To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) Page 3

  “I hope Jaromir sends word soon,” Céline said. “As soon as we know what men and resources Anton is willing to offer, we can make a more solid plan. From what Helga described, the sooner we leave, the better. I’d like to be gone by tomorrow morning if possible.”

  Amelie nodded. “Agreed.”

  To pass the time, Céline decided to boil down some marshmallow leaves to make more astringent for insect bites and bee stings. As late spring had arrived, there was already an abundance of insects.

  Glad for something to do, Amelie offered to help.

  The rest of the morning passed, and the afternoon began crawling by.

  The sisters put together a small late lunch of sliced cheese and early peas eaten right out of the pods.

  In the midafternoon, they worked in the garden weeding.

  As the sun began to set, Céline looked up toward the castle. “I’m going to go see Jaromir.”

  “Do you want me to come?” Amelie asked.

  “No. He and I might miss each other somehow, and he could arrive while I’m gone. You should wait.”

  Amelie wasn’t normally good at waiting, but she nodded.

  The truth was that Céline had a feeling something might be wrong, and if so, she preferred to face whatever it was without Amelie. Her sister had a hot temper and a tendency to make unpleasant situations worse.

  Still, as she left the shop and headed up to Castle Sèone, she had no idea why Jaromir hadn’t come back to speak with them. He’d heard Helga that morning, and he knew they needed to act quickly.

  Before long, she arrived at the small bridge and crossed it, entering the courtyard. A number of castle guards came into view, engaged in various tasks, and she spotted a young man with brown, wavy hair to his shoulders: Corporal Rurik. He had accompanied her and Amelie on more than one journey, and she considered him a trusted friend.

  “Miss Céline,” he said with a smile. Then the smile faded. “I heard about Lizzie.”

  “Yes, it was a long night for the lieutenant. I’m looking for him now. Do you know where he is?”

  “In the barracks, in his office, I think.”

  Jaromir was in his office? Céline expected him to be readying for the journey. Perhaps he had some last-minute business to complete. After all, they would be gone for some time.

  “Thank you,” she said to Rurik.

  Turning, she walked to the barracks. Much of it was relegated to living quarters for the men, but just inside the main room, she turned down a short hallway and stopped at a solid oak door.

  After knocking, she said, “Lieutenant?”

  A moment of silence followed and then, “Come in.”

  Opening the door, she peered in to find him at his desk, but he didn’t appear to be reading or writing anything. He was just sitting at the desk near a window in the fading daylight.

  Confused, Céline stepped inside. “Why have you not come back to see us? Or sent word? Will we be leaving tomorrow?”

  He looked drained both physically and emotionally. She’d never seen him like this, and her feeling that something was wrong grew stronger.

  “No,” he answered, sounding reluctant to even speak. “I was going to come to the shop later tonight, after supper. Prince Anton prefers that we remain here in Sèone.”

  Stepping in closer, she said, “I don’t understand.”

  “He will not give his permission. The situation in Yegor doesn’t threaten our security, and he’s ordered that we remain here. I tried to convince him, but he’s made his decision. We cannot speak of this again.”

  Céline’s mouth fell half-open. “Ordered?”

  Jaromir glanced away, and she could see how much he wanted this discussion to end. Suddenly, everything became clear to her. Jaromir had probably spoken to Anton that morning, Anton had refused the request, and Jaromir hadn’t wanted to face her or Amelie with the news.

  Céline had no wish to pain him further. He’d had no sleep and had just lost Lizzie.

  “I see,” she said. “Thank you for trying.”

  At this, he glanced at her in surprise. She was not one to give in easily, and he knew it.

  “Try to get some rest,” she said. “I’ll tell Amelie the news myself. Have you told Helga?”

  Misery shone from his face. “No.”

  “You’ll probably see her before I do.”

  He nodded.

  Satisfied that he believed she was dropping the matter, she stepped out and closed the door. Then, with determination, she headed across the courtyard toward the castle.

  * * *

  As was his custom, at the dinner hour, Prince Anton walked into the large dining hall of the castle. He only hosted formal banquets once or twice a month, and other evenings the dining hall served as a gathering place for various factions who either lived or temporarily resided or worked in the castle.

  Any of the guards stationed inside were welcome to spell each other and come here to eat. Some of the servants also ate here as opposed to the busy kitchen. These people dished up from a long faded table set near the hearth.

  Anton ate at a polished cedar table set at the far end of the hall. This was reserved for himself and any other nobles or guests of importance.

  Lieutenant Jaromir also sat at this table—if he took time for dinner. Tonight, he was nowhere in view.

  In all honesty, Anton would rather have eaten in the privacy of his apartments, especially since Jaromir wasn’t here. Small talk exhausted Anton, but he felt that coming in for dinner was something he ought to do.

  Looking toward the head table, he was relieved to see only a few people sitting there. Lord Cirren and the Lady Edith lived here at the castle. Cirren was Anton’s second cousin and a solid financial adviser. A family of prominent wine merchants from Enêmûsk was also seated, but Anton knew them well, and they disliked small talk as much he did.

