realm.

Time and distance were not what they seemed in the Other Kingdom. It was a long walk from Piscul Dracului to the Deadwash in our world—an expedition. Gogu and I had made that forbidden trip often, for the lake drew us despite ourselves. At Full Moon, the walk to T˘aul Ielelor was far shorter. At Full Moon, everything was different, everything was upside down 12

and back to front. Doors opened that were closed on other days, and those whom the human world feared became friends.

The Bright Between was a gateway: not a threat, but a promise.

It was all too easy to lose track of time in the Other Kingdom—to forget where you were and where you had come from. This might be the familiar forest, the same one in which Petru farmed our smallholding, and Uncle Nicolae harvested pines to sell for timber, and Cousin Cezar went out hunting in autumn. It was the same and not the same. When we crossed the Bright Between, we entered a realm that existed at the same time and place as ours, with the same trees and hillsides and rocks. But it was not open to humankind, except for those lucky few who found a portal and its key. And the folk who lived there lived by their own laws, laws not at all like those of the human world. Any aged man or woman with stories to tell knew that.

There were tales about men who’d gone through a portal and spent a night among the forest folk, and when they’d come back again, a hundred years had passed, and their wives and children were dead and buried. There were stories about people who had visited the fairy revels and been driven right out of their minds.

When they returned to the human world, all they did was wander around the forest in a daze, until they perished from cold or hunger or thirst. There were still more accounts of folk who had gone into the forest and simply disappeared.

So, although we believed such misfortunes would never be-fall us—for we were constantly assured by the folk of the Other Kingdom that they loved and welcomed us—we had made a set of rules to keep us safe. If anything went wrong, the others 13

were to come to Tati or me immediately: they were to do as we told them, without question. There was no eating or drinking while we were in the Other Kingdom, except sips from the water bottle one of us always brought from home. There was no leaving the glade where the dancing took place, however tempted we might be to wander off down beguiling pathways into the moonlit forest. We must keep an eye on one another, keep one another safe. And when Tati or I said it was time to go home, everyone must go without argument. Those rules had protected us through nine years of Full Moons. They had become second nature.

The boats swept across the Bright Between. As we passed a certain point, the air filled with a sweet, whispering music.

Swarms of small bright creatures that were not quite birds or insects or fairy folk swooped and rose, hovered and dived around us, making a living banner to salute our arrival. Under-water beings swam beside our craft, creatures with large, luminous eyes, long hands, fronded tails, and glowing green-blue skin. Many dwelled in or on T˘aul Ielelor: ragged swimmers resembling weedy plants, their gaze turned always up, up to the surface; the beguiling pale figures of the Iele, from whom the lake got its name, reaching out graceful white arms from bank or islet or overhanging willow. Should an unwary man from our world be passing, they would seek to entice him from his path forever. As we neared the opposite shore, an assortment of tiny folk rowed out from the miniature islands to join us, in a bobbing flotilla of boats made from nutshells and dried leaves and the discarded carapaces of beetles. We reached the far shore, and my escort—who was three feet high and almost as wide, 14

with a scarlet beard down to his boot tops—handed me out. He made a low bow.

“Thank you,” I said as the gargoyle made a flying leap from my shoulder, then scampered off into the undergrowth.

“Delighted to be of service, Mistress Jenica. I’ll expect you to return the favor, mind.”

“You shall have the first dance, of course, Master Anatolie,”

I told him.

The dwarf grinned, revealing a set of jeweled studs in his front teeth. “I’ll match you step for step, young lady. You’ll find me a more satisfactory partner than that slippery green friend of yours. He’s shaking like a jelly—wouldn’t know a jig if it jumped up and bit him.”

Gogu stopped shivering instantly. I could feel bunched-up irritation in every part of him.

“You’ve upset him,” I said. “Frogs have feelings, too, you know.”

The dwarf bowed again. “No offense,” he said, his eyes on Gogu. “It should be an interesting night. We’ve got visitors.

Night People from the forests of the east.”

A bolt of horror shot through me and I stopped walking.

Ahead of us, my sisters and their assorted escorts were disappearing along the broad, leaf-carpeted track that led away under tall trees, following the sweet call of a flute. The branches were festooned with colored lights shaped like birds and beetles and flowers. “Night People?” I echoed, and heard the tremor in my voice. Fragments of dark stories crept into my mind: tales of blood and violence, of evil deeds and terrible retribution.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Anatolie offhand.

“Yes, it is!” I protested. “Florica, who works for us, says they come at night and bite people in their beds. She says the only thing they drink is human blood.” My sisters were too far ahead to be called back.

“This would be the same Florica who said all dwarves were liars and thieves?” Anatolie asked, feet planted apart and hands on hips. His cloak was ankle length and lined with what appeared to be bear skin.

“Well, yes,” I said.

“The same Florica who told you not to go too close to the Deadwash or you’d be scooped up in the magic fishing net of Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood?”

“Yes, but . . . but Night People, everyone says—” I stopped myself. Anatolie was right. If I had never met one, it was unfair to judge on the basis of stories.

“You and your sisters are quite safe here,” the dwarf said as we started walking again. “Hasn’t the forest queen herself allowed you to visit her revels these nine years of Full Moons?

Believe me, if her protection did not stretch out over the five of you, you would not be here now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” I said, wondering whether he meant we would have met the same fate as the foolish folk in the stories: dead, mad, or vanished.

“The Night People will not touch you while Ileana is queen of the wildwood,” Anatolie said. “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I was full of doubt. I could not remember hearing a single good thing about the Night People, and I had no wish to meet even one of them. They’d never been 16

to Dancing Glade before; at least, not when we were there. I thought about garlic, and silver crosses, and everything else folk used to keep such dangerous forces at bay. I hadn’t brought a thing to protect myself or my sisters.

When we reached the glade, the festivities were in full swing. A circle of autumn-clad trees sheltered the grassy sward, their branches hung with still more lanterns. These cast a warm light over the brightly clad revelers, whose gowns and masks, robes and jewels filled the open space with a swirling mass of color. Above them, creatures performed aerial dances of their own, some borne on delicate, diaphanous wings, some on leathery, creaking membranes. Some of the guests were tall enough to bump their heads on the lanterns; some were so tiny, one had to take care not to step on them. I saw my gargoyle perched on the branch of a holly bush, waving its paws in time with the music and beaming beatifically.

The musicians sat on a raised platform at the far end, under the biggest oak. The instruments were the same as the ones in the village band—flute, drum, goat-pipes, fiddle—and yet they were not quite the same. Each possessed a strangeness that set it apart. What ordinary drum cries out poetry when beaten?

What flute plays three tunes at once, each blending perfectly with the others? As for the goat-pipes, they had something of the voice of the creature whose skin had provided their air bag, plaintive and piercing. The fiddle soared like a lark.

The sound of this band was intoxicating to the ears, the kind of felicitous blend a village musician aspires to and may achieve once in a lifetime. It made feet move faster, pulses race, 17

faces flush. It set hearts thumping and coaxed smiles from the most somber mouths. It was a music we would keep on hearing in our dreams, days after Full Moon was over and we were gone from the Other Kingdom.

Iulia was already out there, dark hair flying, her face wreathed in smiles. Tati danced more sedately, her hand in that of tall Grigori, an imposing figure with long, twisted dark hair.

It was said he was a kinsman of Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood.

Paula was not dancing, but had gone straight to her usual group of friends, a clutch of witches, astronomers, and soothsayers clad in long, raggedy robes and swathing, vaporous cloaks. All wore hats—I saw tall pointed structures decorated with stars, and scholarly felt caps, and here and there a mysterious shadowy hood. They were gathered around a table under the trees, deep in debate as always, their arguments fueled by a continuous supply of ¸ tuic˘a. Paula was seated among them, waving her hands about as she expounded some theory.

Stela was with the smallest folk, down near the musicians.

There was a double ring of them, weaving in and out and around about in a dance of their own. Some had wings, some horns, some feathers, and some shining, jewel-bright scales.

They were chattering like a mob of little birds as they pranced to and fro, and still managing to get every step perfect. We’d all started here; as we grew older, we had been welcomed by different folk, collected by different ferrymen, and permitted to mix more widely. Dancing Glade had its own set of rules.

“Hello, Jena!” my little sister called, waving wildly. Then she plunged back into the circle.

The pattern of the night was always the same. The revels 18

would begin with chain dances, circle dances, devised so everyone could join in, the big and small, the clumsy and dainty, side by side. We sisters had been part of this since the first time we came across to the Other Kingdom, when kindly folk of all shapes used to take our small hands and guide us through the steps. We needed no guidance now, for we were skilled in all the dances. The first was always done with our boatmen by our sides—it was their privilege to lead us onto the sward. At some point in the evening the queen of the forest would hold formal court; this was the opportunity for newcomers to be greeted, petitions made, questions asked. Later on, the music would change, and with it the mood of the crowd. That was the time for couples to dance slow measures in each other’s arms, floating in their own small worlds. By then my youngest sisters would be getting tired, and we would all sit under the trees and watch until it was time for the last dance—a grand gathering of the entire crowd, in celebration of Full Moon. Then we would pass across the Bright Between once more, and go home to another month of hard work and dreaming.

The music was making my feet move even before I trod on the sward. I took the dwarf ’s hand and we threw ourselves into a jig. The drumbeat made my heart race; the goat-pipes seemed to speak to something deep inside me, saying, Faster, faster! You’re alive! Anatolie gripped my hand tightly as we ran and jumped, as we turned, and swayed, and pointed our toes. Gogu had retreated to the pocket, where he was safe from falling and being trampled by the multitude of stamping, hopping, kicking feet.

When the dance was over, I fished him out and set him on my shoulder once more.

“All right?” I whispered.

If you could call being shaken about like a feather duster “all right,”

I suppose so.

I was looking around the glade as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “Where are the Night People?” I asked Anatolie.

“They will come. Wait until the moon moves higher; wait until you see her between the branches of the tallest oaks. Then you’ll catch a glimpse of them, around the edges.”

“Don’t they dance?”

Anatolie grinned. “I’ll bet you a silver piece to a lump of coal that you can’t get one of them to step up and partner you,”

he said. “They stick to their own kind, those black-cloaked streaks of melancholy. They don’t come to enjoy themselves, but to observe—to take stock.”

Out of long habit, because I was the sensible sister, I checked on the others, one by one, to make sure they were safe.

Over at the far side of the sward I saw Stela, now playing a chasing game with her bevy of small companions. Those that could fly had a distinct advantage. Iulia was with a circle of young forest men and women. When I had first seen such folk, I had thought of them as fairies—though they were far taller and more elegant than the tiny figures of my childhood imagination—

with their garments constructed of leaves and cobwebs, vines, bark, and feathers, and their features unsettlingly not quite human. There was no sign of Paula, but she would still be at the scholars’ table.

There was a ripple of movement. A fanfare rang out and the crowd parted before an imposing figure clad in a gown that 20

seemed fashioned of iridescent gossamer. It was Ileana, the hostess of these celebrations and queen of the forest people, sweeping across Dancing Glade. Folk said every bird of the wildwood had given one feather to make up her crown, which rose from her head in an exuberant crest. Her golden-haired consort, Marin, was a step behind her. This grand entrance was a feature of every Full Moon’s revels. Walking behind the queen and her partner tonight was a group of folk I had never seen before.

“That’s them,” Anatolie hissed. “Sour-faced individuals, aren’t they?”

I did not think the Night People were sour-faced, just rather sad-looking. They were extremely pale, their skin almost waxen in appearance, their eyes deep set, dark, and intense. All were clad in jet-black. The pair who led them was especially striking. The woman’s lips were narrow and bright crimson in color, whether by nature or artifice I could not tell. Her finger-nails had been dyed to match. Both she and the man had bony, aristocratic features: well-defined cheeks and jaws; jutting, arrogant noses; and dark, winged brows. They made a handsome couple—he in billowing shirt, tight trousers, and high boots, she in a formfitting gown whose plunging neckline left little to the imagination.

I spotted Tati, standing in the crowd close by Ileana, her dark hair shining under the colored lights of the glade. The forest queen beckoned; my sister stepped forward and dropped into a low, graceful curtsy. A moment later Tati was being introduced to the new arrivals. I felt a sudden chill. If Ileana singled out anyone for this kind of attention, it was not the little human 21

girls from Piscul Dracului but the most formidable of her own folk, such as the tall Grigori or the most powerful of the soothsayers. I saw the black-booted stranger lift Tati’s hand and kiss it in a cool gesture of greeting. Then the Night People seemed to drift away into the shadows under the trees.

Ileana and Marin were not the real power in the Other Kingdom. They presided over the revels and sorted out minor disputes between the forest folk. They made sure the daily life of the wildwood went on in its usual pattern. The folk of the Other Kingdom were often less than forthcoming when questioned about their realm and its rules, but Paula had picked up a great deal at the scholars’ table. We knew that the one who was the heart of it all—the one who held the ancient secrets and wove the powerful magic—was Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood. Dr˘agu¸ta had been in the forest since before the castle of Piscul Dracului sprang to life in the imagination of the eccentric voivode who built it. She had dwelt in the depths of the woods since these great oaks were mere sprouting acorns. Dr˘agu¸ta did not come to Full Moon dancing. She stayed in her lair, somewhere out in the wildest and least accessible part of the woods.

If folk needed to ask her something, they had to go and find her, for she wouldn’t come to them.

Once, I had questioned whether Dr˘agu¸ta really existed at all. Only once. A chorus of horrified gasps and hisses had greeted my doubt— “Don’t say that!” “Shh!”— as if the witch were everywhere, watching and listening. Dr˘agu¸ta was real, all right, and folk’s fear of her was real fear. In our world, Florica spoke her name in a trembling whisper, and Petru crossed himself 22

every time he heard it. For every boy or girl from our valley who had perished in the forest or drowned in the lake, there was a story about Dr˘agu¸ta and her minions, about hands coming up out of the water to drag the hapless under. For every crucifix the villagers had erected on the outskirts of the Piscul Dracului forest to keep evil spirits at bay, there was a tale about someone who had ventured too far and walked into the witch’s net. Perhaps it was not surprising that our castle had stood empty for so long.

The forest queen had finished introducing folk to her black-clad guests. Calling for the music to start up again, she moved out onto the sward with her hand in Marin’s. I danced with Grigori, whose alarming appearance tended to mask the fact that he was a model of courtesy. I danced with a forest man who had ivy twists for hair, and another clad all in cobwebs.

The music wove its way into my blood and made my feet agile and my limbs supple. My head was full of colors and lights: I smiled at nothing in particular and felt that I was beautiful.

Only when the earlier dances came to an end and folk stood about the edges of the sward while the band had a rest did I remember that Father was leaving in the morning. Once my mind escaped the lure of the dancing, once my body stopped bending and turning and swaying to the music’s enchantment, I found that I was thinking only of the long winter ahead, and how we would cope without him.

Something of my worry must have shown on my face.

Grigori came over to ask what was troubling me. Anatolie offered the opinion that I must be unwell. Gogu showed his own 23

awareness of my unease, snuggling up to my neck, under my hair.

It’s all right, Jena. I’m here. It helped that he was close, for I felt suddenly cold and, surrounded as I was by folk making merry, curiously alone.

While we waited for the band to commence the slower, more beguiling music that signaled the start of the couple dances, platters of delicacies appeared: tiny, gaudily hued cakes; creatures fashioned of spun sugar; strange vegetables carved into castles and trees and giants; and mounds of gleaming fruits that in the real world would not appear until next summer. Flasks of ¸ tuica˘ and elderberry wine made the rounds.

Little glittering goblets were borne on trays that floated conveniently at waist height.

There was no need to keep watch over my sisters. Tati and I had drummed our rules into the younger ones time after time over the years, and they abided by them without question, even when the music had them in its thrall. The rules helped us remember who we were and where we belonged. Dancing Glade was our sanctuary, our joy, our bright adventure. But we did not belong in the Other Kingdom. We were here as guests, through luck, not entitlement. Besides, as Tati had once pointed out, if you had a party every day, parties would soon become a lot less exciting. We were mortal girls, and every one of us would want a mortal life. For most of us that would mean a husband and children.

I frowned, remembering what Father had told us. To be pushed into marrying early in order to provide an heir for Piscul Dracului would be horrible. It would mean not being able to choose properly. It could mean spending the rest of your life 24

with someone you hated. Our father had married for love; he had made his choice with no regard for what folk expected. I did not think we would have that luxury, not until one of us had produced the required son. I shivered as I gazed out over Dancing Glade. We had been lucky so far. We had had the best of both worlds. I hoped it wasn’t time for our luck to change.

The music struck up again, and the folk of the Other Kingdom began, languidly, to form couples and move out onto the sward. Gogu nudged me with his cold nose and I felt my skin prickle.

Look. Over there, under the oaks.

I looked over to the spot where the Night People had retreated into the shade of the trees some time before. I did not see the dashing, black-booted man or his crimson-lipped partner. But there was somebody else there. His eyes were as dark and deep as theirs. His face was as pale—though this was an ashen pallor, white rather than waxy—but the somber lips were more generous in shape. He was young, perhaps our cousin Cezar’s age. He wore a black coat—high-collared, long-sleeved, and buttoned in front, sweeping down to his ankles. What struck me was his intense stillness. He hardly seemed to blink, he barely seemed to breathe, and yet the eyes were intent, keenly focused as he stared out into the moving throng. I followed his gaze, and there was Tati, moving across the sward to join the dancers.

