Wildwood Dancing

169

“Mother’s chain? You gave it away?” It had been a gift from our father to his sweetheart on the day she agreed to marry him.

It had never left Mother’s neck, until death took her from us. I suppose my horror sounded in my voice. Tati flinched away from me, but her eyes were steady.

“I’m the eldest,” my sister said. “It was mine to give.”

170

Chapter Eight

My idea grew sudden wings and drew the whole community along in its wake. Aunt Bogdana worked behind the scenes.

Subtly, she made it evident that I was in charge, under her guiding hand, and that the purpose of the evening was to give heart to the valley in time of trouble. She bullied Cezar into releasing sufficient funds for an excellent supper: the band was hired and helpers recruited for the occasion. As my aunt had anticipated, the folk were all too willing to assist in return for a payment in coppers, fuel, or leftover food—provided that they were not expected to cross open ground between dusk and dawn.

Meanwhile, alongside the cleaning of chambers to accommodate our houseguests, the planning of a menu, and the dispatch of invitations, the grim work of hunting down the Night People went on. Cezar had assembled a ferocious-looking band of helpers for his nightly sorties. Many of them were men from 171

beyond our area. Petru had come back to tend to the farm, muttering one morning over breakfast that he’d had enough of hunting. We did not speak about the fences.

There had been no further word from Father; nothing even from Gabriel. I sat in the workroom with Gogu, staring at Father’s empty chair, wondering whether the whole idea for a Full Moon party had been a ghastly mistake. Was it conceived only to keep myself from the peril of wanting? Even one wrong thought might bring Tadeusz to me at Dark of the Moon: a wondrous temptation with a hideous price. That had been the most disturbing part of his invitation—the idea that simply wishing something to be, even for one unguarded moment, might make it happen. My instincts told me it was all wrong, yet I could not keep his voice out of my head.

I had a new concern as well. Cezar had moved himself into Piscul Dracului. He had ordered Florica to prepare Father’s bedchamber for him and to accommodate R?azvan and Daniel, as well. It was far easier, he declared, to coordinate his hunting parties from here—and besides, he was worried about us. We needed men in the castle: strong protectors. Aunt Bogdana had a houseful of loyal servants. He thought she could do well enough without him.

“There’s no privacy, Gogu,” I said, crossing my arms on Father’s desk and laying down my head. “Everywhere I turn, there’s one of them in the way. And it’s making extra work for Florica, on top of the party. I want to write to Father again, but I can’t tell him a bunch of lies. And I can’t tell Father that Cezar’s gradually easing himself into his place, that the valley 172

is full of fear, that I no longer have control of his business interests, and that Tati’s fallen in love with a . . . whatever he is. I could hardly have done a worse job of looking after things.”

You’ve left something off your list of disasters. You listened to that person in the black boots. You let him flatter you. You want to see him again, I know it.

I lifted my head to glare at the frog. “All right,” I growled,

“go on, make me feel even worse. I almost fell for an invitation to do something really stupid. And probably someone died because of that. Just because I don’t say it out loud doesn’t mean I don’t think of it every day, Gogu. If I could make time go backward, I’d erase that night completely.”

Gogu did not respond. Maybe he realized I was having to work hard not to think about Dark of the Moon, now only days away.

“We’ll have to clear out the storeroom,” I told him. “That means Salem bin Afazi’s shipment must go out to the barn until after Full Moon. We must move everything as soon as there’s a fine patch in the weather. I wonder if Aunt Bogdana has some tapestries she would lend me to cover the worst cracks in the storeroom walls? It’s going to be cold in there.”

You’re worried. But not about tapestries.

“No. I’m worried about myself. How weak I’ve been. What I might get wrong in the future. How much depends on me.”

Isn’t your grand party supposed to make everything right?

I stared at him, sudden tears welling in my eyes. His silent voice had sounded almost bitter. “You could be a bit more supportive, Gogu,” I said.

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Don’t mind me. I’m only a frog. Wallow in self-pity all you like.

“What’s this I’m only a frog? You’re my best friend in all the world, you know that.”

Go and try on your finery. Prepare your grand chamber.

Sighing, I got up. Gogu had been acting very strangely of late. I could not tell whether he thought the party a good idea or not. Something had certainly stirred him up. Perhaps the talk of marriages had made him uneasy about his own future.

“If I could avoid this cold-blooded search for suitors,” I told him, “believe me, I would. And I’d never marry anyone who didn’t like frogs. You’ve got a home with me forever. I swear it, Gogu. Stop looking so mournful.”

He did not reply. Increasingly, he had taken to going suddenly silent, as if he drew down a little shutter over his mind.

It worried me.

Go and try on your finery. Finery was a whole issue on its own.

Aunt Bogdana had insisted on new gowns for everyone. We had not told her that each of us already possessed a dancing dress, for fear of arousing suspicion. So we’d agreed to use the services of her household seamstress and allowed our aunt to select fabrics from her own substantial store. Our first fitting had not gone well.