To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) Read online

  Before arriving in Sèone, Céline and Amelie had known little of their origins.

  Their father had been a village hunter for Shetâna, and one year, he’d been off on a long-distance hunt, traveling for days. He’d come back with their mother and married her. Then the couple had built an apothecary shop in Shetâna and started a small family. Once Céline and Amelie were old enough, their mother taught them to read. She taught Céline herb lore and the ways of healing—while saying nothing of her own past.

  Neither of the sisters had ever heard the term “Mist-Torn” before they came here and Helga explained to them that not only were they born of a Móndyalítko mother, but they were of a special line called the Mist-Torn who each possessed a natural power. As sisters, Céline and Amelie were two sides of the same coin, one able to read the future and one able to read the past.

  The full comprehension of this knowledge had changed their lives, as now they not only served Sèone as healers, but as Anton’s seers.

  Taking a closer look at Helga, Amelie thought the old woman’s step was less spritely than usual, and her normal, caustic expression was subdued.

  Reaching out, Helga touched the blanket in Jaromir’s arms. “It’s over.”

  He didn’t answer, but her words had not sounded like a question.

  “Where will you take her?” she asked.

  “To the herb garden, to bury her,” Amelie answered.

  Helga nodded. “I’ll come.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Céline stood beside a fresh grave as Jaromir used a shovel to pat down the last of the dirt.

  She was glad for Amelie’s suggestion that they bury Lizzie here in the herb garden out in back of the apothecary shop, the Betony and Beech. There was no place up at the castle for a proper burial, and Céline found this garden the loveliest spot in all of Sèone. The shop itself was a solid one-story wooden building, stained a rich brown with yellow-painted shutters. It was her and Amelie’s place of business as well as their home.

  The herb garden was divided into eight large separate beds filled with medicinal plants: cumin, colewort fennel, mint, lavender, lovage, sage, rue, savory, foxglove, pennyroyal, and rosemary. Red poppies lined the back fence. One portion of the garden nearest the shop had been designated as a “kitchen garden” for lettuce, carrots, onions, potatoes, peas, and strawberries. An apple tree graced one corner, and a beech tree the other. Roses grew along the sides of the fence.

  Lizzie’s grave was between the beech tree and a rosebush with white blooms.

  “I’ll make a marker later today,” Céline said to Jaromir. “You can come and visit any time you wish.”

  He nodded, but she didn’t know how often he would come. He’d loved Lizzie, but he was a man of duty and responsibility.

  “Thank you,” he said, looking at Amelie.

  Helga hadn’t spoken since leaving the castle, and although she’d been fond of the dog, Céline was beginning to wonder if something else might be wrong. Had the four of them been engaged in any other task, the dynamics between them all would have been quite different, with Jaromir teasing Amelie mercilessly, Amelie taking the bait, and Helga bossing everyone else around.

  They were a sad little company this morning, and Céline decided to take charge in Helga’s stead.

  “This is all we can do here,” she said. “Amelie and I have bread, butter, and strawberry jam inside. Everyone, come along, and I’ll put together some breakfast and spiced tea. Jaromir, you need to eat something.”

  He didn’t argue and let her lead him through the back door. This rear section provided their living quarters, and all four members of the funeral party passed down a short hallway, through a set of swinging doors, and into the front half of the shop, where the work and transactions took place.

  Céline took pride in knowing that all this belonged to her and Amelie.

  There was the sturdy counter running half the length of the large front room, and the walls were lined with shelves of clay pots and jars. The wooden table was covered in a variety of accoutrements such as a pestle and mortar, brass scales, small wooden bowls, and an open box of tinder and flint. A hearth comprised the center of the south wall.

  Céline’s enormous orange cat, Oliver, sat on the counter licking his paws. He kept the place free of mice.

  “I’ll slice the bread,” Amelie said. “Céline, can you get the water started for tea?”

  “Yes, I’ll be quick.”

  As Céline headed for the hearth, again she glanced back at Helga, who would normally have taken full charge by now, insisting upon slicing the bread herself and throwing a few insults at Jaromir. She often told him that he “needed to be taken down a peg or two,” and he never disagreed. Anyone else who dared speak to him in such a manner would have been given reason to regret it.

  In spite of his state of sorrow, Jaromir himself finally noticed Helga’s uncharacteristic silence and walked toward her. “What ails you? Try not to be too pained over Lizzie. I keep telling myself she had a good life and a peaceful end, and that’s more than most of us can hope for.”

  Helga started slightly and looked up him. He towered over her.

  “Oh, it’s not . . . yes, I’m sad about your Lizzie, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Helga’s gaze moved from him to Amelie to Céline.

  Kneeling by the hearth, Céline asked, “Helga, what is wrong?” Forgetting the tea, she stood, hurried over, and led the older woman to a chair. “Please talk to us.”

  As Helga sat, her expression was deeply troubled. “What do any of you know of Prince Malcolm of Yegor?”

  Amelie blinked, and Céline had no idea what to say. The sisters knew little to nothing of politics outside the house of Pählen.

