Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online Page B

that?”
    Don’t waste your time thinking about him. Eat your pancake
.
    “That’s where it happened, you know. Just over there, near that little island with the birches growing on it. That’s where Costi drowned.” Picnic forgotten, I gazed down the stream to the shore of the Deadwash—living it again, the awful day neither Cezar nor I had been able to forget, not in ten whole years.
    Three children were running through the woods. In front was Costi, his parents’ favorite, at ten years old already a leader, arrogant, impetuous, today set free from lessons for a whole month, and determined to wring every last bit of enjoyment out of it. His face was ablaze with excitement as he led his small expedition to the forbidden place where the special game was to be played. Cezar, a stolid eight-year-old, followed in his brother’s wake, trying to keep up, adoration in his solemn eyes. And running along behind—chest heaving, heart bursting with the thrill of being permitted to share this secret expedition with the big boys—there was I, five-year-old Jena, in danger of tripping over my own feet as I traversed the forest paths at top speed.
    The game was called King of the Lake. The boys talked about it a lot, but this was the first time I’d been allowed to play. Tati and I had been staying at Vǎrful cu Negurǎ while Father was away on a buying trip. Today, Aunt was helping Tati to make a doll.
    “We need a princess.” Costi had said this earlier, back at the house. “Or a queen.”
    “We never had one before.” Cezar had sounded doubtful.
    “I can be a princess.” I’d spoken up with all the confidence I could muster, which wasn’t much. In my eyes, Costi had godlike status: I hardly dared open my mouth in his presence. Cezar was intent on impressing his big brother and had little time for me. But the dazzling opportunity that was within my grasp had made me bold. “Or a queen.”
    “You need special clothes,” Cezar had said dismissively. “Costi’s got a ring. I’ve got a cloak. You can’t play without special clothes.”
    “I’ve got a crown.” I had made it the day before, after I heard the boys planning their expedition—just in case. It had taken me all day: laboring with glue and pins, wire and beads, and scraps of braid from Aunt Bogdana’s sewing box. It was the most beautiful crown in the world, all sparkles and silver.
    “A crown’s quite good,” Cezar had conceded.
    Costi had gazed down at me. He was very tall; it was all too easy to remember that I was only half his age. “Think you can keep up, Your Majesty?” he’d asked me, his mouth twitching at the corners. He’d looked as if he was trying not to smile.
    “Of course,” I’d said, summoning a tone of bold assurance and lifting my chin. It had mostly been pretense, but it had worked.
    “All right, then.” Costi’s permission had been given casually. Trembling with excitement, I’d fetched the crown and a little patchwork blanket from my bed that would make a colorful cape for a monarch. And I’d followed my big cousins out into the woods.
    Costi was wearing his family ring, a big silver one he’d been given at his christening as the eldest son and future master of Vârful cu Negurǎ. I knew he was only allowed to wear it on special occasions. In between, it was supposed to be locked away. Cezar had a cloak of silky fabric in purple, very grand, with fur around the edges. I wished I could have a turn with it. Clad in our finery, we reached the shore of Tǎul Ielelor, where willows bowed over the water like mournful, long-haired dryads. Why did the lake gleam so, when the sunlight barely penetrated the canopy of dark firs and tall pines? The surface was dotted with little islands. There was one that had its own soft wildflower carpet—pink, yellow, purple, blue—and on its highest point a miniature birch forest, each tree a little taller than my five-year-old self. Just by looking, I could feel the magic of it. Farther