To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) Read online

  “Who is Rayna?” Amelie asked.

  Sinead stared at her. “Did not your mother tell you?”

  “She never told us anything. We’d never heard the term Mist-Torn until about a year ago.”

  At that, Sinead appeared at a loss. “Tell me how she lived. Was she happy?”

  This was a more comfortable question, and Céline answered, “I think she was happy. Our father brought her to a small village called Shetâna, and he built her a shop. She planted an herb garden and spent her days working as an apothecary. Father died first, when we were young, and she mourned him. Later, she died of a fever after tending to some villagers who’d fallen ill.”

  Sinead closed her eyes. “I’m glad she had an herb garden and a shop. That was all she ever wanted.” Opening her eyes again, she said sadly, “Eleanor was born first, and Rayna came three years later, two sides of the same coin. Eleanor could see the future and Rayna the past, but our father was proud of having two Mist-Torn seers of such abilities in our family. He worked them both much too hard. Eleanor only wished to gather herbs and practice healing. She grew unhappy. Your father appeared one day, a handsome hunter, and the next thing I knew, my sister was gone.”

  Céline glanced at Amelie, thinking of the pain she would feel if she ever lost her sister.

  Amelie’s eyes were on Sinead.

  “What happened to Rayna?” she asked.

  “She died only a few years ago, of the wasting sickness. She grew tired and could not eat no matter what I cooked for her.” Sinead’s eyes grew distant. “Our parents were gone by then. Rayna had no children, and I have given birth only to sons. I thought our immediate family line of Mist-Torn was at an end.” Reaching out, she grasped Céline’s right hand and Amelie’s left. “I had no knowledge of you.”

  This action made Céline slightly uncomfortable. She hoped Sinead did not think they’d come here to rejoin the family.

  “We’ve come here to help learn who is responsible for this curse,” she said carefully.

  Sinead nodded. “Yes, I thought as much as soon as I saw Helga. How can I offer my own help? Tonight the people are happy because they’ve eaten a proper dinner, but suspicion is growing, and I fear soon, accusations and blame might begin to fly.”

  Céline thought on this and wondered if anyone here had tried to launch her own investigation. “How many seers are there in camp?”

  “Until your group arrived, only two,” Sinead said, sounding regretful. “Normally, there would be more, but the prince imprisoned us before some of the families had arrived. Upon learning what had happened, most wisely turned back. We’ve had only two shifters as well, and neither of them can rival Marcus on a hunt. I’m glad he’s come.”

  “What can your seers do?” Céline asked, hoping they might be some help.

  “Neither has a power like yours. Agnes Renéive can tell when a person lies or tells the truth, which could be useful, but she is aged and cannot leave her bed. Charis Džugi can place herself in a trance and see an immediate crisis as it plays out, but as you know, that power has its limits, too.”

  Céline wondered what she meant by that last part.

  “No one knows why,” Sinead continued, “but fewer and fewer Mist-Torn are being born. That’s part of the reason I was so overcome to see two fine young women of Fawe with lavender eyes. It was like a miracle.”

  Céline could feel Amelie shifting uncomfortably beside her. Neither sister wished to be viewed as a miracle. They were only here to help.

  “You can assist us,” Amelie said suddenly. “You said suspicion among the people here is growing worse? Tonight, could you go around and let it be known that if anyone comes to us tomorrow morning, we can read them and clear their name? Of course, only the innocent will come to us, but it will help us whittle down the list and restore some trust . . . and possibly help press the culprit, if there is one here, to try to escape or do something drastic. That strategy has worked for us in the past.”

  “In the past?” Sinead asked.

  Amelie didn’t answer the question, and Céline asked Sinead, “Will you do this?”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  As the evening wore on, Amelie wouldn’t dare admit to anyone, even Céline, but she struggled with the almost overwhelming feeling that she had lived like this before, that she spent countless nights by a campfire to the sound of violins.

  The journey here, sitting on the wagon’s bench on the open road, had felt so familiar, and now, here in the encampment, everything that came before in her life was beginning to feel like a dream.

  This life, here with the Móndyalítko, was the one that felt real.

  She was almost sorry when the hour grew late, and people began to drift away, heading for their wagons. Soon, there was no one left by their own small fire except Helga, Céline, Jaromir, Marcus, and herself.

  But she was weary, too, and found herself yawning.

  Céline saw this. “Time for some sleep.”

  They had both turned toward the steps of the white wagon when Helga stopped them. “Where are you going?”

  “To bed,” Amelie answered.

  “Well, a few changes need to be decided,” Helga said.

  “Such as?”

  “We told everyone that you and Jaromir are married. He’ll need to sleep with you.”

  Amelie went still.

  Jaromir had been crouched by the fire, but he stood up. “What?”

  “Can’t have people wondering,” Helga explained. “You two can take the white wagon. Céline and I can take the smaller one. Marcus likes to sleep outside.”

  At the prospect of sleeping alone in a wagon with Jaromir, Amelie tried to choke out an argument and her voice failed.

