Shadow and Bone

“Maybe it’s Sunday,” I said. I had lost track of the days
since I’d left the Little Palace. “They could all be at church.”
“Maybe,” he conceded. But he looked troubled as he buried
his old army coat and hat beside a tree.
We were a half mile out from the village when we heard the
drums. They got louder as we crept closer to the road, and
soon we heard bells and fiddles, clapping and cheering. Mal
climbed a tree to get a better view, and when he came down,
some of the worry had gone from his face.
“There are people everywhere. There must be hundreds
walking the road, and I can see the dom cart.”
“It’s butter week!” I exclaimed.
In the week before the spring fast, every nobleman was
expected to ride out among his people in a dom cart, a cart
laden with sweets and cheeses and baked breads. The parade
would pass from the village church all the way back to the
noble’s estate, where the public rooms would be thrown open
to peasants and serfs, who were fed on tea and blini. The local
girls wore red sarafan and flowers in their hair to celebrate the
coming of spring.
Butter week had been the best time at the orphanage, when
classes were cut short so that we could clean the house and
help with the baking. Duke Keramsov had always timed his
return from Os Alta to coincide with it. We would all ride out
in the dom cart, and he would stop at every farm to drink kvas
and pass out cakes and candies. Sitting beside the Duke,
waving to the cheering villagers, we’d felt almost like nobility
ourselves.
“Can we go look, Mal?” I asked eagerly.
He frowned, and I knew his caution was wrestling with
some of our happiest memories from Keramzin. Then a little
smile appeared on his lips. “All right. There are certainly
enough people for us to blend in.”
We joined the crowds parading down the road, slipping in
with the fiddlers and drummers, the little girls clutching
branches tied with bright ribbons. As we passed through the