Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing

Up in our chamber, Gogu’s jug and bowl stood empty on 299

the side table. Eventually I would put them away, but not yet; it seemed so final. Although I knew that beneath the semblance of the green-eyed man there was something dark and terrible, part of me still longed to go out into the forest and search for him, to see whether he was safe and well, to ask him . . . what?

Why it was that Dr˘agu¸ta had made him into a frog and put him in my path so I could save him and befriend him and love him and then have him torn away from me and revealed to be a monster? What she had done seemed not only pointless, but unreasonably cruel. I struggled to make sense of it.

On the eve of Full Moon I took ink, quill, and parchment up to the little tower with the starry ceiling and sat on the rug to write a letter. This was one place Cezar’s watchdogs had not discovered. I recalled Gogu sitting on my midriff here and astonishing me by talking about true love. Telling me he liked my soft brown hair and my green gown. Saying he liked sleeping on my pillow so we were side by side. “I love you, too, Gogu,”

I whispered into the silence of the tower room, where the rays of the setting sun came low through the seven windows, touching the painted stars to a rosy shine. “At least, I loved you when you were a frog, before I knew the truth. But . . .” It was unthinkable that I could still feel that tenderness, still remember the good things as if they were not tainted by the horror of his true nature. He had watched me undressing, had traveled everywhere in my pocket, warmed by my body. He had snuggled against my breast and cuddled up to my neck under the fall of my hair. He’d been dearer to me than anyone in the world.

“I wouldn’t mind you being a man, once I got used to the 300

idea,” I muttered. “I could have liked that man, he seemed kind and funny and nice. Why couldn’t he be the real Gogu?” I imagined my friend hopping across the dragon tiles to conceal himself in their green-blue pattern. I remembered his silent voice: You left me b-b-behind.

No more tears, I ordered myself. I’d had enough days of weeping myself into a sodden mess. There was a letter to be written and it must be done just right. Without Gogu to advise me, I must try to think of what he would suggest and do the rest myself.

Dear Gabriel, I wrote, I have addressed this to you, hoping you will read it first, then share it with Father. I have already sent several letters, but we have received only one from you, telling us he was too unwell to have the news of our uncle’s tragic death. I am sending this by a different messenger.

Gabriel, if Father is dying , I need to know. My sisters and I would want to be at his bedside to say goodbye. If he is improving , then he should be told that we are having some difficulties at Piscul Dracului. . . .

I kept it brief. Nothing about Sorrow or our Full Moon activities, of course. I told him what Cezar was doing: from the one-sided decision to take over our finances to the establish-ment of a force of guards to curtail our freedom. Telling that last part without revealing what we knew of the portal was tricky, but I managed it. I told him Cezar planned to start cutting down the forest as soon as spring came, and that I believed he had sent Aunt Bogdana away so she could not hold him back. I told him there were dangerous rumors in the valley, rumors about Piscul Dracului and about us.

If Father cannot come home, Gabriel, I ask that we be provided with some other assistance. I am afraid of Cezar and his interference, and I want 301

him kept away from Piscul Dracului. I do not know where to turn. Please discuss this with Father. Do not send a reply with Cezar’s usual messengers, the ones employed for the business, as I believe letters may have been intercepted.

My own messenger is prepared to wait for your response. You must honor his wish to remain unidentified. You can trust him. I and my sisters send you our respects and our heartfelt thanks for your loyalty to Father. Please give him our love and fondest wishes for a good recovery and a speedy return home. Jena.

I folded the parchment and slipped it into my pocket. Then I lay on the rug, staring up at the ceiling as the sunset moved through gold and pink and purple and gray, and birds called to one another in the dark forest outside, winging to their roosts.

I made myself breathe slowly; I willed myself to be calm. It wasn’t easy. As far as we knew, Cezar had found nobody willing to undertake his mission. But I knew he would make it happen somehow, even if he had to do it himself. An elderly servant called Marta had come down from Vârful cu Negur˘a earlier in the day, her job to act as our chaperone. We had made up a pallet for her in our bedchamber. It all seemed quite unreal.

I hoped the letter would reach Father before Cezar did anything worse. Tonight, at Dancing Glade, I would ask Grigori to take it to Constan¸ta for me, and both Tati and I would seek an audience with the queen of the forest. If Ileana had no further answers for us, I thought this might be the very last time we would visit the Other Kingdom. To risk exposing the folk of that realm to Cezar without good reason was something we could not do, not if we loved them and valued the wonderful opportunity they had given us month by month and year by year 302

since we’d first found the portal. Tonight we might be saying our last farewell to Grigori and Sten, to Ildephonsus, to Ileana and Marin and all our friends from the Other Kingdom. I knew I must drink my fill of the colored lights, the exquisite music, the glittering raiment and delicious smells, and store it all up in my memory. The rest of my life might be a long time.

When I was an old woman, I wanted to be able to remember every last jewel, every last gauzy wing, every last thrilling moment.

“Jena?” A tap at the door.