  Perhaps dinner tonight would not be such a trial.

  He had started toward the table when a familiar voice sounded from behind him.

  “My lord?”

  Turning quickly, he fought to keep his expression still.

  Céline stood a few paces behind him, and all thoughts but her fled from his mind. Her hair was down, spreading over her shoulders, and she still wore the same lavender gown from last night. Her presence affected him in ways he couldn’t always control internally, which was beyond troubling. Though he’d only known her a year, and she did not know him well, she knew him better than anyone else in the world, including Jaromir.

  He knew the soft feel of her mouth on his, and if he’d been anyone but a prince of Pählen, he’d have married her by now—if she’d have him.

  However, he couldn’t ever remember her coming to the castle in search of him.

  “Céline,” he said, for lack of anything else coming into his head. Then he saw the determined look on her face, and his pleasure at her arrival faded. Certainly, she could not be here to discuss that awkward business Jaromir had mentioned earlier today? Anton had made it clear that topic was closed, and he was unaccustomed to being disobeyed.

  “May I have a word?” she asked.

  He didn’t move and pitched his tone to sound cold. “In what regard?”

  His tone had no effect, and she pointed to the open door of a side room. “Please.”

  With growing trepidation, he followed her through the door. The room was small, with a single table, two chairs, and no window. Several candles glowed from the table. He often used this chamber for private conferences.

  Céline closed the door, and they were alone.

  “The lieutenant informs me that you won’t give him leave to travel with us to Yegor.”

  Her blunt manner took him aback. He’d not expected her to simply launch in. Céline was normally a far more tactful, far subtler person.

  “I c
annot give any of you leave to be away from Sèone for so long,” he said, “and I ordered an end to any more discussion in this regard.”

  Turning, he started to walk past her for the door.

  “I’m not one of your soldiers,” she said. “Neither is Amelie. Neither is Helga. You can’t order us to remain in the village.”

  He stopped and stared at her in near disbelief.

  * * *

  Céline stood firm by the door with an outwardly brave expression, but on the inside, she wavered.

  Anton was a good leader, and by nature, he was fair-minded. She had nothing to fear from him physically, but he was a warlord from a long line of warlords, and he expected to be obeyed. She’d never openly challenged him like this, and she had no idea what he might do.

  “My mother’s people are being held prisoner,” she pressed. “Amelie and I cannot stay here in our safe shop and do nothing.”

  She could see the battle taking place behind his eyes. It went against his instincts to allow himself to be drawn back into a discussion he’d already closed.

  “Your loyalties are to Sèone and to me,” he said. “What if I need your skills while you are away? Have you thought on that? What if Sèone needs you? This situation in Yegor doesn’t concern us.”

  “It concerns me. It concerns Amelie, and it concerns Helga.” She stepped away from the door, closed the small distance between them, and looked up at him. “And how can you say it doesn’t concern you? Do you not hope to be grand prince of this entire nation? Wasn’t your mother from the house of Yegor?”

  He sucked in a harsh breath, and she worried she’d gone too far. Anton’s mother had died when he was only eight years old, but her family was from Yegor.

  “You may not be one of my soldiers,” he said angrily, “but I gave you my protection and I gave you a livelihood when you had nothing.”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her. Was that what he thought? That she served him out of some sense of necessary gratitude?

  “So because you gave us your protection and the apothecary’s shop, our abilities are now to be used only in your service? What will you do if we decide to go to Yegor anyway? Will you take the shop from us? Will you order your guards at the gates to detain us? Have we become prisoners here?”

  “You asked me for my leave, and I said no!” His voice rose. “There is no need for any of these dramatics. Have I made any threats? Have I threatened to take the shop away or to lock you inside the village? Don’t paint me as some blackheart in all this!”

  She whirled, taking quick steps toward the door. “Then we’ll leave in the morning, even if we have to borrow the horses and travel alone. I trust you won’t begrudge loaning three women a few horses!”

  Grabbing the door handle, she’d just begun to pull when his hand passed by her head and pushed the door closed. He stood behind her, holding the door shut, and she turned around to face his chin.

  “Céline,” he whispered.

  Her anger faded, and she wished she understood him better. “Please, Anton. Amelie and I can do something no one else can, and these are our mother’s people. Let us go to help them.” Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on his chest. “Please.”

  “And if I don’t give Jaromir leave to guard you, you’ll go by yourselves? You would do that?”

  With her head still pressed against his chest, she nodded. “Yes.”

  He sighed in what sounded like resignation.

  Chapter Three

  The following morning, just before midday, Amelie and Céline were in the shop, making preparations to leave.

  Amelie was still somewhat uncertain of the events of the previous day. Apparently, Anton had initially refused to give Jaromir leave, and then somehow Céline had changed his mind in the evening. After that, Jaromir and Helga had begun to plan together, and now the sisters were told to wait for further word.

  Amelie couldn’t help feeling somewhat in the dark.

  “I thought we’d leave before now,” she said.

  “So did I,” Céline answered. “I wish I knew what Jaromir and Helga have been up to.”

