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Chapter Fourteen
We heard the bolt slide open soon after dawn, and Cezar’s voice. “Where’s my man?” he demanded. “What’s he got for me?” He was in the doorway.
We had changed back into our day clothes; our dancing finery was neatly packed away. I had unfastened the inner bolt.
Stela had slept for a little, but the rest of us had been too nervous to rest.
“Ioan’s still asleep,” I said as calmly as I could. “So’s Marta.
It’s very early.”
“Wake him.” Cezar was keyed up, his hands clenched into fists. His tone shocked me. “I need his account now.”
“I’m not your servant, Cezar.” Something had made me strong this morning. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what he had done, all those years ago. “I’m taking my sisters down to breakfast. I won’t be treated as some kind of lackey in my own home.”
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“Wake him!” He lifted his hand and struck me; my cheek burned. I heard my sisters’ horrified gasps behind me.
“You can’t do that!” protested Iulia.
“Excuse me.” My voice was not calm now, but shaking. I walked past Cezar, palm to my face. The others followed me without a word. As we made our way down the stairs, I could hear him shouting at Ioan, “Wake up, man! What’s the matter with you?”
It was a difficult day. Without making any kind of decision, we sisters did not say anything to Florica or Petru, or to Cezar, about Costi’s reappearance, though I had told the others after we came home that I had been terribly wrong. It was true: Gogu and Costi were one and the same. I feared to tell Cezar the truth. I did not know how he would respond, with anger and suspicion or with love and relief that the adored brother whose death he bore on his conscience was, after all, alive and well. I did not know what Costi would do, how he would manage his return. Would people know him? Or would they be like me—wary and doubtful, unable to trust? I should have known him better than anyone; he’d been my constant companion since I was six years old.
My face hurt. In the mirror, I could see a livid bruise flowering across my cheek, the imprint of my cousin’s angry hand. I was sad, guilty, and afraid.
There was a row. I heard Cezar yelling at Ioan; clearly he was throwing him out of the house. Marta made a hasty departure for home, accompanied by one of the guards. Then Cezar strode into the kitchen, where we were sitting in silence 343
over our breakfast, none of us able to eat much. He confronted me, hands on hips, his broad features flushed red with anger.
“You used something, didn’t you? Some kind of potion, something to send them to sleep? Don’t deny it, Jena, I know your tricks! Answer me! What did you do?”
“Leave her alone!” Tati protested, half rising, her hand on the table for support.
“Master Cezar—” began Florica.
“Enough!” His voice was thunderous. “Jena, tell the truth!”
“I have nothing to say to you,” I said, shivering. “Only that if Uncle Nicolae could see you now, he would be bitterly ashamed of you.”
“How dare you—”
“Don’t even think of hitting me again,” I said. “I have nothing to tell you.”
“Then we’ll see whether your sisters do,” Cezar said. “Not now—I have business to attend to across the valley. I’ll be home before supper, and I’ll be speaking to each of you on your own before you go to bed tonight. If you don’t like the sound of that, Jena, you know how to prevent it. You need only tell me the truth.”
The day seemed interminable. Tati went back to bed and lay there, very still; I could not tell whether she was awake or asleep. Iulia helped Florica with some washing. Up in our chamber, Stela fretted, unable to settle down to anything. She flounced around the room, kicking at the furniture and disarranging things on shelves. When she started to fiddle with Gogu’s jug and bowl, I snapped at her.
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“Stop that, Stela!”
Her lower lip trembled.
“Stela?” Paula put aside the book she had been trying to read and went over to her little storage chest. “You remember how you asked me to teach you to play chess? Shall we do it now?”
“Thank you,” I said as Stela began to unpack the chessmen from their bag while Paula unfolded the hinged board that was one of her prized possessions.
“That’s all right,” Paula said. “Jena, what do you think Costi will do? Will he come here?”
“He has to, eventually. He must confront Cezar. I suppose he might need time to prove his identity. Maybe I should have told Cezar what happened. But it sounds so mad: Your brother’s alive—he was a frog all those years.” I had not told my sisters about Cezar’s choice. I had not explained how Dr˘agu¸ta’s gift had turned our cousin’s life gradually to the dark.
“I can’t believe Cezar hit you,” Paula said in a small voice.
“Jena, if he insists on talking to us one by one . . .”
“Don’t worry,” I said with false confidence. “I won’t let that happen.” But my stomach was heavy with dread, and my bruise throbbed as I remembered the look in Cezar’s eyes. It was the look of a man who believes the whole world is against him—of a man who will do anything to change the ill hand he thinks fate has dealt him. And although part of me shrank from seeing Costi again, for the memory of his set face and wounded eyes filled me with guilt, another part of me was wishing, wishing above anything, that he would come.
*
*
*
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Being cooped up indoors was driving me crazy. Toward the end of the afternoon, I seized a moment when there were no guards around and slipped out, bucket in hand, to give the chickens their mash. The light was fading and the shadowy courtyard was deserted, save for a solitary figure standing stock-still, right in the center. It was an old woman dressed in black, with a basket over her arm. The basket was empty. I felt a prickling sensation all over my skin. A moment later I heard a horse’s hooves approaching along the path that skirted the woods.
Cezar was back.
“Go,” I muttered, setting down my bucket and hurrying over to the old woman. “Go quickly!”
The crone made no attempt to move away. She had shed the tiny uncanny form that I was accustomed to, but I had known her instantly. She looked just as she had long ago, when three children had ventured to a forbidden place to play at kings and queens. The old woman grinned at me, and her little pointed teeth confirmed her identity.
“Go!” I urged her again. “Cezar’s coming!” Images of the hunt were in my mind: those men with their iron implements, their tight jaws, and their eyes half angry, half terrified.
“I know,” said Dr˘agu¸ta calmly.
And it was too late. He was there, riding into the courtyard. He dismounted by my side, glaring at the unexpected visitor. “Be off with you!” he said. “If you’re expecting handouts, you’ve come to the wrong place. We’ve nothing for beggars at Piscul Dracului.”
“Not at all, young man,” said the crone, gazing up into his 346
scowling face. “It’s my turn to bestow largesse. I have something for you.”
Cezar opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again as Costi stepped out from the shadows by the hen coop to walk across to us. His dark curls had been cropped short and he was freshly shaven. He wore a plain white shirt, a waistcoat embroidered with ivy twists, and dark green trousers with riding boots. He looked just as wonderful as he had in my dreams. The green eyes were cool and the mobile mouth unsmiling as he came up to me. Over his arm was my cloak.
“I think this is yours,” he said politely, holding the garment out to me.
Cezar froze, staring at him. I took the cloak but said nothing—for the moment, I had no words. I had known that Costi would come back, but not like this, not suddenly, without any warning, and with the witch of the wood beside him.