"Zosia," she said evenly.

The old woman turned. "Yes, my child? You can wipe away the salve; it has served its purpose."

Marguerite struggled to find the words, fearing that Zosia would simply scurry off, avoiding her questions. "I'd like you to tell me about. . Valeska."

Zosia's eyes flashed, and Yeiena's dark mouth gaped. The mute dropped the rags she had gathered and knelt to pick them up. When she had finished, Zosia dismissed her with a flapping wave. Yelena scurried out the door. The old woman turned to Marguerite.

"Valeska," she said, as a jailer might question his prisoner. "How do you know that name?"

Marguerite hesitated, not wanting to give away her visit to the crypt. If Griezell was not Zosia's informant, it would be unwise to reveal her escape. "Lord Don-skoy told it to me."

"Hahf" cackled Zosia. "He would never speak her name-especially not to you."

"He was deiirious. He did not know what he said."

"Hmmph."

"And I have seen her as well."

Zosia's brow rose.

Marguerite added quickly, "In a dream."

Zosia smiled. "You are very sensitive for a giorgia. But then, you and Valeska share a connection in Don-skoy."

"Then she was Donskoy's wife. His first wife."

Zosia frowned. "He considered her as much. But it was not a marriage sanctioned by her tribe."

"Were you her mother?"

Zosia shook her head. "But I tended her. We suffered here together. She and I, true Vistani no more." Zosia turned, walking toward the door. "You must dress now. Lord Donskoy will be angry if you keep him waiting."

"Before you go, tell me how she died."

"I have told enough," replied Zosia stiffly. "And I warn you, speak of this no more-especially where Donskoy might hear."

With that, she opened the door.

"Wait!" Marguerite's command sounded more like a plea than an order. "I … I dreamed of a curse,"

To Marguerite's astonishment, Zosia's face showed no surprise or alarm. Without asking any details, she simply nodded.

"You needn't fear the curse, my child." The old woman stepped into the hall. "Valeska means you no harm. She is restless and proud, but she bears you no malice. For you, she knows only sympathy."

The door swung shut.

TEN

Breakfast was a simple affair in the drawing room outside Donskoy's salon-a piece of dry bread; a slice of cold, salty meat of unknown origin; and a sour wine so laden with dross that Marguerite had to strain it through her teeth. After each sip she dabbed her gums surreptitiously, so as not to smile at her husband with clotted teeth.

Donskoy stared off into space while they ate, as if resigned to her company. I have disappointed him, she thought. But if his coolness came from the results of Zosia's test, his expectations seemed patently unfair.

Donskoy dabbed his mustache with a cloth. "Well then," he said suddenly. "I promised you a tour of the castle, did I not?"

Marguerite nodded.

He sighed, and she added quickly, "But we can undertake it another time, if it displeases you."

"No, no," he replied, tossing the napkin on the table. "This is your home now. And one must feel at home, I suppose, to be at home. In truth, you have already seen the only rooms worth occupying. But if it will dispel your curiosity and make you content, then perhaps a quick tour is overdue. At any rate, it will allow me to point out certain dangers of which you should be aware."

At once, Marguerite thought of Valeska floating in the underground river, and of the dripping mark of the curse. She wondered whether Donskoy would take her to the dungeons. And if he did, would the tralak remain? Would he too see Valeska's body rising from the water? Such an event might push him over the edge. Unless he knew, of course; unless he had seen these things himself. And in that case, she could not imagine he would take her below.

Donskoy rose and stretched, assessing her. "This is bound to be a dirty business. Would you like to change your attire?"

She shook her head.

"Then wait here for a moment."

He slipped into his salon, closing the small arched door behind him. When he returned, a ring of large skeleton keys jangled in his left hand. "The tour begins."

Donskoy began by leaving the sitting room and leading Marguerite across the foyer. He gestured to a door beside the main stair. "The guard room, at one time," he announced. "With an armory and sleeping quarters above. Unless you wish to impale someone with a polearm, this room should not interest you."

He made no move to open the door.

"Have you never required guards, then?" Marguerite asked, "if so, this land must be quite peaceful."

Donskoy laughed dryly. "You make it sound like a paradise. I have my associates, of course, but I do not require an army. No one dares to invade. This way, Marguerite."

He strode toward the great hall, and they went in together. During their feast, the straw and herbs upon the floor had seemed freshly applied. Only a day later, the mixture clung to the stones in moist, dark clumps, completely void of any sweetness. Marguerite brushed a heap aside with the point of her shoe. A shining beetle darted out, careening across the floor in search of new cover.

Donskoy led her to a door at the left side of the hall and inserted a key in the rusty lock, then gave a shove. The door opened just a crack, releasing a sour gust.

"Here lies one of the dangers I mentioned," Donskoy announced. His tone held only the barest interest. "It's the throne room, or once was, I suppose. It seems to me that the castle has undergone many changes through the years. The floor of this chamber is entjrely unsafe. Half of it has fallen, plunging to an old storeroom below." He stepped aside and gestured toward the gap. "Do you wish to peer inside, my dear?"

Marguerite shook her head. The stench was unpleasant.

"An intelligent woman," said Donskoy, shutting the door and turning the lock. "Perhaps I chose wisely after all."

Marguerite let the barb pass without response.

"Beyond the throne room lies the solar," Lord Donskoy continued, "a private apartment for the lord of the keep-for myself, I suppose. But it's nearly as ruined as the throne room, so naturally it goes unused. After all, I have my salon."

"How many years have you lived in the keep?I' Marguerite inquired.

"Too many," he answered vaguely, "ft has been both a boon and a bane."

"Were any of the previous residents kin to you?" she asked.

"You mean, was the keep passed to me by some fluke of relation? Hardly. I acquired all that I possess without benefit of blood-not my own anyway. Moreover, I no longer remember my people in any detail. I was sent away for study at a young age, but I struck out on my own as soon I was able. Now I cannot even recall my family's faces. Like the castle, some of the older recesses of my mind have crumbled."

Fearing a morose turn in his mood, Marguerite pointed to another door, opposite. It stood slightly ajar. "What lies that way?" she asked lightly.

"Ah, the stair to the gallery. The door remains unlocked at most times. Yelena seems to like the perch."

Marguerite peered overhead, gazing at the rait and the long, dark space that stretched behind it. The shadows shifted, as if a figure had moved forward, then retreated. Perhaps it was Yelena, hovering there now like some timid bird bereft of her wing feathers. Or perhaps. .

"We can go up, if you like," said Donskoy. "You'll \\x\6 a few empYy \ao.\es' chambers oft the balcony, reserved for cackling and stitchery, and no doubt for cuckolding in bawdier times."

Marguerite bit her tongue, sure that truth lay in another direction. She stared at the gallery, but saw no further movement above.

Donskoy continued, "On the opposite side from the ladies' rooms lies a portrait hall, though at present the frames hold only dust. One day, when we have children and can fill the castle with life, we will restore the gallery. But for now I see no reason to venture there."