  Thankfully, Céline stepped in. “I don’t think either Amelie or the lieutenant would be at ease with that arrangement. I agree that he must sleep in the same wagon, but I suggest that he and Helga simply switch. He can sleep on the bottom bunk of the white wagon, and we will continue to sleep on the top bunk. Helga, you can take the smaller wagon. I trust you won’t mind Marcus’s company if he chooses to sleep inside on occasion?”

  “Nope, I don’t mind.”

  “Then that settles matters,” Céline said.

  Amelie took a breath of relief.

  * * *

  The mid of night approached, and as Céline lay by her sister on the top bunk, sleep eluded her again. She wasn’t remotely troubled by Jaromir sleeping directly below them. In fact, the trade-out with Helga had proven preferable, as Jaromir didn’t snore. He slept in silence.

  But Céline was growing more and more weary from a lack of sleep, and the soft pull at the back of her mind would not allow her to rest.

  For nights now, she’d continued to fight it, to ignore it, to push it away.

  Finally, exhausted, she moved from under the blanket and dropped lightly to the floor.

  Neither Jaromir nor Amelie stirred. Oliver was asleep on a cloak on the table. He raised his head but made no noise.

  Céline couldn’t help a wave of guilt. She was the one who’d insisted upon remaining with her sister. But Amelie was sound asleep and so was Jaromir. They would sleep until morning when it was time to rise.

  And Céline could no longer continue to fight herself.

  Slipping from the wagon, she walked toward the smoldering remains of the campfire. Marcus lay there on one blanket, covered with another, but at her approach, he sat up.

  Somewhere, he’d recovered his shirt. She’d seen him wearing it earlier but didn’t remember when.

  “I’m so tired,” she said. “I just want to sleep.”

  “Have I offered anything else?”

  He held open the top blanket, and she went to him, moving inside his arm. They both lay down, covered by the blanket, and he drew her close as he had before, wit
h her back up against his chest.

  All the tension and restlessness drained from her body. She felt her eyes closing as she finally began to drift off.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Sleep.”

  That was the last thing she remembered until morning.

  Chapter Seven

  Amelie’s eyes opened as light filtered in through the windows of the wagon. She felt something warm pressed up against her, but when she looked down, it was only Oliver curled against her side. Céline was nowhere in sight.

  Had her sister risen early and gone outside already?

  Amelie peeked over the side of the bunk. Below, Jaromir lay on his back with his sinewy arms thrown over his eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was still asleep.

  Carefully, she maneuvered around Oliver, swung her legs over the side, and landed lightly on the floor. Jaromir took his arm away.

  “Céline must have gone out already,” Amelie said. “I’ll go and see.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be right out and get the fire started.”

  The strangest thing about this was that it did not seem strange at all to be speaking to him while he was half-undressed and lying in the bed below hers. Just over a week ago, it would have seemed unthinkable.

  She slipped out the door and down the steps.

  When she turned toward the dead campfire, she stopped.

  There, on a blanket on the ground, Marcus and Céline both lay asleep. He had them covered with a second blanket, but her back was pressed against his chest, and his right arm was holding her in while he used his body to keep her warm.

  Worse, the sight didn’t seem wrong or even odd. Amelie was struck by the sensation that she’d seen this image many times before.

  As she walked toward them, Céline opened her eyes and raised her head. The sisters looked at each other for a long moment. Then Marcus stirred and sat up, wrapping the blanket around Céline’s shoulders.

  After stretching his arms, he stood, nodding once in greeting to Amelie. He behaved as if Amelie seeing him waking up beside Céline was nothing out of the ordinary.

  The door to the wagon opened, and Jaromir stepped out.

  “We’re out of water and firewood,” Marcus said to him.

  “How are the people here getting more?” Jaromir asked.

  Marcus scanned the perimeter of the meadow. “I think from the guards.”

  “Let’s go and see,” Jaromir said.

  Both men headed off.

  The sisters were alone, and Céline pulled the blanket tighter.

  “I haven’t been able to sleep,” she said. “Somehow I knew I could sleep out here . . . like this.”

  So she was having unexplained sensations, too.

  Amelie went over and sat down. Céline wrapped the blanket about them both.

  “I feel like we’re living different lives,” Amelie said, “in a different world, and everything from before was just a dream.”

  Céline pressed closer. “To me, this all feels like the dream of a life I lived somewhere before, and my real life is waiting for me back in Sèone.”

  “What’s happening to us?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They sat together until the door of the blue wagon opened and Helga stumped down the steps.

  “At least we know what we’ll be doing today,” Céline said quietly.

  Yes, they did. They would both be reading the Móndyalítko and taking note of who was coming to them and who was not. Well, at least hopefully that was what they would be doing, so long as Sinead had been successful the night before in spreading the word.

  * * *

  Jaromir waited through part of the morning.

  Today, it was time for him to begin his own task here, but he wanted to make sure the sisters’ attention was completely engaged first. Thankfully, that didn’t prove difficult.

  Céline took the white wagon, and Amelie took the blue one, and by midmorning, people were coming to see them—to be read.

