Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches Page 4

But the man who’d clubbed down Kochè looked into the garden and then back at Céline. His sword was still in its sheath. “Where’s the seer?” he demanded. “Is she still in that shop?” He had a muscular build and a goatee and wore his long hair tied at the nape of his neck.

  Céline wondered if she could even speak, but she somehow got out, “I’m the seer.”

  He stared at her with a flicker of surprise, and then he ordered. “Pavel, get her on a horse! I’ll get the other one.”

  “Sir, don’t kill any of Damek’s men,” Pavel said back. “Or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “Go!”

  Before Céline had time for a new wave of panic, her feet left the ground, and she found herself being heaved over Pavel’s shoulder.

  * * *

  In Jaromir’s mind, he’d pictured the seer as an old crone with a crystal ball, not a lovely young woman in a red velvet dress, and he was still trying to get his head around this as he ran through the back gate and almost raised a hand to his face to ward off the heat from the blazing apothecary shop.

  But then the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

  The black-haired girl he’d seen coming out of the shop that afternoon was engaged in a desperate fight with one of Captain Kochè’s men. Both of them were swinging hard, but most of the time, the girl was managing to duck instead of block, and her speed was astonishing. She had a short sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. But as her opponent was much larger and using a long sword, she couldn’t seem to land a slash or a blow, and Jaromir was experienced enough to see she was getting tired.

  As yet, they were both so absorbed, neither one had noticed him.

  Quickly, he moved forward, and when the soldier finished a downswing—missing the girl—Jaromir swung hard with the club, striking the back of his head from behind. Unfortunately, he didn’t go down right away, and the girl rushed in, ramming her dagger into an unarmored spot at the base of his throat. Blood squirted into the air.

  “No!” Jaromir cried, too late. “Don’t.”

  She jerked her dagger out, and the soldier fell, probably dead before he hit the ground.

  Lost in rage and panic, the girl looked around wildly. “Céline!”

  Her eyes stopped on Jaromir, and she rushed, swinging her short sword, which he managed to block with his club. “Stop it! I’m trying to help you.”

  She didn’t even seem to hear him, and everything was happening almost too fast for him to keep up. She started to swing again, but he dodged to the inside, dropped his club, grabbed her wrist, and swung with his fist, catching her across the jaw. As the crack sounded, she collapsed against his arm, and he cursed under his breath.

  He hadn’t wanted to do that.

  Worse, there was a dead soldier in a black tabard lying in the parsley patch.

  But he could hear the voices of people from the village shouting out front now as they ran toward the burning shop. Crouching, he slid the girl’s sword and dagger back into their sheaths. Then he threw her over his shoulder and rushed for the gate.

  Once outside, behind him, all he could hear was the growing roar of the fire.

  * * *

  Céline was so numb she didn’t even feel the cold. She was on a horse, sitting in front of the soldier called Pavel, while he held her tightly with one arm and held the reins in his other hand, pushing hard through the wet forest.

  She could hear another horse moving behind them in the darkness, but as yet she’d not seen Amelie and had no idea what was happening. She only knew she’d brought the threat of death raining down on them…and that their home was gone.

  More from instinct than hope, she’d struggled in Pavel’s arm a few times, but he hadn’t seemed to notice and just kept pushing his horse.

  “All right,” a deep voice called from behind. “That’s far enough.”

  Pavel pulled up and turned his horse, looking back. “You sure, sir?”

  “Yes, for a few minutes at least.”

  Céline wanted to weep in relief at the sight behind them. The soldier with the goatee was holding Amelie in front of himself on his own horse. She was unconscious but breathing and did not appear to be bleeding from any wounds. Then Céline saw that her hands were bound together by a small rope, and her eyes flew up to the soldier’s face.

  “A precaution I thought best,” he said dryly. “For the rest of this night, you’re both going to have to behave and do exactly what I tell you.”