“Mmm?”

“Come downstairs! Quick!”

My heart plummeted. What now? I got up and opened the door.

No fewer than three sisters were clustered outside, their expressions mingling excitement and anxiety.

“There’s a man here,” Iulia babbled, “for the quest. Cezar’s absolutely beaming! I think he thought he’d have to do it himself—”

“So you need to get the potion ready—” put in Paula.

“Quick, quick!” urged Stela, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the steps.

We reached our chamber. Marta was down in the kitchen with Florica right now, waiting to find out if there would be any call for her services.

“Make sure none of your party clothing is in sight,” I told my sisters. “We want both Marta and this man asleep before we show any signs of getting ready. Where’s that ¸ tuica˘ ?”

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We had a silver tray ready, with a pretty Venetian flask and a set of matching glasses, though none of us actually drank plum brandy. Tonight, Tati and I would make the gesture of taking a small glass each, just so our victims would not be too suspicious.

“Put the marked glasses on this side,” I said. “Good. Now the potion . . .” I retrieved Dr˘agu¸ta’s tiny bottle from its hiding place under my mattress, uncorked it, and let two drops fall into each of the two glasses that had an unobtrusive ink dot on their stems. “There. We just pour the ¸ tuica˘ on top, and—if the witch was telling the truth—this man won’t detect a thing, and nor will Marta. Then we wait. I hope it works quickly. I can’t believe Cezar is making us let a stranger into our bedchamber.”

We sat through supper. There were so many guards now that Florica couldn’t feed them all in the kitchen, so she had to send provisions out to the barn. Cezar failed utterly to conceal his excitement. The look in his eyes sickened me.

There was no conversation. Florica brought dishes in and out; Cezar smiled his little superior smile; I divided the

˘ ˘

mamaliga˘ and shared out the boiled mutton and pickled cabbage.

My sisters ate what they were given without a word. Apart from Tati, that is: she cut up her meat into tiny pieces and prod-

˘

ded her mamalig

˘ a˘ with a spoon. I didn’t see her eat so much as a crumb.

After that, things grew more and more unreal. A man was waiting outside in the hallway, cap in hands, feet shuffling awkwardly. He looked rather pale. Our cousin introduced us by name, as if this were a polite tea party.

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“Now, Ioan,” said Cezar expansively, “you understand what is required of you tonight?”

“Yes, my lord. Find the entry; go in; come out; make sure I don’t attract notice. Bring back information. I’m sure the young ladies will assist me.”

Cezar raised his brows. “Well, good luck to you. I’ll be waiting at dawn to let you out.”

“What do you mean, let him out?” I asked, alarmed. “We’ll be doing that. The bolt’s on the inside.”

“I have made suitable provision,” Cezar said. “There’s to be no trickery, no funny business, understand?”

“I understand that it excites you to shame your own kins-folk in front of strangers,” I said, seething.

“You’ve brought it on yourselves.” Cezar’s tone was dismissive. “Go on, then. Take Ioan here up to the bedchamber and get on with things. Where’s that frog, by the way? I haven’t seen it at all lately. I must say I very much prefer taking supper without the wretched creature dripping all over the table and slurping its soup.”

“I let him go,” I said through gritted teeth. “This way, Ioan.”

There was indeed a new lock, on the outside. One of the men must have installed it while we were at supper. When all of us were in the bedchamber, including Marta, who had toiled up the stairs after us, Cezar closed the door and we heard him slide the bolt across. The inside bolt had not been removed. I fastened that as well. Then we all stood about, awkward and silent: we sisters, our chaperone, and the unfortunate man.

“Would you care for a drink?” Tati asked politely.

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Ioan muttered something and took the glass she offered.

“Marta?” Iulia favored our chaperone with her most charming smile. “I’m sure you’d enjoy a small glass?”

“Thank you, Mistress Iulia.” Marta was clearly embarrassed by the whole situation. She accepted her glass and retreated to sit on the very edge of her pallet, ill at ease.

All of us tried hard not to stare at either of them. We were deeply suspicious of the contents of Dr˘agu¸ta’s potion. Tati poured drinks for herself and for me; we perched on the end of our bed, sipping.

“Chilly weather, isn’t it?” observed Paula brightly.

“Brilliant observation, considering it’s winter,” snapped Iulia, on edge with nerves.

“That’s rude, Iulia,” hissed Stela.

There was a sigh from Marta’s corner. When we turned to look, she was collapsing onto her pillow, eyes shut. Iulia retrieved the glass before it could fall from her limp fingers, and Paula tucked the blankets over her. Ioan swayed, staggered, then lay down on the floor, snoring faintly. After a moment, I picked up my pillow and put it under his head. It wasn’t really his fault that he’d been so desperate for a few coppers that he’d been willing to risk the reputations of five wellborn young ladies.

“So far, so good,” I said shakily. “We just have to hope it will last until we get back. Dr˘agu¸ta’s unreliable—she might try anything. Get changed quickly.”