Now that my sister had turned sixteen, it seemed that Ileana had granted her permission to participate in these far more grown-up dances. Tati was hand in hand with a big, 25

blunt-faced figure: the troll, Sten. Her cheeks were flushed with delicate rose. Her hair, stirred by the dancing, spilled over her shoulders like a dark silken cloak. Her gown was modest in design, yet under the lights of Dancing Glade, its plain cut emphasized her perfect figure. Many eyes were on her.

But these eyes were different. The person in the black coat was looking at my sister as if he were starving. He didn’t need to move a muscle for me to read the hunger on his face, and it chilled me.

As I watched my sister dancing—first with Sten, then with Grigori, then with a young man clad in what looked like butterfly wings—my unease grew stronger. I made a decision.

We would need to be up soon after dawn to see Father off. We must bid him farewell with looks of cheerful confidence on our faces. That would be impossible if we were exhausted from a night with no sleep.

“Gogu,” I murmured, “we’re going home early.”

He shifted on my shoulder, bunching up his body. I’m ready to go. Don’t worry, Jena. We’ll look after things, you and I.

I gathered up my sisters and we made our formal farewells to Ileana and Marin, thanking them for their hospitality. I cast an eye around, seeking the Night People, but could see none of them, only a group of solemn-looking owls, perched on a branch of the nearest oak.

Ileana said, “Our guests were impressed. Human girls are not bold enough to visit such revels in their part of the world.

They asked for your names and commented on your beauty.” Her gaze wandered over all five of us as she spoke, which was unusually polite of her. Almost certainly the compliment referred 26

to Tati, or possibly Iulia. Stela was too young to be called a beauty. As for Paula and me—whichever fairies had offered blessings over our cradles, they had clearly valued brains before looks. We were, in a word, ordinary.

We made our way back to the boats, accompanied by a bevy of folk jostling to hold our lanterns for us. But only the designated boatmen took us across the water, through the mist, back to our own world. In my hands Gogu trembled with terror, and I soothed him with gentle fingers. As my feet touched the home shore, I felt the surge of relief that always filled me at this point. We’re back again. I’ve kept them all safe.

Then it was along the Gallery of Beasts—the gargoyle’s scuttering feet could be heard behind us until he reached his own archway—and up the long, long, winding staircase to the portal.

No shadow play here, just a simple laying of hands on the stone wall. I was last. As my fingers touched the rough surface, the portal swung open, admitting us to the warmth of our bedchamber.

The younger ones were asleep the moment they laid their heads on the pillow. Tati gathered up the gowns they had shed and laid them over the oak chest, while I helped Iulia take the pins out of her hair. By the time I had scrambled wearily into my night robe, she was no more than a gently breathing form under her mounded quilt.

“Jena?” Tati’s voice was quiet as she sat up in bed, brushing out her dark locks.

“Mmm?” I was filling Gogu’s water bowl from the jug, making sure he would be comfortable for what remained of the 27

night. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.

“Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”

“Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.

Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.

“One of them, ” I said, my eyelids drooping with tiredness.

“Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow.

They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”

“Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”

There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep.

Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and . . . interesting.”

“If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”

But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of his 28

bath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen. I’m here. Your friend is here. I was still awake when the sun pierced the horizon, somewhere beyond the forest, and down in the kitchen Florica began clattering pots and pans in preparation for breakfast.

Chapter Two

We stood in the courtyard. Two horses were saddled and bridled—ready for the ride down to Bra¸sov, where Father would transfer to a cart. Gabriel was traveling with him and would stay by his side through the winter, to watch over him.

With our man of all work, Dorin, away at his sister’s wedding celebrations in ¸Tara Româneasc˘a and not due back for some time, Piscul Dracului would be a house of women, save for the stalwart Petru.

Uncle Nicolae and his son, Cezar, had come down from Vârful cu Negur˘a to see Father off. Both wore sheepskin caps, heavy wool-lined gloves, and long fur-trimmed cloaks over their working clothes. Uncle Nicolae was smiling, his bearded face radiating genial confidence. Maybe he was putting it on for Father’s benefit, but I found it reassuring. Uncle Nicolae had always been kind to us girls, ready with jokes and compli-ments, his pockets housing small treats that could be produced 30

anytime one of us was upset or overtaken by shyness. Now that Tati and I were young ladies, he addressed us by our full names, with affectionate courtesy.

“Tatiana, Jenica, you know our home is always open to you and your sisters. Please come to me or Bogdana, or to Cezar, if anything at all is troubling you. We want to help in any way we can.”

“I’ll be overseeing your part of the business, Uncle Teodor,”

said Cezar to our father, who had gone suddenly quiet now that his departure was imminent. At eighteen, Cezar was as tall as his father and a great deal broader, with a short, well-kept dark beard and forceful eyebrows. Our cousin was not a particularly easy person to like, and growing from a boy into a man did not seem to have improved him. I had tried to be a friend to him, thinking I owed him that. When we were little, he had saved my life.

“Of course, I will supervise Cezar’s work closely,” put in Uncle Nicolae, seeing Father’s expression of doubt. “This will be good experience for him.”

“I’ll be looking after the accounts,” I reminded them. “I don’t need any help with that, it’s all in order. In fact, I can handle everything at this end.”

“It’s a lot of work for a girl—” Cezar began.

“I wish to speak with each of my daughters on her own for a moment,” Father said quietly. “You first, Jena. Nicolae?”

Uncle Nicolae gave a nod and drew Cezar aside. My sisters were standing on the steps before the main entry to the castle, with Florica and Petru behind them. Though the girls looked 31

half-asleep, I could see that every one of them was struggling not to cry. A chill wind blew down from the forest: a messenger of winter. Under the tall pines, all was quiet.

“Now, Jena,” Father said, out of the others’ hearing, “I suppose in a way Cezar is right—this is a great deal of responsibility, and you are only fifteen. Are you quite sure you understand what I explained to you about the funds, and about dealing with that shipment from Salem bin Afazi when it comes? I’ve left sufficient silver for your domestic expenses until well into spring, but if anything untoward should happen—”

“Please don’t worry about us, Father,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. Within his layers of winter clothing, he looked pale and wretched. “I’ve remembered about keeping business money separate from household, and I know the record-keeping part of things backward. The girls will help with the shipment and Ivan can bring some men up from the village if we need any heavy lifting.” Ivan, grandson of Florica and Petru, had his own smallholding not far away. “We’ll be fine.”

“Tati doesn’t have the same head for business that you do, Jena. Let her be a mother to the younger ones—she’s always done that job well, ever since I lost Bianca. And so have you, of course. You are good daughters.” We knew that Father would never marry again; his love for Mother was in his voice every time he spoke her name.

“Thank you, Father.” Curse it, I wasn’t going to cry. I was going to be strong, to set an example.

“Perhaps you’d be wise to curtail your trips into the forest over the winter.” Father’s tone was mild. He was not the kind of man who forbade things. The most he did was offer gentle 32

suggestions. “I know you and that frog love your adventures, but now you are a little older, you should perhaps observe other folk’s rules awhile, at least until I’m home again. In this community my method of bringing up my daughters is considered eccentric. They already believe I allow you too much responsibility. Best not give them any more fuel for comment while I’m gone; I’d hate for you to be hurt by foolish tongues.

Your aunt Bogdana is a sound source of advice on matters of propriety.”

“I’ll try, Father.” He knew, and I knew, that I was no more capable of staying out of the forest than I was of holding back my opinions when I thought I was right.

You can’t mean that. What about our picnics? What about pondweed pancakes?

“Shh,” I whispered to the frog, and then it was time to say goodbye. I managed to kiss Father on both cheeks without letting my tears spill. Then I stepped back to allow each of my sisters her moment of farewell. I stroked Gogu’s cool, damp skin with a finger as I lifted him from my shoulder to slip him into my pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cezar watching me. “It’s nearly winter,” I murmured. “Too cold for picnics.”

After we’d watched Father and Gabriel ride away, I think all five of us wanted to go back to bed and catch up on lost sleep—or just sit quietly, considering how life could change overnight, and how hard it could be to deal with. But Uncle Nicolae and Cezar had made the effort to ride through the forest to bid Father farewell, so we had to invite them in for refreshments. We used the kitchen, which was big, warm, and 33

welcoming, if informal. The floor was tiled in red and the walls were bright with woolen hangings of our housekeeper’s own weaving, showing patterns of stripes and trees and little flowers in rows. The fire in the stove was glowing, for Florica had already made two batches of pastries this morning. I loved this room, with its savory scents and its vivid colors. Piscul Dracului was a huge, drafty labyrinth of crooked stairs and oddly shaped chambers, perilous parapets and echoing galleries. I loved that, too—its strangeness, its surprises—but Florica’s kitchen was the true heart of the place. As a child I had felt safe here. While Florica had never quite been a mother to us, she had done a good job over the years as confidante and friend. Generously built, with gray hair worn in a neat bun, our housekeeper treated us with a mixture of the respect due from servant to young mistresses and the benign discipline of a mother cat bringing up a brood of unruly kittens.

Our guests sat down at the big table, whose wood was gleaming white from Florica’s daily scrubbing. Petru had escaped, muttering something about sheep. Like many of the valley men, he never had much to say in company.

“Shall I take the last batch of pastries out of the oven, Florica?” asked Tati, stifling a yawn. At Florica’s nod, she lifted the tray out of the blue-tiled stove, her hands protected by a thick padded cloth, her cheeks flushed from the heat. She was wearing her dark hair in braids pinned up on top of her head, and even in her working gown and apron she looked lovely. The pastries smelled nutty and wholesome. Gogu stuck his nose out of the pocket again, sniffing.

“You look well prepared for winter, Florica,” commented 34

Uncle Nicolae. There were strings of garlic in their dozens hanging from the rafters, along with bunches of herbs and gar-lands of little onions; the Night People would not be visiting Piscul Dracului this season if Florica could help it. “We’ve a good supply of cheeses and salted meats set aside this year. You girls must let us know if you run short of supplies for the table.”

Both houses had storage caves in which such foodstuffs could be kept for months in cold weather: it was one advantage of living in the mountains, where winter gripped long and hard.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Tati said. “Would you care for a pastry? Cezar?”

“Jena,” said Florica, “that frog’s eating my best plum preserve.”

Gogu had escaped the pocket and was approaching the nearest jam dish in very small hops, as if he thought this would go unnoticed. I picked him up as unobtrusively as I could and stuffed him back in the pocket.

“You still have the frog,” commented Cezar, frowning.

I could see he was about to launch into one of his speeches about how unsuitable a frog was as a young lady’s pet: an argument I had no answer for, because I could not explain exactly what Gogu was, only that pet was a woefully inadequate description for my dearest friend and advisor. It seemed a good time to change the subject.

“Where’s Paula?” I asked. The others were all here. Stela had retreated to the warm nook by the stove and looked more asleep than awake.

“Writing,” Tati said. “She has some work to do for Father Sandu. She went straight back upstairs as soon as Father left.

Iulia, will you go and fetch her, please?”

Our coffee glasses were of Venetian make, and very fine; I had seen both Uncle Nicolae and Cezar looking them over with the appreciation of born merchants. They were a set of eight, each glass a different color, with holders of silver wirework wrought in an exquisite pattern of stems and butterflies. As for the coffee itself, it was Turkish. The Turks were overlords of Transylvania, and not everyone viewed them kindly, for their presence among us had been attended by conflict, though the princes they set up to rule us were no better or worse than others in the past. Father had said Turkish culture was full of re-finements, and that the Turks made excellent trading partners, as long as one knew the right way to talk to them. We had seen the lovely items he brought back after he bartered with their merchants: silk carpets from Persia, which seemed alive with intricate patterns of scrolls and flowers; musical instruments of flawless finish; and cunning boxes with hinged lids and hidden compartments, decorated with brass inlay. We did not take coffee very often—Father was of the opinion that one could have too much of a good thing. It had seemed to all of us that this morning’s farewell more than justified a treat.

Gogu wasn’t really supposed to have coffee; it made him jumpy. All the same, Iulia had put a little green saucer by my glass. I began to pour the thick, dark brew from the coffeepot into the glasses, hoping I was not so tired I would spill it on someone’s lap. Tears pricked behind my eyes. I’d have given up a lifetime of treats to have Father back here now, well and happy, sitting at the table telling a story of some faraway, exotic place he’d visited and the intriguing folk he’d encountered there. I’d have given up coffee and pastries in a flash to see his smile.

As soon as the others returned and sat down, Cezar began an inquisition. “I understand you’ve been busy writing, Paula.”

His tone was bland. “Letters?”

“I’ve been preparing for a lesson.” Paula delighted in talking about her studies. “It’s about historical invasions of the Transylvanian plateau.”

“Go on,” said Cezar.

While my cousin’s attention was on Paula, I poured some of my coffee into the saucer.

“You know the name Transylvania means the land beyond the forest in Latin,” Paula told Cezar, sipping her coffee. She always seemed able to drink it piping hot. “The wildwood has played a major part in saving the folk of this area over the centuries, did you know that? Down in the lower regions, the settlements were overcome and ransacked by one conquering force after another. Up here on the plateau, folk just vanished into the woods when they heard the invaders coming. The marauding armies simply couldn’t find them.”

“Interesting,” said Cezar with an edge in his voice. I tried to warn Paula with my eyes, but she was addressing herself earnestly to our cousin.

“Folk are afraid of the wildwood, of course,” Paula went on. “There are so many strange stories about it. But it seems to me the forest shelters and protects people. Ow! Jena, you kicked me!”

I caught her eye and she fell silent. It was a long time since Costi’s death. All the same, this topic was not a good one to raise with Cezar, nor with his father. For all that, Uncle Nicolae seemed quite unperturbed; he was starting on a second pastry.

“This land’s seen cruel times,” said Florica. “My grand-mother had tales that would turn your hair white.”

“Shelters and protects.” Cezar’s hands clenched themselves into fists on the table, and the bright chamber seemed suddenly full of shadows. “Hardly! Ensorcells and destroys, more likely. You can’t have forgotten what happened to Costin, Paula.” His use of his brother’s full name indicated how upset he was. “Jena herself nearly drowned that day. This valley has a hundred other tales that echo our own—a hundred other children lost, a hundred other travelers wandered into the forest around Piscul Dracului, never to be seen again. The very names of creatures that dwell in the wildwood put a shiver down a man’s spine: lycanthropes, goblins, witches, and Night People.”

Gogu had drained the saucer and now crouched by it, trembling. I don’t trust him, Jena. He makes me edgy.

“That’s just the coffee,” I muttered.

“What was that?” Cezar gave me a sharp look.

“Nothing.”

“To call the wildwood a sanctuary is almost . . . sacrile-gious,” Cezar continued. “Everyone knows the forests in these parts are places of extreme peril, full of otherworldly presences. Florica would agree with me, I’m certain.”

“Folk do say it’s unsafe, Master Cezar,” said Florica. “On the other hand, maybe it’s more a matter of how you look at things. Of getting back what you give. It’s always seemed to me that if you offer respect, you get respect in return, even when you’re dealing with those beings you mentioned.”

“There’s a certain wisdom in that,” said Uncle Nicolae.

“And it sounds as if Paula knows her history.”

“I must disagree with you, Father.” Cezar’s jaw was set, his eyes cold. It was a look familiar to me, one I did not like at all.

Once he was in this mood, there was no cajoling him out of it.

“Where did your sister learn these theories, Tatiana?”

Tati blinked at him in surprise, a piece of pastry halfway to her lips.

“I can speak for myself,” Paula said, her tone level, although her arms were folded belligerently across her chest. “Father Sandu and I have discussed this at some length. As he is a priest of the Orthodox faith, you can hardly claim his lessons to be contrary to the teachings of the Church. It’s true about people taking refuge in the forest. There are documents—”

“If you girls will excuse me,” said Uncle Nicolae with a smile, rising to his feet, “I’ll just go out and have a word with Petru before we leave. Cezar, don’t be long. We’ve work to attend to at home.”

If he’d hoped to calm an approaching storm, he was unsuccessful. As soon as he had left the kitchen, Cezar started again.

“This should be brought to an end right now,” he said, looking as grave as a judge. “Before any more damage is done.”

“What do you mean?” Tati stared at him.

“This teaching, these visits by the priest. History, philosophy, Greek . . . Most men get by well enough without that kind of knowledge, and a woman can have no hope of understanding it. It’s putting dangerous ideas in Paula’s head. In my opinion, Uncle Teodor showed a lamentable lack of judgment in ever allowing it.”

There was a silence. Paula went very red in the face, and the rest of us stared at Cezar, appalled. Tati recovered first.

“Father entrusted the welfare of our younger sisters to Jena and me, Cezar,” she said calmly. “This is hardly a time to begin questioning his judgment—he’s only just ridden out of the courtyard. And I might point out that you’re not so very much older than I am. It’s not for you to pronounce on such matters.”

“Besides,” I put in, “there is a purpose to Paula’s education, and to mine. Since we have no brothers, Father’s going to need us to help with the business as we get older. Paula’s languages will be an asset. History helps people avoid making the same mistakes over and over. Geography allows a merchant to find new markets before anyone else does.”

“I see.” Cezar’s tone was chilly. “So your father sees no ill in Paula’s view that witches and lycanthropes and bloodsucking Night People are friendly creatures who want only to help us?

