Wintersong(12)

“Yes,” I said irritably. “The fact that we’re here and not there, back at the inn.” I helped my sister to her feet. “What were you doing out here?”

K?the laughed, but it did not sound like her own. There were hints of dark winter woods and cracking ice beneath those bright, pealing tones, and my skin prickled, my mind itched.

“Having words with an old friend.”

“What old friend?” I focused on getting K?the to her feet, and draped her arm about my shoulders. Her skin was cold and clammy beneath my touch, and she felt more like a corpse than a living girl.

“Tut,” she said again. “How you’ve forgotten the old days, Elisabeth.”

I froze. K?the made no move to continue on without me. She watched me, her head tilted to one side, a half smile on her lips, both mocking and sweet.

My sister never, ever called me Elisabeth.

“You always spoke of him as a friend, you know,” she said in a soft voice. “A friend, a playmate, a lover.” Her expression changed, sharper, sly. Her chin seemed pointed, her cheekbones like a knife. “You said you would marry him someday.”

Hans. No, not Hans. He was back at the inn. An old friend in the wood, a girl in a grove, a king in his kingdom …

That itch in my mind grew unbearable. Desperately, I clawed at it, scrabbling and digging for a memory I could not find. Something was missing. Something was gone. What had we been doing before this? How had we gotten here? Foreboding rose within me, foreboding and fear, rising like dark waters in a flood.

“K?the,” I said, voice cracking. “What—”

A mane of silver and gold, a pair of eyes as cold as ice, a challenge in a smile. I almost had it, almost uncovered it—

Then my sister laughed. It was her own proper laugh, bright and musical. “Oh, Liesl,” she said, “you’re too easy to tease.”

Darkness and shadow were gone, the feeling a spell had been broken. “I hate you,” I groaned.

K?the smiled. I thought I saw that flash of bloodless lips and a wine-dark maw, but it was her own sweet smile. “Come,” she said, taking my arm in hers. “We’ve wasted enough time. Master Antonius will awake at any moment and I’m sure Mother has worked herself into a frenzy.”

I shook my head and gathered myself, letting my sister lean upon me as a crutch. Together we limped back home, back toward reality, back toward the mundane.

*

K?the was right; Mother was in a frenzy. Master Antonius had awoken from his nap when we returned and the entire inn was in an uproar. Constanze and Mother were the midst of a screaming match, while Hans hovered awkwardly in the corner, broom in hand, too polite to intervene, too cowardly to leave.

“Absolutely not!” A loose curl slipped from Mother’s cap and she pushed it aside with a floury hand. “I will not permit it! Not tonight of all nights.”

Constanze held a large burlap bag in her hands. A queer jolt ran through me as I saw she had been pouring salt along the windowsill, every threshold, every entrance.

“It is the last night of the year!” She pointed an accusatory finger at Mother. “I will not let this night pass without protection, whether you will or no.”

“Enough!” Mother struggled to wrest the salt from Constanze’s grip, but the old woman’s hands, as gnarled as oak roots, were surprisingly strong. “I have no patience with this today, not with Master Antonius and Georg disappearing on us again.” She caught sight of us. “K?the! Come help me.”

My sister took the broom from Hans and began to sweep.

“You!” Constanze shot me a dirty look. “You must help me. You mustn’t let Der Erlk?nig in.”

I flinched, and looked from my mother to my grandmother.

“Liesl,” Mother said with exasperation. “We’ve no time to indulge these childish fancies. Think of your brother. What would Master Antonius say?”

“And what of that one?” Constanze nodded her head at K?the. “Think ye she needs no protecting? Mind how you choose, girlie.”

I glanced from the spilled salt to my sister. Protection against the Goblin King. Then I thought of Josef, and chose not to risk his already precarious position with the maestro. I took the broom from my sister’s hands and began sweeping the salt away. Constanze shook her head, her shoulders slumped with resignation.

“Now,” Mother said with satisfaction. “K?the, go make sure your brother is ready for his audition, and I will put my husband’s elderly mother”—she glared at Constanze—“to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” Constanze snapped. “I’m not infirm or feeble in my wits, despite what my son’s harried wife”—she matched Mother glare for glare—“might say.”

“Listen, old woman,” Mother began. “I have given up my career, my family, and my children’s futures for you, and a little gratitude would be appreciated—”

Just then Papa returned. He returned with a song on his lips and violin case in hand, jingling and rattling with every step.

“Got to go, got to go, got to leave this town, leave this town!”

“You!” Mother’s nostrils flared. “Georg, where have you been?”

“K?the,” I whispered. “Why don’t you and Hans take Constanze upstairs to her room? I’ll make sure Josef is ready once I’m finished here.”