Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing

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.”