Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red Read online

  No matter what her state of mind, Céline believed in being kind and attentive to her customers. Most people who visited an apothecary’s shop were facing some kind of difficulty, and she always kept this in mind.

  “Come in,” she said from behind the table where she worked. “I’m out of cough syrup at the moment, but I can save you some from this next batch.”

  The young woman said nothing and finally took a few steps inside. She was thin, with unwashed brown hair coming loose from a single braid. Her dress was threadbare.

  “No . . . I don’t need syrup,” she said.

  Céline was a good enough judge of character to see that her visitor was facing more than a family back home suffering from a summer cough, and that whatever was wrong, she was nearing the end of her rope. Most young women who looked and sounded like this tended to be unmarried and pregnant—with a violent father they feared.

  “How can I help?” Céline asked, coming around the table. “Would you like some tea? I have hot water in the kettle.”

  Her visitor answered neither question, and instead looked at Céline’s mass of dark blond hair. “You’re the seer? The one who can look into the future?”

  Céline’s stomach lurched, and she tried to keep her expression still. “Not at present,” she answered firmly, wondering how fast she could get this woman out of the shop. She had no intention of reading anyone’s future. Though it had been several months since her experiences up at the castle, she wasn’t ready to practice her other profession again. For now, she chose to be only an apothecary.

  “I’m Irmina,” the young woman said. “You might have seen my husband, Hugo, out in the village? He’s a thatcher, and he’s often to be seen working on this roof or that.”

  “No, I do not think I have—”

  “Yesterday morning, he fell off a roof and hit his head,” Irmina interrupted, “and he’s not woken up.”

  In spite of her own rising discomfort, Céline couldn’t help but feel a stab of sympathy. “Oh, I am sorry. Do you wish me to come and look at him?”

  “No. He’ll either wake or he won’t. The thing is . . . I need to know if he will or he won’t.”

  Céline tried to speak but was again cut off.

  “We bought ourselves a little house from Evrard, the wine merchant,” Irmina rushed on, “on payments, and we’ve fallen a bit behind. Then Hugo got himself a job putting a new roof on the smithy, for enough of a wage that once he finished and was paid, we could get caught up, but then . . . he fell.”

  “You bought a house from Evrard?” Céline repeated. Everyone knew him. He was one of the wealthiest villagers in Sèone, and he’d not become so through any acts of kindness. As a side business, he bought up small dwellings and sold them for a profit—often on payments—and he was merciless to anyone who fell on hard times and could no longer pay.

  “Yes.” Irmina nodded. “My parents think that I should just give up on the house, have some of the men carry Hugo to their shack, and move back in with them . . . but I can barely face the thought. He and I worked so hard to get our own little place.” She pulled something from her pocket. It was a silver ring with a small blue stone of some kind.

  “This was passed down from Hugo’s grandmother,” Irmina went on. “It’s the only thing of value we own. If I know that he’s going to wake up, I’ll sell this and give the money to Evrard. The ring should fetch enough to buy us a little more time. We can stay in the house, and Hugo can go back to work when he’s healed. But if”—for the first time, her voice broke—“if he isn’t going to wake up, then I’ll be selling his grandmother’s ring for nothing more than a few months at best, and I’ll lose the house anyway.” Reaching out, she touched Céline’s wrist. “Do you see? Do you see why I have to know?”

  Céline did see. She saw only too well.

  With her hands shaking slightly, she motioned to a chair. “Come and sit down.” She didn’t want to do this, but at the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

  Without hesitation, Irmina hurried to the chair, and the flash of hope in her eyes made Céline want to wince. This budding power of hers didn’t always work, and even if it did, what if the news was bad?

  Reaching out, she grasped Irmina’s hand—as this was necessary. She had to be in physical contact with the person she was reading.

  Closing her eyes, Céline focused on Irmina, on the spark of her spirit within, and then Céline moved her focus to Hugo . . . to his and Irmina’s future together. At first nothing happened, but she kept trying, and a jolt hit her.

  She clenched her jaw in preparation. As the second jolt hit, she felt as if her body were being swept forward along a tunnel of mist, and she forgot everything but the sensation of speeding through the mist all around her as it swirled in tones of grays and whites.

  This journey was not a long one, and almost immediately, the mist vanished and an image flashed before her. She saw a small bedroom with faded walls. For some reason, her sight often led her into bedrooms . . . deathbeds or childbeds or simply scenes playing out in bedrooms. She didn’t know why.

  Looking down, she saw Irmina sitting on a stool beside a bed. A young man lay in the bed with his eyes closed. His head was bruised, and he was clearly unconscious, as opposed to sleeping. Irmina was holding a cup of water, and she leaned forward to lift the back of his head and try to pour some of the water into his mouth, probably in the hope that he would swallow it. Most of the liquid ran down the sides of his mouth.

  “Please, Hugo,” she said. “Try for me.”

  From where Céline stood, she could see the window, and the sun was setting. The sky was filled with orange clouds. She knew that Irmina could not see her. Céline was not truly there. She was only an observer.

  Just as her gaze turned back toward the man on the bed, she heard a cough, followed by the sound of Irmina gasping.

