"I heard her laughing while I slept. She woke me."
"You must be mistaken, my dear. You heard the normal sounds of the castle. Don't let them disturb you. The stones have absorbed much through the centuries; it is only natural that they should let something out."
"I did not hear a stone," retorted Marguerite.
Zosia turned to her and smiled slyly. Her black eyes sparkled."Why do you not simply ask what you are thinking? You want to know who the woman is."
"I am curious, yes," said Marguerite.
"Curious, naturally," said Zosia, chuckling. "It is one of your little faults."
Affronted, Marguerite started to reply, but Zosia stopped her with a raised hand. uTsk," the old woman said. "Allow me to answer your question. The woman is a close acquaintance of Donskoy. They have known each other for many years, since Donskoy first assisted her in a matter of some procurement. She visits him when the mists are willing. He would not like you to know of her yet. But she knows of you. And she is, no doubt, intrigued. Still I think Donskoy wants to treasure you for a time, so as not to share his new bride with any others too soon."
"Share me?"
"Simply to display you. This woman might be a little jealous, you see. But you need not be jealous of her. You will be Donskoy's bride, not Mistress Jacqueline Montarri. Of course, you must not let it be known that I have told you these things. You must allow your husband to think he reveals his own secrets to you, when he chooses."
Marguerite was stunned. She had not expected a complete expose, yet she had done nothing to stop it. Now she wondered if this might have been a test, a little game designed to measure her loyalty to Donskoy,
Zosia sighed. "You are apprehensive now," she said. "Curiosity can sometimes lead to that state."
ul do not wish to keep secrets from my husband," said Marguerite. "Or to show disloyalty before we even wed."
"Oh, but you do keep secrets, do you not, child?" Zosia replied. "About yourself." She cackled again. "And some, you keep so well that even you have forgotten them,"
Marguerite was silent. Clearly, the old woman had unusual powers of perception-perhaps even a gypsy /guru's perception. But Marguerite had never heard of any Vistana who had embraced a sedentary life. The Vistani were, by nature, nomads. She began to suspect that Zosia was a sorceress. A witch. Or perhaps she had simply made a well-calculated guess, hoping to trick Marguerite into revealing some flaw.
Zosia continued, "Yes, of course, I see a great deal. For as an old woman I have seen so many things, so many times, that I now recognize them without effort. Do not fear an old woman, Marguerite."
"I'm not afraid of you." It was true. Compared to other threats she had faced, Zosia seemed quite manageable.
"Good. It is all right that we speak together. Soon I shall seem like a grandmother to you, and you will come to know me as Donskoy's first wife did."
"His first wife?" Marguerite asked. She had posed the question without thinking, intrigued by this new glimpse into Donskoy's life. It was bold and improper to pry-even unwise, if Zosia intended to report this indiscreet behavior to the lord of the castle. Still, Marguerite could not resist.
Zosia had turned to busy herself at the kettle, seemingly oblivious to Marguerite's spoken and unspoken questions. Perhaps her old ears had not heard,
"Donskoy told me his first wife died in a tragedy."
"Did he?" Zosia asked. "That is rare. It is not a subject he enjoys."
"Well, he didn't speak at length."
"I should think not, dear child. Even he would not dwell on the dead white entertaining his new bride for the first time. Even later, I doubt your lord will ted you more. Donskoy prefers that the dead should rest, you see, though whether he acknowledges them or not cannot alter their condition."
"How did she die?"
Zosia sighed. "It was very long ago, and an equally long tale. Some day, perhaps, I will share it with you.
But now, I must return to my work."
Marguerite felt dismissed. It was odd, she thought- hadn't Zosia herself broached the subject?
The old woman hobbled over to her and patted her hand. The touch was dry and coot. "We will talk again tomorrow, before the wedding," she said. "Mow why don't you begin your explorations outside? Shall I send Yelena to find Ekharf?"
Marguerite hesitated. Another test, perhaps? Don-skoy had not quite insisted that she walk with a chaperon, yet the desire was clear.
Zosia answered her own question. "No, naturally you do not wish the company of a stiff old man, so I will share with you another secret-a way out through my garden. And then you will enjoy your wandetn alone." She raised a finger at Marguerite. "You must take care not go very far and become lost. For then I shall have to send Ekhart with the hounds to search for you."
"I won't get lost," said Marguerite. Tm accustomed to hiking. In Darken I often ventured into the woods, and I never lost my way."
"Very good. Remember what I have said to you; do not venture very far. If the mists rise up, they can be … disorienting." She paused and frowned. "Have you truly finished eating already? Such a tiny appetite, like the vista-chiri."
Marguerite had barely touched the oily chunks of eel on the wooden platter before her.
"For now, yes," she answered, "but I'll take another piece of bread with me-if that is all right." "But of course," said Zosia. The old woman led Marguerite to a small door across the room, which let out into a winding hall. The rough stone walls stood barely a shoulder's width apart; the cavelike ceiling hung so low that Marguerite stooped beneath it. The corridor ended before another door, which opened onto a small outdoor court, completely surrounded by high walls. Despite the looming enclosure, the court housed a garden. Neat rows of short, withered plants filled one side. The only living flora was a cabbage, brilliant scarlet, glazed with frost. Tiny mounds of earth occupied the other half of the court, resembling miniature graves, freshly dug. Small glass domes flanked a cobbled walk that split the graveyard in two. Set with their mouths to the earth, they reminded Marguerite of cupping jars, the kind healers used to suction and burn human skin while "bringing forth the blood."
Zosia hobbled across the court, her black skirts sweeping the earth. Marguerite spied a dark form crouching at the base of the far wall. A large cat, perhaps? That would complete the strange picture-a sorcerous old woman, a garden of oddities, and a black cat familiar. But when the creature moved, it exhibited none of a cat's grace. Rather, it half shambled and half hopped toward Zosia. The old woman scooped up the animal, stroking and cooing as she turned back toward Marguerite. In her arms lay an inordinately large, jumpy toad. Forget the cat, thought Marguerite. This amphibious wonder was the size of a small dog. Its skin was dry yet gleaming, as if a mass of bubbling and frothing tar had hardened to glass. The creature paddled one fat, clawed leg impatiently through the air, then quieted, fixing its damp, glistening gaze on Marguerite. The eyes appeared to be set more closely together than an ordinary toad's. Marguerite was both fascinated and repulsed.
"This is Griezell," said Zosia, in a voice that resembled a soft growl. She stroked the creature's flat head and clutched it to her breast. "Our restless Griezellbub."
Marguerite recalled an old wives' tale about hags suckling their familiars from mystical teats that oozed blood instead of milk. Like a grandmother to me, indeed, she thought.