“Jena?” Tati’s voice was quiet as she sat up in bed, brushing out her dark locks.
“Mmm?” I was filling Gogu’s water bowl from the jug, making sure he would be comfortable for what remained of the 27
night. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.
“Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”
“Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
“I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.
Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.
“One of
“Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow.
They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”
“Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”
There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep.
Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and . . . interesting.”
“If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”
But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of his 28
bath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen.
29
Chapter Two
We stood in the courtyard. Two horses were saddled and bridled—ready for the ride down to Bra?sov, where Father would transfer to a cart. Gabriel was traveling with him and would stay by his side through the winter, to watch over him.
With our man of all work, Dorin, away at his sister’s wedding celebrations in ?Tara Romaneasc?a and not due back for some time, Piscul Dracului would be a house of women, save for the stalwart Petru.
Uncle Nicolae and his son, Cezar, had come down from Varful cu Negur?a to see Father off. Both wore sheepskin caps, heavy wool-lined gloves, and long fur-trimmed cloaks over their working clothes. Uncle Nicolae was smiling, his bearded face radiating genial confidence. Maybe he was putting it on for Father’s benefit, but I found it reassuring. Uncle Nicolae had always been kind to us girls, ready with jokes and compli-ments, his pockets housing small treats that could be produced 30
anytime one of us was upset or overtaken by shyness. Now that Tati and I were young ladies, he addressed us by our full names, with affectionate courtesy.
“Tatiana, Jenica, you know our home is always open to you and your sisters. Please come to me or Bogdana, or to Cezar, if anything at all is troubling you. We want to help in any way we can.”
“I’ll be overseeing your part of the business, Uncle Teodor,”
said Cezar to our father, who had gone suddenly quiet now that his departure was imminent. At eighteen, Cezar was as tall as his father and a great deal broader, with a short, well-kept dark beard and forceful eyebrows. Our cousin was not a particularly easy person to like, and growing from a boy into a man did not seem to have improved him. I had tried to be a friend to him, thinking I owed him that. When we were little, he had saved my life.
“Of course, I will supervise Cezar’s work closely,” put in Uncle Nicolae, seeing Father’s expression of doubt. “This will be good experience for him.”
“I’ll be looking after the accounts,” I reminded them. “I don’t need any help with that, it’s all in order. In fact, I can handle everything at this end.”
“It’s a lot of work for a girl—” Cezar began.
“I wish to speak with each of my daughters on her own for a moment,” Father said quietly. “You first, Jena. Nicolae?”
Uncle Nicolae gave a nod and drew Cezar aside. My sisters were standing on the steps before the main entry to the castle, with Florica and Petru behind them. Though the girls looked 31
half-asleep, I could see that every one of them was struggling not to cry. A chill wind blew down from the forest: a messenger of winter. Under the tall pines, all was quiet.
“Now, Jena,” Father said, out of the others’ hearing, “I suppose in a way Cezar is right—this is a great deal of responsibility, and you are only fifteen. Are you quite sure you understand what I explained to you about the funds, and about dealing with that shipment from Salem bin Afazi when it comes? I’ve left sufficient silver for your domestic expenses until well into spring, but if anything untoward should happen—”
“Please don’t worry about us, Father,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. Within his layers of winter clothing, he looked pale and wretched. “I’ve remembered about keeping business money separate from household, and I know the record-keeping part of things backward. The girls will help with the shipment and Ivan can bring some men up from the village if we need any heavy lifting.” Ivan, grandson of Florica and Petru, had his own smallholding not far away. “We’ll be fine.”
“Tati doesn’t have the same head for business that you do, Jena. Let her be a mother to the younger ones— she’s always done that job well, ever since I lost Bianca. And so have you, of course. You are good daughters.” We knew that Father would never marry again; his love for Mother was in his voice every time he spoke her name.