How would you feel if little Stela here went out into that benevolent forest one day and was torn to pieces by some monstrous beast? What if she fell foul of Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood? What price knowledge then?”

I pictured my smallest sister in her pink gown, dancing under the trees of Ileana’s Glade with her happy group of assorted friends, her rosy face wreathed in smiles. I thought about the Night People. Cezar was both right and wrong. A person couldn’t understand the Other Kingdom if he’d never been there—if he’d never experienced how beautiful it was, how magical and precious. Yes, it was dangerous as well, but dealing with that was a matter of putting Florica’s wisdom into practice: to give respect and get respect in return, and at the same time to be always watchful. Our cousin was not alone 40

among the folk of the valley in his attitudes. There were those who believed the Other Kingdom to be a devilish place, full of presences out to destroy humankind. The margin of the wildwood was hedged about with crucifixes; the trees on its rim were thick with protective amulets.

“Cezar,” I said, working hard to keep my voice calm, “if you think you must challenge Father’s opinion on this matter, please do us the courtesy of waiting until he returns from Constan¸ta, then speak to him personally.” I made myself smile at him, ignoring the anger in his eyes. He gave a stiff nod. Then he took my hand and raised it to his lips, startling me so much I sat frozen and let him do it. Iulia exploded into a fit of nervous giggles.

Gogu made a wild leap, aiming for my shoulder and over-shooting by at least an arm’s length. He landed heavily on an oak side table, skidded, and thumped into the wall. In an instant I was on my feet and had him cradled between my hands.

I could feel his heart pounding like a miniature drum. His body was possessed by a quivering sense of outrage. There didn’t seem to be anything damaged, save his pride.

“There’s something extremely odd about that creature,” said Cezar, eyeing Gogu suspiciously. “It just serves to underline my argument. A place in which a child can find an oddity like that frog is not a safe place to wander about. It is not the benign realm of your theory, Paula. Ideally, the forest around both Vârful cu Negur˘a and Piscul Dracului should be felled entirely.”

Perhaps he did not hear our indrawn breath of pure horror, for he went boldly on.

“That would keep those presences I mentioned away from our doorsteps, as well as opening up additional land for graz-ing. The shepherds don’t like coming up here, not even onto the pasture areas, and with good reason. The whole of the eastern hillside is wasted as a result. A complete clearance, that’s what I’d like to see. As for the frog, you should get rid of it, Jena.

You’re a young woman now. If you must have a little companion, and I know ladies are fond of such things, a cat or a terrier would be far more suitable. I would be happy to make inquiries for you. That creature is . . . peculiar.”

I could think of nothing to say. I was used to his attitude to Gogu, which had grown stronger as I had become older.

As for the forest and its dwellers, there was a reason why Cezar feared them, a reason that made perfect sense to anyone who had not had the privilege of entering the Other Kingdom.

“Aunt Bogdana likes pastries, doesn’t she?” I said brightly.

“Florica, could you pack up some of these for Cezar to take home? I’ll see him out.”

On the way to find Uncle Nicolae, Cezar paused in the hallway, arms folded, his face half in shadow. “Jena?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“No, Cezar. I may disagree with your ideas, but that doesn’t mean I’m angry. It’s hard to be angry with someone who once saved your life. When you talk about Costi, I can still see it.”

His features tightened, his dark eyes turning bleak. “Me 42

too, Jena. I wish it would fade, but it doesn’t. Ten whole years.

Every night I dream of it. It won’t go away.”

“It was an accident,” I said, the pale waters of the Deadwash filling my mind, with the remembered terror of floating away from the shore—farther and farther away—as a thrilling game turned into a dark reality. “Nobody’s fault. It was terrible, yes. But you need to look forward now.”

“When I’ve destroyed every one of those creatures out there, when I’ve broken their world and stamped on the pieces, then I’ll look forward,” Cezar said. His words set cold fingers around my heart.

“Even if you did all that, it wouldn’t bring Costi back.”

We were going over old ground here. And the more we did so, the less ready he was to change his mind. Ten years was a long time. Wasn’t time supposed to ease grief ? It seemed to me that Cezar had grown sadder and angrier with every year that passed. “Hating people doesn’t mend anything.”

“I must go,” he said abruptly. “Goodbye, Jena.”

“Farewell, Cezar. I’ll see you at church, perhaps.”

T˘aul Ielelor had always been forbidden. Children love forbidden places, especially when they lie deep in a mysterious dark forest, where all kinds of wonderful games can be played, games that last from dawn to dusk and spring to life again next morning. At Full Moon, the lake formed the border where everything began to smell richer and to look brighter, where every sound became honey for the ears. Crossing the Bright Between made our senses come alive in a way we had never 43

known in the human world. But it could not be Full Moon every night. In between, Gogu and I still loved the forest and we still visited the lake, though we stayed a safe distance away from the water.

I hadn’t forgotten the frog’s crestfallen comment about picnics. I decided that instead of catching up on sleep, I would spend the rest of the day on one last expedition before the weather got too cold. In the eyes of the world, maybe I was too old for such adventures, but Gogu and I needed our favorite ritual, and I was feeling sad enough about Father without having my frog upset as well. Besides, does anyone ever get too old for picnics?

It was a long walk in the cold. When we reached our chosen spot—up the hill from the Deadwash, in a sheltered hollow by a stream—I unpacked the bag I had brought. Then I made a little campfire and cooked two pancakes: a tiny one for him, a bigger one for me. I’d had no appetite for Florica’s pastries, but I was hungry now. I draped a garnish of pondweed on top of my creations and called Gogu, keeping my voice low. It was not unknown for certain of the bolder folk of the Other Kingdom to venture out into the human world; they had their own portals. Dwarves might be out and about at any time, and so might Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood (if the rumors about her were true). She could be watching me even now. Cezar was sure it was she who had reached from the water and dragged Costi under on that terrible day when I was five years old. If she could do that, she was capable of anything. And if there was any chance that Dr˘agu¸ta might be close by, I’d be foolish not to be on my guard.

“Come on, Gogu! The pancakes are getting cold!”

Gogu was rummaging about in the leaf mold. Autumn was here, and a thick layer of decaying material lay over all the paths, full of scurrying insects and the eccentric miniature castles of tiny fungi sprouting from the rich soil. He spotted a juicy bug, glanced at me, then shot out his tongue and scooped it up.

We had developed a fine understanding for such moments. I pretended I wasn’t looking, and he pretended he didn’t know I was. A moment later he was by my side, investigating my cookery.

There was no doubt in my mind that Gogu was an Other Kingdom dweller, wandered into our world by chance. His behavior was quite unfroglike, his enthusiasm for human food being only a small part of it. I’d tried to put him back a few times when I was younger, even though I’d desperately wanted to keep him. For three successive Full Moons I’d suggested to him that he stay in Dancing Glade, but when I’d headed for home, there he’d been, on my shoulder as usual. Once I’d tried leaving him in the forest to find his own way back to the Other Kingdom. Only once. I’d walked away while he was dabbling in the stream, tears pouring down my cheeks. After a little he’d come hopping after me. I’d heard his silent voice, its tone full of reproach. You left me behind, Jena. I knew I could never do that to him again.

“Today feels odd, Gogu,” I said as we began to eat. “As if a whole new part of our lives is beginning. I don’t know what it is. It feels bigger than Father going away and us having to do things on our own. Even Cezar was different. He’s never spoken out in front of Uncle Nicolae like that, as if he knew better 45

than his own father and ours. And he looked so angry. He’s always angry these days. I’m starting to wonder if, one day, he might actually go through with his threats. Could he really damage the Other Kingdom? Would hatred give an ordinary man enough power for that?”

Don’t waste your time thinking about him. Eat your pancake.

“That’s where it happened, you know. Just over there, near that little island with the birches growing on it. That’s where Costi drowned.” Picnic forgotten, I gazed down the stream to the shore of the Deadwash—living it again, the awful day neither Cezar nor I had been able to forget, not in ten whole years.

Three children were running through the woods. In front was Costi, his parents’ favorite, at ten years old already a leader, arrogant, impetuous, today set free from lessons for a whole month, and determined to wring every last bit of enjoyment out of it. His face was ablaze with excitement as he led his small expedition to the forbidden place where the special game was to be played. Cezar, a stolid eight-year-old, followed in his brother’s wake, trying to keep up, adoration in his solemn eyes. And running along behind—chest heaving, heart bursting with the thrill of being permitted to share this secret expedition with the big boys—there was I, five-year-old Jena, in danger of tripping over my own feet as I traversed the forest paths at top speed.

The game was called King of the Lake. The boys talked about it a lot, but this was the first time I’d been allowed to play. Tati and I had been staying at Vârful cu Negur˘a while Father was away on a buying trip. Today, Aunt was helping Tati to make a doll.

“We need a princess.” Costi had said this earlier, back at the house. “Or a queen.”

“We never had one before.” Cezar had sounded doubtful.

“I can be a princess.” I’d spoken up with all the confidence I could muster, which wasn’t much. In my eyes, Costi had god-like status: I hardly dared open my mouth in his presence. Cezar was intent on impressing his big brother and had little time for me. But the dazzling opportunity that was within my grasp had made me bold. “Or a queen.”

“You need special clothes,” Cezar had said dismissively.

“Costi’s got a ring. I’ve got a cloak. You can’t play without special clothes.”

“I’ve got a crown.” I had made it the day before, after I heard the boys planning their expedition—just in case. It had taken me all day: laboring with glue and pins, wire and beads, and scraps of braid from Aunt Bogdana’s sewing box. It was the most beautiful crown in the world, all sparkles and silver.

“A crown’s quite good,” Cezar had conceded.

Costi had gazed down at me. He was very tall; it was all too easy to remember that I was only half his age. “Think you can keep up, Your Majesty?” he’d asked me, his mouth twitch-ing at the corners. He’d looked as if he was trying not to smile.

“Of course,” I’d said, summoning a tone of bold assurance and lifting my chin. It had mostly been pretense, but it had worked.

“All right, then.” Costi’s permission had been given casually. Trembling with excitement, I’d fetched the crown and a little patchwork blanket from my bed that would make a color-ful cape for a monarch. And I’d followed my big cousins out into the woods.

Costi was wearing his family ring, a big silver one he’d been given at his christening as the eldest son and future master of Vârful cu Negur˘a. I knew he was only allowed to wear it on special occasions. In between, it was supposed to be locked away. Cezar had a cloak of silky fabric in purple, very grand, with fur around the edges. I wished I could have a turn with it.

Clad in our finery, we reached the shore of T˘aul Ielelor, where willows bowed over the water like mournful, long-haired dryads. Why did the lake gleam so, when the sunlight barely penetrated the canopy of dark firs and tall pines? The surface was dotted with little islands. There was one that had its own soft wildflower carpet—pink, yellow, purple, blue—and on its highest point a miniature birch forest, each tree a little taller than my five-year-old self. Just by looking, I could feel the magic of it. Farther from the shore, mist clung close over the water. I imagined I could see shapes in it: dragons, fairies, monsters. My heart was thumping, and not just from the effort of keeping up with the boys.

Costi and Cezar had been here many times before, and their game had well-established rules. It started with contests of various kinds, in which I had little chance of prevailing. I did my best. Running, climbing, swinging from a rope tied to a tree.

Making a fire. They had a secret hoard of useful things there, hidden in a box tied up with rope. I peered into it, expecting marvels—but it held only a flint and a sharp knife, a folded blanket, and a ball of string. And they had a raft. They had made it themselves last summer and kept it tied up to a willow, half concealed under a clump of ferns at the base. I was deeply 48

impressed that they would dare go out on the Deadwash—even at five, I had heard the stories.

“Last race,” declared Costi, who had already won most of the challenges, being leaner and quicker than his brother, as well as more confident. “Jena, you run as fast as you can, over to that big oak there. We’ll count up to ten, then we’ll come after you. Whichever one of us catches you wins. Ready? One, two, three—go!”

Not having time to think about how unfair this was, I ran.

I did my best, one hand holding my crown in place, the other clutching my makeshift cape. The ground was uneven, pitted with stones and broken by crevices. I ran and ran: the oak seemed to get farther away the harder I tried. Costi was laughing as he came after me, his feet swift and purposeful. Cezar had been left behind. The waters of T˘aul Ielelor flashed by, a bright blur. The dark woods seemed to close in.

All at once I was terrified. I could hear Costi’s breathing, and it was like the panting of some monster about to seize me and rend me limb from limb. The faster I tried to run, the slower my legs seemed to go, as if I were wading through porridge. Tears blinded my eyes. I tripped and fell, striking my cheek on a knobbly tree root—and Costi was there, grabbing me by the arms and shouting triumphantly, “I got her! I won! I get first pick!”

Cezar came up, breathing hard. “Jena’s crying,” he observed.

“Oh,” said Costi, and let go abruptly. “Are you all right, Jena?” He had the grace to look a little contrite.

“Here,” said Cezar, producing a handkerchief from his pocket.

I sat up and blew my nose. “First pick of what?” I asked them.

“What you get to be, in the game,” explained Costi. “King of the Lake, King of the Land, or King of something else.

We’ve never had three before. What do you want to be, Jena?”

“Queen of the Fairies,” I sniffed.

“All right. Here’s what we do next—”

“It’s not so easy.”

The three of us froze in shock. We’d had no idea anyone else was there. But as the voice spoke, we saw an old woman, clad all in black, stooped over in the woods nearby. She was gathering yellow mushrooms into a little basket. Maybe she’d been there all the time; she blended into the dark hues of the undergrowth as if she were just another thing that grew there.

“What do you mean?” asked Costi.

“It’s only a game,” said Cezar.

“Nothing is only a game.” The old woman hobbled toward us, the basket of mushrooms over her arm. “Whatever you play, you must play it properly. There are rules—rules it seems you don’t know.”

“What rules?” asked Costi, frowning.

“Ah,” said the crone, crouching down beside us. She produced a square of cloth from the basket, which she proceeded to lay out flat on the sandy lakeshore. As if drawn by a powerful charm, the three of us crouched, too, waiting. “You can’t claim the title of King without giving something in return. King of the Lake, King of the Land, Queen of the Fairies—such titles 50

are not idly bestowed, nor easily won with foolish demonstra-tions of strength or speed.” She glanced at Costi. I saw his eyes narrow. “You must pay for them.”

“Pay?” asked Cezar. “What with? You mean silver?”

There was a little silence. Then the old woman said, “You must pay with what is most precious to you in all the world.

The thing you love best. Put that on the cloth. Give it up willingly, and the title will be yours to take and to keep. If it were I, I would give these mushrooms, for they will keep starvation from my door for one more day, and what is more precious than life? What will you give?”

We were all impressed. The boys’ faces looked very serious. Costi slipped the chain holding his silver ring over his head and laid it on the cloth. “There,” he said. “I want to be King of the Lake.”

“Are you sure?” the old woman asked him, and the look she gave him was searching.

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure,” Costi said.

I was only five. Yet I knew I must be brave and give up my treasure. I took off my beautiful crown, which I’d made with such labor and such love. “I want to be Queen of the Fairies, please,” I whispered, setting it down beside the ring.

The old woman favored me with a gap-toothed smile. “Are you sure, little girl?” she said with quiet intensity.

Her voice frightened me even more than her beady eyes. Costi had shown no fear; I felt I had to match him. “Yes,” I said.

The old woman’s gaze moved to Cezar. “King of the Land,”

she said thoughtfully. “That’s the only one left.”

Cezar was pale. He looked as if he was about to faint, and 51

he was staring at his brother. He didn’t seem to be able to think what to offer. I was about to suggest that he give up his cloak when the crone said, “Are you sure?”

Something changed in Cezar’s face, and a chill went up my spine. It was as if darkness itself was looking out through those eight-year-old eyes. I dropped my gaze; I could not look at him.

I heard him say, “I’m sure,” in a voice that sounded like someone else’s. Then the crone spoke again.

“It’s done,” she said. “Play your game. Don’t forget, next time: nothing comes without a price.” She picked up her basket, turned her back on us, and shuffled away into the woods.

Costi was on his feet, solemnity forgotten. “I’m King of the Lake!” he shouted. Seizing my hand, he ran down to the water, pulling me behind him. “Come on, Jena! I’ll give you first turn on the raft. I’ll ferry you over to the magic island. The Queen of the Fairies needs her own special realm where she can hold court.”

He was so quick. My heart pounding, I let him guide me onto the precarious craft, constructed of willow poles tied with twists of flax and lengths of fraying rope. It rocked in the water as he stood knee-deep beside it, unfastening the line that moored it to the willow. I teetered and sat down abruptly, swallowing tears of fright. My big cousin had allowed me to play his grown-up game. I wasn’t going to give him the chance to call me a crybaby. Besides, I’d paid for this with my best thing in the world. It must be all right. And I really did want to be on that island, the dear little one with the flowers. If I looked closely enough, I might find real fairies there, tiny ones, hiding inside the blooms. I was a queen now; I must be brave.

“Ready?” asked Costi. Then, without waiting for an answer, he pushed the raft away from the shore. The pole for guiding it lay across the weathered boards by my feet. Probably he had planned to jump on with me, but somehow, the raft went out too quickly. As I grabbed for the pole, it rolled across the boards and into the waters of the Deadwash. Costi was left standing in the shallows, staring after me.

The raft floated out. Eddies and swirls appeared on the surface around it, carrying the pole farther and farther away. I passed the little island with the flowers. I passed another island thick with thornbushes, and a third all mossy rocks. The figures of my cousins got smaller and smaller. I thought I could see dark figures on the islands, hands reaching out to grab me.