  Still numb, Céline just stared at him. She had no idea who he was or what he wanted. She only knew that he’d tied Amelie’s hands and that she was being held against her will on top of a stranger’s horse…and that their home was gone.

  The soldier’s expression softened, almost to pity. “My name is Lieutenant Jaromir,” he said, “and I swear I’m trying to help you.”

  Finding her voice, Céline whispered, “Why would you help us?”

  “Because my lord ordered me to.”

  “And who is your lord?” she managed to ask, more confused than before.

  “Sub-Prince Anton of the House of Pählen, Damek’s younger brother.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Sometime during the night, Céline’s numbness began to wear off, and the cold night air began cutting through her dress.

  She realized she had nothing left but the dress on her back, not even her cloak.

  But Pavel must have felt her shivering because he stopped his horse long enough to pull his own cloak around them both. “Hold it closed with your hand,” he said.

  For some reason, this small act of kindness moved her, and feeling warmer, a few moments later, she let herself lean back against him and closed her eyes.

  The horse moved on at a steady pace through the wet woods.

  The next thing she remembered was the sound of Jaromir’s voice saying, “All right, it’s light enough. Wake her up.”

  She opened her eyes again and realized it was past dawn the next morning. Her first thought was of Amelie, and she cast about quickly to see her sister, wide-awake, sporting a dark bruise on her jaw, still sitting in front of Jaromir with her hands tied.

  But Amelie’s eyes looked like thunder, and Céline feared what she might do to Jaromir once her hands were free. The sisters locked eyes, and Céline tried to offer a short shake of her head, hoping Amelie understood. Although nothing was certain, these two men had at least behaved like protectors throughout the night.

  But then Céline looked up beyond Amelie and nearly gasped. “Where are we?”

  Pavel answered in her ear. “Home. Castle Sèone.”

  The sight was impressive. A moat the size of a river surrounded an enormous hill, almost a small mountain. Not far from where Céline was sitting, she could see a gatehouse with a closed portcullis at the end of a retractable bridge across the moat. A wall with numerous barbicans stretched from both sides of the gate all the way around the area at the bottom of the hill.

  But she could see that on the other side of the gatehouse was a road leading about halfway up the hill to yet another gatehouse set against another stone wall that encircled the hill at that point. At the top of the hill stood a castle.

  This place would be difficult to breach.

  A creaking sound reached her ears, and then Jaromir said, “They’re opening the portcullis. We should head inside now.”

  “In there?” Céline asked in alarm. The place had seemed impenetrable a second ago; once inside, how would she and Amelie ever get out again?

  Without warning, Amelie rammed her head back and caught Jaromir hard on the chin, making him grunt with pain. She whipped one leg over the front of the saddle and tried leaping off, but he caught her and jerked her up against himself.

  “Quit!” he ordered, sounding more annoyed than angry, and with her hands tied, she could do little more than struggle.

  His chin was bleeding.

  “My lord will just want to talk to you,” he said. “He only wants to know what his brother is up to. Then you�
�ll be free to go.” He paused. “If you have anyplace to go.”

  Amelie stopped fighting him, but her face was still dark with rage.

  “Good,” he said, and he jumped off the horse, looking up at her. “I’m going to free your hands so we don’t look like we’re walking in with prisoners, but you’d better keep still and do what I say.” Taking a knife from his belt, he looked at her and said, “You try to kick me or pull that dagger, and you’ll regret it.”

  “She won’t,” Céline said quickly. “Amelie, tell him you won’t.”

  It was possible Jaromir was telling the truth, that this Prince Anton simply wanted to know what was happening with his brother’s impending nuptials, and he’d let them go once they’d told him everything they knew. Céline just hoped that Anton did not have much in common with his brother. His men were certainly nothing like Damek’s.

  Amelie just glared at her and then held out both hands. Jaromir cut her bonds, but he seemed ready for anything, watching her carefully.

  “Amelie!” Céline said again. “We’ll just go in and speak to their prince. Then we’ll go…” She trailed off and the rage in Amelie’s eyes faded. Where exactly would they go?

