“Indeed?” the Vitellian girl remarked. “How is Fiussanal celebrated in Crotheny?”
“We exchange lockets with pressed flowers,” Austra told her. “We build a feinglest in the sacred horz and drink the last of the new wine.”
“What’s a feinglest?” Serevkis asked.
“It’s a sort of wickerwork, filled with flowers,” Anne told her. “I think the custom came from Liery.”
“Ah.” Serevkis grinned. “We have that custom, I think, though we name it differently. Follow me. I think I saw the horz around here.” They walked past a rambling stand of olive trees cheery with box-shaped paper lanterns, along a wing of the triva to a small walled garden.
There, beside a gnarled, ancient oak, stood a woman made of flowers. Her eyes were red poppies, her skirt of goldenrod and orange-damsel, her fingers purple asters.
The sight of her sent an awful, sick jolt through Anne, recalling vividly the women in her visions, the black roses, the horned thing in the woods.
“Like that?” Serevkis asked. “Is that a feinglest?”
“No,” Anne said weakly. “I mean, yes, I guess it is, but in Crotheny we make cones, or tall baskets, or … never anything like that. Never anything that looks like a person.”
But she remembered that feinglest was Leirish for green woman. A hollow of anxiety deepened in her.
“Let’s leave this place,” she said. In the lantern light, it looked as if the green woman was widening her smile, as if at any moment she would take a step toward them.
“I think she’s pretty,” Austra opined.
“I’m leaving.” Anne turned and walked back toward the house and the sounds of celebration.
“Well, what’s wrong with her?” Serevkis muttered, more puzzled than angry.
Anne quickened her pace. She wanted away from the garden, out from under the night sky, the fields and trees. She wanted lantern light and people and wine. Especially wine.
As they stepped back into the huge courtyard of the mansion, the countess herself came toward them, smiling. She wore a gown embroidered to the point of tastelessness with gold and silver flowering vines.
“My dear,” she said to Anne. “That face! I hope you are enjoying yourself.”
“I am, casnara,” Anne lied. “Thank you so very much for your hospitality.”
“It’s nothing,” the woman said, beaming. “And for you, my dear, I think I may have a special surprise.”
Anne blinked. She had met the countess, of course, upon arrival when everyone else had, but couldn’t imagine how she had drawn the woman’s special attention.
“Here,” the countess said, taking her aside and whispering in her ear. “Enter my house through the largest door, and you will find a staircase on your left. Follow it up, then down the hall, where it will open into my lavender garden. There you will find a young man who very much desires your company.”
“I … a young man?”
The countess looked very pleased with herself. “By your face, you must be the one. I think you must know who I mean.”
“Thank you, Countess,” Anne said, trying to keep her expression neutral. But in her chest, her heart was doing strange things, and her mind was racing.
By now, Roderick would have received her letter. By now, he could be here. He might have heard of this fete, and impressed upon the countess his great love and need to see her, and of course this was the only time and place such a thing could happen. If he came to the coven, he would certainly be turned away. Perhaps he had already tried that, and no word had come to her.
“What was all that about?” Serevkis asked.
“Nothing,” Anne replied. “She’s asked Austra and me to do her a favor, that’s all.”
“I’ll go along,” Serevkis said.
“No!” Anne said, a bit too loudly. Several heads turned in her direction, including Sister Casita’s. “No,” she repeated more softly. “She asked that only Austra and I go.”
“How mysterious,” Serevkis said, a bit skeptically. “One would almost think something devious was going on.”
“No, nothing of the sort,” Anne insisted.
“Of what sort?” Serevkis asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Anne said. “Come on, Austra.” She pulled her friend by the hand, toward the doorway the countess had indicated.
“What did the countess say to you?” Austra asked, after they had slipped through the portal and started up the stairs. “Wherever are we going?”
Anne turned and took Austra’s hands in her own. “I think Roderick is here,” she confided excitedly.
Austra’s eyes went saucer-shaped. “How could that be?” she asked.
“I sent him a letter, and directions.”
“What? How did you do that?”
“I’ll explain in time. But it must be him.”
They reached the end of the hall, which terminated in a wrought iron door. Beyond, leaves rustled softly in the breeze, and she could see the stars above a tiled wall. Anne felt herself nearly petrified with anticipation.
“He’s supposed to be in there,” Anne told her friend.
“Shall I wait here?” Austra asked. “To sound alarm if one of the sisters approaches?”
“No. Come in with me, until I am certain. I’ll let you know if I want you to leave.”
“Very well,” Austra said. She didn’t sound entirely happy.
Together the two girls stepped through the door. The garden was small, floored in red brick. Orange and lemon trees rose up from terra-cotta pots, and lavender grew in stone boxes making the air especially fragrant. A small fountain trickled water into a scalloped basin.
A man stood in the shadows. Anne could see his outline.
“Roderick?” she asked, almost breathless.
“I have no news from him, I’m afraid,” the man said. She knew the voice at once, and her heart fell.
“You!” she said.
Cazio stepped into the moonlight and smiled, sweeping his hat from his head. “I told you I was guesting in the country,” he said. “I must say, you look altogether different wearing clothes.”
“Anne,” Austra murmured, tugging at her sleeve. “Who is this? How do you know him?” She gave a sudden start. “And what does he mean about clothes?”
“I am Cazio Pachiomadio da Chiovattio,” Cazio said, bowing again. “And you must be the lady Fiene’s sister, so fair and graceful are you.”
“Fiene?” Austra said, confused.
“Cazio knows me by my real name, not my coven name,” Anne said, hoping Austra would catch on.
She did. “Oh,” she said. “I see.”
“Would you enchant me with your own name, lady?”
“It is Margry,” Austra improvised.
Cazio reached out, took her hand, and raised it to his lips.
“Watch him,” Anne warned her friend. “He uses honey where most use words.”
“Better honey than lemon juice,” Cazio said. He turned his head a little. “Can it be that you are annoyed with me, Lady Fiene?”
“No,” Anne admitted, finding she wasn’t. “It’s just that I thought Roderick might have come.”
“And you are disappointed. Rightly so. All went well with the dispatch of the letter, but perhaps the weather has been bad in the north. Any number of things might delay even a man who is deeply in love.”
Anne thought she caught a subtle dig in that.
“Margry,” Anne said, “could you wait in the hall and give alarm if anyone comes? I promise to explain this all to you later.”
“As you wish,” Austra said, a bit of rancor lurking in her voice.
When Austra had left the garden, Anne turned back to Cazio. “What did you want, then?” she asked bluntly.
To her surprise, he hesitated, as if searching for words, something she had not known him to do before.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “The countess offered to arrange our meeting. I suppose I just wanted to know how you were doing.”
Anne felt a bit of her guard drop away.
“I am well enough. What happened to your arm? It’s bandaged.”