her feet were in soft slippers. My sister was not alone. Beside her stood a tall, black-caped figure. It was not Sorrow. It was not Tadeusz. Those ruby lips, that snow-white skin, that elegant bearing, belonged to the woman of the Night People: the haughty Anastasia.
“Tati,” I gulped, “come inside. You can’t go. It’s too dangerous.” My voice sounded tiny—a child’s, ineffectual and meaningless.
Anastasia smiled, showing her unusual teeth. The effect was deeply troubling. “Take my arm, Tatiana,” she said, and her voice was as musical and as haunting as her brother’s, if brother he was. “I will lead you across. Sorrow is waiting for you just beyond the margin. Your sister is wrong. It’s perfectly safe. You’re women now—you are entitled to this.”
“No!” I cried out. “Tati, don’t!” I could see the longing in my sister’s eyes; Sorrow’s name had brought it sharply to life.
As for me, I felt the urge to move forward, to obey the coaxing voice and follow wherever Anastasia bid me. I yearned to go. I needed knowledge. What she had said about being entitled warmed me. In her world, there were no men like Cezar to dismiss my aspirations and scorn my quest for independence.
“Come with us, Jenica,” Anastasia purred. “My brother waits to show you the mirror. It’s just on the other side. Come, take my hand.”
I hesitated, remembering the small, wise voice of Gogu 198
raised in desperate protest.
“You waver,” the red-lipped woman said dismissively. “You are too cautious, like an old woman. Come, Tatiana.” And, as I watched, Tati slipped her arm through Anastasia’s. They moved away, beyond the small circle of light my candle cast on the cold stones. The portal could be anywhere. They might simply vanish; my sister might never come back. I imagined her pale and lifeless like Ivona, with the livid mark of a bite on her neck. I drew one long, uneven breath and launched myself after them.
199
Chapter Nine
The candle went out, and I was blind. I stumbled along the terrace, hoping I would catch them before they escaped my reach.
Surely this was too far—there should be a wall. . . . Groping before me in the darkness, I touched something chill as winter: a thin-fingered, long-nailed hand. I clutched it, reminding myself to breathe. A moment later we were falling, falling, so far down that I knew our landing would be in a tumble of crushed flesh and broken bones. I screamed, but my voice drifted into nothing; instead, the cold air was full of the cries of strange birds, an eldritch music of night. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, waiting for the ground to slam into my body.
I landed gently, my feet on a soft surface, my eyes still closed. From the distance came a sound of faint music. I opened my eyes.
We were by T?aul Ielelor, on the path to Dancing Glade.
There was the avenue of tall trees that led up to the sward; there was the little sandy shore where our boats would glide 200
in to let us out. The lake was frozen over. Tonight its surface did not glimmer, but lay sullen and dark beneath the willows.
Up in the trees, lanterns still hung, but their forms were changed: in place of beetle, bird, and butterfly were twisted forms of things not quite right—a cockroach with elongated teeth; a child with grimacing features and stunted limbs; a death’s-head; a worm-infested apple. The light they cast was dim and odd, rendering the landscape a greenish purple. Anastasia’s pale face was skull-like and my sister’s a terrified mask.
I swallowed and released Anastasia’s chill hand, struggling for words. I could not berate Tati for her weakness. I had felt the same urge to come here. It was in my blood now as I walked after my sister and her guide up the pathway toward Ileana’s glade.
I willed myself to be silent. I would not ask,
I tried to grasp my sister’s arm so she would stay by my side, for I could see in her eyes that she would not listen to words of caution tonight, but Anastasia hurried her on. I would need to remain on my guard constantly to be certain I could bring Tati home safely. Home. I did not even know how we would get there. Anastasia did not seem like the kind of being 201
who would snap her fingers and transport us back as soon as we grew tired. There were no boats on the lakeshore tonight.
Never mind that: there would be folk I knew at Dancing Glade, folk who would help me if I needed them.
“Where’s Sorrow?” Tati asked. “You said he was just on the other side. He’s not here.” Her voice rose. “You lied to me!
Where is he?”
Anastasia was walking briskly, her booted heels sinking deep into the damp soil. “Patience, patience, Tatiana. He will be here. He waits for you. He longs for you. I will take you to him.” And she drew Tati on, so fast that I had to break into a run to keep up. The trees seemed to reach out long fingers as we passed beneath, sharp and greedy; they clawed at my cloak and tangled in Tati’s long hair. She brushed them away, shuddering. “Keep up!” snapped Anastasia, her voice no longer beautiful. “You are too slow!”
On the edge of Ileana’s glade, we halted. The sward was full of dancing figures, as at Full Moon, but there was nothing familiar about it. I could not see tall Grigori, or big, blocky Sten, or diminutive Ildephonsus. I could not see the elegant form of the forest queen or the golden hair of her consort. Instead, a company of beings writhed and cavorted on the grass; Night People were among them, but there were also many that seemed part creature, part man or woman—a person with the head of a boar, a lady whose skin was all scales—and, here and there, stunted beings whose bodies were squashed up on themselves, hobbling in a grotesque mockery of a formal dance. Most disturbing of all, I saw human folk among the motley throng—
202
men and women whose faces were not those of happy revelers but who bore trapped expressions, grimacing or fearful or plain mad. I saw a girl of around Paula’s age—pale-faced, solemn, delicately built—her dark hair tied back in a bow of black silk, her gown a small replica of Anastasia’s. She stood