  Jaromir shook his head. “Prince Malcolm? Not much. I know he’s had the title only about five years, after inheriting from a brother who died with no heir. He holds a good deal of the southeast province, and his house earns most of their profits from agriculture. He’s also shown no interest adding his name to the upcoming royal election.”

  Droevinka had no hereditary king. Instead, it was a land of many princes, each one heading his own noble house and overseeing multiple fiefdoms. But they all served a single grand prince, and a new grand prince was elected every nine years by the gathered heads of the noble houses. At present, Prince Rodêk of the house of Äntes was in rule.

  In one year’s time, next spring, a new grand prince would be elected, and Anton was hoping for the opportunity not only to put himself up for election but to gain enough support to win.

  Helga studied Jaromir’s face. “Agriculture?” she repeated. “Does that mean crops?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’ve been looking for a way to get the three of you alone since yesterday. I need your help.” She looked to Céline. “To save some of your mother’s people.”

  “Our mother’s people?” Amelie echoed.

  “There’s a meadow about half a league from Castle Yegor,” Helga went on. “The lands all around it are covered in apple orchards and berry fields. Years ago, when I was just a girl, the prince in power found he didn’t have enough serfs to handle the harvest, so he let it be known that if any of the traveling Móndyalítko were willing to work to bring in the crops, they were welcome to camp in the meadow all through late spring and summer.”

  Céline knelt down at her feet. “You traveled with the Móndyalítko?”

  “Course I did. Fourteen to sixteen caravans came to that meadow every spring. We picked strawberries first, and then raspberries, then blueberries, and then apples in the early autumn. We were asked to pay nothing in rent for our stay, and we were allowed to keep a portion of the berries and apples we picked—and also to fish in any of the streams and set snares for rabbits. It was a haven.” She paused. “The next prince and the next made the same
offer. They needed the help.”

  “And something caused Prince Malcolm to stop allowing this?” Amelie asked.

  “No,” Helga answered. “The caravans still roll into that meadow every spring.”

  “But what happened with you?” Céline asked. “Where is your own family, and how did you come to be here?”

  Helga’s expression closed up. “Don’t ever ask me that again. I told you your mother’s people need help, and they do. This year, someone has cursed the land of Yegor, and Prince Malcolm blames the Móndyalítko in the meadow. Whatever has happened, it’s no blight or disease. There’s no drought and yet everything has withered and died, from the grass to the apple blossoms to the strawberries. The prince is facing ruin if he can’t turn this around, and he’s started torturing people to find the culprit. At least one has died. The others are all being held as prisoners.”

  “What?” Céline gasped, trying to get her head about this. “Helga, how do you know this? Has someone written to you?”

  Again, Helga’s expression closed up. “I can’t tell you, but you know I’d never say such things unless they were true. I need help. We have to go there. You and Amelie have to use your powers to find the truth.”

  “Yegor?” Jaromir said, sounding incredulous. “It would take a week just to travel there, maybe more, depending on the state of the roads.”

  No one answered him, and the room fell silent except for the sound of Oliver licking his paws.

  “You say our mother’s people are in this meadow?” Amelie asked finally.

  “It’s been some years since I did a harvest,” Helga answered, “but a small caravan from the line of Fawe always rolled in back then, and I can’t see why that would change.”

  “Céline, we have to go,” Amelie said flatly.

  This was more complicated than Amelie seemed to realize. They’d never met anyone related to their mother. Were they simply to arrive and introduce themselves? How would either they or their offer of help be received? She knew so little of the situation. And what if one of the Móndyalítko had cursed the crops?

  But Helga watched her with fearful hope, and Céline realized they couldn’t refuse.

  Reaching out, she touched Helga’s hand. “Of course we’ll go.” She turned to Jaromir. “We’ll need protection for the journey. Do you think Prince Anton will give you leave?”

  Jaromir still appeared stunned at the idea of any of them going all the way to the southeast province, but she didn’t think he would refuse, either.

  And of course Anton would give them leave.

  The sisters had served him well in the past year. They’d used their abilities to help him catch murderers and to shore up his legacy as a strong leader. He had given them this shop in gratitude, but they hadn’t asked for it. They’d never asked him for anything. He would certainly grant this one request.

  Jaromir locked eyes with Amelie for a long moment. On such a long journey, he’d want to be at her side.

  “I’ll go and speak with the prince,” he said.

  Helga closed her eyes in relief.

  Chapter Two

  Even though Jaromir had been up all night and he still ached over the loss of Lizzie, he left the shop with his thoughts dwelling on Helga’s request.

  Midmorning had arrived.

  The village that spread out all around Castle Sèone was almost like a bustling town. Two walls with heavily guarded gates surrounded the village. Jaromir believed in strong security measures.

  He continued moving onward and upward through the people and the shops and the dwellings until he reached a small bridge. This led across a gap to a huge wooden doorway at the front of the castle. A pulley system on the other side would allow the bridge to be raised, cutting off access to the castle if necessary.

  He crossed the bridge and entered the walled courtyard of the castle. A number of his men, all in chain armor and tan tabards, milled about the courtyard. They came to attention and nodded at the sight of him.

