Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing

“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.

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“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.