Witches With the Enemy Read online

  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 his 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.

  Thankfully, the afternoon passed quickly, and as the sun was dipping in the sky, Rurik turned and called, “Rékausi up ahead,” over his shoulder.

  “Are we still in your territory?” Amelie asked Anton.

  “Yes,” he answered, “right on the edge. I thought it best. We cross into Damek’s lands first thing in the morning.”

  As the town came into sight, Céline squinted at what appeared to be a sea of movement in the streets. “What is that?”

  Almost absently, Anton responded, “Our greeting.”

  Rurik’s horse entered the town . . . as th
e contingent came after. Hundreds of people lined the streets, some holding late-autumn flowers or early holly berries, and they began to cheer at the sight of Anton—who still rode between the sisters.

  He raised one hand and waved to the people as they cheered, and some began throwing flowers and branches of holly into his path.

  Céline had no idea what to make of this. She turned her head and looked past him to Amelie, who appeared equally taken aback.

  “Smile and wave,” Anton said quietly. “The people expect it.”

  Attempting to recover herself, Céline smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

  “Prince Anton!” the people cheered.

  Although he very seldom left Sèone, he was loved, even here on the edge of his lands.

  “How did they know you were coming?” she asked through her carefully set smile.

  “I sent a rider last night. I had to have an inn made ready for us. The innkeeper must have spread the word.”

  Céline tried to get her head around this. He’d sent a rider to have an inn prepared? Anton left very little to chance.

  The people remained at a respectful distance, allowing the contingent to pass. Again, Rurik seemed to know exactly where he was going, and led the way through town, stopping his mount in front of a whitewashed, three-story building with numerous windows.

  Some soldiers began to dismount, and other horses pressed up from behind. Sable was jostled a bit, and Céline found herself separated from Amelie and Anton.

  “Céline,” someone said.

  Looking down, she saw Rurik standing on the ground beside her.

  He reached up with both arms. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

  Wordlessly, exhausted, she did as he said, and he lifted her down. When her feet touched solid earth, she expected him to let go, but he held on to her. Still, his grip was light, as if he wanted her to know she could pull away if she wished.

  “I wanted to thank you,” he whispered.

  “Thank me?”

  “Yes . . . not long ago, I thought . . . I thought I might be finished as a guard of Sèone, but you spoke up for me. And then yesterday, Jaromir told me that you’d named me as head of the prince’s guard on this journey.” He looked around at the flowers and holly in the street. “This was the best day of my life, and I have you to thank.”

  “Oh, Rurik, no. I only told the truth about your courage in Ryazan. You won this on your own merit.”

  He shook his head. “Not entirely.” His gaze was intense, but she saw only gratitude and friendship in his green eyes. “I would die for you . . . or Amelie. You know that?”

  “Corporal?” said a low voice.

  Céline turned her head to see Anton watching them. His expression was unreadable.

  Rurik stepped back. “My prince?”

  “Have someone see the horses stabled and then see the innkeeper yourself about our rooms. We’ll need to have tonight’s baggage brought in.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Rurik barked a few orders to Sergeant Bazin about the horses and then hurried inside.

  Anton’s gaze was still on Céline, but he motioned toward the front door. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  Amelie followed Céline and Anton inside, feeling somewhat ill at ease. She’d never admit it, but it was Anton who made her feel unsettled.

  He always had.

  He was simply so . . . guarded. Even after living under his protection for nearly half a year, she knew nothing about him and could never tell what he was thinking. Yet here she was, trusting both her and Céline’s life to his judgment. Jaromir might be overbearing, but at least she understood him. She could have a conversation or play a hand of cards with him—or even fight with him once in a while. Anton was unknowable. Untouchable.

  Inside, she looked around.

  The common room of the inn had been polished until every table and chair shone. The aroma of roasting meat and fresh bread wafted on the air. A warm fire burned in the hearth. A stout man in an apron strode toward them with an eager expression, but Rurik intercepted him before he got anywhere near Anton.

  “We will sleep here?” Céline asked Anton.

  “A room has been prepared for the both of you,” he answered. “With a palette on the floor for Helga. I apologize for the cramped conditions, but we have all the guards to house as well.”

  “No, that will be fine. I like the idea of Helga staying with us.”

  Amelie did, too. There was safety in numbers.

  As if on cue in a play, Helga stomped through the front door and sniffed the air. Several strands of gray hair had escaped her crooked orange scarf. “When do we eat? I’m starving. That so-called lunch we ate wouldn’t keep a rat alive.”