The mist seemed to swirl closer, as if to draw me into the mysterious realm beyond. I began to cry. The raft moved on, and I began to scream.

“Hold on, Jena!” Costi shouted. “I’m coming to get you!” He stripped off his shirt and waded into the lake. He was a strong swimmer. On the shore behind him, Cezar stood in shadow.

His face was a white blob, his figure no taller than my little finger. He was utterly still. My screams subsided to hysterical sobs, then to sniffs, as Costi came closer. Around him, I saw the lake waters swirling and bubbling. The raft began to move in circles, making me dizzy, carrying me away from his grasp.

There was nothing to hold on to. I felt another scream welling up in me, and sank my teeth into my lip. Then Costi was there, his hands clutching the edge of the raft, his face even whiter than Cezar’s. His dark hair was streaming water and his teeth were chattering.

I was too scared to speak. The raft began to drift back slowly toward the shore, Costi’s strong legs kicking us forward. We moved past the rocky island and the thorny one.

Costi was struggling to hold on, fighting the current. His eyes had a fierce look in them, like someone in a fight. His fingers were slipping. I put my hands over my face, listening to him gasping for breath. I felt the raft spin around, then tilt up; I heard splashing. Then someone grabbed my arm, pulling me, and I struck out wildly.

“Stop it, Jena, it’s me. You’re safe now.” The voice was Cezar’s. As I opened my eyes, the raft beached itself, and my cousin’s hands dragged me onto dry land. My head was spinning. My nose was running. My heart was beating madly.

I fled. I pelted past Cezar, past the cloth where we had laid our offerings, past the clothing Costi had shed, and into the shelter of the bushes, where I crouched down with my colored blanket over my head and surrendered to hiccuping sobs of fright and relief.

Maybe I wasn’t there long—to a five-year-old, a few minutes can seem an age. I heard Cezar calling my name, but I ignored him. This was the boys’ fault. They had made me play the game, they had made me come to the lake, and now it was all spoiled. And I hadn’t gotten to be Queen of the Fairies, even though I’d given away my lovely crown. Now my cousins would tease me for being afraid and for crying, and they’d never ask me to play with them again.

“Jena! Come out! Jena, please!”

Something in Cezar’s voice made me get up and walk back 54

to the shore. The square of cloth still lay on the sand, but the silver ring and my little crown were gone. I couldn’t see the raft. I couldn’t see Costi.

“Where were you?” Cezar seized me by the arms, hard—

I thought he was going to shake me. “Where did you go? Did you see what happened?”

“Ow, let go!” I protested. “See what? What do you mean?

Where’s Costi?” Then I noticed that, although he was three whole years older than me, my cousin was crying.

Cezar sat me down on the sand and told me what had happened. His nose was running because of the tears, and his eyes were swelling up and going all red. I gave him back his handkerchief. He told me that as the raft was passing the fairy island, Costi had lost his grip. As Cezar had stripped off his own shirt and boots, ready to go to his brother’s aid, hands had reached up from under the water, pulling at Costi’s arms and rocking the raft as if to capsize it. Cezar had swum out to rescue me, grabbing the raft just in time. He’d propelled it, and me, safely to shore. Then he’d gone back in for his brother. But when he returned to the fairy island, the water was calm and clear. And Costi was gone.

“He’s dead.” He said it as if he couldn’t believe it, even though he’d seen it with his own eyes. “Costi’s dead. The witch took him. Dr˘agu¸ta, the witch of the wood. She pulled him under and drowned him.”

I was too little to find words. Perhaps I did not yet quite understand what death was.

“We have to go home.” Cezar’s eyes were odd, shocked and 55

staring. He looked more angry than sad. “We have to tell them.

You’re going to have to help me, Jena.”

I nodded, misery starting to settle over me like a dark blanket. Costi was gone. Costi, who was so alive—the most alive person I knew. Costi, whom everybody loved. Watching the light sparkle on the lake water, I thought I could hear someone laughing.

“Come on, quick,” Cezar said. “We should get our story straight. We’d better practice on the way.”

I remembered that part even now: walking along the forest paths, my small hand in his not much bigger one, and the way he talked me carefully through what had happened—hoping to calm me down, I suppose. Even after ten years, I could still see the expression on Cezar’s face as he gave his account to his father. It was a heavy load for a boy just eight years old. I helped all I could, telling the same version of events as Cezar. What had happened was all jumbled up in my head, so it was good that he had explained it to me so clearly. He did not mention the game, nor did I. We confessed that we had been at the forbidden lake, playing with a raft. We told them about the tricky currents and the hands in the water. Uncle Nicolae and Aunt Bogdana were so distraught at the loss of their beloved firstborn, their shining star, that after a certain point in the story they ceased to listen.

My mother came to take me and my sister home to Piscul Dracului. After that, I did not see Cezar so often. He had become the eldest son. He worked hard at it: learning the business; accompanying Uncle Nicolae to village meetings; getting to know the running of the farm. He finished his education, 56

going away to Bra¸sov for several years and returning unrecog-nizable: a young man. I became shy of him—so tall, so big, so alarmingly solemn. So full of ideas and theories that clashed utterly with mine. All the same, I owed Cezar my life, and I had never forgotten that.

“The problem is,” I said now to Gogu, who was sitting on a leaf, practicing being invisible, “that Cezar is so difficult to be a friend to. If I could get closer to him, maybe I could persuade him to give up his talk of vengeance. But he thinks girls are an inferior breed, not suited to anything except cooking and cleaning. This winter I plan to prove him wrong on that count, at least. I’ll look after Father’s affairs so well that neither he nor Uncle Nicolae will need to do a thing.”

What’s that old saying: Pride comes before a fall?

“Don’t say that, Gogu! I thought you, at least, had faith in me.”

I do, Jena. Complete faith. Be careful, that’s all. Everything’s changing.

You said as much yourself. Change can be frightening.

“That’s why I’m glad I’ve got you,” I said. “You keep me sane, Gogu. You stop me from making stupid mistakes. Cezar had better not make any more suggestions about terriers. I simply couldn’t do without you.”

Nor I without you, Jena. We are a pair, you and I. It’s getting cold. . . .

Winter’s close. Can I ride home on your shoulder?

Chapter Three

Dearest Father, I wrote, we have been very busy since you went away. I will dispatch the consignment for Sibiu as soon as Uncle Nicolae can spare some men to load it onto the carts for us. I’d have preferred to arrange this myself, but the men who usually came up from the village were all occupied with shoring up the banks of the Grimwater, which recent rains had swollen to a frothing brown torrent. A river in spate was as dangerous as Dr˘agu¸ta the witch at her most malevolent—it could consume a whole village in one gulp.

The river is up, but the bridge is still passable, so the consignment should get through before the winter, I wrote. I am expecting the goods you ordered from Salem bin Afazi soon. I will make sure they are safely in storage before the weather gets any worse.

I sighed and rested my head on my hand, the neat black script blurring on the page before me. It was almost Full Moon again, a whole month since Father’s departure. The others were excited, making their preparations, counting the days, then the 58

hours, until it was time to cross over into the Other Kingdom.

All I could feel was a profound weariness. This wasn’t the first time Father had gone away, of course. But it was the first time both Gabriel and Dorin were absent at the same time as he was, and it would be for much longer than the usual buying trip. It had even been difficult to secure the services of the ever-reliable Ivan, since his own smallholding was threatened by the rising river.

There was too much to attend to—too much to think about.

I longed for a whole day on my own with Gogu and absolutely nothing to do. It was hard not to let this show in my letter. I must not worry Father; if he believed we were coping well, that would surely help him recover more quickly. Foolishly, I had hoped to hear from him by now, but no message had come.

I had expected the impossible. Constan¸ta was far away—

letters took many weeks to travel such a distance, even supposing there was someone to bring them.

Paula and Stela are helping Florica around the house, I added, and Iulia has been doing her best. These days, Iulia’s best was falling a little short of what it might be, but I didn’t tell Father that.

Now that the nights were growing longer and colder, it was a trial getting her out of bed in the mornings. She hated outside jobs like filling the wood baskets and raking out the chicken coop and feeding the pigs.

“Why can’t one of you do it?” she would whine, her nose red with cold, the rest of her face icy-pale under her rabbit-fur hat.

And I would tell her what Father would, if he were home:

“We all do our share.”

We are in good health, I wrote. Florica and Petru ask to be remembered to you. Father, I hope very much that your own health is improving in the warmer air of the seacoast. If you are well enough to write, it would be wonderful to hear from you. We send our fondest love. We all miss you, even Gogu.

Your affectionate daughter, Jena.

I sealed the letter, put away the quill, and replaced the stopper on the ink pot. Delivery must wait until Uncle Nicolae had a man traveling in the right direction. I hoped that would be soon.

The day before Full Moon, a cart came with Father’s goods from the east. Somewhat grudgingly, the two men who had driven the cart up to Piscul Dracului unloaded the bundles and boxes. They carried them into our storeroom, then dropped them unceremoniously on the stone floor. Paula and I had weighed out the correct payment in silver pieces some time ago and stored it in a box with a very good lock. The men tried to argue with me over the amount, but I flourished a document with both Father’s and Salem bin Afazi’s signatures on it. After a while they took the silver and left, their tempers much improved by the appearance of a smiling Tati with a bottle of ¸ tuica˘

and a cloth full of spice cakes for the road.

The rest of the day was spent checking the consignment in full and making sure everything was safely stored until it was time for each item to be sold. Fabrics had to be kept dry and protected from dust and moths; spices had to be tightly sealed and out of the light. Carpets were best unrolled and layered with padded cloth.

The chamber we used for storage was huge. We imagined it had once housed grand entertainments in the early days of 60

Piscul Dracului. But the polished marble of the floor had been badly damaged long ago, and the slender, vine-wreathed columns rising gracefully to the painted ceiling bore their share of cracks and chips. Practical shelving had been erected where once elegant lords and ladies might have sat on benches, listening to fine music.

All five of us unpacked the boxes and crates. Hard work as this job was, we loved it. It was like the best kind of treasure hunt. Salem bin Afazi’s consignments were always full of exotic surprises.

Stela found a box full of tiny glass phials and flasks filled with a variety of sweet perfumes: spicy, floral, musky, pungent.

She began to set them out in a row by color, handling each with careful fingers.

Paula had discovered books destined for the monastery near Sibiu: a most precious cargo. Now she sat cross-legged on the marble, spectacles perched on the tip of her nose, engrossed in an old text bound in dark leather.

The rest of us were working together, for there were rolled-up carpets in this consignment, and each had to be checked in its turn and set away. They were long and heavy. By the time we reached the last of them, our backs were aching.

Stela had packed away the bottles and put the box on a shelf. Now she was investigating a basket of curious toys—

wooden bees, and dragonflies, and bats, that whirred and buzzed and flapped their wings when they were pushed along.

Gogu was by her side, enthralled. His eyes bulged with fascinated apprehension. “They’re not real, Gogu,” I heard my sister say. “Not really real.”

“Oh, look at this!”

Iulia had begun emptying a crate of fabrics. Tati had un-wrapped the protective covering of the first bundle to check for imperfections and water damage.

“Oh, it’s so lovely, like cobweb!” Tati lifted a length of the silk cloth between her hands. It was not-quite-white—the color of a pale spring flower with the smallest hint of sunshine to soften its stark purity. The cloth was exceptionally fine and clung to Tati’s fingers. The whole surface was closely embroidered with a pattern of butterflies done in the same subtle color as the background, so they showed best when light shone through the sheer fabric. Here and there an eye or wing or an-tenna was accented by tiny pearls, by miniature crystals, by odd glass beads with swirling patterns in them.

“Just wait,” I said. “As soon as the wife of one voivode appears in this, the others will be knocking down our door, wanting something just the same, only better.”

“Oh, Jena.” Tati was holding the silk up against her cheek; it was plain to me that she had fallen in love. “This is so . . .”

“There is quite a lot of it,” Iulia remarked, eyes thoughtful.

“And it’s been ages since Tati had a new gown.”

“If we all worked on it, we could get it finished for tomorrow night,” Paula said without taking her eyes off her book.

“Oh, yes!” declared Stela, clapping her hands and making Gogu jump.

“What?” asked Tati, who had been standing there in a daze.

“How many yards do you need?” I asked her. “Iulia, pass me the shears.”

“Oh, we shouldn’t—” Tati protested, but her eyes were alight.

“Iulia’s right, there’s plenty of it,” I said. “Father won’t mind, and I’ve already signed for the cargo. We won’t be taking much. You’re not exactly a big girl. You’ll need an under-dress with this, it’s almost transparent.”

“I have an old silk shift we can use,” Tati said, coming back to herself. “Are you sure, Jena? Four yards, I think. It’s a lot of sewing in one day. We have to unpack the rest of this first.”

“A project will be good for us,” I said, wielding the shears.

This would make a nice change from staring at columns of figures and worrying. “Let’s hope we have no unexpected visitors before tomorrow night.”

Tati went off with Paula and Stela to make a start while Iulia and I got the rest of the cargo unpacked, labeled, and stored. By the time we’d finished, Tati had cut most of the pieces and Paula was busy altering the silk shift. The sun set early and fine work was difficult by lamplight. When we went down to eat supper, our minds were elsewhere, and both Florica and Petru gave us funny looks.

“We’re worn out,” Iulia said, helping herself to a second bowl of ciorb˘a. “That must be some kind of record, unpacking a whole shipment in one day. Tomorrow I’m going to do absolutely nothing.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I snapped, picking up her cue. It was essential to cover our tracks by acting as we usually would; we always made sure that Petru and Florica got no inkling that the days leading up to Full Moon were 63

different from any others. This time, with the need for a full day’s intensive sewing, we required additional cover. In Florica’s mind, there would be no reason for us to spend so long on such a frivolous creation. When would Tati need a dancing dress? With Father away, the most exciting outing we could expect was a trip to Uncle Nicolae’s to take coffee with Aunt Bogdana.

“We have mending for you to do,” Tati said calmly. “I’m planning to go right through Paula’s and Stela’s things, letting down hems, repairing broken fastenings, adding a few trimmings. . . .” As Iulia began a protest, she added, “It’s only fair.

Paula and Stela always get clothes last, so they should at least be able to wear them without needing to worry about holes. There are probably one or two more garments of yours that Paula could be wearing, Iulia—you’re really shooting up this year.”

“I’ll help,” Stela piped up, understanding what this was about.

“So will I,” said Paula. “I wouldn’t mind that skirt of Iulia’s with the braid around the hem. I’ve noticed she can’t do up the waistband anymore.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Iulia’s eyes flashed outrage and Paula flinched.

“A man likes a woman with a bit of flesh on her,” Florica said, a little smugly. Her own form was ample. “He doesn’t want an armful of skin and bones. You’re growing into beauties, all of you, in your different ways.”

Iulia had pushed her bowl away with the soup half eaten.

“You’re not fat,” I told her. “You have the same kind of figure 64

as Mother had—and Father thought she was the loveliest woman in all Transylvania. He told me so.”

“Early to bed tonight,” Tati said briskly. “You all need a good night’s sleep so you can work hard for me tomorrow.

Florica, I think we’ll do the mending in our room. We can sit around the little stove and keep our fingers warm, and we won’t get in your way.”

“If you’re sure,” Florica said. All of us knew she would be happy to have her kitchen to herself for once. Since Father’s departure, we had taken all our meals there. The formal dining room with its silk carpet and gleaming oak table seemed cold and unwelcoming without him.

Petru was not at supper. When questioned, Florica said tersely that he had gone to bed early. “He’s tired, Mistress Jena.

We’re none of us getting younger. He says the fences around the eastern side of the woods won’t last the winter—they’ll need mending, or wolves will be at the sheep. It’s a big job.”

I said nothing. This was the kind of work for which Dorin would have hired extra help, the help I did not seem to be able to secure. Petru had been looking gray and exhausted even at breakfast time. He was so much a part of the fabric of Piscul Dracului, I had forgotten he was an old man. Guilt gnawed at me.

Tati made the younger ones go to bed straight after supper.

Without a good sleep tonight, we’d be blundering through Full Moon, dancing with our eyelids half shut. She and I stayed up a little later, working on the shaping of the new gown.

“Jena?”

“Mmm?”

“I wonder if that young man will be there again tomorrow night.”

“You mean the one in the black coat?” I had almost forgotten him; I’d been too busy even to think about the Other Kingdom.

“Who knows? I don’t know why you’re interested. All he did was stand around looking mournful and showing how long he could stare at you without blinking.”

“Maybe he’s shy.”

“Shy people don’t go out of their way to look different. Besides, he was with the Night People. I wish they’d go back where they came from. I don’t like the stories I’ve heard about them. They disturb me.”

“Oh well,” said Tati dismissively, “it doesn’t really matter.

What do you think about the sleeves, Jena? Narrow at the wrist, or cut in a bell shape?”

Tati sewed the last stitches in the hem at about the same time the following night, surrounded by the rest of us in our dancing finery. It was piercing cold outside. I had felt winter’s bite earlier, when I had taken a break from sewing to perform some essential tasks. Petru was out on the farm, and Florica could not do everything. By the time I had replenished the wood baskets, taken a steaming mash out to the huddled chickens, and ascer-tained that the storeroom was staying dry, my teeth were chattering and my ears ached with cold. Tonight we wore fur hats, heavy lined cloaks, and outdoor boots. We carried our dancing slippers. In our bedchamber the chill wind was slipping in 66

through every crack and chink it could find. Shivering, Tati stood close by the stove to take off her day dress and put on the new gown.