  Another cough rang out, this time followed by the sound of sputtering.

  “Hugo?” Irmina said.

  Céline moved closer to the bed. The man’s eyes were open, and he was staring out in confusion while still partially choking on the water. After a moment, his gaze seemed to clear.

  “Irmina?”

  Sucking in loud breaths, Irmina dropped to her knees beside the bed. “Can you hear me? See me all right? Do you know your name?”

  Céline was surprised at the young woman’s presence of mind, to be asking such questions, but . . . they were sensible questions.

  Hugo wiped some of the water from his mouth and then licked his fingers as if thirsty. “Course I know my name,” he said weakly. “What’s happened?”

  The small room vanished, and Céline felt herself being whisked backward through the mists.

  She opened her eyes to see Irmina sitting rigid.

  “Well . . . did you see anything?”

  “Yes,” Céline answered instantly. “He does wake. I don’t know how soon, but the time of day was sunset. I don’t think it could be further away than tonight or tomorrow, as his body couldn’t survive much longer without him drinking water properly.”

  “But he wakes up? You saw him wake up?”

  “Yes.”

  Irmina leaned forward as if she was going to be sick. “Oh, thank you . . . thank you.”

  “It’s all right.” Céline reached out to help her sit back up.

  And suddenly, it was all right. She had just used her powers and helped someone, and she felt . . . glad. Before her ability to truly see into the future had surfaced, she’d spent five years pretending to read futures, and in the process, she’d often dispensed advice.

  The latter came back to her as naturally as if she’d never stopped. “Listen to me,” she said. “Don’t sell the ring just yet. Evrard will not throw you out in the next day or two. Wait for Hugo to wake up, and once his mind is clear, ask for his thoughts on this matter. If
he feels he’ll need weeks to heal, he might counsel you to sell it, but if he thinks he can go back to work sooner, you might be able to arrange something with Evrard—who would prefer to be paid, if possible. This way, Hugo will not accuse you of acting hastily, and you might yet be able to keep his grandmother’s ring.”

  Irmina thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yes . . . yes, of course. I will wait.”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Céline added. “Since the future has not happened yet, it can still be changed if the people involved take a different course of action. You must continue caring for Hugo exactly as you would have otherwise and try to pretend you never spoke to me. Continue to do just as you would have done for him before.”

  Irmina nodded again. “I will. Thank you.” She suddenly appeared uncomfortable and stood up. “I don’t have any money to pay you, but when your roof needs repair, you come to me, and I’ll see that Hugo mends it.”

  In the past, Céline had often bartered for her services. She smiled. “That would be most agreeable, and I’m glad . . . I’m glad I was able to give you good news.”

  Irmina thanked her again and hurried for the door, probably anxious to get back home now.

  Once alone, Céline allowed a few revelations to wash over her. First, she’d used her ability, and nothing horrible had happened as a result. Second, she’d enjoyed reading Irmina, helping Irmina. Perhaps . . . perhaps she could return to being a seer again.

  Prince Anton had been quietly waiting for her to return to her previous state, though he never pressed her. As she had been unable to please him in this, being in his company had become a strain, and she’d come to dread being called up to the castle.

  But now she felt a little lighter.

  Walking through the shop, she made her way to the bedroom she shared with Amelie and opened up their wooden wardrobe. A few fine gowns hung there, and her gaze stopped on one of rich amber silk that Anton especially liked.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t dreading the banquet tonight anymore.

  * * *

  Amelie Fawe wandered aimlessly through the market stalls in the village, in no hurry to make her purchases and head back to the Betony and Beech . . . not that she wasn’t proud of the apothecary’s shop. She was. Nor that she wasn’t grateful that she and her sister, Céline, had been given a home here in Sèone. Of course she was grateful.

  Even the market here was a cheerful place, filled with stalls of colorful fruits and vegetables and steaming bread and bolts of cloth and candles. The people glowed with health and had nothing to fear while they remained inside the thick wall surrounding both the castle and the village.

  No, it was more that in this safe place, Amelie didn’t feel useful.

  Only this past spring, she and Céline had been living in a dark, lawless village called Shetâna. The sisters had been orphaned just over five years ago when Céline was fifteen and Amelie was twelve. Shetâna was under the control of Prince Damek, and Damek’s soldiers had viewed the people of the village as little more than prey to be abused.

  Two orphaned girls had seemed easy targets at first, but Amelie had quickly proven that assumption wrong. She’d taken to wearing a dagger on one hip and a short sword on the other. She’d learned to rely on speed and the element of surprise, and she could cut a man open in a matter of seconds with her dagger.

  Céline had learned to play the part of “seer” and had increased her knowledge of herb lore and healing. Amelie saw to their protection and day-to-day needs, while Céline earned most of their living. They depended upon each other.

  However . . . here in Sèone, Prince Anton’s soldiers had come as quite a surprise. They actually viewed it as their duty to protect the people who lived here. Of course, this was a good thing. It simply left Amelie with little to do herself.