  As if by way of answer, a loud knock sounded on the door, followed by Helga shouting, “Hurry up! My arms are full!”

  Amelie ran to the front door of the shop and opened it. Helga stood on the other side, carrying a pile of clothing—skirts, blouses, and brightly covered scarves.

  “What is all that?” Amelie asked in sudden suspicion.

  Every time the sisters had been asked to leave Sèone to use their abilities in Anton’s service, Amelie had been forced to play some ridiculous “part” and to dress accordingly. First, she’d had to play a lady of Anton’s court and later, she’d had to pretend to be the daughter of a wealthy merchant. In both cases, she’d been forced to wear a variety of silk gowns.

  Now what did Helga have in mind?

  “You’ll be rolling into that meadow as Mist-Torn seers from the line of Fawe,” Helga announced, stomping in with her usual energy. “You have to look the parts or you won’t be trusted. The Móndyalítko only trust their own.”

  Rolling in? What did that mean?

  Worse, Amelie eyed the garments in Helga’s arms. The white peasant blouses looked rather low-cut. “I’m not wearing one of those.”

  “Yes, you are,” Helga responded. “Now get those pants off . . . and that dusty jacket.”

  Céline had been packing medicinal supplies, but she came over to inspect the clothing. “Helga, it’s not that I disagree with you. I know we won’t be trusted if we’re viewed as outsiders, but won’t that become immediately apparent when we ride into camp with the lieutenant and a small contingent of Sèone soldiers?”

  “Yup, you would,” Helga agreed. “That’s why the lieutenant and I came up with something else. He rode out of town early this morning, and he should be back anytime.”

  “Back from where?” Amelie asked.

  “You’ll see,” Helga answered. “Now come on and get dressed, girls. I’ll need to help with the sashes and jewelry.”

  “Jewelry?” Amelie repeated.

  But by now, she knew it was useless to argue with Helga. No matter how much Amelie had protested in the past, Helga always somehow got her laced into what gown was necessary for the ruse they had to play.

  Sighing, Amelie pulled off her canvas jacket. “Lock the front door,” she said to Céline.

  In a surprisingly short amount of time, Helga had transformed both the sisters.

  Céline was dressed in a bright red skirt, a white blouse, and an orange paisley sash tied around her waist. Her ears were pierced, so she wore silver hoops in her ears and a line of loose, dangling bracelets down both wrists.

  Amelie wore a bright blue skirt, a white blouse—that was indeed too low-cut—and a yellow sash. As her ears weren’t pierced, Helga had to be satisfied by adorning her with a few silver bracelets.

  Then Amelie secured her dagger into a sheath inside her right boot.

  Though she’d never admit it, this attire was much more comfortable than the silk gowns she’d been laced into on their last venture. At least she could move and breathe.

  Oliver, Céline’s cat, sat on the counter and watched all of this with interest.

  “I have several spare blouses for you both,” Helga said.

  “What about you?” Amelie challenged. “Don’t you need to look a little more . . . Móndyalítko?”

  “I am Móndyalítko,” Helga answered. “Don’t need to worry about looking more like one.”

  Amelie was about to press this further when Céline said, “I will need to run down to the blacksmith’s and ask Erin to take care of Oliver while we’re gone. I hate to leave him for so long, though.”

  When the sisters traveled, Céline’s friend Erin came to the shop once a day to put out bowls of milk and water for Oliver. He h
unted mice and took care of himself for the most part, but Céline feared he might feel abandoned if no one cared for him.

  “Bring him along,” Helga said.

  “Bring him? How can I possibly do—?”

  A sound like rolling wheels could be heard from outside.

  “There’s the lieutenant,” Helga said, starting for the door.

  Amelie glanced at Céline, who shook her head in puzzlement as the sisters followed Helga.

  Upon leaving the shop, Amelie needed a moment to absorb the scene before her.

  Two wagons—that looked like small houses—waited out front, each one drawn by a pair of stout horses. The larger wagon in front was painted white with yellow shutters and a red roof. The smaller one in the back was painted blue with tan shutters and a tan roof.

  Jaromir was on the front bench of the larger wagon, driving the horses. He set the brake and jumped down.

  Amelie took in the sight of him. Gone were his armor, tabard, and sword. He was now dressed in loose brown pants, a black shirt with an open front, and a canvas vest. She guessed he had knives and daggers hidden up his sleeves and in his boots.

  He looked so different, almost rakish, and he flashed her a grin.

  “Look at you,” he teased, running his eyes from her feet to her shoulders. “This journey might be more enjoyable than I thought.”

  Oh no, she thought, wondering how Helga would react if she dashed back inside the shop for her pants and jacket.

  * * *

  Céline had barely taken in the sight of the first wagon when she turned her gaze to the second one, and up to the man driving it.

  Like Jaromir, he set the brake and jumped down.

  “Céline,” he said simply.

  She found she couldn’t answer. The man standing before her was tall and tightly muscled. His coal black hair hung down past his collar, and his black eyes searched her face. She would never have described him as handsome. He was . . . beautiful. There was something almost feral about him, as if he didn’t belong inside any four walls.