  Pavel jumped off from behind her and landed on the ground.

  Before Céline knew what was happening, he began leading his horse across the bridge to the first gatehouse, but Jaromir took the lead. Two soldiers in tan tabards standing inside the open portcullis came to attention at the sight of Jaromir.

  “Sir,” they said politely, almost reverently.

  Jaromir just nodded and led Amelie past them, through the gatehouse tunnel and out the other side. Céline began to suspect that Jaromir was more than just a lieutenant in the prince’s guard. But she had no time to wonder as they all headed up the road toward the second gatehouse.

  As they reached it, the guards up there treated Jaromir with the same respectful deference, and Céline found herself being led through the second gatehouse to the inside of the high stone wall…

  And there, even Amelie looked around in surprise.

  They entered what appeared to be a thriving town built all around the castle above. People and animals and dwellings of all sorts stretched out as far as Céline could see. A smithy and a tannery stood just ahead. Cobblers, weavers, candle makers, bakers, and butchers hawked their wares. But more than that, Céline saw a vast number of what looked like homes to her left, and all the people looked well fed.

  “They all live here inside the castle wall?” Amelie asked in shock, gripping the horse’s mane. This was the first thing she’d said since last night, and Jaromir glanced up at her. “Of course. It’s safest here inside the wall.”

  This seemed like a given to him, but to Céline it was not. Sub-Prince Damek lived quite differently. From what she understood, only his soldiers, his mistresses, his servants, and a number of minor nobles all currying his favor populated his home.

  This Castle Sèone was more like a bustling town.

  Jaromir kept moving onward and upward though the people and the shops and dwellings until they reached another bridge, this one shorter and leading across a gap to a huge wooden doorway at the front of the castle. It was unguarded, but Céline noted a pulley system on the other side that would allow the bridge to be raised, thus cutting off access to the castle.

  “Here we are,” Jaromir said, stopping at the beginning of the bridge and reaching his hand up to Amelie. “Hop down.”

  She ignored his hand and climbed off by herself. Céline admired her spirit, but when Pavel moved to help her down, Céline let him, and then she grabbed the stirrup to hold herself when her legs nearly gave way. She’d never in her life spent a whole night on the back of a horse. She was going to be sore for days.

  “You all right?” Jaromir asked her, frowning.

  “I’m fine,” she answered, trying to straighten, and walking as quickly as she could to Amelie’s side.

  They crossed the bridge and entered the walled courtyard of the castle. Jaromir and Pavel were still leading their horses, but a boy appeared from nowhere to take their reins.

  “Be generous with the grain,” Jaromir told him. “They’ve both been going all night.”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy answered, leading the horses away.

  Then Jaromir and Pavel strode across the courtyard—leaving Céline and Amelie little choice but to follow. They moved through a large entryway inside the castle itself, down a stone passage, and emerged into what appeared to be a great common dining hall. An enormous burning hearth had been built in the wall directly across from the arched entrance. Servants and a few soldiers in tan tabards were milling around, but everyone came to attention when Jaromir walked in. The hall seemed alive with dogs as well, spaniels, bloodhounds, and wolfhounds. A wolfhound with a smattering of white on its muzzle had been lying by the fire, but it scrambled stiffly to its feet and attempted to run to Jaromir.

  “Lizzie,” he said when the dog reached him. “You’re getting too old to run.” He stroked her face while she continued to express great joy at his return by licking his hands.

  Then he glanced at a servant carrying a tray and said, “Go and tell my lord I’m back, and that I brought the seer with me.”

  The servant set down the tray and hurried off.

  Céline couldn’t help wondering what it must be like to just give orders and have everyone run to do her bidding. She didn’t think she would particularly like it.

  Still petting the dog, Jaromir turned to Pavel. “You’re dismissed. Go and find yourself something to eat.”

  As Pavel headed off, Jaromir walked over to a side table and poured two goblets of wine. The dog followed at his heels. Carrying the goblets back, he held one out to Amelie. “Here.”

