“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.
The Deadwash was a sheet of black ice.
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 ?
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
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.”
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“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.
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
