Mist-Torn Witches 03:Witches With the Enemy Read online

  Wordlessly, she took it from him, and he picked up the other sheath, but he didn’t draw the blade.

  “Strap this to your other wrist, but don’t pull it unless you intend to kill,” he said, “and don’t tell anyone you have it, not even Céline. It’s a stiletto . . . and the blade is poisoned, so whatever you do, don’t scratch yourself. If you even nick someone with this, he’ll be dead in moments.”

  “Poisoned?”

  That wasn’t like Jaromir.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, “No one inside Castle Kimovesk cares about honor or anything besides themselves. You have to think like them. Now strap those on and don’t hesitate to use either.”

  Her eyes lifted to his face. On their last journey, she’d bristled against his arrogance and his penchant for giving orders, but now . . . and it hit her that tomorrow, he wasn’t going with them.

  “Oh, Jaromir,” she whispered.

  He looked away. “I know.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Anton stood in the courtyard. He was dressed simply, in dark pants, a wool shirt, and riding boots, but he also wore a heavy cloak over his shoulders and a sword on his hip. The gray sky above him drizzled with a slow rain, as was typical in autumn, but he left his hood down and allowed the drops to soak into his hair.

  Activity buzzed all around him.

  Twenty-four horses had been saddled and two more were harnessed to a wagon of luggage and supplies. Twenty guards, along with the newly promoted Corporal Rurik, were almost ready to leave. Jaromir walked around giving orders and making certain the wagon bed was properly covered.

  Corporal Rurik still appeared somewhat stunned at having been given this assignment, but he was busy checking saddles and talking to the men. Anton watched him for a moment. Rurik had a wiry build and curly light brown hair he wore to the tops of his shoulders. He was known as the swiftest rider in Sèone, and until recently, he had served in the position of messenger between Anton and his father.

  Last summer, it was discovered he’d been providing Prince Lieven with more information than simple dispatches, and under normal circumstances, this would have resulted in his dismissal from the guards, or worse. But apparently, Rurik had been attempting to bolster Prince Lieven’s opinion of Anton by sharing news of his successes as a leader—which Anton had not authorized him to share. Still . . . Jaromir was convinced of Rurik’s innocence of anything other than overzealous loyalty. Jaromir had assigned a new messenger, but kept Rurik in the guards.

  For Anton, this was good enough. Jaromir was the most suspicious man he knew, and if he trusted Rurik, then so did Anton. In addition, Céline had suggested that Rurik head up the guards for this journey, and Anton had come to rely on her judgment when it came to people.

  Once the wagon was tied down, Jaromir strode toward Anton but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “All is ready, my lord,” he said, his face drawn. “Céline and Amelie should be down directly.”

  “Good,” Anton answered.

  He longed to tell Jaromir that he hated this arrangement as well, and that a part of him knew it was foolish to go to Kimovesk without his lieutenant. Jaromir was much more than a bodyguard and the leader of Sèone’s soldiers. He was Anton’s best friend . . . his only friend really.

  No matter how quick-witted Jaromir might be, he did not understand Damek. How could he? Only someone who had grown up with Damek could possibly comprehend how his twisted mind worked. The letter he’d sent had been almost brotherly, with a hint of warmth, pleading for Anton’s help.

  When Damek showed a hint of warmth, he was at his most dangerous.

  One of Anton’s most vivid memories came from a boyhood experience when their father had bought each brother a fine spaniel puppy so they might train the dogs to hunt birds. As a lonely child, Anton had loved his dog excessively and named him Arrow because he ran so straight. He slept with Arrow and spent many hours training him. As a result, his dog became a much better hunter than the dog given to Damek, and one day, their father commented on this.

  That night, Damek came to Anton’s room to praise Arrow and give the dog a treat of raw chunks of beef. Damek’s rare display of brotherly warmth made Anton happy. A few hours later, Arrow began to whine in pain. He died before morning, poisoned.

  This wasn’t the first or last time Damek managed to leave Anton rocking in sorrow, but it was one of the most painful experiences in Anton’s memory.

