Marguerite kept silent,

"They are set aside," Donskoy continued, "discarded for the useless vessels they've become. Sloughed off like old skin and cast into the mists." He paused, chortling darkly. "Or they're sold, passed to some gold-rich party who has no interest in their capacity to multiply. Sold for pleasure. Sold for parts. . " His fingers trailed across her body, and he kissed her gently on the thigh. "But I'm sure you wouldn't allow that to happen to you, my dear."

"No, my lord," she replied quietly. Marguerite closed her eyes to block out the scene, but what she saw behind her lids was worse. "No," she repeated, in a voice too soft for anyone to hear.

*****

Two days later, when her blood came, Donskoy could not contain his rage and struck her, Stunned, Marguerite fled the salon and hurried to her room, where for the first time, she wished the door could be locked from the inside.

Briefly, she thought of leaving. But to go where and do what? She had known only two homes in her life, and despite her idle daydreams, she had never wandered far from either. Life with Donskoy was still preferable to eternal unlife-the fate she surely would have known had she stayed in Darkon. And she had pledged herself to be his wife, giving her sacred promise before a priest-though a priest like no other she had ever seen. If only she could bear her husband an heir, her fortune would turn.

The following morning, her tray contained the usual note from Donskoy. It included a veiled apology and announced that he would not require her companionship that day- For a moment, Marguerite imagined him making arrangements for her sale. Then she managed to dispel the notion. /Vo, she thought, he would remain in his salon, savoring the tender bite of his hookah, oblivious to everyone and everything beyond the boundaries of his own mind. Marguerite dressed and went down to the kitchen to seek the only solace possible. To seek the assistance of a Vistani witch. She hoped that Zosia would be there.

The smell of garlic and boiling meat grew stronger in the passage as Marguerite approached the kitchen. She paused at the threshold, staring into the room. On the table lay a pair of rabbits, skinned and readied for the spit, their pink muscles firm and glistening. Nearby was a mortar and pestle, a pile of little skeletons resembling frogs, and a large wooden bowl fitled with mash. Small piles of dried herbs rested in a circle upon a wooden platter. At the center of the platter lay a slimy heap of tiny purple-red orbs, presumably roe. It occurred to Marguerite that she had seen comparatively little evidence of Zosia's cooking until this time-usually she saw only the results when Yelena materialized from the shadows bearing a fully laden tray.

Zosia squatted upon a three-legged stool before the fire, her black skirts spreading on either side. Her dark, kerchiefed head was bent toward the sooty maw of the hearth. The embers glowed red, and a thick, churning smoke swirled from beneath the lintel, but Zosia appeared oblivious. She hummed a sort of dirge as she worked, slow and somber. A pair of cauldrons dangled above the fire on metal hooks. As Marguerite looked on like a curious mouse, the oid woman swung one of the pots toward the fire and floated her hand above it, sifting a dark powder into the steaming mix.

If Zosia was aware of an audience hovering in the doorway, the witch showed no sign. The longer Marguerite stood watching, the more reluctant she became to announce her presence. She began to wonder if the old woman ignored her expressly; perhaps Zosia knew of Marguerite's failure to conceive, and now disdained her as much as Donskoy.

After a few moments, Zosia ceased her humming and clucked impatiently. "Well, come in, come in, girl. Don't just stand there gaping."

"How did you know I was here?" Marguerite asked, stepping into the room. She sat on the bench beside the table, eyeing the collection of ingredients.

Zosia shrugged, pulling the pot away from the fire. She gazed at its surface intently, as if expecting some response. Then she tossed in a pinch of black powder. A puff of blue smoke rose from the pot, hovering, then fled up the chimney. "You ask a question of very little consequence," Zosia continued. "How do I know you are there? I have ears and a nose, do I not? And I have eyes."

Suddenly Marguerite felt someone else's eyes upon her. She turned and discovered two yellow orbs shining at her from a shadowy corner. Gradually, she discerned Griezellbub's black body squatting in the murk. The toad's meaty tongue shot out toward an unseen target. Marguerite blinked in surprise. When she looked again, Griezelt's throat was swollen and lumpy, with a snake's tail wriggling between his tips.

"Ask me something of value," Zosia continued. "For today I am seeing quite clearly again. Like old times, almost. Do you not seek my help?"

Marguerite pulled her eyes away from Griezell. "Yes," she said. "How do you know?"

Zosia shrugged again. "Why else would you visit? I know welt what occurred last night. Where else could you turn? Fortunately for you, I can assist."

"How, when even I do not know what I am seeking?"

Zosia chortled. "But you do, Marguerite, you do. You wish to avoid another month like this one."

Marguerite stared at the floor. "Yes. At least the ending."

"Donskoy was most displeased- He accused you of spoiling your own field, did he not?"

"He did," replied Marguerite, her eyes growing moist.

"And he accused me earlier of assisting you. Did you know that, my child?"

"No. I'm sorry for any trouble I've caused."

"Tsk. I can handle your lord. Of course I dissuaded him of any notion that I was responsible. I promised him once again that you would become pregnant soon. And you must, Marguerite, before another month is out, or things will become very unpleasant for us all."

"Why did you promise it, Zosia? You have only made things worse. Isn't it possible that I cannot have a child by Donskoy? Such things are not in your control."

Zosia cackled. "If you believe I am powerless, then why are you here?"

"I didn't know what else to do," stammered Marguerite, "who else to see. Even this is a risk. Donskoy prefers I remain alone, that I seek no one's company but his. But of late-"

"Silly girl," said Zosia soothingly. "Have faith. I will help you. The years spent here have diminished my powers, it is true, but I can still lay the course for what must be. I know of a potion that will help you conceive a child."

"And it works?"

Zosia scowled at her. "Ts/c. Of course it does. Why else would I suggest it?"

"And are there risks?"

Zosia clucked impatiently. "Everything holds a risk. If you do nothing, the risks are greater. Now, do you wish my help or not? I have no time for games."

Marguerite paused. "Yes," she said. "Make me the potion."

"Nothing worthwhile is that simple, my dear. First, you must do something for me. Go out into the forest and find the web of a spider, a white spider. The time is right for this harvest; the moon is waxing. When you have found the web, bring the silken strands to me, and I will make a philter for you to drink."

"You speak in riddles," said Marguerite. "Are you saying I must gather the web by moonlight?"

Zosia eyed her carefully. "Precisely. And it must be tonight. I have seen to it that your lord remains indisposed until tomorrow, but when the dawn comes, he will once again be keen to your whereabouts."

Marguerite said nothing, pondering the dreadful prospect of venturing into the forest after nightfall.

Sensing her fear, Zosia took a tin box from the rough-hewn shelf above the hearth and withdrew a tiny leather pouch on a string. She placed the pouch around Marguerite's neck and whispered, "Something to keep the beasts at bay. But fear not. Marguerite. The time for your death has not come."