He’s a fine dancer. His steps are sure and firm and never stray from the rhythm. When my sister stumbles he’s always there to save her, swirl her around or bend her back to make it all seem right. Sibilia’s smile widens with each note of the violins. Her crown is red and her hair is gold, but it’s her hem that’s very white, swirling up and down and up and down. My sister is a striking sight, but when she next turns, I catch a glimpse of her eyes, and for the shortest of moments, her gray gaze is keyhole-hollow.
“Shall we join them?” Tabard bows at Elise as the first part of the waltz is almost over. Beard strides to Celestia, to ask the same question.
My sisters curtsy at the guards, and it’s . . .
“We’ve never curtsied to them before,” I mutter to Rafa.
She nods in agreement. I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that everything is unraveling tonight.
Led by Tabard and Beard, my sisters join Sibilia on the dance floor. Under the light of the two chandeliers, they’re wonderfully graceful, swans soaring across skies. I want them to stay that way forever, and that’s why I won’t look at their shadows. I don’t even glance at them as the polka starts and the dance partners change, not even when the polka ends and the couples shift to dance our version of the goose song.
Halfway through the goose song that reminds me of a three-legged table, Rafa shifts in my arms. She wants to stretch her legs. I lower her down. “There you go.”
And as soon as her paws meet the planks, she runs to Merile, without as much as glancing over her shoulder at me. My throat shrinks, though she’s her companion, not mine. Now I’m as alone as a shadow should be. As I know my shadow will soon be.
“Here you are!” Olesia glides to me, past Boots and Boy, who stomp in the merry rhythm of the mazurka. She looks different, too, a lady invited to a feast, though none of the other guests here can see her, dance with her. “Oh, why are you crying?”
Am I? I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. They come away wet. I don’t know why I’m crying, or I do, but I can’t say it aloud, because then everyone will grow worried about me.
“My dear, what is wrong?” Olesia bends down to cup my cheeks.
I swallow back tears, though my shrunken throat hurts. This is Sibilia’s night, not mine. Real shadows never draw attention to themselves. “My sisters look so happy . . .”
Olesia shifts so that she can look at my sisters. They swirl in the arms of the guards, not only happy, but somehow wild, too. As if we were someplace else, maybe back in the Summer Palace and not locked into the drawing room of a house so far up in the north that during summers there are no nights.
“I know, it is sad . . .” Olesia trails off, her gaze fixing on Sibilia, my sister crowned by the too-early autumn, “that she won’t ever leave this house.”
That sounds wrong. I grip Olesia’s ghost hand, but my fingers go through hers. “What do you mean?”
Irina and Olesia weren’t present when Celestia confronted the gagargi. They remained away when she returned victorious, when she spoke slowly the news that filled us with joy, when she drifted to sleep that lasted for three days. But I did tell them everything, word for word. When the gagargi sends for us, either we all go or we all stay. And if we all go, Celestia won’t let the gagargi feed me to his machine, she promised me that.
So why did Olesia then single out Sibilia?
“Nothing.” Olesia pulls her hands away and straightens her back. “Nothing at all.”
But I don’t believe her. Merile has always said that I shouldn’t trust the ghosts so blindly. I’ve always defended them, but now . . .
“Oh, this is the cotillion!” Olesia tousles my hair. “You will be all right.” And without waiting for my answer to the question that may not have even been one, she hurries to the dance floor, waving at her sister. “Irina, come and dance this with me!”
The cot-cot song, my favorite, has never made me as sad. I wish Rafa would return to me, but she’s busy with begging treats from the guards, and I don’t want to call out to her, because shadows are supposed to stay silent. When I’m silent, people sometimes forget I’m present and say things they didn’t mean me to hear. But for the ghosts, I’m the only one who can always see and hear them. I think everything they say is always of great importance, though I don’t always understand what they mean.
