He smiled widely. “So my great-aunt finally turned the frog back into his old form,” he said.
I was taken aback. “You know about that? Does everyone know?”
Grigori nodded. “Dr?agu?ta made no secret of what she had done. All of us knew when the spell was cast, and when it was broken.”
“You knew what Gogu really was, all the time?” I was shocked. “Why didn’t anyone tell us? And what do you mean, his old form? What was he before, man or monster?”
“There’s a right time for such answers to be made known, Jena, and it’s not up to me to determine it. Dr?agu?ta’s rules bind us all. We were forbidden to tell.”
“There was no right time for what she did to us,” I said.
“To Gogu and me. It was unforgivable.”
“My great-aunt enjoys setting tests and playing tricks.
There’s a reason for every one of them. It pays to listen carefully to her words.”
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“Tell me about Anatolie.” I forced the words out, wanting the truth before we reached Dancing Glade.
Grigori bowed his head. “We lost him,” he said simply.
“Some cruelties are beyond the endurance of the most stalwart.
We will remember his laughter, his heroic strength, his nimble feet. No need to speak, Jena. I understand that this wounds you as it does every being in the Other Kingdom. Here we are,” he added as the little boat grazed the far shore. He laid the pole in the craft and stepped out, extending a hand to help me. “There is a right time, Jena. You simply need to be open to it. Anatolie would want you to be happy.”
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Chapter Thirteen
I knew I would not have the heart to dance, even though this could be our last visit to the Other Kingdom. The confirmation of Anatolie’s death weighed heavily on me. I could not escape the feeling that I could somehow have stopped Cezar if I had been just a little stronger, just a little braver. I was on edge, waiting until Ileana was ready to hold her audience so I could tell her what I needed to. Tati was in a worse state than I was.
There was no sign at all of Sorrow, or of the other Night People. My sister was circling the sward, speaking to one person after another. As she came past me, I heard her asking where he was, where they were, and everyone giving the same answer:
The young man who was Gogu had managed, somehow, to get across the Deadwash. He was not dancing, either. As I refused one invitation after another, I stole glances at him and 312
wondered why he had come here. If Tadeusz and the pale Anastasia had not put in an appearance, along with their somber retinue, why was this one creature from Dark of the Moon among us? And why did none of the patrons of Ileana’s glade seem afraid of him? When I tried to warn people, they simply laughed.
My younger sisters had not been able to resist the lure of the music; even Paula was out on the sward, dancing. My feet were itching to be out there in the midst of it. The lilt of the bone flute, the throb of the drum, the thrum of the harp, stirred my blood. My mind showed me, cruelly, the dream in which I circled and swayed in the arms of the green-eyed man and felt a happiness akin to nothing else in the world. I couldn’t do it. I was too full of sadness and guilt and fear.
Sten loomed by my side, huge and craggy. “One dance,” he said. “Come on.”
“I can’t. I’m waiting for Ileana.”
“The queen’s audience won’t be until later.”
“I’m worried about Tati. I need to keep an eye on her.”
“Come on, Jena,” the troll said. “I want to see you smile.”
“I shouldn’t—”
“Yes, you should. Come on! Iulia and Grigori are waving us over.”
“I—”
The troll seized my arm in a friendly grip. In a trice we were out in the double circle of merrymakers, facing Grigori and Iulia for a dance called Haymaking. The band struck up the tune, and I had no choice but to join in. It was a dance in which 313
the circles moved in opposite directions, so everyone changed partners after sixteen measures. In the Other Kingdom this was an interesting experience, since some dancers were only as tall as one’s knees, some had a tendency to use their wings to accentuate their moves, and some were so big that a girl my size had to crane her neck to make conversation. For a little, I half forgot my troubles in the constant effort to keep up and remain on my feet. The pace was frenetic.
I danced with Grigori and with the dwarf ferryman. I danced with the tiny Ildephonsus and with a mountain goblin who complimented me on my light feet. Then everyone moved on again, and the man standing opposite me was Gogu.
A chill ran through me. I whispered, “I can’t—” but there was no extricating myself from the circle of folk moving in intricate pattern to the quick beat. With a crooked smile, the green-eyed man took my hand in his and led me around in a figure-of-eight. His touch alarmed me: it felt every bit as tender, as thrilling, as it had the day he’d first become a man again and I’d had to leave him. It seemed to hold out the promise of a joy beyond measuring. He made no attempt to converse with me, simply looked. In his eyes I could see confusion and reproach and a forlorn sadness that made me want to draw him out of the circle, to sit down and sort things out sensibly once and for all, to get to the truth. . . . But I could not find any words.
The circle moved on, and he was gone.
A forest man in a garment of salamander skins took my hand and led me into the next maneuver. At the far side of the sward, I spotted Gogu again, moving out of the crowd to stand alone 314
under the trees. Somewhere in the throng there was a person without a partner.
