Subtly, she made it evident that I was in charge, under her guiding hand, and that the purpose of the evening was to give heart to the valley in time of trouble. She bullied Cezar into releasing sufficient funds for an excellent supper: the band was hired and helpers recruited for the occasion. As my aunt had anticipated, the folk were all too willing to assist in return for a payment in coppers, fuel, or leftover food—provided that they were not expected to cross open ground between dusk and dawn.
Meanwhile, alongside the cleaning of chambers to accommodate our houseguests, the planning of a menu, and the dispatch of invitations, the grim work of hunting down the Night People went on. Cezar had assembled a ferocious-looking band of helpers for his nightly sorties. Many of them were men from 171
beyond our area. Petru had come back to tend to the farm, muttering one morning over breakfast that he’d had enough of hunting. We did not speak about the fences.
There had been no further word from Father; nothing even from Gabriel. I sat in the workroom with Gogu, staring at Father’s empty chair, wondering whether the whole idea for a Full Moon party had been a ghastly mistake. Was it conceived only to keep myself from the peril of wanting? Even one wrong thought might bring Tadeusz to me at Dark of the Moon: a wondrous temptation with a hideous price. That had been the most disturbing part of his invitation—the idea that simply wishing something to be, even for one unguarded moment, might make it happen. My instincts told me it was all wrong, yet I could not keep his voice out of my head.
I had a new concern as well. Cezar had moved himself into Piscul Dracului. He had ordered Florica to prepare Father’s bedchamber for him and to accommodate R˘azvan and Daniel, as well. It was far easier, he declared, to coordinate his hunting parties from here—and besides, he was worried about us. We needed men in the castle: strong protectors. Aunt Bogdana had a houseful of loyal servants. He thought she could do well enough without him.
“There’s no privacy, Gogu,” I said, crossing my arms on Father’s desk and laying down my head. “Everywhere I turn, there’s one of them in the way. And it’s making extra work for Florica, on top of the party. I want to write to Father again, but I can’t tell him a bunch of lies. And I can’t tell Father that Cezar’s gradually easing himself into his place, that the valley 172
is full of fear, that I no longer have control of his business interests, and that Tati’s fallen in love with a . . . whatever he is. I could hardly have done a worse job of looking after things.”
You’ve left something off your list of disasters. You listened to that person in the black boots. You let him flatter you. You want to see him again, I know it.
I lifted my head to glare at the frog. “All right,” I growled,
“go on, make me feel even worse. I almost fell for an invitation to do something really stupid. And probably someone died because of that. Just because I don’t say it out loud doesn’t mean I don’t think of it every day, Gogu. If I could make time go backward, I’d erase that night completely.”
Gogu did not respond. Maybe he realized I was having to work hard not to think about Dark of the Moon, now only days away.
“We’ll have to clear out the storeroom,” I told him. “That means Salem bin Afazi’s shipment must go out to the barn until after Full Moon. We must move everything as soon as there’s a fine patch in the weather. I wonder if Aunt Bogdana has some tapestries she would lend me to cover the worst cracks in the storeroom walls? It’s going to be cold in there.”
You’re worried. But not about tapestries.
“No. I’m worried about myself. How weak I’ve been. What I might get wrong in the future. How much depends on me.”
Isn’t your grand party supposed to make everything right?
I stared at him, sudden tears welling in my eyes. His silent voice had sounded almost bitter. “You could be a bit more supportive, Gogu,” I said.
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Don’t mind me. I’m only a frog. Wallow in self-pity all you like.
“What’s this I’m only a frog? You’re my best friend in all the world, you know that.”
Go and try on your finery. Prepare your grand chamber.
Sighing, I got up. Gogu had been acting very strangely of late. I could not tell whether he thought the party a good idea or not. Something had certainly stirred him up. Perhaps the talk of marriages had made him uneasy about his own future.
“If I could avoid this cold-blooded search for suitors,” I told him, “believe me, I would. And I’d never marry anyone who didn’t like frogs. You’ve got a home with me forever. I swear it, Gogu. Stop looking so mournful.”
He did not reply. Increasingly, he had taken to going suddenly silent, as if he drew down a little shutter over his mind.
It worried me.
Go and try on your finery. Finery was a whole issue on its own.
Aunt Bogdana had insisted on new gowns for everyone. We had not told her that each of us already possessed a dancing dress, for fear of arousing suspicion. So we’d agreed to use the services of her household seamstress and allowed our aunt to select fabrics from her own substantial store. Our first fitting had not gone well.
“There’s no need to be critical about our getting dressed up, Gogu,” I told him now as we descended the stairs from the workroom. “Aunt Bogdana is making us wear what’s suitable.”
It was a pity that none of us liked our gowns, but we could hardly quibble when Cezar was paying for everything. Stela’s was to be a lacy white creation with a red sash. My youngest sister had declared it to be “a baby dress.” Paula’s was pink, 174
which made her look sallow. Iulia’s natural beauty would be dimmed by Aunt’s choice of a soft gray—the cut extremely demure, with a high neckline and long, narrow sleeves. Iulia called it drab, and I had to agree.
It was clear that our aunt intended for Tati and me to be the sisters who shone at this particular event. Tati’s gown was pale blue with silver thread. It had a high waistline and a long, trailing skirt. With every fitting the seamstress, frowning, took the bodice in further. Tati had little appetite these days—at mealtimes she would move her food around her platter, eyes distant. She did not conceal her lack of enthusiasm for the gown, the party, and everything to do with it.
Aunt Bogdana had decided to put me in dark crimson. The fabric was sumptuous and the cut flattering, though it put more of me on show than I felt comfortable with. It was a suitable choice for attracting men, but it was wrong for me. I knew Gogu didn’t like it; perhaps that was the reason for his sharp comment. There was no such red in the natural hues of the forest, not even in the most brilliant autumn foliage. I favored russet-brown, shadowy blue, a thousand shades of green. Never mind. It was only for one night. I’d need to make sure we were allowed to do the finishing touches ourselves so I’d have time to sew in a Gogu-pocket. I had a feeling I would need my wise advisor by my side more than ever this Full Moon.
I made my way down to the storeroom, planning how best we might move the many crates, bundles, and rolls of carpet that we had so painstakingly put away there. As I rounded a corner in the passageway, I halted abruptly. The big double doors were propped open. A crew of men was busy lifting 175
Salem bin Afazi’s precious cargo from the shelves and carrying it out into the courtyard.
“What are you doing?” I challenged them, striding forward. “Who gave you permission to move those?”
The men glanced at me but kept on working. I followed them out into the courtyard, where fine snow was falling. If the fabrics were allowed to get wet, they would lose most of their commercial value. We had been so careful.