  Once this was well under way, Jaromir went to the front outer side of the blue wagon, crouched, and reached around the wheel to where he had secured a burlap sack and his sheathed long sword on a ledge under the wagon. He’d taken care of stowing these things before starting this journey.

  As he withdrew the objects, he found Marcus standing beside him.

  “What are you doing?” Marcus asked.

  Jaromir remained crouched. “Getting ready. I need to speak to Prince Malcolm on my own. He’s the key to stopping all this.”

  Marcus leaned closer, examining the objects Jaromir had withdrawn. “And you need a sword to speak to him?” He didn’t sound challenging, only curious.

  “I need to be an officer in service to Prince Anton of the house of Pählen.” Jaromir paused. “Do you trust me?”

  Marcus appeared to consider the question. “Yes.”

  “Good. I need your help.” Jaromir pointed to the north side of the meadow, toward a heavily forested area. “See that guard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you distract him long enough for me to slip into the trees?”

  Again, Marcus considered the question. “Yes.”

  He was an unusual man.

  Without another word, Marcus headed off north, walking past the line of wagons until he reached the perimeter. Jaromir came behind him, keeping some distance between them and staying close to the wagons.

  He expected Marcus to stop and engage the guard with some kind of question, but instead, Marcus continued moving, as if he intended to walk right into the trees.

  Startled, the guard hurried over to cut him off and an argument began. Jaromir heard the word “hunting” and a loud refusal, but he didn’t wait to see the outcome. With the guard’s back to him, he darted between two trees and found himself in the forest outside the meadow.

  After that, he made his way through the trees until a line of them spread to the east. He remained out of sight as long as possible, but within a quarter league of the castle, he knew he’d have to emerge and walk openly up the dried path of the apple orchards toward the front gates.

  However, he didn’t come out of hiding just yet.

  First, he knelt and removed the contents of the burlap sack: his wool shirt, chain armor, tan tabard, and two sealed letters from Anton.

  As Prince Malcolm had only been in power for five years, Anton knew little to nothing about him. He could be as dangerous as Anton’s brother, Damek, for all they knew. So he’d ordered Jaromir to visit alone and gauge the man’s nature before allowing Céline or Amelie anywhere near him.

  Quickly, Jaromir stripped off the loose shirt and vest he’d been wearing. He dressed as himself, stood, and strapped on his sword. Finally, he stuffed both letters inside his shirt. He hid the sack and his clothing under some brush and then strode out onto the path.

  Out here, he would see the full depths of the devastation of the crops. Everything was dead for leagues. It made him wonder if this curse was reversible. Even if he and the sisters managed to find the culprit, could anything be done to save this province from ruin? Before coming here, he’d not realized the extent of the damage and the potential harm it could do to both the food supply and the economy of southeast Droevinka.

  He approached the castle wall and walked up to the gates. The gates were open, but several guards patrolled from inside the courtyard.

  He stopped before entering and found himself facing a guard with a shaved head and a white scar running from the center of his forehead to his right temple. The guard looked back at his tan tabard in some surprise. Visiting soldiers were probably rare.

  Jaromir nodded to him. “I bring a message to Prince Malcolm from Prince Anton of the house of Pählen.”

  The guard seemed lost for an answer. Then he turned his head
and called out, “Sir?”

  “What is it, Ayden?”

  Boot falls sounded, and a stocky middle-aged soldier strode into view from the left side of the gate. He seemed about to further question the scarred guard, Ayden, when he saw Jaromir.

  “This man says he has a message for the prince,” Ayden explained.

  The newcomer sized Jaromir up and then touched his chest. “Captain Renald.”

  A response seemed in order. “Lieutenant Jaromir.”

  Renald looked around. “Where’s your horse?”

  “I left it below, near the meadow.”

  “If you have a message for my lord, I can take it.”

  Jaromir shook his head. “Prince Anton instructed me to place it in Prince Malcolm’s hands myself, along with a few words not written down.”

  This was not unusual and the captain would know it. He probably would have been surprised if Jaromir had simply handed over the message.

  Renald motioned Jaromir inside, and the two men began walking toward the castle. It was a pleasant construction of light gray stone with two slender towers on the north side and two wider towers on the south end.

  Nothing Jaromir had seen so far gave him reason to be overly concerned about Prince Malcolm. The guards were disciplined, but no one appeared to be living in fear of making a mistake. This suggested they were treated fairly and that they respected authority here as opposed to fearing it. That was a good sign.

  Renald led Jaromir south to a large set of doors. There, the captain stopped, and a slightly worried expression crossed his face. “At this time of day, I’m not certain . . .” He trailed off. “Wait here.”

  It was unusual for an officer carrying a message to be told to wait outside, but Jaromir nodded.

  The captain was gone for some time, and when the doors opened again, an impressive-looking man emerged. He was tall and broad-shouldered with short silver hair, wearing a leather hauberk. He looked to be about fifty, but his features were even and his face showed few lines.

  The captain came out behind him.

  Prince Malcolm assessed Jaromir.