  Jaromir had to remain here to protect Sèone.

  Right now Damek could be plotting anything. He could be setting a trap for Anton. He could be attempting to lure both Anton and Jaromir away at the same time. He could truly need help catching a murderer. He could be up to something completely different. There was no way to know.

  But Anton’s father wanted this impending marriage to take place, and even Damek wouldn’t lie about that—for fear such a ploy might get back to Prince Lieven. So Anton couldn’t refuse to help. That meant he had to anticipate as many outcomes as possible and plan accordingly.

  Still, a prince of Droevinka did not explain his decisions, not even to someone as close as Jaromir. He needed to maintain absolute authority at all times. Anton’s father had taught him that, and in his heart, he knew it to be right.

  “Here come the sisters and Helga,” Jaromir said, looking toward the doors of the castle.

  Anton turned. Céline was walking toward him across the courtyard. With her hood up, he couldn’t see her hair, only her pretty face. Even in a thick cloak, she looked so small to him, so fragile. Yet she was one of the bravest women he’d ever known. She seemed brave to him because she always faced the things she feared. He admired this.

  He admired her.

  Amelie and Helga came behind her, both covered in cloaks as well. Those two left him more ill at ease. Amelie struck him as more fierce than brave, and she had no understanding of how her coarse behavior affected other people. She would have to be watched closely on this trip.

  Helga . . . well, Anton had no idea why Jaromir put such stock in the old woman. She struck Anton as half-mad, but Jaromir had nearly insisted that she accompany the sisters, and this was at least something to which Anton could agree.

  Céline came up to him and then looked over to the readied wagon and horses. “Are we late, my lord?” When she turned back, her eyes moved to his wet hair, but she did not suggest he draw up his hood.

  “Not at all,” he answered.

  Jaromir studied Amelie for a moment, and then he strode over to Corporal Rurik, leaned down, and began speaking in a voice so low it could not be heard. Rurik flinched and his eyes widened.

  “Poor Rurik,” Amelie said. “Jaromir must be threatening with everything from beheading to being burned alive if anything should happen to us.”

  She was probably right.

  Anton turned his attention to other matters. “I’ve arranged for the same horses you rode on your last journey,” he said to Céline and Amelie. “I trust they proved satisfactory?”

  He’d handpicked both horses before, a quick-footed black gelding for Amelie, and a gentle gray mare named Sable for Céline.

  “Oh yes,” Céline answered quickly. “I grew fond of Sable.”

  “And what will I be riding, my lord?” Helga asked, both hands on her hips.

  “I thought you might prefer to ride up on the wagon bench with Sergeant Bazin,” he answered stiffly. It felt awkward to be conversing like this with an aging servant. “If that is acceptable.”

  Helga snorted and started toward the wagon. “Of course it’s acceptable,” she called over her shoulder. “And don’t you take that tone with me. I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”

  Watching her walk away, Anton wondered if there was still time to change his mind about her inclusion.

  Jaromir came back leading the small black gelding. “Hop up,” he said to Amelie. “I’ll hold him.” He sounded miserable.

  For once, Amelie didn’t fire back some retort at being orde
red about, and she climbed up into the sidesaddle. Anton reached out for Sable, who had been standing close by, and he helped Céline settle into her saddle as well.

  All around them, men were mounting their horses, and Sergeant Bazin was up on the wagon bench, reins in his hand, with Helga beside him.

  Feeling even more awkward, Anton turned to Jaromir. “I hope not to be away long. Perhaps the sisters will solve this quickly.” He paused, not certain what else to say. “I’ll send messages and keep you informed.”

  Jaromir nodded but didn’t speak.

  With nothing left to say or do, Anton grasped the reins of his own horse—a tall bay stallion named Whisper because of his low, almost inaudible whinny. Anton swung up. “Lead us out, Corporal Rurik.”