Waltz and polka and another goose song. No one misses me during the dancing, as the evening behind the sewn-shut curtains and tar-black glass and barred-shut windows arrives, but doesn’t darken. Yet, the room darkens so that all that remains is the brighter glow of the chandeliers, the whiter shapes of my sisters, and the redder belts and ribbons of the guards. Though the music is the same, each song is somehow faster than the previous, the steps of the dancers fierier than before, followed by soft pops. The guards spin and fling my sisters. They soar from one man to another, their feet moving in patterns so quick and complicated that I fear they might hurt themselves.
But faster they go, even faster, and soon their heels no longer touch the floor, and it’s as if both they and the guards are dancing in the air, rising higher and higher, toward a ceiling that’s no longer there, but replaced by a black sky as vast and wide as the one outside these walls.
And it’s all so impossible, so very impossible, that I need to know that it’s not true, that they’re not about to leave me in this house alone, and that is why I decide to look at their shadows.
The guards’ shadows are heavy, black and right, but those of my sisters . . .
When Celestia spreads her arms wide, in the deepest curtsy, she extends the wings that she doesn’t have, but still has, that I know aren’t strong enough to carry her.
When Elise spirals at the center of the dance floor, arms raised and twined together, head tossed back in a pealing gale of laughter, her shadow sways in a way that doesn’t make sense, as if it were hanging from such a great height that her feet can’t reach the ground anymore.
When Sibilia . . . I can’t look at her shadow. I can’t. My sister’s hair has come loose and she’s lost the crown of maple leaves. Yet her steps are lighter than they’ve ever been as she falls in the arms of Boy at the end of the song.
And then there are no more songs. I don’t know how many there were. But when I look at Merile, I know there won’t be more. Every single one of the discs is gone, shattered into black dust and rubble that has piled on the gramophone, the oval table, and at her feet. Yet, she cranks the gramophone as if she’d noticed none of that.
The darkness withdraws between two eyeblinks, and light returns to the room. Maybe it was never dark. Maybe I just imagined it. Maybe if I tell myself so many, many times, it will be as if I’d never seen what I saw. I can but try.
On the dance floor, my sisters curtsy to their last partners, Celestia at Boots, Elise at Captain Janlav, and Sibilia at Boy. Celestia, Elise, and the guards stroll to the oval table, to catch their breaths and sip the punch and enjoy the sweet and salty treats. The ghosts trail after them, arms linked together. But Sibilia and Boy retreat to the other side of the room, to the sofa placed before the tall mirror.
I know I shouldn’t look at them, it’s not polite to spy, but I can’t stop myself, because this at least is real. Besides, as I’m too far away to hear them, it can’t really count.
Sibilia arranges her dress better over her knees. Boy tugs his trousers straight. He meets her gaze, asks her something. She giggles behind a raised palm. He places his hand on hers, and she nods. He leans toward her—I don’t really know why. She whispers something short and turns her head aside. His lips brush against her cheek, and then both of them pull back and resume sitting on the sofa, blushing redder than the maple leaves.
“Here you are!” Captain Janlav’s voice startles me. I jump a step aside. Did he catch me spying? That is, not really spying. “I was starting to wonder where you’d slipped off to.”
I turn my gaze aside from Sibilia and Boy. I don’t know what I saw, but now they’v
e both already got up from the sofa. I’m not going to say a word about this to anyone, not even to the ghosts. But I must say something, and so I say, “I slipped nowhere. I was here all the time, watching you dancing.”
Captain Janlav kneels before me so that his brown eyes are level with mine. He’s always been nice to me. And tonight, he’s the only one apart from Olesia who’s come and talked with me. Merile shouting at me really doesn’t count.
I toy with my hem as I sway from side to side. Knowing Elise and Sibilia, they might come and steal Captain Janlav away any moment, and then I’d be alone again. “I would have wanted to dance, too, but Elise and Merile wouldn’t let me.”
“I know.” He pats my head, and his touch is solid and soothing. “You have to wait but a few more years.”
This evening things have been happening too fast, and they continue to do so. Words come to me, and I let them out. “I always have to wait. I’m always too young.”
“Oh, little Alina,” he chuckles, “there’s some good things about being young, too.”
I glare at him. He’s very wrong. There’s nothing good about being the youngest. “Like what?”
