Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red Page 5

  But still . . . was he angry with her? Had he been so appalled by her words to Anton that his opinion of her was forever changed? Quite unexpectedly, she found the prospect upsetting.

  “Are you all right?” Céline asked tiredly, wincing at another jarring step of her own horse.

  “Fine.”

  Realizing her face must have given something away, Amelie pushed down all thoughts of Jaromir. Instead, she tried to ignore her aching backside and focus on the journey. A part of her had always wanted to travel, but she’d seldom had the chance. Once when she was younger, she’d visited the great city of Enêmûsk, but the actual journey had been somewhat of a blur.

  Now she tried to keep track of the path they followed.

  Castle Sèone was located in southwest Droevinka, not far from the Belaskian border. Even though Jaromir was well traveled, he carried a map, and he occasionally stopped and consulted it. He’d led them on a well-maintained road straight east at first, and then he’d turned north. She’d heard several of the soldiers mention that the Ryazan silver mines were at the top of Droevinka, right on the Stravinan border. But she couldn’t help noticing that the farther north they traveled, the thicker the trees seemed to grow and the more narrow and potholed the road became. It must turn to mud in the autumn.

  The weather in Droevinka leaned toward cold and gray—sometimes even in summer. Amelie was accustomed to this.

  But toward the end of this second day of the journey, she was beginning to find their surroundings downright oppressive. Daylight was fading, and old trees along the side of the narrow road were dotted with moss that dangled in scant beards from a few branches. Beneath the aroma of loam and wild foliage was an ever-present thin scent of decay. By the way several of the soldiers glanced around at the trees, she could see she wasn’t alone in noting the eerie quality of the forest.

  “Small clearing ahead,” Jaromir called. “We’ll make camp for the night.”

  “Oh, thank the gods,” Céline said quietly. “I can’t wait to get off this horse.”

  Within moments, they were off the road and dismounted, and a now somewhat familiar routine began. Several soldiers saw to the horses while others found branches for a fire and still others unpacked provisions. Whenever possible, Amelie and Céline tried to help, but Jaromir’s men were well trained, and Amelie felt more in the way than anything else.

  “Voulter and Rimoux,” Jaromir said to a pair of men as he pointed west. “There’s a stream just below that drop-off. Go and fetch some water.”

  Had he already known about the stream before stopping? Jaromir seemed to have planned for everything, and he knew how to give orders. Thankfully, he’d packed a small tent, and each night, one of the soldiers had set it up for Amelie and Céline so they wouldn’t have to sleep in the open.

  By the fall of full darkness, camp had been set, water was boiling for tea, and several men were passing out rations of jerked beef, apples, and biscuits. Amelie moved to sit by the fire with her supper balanced in one arm. She had to keep her other hand free to lift the more than annoying hem of her skirt. She still hated wearing this dress and didn’t think she’d get used to it. The red cloak didn’t bother her so much. At least it was warm.

  A few of the soldiers sat down beside her. The routine for setting camp and eating had been exactly the same last night, but tonight . . . something felt different. The men kept glancing into the thick, dark forest, and the long, dangling beards of moss from the nearest trees looked like black ropes, waiting to tangle whoever was foolish enough to go near.

  Even Guardsman Rurik, who was known for his cheerful nature, sat down silently and kept his eyes lowered as he bit into an apple.

  “Shall we have some entertainment?” Céline asked, smiling as she walked through the seated soldiers and stood near the fire. “You all look a glum lot to me.”

  She wasn’t carrying any food, and her cloak was thrown back over her shoulders so that her arms were free. Amelie couldn’t help but feel a stab of admiration for her sister. Céline had a few faults, being overly sensitive for one, but at times that sensitivity could be useful. She’d probably felt the men’s trepidation over the past few hours even more keenly than had Amelie.

  The difference was that Céline could do something about it.

  “Guardsman Voulter,” Céline said, turning toward a young man with carrot red hair. “I saw you in the market last week, trying to win over Esmeralda, the butcher’s pretty daughter, and I could see she left you in some doubt.”

  A few of the soldiers stopped eating and grinned as Guardsman Voulter’s face turned as red as his hair.

  “Would you like to know how she will receive your attentions next time?” Céline asked.

  “I’d like to know,” Rurik called out through a mouthful of apple.

  Several of the others laughed.

  Standing there with the darkness behind her, light from the flames glinting off her hair, and her red cloak thrown back, Céline looked every inch the beautiful gypsy fortune-teller.

  “Would you like to know?” she asked Voulter more gently, and he nodded once.

  Walking over, Céline took his hand.

  “Oh, this is promising,” she said, gazing into his palm. She wasn’t really attempting to use her abilities and see his future, but the men didn’t know that. For five years, before her true power surfaced, Céline had made a good living pretending to read futures. She knew exactly what to say and do.

  “Esmeralda’s father makes her family eat far too much meat,” she announced, still looking into Voulter’s palm. “I see here that the next time you see her, you bring her a small loaf of cinnamon bread and some strawberries—which are her favorites—and she is most welcoming and pleased to see you. Your attentions are gladly met.”

