Juliet Marillier - Wildwood Dancing

preserve. Stela was setting out glasses and plates—she looked so weary, she could drop something at any moment.

Cezar was talking to Tati, who was pale and drawn and did not seem to be paying much attention. My cousin’s two friends sat at the table. Cezar had met Daniel and R˘azvan during the years of his formal education in Bra¸sov. They were landholders’ sons, the kind of young men deemed suitable to be future husbands for girls like us. I thought Daniel supercilious and R˘azvan rather slow. Both were of solid build, like Cezar, and their interests ran along similar lines: hunting, drinking, and discussing their own exploits loudly and at length.

The kitchen was full of their presence; I felt as if we had to shrink to make room for them.

Stay calm, Jena.

“Cezar.” As I walked in, the eyes of the three young men traveled from the frog on my shoulder down to my wet boots and the sodden hem of my gown. “Another surprise visit?” I saw something on the table next to Tati’s tea glass, and my heart lurched. Instantly, Cezar was forgiven. “A letter! A letter from Father?”

My cousin had risen to his feet as I came in. Now he stepped forward and took both my hands in his. I resisted the urge to snatch them away. “It is from Constan¸ta,” he said. “But this is not Uncle Teodor’s writing. Paula tells me it is that of his secretary.”

“We waited for you, Jena.” Paula was solemn. In her eyes I read the unspoken message: if it was bad news, it would be best if we all heard it together.

“Father often gets Gabriel to address his letters,” I said, 134

picking up the folded parchment and reaching for the bread knife. I willed my fingers not to shake. “Thank you for bringing this, Cezar.”

“I’m at your disposal, as you know. This came with a repre-sentative of my agent in Constan¸ta. The man had not seen your father, only a messenger, who left this with him. I have no further news for you.”

“Excuse me.” I couldn’t ask him and his friends to leave the room, although I dearly wanted to be able to read Father’s letter in private, with just my sisters around me. I went over to the stove, my back to everyone, and slit the seal.

I saw immediately that the message, too, was in Gabriel’s writing. My heart plummeted with disappointment. I scanned the letter quickly. If it was the worst news, I needed a moment to collect myself before I told them. I cleared my throat, swallowing tears.

“ ‘My greetings to you, young ladies, on your father’s be-half,’ ” I read aloud. “ ‘Teodor is still too unwell to write. The cough has deepened and is causing his physician grave concern.

Rest assured that everything that can be done will be done.

“ ‘Your father is not able to send any instructions for the conduct of his affairs while so severely debilitated. I am aware that you have Salem bin Afazi’s consignment in storage. . . .’ ”

As I spoke, my eyes were scanning the next section of the letter, in which Gabriel suggested that I ask Cezar to deal with the selling of Father’s precious goods. I decided I would not read this part aloud. “ ‘A decision was made not to give your father the news of his beloved cousin’s tragic and untimely death as yet. His physician believed that such a blow could well prove 135

fatal. I would ask that if you write to your father, you take care to shield him from this news.

“ ‘I will dispatch this by Cezar’s agent and hope it reaches you safely. Of course, I will remain by your father’s side through this difficult time. As instructed, I have sent word to Dorin that he should not return to Piscul Dracului until he hears from me again, since, in your father’s absence, there will be little employment for him there. Your obedient servant, Gabriel.’ ”

There was a silence after I had finished. Looking from one sister to another, I saw the same look on all their faces. It perfectly reflected what was in my own heart: the cold realization that our worst fears were coming true. Grave concern. Severely debilitated. Could well prove fatal. Those phrases seemed to add up to only one thing: we’d probably never see our father again.

After a little, Florica carried the teakettle over to the table and set it down with a rattle. “Praise God, your dear father is still with us,” she said, raising a hand to wipe her eyes. “Master Cezar, will you take tea?”

“I’ll pour it,” I said, wanting a job to help me stay calm.

“R˘azvan? Daniel? I’m afraid we have only bread to offer you.”

“Ah, how could I forget?” Cezar got up and fetched a capacious basket that had been set by the door. “I’m sorry there isn’t better news to celebrate, but Florica is right—we should be glad Uncle Teodor is still clinging to life. I brought you some supplies, a few little delicacies. I had a feeling you might be running short. Here.” He set the basket on the table and unfolded the cloth that lay over its contents. A delicious smell 136

arose. “Our own store cupboard is amply stocked,” Cezar said.

“My steward attends to it diligently. We can certainly spare this. Nuts, honey, a little wine for you older girls, some preserved fruits . . . And I had our kitchen people make some spice cakes. We could sample those with the tea. You look as if you need a treat.”

I wonder what he wants.

Gogu’s suspicions mirrored my own. I was uncomfortable with Cezar in the role of benefactor. His good deeds were seldom performed without some expectation of gain for himself.

“Oh, Cezar, how lovely!” Iulia’s cheeks were flushed with pleasure. I noticed R˘azvan staring at her in what appeared to be admiration. When she leaned forward to examine the basket’s contents, he was taking in the view down the front of her day dress. I frowned at my sister, but she did not seem to notice.

It was clear that Tati wasn’t going to say anything. Daniel was seated opposite her. She sipped her tea and stared through him.

“Thank you, Cezar,” I made myself say. “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I tell you how welcome these small luxuries are.”

I noticed that he was wearing his father’s gold chain again, the one with the miniature hunting horn—perhaps he wore it all the time now.

“Jena?” The little voice was Stela’s.

“What is it, Stela?”

“Is Father dying? Is that what it means, severely debil—

debili— ”

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“ Debilitated just means tired and weak.” Paula spoke firmly.

“Father needs more rest, that’s all. He’ll be home in springtime.”

We sat awhile over our feast. Cezar did most of the talking. I had several questions in my mind, questions I could not ask. It seemed to me impossible that Gabriel would have opened my private letters; my father’s secretary was the soul of propriety. Yet, if he had not, how could he have shielded Father from learning of Uncle Nicolae’s death? Evidently Gabriel himself had been given the sad news. Had Cezar had a hand in censoring my correspondence? Gabriel had said, if you write to your father—if, not when. Was it possible that my letters had never reached Father in Constan¸ta? And who had decided that we didn’t need Dorin back? An able-bodied young man to help Petru would be worth his weight in gold right now.

I waited for an opportunity to ask Cezar about this, but he was holding forth on the perils of the wildwood, one of his pet subjects, and I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Nobody was arguing—today, none of us sisters had the energy or the heart to challenge him. After a while my attention drifted, my thoughts going over the events of last night: the look in Tadeusz’s eyes, the honey in his voice, the things he had told me. I could not think why I was the one he had singled out, nor what he hoped to gain by it. In the ancient tales of Transylvania, Night People were not known for doing people favors.