He glances at my sisters and the guards, then winks at me. “You get to ride piggyback.”
Ride piggyback! Elise and Sibilia always refuse to carry me piggyback. The last time I got to ride Captain Janlav was . . .
“Up you get.” He turns his back to me. Without a second thought, I climb up. He prances his arms as if they were feet, and his red epaulets swoosh. Tonight no one is as they should be, and now he’s a wild stallion. Like Bopol. “Ready?”
“Yes!”
Captain Janlav gallops around the room, though Celestia and Elise look at us, brows arched like angry gulls, Merile frowns in what I know is envy, and the guards laugh. I don’t care. I giggle and flick his braids as if they were reins. “Gallop. Gallop.”
He obeys me like a good steed should, but still he’s not a real horse. I try and forget that, but can’t. And too soon, he stops by the sofa and lowers me onto the floor. “How about that?”
I brush my hem down again, to hide my patched stockings. Piggybacking is fun, but so is . . . “I wish I could ride a real pony.”
“Well, I can’t help with that one,” he says, as I knew he would. All the horses in the stables belong to Captain Ansalov. But then he lowers his voice in a way people do when they’re about to tell a secret. “But soon you’ll get to ride in a train again.”
Elise really likes Captain Janlav, and I like him quite a lot. Maybe he really is my friend, too. I wink at him because that’s what you do when you remind someone of a shared secret. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?” His brows furrow, and he glances at Elise. Did my sister not tell him? Or did he simply forget the plan?
“Either we all go or no one goes, and I think it might be the latter.”
He jolts like a spooked horse might, away from me. As he stares at me, eyes wide, I realize I’ve said a thing that should have been kept a secret, though I don’t really know why.
Chapter 12: Merile
Sleep. I can’t sleep. My companions snore between Alina and me, keeled over on their backs, with their tiny paws propped up, their tongues lolling out of their parted mouths, their bellies bursting full. The air smells of musk and wet fur, but it’s not my stinky sillies that keep me awake. It’s Alina.
My little sister was so very upset after the Ball. She cried for what must have been two hours, but wouldn’t tell me why. She might have just been tired from all the excitement. Or she might have been afraid of the gagargi and the Great Thinking Machine, and who can really blame her when he as much as admitted to wanting to feed her soul to the machine! But I don’t think it was a case of either. I’ve seen her cry enough times to be able to figure out what ails her.
Creak. There’s a creak where before there was only silence, a long and sullen creak. It’s the drawing room’s door. Someone has pushed it open.
I stare over the blanket’s edge at the door Captain Janlav locked behind him. I grip it with both hands, knuckles white, unable to move. Are Captain Ansalov’s soldiers coming for us, in the middle of the night when Papa can’t see what comes to pass? Is this what Alina somehow sensed? She knows more than she tells us.
The door creaks again. Now, it’s being pushed closed. Ha! People don’t close doors behind them when they’re up to no good. I’m no longer at all afraid. Really, I’m not. I want to know who’s in the drawing room.
“Rafa, Mufu.” I keep my voice low because I don’t want to wake up Alina. My sillies continue snoring. And smelling.
Groan. The long floorboards groan under the steady, cautious steps that don’t belong to any of my sisters. Whoever walks in the drawing room doesn’t know the silent path. I shall call them “mystery visitor.”
“Mufu.” I curl up and poke at my pretty companion. She flinches awake, but remains lying on her back. Her belly is so full it might just split open. “Watch over Alina, will you?”
Mufu’s tongue disappears inside her mouth as she glances sideways at Alina. My sister is crying in her sleep. She hinted that she’d done something she shouldn’t have done, but I’ve no idea what she meant because she refused to tell me more. “Just watch over her.”
Mufu snuggles closer to Alina. It’s safe for me to get up and investigate. And this time around, I’ll be careful. I won’t leave the room, not that that’s an option, because Celestia has the key ring. Really, I won’t be placing my sisters at risk even in the slightest.
Tiptoe. I tiptoe to the door and press my ear against the panel. The creaks are closer now, as if the mystery visitor were hesitant to go through with their plan, whatever that might turn out to be. And what could it be? I have no idea.
