Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing

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.