  With a nod, the young corporal urged his own mount toward the exit from the courtyard. The entire contingent followed. Anton rode directly behind Céline and Amelie, and he could feel Jaromir’s eyes watching.

  Even so, he didn’t look back.

  Chapter Three

  Droevinka was a land of dense, wet forests. Moss hung down from the trees, fungus grew outward from their trunks, and the damp air was often laden with the scent of loam. The dirt roads grew muddy when it rained.

  Céline kept her hood up for most of the morning as she rode beside Amelie, traveling north on a road barely wide enough for two horses. The supply wagon rolled ahead of them, and Anton rode directly behind. But this small group was rather boxed in by soldiers, as Rurik led the contingent with ten men at the front, and he’d ordered the other ten to bring up the rear.

  The house of Pählen controlled a good deal of the southwest provinces. Sèone was in the southernmost sector of their lands. Kimovesk was to the north and slightly west, almost to the border between Droevinka and Belaski.

  The morning passed quietly, as no one seemed inclined to speak much . . . with the possible exception of Helga, who sometimes barked criticisms at poor Sergeant Bazin regarding her opinions of his driving skills. He accepted this with a hard-set jaw and fairly good grace.

  Near midday, the drizzling rain stopped, and Céline pushed her hood back, looking up at the gray skies above. She was cold and damp and her back hurt from having ridden for several hours straight now, but she’d known this was coming and didn’t complain.

  The narrow road they traveled emptied into a much wider one, and Rurik turned west. He appeared to know where he was going, so Céline asked no questions. Though she’d grown up in this country, she’d never traveled until last spring and was embarrassed by her lack of knowledge of Droevinkan geography.

  Slightly quickened hoofbeats sounded behind her, and she looked back to see Anton positioning his horse between hers and Amelie’s. Céline drew Sable to the left to make room for him, and his mount, Whisper, trotted up in between them before slowing to a walk again. On this wider road, three riders could easily travel side by side. Water dripped from Anton’s hair, running down his cloak. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “How long to Kimovesk?” Céline asked.

  “A day and a half,” Anton answered.

  Amelie turned to look at him. “Jaromir took us from Shetâna to Sèone in a single night.”

  Anton nodded. “Yes, but Shetâna is closer . . . and from what I understand, Jaromir took a shortcut through the forests that night. We’ll stick to the roads and spend tonight in a town called Rékausi. We should reach Kimovesk by midday tomorrow.”

  Céline couldn’t help wondering what “spend tonight in a town” meant. Would some of the local people put them up? On their last journey, with Jaromir, they’d made camp every night and slept outdoors among the trees.

  Anton’s expression was troubled, though, as if he wished to speak of other matters, so she asked him no more questions and simply waited.

  “Do you feel up to speaking of the task ahead of us?” he finally asked.

  This was a polite formality, as it would probably never occur to him they might refuse, but even tired and damp, Céline had no wish to refuse. She wondered what he was about to say.

  He remained quiet for a long moment.

  “I won’t be able to pass you off as nobles this time,” he finally began. “The Lady Helena, who is the bride-to-be’s mother, knows every noble family in Droevinka, at least by reputation. So I’m going to say you are the daughters of a wealthy wool merchant, Miss Céline and Miss Amelie. Helena will respect that. She married a baron who was also a merchant.”

  Céline found the title of “Miss” to be wisely ambiguous. The wives of wealthy merchants were often called “Mistress,” and daughters were called “Miss.” This distinguished them as somewhere above the common peasants and yet beneath the nobility.

  Amelie exhaled loudly through her nose. “I don’t see the need for this ruse at all. Why can’t you just tell them we’re your seers, we’re there to do a job for you, and they need to let us start reading them?”

  He shook his head. “That won’t work. You don’t know what most nobles are like. They need to agree . . . to almost believe that your reading of them was their own idea.”

  “Well, some of Damek’s soldiers, the ones who worked in Shetâna, will give us away on sight,” Amelie pressed.

  “You let me handle that,” he answered, almost dismissively, as if the issue was not worth discussing. “But you need to know more about the family with whom you’ll be dealing.”