  She didn’t touch it.

  “Oh, just take it,” he said. “You haven’t had anything all night. I’ll arrange breakfast as soon as I can.”

  Céline reached out and took the other goblet. She hated depending on him, but it was looking more and more like he was in control here, and her own normal sense of survival was beginning to surface. “Thank you,” she said.

  He didn’t answer her and just raised one eyebrow at Amelie, who finally reached out and took the goblet. “Thank you,” she said, but her tone hardly suggested thanks.

  To Céline’s surprise, Jaromir flashed a grin, as if he found Amelie amusing. That was never a wise move.

  But before Amelie could do anything stupid—like toss the wine in his face—the people around them began to bow, and Céline turned to see a young man in a burgundy tunic walking into the hall.

  “My lord,” Jaromir said, bowing slightly.

  But Céline froze as the young man met her gaze. She knew him, and she could see that he remembered her, although his eyes flickered as if he was somewhat taken aback by the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her since she was fifteen, and she had changed a bit. So had he. He was still pale, with brown hair tucked behind his ears, but now he had circles under his eyes. Without the circles, he would have been handsome.

  He’d been her first patron five years before, and he’d asked her to help him decide if he should marry a girl he loved named Joselyn or a wealthy girl named…

  Rhiannon.

  Céline fought to keep her face still as the past and present collided. Damek and Anton were brothers, and Rhiannon’s father had first tried to marry her to Anton, and he had refused in order to marry a penniless girl. What a blow that must have been to Rhiannon. Then her father had tried again five years later to marry her to Damek, and now Rhiannon was refusing the marriage. No wonder she’d been so worried about how her father would react.

  Jaromir walked to Prince Anton quickly and leaned over, whispering in his ear. Anton’s dark eyes widened as he glanced at the sisters.

  “Burned?” he mouthed.

  Jaromir kept speaking in his lord’s ear, and Céline began growing nervous. What was he saying?

  “What do you think this is really all about?�
�� Amelie whispered.

  “I’m not sure. But I think we have to play along.” She choked once. “I’m so sorry about the shop.”

  “Why? You didn’t burn it down.”

  But Céline could hear the cold anger in her sister’s voice and hoped Amelie could hold herself together just a little longer. Amelie might not be angry with Céline, but she was angry and feeling trapped and needed an outlet.

  Prince Anton turned from Jaromir and looked at Céline. “In there,” he said, pointing to a small side chamber. “I would speak with you alone.” His tone was haughty, as if he never expected anything but obedience.

  “No,” Amelie said flatly.

  “It’s all right,” Céline said. “Truly.”

  Before Amelie could argue, Céline walked into the side room and found that she wasn’t even nervous when Anton walked in behind her and closed the door.

  Prince he might be, but for some reason, even after all she’d been through since last night, she wasn’t afraid of him.

  “Why did my brother try to kill you?” he asked.

  This was not the first question she expected, and she looked at their surroundings. The room was small indeed, with a single table, two chairs, and no window. Several candles glowed from the table.

  Anton was looking at her red dress. “Why?” he repeated. “Jaromir says you spoke to Lady Rhiannon? What did you say to her? And why did Madam Zelinka and Captain Kochè visit you that morning?’

  So he knew some of the story already. She wondered how much.

  Sighing, she realized she’d gain nothing by holding information back. “Madam Zelinka paid me three pieces of silver to read Lady Rhiannon’s future and tell her that she’d be happy with your brother and to consent to the wedding. I agreed. I feared what might happen to me and my sister if I did not.”

  He shook his head, puzzled.

  “I found that I could not keep my word…after I saw her future,” Céline went on.

  “What did you see?”

  “He had her falsely accused of adultery and then strangled. I could not counsel her to marry him after seeing that.”

  Anton flinched and sank down into a chair. “Poor Rhiannon,” he said softly. “Her father won’t understand.”