So, now what? Dill looked up. Mida was carefully holding Helena and trying out the silver saddle on Aminos; Becky and her lady were fiddling with a couple of bottles of love potion, but a few sprays into the air had a couple of noblewomen mesmerized and scrambling; and Bertha and Gernis were carving up a large wild boar, and the panther and the falcon were splitting a few slices of the bloody raw meat.
And she was out of place—nothing.
It occurred to Dill that she was going to find Amber.
Only when she looked back did Amber's shadow flicker away, and a mountain of people pushed Dill aside, followed closely by her Turnip that was obliterated under the skirts and robes of the crowd.
Dill's heart tightened, but soon she heard a few croaks and scrabbles, and the crowd immediately erupted into screams as the crowd, like a tap dance, cleared a path for Dill, and once again the turnip proved she was fine with her actions.
Another figure crashed into her; she didn't stand still and stumbled about to take a step towards the ground. Too many people, both humans and witches, wanted to talk to that Lord of the Vale.
A pair of hands held Dill up just in time.
"Lord Amber would probably like a drink of water now."
The woman's voice was soft and gentle, as if a piece of snow fluff were melting in her ear. Dill was startled, her head clearing considerably as she looked upward.
It was Oya.
The woman's chestnut brown hair was wrapped around a nice googly-eyed face; her lips contained a plump line; her beauty had a little more indescribable flavor than Perun's, receding all remnants of youthfulness; she was a beautiful, mature woman's face.
"Thanks." Dill tried to stand up, but was pressed back down by the hands. Oya took a strand of black hair in her hand, her eyes examining Dill up and down as if she were looking at some rare import, and her tone rose even more wonderfully, as if she were laughing, "Aaah, pitch black as night; it is indeed like the color Perun said, only far more compassionate than I thought. "
At the mention of Peren, Dill felt the liquor in her stomach sac acting up as if she had swallowed a fire. She drew back her hair, trying to pull away from the other woman's sudden intimacy, but instead felt a handful of fine sweat.
"Pe... Ms. Perun, we know each other; she's very nice."
Instead of dropping her empty hand, Oya displayed it bluntly to Dill, her tone just the right amount of loving and scolding to say:
"Yes, ah, but you don't accept her goodness yet, child.
"What?"
She spoke softly, perhaps not out of habit, but through the walls: "She tried to save you; children are treasures, and here she will raise you like sheep, intending to throw your little flock to the wolves."
Oya reached out once more to touch her hair. Dill dodged back, her black eyes looking directly at the woman—the color of a lightless night.
The young woman swept away her earlier serene and good-natured appearance, probing a blackness that made the other woman stop her hand.
"I will pretend that I have not heard the words; you have never offended my faith or the gods. Forgive me if I leave now; my lady is calling me."
Dill, dizzy in the head but not yet out of her mind to call a version with a great witch, moved Amber out of the way.
"I shouldn't have accidentally answered that; Perun said she tried, and now I believe it."
Dill didn't want to pay any more attention to her as she let out a few hot breaths, feeling her whole body too hot to think, her thoughts flashing by and immediately evaporating without a trace. She stared at her crooked reflection on the silver cup and tried to press her forehead against the cool cup to see if she could cool down.
"So I'm sorry I had to take you away this way."
A glimmer of wit gave her a moment of clarity, and Dill tried to call Turnip's name, but her voice caught just in the hollow of her throat.
The moment the girl was about to fall to the ground, a pair of hands assisted her—soft and white, with full fingers and rounded nails coated in a layer of powdery floral liquid—but with only a gentle press on her shoulder, the girl was told to lose all her strength.
Dill heard Oya's voice say before she half fainted:
"Lord Amber will thank me."
Dill woke up to a hard knock.
The vision was uncharacteristically dark, and it was clear she was no longer at the party.
Dill tried to reach out and feel around; the sound of rapid breathing was so clear it was obvious this was an extremely small space, and the hand that was touching was all wooden to the touch, following the feel of it over, vaguely outlining the familiar round, fat arcs, and the air was filled with a dizzying aroma.
It's a cask; she was in a cask!
The earlier grogginess vanished without a trace, and Dill listened to her own breathing, her thoughts unusually clear in the darkness.
Her head raced as a terrible thought dawned on her like a thunderclap: "No one at a rave party would notice where a keg went."
The thought made Dill despair a little, and she froze for a long moment, always good at being bitterly amused; it seemed that today's bad luck was far from over. She prayed that it was just a prank; even if it was Veranica who did it, she would have gone up to her and given her a hug before punching her in the face.
"Turnip?"
She tried calling out to her magical pet, and it wasn't Veranica who answered her; it was another woman's voice:
"I'm sorry I had to do it that way."
Oya.
The overly strong odor of wine still lingered in Dill's mouth, and a vague foreign pain under her fingers told her that the plot had been planted long ago, perhaps fermenting and brewing in that goblet.
"You tampered with my wine?"
"Perun is right; you are a sharp child. A pinch of crushed sleeping chrysanthemum will leave basically no after-effects, except for a few headaches. Rest assured that you are safe here."
Oya sounded content. "We've been waiting a long time for you, Dill."