“Come on!” urged Iulia.

I gave my elder sister’s hair a quick brushing. The gown floated around her like a cloud of mist; her eyes were bright. I helped her put on her thick woolen cloak, blue-dyed, and pull up the fur-lined hood. In the pocket of my green gown, I had tucked Gogu into an old glove made of sheepskin. He did rather spoil the line of my skirt, but I couldn’t have him catching cold.

A freezing draft swirled and eddied up the spiral staircase; it tangled and teased its way along the Gallery of Beasts, seeking out victims. The gargoyles had retreated into whatever niches and cavities they could find between the stones. I spotted a group of them clustered together like bats, up in a corner.

Nobody wanted to come out tonight.

On the shores of the lake, we stamped our feet and rubbed our gloved hands together, our breath turning to vapor as we watched the line of small lights draw closer. A thin layer of ice crusted the lake’s surface. We could hear its shifting music as the boats broke through. By next Full Moon, the water would be hard frozen.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” muttered Stela. “I’m turning into an icicle.”

One, two, three, four boats nudged in to shore. One by one, my sisters stepped in: Stela with a blue-bearded dwarf, Paula with a gap-toothed wizard, Iulia with tall Grigori. As 67

Sten stepped from the fourth boat and reached out his hand to help me in, I cast my eyes about, confused. Tati was still standing beside me on the shore, waiting. Gogu began to tremble. I could feel it even through the thick sheepskin.

“What about my sister?”

Sten mumbled something. I got Gogu out, glove and all, and held him close to my chest under my cloak.

“What did you say?”

“Late,” said Sten. “He’s running late. Step in, young lady.

And the young master there. That’s it.” Without further ado, the troll shoved his pole hard into the mud and we shot off across the water in a tinkle of swirling ice, leaving Tati all alone on the shore. I was opening my mouth to protest when I saw the last boat coming. As the craft emerged through the layers of mist, I saw the pale length of the willow pole first, and the white hands holding it—then the black-coated form and ashen, solemn features of that young man, the one who had spent the night of last Full Moon standing unnaturally still with his eyes on my sister. I only got a glimpse, because Sten seemed to think he was in a race and must win; he dug the pole deep and we surged forward, making an icy wave.

“Perhaps we might wait for the others?” I suggested shakily as we stepped out on the opposite shore—so far ahead of the rest that even Stela’s boat had not yet emerged from the mist.

Then I whispered, “It’s all right, Gogu, we’re there now.”

My boatman bowed low. For a troll, he had exceptionally good manners.

“That young man,” I said, “the one poling the last boat . . .

do you know who he is?”

“Night People,” Sten grunted. “Rubbish. Should go back where they came from, if you ask me. Heard nothing but bad about them.”

“If he’s rubbish, how is it he was chosen to be my sister’s boatman?”

“Ileana tolerates them. Our visitors. He probably went to her. About our dance—can I have that one where we toss our partners up in the air? I was a champion back home.” Sten had traveled far to settle in this forest. His home was to the north-west, in a land he had told me was even more icy than ours—

though that was hard to believe. “I made a bet with Grigori.”

“What bet?” I asked suspiciously, all the time watching as my sisters came into view, one by one.

“Who can throw who highest. I’ll win, of course.”

“All right.” I grinned; I never could resist a good bet. Then my grin faded. All my sisters were now arriving—all but Tati.

“He’s so slow,” I murmured. “And he’s strange. He never says a word. He never even opens his mouth.”

“Uh-huh,” the troll said. “That’d be the teeth.”

“What?”

“The teeth. You know, Night People teeth. He doesn’t want you to see them. In particular, he doesn’t want her to see them.”

This terrified me. Surely the Night People could have only one reason for showing interest in human girls, and it was nothing to do with dancing or making polite conversation. I drew breath to call out for Tati. But at that moment, the last boat came into view. The pale young man guided it without ever taking his eyes off his passenger, who was sitting very still in her hooded cloak. They glided to shore. He stepped out and 69

offered her his hand. Tati disembarked with her usual grace and spoke what must have been a polite thank-you. There seemed nothing untoward about it at all. Teeth or no teeth, perhaps I was just being silly to feel such misgivings. This was Tati, after all: my big sister. At sixteen, surely she knew how to look after herself.

“Come on, then,” I said briskly. “If we’re going to win this bet, maybe we should get in some practice.”

It was a good night. The magic of the Other Kingdom made my weariness fall away. I was enveloped by the sound of the music, the tantalizing smells of the sweetmeats, and the glori-ous whirl of color under the ancient oaks. In the human world autumn was well advanced, but here in Dancing Glade we could shed our hats and cloaks, take off our boots and put on our party slippers, for the air was balmy and on the lush grass flowers bloomed.

There was a particular tree whose inhabitants looked after items of apparel until it was time to go home. It was full of odd, small folk with snub noses and long arms, who simply reached out, donned cloak or hood or boots, and settled in the branches to wait. Some items were fought over—Iulia’s rabbit-skin hat seemed to be a favorite. I wondered how well it would survive the tug-of-war that was taking place, high off the ground, to an accompaniment of screeching and spitting.

Sten won his wager. By the end of the dance I was dizzy and bruised but happy that his pride was undented. Being from foreign parts, he did seem to feel he must prove himself before the others. I had spared Gogu this adventure and left him in Paula’s care—while he loved to leap, he most certainly didn’t 70

appreciate being thrown about. After that, I danced with Grigori, and Iulia with Sten. Then came a jig and my usual partner for such light-footed capering, the red-bearded Anatolie.

“Your sister’s boatman hasn’t claimed his dance,” the dwarf said with a wink as we twirled arm in arm.

“Really?” That was a surprise. “Perhaps he doesn’t dance. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing Night People would enjoy.”

I let go his arm to jig three paces right, jump, and clap.

“The others are dancing. Look,” said Anatolie, executing his own jump with flair and clapping his hands over his head.

So they were. A black-booted man, his features like a tragic carving in pale stone, circled with a black-gowned woman, her scarlet lips unsmiling, her raven head held like a queen’s. A jig?

Not for them—they moved to some silent, dark music that was all their own. Around them the rest of the Night People moved in concert, pallid and haughty. The jostling, jumping throng of other folk kept their distance. Across the sward, the stately Ileana partnered her consort, Marin. They were not above a jig, though they performed it with the air of nobles playing at peasants—drolly indulgent.

“Each to his own, eh?” chuckled Anatolie, seizing both my hands for a prance down the sward. “Nobody does it as well as we, Mistress Jenica! Kings and queens, lords and ladies—what do we care about them?”

“Shh!” I hissed as the music came to a close. “Ileana might hear you. Offend the queen of the forest, and even a dwarf could find himself in very nasty trouble. Now why don’t you go and dance with Iulia? I need a rest.”

I found a little space to one side of the sward and stood there awhile, watching. I counted my sisters: Iulia, dancing, and Stela sitting on the grass with her friends, making chains of flowers. Paula deep in debate with the scholars, while Gogu, on their table, sniffed at the flask of plum brandy. Paula said something to him and he hopped back to her. Tati . . .

Not dancing. I had not seen her out on the sward all evening, and she loved to dance. What about the beautiful new gown over which we’d all slaved until our fingers ached? Surely she must want to be out there showing it off—it would look magical under the colored lights of Dancing Glade. I glanced about. Where was she? And where was the young man in the black coat? My heart skipped a beat. Our rules were sacrosanct; we never broke them. No going into the forest on your own. No leaving the glade until home time.

I started to panic, something I never did. My pulse raced and my palms grew sweaty. Night People . . . bloodsuckers. I made myself look systematically across the crowded glade—up, down, this way, that way. . . . Those others were there, with their waxen skin and dead eyes, but not the somber youth. My younger sisters were all accounted for, but there was no sign of Tati. A terrible doubt crept into my mind. The exquisite fabric, the frenzy of sewing . . . Surely Tati hadn’t planned this all along? Wishing to be beautiful not to dazzle the throng of revelers, but just for him? If it was true, it would be the first time my sister had ever kept something secret from me.

I began a search, starting with Paula’s table. “Have you seen Tati?”

“No,” said Paula. “Here, take Gogu—he keeps trying to drink the ¸ tuic˘a. She’ll be here somewhere, don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” I lied, and elbowed my way through the crowd to Stela’s group and their daisy chains. I squatted down beside her. “Stela, have you seen Tati?”

“No. Not that one, Ildephonsus, the stem is too narrow. Let me show you—”

Ildephonsus, a creature with a snuffling pink snout and gauzy wings, leaned close as Stela demonstrated the best way to add a daisy to the chain, which was now immensely long and wound many times around the circle of busy artisans. I left them to their work.

Iulia danced past me, the tired face and ill temper of recent days entirely gone. She was all smiles, her blue eyes sparkling.

I still couldn’t see Tati. “Where is she, Gogu?” I muttered.

“Jena?” My sister’s voice came from just behind me and I jumped as if I’d been struck.

“Tati! Where were you?” I bit back more words: I was worried about you, I thought you’d gone off. . . . “You still have your cloak on,” I said, surprised. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Maybe later.” It seemed to me that her smile was evasive.

“I saw you looking for me. I’m fine, Jena. Just go on and enjoy the party.”

It was then that I saw, over her shoulder and at some distance—but clearly waiting for her—the young man in the black coat. His features bore their usual forlorn look, like that of a loyal dog unfairly reprimanded. The dark eyes belied that expression: I saw a message there that scared me. Gogu shifted 73

on my shoulder. He’s trouble. I swallowed and found my voice.

“Are you going to introduce me to your new friend?” I croaked.

“Oh. You mean Sorrow? I don’t think he’s quite ready for that, Jena.”

“Who?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly.

“Sorrow.” She glanced at Black Coat, her lovely features softening in a way that set a chill premonition in my heart.

“I bet that’s not his real name,” I snapped, anxiety making me cruel. “His parents probably called him something plain and serviceable, like Ivan. Ah, well, pretentious coat, pretentious name.”

Tati stared at me. She looked as if she might burst into tears or slap me. We never argued.

Now you’ve done it.

“Shut up, Gogu,” I muttered, furious with myself. “Tell him you can’t talk to him,” I hissed to my sister under my breath. “He’s one of them. Don’t you understand how dangerous that is?” Then I turned on my heel and plunged back into the crowd.

I didn’t dance much after that. I watched the two of them as they went back into the shadows under the trees—she in her night-blue cloak, he in his long black coat—not touching, not even so much as fingertips, but standing close, so close each might have felt the whisper of the other’s breath on half-closed lids or parted lips. They were talking. At least, Tati was talking, and Sorrow was doing a lot of listening and putting in a word or two, here and there, though he was certainly not given to opening his mouth very far.

I watched them as the night drew toward dawn and the 74

jigs and reels and high-stepping dances of the earlier hours gave way to slower tunes, music for lovers. Iulia sat on the bank, watching, her eyes full of dreams. Stela was stretched out with her head on Ildephonsus’s stomach, half-asleep. A couple of hedge sprites were making nests in her hair. At Paula’s table, the arguments raged on; did scholars never grow weary?

Tati took off her cloak. Sorrow folded it and laid it among the roots of an oak, his eyes never leaving her. A shaft of moonlight illuminated my sister in her delicate gown—her hair tumbling down her back as dark and shiny as a crow’s wing, the curves of her body revealed through the sheer, floating silk. She reached out a hand; Sorrow took it in his as if it were something precious. There was no longer a shred of doubt in my mind that Tati had worn the butterfly gown for him. It was a gift—a gift for his eyes only.

They danced. All by themselves, beyond the farthest fringe of the crowd, they circled and swayed, met and parted, turned and passed. Even when the steps of their dance drew them apart, their heads turned to look, and look, and look, as if they would drown in each other’s eyes.

“What is she thinking of, Gogu?” I whispered. “She must have gone mad!”

I’m cold. Gogu gave an exaggerated shiver. Can we go home now?

Why didn’t it surprise me that Tati was the last sister to come down to the boats? I saw where Sorrow had beached their craft at some distance along the shore, half concealed by reeds. I stood with Sten as my other sisters stepped into their boats and headed off across the lake with their escorts. The mist wreathed the water thickly in this predawn hour: in the 75

swirling white I could see strange shapes—wyvern, dragon, manticore. Gogu’s trembling felt about to dislodge him from my shoulder. I tucked him into the glove and into the pocket. “It’s all right, Gogu.”

Dawn, I thought. Since last Full Moon, I had asked Paula a lot of questions about Night People. She’d told me they lost their powers with the rising sun. If I could get Tati out of here safely, she’d come back to herself. Once home, I would be able to make her see sense. Just as long as she could drag herself away in time.

“Ready?” Sten had one big foot in the boat, one on the shore, and a hand extended to help me aboard.

“I’m waiting for my sister.”

“She’s there.” The troll jerked his head. It was true. In the moment I had turned away, Tati and Sorrow had emerged from the trees, a discreet distance apart: he with her cloak over his arm, she a vision in the sheer embroidered gown. Once she set foot on the home shore, she would be freezing.

“Good,” I said grimly. “Let’s go.”

Sten was in fine form. We crossed the Bright Between in a trice, leaving a pathway of roiling water and splintered ice behind us. Next in was Iulia with Grigori, followed by Paula and then Stela. The air on this side was so chill I could feel my face going numb. Deep in the pocket, Gogu was immobile.

We waited, huddled into our cloaks and hats and mittens, trying to escape the cold.

“Hurry up, Tati,” muttered Paula. “It’s hardly a morning for a leisurely boating expedition.”

We waited longer. Sten picked his teeth. The dwarf 76

tapped his foot, sighing loudly. Grigori put his arms around Iulia to keep her warm.

“He’d want to make haste,” said the dwarf. “The sun will soon be up.”

The boat’s high prow broke the mist then, coming slowly.

It touched the shore a little way from us. Tati alighted, still without cloak, hood, or boots. Sorrow got out after her. She turned her back to him; he unfolded her blue cloak and placed it around her shoulders. He did not touch my sister an instant longer than was necessary, and yet there was something in the way his hands lingered above her shoulders, as if he would embrace her if he dared, that was as tender as any caress might be.

Tati turned to thank him. He bowed his head, then took her hood and boots from the boat and gave them to her. We waited while she put them on, balancing with one hand on Sorrow’s shoulder to take off her dancing slippers. He stood immobile, pale face set, eyes bleak. The name he had chosen was apt enough; I had never seen anyone with so many different ways of looking sad.

“Goodbye,” I heard Tati say, but Sorrow said nothing at all. His eyes spoke for him.

“Come on, Tati,” mumbled Iulia through chattering teeth.

“It’ll be time to get up before we even go to bed.”

Above us, beyond the swirling mist that blanketed the water, the sky was beginning to lighten. The other boatmen were climbing aboard their craft. None wished to be on this shore at sunrise.

Tati reached up a hand. She brushed Sorrow’s cheek with her fingers, as lightly as the touch of a butterfly on a flower. He 77

closed his eyes, and the ashen pallor of his cheeks warmed with the faintest of blushes. An instant later Tati was by my side and, to the tinkling music of ice fragments shifting in the water and the solitary hoot of an owl, five little boats slipped away through the mist to the Other Kingdom.

We’re safe, I told myself as always. But it seemed to me that although we had crossed the margin to our own world and were on our way home once more, this was no longer true.

Chapter Four

Vârful cu Negur˘a was full of lovely things. The house had floors of marble and of fine polished wood, broad passageways, and sweeping staircases, and it was tended by a host of well-trained servants. Aunt Bogdana’s coffee cups were of fine porcelain, and she served tiny, exquisitely decorated cakes. For a woman who values beauty, a merchant makes a good husband.

It was the day of the autumn stag hunt, and Paula and I were keeping our aunt company. We were expecting to drink a lot of coffee before the day was over. Aunt Bogdana’s maid-servant Daniela moved quietly in and out of the sewing room to replenish the refreshments. Uncle Nicolae and Cezar had ridden out early, armed with crossbows and accompanied by a troop of men from the district, dogs at heel. We had been invited to ride with them, as several women were accompanying their husbands and it was considered quite respectable for us to go along. Iulia was the only one of us who had accepted. She 79

loved to ride, and the lack of a horse of her own had long been a sore point.

Hunting did not appeal to me. The forest king, Marin, with his golden hair and noble bearing, had often reminded me of a stag in his prime. I sensed there was not much difference between other hunt quarry such as wolf, boar, or wildcat and certain of the stranger denizens of the Other Kingdom. Besides, it wasn’t fair to leave Paula to entertain Aunt Bogdana on her own. Stela had a cold, and Tati had been all too willing to stay home and tend to her.

“I’m sorry Tatiana could not be here today. I wanted to have a word with her,” Aunt Bogdana said, sipping her coffee. “But I do applaud her responsibility in watching over little Stela. Of course, at sixteen Tati should be married and thinking about children of her own. It’s time you older girls were introduced to a wider circle of eligible young men. Don’t look at me like that, Jenica. Your father’s a man—he doesn’t understand that suitors won’t simply come knocking on the door. One does need to act.

In your own case, some attention to grooming and deportment would not go astray. Teodor will be wanting to see you settled securely. Especially now, with his health so frail.” She set the tiny cup down. “You must look to your future, girls.”