  Céline turned her head. “Have you met them?”

  “Some of them.” He paused again as if wondering where to start this next part of the conversation. “Prince Rodêk’s father fell in love with a woman somewhat beneath himself, the Lady Clarisse, and he married her. Her family was titled but not royal. But back then, the house of Äntes didn’t enjoy the power it does now, so the marriage gained little attention and neither did the birth of Rodêk. It was Rodêk who later increased the influence of the Äntes, and when his father died, he was named leader of the house, and then he was voted in as grand prince. So the status of his mother and thereby his mother’s family rose substantially. Do you follow me?”

  Céline blinked. “Of course.”

  “Long before Rodêk was elected grand prince, his mother’s sister, the Lady Helena, married a minor Baron, Alexis Quillette, who was also a wealthy wine merchant. They had four children. Carlotta came first, then a set of twins, Heath and Rochelle, and then a younger daughter, Lizbeth. Heath is the only son. Two years ago, the baron died, and Heath took his title and took over the business, but Helena’s brother, Lord Hamish, came to live with them, and from what I’ve heard, he’s taken charge of the family. Their fortunes have only continued to increase.”

  “How do you know so much about them?”

  “It’s part of my duty as a prince of Pählen to know as much as possible about the other houses . . . especially anyone connected to the house of Äntes.” He hesitated again. “And I’ve met the Lady Helena and Carlotta. They attended a gathering of the royal houses in Kéonsk when I was a youth and—”

  “You’ve met the murder victim?” Amelie cut in.

  Anton frowned ever so slightly at the interruption. “Yes, but I don’t remember her well. I’m telling you this so you’ll have a better idea what to expect. These people were not born with royal connections. They were elevated via marriage. That means they will be constantly defensive of their status, to the point of being insulting. Just be prepared. Also, you can see why this impending marriage of Damek’s is so important to my father?”

  Céline nodded. “In addition to allying your house with the house of Äntes, Rochelle’s dowry must be large.”

  “Yes, it must be.” Anton almost sounded bitter.

  “So . . . ,” Amelie said. “We’re helping to elevate both the treasure chest and the political status of Damek?”

  Céline threw her a warning glance. There was no need to state the obvious. Anton was well aware what they’d been asked to do.

  “There is one more thing,” Anton said, shifting uncomfortably in h
is saddle. “While you are in Kimovesk, you must be mindful of your manners inside Damek’s court. You’ll need to show him proper respect at all times.”

  He kept his eyes forward, but Céline knew this short speech was intended for Amelie’s benefit and not hers. Amelie’s face darkened, and she seemed on the verge of spitting out something unpleasant when Anton rushed on.

  “I say this for your safety. Damek will brook nothing but deference that borders on the sycophantic from anyone he considers beneath him—which is almost everyone. I’ve seen him cut down servants he found insolent.”

  The anger faded from Amelie’s face. Céline wondered if her sister knew the word “sycophantic,” but it didn’t matter. Anton’s meaning had been clear.

  All three fell silent, and they listened to the clop of their horses’ hooves.

  As Céline mulled over everything Anton had told them, she hoped Amelie would take his words to heart.

  At midday, they stopped briefly for a short rest, but by then, although Céline was desperate to get off her horse, she felt almost too sore to climb down—and she knew Amelie wasn’t faring much better. The sisters had never ridden horses before coming to Sèone last spring, and had only taken one lengthy journey since . . . several months ago. Their bodies were not conditioned to riding for hours on end.

  Already on the ground, Anton looked up at her. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course.”

  Without asking, he reached up and lifted her down. Her legs trembled upon touching the ground, but she managed to stay on her feet. At the sight of this, Amelie managed to climb off her black gelding and put both hands to her back. Everyone ate an apple and a biscuit and drank shared cupfuls of water.

  Anton had his own cup.

  There was a stream nearby and Rurik had all the horses watered. Then, somewhat reluctantly, Céline climbed back on Sable.