  Anton’s jaw twitched. “Dinner will be served directly.”

  Amelie thought perhaps they would get settled in their rooms first, but that wasn’t the case. All the soldiers in their tan tabards and chain armor began coming through the door and finding a seat at one of the tables. She didn’t mind the prospect of eating right away. She’d had tea for breakfast and only an apple and biscuit for lunch. Her stomach was close to rumbling.

  It was warm inside, and she took off her cloak, revealing the light blue dress beneath it. Though she hated being forced back into a dress again, she had her own dagger stored in its sheath in her right boot, and Jaromir’s weapons strapped to her wrists, covered by her long sleeves.

  Céline removed her cloak as well, showing the lavender wool dress she’d worn. It fit her slender form well, and it matched her eyes.

  A Sèone soldier Amelie didn’t recognize came through the door carrying several bags up on his shoulders, and Helga strode over to meet him. “You know which room is Miss Amelie and Miss Céline’s?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I was just informed.”

  “Good. Then take those up and mind you be careful!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said good-naturedly, and headed for a stairway at the back of the room.

  Amelie raised an eyebrow at Céline. “It appears we have porter service.”

  Helga plopped down on a bench at a table. “You girls come sit down.”

  Amelie’s backside still hurt, but she was hungry enough to risk sitting on a wooden bench, and she took a place beside Helga. So did Céline.

  However, Anton stood uncomfortably, with his jaw still tight, looking down at Helga, as if uncertain what to do.

  “Here, my lord,” Rurik called.

  The young corporal appeared to be preparing a small, single table—with one chair—by a window. In visible relief, Anton said, “Please excuse me,” and he walked over to sit by himself. The instant he was seated, Rurik joined another table populated by some of his men.

  “Anton’s too good to eat with Helga?” Amelie whispered in Céline’s ear.

  “I don’t think he has a choice. We’re on uncertain . . . social ground here.”

  And that was another thing that bothered Amelie. No matter what Anton did, Céline always defended him. Amelie dropped the subject. Young women in white aprons began coming through a door behind the bar, carrying trays full of tankards of ale and plates of roast beef.

  After that, for a while Amelie forgot everything but the food.

  In addition to tender beef, they were served potatoes, warm bread, and apple compote. After dishing up once, she devoured everything on her plate and looked around for more.

  Céline smiled. “Not so bad after all, traveling with the prince? Do you remember our camp rations with Jaromir?”

  Although Céline had clearly meant this as a joke, it only gave Amelie a fresh jolt of anxiety. Honestly, she’d rather they were eating camp rations and drinking water from a bucket with Jaromir than trusting their lives to Anton.

  During dinner, darkness fell and candles were lit. A few of their guards
lit pipes, and more ale was served. Amelie glanced over at Prince Anton. Once his dinner dishes were removed, he stood up and took a step toward the stairs.

  Just then, Rurik called out, “Céline, will you entertain us like you did before?”

  On the dark road to Ryazan, Céline had considerably lightened the mood at night by the campfire. Amelie was exhausted, and she knew Céline was probably more so. But her sister stood up.

  “What would you prefer,” she asked, “fortune-telling? A story? A song?”

  Four men—who had all been on the previous trip—rang out together, “A story!”

  This didn’t surprise Amelie. The men loved stories, and Céline was gifted at the art of “telling.”

  Céline walked toward the hearth. “An adventure? A romance? A comedy?”

  “What about something darker?” Rurik asked, flashing her a grin from across the room. “We aren’t in the northern forests now. Tell something to give us a shiver.”

  “A ghost story?” Céline smiled in return, and her face lit up.

  Amelie then noticed that Anton had frozen in place by his table, watching this exchange.

  The innkeeper and the serving girls gathered by the bar, watching Céline expectantly. Her face glowed by the candlelight from the tabletops, and firelight glinted off her blond hair.

  “My own sister and I are close, and we hold each other dear,” she began, “but not all sisters are so fortunate, and some are divided by jealousy.” She lifted her hands to her sides, palms upward. “And between siblings, jealously is the most dangerous emotion of all, more than hatred, more than fear.”

  With that, she lowered her head briefly, and when she raised it again, any and all traces of her previous smile were gone.

  “Years ago, up in the north, there lived a man with two daughters, both beautiful. The elder had rich brown hair and the younger had hair of copper gold. But while the elder sister’s nature was cold and reserved, the younger was more open with her love and affection, and people were drawn to her.”