I saw the expression on Paula’s face and spoke swiftly. “Father’s physician told him he’d likely make a full recovery,” I said. It was only a slight embroidery of the truth. “He just needs rest and warm air.”

Aunt Bogdana was not easily diverted. “A party,” she said, eyeing me sharply. “That’s what Teodor should have done, 80

given a grand party for you, with music and dancing—an opportunity for you to mingle with the young men of the district.

As it is, you never go out. Nobody ever sees you. I wonder if Nicolae would agree to hold some kind of entertainment here?

He does love his music.”

There was a wistful look on my aunt’s face. She wore her hair covered by a demure lace cap, and her gown, though of the finest fabric, was plain in design and dark in color. I thought I could remember a time, before Costi’s death, when she had dressed in bright silks and worn feathers in her hair. There was a picture of him on a shelf near her chair, right next to an icon of Saint Anne. The little painting had been done on Costi’s tenth birthday. I could not look at it without feeling the terror of being on the raft and drifting away, away, into the mist.

Looking into Costi’s painted eyes, I saw Cezar’s frightened tears and heard his voice stumbling through the story. . . .

“We do go out, Aunt Bogdana,” Paula said as she darned the worn heel of a stocking. We had brought a basket of mending with us, anticipating a long day. “What about church in the village? We meet everyone there. Father’s taken us to all the guild houses in Bra¸sov. We do see people.”

“There’s seeing and seeing, ” Aunt Bogdana said weightily.

“Conducting business in merchants’ counting-houses is hardly the same as dressing up and letting folk look at you. A young man needs to view a girl at her best. A young woman clad for dancing is like a dewy flower—she catches and holds the eye.”

I met Paula’s glance and looked hastily away. Gogu poked his head out of my pocket. If you were a flower, you’d be pondweed.

“We won’t be having any parties until Father is back home,” I said. “But thank you for the suggestion, Aunt.”

Aunt Bogdana glanced at me. “Jenica,” she said, “for a girl of fifteen, you are somewhat bold in your responses.” Her tone was kindly; I knew she meant well. “Your father . . .” She sighed.

“He’s a lovely man, but he will insist on going his own way, and that does you no favors, my dear. Suitors won’t care in the least whether you can add up figures and tell silk from sarcenet or jade from amber. It all boils down to manners and deportment, dress and carriage. And the need to keep your conversation appropriate. The frog is an issue. He may be a nice little creature, but he does tend to leave damp patches on your clothing.”

“Yes, Aunt.” There was no point in arguing. Aunt Bogdana was the valley authority on what was proper. “Cezar has already mentioned it.”

“Ah, Cezar . . .” With another sigh, Aunt set down her cup. Her eyes were on Costi’s picture. Daniela got up and bore the tray away. “Life can be very cruel, my dears, cruel and arbitrary,” Aunt went on. “I think sometimes it is particularly hard for women, as we cannot so easily divert ourselves with business affairs.”

“Some women do,” muttered Paula to her stocking.

“What was that, Paula?” Aunt Bogdana had sharp hearing.

“It’s true, Aunt,” I said, drawn into debate despite my best intentions. “Marriage and children need not be the only future open to us. Father speaks of women in Venice and other foreign parts who wield great influence in merchant ventures—women who manage business enterprises in their own right. I’m already helping Father quite a bit, learning as much as I can—”

“Say no more, Jena. That is not a path you can seriously con-template. Such women are not . . . respectable. At your age you cannot fully understand what I allude to. Only a certain kind of female seeks to enter the masculine realm of commerce, or indeed”—she glanced at Paula—“that of scholarship. Our strengths lie in the domestic sphere. A truly wise woman is the one who knows her place. You need suitable husbands. They won’t just chance along. You must make an effort. Being a man, your father simply doesn’t understand. That he has never provided dancing lessons for you illustrates that. There is no point in appearing at a party if all you can do is step on your suitors’

toes. Don’t smirk, Paula. This is not a joking matter.”

“No, Aunt,” we chorused.

“Of course,” Aunt Bogdana went on, “if your poor dear father does recover his health, this will become less of an issue for you, Jena.”

“Oh?” My attention was caught.

“My dear, we all accept that Tatiana will marry first. For all Teodor’s neglect of the upbringing suitable to young ladies, your elder sister has great natural charm, and her manners are at least acceptable. She will do well enough for herself, given the right introductions. As the second sister and somewhat less . . .

As the second sister, it would be entirely appropriate for you to remain at home and look after your father. Teodor will never take another wife; he was devoted to Bianca. He’ll need a companion in his old age. That is one advantage of producing so many girls.”

I could feel Gogu’s outrage in every corner of his small form, even through the woolen fabric of my gown.

“I expect that one of us will stay at Piscul Dracului, married or unmarried,” I said, struggling to stay courteous. “We love the house, we love the forest, and we love Father. Of course we wouldn’t leave him all alone.” It was interesting that our aunt never raised one obvious possibility: that one of us should wed Cezar. Not that any of us would want to. My sisters dis-liked him and I—I was not sure I wanted to marry anyone at all.

Not without love. And whatever I felt toward my cousin, it was not the kind of passion I had heard about in tales, the feeling that swept you off your feet and into a different world. It was foolish to expect that, of course. In choosing a husband, practical considerations almost always came before the inclina-tions of the heart. This was something Aunt Bogdana had explained many times before.

A certain expression had entered my aunt’s blue eyes, one I knew from experience meant she was planning something. “I’ll have a word with Nicolae on the party question,” she said. “It’s not yet too late in the season, if we move quickly. It is a long time since Vârful cu Negur˘a has seen a night of celebration.”

“There’s no need, Aunt Bogdana.” My heart sank at the thought of yet another complication in my busy existence.

“Believe me, Jena, there’s every need. What if the worst should occur? Nicolae is hardly in a position to support the five of you indefinitely. Of course, we must hope poor Teodor recovers from this terrible malady and that he returns to us by springtime. But, as good daughters, you are duty bound to prepare yourselves—”

Behind Aunt Bogdana, the door of the chamber opened a 84

crack. I glanced up, surprised that Daniela had been so quick.

Instead my eyes met Iulia’s, and I turned cold. She was standing just beyond the doorway, motioning frantically for me to come out. We had not expected the hunt back before dusk. My sister’s face was pinched and strange, her eyes dark with shock.

She stayed out of view of both Paula and our aunt.

“Excuse me a moment,” I said, putting down my handiwork and going casually to the door.

The moment I stepped out, Iulia clutched violently at my arms. She was babbling something about the snow and an arrow. “The blood,” she kept saying. “So much blood.”

I drew her along the hallway, out of Aunt Bogdana’s earshot. “Take a deep breath, Iulia, and tell me slowly.” I was starting to hear noises from outside now, horses’ hooves, men calling out, doors slamming, running steps on gravel. “That’s it, good girl. Now tell me. What’s happened?” My heart had begun to race.

“The man couldn’t see—the light was funny in the woods, like dusk, almost. . . . It was the deer he was supposed to hit, but the crossbow bolt—it went straight into his chest, Jena!

The blood, I’ve never seen so much blood. . . .” Iulia was stammering and shaking.

“Who?” I gripped her shoulders, my heart pounding.

“Who’s been hurt, Iulia?”

“Uncle Nicolae,” she whispered. “Oh, Jena—Uncle Nicolae’s dead.”

A moment later the burly figure of Cezar appeared in the hallway, still in his outdoor woolens and his hunting boots, the 85

front of his tunic soaking wet. And red; all red. I felt sick.

Uncle Nicolae—kindly, smiling Uncle Nicolae—who only this morning had hugged us in welcome and made jokes as the hunt rode off.

“I must talk to Mother.” Cezar’s voice was cold and tight.

“Paula’s in with her,” I said, struggling to be calm. “You can’t walk in like that—you must change your clothing, at least.”

My cousin looked down at his blood-drenched garb. It was as if he hardly understood what he was seeing. “I must tell Mother,” he said blankly.

“Cezar,” I said, blinking back tears. “Wait, while someone finds you a clean shirt.”

“Oh.” Cezar seemed to shake himself, to force himself into the here and now. “A shirt . . .”

“I’ll ask someone to fetch one.” Iulia was making an effort to help, even as she wept.

“Tell them to hurry,” I said. Noises from the hall suggested they were bringing Uncle Nicolae in. Someone was crying.

“I’ll stay, if you want,” I offered. My hand was still on my cousin’s arm. He felt as tightly wound as a clock spring.

“No,” Cezar said, frowning at me as if he’d only just noticed I was there. “No, you must take your sisters home.” Then, after a pause during which he stared at the wall: “Thank you, Jena.”

We stood there in silence until a servant came with the shirt, which Cezar put on. The servant bore away the tunic.

There was a trail of red droplets on the stone floor. I wondered if our uncle had bled to death in his son’s arms. The awfulness 86

of it made it difficult to say anything. If this had been someone else, I would have put my arms around him and held him—but Cezar was not the sort of man folk embraced. I hugged Iulia instead, and she clung to me.

“Go now,” Cezar said, squaring his shoulders. Watching him, I saw a frightened eight-year-old about to give his parents the news that their elder son would not be coming home.

“There’s nothing you can do here.”

He opened the door of Aunt Bogdana’s sewing room. A moment later Paula came scurrying out, workbasket over her arm, an expression of surprise on her face. The door closed. I gathered my sisters and led them away, muttering the terrible news to Paula as we went. Somewhere deep inside I was willing my aunt not to make a sound until we were out of the house. I put a hand in my pocket, feeling for Gogu. He was all scrunched up tight in the bottom corner, as closed in on himself as Cezar had been.

Uncle Nicolae was lying on a board. They had brought him into the hall and laid him across two benches. There was a blanket over his still form with a creeping bloodstain on it.

His dog stood nearby, tail down, shivering. There were men everywhere—grooms, villagers, friends of Cezar’s who had come for the hunt—standing about, grim-faced and quiet. I just wanted to go. I wanted to be home, to be with Tati and Stela, to be able to lie on my bed and cry. I made myself stop beside Uncle Nicolae. Part of me was still refusing to believe we had lost him. He can’t be dead, he can’t. It must be a bad dream. . . .

I touched his ashen cheek with my finger. It was cold; cold 87

as frost. This was no dream, but the worst sort of reality. I muttered a prayer; my sisters echoed the words. We had reached Amen when Aunt Bogdana’s scream tore through the house.

My stomach churned. A wave of dizziness passed through me. You’re fifteen—nearly grown-up, my inner voice reminded me. I took my sisters’ hands in mine. “Come on, then,” I said. “We’re going home.”

Dear Father, I wrote, by now Cezar’s messenger will have brought you the terrible news of Uncle Nicolae’s death. They held a poman˘a seven days later. Florica and Petru came with us, as well as Ivan and his family. There were lots of Uncle Nicolae’s friends, and folk from all over the valley, including Judge Rinaldo and, of course, Father Sandu, who spoke very well. The winter has already begun to pinch, and many people are in need of warm clothing and other supplies. All of Uncle Nicolae’s things were given away.

Aunt Bogdana wanted you to have his best embroidered waistcoat and his special writing materials; I have put them away for you. We have not seen Aunt since then, but Cezar has been at church. He told me his mother is prostrate with grief and wants no visitors.

I paused, quill between my fingers. It was cold in Father’s workroom. Outside, snow lay everywhere: piled up in drifts around Piscul Dracului, frosting the trees with white, blanketing the many odd angles and planes of our roof. Icicles made delicate fringes around the eaves, and the ponds were frozen solid. It was almost Full Moon again—two months since Father had gone away—and we still hadn’t received a single message from him.

“I don’t even know if he got my first letter, Gogu,” I said 88

out loud. “It’s hard to keep reassuring the others that he’s getting better when they know there hasn’t been any news.”

Gogu made no response. He’d not been himself since the terrible day of the hunting accident. Often his thoughts were a complete mystery to me.

“Come on, Gogu,” I said in exasperation, “say something.”

He turned his liquid eyes on me. Why not tell your father the truth?

“What am I supposed to tell him? That I can’t get any of the local men to come and work for us this winter? That the fences still aren’t fixed and we’ve started losing stock? I can’t worry Father with those things.”

Winters were always harsh in the mountains. All the same, Dorin could usually get men from the valley to come up and help us with our heavy work, for a reasonable payment. This year, when the men of the district were not busy keeping their cottages clear of snowdrifts, their hearths supplied with dry wood, and the river away from their doorsteps, they all seemed to be at Vârful cu Negur˘a, working for Cezar. Ivan had come up to give Petru a hand whenever he could, but the immediate work of the farm meant the bigger job of mending the fences had been put off too long. It must be completed before we suffered any more losses.

“I’m worried, Gogu,” I told my friend as I dipped the quill in the ink once more. “I thought I’d be able to manage better than this. I know Florica and Petru are working too hard, and it’s my job to get help for them, but I don’t seem to be able to do it. And I really don’t want to ask Cezar. He’ll just see it as an opportunity to remind me that girls shouldn’t trouble their pretty little heads with such weighty matters.”

Don’t bother yourself with him. Gogu had found an ink drop on the table and was dabbing it experimentally with a webbed foot.

“Stop it! You’re just making more mess for me to clean up, and I’m tired!” My tone was much too sharp for such a minor misdemeanor. I saw the frog flinch, and made myself take a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I told him, reaching a finger to stroke the back of his neck. “I’m upset. It’s not just the farm, it’s Tati as well. She should be helping me, but she’s off in a dream half the time. I know she’s thinking about him—about Sorrow. It’s as if the moment she clapped eyes on him, she forgot every rule there is.”

On this topic, Gogu had nothing to contribute. I picked up the quill again.

We would love to know how you are keeping , Father, I wrote.

Could you give Cezar’s messenger a brief note? I am not sure if you received my earlier letter; I sent it some time ago. Please be assured that we are all in excellent health and are coping well, though the weather is extremely cold. We’ve had word that the consignment for Sibiu was delivered safely and unloaded at the warehouse. Your agent there will arrange for the items to be dispatched to their purchasers, and he will hold the payments in his strongbox until your return. I have not spoken to Cezar yet about Salem bin Afazi’s goods. As I said, we have hardly seen him since the poman˘a. Of this I was quite glad. I could not forget the image of our aunt bent over in her grief like an old woman, her hands lingering on each item of Uncle Nicolae’s clothing before she passed it to a ragged man, a skinny boy. I could still see Cezar’s stony face, which had seemed more furious than sorrowful.

As for Iulia, the shock of our uncle’s violent death had at 90

first left her withdrawn and tearful. Then, just as suddenly, she had become more willful and demanding than ever before, complaining about everything from the cold weather to the endless

diet of mamalig

˘ a˘ to the fact that Tati wasn’t doing her share of the work. To my surprise I realized that on this last count, Iulia’s dissatisfaction was justified. I kept finding my elder sister gazing out of windows, or staring into space, or taking fifty times longer to perform a simple task than she should. Challenged over this, she gave vague answers: “I don’t know what you mean, Jena.”

“Oh, was I meant to be cutting up vegetables?” I tried to ask her about Sorrow. I tried to explain that things were difficult, that I needed her help. She did not seem to hear me. She was drifting in a little world of her own, her lips curved in a secret smile, her eyes seeing something that was invisible to me.

I signed and sealed Father’s letter, wondering whether it was fair to ask Petru to take it over to Vârful cu Negur˘a. I didn’t want to go myself. I would never be able to walk in there again without seeing Uncle Nicolae’s blood, without hearing Aunt Bogdana’s scream.

Someone’s coming. Gogu made a leap in the general direction of my pocket. I managed to catch him and scoop him in as the door to the workroom opened and Paula appeared, looking apolo-getic. “Cezar’s here,” she said, and a moment later he was marching into the room, where he sat himself down opposite me at the small square table on which my writing materials were laid out. He was neatly dressed, all in black, and around his neck he wore an ornament that had belonged to Uncle Nicolae: a gold chain with a medallion in the shape of a hunting horn.

“Oh,” I said. Then: “Cezar, I wasn’t expecting you. Paula, 91

will you fetch Tati, please?” Whether my cousin was here for business or for family matters, I knew I did not want to deal with him alone, not now that his father’s death had changed things so much. Besides, to do so would be considered unseemly under the rules of polite conduct that were so important to our aunt.

Paula fled. Cezar was looking at the sealed document on the table before me. I seized on a topic of conversation. “I was just writing to Father. I’m hoping you may have someone who can deliver it to Constan¸ta for me.”

“Of course, Jena.” He took it and slipped it inside his jacket.

“You realize that it may not be possible for a while. The roads are unreliable at the best of times. And it looks like a bad winter—”

“Yes, I know.”

There was an awkward silence. I willed Tati to hurry up.

“How are you, Cezar?” I made myself ask. “How is Aunt Bogdana coping?”

His jaw tightened. His eyes took on a distant expression.

“My mother is as you might expect. Women lack the resilience to deal with such losses and move forward.”

Such a statement could not be allowed to go unchallenged.

“I can’t agree with you,” I said, twirling the quill pen in my fingers. “I’ve always believed women to have great strength of endurance. In times of war, for instance, it is they who bear the loss of their men and the disruption to their lives. It is they who keep their communities together. But I do understand how sad and shocked Aunt Bogdana must be.”

Cezar stared at me. I had no idea what he was thinking.

“You, I should imagine, would be different from Mother in such circumstances,” he conceded.