  In addition to adjusting to this new state of affairs, she was also coming to terms with something else. Shortly after arriving here, Céline revealed that she was truly developing the ability to see the future—like their mother—and then Amelie discovered that she could read pasts. The latter was a revelation, as Amelie had never viewed herself as special, certainly not like Céline.

  Céline had always been uncommonly pretty and could make most people do anything she wanted. Amelie was, well . . . different.

  To begin, the sisters looked nothing alike. Céline was small and slender, with a mass of dark blond hair that hung down her back. She often wore a red velvet dress that fit her snuggly—in order to look the part of the seer—and her eyes were lavender.

  Amelie had inherited their mother’s lavender eyes, but that was all.

  Having recently observed her eighteenth birthday, Amelie was even shorter than Céline. But where Céline was slight, Amelie’s build showed a hint of strength and muscle. She despised dresses and always wore breeches, a man’s shirt, a canvas jacket, and boots. She’d inherited their father’s straight black hair, which she’d cropped into a bob. For years, she’d kept it at jaw-length, but of late, she’d let it grow, and now it hung to her shoulders.

  Most people found her a bit peculiar, but she didn’t care.

  Then . . . she’d made this discovery that she too had been born with a power—like her mother—only she could read pasts and not futures. She longed to put this ability to use, perhaps even to earn her and Céline some extra money. People often came to Céline to hear their futures, but there might be many reasons why someone would wish for a past to be read . . .

  To find a lost object that had been put away and then the hiding place forgotten.

  To solve a disagreement in which two people remembered a situation differently.

  The possibilities were endless. But Céline was still so fragile after their experiences up at the castle—in which they’d been engaged to catch a murderer—that so far, she’d not been up to presenting the sisters as a pair of seers.

  Amelie didn’t wish to press her and had decided not to use her own new power until Céline was ready as well.

  But this all left Amelie with nothing to protect and nothing to do.

  In addition to feeling useless, she was beginning to feel restless—and that only made her angry with herself for not appreciating their good fortune enough.

  “Morning, Lieutenant,” a voice called out from behind her.

  “Morning, Simon,” a familiar voice called back.

  Amelie froze in front of the market stall where she stood.

  Slowly, she turned her head to see Lieutenant Jaromir walking into the market, wearing his chain armor and tan tabard. He hadn’t spotted her yet. Other villagers began calling greetings to him now. Jaromir was well liked by the people he protected.

  What was he doing out here, just walking in the streets? The summer had been awfully quiet. Perhaps he was bored, as she was.

  Ducking down slightly, Amelie couldn’t help looking at him for a few moments.

  Perhaps thirty years old, he wasn’t exactly handsome, but he wore a small goatee around his mouth and kept his light brown hair tied back at the nape of his neck. From his weathered face to the scars on his hands, most elements of his appearance marked him as a professional soldier. He was tall and strong and seemed comfortable inside his own skin. However, he was also arrogant and too fond of being in control, and he would do anything—anything—he deemed necessary to protect Prince Anton.

  Both Amelie’s opinion of Jaromir and her relationship to him were . . . complicated. In truth, there was no relationship, but he’d made hints that he’d prefer to alter that state of affairs.

  So, at the prospect of him walking into the market, she did the only thing she possibly could do and dashed around the back of a stall to hide before he spotted her. Yes, it was cowardly, and she knew it, but facing him in the street would have been much worse.

  She’d had to politely greet him the few times that Anton had insisted the sisters come
up to the castle for a banquet, but once formalities were over, she’d been able to avoid talking with Jaromir due to the various activities that took place in a crowd, such as everyone eating too much food or the inevitable card games that followed.

  Out here, in the market by herself, she’d have no excuse not to speak with him if he approached her.

  So—though partially ashamed of herself—she crouched behind the stall of a wool seller and peered around the edge toward the street.

  “What are you doing, girl?” asked the aging wool seller.

  “Quiet,” Amelie told him. “I don’t want someone to see me.”

  He glanced down the street. “The lieutenant? Did you break the law?”

  All the people here referred to Jaromir as “the lieutenant,” as if it were some kind of title. He had authority over everyone except Prince Anton. He liked it that way.

  “No,” Amelie answered. “I just don’t want to have to talk to him.”

  The old man raised an eyebrow.

  But he had no chance to respond, as a loud commotion broke out from the direction of the outer village gates. Amelie moved up from her crouched position to see what was happening.

  A rider came pounding up the narrow cobbled street, straight toward the market, pushing his horse at a pace much too fast to be considered safe inside the wall surrounding the village and the castle. The population here was large and condensed. People were not allowed to gallop their horses through the streets.

  But the rider didn’t slow down. Villagers screamed and dodged out of the way. A few fruit carts were overturned, and he just kept coming.

  Amelie stood, wondering what was about to happen, when she saw Jaromir position himself directly in the rider’s path.

  “Stop!” he ordered.

  What a show-off, Amelie thought.

  The rider fought wildly to pull up his horse and nearly smashed into Jaromir before he managed to get the creature stopped. Jaromir didn’t even flinch.

  It was then that Amelie finally noticed the rider wore chain armor and a dark brown tabard: the color worn by the guards of Prince Lieven, who was father to both Anton and Damek, as well as the current head of the House of Pählen.