Wildwood Dancing

head.

So they were. A black-booted man, his features like a tragic carving in pale stone, circled with a black-gowned woman, her scarlet lips unsmiling, her raven head held like a queen’s. A jig?

Not for them—they moved to some silent, dark music that was all their own. Around them the rest of the Night People moved in concert, pallid and haughty. The jostling, jumping throng of other folk kept their distance. Across the sward, the stately Ileana partnered her consort, Marin. They were not above a jig, though they performed it with the air of nobles playing at peasants—drolly indulgent.

“Each to his own, eh?” chuckled Anatolie, seizing both my hands for a prance down the sward. “Nobody does it as well as we, Mistress Jenica! Kings and queens, lords and ladies—what do we care about them?”

“Shh!” I hissed as the music came to a close. “Ileana might hear you. Offend the queen of the forest, and even a dwarf could find himself in very nasty trouble. Now why don’t you go and dance with Iulia? I need a rest.”

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I found a little space to one side of the sward and stood there awhile, watching. I counted my sisters: Iulia, dancing, and Stela sitting on the grass with her friends, making chains of flowers. Paula deep in debate with the scholars, while Gogu, on their table, sniffed at the flask of plum brandy. Paula said something to him and he hopped back to her. Tati . . .

Not dancing. I had not seen her out on the sward all evening, and she loved to dance. What about the beautiful new gown over which we’d all slaved until our fingers ached? Surely she must want to be out there showing it off— it would look magical under the colored lights of Dancing Glade. I glanced about. Where was she? And where was the young man in the black coat? My heart skipped a beat. Our rules were sacrosanct; we never broke them. No going into the forest on your own. No leaving the glade until home time.

I started to panic, something I never did. My pulse raced and my palms grew sweaty. Night People . . . bloodsuckers. I made myself look systematically across the crowded glade—up, down, this way, that way. . . . Those others were there, with their waxen skin and dead eyes, but not the somber youth. My younger sisters were all accounted for, but there was no sign of Tati. A terrible doubt crept into my mind. The exquisite fabric, the frenzy of sewing . . . Surely Tati hadn’t planned this all along? Wishing to be beautiful not to dazzle the throng of revelers, but just for him? If it was true, it would be the first time my sister had ever kept something secret from me.

I began a search, starting with Paula’s table. “Have you seen Tati?”

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“No,” said Paula. “Here, take Gogu—he keeps trying to drink the ? tuic?a. She’ll be here somewhere, don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” I lied, and elbowed my way through the crowd to Stela’s group and their daisy chains. I squatted down beside her. “Stela, have you seen Tati?”

“No. Not that one, Ildephonsus, the stem is too narrow. Let me show you—”

Ildephonsus, a creature with a snuffling pink snout and gauzy wings, leaned close as Stela demonstrated the best way to add a daisy to the chain, which was now immensely long and wound many times around the circle of busy artisans. I left them to their work.

Iulia danced past me, the tired face and ill temper of recent days entirely gone. She was all smiles, her blue eyes sparkling.

I still couldn’t see Tati. “Where is she, Gogu?” I muttered.

“Jena?” My sister’s voice came from just behind me and I jumped as if I’d been struck.

“Tati! Where were you?” I bit back more words: I was worried about you, I thought you’d gone off. . . . “You still have your cloak on,” I said, surprised. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

“Maybe later.” It seemed to me that her smile was evasive.

“I saw you looking for me. I’m fine, Jena. Just go on and enjoy the party.”

It was then that I saw, over her shoulder and at some distance—but clearly waiting for her—the young man in the black coat. His features bore their usual forlorn look, like that of a loyal dog unfairly reprimanded. The dark eyes belied that expression: I saw a message there that scared me. Gogu shifted 73

on my shoulder. He’s trouble. I swallowed and found my voice.

“Are you going to introduce me to your new friend?” I croaked.

“Oh. You mean Sorrow? I don’t think he’s quite ready for that, Jena.”

“Who?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly.

“Sorrow.” She glanced at Black Coat, her lovely features softening in a way that set a chill premonition in my heart.

“I bet that’s not his real name,” I snapped, anxiety making me cruel. “His parents probably called him something plain and serviceable, like Ivan. Ah, well, pretentious coat, pretentious name.”

Tati stared at me. She looked as if she might burst into tears or slap me. We never argued.

Now you’ve done it.

“Shut up, Gogu,” I muttered, furious with myself. “Tell him you can’t talk to him,” I hissed to my sister under my breath. “He’s one of them. Don’t you understand how dangerous that is?” Then I turned on my heel and plunged back into the crowd.

I didn’t dance much after that. I watched the two of them as they went back into the shadows under the trees—she in her night-blue cloak, he in his long black coat—not touching, not even so much as fingertips, but standing close, so close each might have felt the whisper of the other’s breath on half-closed lids or parted lips. They were talking. At least, Tati was talking, and Sorrow was doing a lot of listening and putting in a word or two, here and there, though he was certainly not given to opening his mouth very far.

I watched them as the night drew toward dawn and the 74

jigs and reels and high- stepping dances of the earlier hours gave way to slower tunes, music for lovers. Iulia sat on the bank, watching, her eyes full of dreams. Stela was stretched out with her head on Ildephonsus’s stomach, half-asleep. A couple of hedge sprites were making nests in her hair. At Paula’s table, the arguments raged on; did scholars never grow