If that’s meant to be a compliment, we’d prefer an insult. Gogu circled inside the pocket, his mood indignant.

“Have you had any word from Father since we last saw you?

Anything at all from Constan¸ta?” I tried for an unconcerned, businesslike tone, though his last comment had struck me as quite odd.

“I’m afraid not, Jena. You must not distress yourself.” His hand crept out and laid itself over mine on the table.

I snatched my fingers away; something about his gesture felt entirely wrong. “I’m not distressed, Cezar,” I snapped. “I realize not much gets through in winter.” I made myself take a deep breath.

Cezar gave a small, knowing smile. That irritated me even more than his ill-advised gesture of comfort. I reminded myself that he had lost his father only a month ago, that he must still be grieving. If his behavior seemed a little out of place, that was probably why.

“It’s kind of you to pay us a visit,” I said, trying to act as Aunt Bogdana might expect under the circumstances. “I’m hoping your mother may be able to receive visitors in return—”

A tap at the door—Paula again. “I can’t find Tati anywhere,” she said. “And there’s a man at the door, his clothes are all ragged, and he says he has no work, no food, and no money, and his wife and children are starving. Florica said to ask you if we can give him something.”

“Some food, of course,” I said, getting up and going to the shelf where our store of silver and copper coin for household expenses was kept in a locked box. There had been a steady stream of travelers to the door of Piscul Dracului since the start of winter, and it did not seem right to send them off without a coin or two in their pockets. The pinched features and tattered garb of these wayfarers worried me. For every man we saw, there would likely be a woman and a gaggle of children out in the woods, trying to survive on what they could get from one landowner’s door to the next. I wondered how many died between one grand house and another. The fields were thick with snow.

“You are overgenerous,” Cezar commented, eyeing the iron-bound box as I placed it on the table and turned the key.

“A package of food, a kind word—even that is more than many of these folk deserve. They are wanderers because they don’t know the meaning of hard work, because they have squandered their opportunities. You shouldn’t waste your money— What is it, Jena? What’s wrong?”

I was gaping into the box. Last time I had opened it, to make a small payment to Ivan, it had been three-quarters full, copper well balanced with silver. Now the contents barely covered the bottom, and there were only five silver pieces left.

Almost overnight, our winter funds had disappeared.

“Jena?”

I suppose I had gone pale. I sat down slowly, gripping the table for support, my mind desperately seeking explanations.

A mistake, some kind of mistake . . . Someone had moved the money. . . . Someone had put the household coins in the business 94

coffer in error. . . . No, I had checked the business funds myself only this morning.

“Jena, what is it?” Cezar leaned closer, frowning.

“Nothing,” I said, shutting the box with a snap. “Paula, go and tell Florica to give the man food, and to let him warm himself by the stove before he moves on.” My hands were shaking—

I clasped them together in my lap as she left. How could this have happened? The only people who knew where the key was kept were Father, my sisters, and me. We all knew this money must be conserved carefully to last all winter and perhaps beyond. How could I pay anyone to come and help Petru? How could I make a family offering at church? How could I go on slipping Ivan a little extra, so that he would see our wares safely transported to Sibiu and beyond? He had come to rely on that, with his family ever expanding and his farm too small to sustain all of them.

“Are you missing some funds? You must tell me,” Cezar said.

“Your father expected me to look after you and Piscul Dracului.

It’s my right to know.”

Abruptly, I lost my temper. “It is not your right!” I retorted, fists clenched on the too-light box. “This place doesn’t belong to you, and nor do we! My father is still alive and he’s going to get better. Go home, Cezar. I don’t need your help. I’m coping perfectly well. I just need to . . . I just have to—” Then I dis-graced myself by starting to cry, because it had come to me that I would have to question every one of my sisters about the missing coins, and that each one would then believe I thought her capable of stealing. I sprang to my feet, turning my back on Cezar, every part of me willing him to go away. Instead, I 95

heard the sound of my cousin opening the coffer, then his whistling intake of breath.

“This is all you have left?” The coins clinked as he lifted them and dropped them back into the box. “This will barely last you a month, Jena, and that’s only if nothing untoward occurs. You’d best let me handle your domestic expenses from now on. It’s clear you have no idea how to manage them.”

“That’s not true!” I dashed away the tears and turned to face him. “I haven’t mismanaged them. I do possess some intelligence, whatever you may think. The money’s disappeared in the last few days, and I don’t know who’s taken it. I had plenty. I was being careful.”

“Here.” He handed me a silk handkerchief; he was the kind of man who always seemed to have one ready. “Who looks after the key, Jena?”

“Never mind that,” I said, blowing my nose. “It was safe.

At least, I thought so. I’ll deal with this, Cezar. I’ll manage somehow.”

He gave me a direct look. “You’d best start by curbing your generosity to vagrants,” he said. “I want to help you. Let us not argue over this. Let me take care of this box, and the one you use for the business. We can’t have that going mysteriously missing, can we? I seem to recall that Uncle keeps it in here—”

I watched, frozen, as my cousin opened what I had believed to be a secret cupboard and helped himself to the much weight-ier strongbox that held Father’s trading funds. Of course he would know where it was—I hadn’t been thinking. He had visited many times with Uncle Nicolae.

“There’s no need for you to do that,” I said, my voice trem-96

bling with rage and mortification. “I can cope perfectly well.

It’s just a temporary setback.”

“Trust me, Jena,” Cezar said. “I have your best interests at heart. I will ensure you have a little for your expenses, week by week, and if anything untoward occurs, you may come to me for whatever additional funds you require. That way I will be in a position to approve each item of expenditure as it arises. It’s only common sense. You are a sensible girl, most of the time.”

Arrogant swine.

“This isn’t fair!” I snapped, realizing with horror that from Cezar’s point of view, his action was perfectly logical. “You can’t just take over our funds and expect to decide what we can and can’t spend money on. I’m a grown woman, I can deal with this!”

“Let me help you, Jena,” Cezar said mildly. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I want to look after you.” He slipped the ring holding both keys into his pocket, then took up one box under each arm. I could see in his eyes that no argument I could muster was going to make any difference to him. He was a big man, tall and strong; there was no point in trying to take the coffers away from him.

“If we’re friends,” I said, recognizing that I was frightened,

“then you’ll stop bullying me and let me handle my own affairs.

Yes, there’s a problem, but—”

“Hush, Jena.” He sounded as if he were calming an over-excited dog. “I’m only too happy to be able to spare you this duty. You’ll be provided for, I won’t neglect that. Trust me.”

If a man has to say trust me, Gogu conveyed, it’s a sure sign you cannot. Trust him, that is. Trust is a thing you know without words.

“I don’t think you understand,” I said, bitterly regretting that I had lost my temper; no doubt Cezar saw that as yet another indication of my unreliability. “Trust goes two ways. I know I owe you a debt from long ago, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to hand over a responsibility that should be mine. I’m not stupid. You know me, and you should know that.”

Cezar had the grace to look a little uncomfortable. “I do trust you, Jena. Of all you girls . . . But you are a woman, and in-experienced in such matters. Your father did ask us to assist you. I’m only doing what Uncle Teodor would want for you.”

“He wouldn’t want you to be the one who decided every last small purchase.” My heart sank at the impossibility of it.

“What if I need to pay workers day by day? I can’t make them wait while I run over to Vârful cu Negur˘a in the snow.”

“Send me a message when you need men. I’ll arrange to have them here, and I’ll take responsibility for paying them. Jena, this will save you a great deal of trouble. Trust me.”

There he goes again.

“Let’s find out what Tati thinks,” I said in desperation. If she were at her charming best and exerted her natural authority as the eldest sister, maybe Tati could persuade Cezar that he was being ridiculous. “Come down to the kitchen. I expect we can manage some black currant tea.” I was going to have to break the news to my sisters that we were much lower on basic supplies than they realized. Florica had prepared as well as she could, but there would now be even less in the way of luxuries this winter than we were accustomed to at Piscul Dracului.

There was no way I would purchase anything that hinted at extravagance if I had to grovel to Cezar for every copper coin. If 98

Tati couldn’t convince him to change his mind, it was going to

be a steady diet of mamalig

˘ ˘a.

Tati wasn’t there. The girls said she’d gone for a walk—an odd thing to do with the snow lying knee-deep on the paths and the sky so dark that noon felt like dusk. I sent Iulia out to look for her while Cezar made awkward conversation with my other sisters. The ball of compressed resentment that was Gogu, deep in my pocket, perfectly reflected my own mood.

After some time, Iulia returned with a message: Tati would be back soon. We waited. The conversation dwindled and died. The tea went cold. It became clear that Tati had either forgotten or had never intended to join us.

“I must be off,” Cezar announced, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your hospitality. Jena, I will return soon; I can see you do need my guidance, however reluctant you may be to accept it. Perhaps next time I can speak with Tatiana as well. As the eldest, she should be taking her share of the responsibilities.

Goodbye, girls.”

“Goodbye, Cezar,” they chorused politely. Something in his manner, or mine, had banished the usual giggles and whispers.

I saw our visitor out. In my pocket, Gogu was thinking in a grumble. Interfering busybody. Supercilious know-it-all. How dare he?

“Farewell, Jena.” Cezar gave a little bow, the two locked coffers under his arms. The sky was lowering; the snowdrifts wore gray shadows.

“Goodbye,” I said. “This isn’t finished, Cezar. I’m not handing over everything just like that. Once I let Father know—” I faltered to a halt. Who provided my sole means of conveying letters over the difficult tracks all the way to the 99

Black Sea? Without Cezar’s messengers, I had no way to let Father know anything at all.

Gogu shifted uneasily. He’ll say it again, just wait.

“Trust me, Jena,” said Cezar. As I watched, speechless, my cousin turned and strode away from Piscul Dracului, carrying my independence in his brawny arms.

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Chapter Five

It was not until after dark, with our sisters asleep in their beds and the waxing moon sending a cool glow through the four colored windows, that I had the opportunity to speak with Tati alone. She had not returned to the house until nearly supper-time. After the meal, she had busied herself washing Stela’s hair and brushing it dry before the stove while Paula told a story she’d had from Father Sandu, about a girl who turned into a tree rather than submit to a young man who was pursuing her.

I was more frightened than angry now. My stomach was churning with it, and I couldn’t enjoy the story. I’d had plenty of time to think about my confrontation with Cezar, and I could see something in it that truly scared me. He was master of his own estate now; only Father, in frail health, stood between our cousin and Piscul Dracului. If Father died, everything would belong to Cezar, and our future would be in his hands.

Cezar, who did not believe women deserved lives of their own—Cezar, who had threatened to pursue and destroy the 101

folk of the Other Kingdom. This afternoon, our cousin had begun to stake his claim.

Tati seemed quite calm, if somewhat remote. Her air of self-possession made me even more cross. I tried to shut out the wise voice of my little green advisor: Calm down, Jena. This is not Tati’s fault. It was all very well for Gogu to say that. He wasn’t the one who had to keep the place going over the winter with no money. It wouldn’t be he who had to run to Cezar and beg whenever he needed the slightest thing.

“Jena, I can hear you grinding your teeth from here,” Tati said, tucking the blankets more snugly over the slumbering forms of Stela and Paula. Then she turned to face me. “I can almost feel how angry you are. What’s wrong?”

“Where were you?” I burst out, though I kept my voice down, not wanting to wake the others. “I needed you this afternoon!”

“I’m sorry, Jena.” Tati came over to sit on our bed and reached for her hairbrush. “I was out walking, and I lost track of time. It wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. The only one of us Cezar ever takes notice of is you.”

“He didn’t today,” I told her grimly. “I’m worried, Tati.

Worried about Cezar, and worried about you. I thought he would help us properly, the way Uncle Nicolae would have done, letting us manage our own affairs and go to him when we had a problem. Cezar’s idea of helping is to take over completely. He thinks we’re incapable.”

“That’s nonsense,” Tati said. “We all know how good you are at these things, Jena. About the missing money—there were folk at the door a day or two ago, and I did give them some coins.”

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“How many?” I asked her with a sinking heart.

The brush stilled. “I didn’t count, Jena. They looked so pale and tired, and there were little children. Father did teach us to be compassionate. But there was plenty left in the box. I think Iulia had to deal with travelers yesterday—she may have given more. Anyway, can’t you just top up the domestic funds from the business coffer?”

I could think of nothing to say. It was possible to see how it might have happened: the drained faces at the door, the small acts of generosity that added up to far more than a wise dispensing of charity. I could see how my sisters might all have believed that the answer was as simple as Tati’s suggestion. I had not shared Father’s financial system with any of them except Paula. They’d never been interested. Mixing the funds was something we never did—if we had planned correctly, it should never be necessary. Anyway, it was too late now. And it looked as if, in a way, what had happened was my fault.

“Jena?” My sister’s voice was soft in the shadows of the candlelit chamber. “Are you cross with me?”

Gogu jumped into his bowl. There was a miniature tidal wave, then he settled, neck-deep.

“I was,” I said. “With Father gone, I need to be able to rely on you. I didn’t think Cezar would try to take over. He shocked me today. It’s not just the money. You’ve heard the kind of thing he says about felling the forest and destroying the folk of the Other Kingdom. I’m beginning to wonder if he might actually go through with that.”

Tati stared at me, horrified. “But it’s just talk, isn’t it? How could he do it? He doesn’t know about the portal, so he couldn’t 103

reach them even if he wanted to. It’s just . . . bluster. Nobody’s as powerful as that.”

“I don’t know. I think if he cut down the forest in our world, it would be destroyed in the Other Kingdom as well.

The way I understand it, from what folk say, the two realms exist side by side. They have the same pathways, the same ponds and streams, the same trees. If you do harm or good in one, it has an effect in the other. I think our world and the Other Kingdom are linked—balanced, somehow—and they depend on each other. That means Cezar could wreak havoc there without even needing a portal. I always thought he’d grow out of his anger over Costi.”

“He probably will, Jena, especially now he’s master of his own estate and has so much more to occupy him. Anyway, couldn’t Ileana stop him?”

I slipped my gown off over my head and reached for my night robe. “I don’t know. When Cezar talks about it, his eyes fill up with hate. He seemed different today, so sure of himself that he didn’t really listen to me. He scared me.”

Tati did not reply.

“Tati,” I said, “there’s something else we have to talk about.”

“What, Jena?” Her voice was suddenly cool. It was as if she had taken a deliberate step away.

“Sorrow. The Night People. I saw the two of you dancing; I saw the way you were looking at each other. You need to be careful—careful you don’t forget the rules.” I pulled the covers up to my chin; the chamber was freezing.

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“I haven’t forgotten them, Jena. I just . . .” Tati’s voice faded away as she lay down beside me.

I struggled for a way to say what I had to without hurting her. “I know that Ileana said you could join the grown-up dancing. That worries me, too. You may not have seen the way some of your partners were looking at you. I started to think that maybe we shouldn’t be going there anymore. It began to feel different. As if danger was coming closer and closer. You and Sorrow . . . That’s something that can’t be, Tati. Even if he wasn’t with the Night People, it would still be impossible.

I can’t believe I’m having to tell you that. It’s in this world that we must find husbands, bear children, make our own households—the world of Aunt Bogdana’s parties and polite conversation over the coffee cups. The world of feeding the pigs and needing to be careful with money. Not the world of Dancing Glade.”

There was a silence; then came Tati’s voice, not much more than a whisper: “Sometimes you’re so sensible, you make me angry.”

“Someone has to be,” I said, swallowing my annoyance. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. To look after things while Father’s away.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this.”

“We have to, Tati. Things are hard enough already without you drifting off into your own world and losing touch with common sense.”

“If we decided everything on common sense,” Tati said, “we wouldn’t go to the Other Kingdom at all. We wouldn’t take 105

such pains to keep the secret month after month and year after year. We’d just lead the kind of lives Aunt Bogdana thinks are appropriate for young ladies. I can’t believe that’s what you’d want, Jena. You’re the most independent of all of us.”

She was right, of course. That didn’t make me feel much better.

“We won’t be able to keep visiting the Other Kingdom forever,” I said. “The portal only opens if all of us make a shadow with our hands. It’s possible that as soon as one of us marries and goes away, the magic won’t work anymore. Perhaps it was never intended to last after we grew up.”

“It worked with only four of us before Stela was born,” Tati pointed out.

“All the same,” I said, “it didn’t work those times one of us was ill or off on a trip with Father. We do need to start getting used to the idea that this may not be forever. We need to make sure we don’t form serious attachments, because not going will be hard enough even without that.”

Tati said nothing.

“Promise me you won’t spend the whole night with Sorrow next time,” I said. “Promise me you won’t get . . . involved. You know it’s against our rules. You’re setting a bad example for the others.”

Gogu jumped out of the bowl, shook himself like a dog, and made a damp track across my arm and chest to his favorite spot on the pillow, beside my neck. He was cold; I pulled the blanket over him.

“I won’t make any promises I can’t keep,” Tati said, rolling over, her back to me.

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“All right,” I said grimly, “maybe I need to spell it out for you. Sorrow came to Ileana’s court with the Night People. He looks like them. He acts like them. I have no reason at all to think he’s not one of them. You know the stories just as well as I do. What about that time there was an attack in the mountains north of Bra¸sov, and everyone was scared our valley would be next? There wasn’t a single household that didn’t have a sharpened scythe, or an ax, or a pitchfork ready by the door.

