Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing

108

“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.”

112

“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.”