  “Sir.”

  He nodded back and kept walking, trying to formulate what he would say to Prince Anton.

  He didn’t want to fail. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Amelie and Céline sitting on the edge of the bed near Lizzie. Throughout his life, he’d only known a few people he considered true friends, those who would stand by him in both the light and the dark hours. Anton was one.

  So were Amelie and Céline.

  He’d wanted to be more than friends with Amelie from almost the moment he met her, but she was prickly and held him at arm’s length. He knew if he tried, he could charm his way past her reservations, but after that, he wasn’t sure how much he could give of himself, and she deserved a great deal. Much of the time, he felt so married to his job there was room for little else. The problem was that he loved his job.

  After striding through the courtyard, he entered the castle, walked to the west tower, and made his way up to Prince Anton’s private apartments.

  Jaromir rarely came up here, but Anton tended to use the midmorning hours for correspondence or to work on financial accounts. In most areas, he was a “hands on” type of leader as opposed to a delegator.

  Reaching the door, Jaromir knocked. “My lord?”

  “Come in.”

  Entering his prince’s private apartments, Jaromir glanced around.

  The decor was somewhat austere. There were tapestries on the walls and a large hearth. The furnishings consisted of a messy writing desk, a few heavy wooden chairs, and rows of bookshelves along the walls. It looked more like the chambers of a scholar than a prince.

  A closed door that stood on the same wall as the hearth led to the sleeping chambers.

  Anton himself sat at the desk with a pen poised in one hand. He was dressed in black pants and a dark blue tunic.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. Then comprehension seemed to dawn, and he stood. “Is it Lizzie?”

  Jaromir nearly flinched. The question caught him off guard. “She’s gone, my lord, in the night. We buried her in the herb garden of the shop.”

  “I do understand your loss. I’ve known dogs I liked better than most people.”

  Jaromir didn’t doubt that.

  “Thank you, my lord,” he said. “But that isn’t why I came. Forgive the intrusion. I . . .” He trailed off, wanting to make certain he worded this correctly. “Céline and Amelie have made a request.”

  Anton raised one eyebrow, sat back down, and motioned to a chair. “A request?”

  Sitting down and bracing himself, Jaromir launched into retelling Helga’s story as best he could. He left out nothing involving the situation she had described.

  Anton listened politely and then seemed puzzled at the end. “What does this have to do with a request from Céline and Amelie?”

  “They wish to go there, my lord, and use their abilities to find whoever has done this and free the Móndyalítko being held in the meadow. I’d need to accompany them, along with a few men, of course.”

  For a moment, Anton’s expression went blank, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Go there? To Castle Yegor in the southeast province?” His voice dropped lower, as it did when he was not pleased. “How does Helga even know of Prince Malcolm’s difficulties?”

  Jaromir shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This was not going as he’d hoped. “I don’t know, my lord. She won’t tell me. I assume someone wrote to her. But she’s not given to fancies or exaggerations. If she says this is the case, then it is.”

  “And when did you begin taking advisement from the castle maids?” Anton paused and closed his eyes briefly. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean that. But the journey to Castle Yegor alone would take a week. There’s no telling how long it would take the sisters to solve this crisis, if indeed there is a crisis, and then a week to return. You could be gone a month or longer. This has nothing to do with t
he safety or security of Castle Sèone, and frankly, I’m surprised you’d even ask such a thing.”

  Embarrassed, Jaromir stood up, on the verge of dropping the entire subject. Then he remembered how Amelie had grasped the back of his hand over Lizzie’s body that morning.

  “Such assistance to Prince Malcolm could be well received,” he pressed. “Helga said that he’d be ruined if this isn’t solved soon. It seems he has no intention of putting his name in for the election, and it could be a good thing to have him in your debt.”

  If anything, Anton’s expression darkened. “I’ll not buy votes via favors.” He picked up his pen, signaling the conversation was at an end. “I need you, Céline, and Amelie here to serve Sèone. I am sorry for both Prince Malcolm and for the Móndyalítko he is holding, but it is not our concern.” He looked back to the letter he’d been writing. “I don’t wish to hear of this matter again, do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Quietly, Jaromir left the room and made his way for the stairs. He didn’t blame Anton. He wasn’t even sure Anton was wrong. He simply didn’t want to convey the message to Amelie or Céline . . . or Helga.

  * * *

  After Jaromir left the shop, Céline kept Helga behind for a while so the aging woman could drink some tea and gather herself. Then Helga, too, headed back up to the castle, and Céline promised to come to her as soon as they’d received leave from Anton—so they could make preparations for the journey.

  Once the sisters were alone, Amelie shook her head. “I had no idea that Helga actually knew our mother’s people. Did you?”

  Céline struggled not to wonder about a family she’d never met. What would they be like? “I wonder why Mother never told us anything about them.”

  “Helga won’t say much, either, not even about her own family.”

  Yes, that was troubling, but Helga must care for her family, as she’d come to the sisters to ask for help, and she was prepared to make a long journey as well.