Folk were too scared even to go outside. You’ve heard the stories about Night People. They feed on human blood. Without it, they waste away. Once they bite you, if you don’t perish, you become one of them yourself: one of the living dead. It doesn’t matter how courtly Sorrow’s manners are or how much he likes you, Tati. The fact is, even if he has the best intentions, sooner or later he’ll be the death of you. You must stop this before it gets too serious.”

In my mind was an image of the two of them lost in their solemn dance, a shaft of moonlight capturing them and setting them apart—a vision of wonder and magic. What was between them seemed to have come from nowhere. It had been serious since the moment they set eyes on each other. Was there some spell in play—had the young man in the black coat bewitched my sister?

“You don’t understand,” Tati said. “I can’t turn my back on him now. He’s never had a friend before. He’s terribly alone.”

“I thought he came to Ileana’s glade with the Night People.” I couldn’t summon the least twinge of sympathy.

“He’s with them, but not with them,” Tati said. “It’s something he can’t talk about, not fully. I think that tall one, their 107

leader, has some kind of hold over him. If Sorrow stays among the Night People, it’s not through choice.”

“He told you that?”

“More or less, Jena.” Tati hesitated. “Where they come from, it’s not like Ileana’s kingdom. The rules are different. He’s desperate to get away, but something’s holding him there. Something he can’t tell me about. He needs me.”

“He’s probably just saying that to get your sympathy.” This was all wrong: it was like being in a cart hurtling downhill with the reins slipping out of my hands. “How do you know it’s not all lies?”

Jena. Gogu wriggled closer. Shh. Shh.

“You sound so hard, Jena.” Tati’s voice was very quiet.

“Someone has to be. Someone has to look after things.”

“That’s always been you. Sensible Jena. You know, I sometimes envied you that. Being known simply as the pretty one can be a little galling, as if I have no other good qualities at all.”

I said nothing, but lay back on the pillow, my hand around Gogu for reassurance. The truth was, it was exhausting being the sensible one. I had a simple solution to the Sorrow problem.

All I needed to do was refuse to help open the portal. While part of me could not imagine giving up our Full Moon visits—

the music, the magic—another part of me, growing steadily stronger, said the time was rapidly approaching when we must do so or see the two worlds touch in a way that spelled disaster. But I had to go once more, at least. I needed to warn Ileana and Marin about Cezar. I needed to tell them that, now he had authority over Vârful cu Negur˘a, the ancient forest might begin to fall on the first day of spring.

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“I know it’s against the rules, Jena.” Tati’s voice was a whisper. “I know what I’m supposed to do. But I don’t think I can.

This is like a tide pulling me along. It’s too strong to swim against.”

I had wondered whether Tati would wear the butterfly gown again, but she put on her old dancing dress, the violet-blue one.

She spent some time plaiting her hair and pinning it up on top of her head, with Iulia’s assistance. Around her neck was a fine silver chain that had belonged to our mother. Even clad in such a severe style, Tati could not look less than beautiful, though there was a pallor in her cheeks and an intensity in her eyes that had not been there a month ago.

We were not exactly jubilant as we made our preparations.

Iulia and I had argued earlier in the day about the lack of ingredients for such items as fruit pies and sweetmeats. I had perhaps been a little sharp with her when I told her I would not be asking Cezar for the means to acquire such inessential trifles. Now she was sulking. Paula was unusually subdued. On the appointed day for our lesson Father Sandu had not come, and although I had suggested that the inclement weather was the cause, none of us quite believed it. Stela had picked up the general sense of disquiet and complained that her head hurt.

Gogu sat on the little table, watching as I slipped on my green gown and brushed my hair. Green as grass, green as pondweed, green as home.

“Do you want to go in the pocket?”

I will ride on your shoulder until the crossing. Don’t be sad, Jena.

My frog was perceptive, as ever. I was such a mess of 109

churned-up feelings that I couldn’t tell which was the strongest.

I was certainly sad: sad that we had lost the ability to prepare for our special night in a spirit of simple excitement. I felt guilty, too. In a way, Iulia’s discontent was my fault, for not keeping a closer eye on the funds and for failing to stand up to Cezar. I had to face the unpalatable fact that I wasn’t coping as well as I should be. Above all, I was afraid: afraid for Tati and for the future.

“Hurry up, Jena.” Iulia looked me up and down, her eyes critical. “Can’t you do something with your hair?”

I had washed my hair earlier and, on drying, it had decided to go bushy. I could not force it into any form of confinement.

“No,” I said crossly, and headed for the portal. Tati was crouched there already, eyes like stars. I could feel Gogu nestling into the wild cloud of my hair.

Soft. Cozy. Nice.

The Deadwash was a sheet of black ice.

“Ooo-oo!” It was Tati who called them this time. I saw the vapor of her breath in the freezing air.

Not even the indomitable Sten could force a boat through this rock-hard barrier. In winter’s chill, our escorts came in sledges, each with its particular sound, so we heard them before their lights appeared in the misty distance. The wyvern was fringed with sprays of silver chimes. The wood duck had a cowbell, and the phoenix a row of tiny red birds that kept up a twittering chorus. Iulia, Paula, and Stela were duly greeted and borne away. Tati and I waited on the shore. This time, two of the sledges were late.

“So, are you expecting him again?” I asked her, rubbing my 110

hands together. I could feel them going numb, even in their sheepskin gloves.

Tati said nothing. Despite the piercing cold, she stood still as a statue, gaze fixed out over the sheet of ice—as if by only looking she could make Sorrow appear.

“What if he’s gone home already? Maybe you shouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“He will come.” Tati spoke with complete certainty. A moment later, two sledges emerged from the mist, one accompanied by a tinny fanfare, for a team of straggle-haired gnomes rode the front of the salamander, reed trumpets braying. Like all the other sledges, this one traveled of its own volition, without need for deer or wolves or unicorns to pull it. The driver was tall Grigori. Beside it came another sledge, in the form of a swan, moving in a pool of silence, and at the sight of the occupant, my sister sucked in her breath.

“He’s hurt!” she exclaimed.

Sorrow had certainly been in some kind of trouble. He had a black eye and one side of his face was a mass of bruises and grazes. Perhaps he’d been in an accident, but he looked a lot like Cezar’s friends did when they’d had too much ¸ tuica˘ and gotten into a brawl. Sorrow held himself straight, his dark eyes fixed with unsettling intensity on Tati.

I didn’t suggest that Tati travel with Grigori, though I was tempted. I could talk to Sorrow—I could tell him to keep away from my sister. Almost as soon as I thought of this idea, I dismissed it. Those eyes told me he wouldn’t listen any more than Tati had. If there was a solution, I’d have to find it elsewhere.

“What happened to him?” I asked Grigori as we traversed 111

the frozen lake and the gnome band entertained us with a selec-tion of old favorites.

“Sorrow? Some of us fellows took exception when he announced that he’d be escorting your sister again. Instead of backing off politely, he challenged us. Put up a good fight, too.

I don’t think anyone will be standing in his way next time.

That’s if there is a next time: that tall one, the leader of the Night People, seems to keep him on a pretty tight rein.”

An unsettling thought occurred to me. “What if he bit you?

I’d have thought that would put anyone off fighting one of the Night People.”

“A Night Person’s bite can’t harm one of us,” Grigori said, glancing across at the swan sledge. “All the same, Ileana’s watching him. She saw your concern last time and she shares it.

Alliances between our kind and your kind do happen, of course, but they’re fraught with difficulty.”

“I need to speak with Ileana tonight. Maybe I could ask her to send the Night People away.”

Grigori ran a hand through his long black hair. “You can try, Jena. I don’t think she will. Ileana doesn’t direct the course of affairs; that’s not our way. She believes in letting folk make their own errors. If that results in disaster, so be it.”

“There’s a bigger disaster looming than Sorrow and Tati,” I said grimly, “and it’s my cousin’s doing. Will you ask the queen if I can talk to her later?”

“Of course.” Grigori swept a bow as we pulled in to the bank. “Remember as you do so that the real power in the Other Kingdom is not Ileana and Marin. In times of deepest trouble, only Dr˘agu¸ta can help.”

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“That’s what everyone tells me,” I said, stepping out to a frenetic fanfare from the reed trumpets and grasping Grigori’s arm as my boots slipped on the ice. Gogu was shuddering with cold and distress. I had never really understood why he insisted on coming with us when the lake caused him such terror. “Nobody’s ever been able to tell me just where Dr˘agu¸ta’s to be found. Not even you, and I’ve heard the two of you are kin.”

Grigori grinned, showing a phalanx of shining white teeth.

“If you truly need her, you’ll find her,” he said. “That’s all you have to remember. Now, about our dance. Sten and I have another bet. . . .”

I persuaded the gnomes to bring their trumpets up to Dancing Glade, for I knew Stela would love them. They marched ahead of us in formation, red-cheeked faces beaming with pride, instruments over their shoulders.

Jena?

The frog had come back to himself. I fished him out and set him on my shoulder.

“Good evening to you, young master.” Grigori’s deep voice was courteous.

“He would say good evening if he could,” I said. “He appreciates your excellent manners. There are many who wouldn’t give a frog the time of day.”

“In this realm, we understand that to make such a judgment is dangerous,” Grigori said. “A friend is a friend, whatever form he may take.”

I lost sight of Sorrow and Tati almost immediately. I danced with Grigori and with Sten and with Anatolie. I danced with the young forest men, all of whom had long, complicated names 113

that sounded like stars or rare plants or precious stones. The forest women danced as lightly as gossamer in the wind. Each was as lovely as an exotic bloom, as beguiling as a sparkling gem. As with their men, there was a certain sameness in their features, a certain coolness in their eyes—their beauty lacked the flaws that give individuals character. Myself, I much preferred the less decorative inhabitants of the forest: Anatolie, with his dry humor; honest, craggy Sten; Grigori, whose imposing frame housed the kindest of natures.

“Will you dance?” The voice was deep and dark, like indigo velvet. A chill went down my spine.

“If you wish.” I held on to my manners, despite my alarm. Information. An opportunity for information. I took the extended hand of the black-booted, waxen-faced man who was leader of the Night People, and stepped into the dance.

His hand was ice-cold; the grip was strong. Close up, I looked into a pair of lustrous sloe-black eyes, fringed by heavy lashes a young woman would give much to possess for herself.

The lips were thin, the nose a haughty beak. He was tall—

taller than Cezar. Even with my hair sticking out in all directions, I came up only to his chest.

“Your name is Jenica,” the velvety voice said as we began a stately progress across the sward, hand in hand. “A human girl.

Interesting.”

I struggled for an appropriate response. The one Gogu suggested could not be used: Do you mean as a source of food? Or are you just making polite conversation? “Er, yes, that’s right. What is your name?”

I had already made up my own names for the leaders of the 114

Night People, along the same lines as Sorrow. I had dubbed this dashing, dark-cloaked creature Arrogance, and the crimson-lipped siren Allure.

“You may call me Tadeusz,” he said, clearly surprised that I had dared ask something so personal. “My sister is Anastasia.

You dance well, Jenica.” He twirled me under his arm.

“Thank you. We’ve been coming here since we were little girls; we get plenty of practice.”

“You prefer this realm to your own?”

Something in his tone set alarm bells ringing. “No,” I told him firmly. “I love it here, but I belong there. Tell me, do you plan to stay long at Ileana’s court?”

“Why would you ask this?” We executed a gallop, both hands joined, and turned at the bottom of the line.

I was unable to answer. To come right out with my concerns about Sorrow and Tati to him didn’t seem right. “Is Sorrow your son? Your brother?” I asked, feeling the clammy sensation of his hand in mine and wondering how my sister could possibly summon warm feelings for people who felt like dead fish.

Tadeusz threw back his head and laughed. People stared.

So did I, fascinated and horrified. He didn’t exactly have fangs.

There was no doubt, however, that the elongated canine teeth were perfectly designed for inflicting a neat and effective puncture wound.

“I have neither son nor brother, Jenica,” the dark-cloaked man said, suddenly somber. “We live long, and each of us walks alone.”

I felt obliged to correct him. “You said Al—Anastasia was your sister,” I pointed out. “So you are not quite alone.”

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“Sister, lover, daughter, stranger—which of these would trouble you least?” He was flippant now.

“I like the truth, even when it does trouble me,” I said.

“Then ask what you want to ask.”

“Very well. I want to know when Sorrow is going home.

When he’s leaving.”

“And why would you be interested in such a thing? It is your sister who has attached herself to the young man; you, I think, cannot see past the frog.”

What’s that to you? If Gogu had had hair, he’d have been posi-tively bristling.

“I ask because of her—Tatiana. She seems to be losing sense of what is possible. I am afraid for her.”

“Really?” The dark brows went up. He was mocking me now. “You can’t live everyone’s lives for them. Maybe it’s time to let go; to live your own. You are young and not unattractive.

You dance well. You have a spark that’s sorely lacking in most human women. Why not abandon the rules with which you hedge in yourself and your sisters, and seek enjoyment, adventure, fulfillment? I would take some pleasure in teaching you. . . .”

He ran a chilly finger down my neck and across the part of my chest exposed by the green gown, a gesture of shocking intimacy.

Gogu made an ill-calculated leap, sliding down Tadeusz’s immaculate black shirt to land on the grass in an undignified heap. The dark eyes looked down impassively. One boot rose from the ground, wooden heel poised.

I swooped on my frog, snatching him from harm’s way. “I’m 116

sorry,” I lied. “I’m afraid Gogu’s left a trail on your shirt. I’ll take him away now.”

“Thank you for the dance, Jenica.” The music was drawing to a close. Tadeusz executed an elegant bow. It was not quite a mockery.

“Thank you,” I muttered, and lost myself in the crowd.

Shortly after that, Grigori came for me. He led me to the spot where Ileana and Marin sat on thrones of willow wood woven with ivy, resting from their exertions. Word of my request seemed to have gotten about. This would not be a private audience. Anatolie and three other dwarves were there, and Sten, and a good many others.

I swept a low curtsy, cleared my throat, and set it all out for them: Father’s illness, his departure, the unanswered letters.

Uncle Nicolae’s terrible accident. The fact that I believed Cezar might really plan to drive the fairy folk out of the forest.

They listened in silence. When I was finished, Ileana said calmly, “But we know all this. We watch you. We are everywhere.”

“We must do something,” I said. “Don’t you understand?

This could mean that in time the whole forest will be destroyed.

Dancing Glade could be gone. You’d have nowhere to live.”

“Your cousin does not own T˘aul Ielelor,” Marin said gravely. “He does not control Piscul Dracului. You will keep it safe.”

“I’m trying,” I said through gritted teeth. “But Cezar’s doing his best to take the responsibility out of my hands. Nobody sees anything wrong with that. To the men of my world, 117

his actions must seem quite reasonable. They wouldn’t expect a family of girls to look after an estate over a whole winter. And as for what Cezar intends to do to the forest, you must know that people fear you—that they blame you for many deaths and disappearances.” I caught the sardonic eye of Tadeusz, who had appeared on the edge of the crowd, and looked quickly away.

“Now that Uncle Nicolae’s gone, there’s nobody who can help us. And if Father dies . . .”

“What if he dies?” Ileana’s tone was cool.

“If he dies before a male grandchild is born, Cezar inherits Piscul Dracului outright. Then there really will be no forest left.”

“Mmm-hm. Why has your cousin made himself into an enemy? Why does he wish to destroy us all?”

“He believes your people drowned his brother, Costin. He was lost in the Deadwash long ago. Cezar swore vengeance on all the folk of the forest. I never thought he would go through with it. I believed in time he would forget his anger, or that I could make him change his mind. I think I was wrong.”

“Maybe not,” Ileana said, her pale blue eyes meeting mine with a penetrating look. “Your cousin listens to you. Inasmuch as he can care about anyone, he cares about you. Maybe you could drive a bargain, Jena.”

I did not like this turn of the conversation at all. “Your Majesty, I have come to you for help. I don’t think I can bargain with Cezar. I don’t think I have anything I’m prepared to give him. But if Father doesn’t come back, if he doesn’t get better, I need some way to stop my cousin from carrying out his threat.”

All of them just looked at me. I had expected fear, anger, a 118

shared purpose. I had hoped for solutions. This blank acceptance seemed almost like indifference. “This is your whole future!” I burst out, against my better judgment. “Don’t you care?”

There was a little silence. Gogu twitched. Uh-oh.

“What would you have us do?” Ileana seemed eerily calm.

“Wage war on this cousin, frighten him from his home? Set fire to his crops, strike his animals dead? Take such a course of action, and we would spark the kind of retribution that comes on the keen edge of a scythe, the piercing tines of a pitchfork. It is not our way. Your Cezar makes his own path. Whether it leads to good or ill, only time will tell.”

“So you would just sit back and watch as your kingdom is destroyed?”

“We will not interfere. This will flow as it must; it is not for us to stem the tide. Have you considered that the solution may be no farther away than your fingertips?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” I could not keep hurt and annoyance from my voice. “I can’t even get workers to come up and mend the fences for me—how am I meant to solve a problem as big as this? Cezar’s a landholder now. He’s got power.”

“You must solve your own puzzle,” Ileana said. She rose to her feet and picked up a fold of her gold-embroidered gown, ready for another round of dancing. “You can do it. Music!

Come, strike up a reel!”

In a trice they were gone, heading onto the sward for more revelry. I was stunned. Not only had the forest queen made no offer of assistance, she’d treated my pressing problems—and her own—as almost inconsequential.

“She does care,” Grigori said. He was the only one who had 119