The room was cold. A tiny cloud of breath took shape before her lips, then drifted away and dissolved. Beyond the bed's velvet curtains, the morning light beckoned. She rose, cringing at the touch of the icy floor beneath her feet. One of the shutters on the window had swung open, allowing a sunbeam to penetrate the chamber. She must have failed to latch the shutter the night before.
The castle seemed unnaturally quiet. Embers glowed softly in the hearth, but the flames had died out. Marguerite scurried to the heavy door and tried the handle. It still held fast. Disgruntled, she strode to the hearth and tossed another log onto the grate. The coals stubbornly resisted her offering. She poked and prodded at their charred remains until at last they relented, and the log burst into flame. For a moment, she watched the tongues of flame devouring the wood. Then she went to the nightstand and lifted the water pitcher to her lips, drinking gratefully.
From outside came the muffled echo of wheels grating harshly against stone. Marguerite padded to the window and drew open the remaining shutter, wincing at the sudden brightness. Though a delicate pattern of frost partially obscured the view, on the drive below, she could still make out a black carriage behind a team of dark horses. A slender, feminine form stood beside the coach with a gray-haired man. The woman merged with the black shape of the carriage, disappearing inside. The man patted the door.
Ekhart, perhaps? thought Marguerite. No, this man was not as tall or as rigid. Further, his hands were black. Marguerite remembered Donskoy's gloves. She rubbed the glass hastily. The man stepped out of view and the coach lurched forward. Marguerite noticed a long dark crate secured to the back of the conveyance-the same crate that had accompanied her to the castle. Shortly thereafter, a horse cantered away from the keep. It overtook the carriage and assumed the lead. Apparently Donskoy was providing an escort. The road turned sharply, then both the rider and the coach disappeared into the dark folds of the forest.
Marguerite recalled the laughter that had roused her during the night. It had been a woman's. While the source could have been a servant, it certainly was not the tongueless Yelena, and Marguerite had observed no sign of frivolity in anyone else at the castle-save Ljubo. The explanation that came to mind did not please her. Donskoy had entertained a visitor, one he did not wish to reveal, A paramour perhaps? It was not out of the question. Yet he had claimed that guests were rare. All that morose banter over not embracing life, she mused. And meanwhile, he was embracing the warm flesh of a woman.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. There were probably countless explanations- The mysterious visitor could have arrived only that morning, for example. And the laughter Marguerite had heard might well have belonged to someone else, if not to her own fertile imagination.
But who was this woman, then? A well-wisher? Family? Marguerite reminded herself that she knew very little about Donskoy's history. The Vistani in Darkon had claimed he lived virtually alone, but that did not preclude a visiting relative or two. This woman might have been Donskoy's cousin, for all she knew, or his sister. Better a sister, of course. Cousins were still competitors.
The door opened behind her. Marguerite turned as Yelena entered, carrying a tray with bread and a pot of tea.
'Good morning, Yelena,' Marguerite said eventy. She abandoned her conjecture about the woman in the carriage. It was time to interrogate her jailer.
Yelena nodded shyly.
'I would like to ask you a few questions,' said Marguerite.
The tongueless girl looked surprised and pointed meekly to her lips, shaking her head.
'No, of course I don't expect you to answer. Not with words, But you are quite capable of understanding me, and communication is not beyond you.'
The servant stared at the floor, and Marguerite's anger was softened by pity-softened, but not dissolved.
'Did you lock me in this room last night?' she demanded.
Yelena looked up, her eyes wide beneath the ruffled rim of her cap. She shook her head no. Marguerite was almost convinced. Duplicity seemed beyond this poor girl. But appearances, Marguerite knew, could be deceiving. Even the innocent could mask the truth.
'Well, someone did,' she continued, 'and now you are here. So you must have used a key to enter.'
Again, Yelena shook her head no. She walked to the door.
'Do not leave yet,' Marguerite commanded.
The mute paused and pulled at the door, with no result. She tugged again and it opened, scraping against the floor. She looked at Marguerite with a questioning expression.
'That proves nothing,' said Marguerite harshly. 'It was locked before. Mow it is not.'
Yet even as she said the words she began to doubt her conviction. It had been locked the night before. She had heard the key, and had pulled with all her might. But this morning? Perhaps she had not tried as hard. She began to wonder whether it was worth pursuing the matter with Yelena at all. The girl's fearful expression told her it was not. For now, the servant's life seemed difficult enough.
'All right, we'll forget about the door,' Marguerite said softly. 'But wait here while I dress. I'd like to eat breakfast downstairs in the kitchen.'
Yelena shook her head and pointed at the tea pot.
'What now?' asked Marguerite. 'Yes, I see what you've brought, but I prefer the kitchen. Surely it isn't filled with some mysterious peril. And you can guide me there, should someone object to my leaving this room without an escort.'
Yeiena simply nodded. She moved to the fire, looking guilty, then bowed her head and made a gesture from her heart toward Marguerite.
'Apoiogy accepted,' Marguerite replied.
The servant mustered a faint smile, tight-lipped as always. She took the kettle from the fire and filled the wash basin, then waited while Marguerite dressed.
Marguerite chose her clothing carefully. If she was to explore the grounds and woods outside the castle, she would have to be prepared. She donned a long, heavy tunic with split sides, cinching it at the waist with a wide belt. Then she pulled on leggings and tall boots. Because she intended to leave directly after breakfast, she took the green woolen cloak as welt,
'All right, then,' she said. 'To the kitchen.'
Yelena turned and fed the way. They descended the same stair to the foyer, then followed a passage that seemed to skirt the back of the dining hall in a series of jogs. With only an occasional sconce to provide light, the corridor gave no hint of the time of day. Don-skoy was right. The castle was a veritable labyrinth.
Yeiena opened a door and they descended a short stair, then turned sharply and entered a large room with a blazing hearth. A heavy oak table lay in the center. Bundles of herbs hung from the beams in the ceiling. Baskets and barrels lined the walls.
Zosia stooped by the fire, stirring a kettle. She rose slowly and turned, her expression impassive.
'Good morning,' Marguerite said brightly. 'I trust you won't mind the intrusion, but I'd like to have breakfast here. I was feeling a bit cooped up in my chambers.'
'Then the wandeln you have planned for later should provide much satisfaction,' said Zosia, in a deep and throaty voice. 'The wander ing-out-of-doors,
I mean to say. That is why you are dressed so, is it not?'
'You are very observant,' Marguerite remarked.
'Only the blind could miss such obvious signs, child,' Zosia replied. She cackled. 'Yelena, fetch Marguerite some ale and bread. And perhaps some smoked eel to thicken her blood. She looks a bit pale.'
Marguerite seated herself upon a rough chair before the table while Yelena scurried in compliance, probing one of the small storerooms adjoining the kitchen.
When a full platter and mug lay before Marguerite, Zosia motioned for the servant to leave. Yelena hesitated for a moment. When Marguerite did not object, the mute gir! curtsied, then crept up the stairs and disappeared.
'Zo,' said the old woman. 'You have already grown weary of your chamber. Does it not suit you?'
'No, it's not that. The room is quite nice,' said Marguerite.'But-'
'But you are restless. That is natural. 3 too was restless once.'
'I was about to say,' Marguerite added quickly, 'that I did not appreciate being locked in my chamber.'
