Wildwood Dancing

“Never mind,” he said. “I’m expert at leading.”

Do we have to put up with this?

233

“You haven’t brought that wretched frog, I hope?”

“I always bring him, Cezar. Don’t worry, I’ll keep him in my pocket, out of sight.”

But not out of earshot. Why are you dancing with him ?

Grimly I danced, trying to ignore Gogu. As Cezar and I moved about the room—and as I discovered how hard it is to dance badly when the skill of doing it well comes naturally—

my sisters returned to the party: Iulia, red-eyed, with an embroidered silk shawl artfully draped across her cleavage, and Paula by her side. And Tati. I faltered, stepping hard on Cezar’s foot. Tati, not in the blue and silver of Aunt Bogdana’s choice, but ethereal in the pale butterfly gown, the gown that had been made to wear for Sorrow. It revealed a startling change in her appearance: she had lost more weight than I had realized.

Her back was all bones, her arms fragile, her waist tiny. The pallor of her garb drew the eye to the strange pendant around her slender neck, a crimson drop of blood on the white skin. Her hair was newly washed—it hung, dark and lustrous, across her shoulders. There was not a trace of color in her face, save for the vivid violet-blue of her eyes.

“Tati’s looking very unwell,” observed Cezar, leading me through a complicated maneuver that turned me away from her.

“Mmm,” I murmured, thinking I had better do as Aunt Bogdana had suggested and consult the herbalist. Under the bright lights of the party chamber, Tati looked not so much ethereal as wasted. It frightened me.

“A brighter color would have been more appropriate,” he went on. “She looks quite washed-out. And it’s important that she present herself at her best.”

234

“Oh?” I would not help him through this particular conversation.

“Well,” Cezar said, putting his hand on my waist as we made our way down the line, “isn’t that what tonight is all about? Beginning the search for possible partners?”

“More or less,” I said. “It’s not something I particularly relish, Cezar. But I’m happy that your mother has enjoyed helping. And I suppose I should thank you for paying for everything.

I don’t imagine you actually wanted to.”

He grunted some kind of response, and his hold on me tightened, brushing me up against him. In the formal line of the dance, I could not wriggle away. “You hope that Tatiana will attract the interest of these young men? You think any of them eligible?” He ran his eyes over those closest at hand; his expression was one of disdain.

“Aunt Bogdana chose them. They’re all eligible. If Tati doesn’t snare one, maybe I can.” I attempted an insouciant laugh, without a great deal of success.

“You far outshine your sister tonight, Jena.”

I stared at him, full of suspicion. His expression alarmed me. It was deadly serious.

“Besides,” said Cezar, “for you, there is no need to go through this exercise—this fishing for suitable husbands.”

“Really?” I remembered a conversation with Aunt Bogdana.

“Because I’m the one destined to stay at home and tend to Father in his old age, you mean?”

“Don’t tease, Jena,” Cezar said. “You know what I mean.”

I hate him. The frog was trembling with fury.

A horrible possibility suddenly occurred to me. I recalled 235

that awkward conversation with my cousin in the workroom, the one in which he had seemed on the point of some declaration. I thought of certain other things he had said recently, certain other gestures he had made. Surely I must be wrong. I was the sensible sister, not the beautiful one. Besides, even Cezar must see it was ludicrous. The two of us did nothing but argue.

The music came to an end. Across the room, I spotted Tati sitting quietly beside Aunt Bogdana and a group of older women. She looked like a grieving young widow. Shockingly, she looked as if she belonged there.

“You must dance with each of my sisters,” I told Cezar.

With Gogu in my pocket vibrating with ill will and my cousin’s conversation troubling me more than I wanted to admit, I decided I would avoid Cezar for the rest of the evening. “And make sure you’re nice to Iulia,” I added. “Remember, she’s only thirteen.”

Cezar smiled at me. Then the pimply Raffaello asked me for the next dance, and my cousin let me go. I could feel the imprint of his hand on my waist, like a brand of ownership. Perhaps that had been what he meant: he and I. The look in his eyes had frightened me. It had been a look of utter certainty.

I danced with Raffaello, whom Gogu had already dismissed as an idiot. I danced with Anghel.

I can’t see from in here. Put me on your shoulder.

Anghel glanced down: the wriggling form of the frog was clearly visible under the close-fitting skirt of the red gown.

“My pet frog,” I muttered. “He would insist on coming.”

Pet. The tone was accusatory.

236

“A frog?” Anghel struggled for words. “Or did you say a dog?”

“Er, no—although it’s not unlike one of those little dogs, the kind ladies carry about . . . ,” I babbled, hating