The steps stop, not behind this door, but before . . . At first I’m not sure, and then I am, because we’ve been locked in this house for so long that I’ve learnt to recognize every screech and sigh of every room we’re allowed in. The mystery visitor stands before Elise’s door. How curious! Who would have anything to say to Elise in the middle of the night? She’s become friends with some of the guards, but surely whatever they have in mind can wait until morning!
There’s a knock. Short and short. Long and short.
I hold my breath, excited, but nervous, too. Is Elise awake still? Sometimes she cries at night, even though she smiles through the days. Though lately, there’s been less smiling and more arguing. Celestia and Elise think that Alina and I are too young to realize that they’re fighting. Or not fighting. Disagreeing and avoiding each other. It started after the gagargi left. No, maybe even before that. Can it have something to do with him claiming that Elise had plotted against Mama and funded the revolution? But Sibilia said it was all lies. She did say that.
I hear Elise’s door open, quiet words exchanged, the door closing. Plan. What if my sister has a better plan than Celestia? Irina and Olesia always caution us not to trust our older sisters. I’ve always told Alina not to believe everything the ghosts say. But what if they’re right! What if it’s not Celestia that’s hiding things from us, but Elise!
There’s no time to lose. I dash to the vanity desk’s cracked mirror. “Irina, Olesia.”
My heart pounds and my mouth turns dry. I need the ghosts now. They can go and eavesdrop on what happens in Elise’s room. I can’t.
“Quick.” I tap my fingers against the mirror’s surface. Rafa stirs from her sleep. She stares at me, her big eyes wide. I shake my head at her, lower my voice. “Quick.”
But though I knock on the mirror’s surface, the ghosts don’t appear. Do they tire as we do? They did stay with us longer today than they’ve done in weeks. Toward the end, they looked pale and weary, even more so than Alina.
“Come now.”
And still nothing, not even a whiff of their perfume. It’s agonizing. Do I spend more time trying to lure the ghosts in or . . . If I wait, I might miss something important. The ghosts might sho
w up later or then not at all. Ah, this is such a difficult call!
I make up my mind and abandon the mirror. I take a spot next to the old armchair and press my cheek against the flaking wallpaper. The walls of this house aren’t particularly thick.
“Please tell me, tell me now”—Captain Janlav’s voice is unmistakable, especially since he’s raised it—“what is this nonsense about none of you going?”
There’s a lengthy pause. No doubt Elise considers what to say. She, too, must think how exactly did Captain Janlav learn of our plan? How did he? Surely no one has told him that it was Celestia who sent the gagargi away empty-handed, that she’ll do so again and again until he lets us walk free.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Elise finally replies. I’d have said the same thing.
Two hasty steps. “Don’t you take me for a fool! Oh, sweet woman, don’t you dare to take me for a complete and utter fool!”
Silence. With my ear pressed against the wall, I can keep an eye out for Alina and my companions. She sleeps still, but Rafa and Mufu are wide awake. They’ve managed to roll over onto their swollen, round bellies. If I were to summon them, they’d obey at once, though they might not move terribly fast.
“Elise,” said in a much softer voice. I shake my head at my companions. I’m not afraid. Elise is seventeen. She can take care of herself. “Do you think I have come to you now, in the middle of the night, to punish you? Do you really think so? Answer me, woman. Do you really think so?”
“No.”
Maybe I should feel guilty for eavesdropping on a conversation that might be meant to be private. But I don’t. I know what I’m told and nothing more—I deserve to know the rest. I shall listen with great glee.
“Good.” I imagine Captain Janlav as he must be, standing with his heels together, hands clasped behind his back, staring sternly at my sister. “I’m here to warn you as a friend. The game you and your sisters play is dangerous.”
“Dangerous,” Elise laughs. She’s upset. I’d be upset, too, if someone barged into my room and started blaming me for things. “What a funny thing to say! Tell me, has there been a moment since my sisters and I boarded the train, since we arrived in this house, that we haven’t been in danger?”
The Sisters of the Crescent Empress Page 22