  Most of the men were smiling in amusement now, and Céline turned to a soldier with a hint of gray at his temples. “You have a question. I can see it in your face.”

  She was skilled at reading faces. She always had been.

  The soldier hesitated and then said, “I’d like to get one more foal out of my mare, Aspen, but she’s growing older, and I don’t want to lose her. Will she be safe if I try?”

  This was a trickier question. Céline had many friends in the village and had probably known that Esmeralda harbored a taste for cinnamon bread and strawberries. However, though this new dilemma was not as much fun as Voulter’s had been, all the men at the fire were listening intently, interested in the answer.

  Céline didn’t hesitate. Walking over, she took the man’s hand and looked into his palm, running her finger down the centerline. “No, you are wise to be concerned. I see her in trouble if she breeds again. If you wish to keep her safe, you should not try.”

  Amelie had a feeling this would be the answer. When in doubt, Céline normally erred on the side of safety, but she’d also managed to compliment the soldier on his wisdom and at the same time probably told him what he’d wanted to hear.

  Céline looked around the circle and smiled again. “Who’s next?”

  Amelie stopped listening and turned her head slightly, attempting to glance behind herself.

  Jaromir was standing outside the circle of seated men, watching Céline with gratitude on his face. He was no fool, and he must have felt the nervous energy of the men as they made camp. Now Céline had lightened the mood.

  Yet an unwanted wave of unhappiness flooded through Amelie.

  For some reason—and she had no idea why—she didn’t want Jaromir to think badly of her. It was outside her nature to either explain or apologize. In her entire life, she’d only managed it a few times with Céline. But Céline had always forgiven her with great warmth.

  Jaromir was not a man known for his warmth.

  Still, without allowing herself to think, Amelie climbed to her feet. She could not go another day leaving things the way they
were.

  Making her way outside the circle, she almost balked when Jaromir saw her coming and his expression closed up. How would she feel if she tried to explain herself and her attempt changed nothing? The humiliation would be too much.

  But she couldn’t stop.

  “Jaromir . . . ,” she tried to begin.

  He looked back toward the fire, and her heart sank.

  “I wanted to . . . ,” she stammered. “I wanted to tell you that I didn’t mean what I said in Prince Anton’s chambers.”

  His head turned quickly, and his eyes dropped to her face.

  “Céline and I grew up so poor,” she rushed on. “We had to ask for payment or trade for anything we did for others. What I said . . . it just came out. I felt backed into a corner, and when that happens, I always say the wrong thing. But I didn’t mean it. I am grateful for all Anton has done for us, and I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  All the hardness in his face vanished, and his brown eyes grew soft. “Don’t be sorry. You know I lived as a hired sword once, poor and hungry, and those scars never heal. I should have realized. You’re here now, and you’re ready to help. Let’s say no more about it.”

  Amelie blinked in near disbelief. She’d reached out to someone besides Céline, and he had reached back. He’d been kind. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Besides,” he added. “So far, the journey has been worth it just to see you in that dress.”

  “Well, don’t get used to it!” she snapped before she could stop herself.

  He flashed her a grin.

  She didn’t return the smile, but she felt much, much better.

  * * *

  Céline continued entertaining the men until they’d finished their suppers. By trade, she didn’t read palms, and this certainly wasn’t how it was normally done, but she knew how to lean upon her deeply ingrained skills at gauging facial inflections, and her only goal tonight had been to create a distraction and help the men relax a bit in this oppressive forest. She’d succeeded. Glancing over, she saw Amelie talking to Jaromir, and the sight made her glad. Jaromir had been a bit standoffish on this journey, and no matter how much Amelie pretended otherwise, it was clear she’d been bothered.

  “All right,” Céline said, “I need to eat my supper, too.” She took a step from the campfire.

  “Oh, just one more,” Guardsman Rurik begged, his brown curls looking frizzy in the damp night air. “Sergeant Bazin’s wife threw him out again, clothes in the street and all. It was quite something. Can you see if she’ll take him back?”

  A stocky, middle-aged guard choked on his tea and looked over. “Rurik!”

  “Well, don’t you want to know?” Rurik asked him.

  But Céline would not be tempted. Waving Rurik off, she began walking again. Nearing the edge of the circle, though, she stopped.

  Corporal Pavel stood beside a dark tree, staring at her. She realized he must have been standing there in the shadows, watching her the whole time without joining in. His expression was sad, almost hungry, and she fought against feeling sorry for him. His moods could change swiftly. She’d underestimated him once, and it had almost cost her.

  Changing directions, she walked more in the direction of Jaromir and Amelie.

  “I’m going down to the creek to wash,” she said as she passed them.

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

  There was probably some water left in one of the buckets, but Céline was really after a few moments to herself. “No, I won’t be long, and I can see well at night. I just need to wash off the dust.”

  Overhead, the clouds parted and moonlight shone down through the trees. She made her way down a slope, hearing the water rushing a short distance below. Up above, she could still hear the voices of the men as they talked around the fire, and she sank to a crouch, dipping her hands in the cold water and bringing them up to her face.

  Her first moment of solitude in several days.

