Wildwood Dancing

off toward the house.

Short of calling out to him, there was nothing I could do about it. Now what? Walk in and accost him, in front of his guests? I could imagine his face, embarrassed and awkward; I could see the look of disdain in his eyes.

The groom came back out of the stables with bucket in hand, heading for the well. I seized what was perhaps my last chance.

“Excuse me.”

He started, then bobbed his head. “Mistress Jena! Shall I tell the mistress you’re here?”

I dredged my memory for his name. “No, Geza, I don’t want her knowing—not yet. I need your help. You may think it’s a little odd, but I have a job for you.”

“Of course, Mistress Jena. But I must water the horses first.”

The pancake was still warm when he got back. There was 373

a certain curiosity in his eyes, perhaps sparked by the story of the girl and the frog that everyone in the valley had been discussing over the last few weeks.

“Take this to Master Costin,” I said. “Make sure he gets it.

I know he has guests, but you must disturb him, even if he’s busy. Don’t tell him who this is from. If he gives you a message, bring it straight back. If he doesn’t, come back anyway.”

“Yes, Mistress Jena.” He held the platter with the ut-most care.

“Thank you, Geza. I know it seems a little strange.”

I waited, pacing up and down, too keyed up to be still for long. It was getting late. I imagined Sorrow, a cup of water balanced in one hand, a little bundle on his back, running, running, eyes burning with determination in his chalk-white face. I saw Tati as she had stood in Dancing Glade, frail as a birch in winter, her words an iron-strong declaration of faith. I thought of Costi eyeing my gift with a sad smile and turning his back. Trust, I told myself. This is Gogu, remember: your best beloved.

It seemed forever, but at last Geza appeared again, hands shoved under his arms to keep warm. The light was fading already; sparks from my fire spiraled upward, like tiny wild dancers.

“Did you give it to him?” I grabbed his shoulders, then made myself let go. “What did he say? Why did you take so long?”

“He has two merchants from Bra?sov with him, Mistress Jena. I couldn’t go straight in—”

“I said to disturb him!” I snapped, then relented at the look 374

on his face. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I have to be home tonight, and it’s getting late.” I knew I should be setting off right now, if I was to be certain of reaching Piscul Dracului before dark. “Any message?”

“No, Mistress Jena.”

“Nothing at all?” My heart plummeted.

“Well, he did eat it all up, even the green part. I think he liked it.” Geza sounded astonished.

I breathed again. Hope was not lost, after all. “Thank you,”

I said. “Will you take this to him now?” I gave him the item I had found earlier. It was the discarded carapace of a beetle, iridescent green and shaped like a heart. “Please be as quick as you can. Here, take this quill and parchment, too.” Maybe those were a heavy hint, but I had to speed things up somehow.

I waited again. My heart seemed to sound out Sorrow’s footsteps as he made his desperate way back toward Dancing Glade. I thought of my sister, so weak she could barely lift her head from the pillow. Stay with us, Tati, I willed her. Keep faith with him. And I wondered whether I should forget my own dreams and run home now so I could be by her side, but my feet did not want to carry me away from the quiet orchard and the plume of smoke from my little fire.

“Come on, Costi,” I muttered, wiping out the frying pan and starting to put things away in my pack, “meet me halfway, can’t you?”

This time Geza was much quicker, and he brought me a note, scrawled on the tiny square of parchment I had sent. It read: Don’t good things generally come in threes?

I felt a big smile spread across my face. Costi was prepared 375

to play. Geza had brought back Paula’s quill. Dipping it in the ink pot, I wrote: If you want the third one, you’ll have to come and find me.

“Right away,” I urged Geza. “Please take this to him right away. How did he look?”

“Terrified, Mistress Jena.”

“Terrified is good,” I said. “That’s just how I feel. Hurry, please.”

I sat on the old seat, shivering with anticipation. With every rustle and creak from the forest, with every drone of passing insect or peep of home-winging bird, I glanced across the orchard toward the house. I tried to guess what Costi would say first and how I might answer.

He didn’t take long. I suppose my using his groom as my messenger made guessing where I was easy. He was carrying a lantern, something I had assumed I would not need, for I had not expected to wait here for so long, nor to be walking home after dusk. We didn’t have much time. But I couldn’t think of that. Here was Costi, coming across the orchard toward me, the firelight dancing over his face. His expression was terribly serious. He had cut his hair again—it curled around his ears and exposed the back of his neck, a spot my fingers might find rather nice to stroke. He wore plain, good clothes: a white shirt, trousers in a muted green, serviceable boots, a warm cloak. He looked as nervous as a miscreant about to face judgment. I had absolutely no idea what he would say.

Some three paces away from me, he halted and extended his hand toward me. “Would you c-care to d-dance, Jena?” he asked, summoning a ghost of a smile.

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“I’d be glad to,” I said in a woefully unsteady voice, and put my hand in his. His