  A part of her didn’t want to dwell on what lay ahead . . . on her promise to Anton that she wouldn’t fail, but success was going to involve more than making a few men laugh around a campfire. She would have to read the soldiers at Ryazan for real, to invoke her ability, and in all likelihood, to see blood and death in someone’s future.

  Could she bear to go through that again?

  “Céline,” said a quiet voice from behind her.

  Still in her crouched position, she whirled in alarm to see Pavel standing a few paces away. Had he followed her down here? His expression was still sad and hungry.

  In the spring, when she’d been engaged in solving the series of murders for Anton, she and Pavel had become friends. She’d known he was attracted to her, and she had used this to her own advantage once. When she and Jaromir disagreed over the best way to protect a potential victim, she’d tried to circumvent Jaromir’s authority and ended up offering Pavel a cup of tea laced with opium—as he had been guarding the victim. He took the tea from her hands, thinking she was favoring him with her attention. Shortly after drinking it, he’d fallen asleep, allowing her to sneak the victim outside the castle for better protection.

  Yes, this had been a questionable action on her part, but at the time, it seemed her only possible course.

  Pavel had been reprimanded, and afterward, in his anger, he’d cornered Céline inside a shack and terrified her. Later he regretted this, but it didn’t matter. She no longer trusted him. Though he kept this dark side of himself hidden away much of the time, she had seen it.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” he asked. “Are you so angry that you won’t even talk?”

  Glancing up the slope, she became very aware that they were alone. She wasn’t remotely angry. She was afraid of him. “I need to get back to Amelie.”

  She tried to walk past, but his right hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist. Before she realized what was happening, he had her back pressed up against a tree. She gasped, instinctively pushing against his chest. He didn’t seem to notice she was struggling.

  “Are you punishing me?” he whispered in her ear. “You know I’m sorry about . . . about before, but you played with me, tricked me, made me look a fool to the lieutenant.” He raised his left hand and touched her cheek. “That’s all done now.”

  Her mind raced for a way to stay calm and get herself free, but when he moved his hand down her face, toward her throat, she couldn’t help trying to cry out.

  “Amel—”

  Instantly, his hand was over her mouth, and his eyes flashed in anger. “You’re going to stay here and talk to me! Tell me what I have to do to make you forgive me, to stop punishing me.”

  She couldn’t move in his grip, and she was struggling to breathe though her nose. Somehow, she got one hand up around his wrist, trying to pull it off her mouth.

  “Pavel, please,” she tried saying into his palm, but the sound was muffled.

  “Corporal!” a deep voice barked.

  Pavel’s body jerked. His grip eased slightly, and Céline managed to look to the left. Jaromir stood there with moonlight washing over his face.

  “Step away,” he ordered.

  For only a second or two, Céline thought Pavel was going to refuse, which would mean he was more unhinged than even she’d realized. Jaromir’s men didn’t disobey his orders.

  But with a sharp jerk, Pavel stepped backward, glaring at her as if she’d caused this.

  “Céline, get up to camp,” Jaromir said.

  This was embarrassing for all of them, but she didn’t need to be asked twice. Dashing past Jaromir, she ran up the slope, hearing his low voice behind her, followed by Pavel’s short, clipped replies.

  Though she was glad Jaromir had come down to check on her, a part of her couldn’t help regretting what he’d seen. While she certainly didn’t blame herself for Pavel’s behavior, she also couldn’t hel
p feeling that because of her, there was now a rift between two soldiers who needed to depend on each other.

  Walking back into camp, she tried to appear calm—and apparently failed.

  “What’s wrong?” Amelie asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She would say no more.

  * * *

  Though Amelie expected the following day to be less rife with tension . . . it wasn’t. Jaromir once again treated her in the same easygoing manner as before their misunderstanding—which made her both glad and mildly annoyed—but something else felt wrong, and now he and Pavel seemed to be avoiding each other.

  No matter how much Céline denied it, something had happened the night before, and Amelie was hurt that Céline wouldn’t tell her. The sisters had never kept secrets from each other.

  However, as the day progressed, Amelie’s sore backside took precedence over all other concerns, and she began to focus on just making it to dusk.

  The forest around them continued to grow darker and denser. The path they traveled, which barely passed for a road, became so narrow that the entire party began riding single file, and Sergeant Bazin, who drove the wagon, was having difficulty as brush kept getting caught in the spokes of the wheels.

  Somehow, they all pressed onward until Jaromir called a halt at dusk. Amelie slid off her horse, putting both hands to her back. Once again, the soldiers worked quickly to set up camp, but they seemed just as angst ridden as they’d been the night before, glancing into the dark trees.

  When the campfire fire burned brightly and supper had been passed out, Céline stepped in again to try to distract the men. Tonight, she switched to storytelling.

  “Have you heard the tale of the ungrateful prince?” she asked, holding up both palms.

  Her first story was an adventure about a haughty young prince transformed into a wolfhound by a wizard to whom he’d been rude. The young noble then roamed the land, attempting to lift the curse using only his brains and his paws while learning more about the people of his province in the process.

  Céline walked around the glowing campfire, using her arms and hands to help tell the story, and altering her voice to make the characters seem more real.