Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches (27 page)

“Are you certain?” Karina went on. “You must have women with arcane knowledge here…kettle witches, as they are called by our villagers. Perhaps you’re one yourself? Find a way to take your sister’s power and give use of it to me, and this emerald necklace will be but a small token of your reward. You can name your price, and I assure you I will pay it.”

Lucrezia slowly reached a gnarled hand toward the table.

But Karina grabbed her wrist. “Has the thought of stealing her power never occurred to you?”

Lucrezia’s shock only seemed to increase. “To steal from the Mist-Torn? Even if such a thing were possible, I would be cast out from my people…not just by those here, but by all of Móndyalítko.”

She appeared so terrified of that prospect that Karina began to relax a little. This Lucrezia might be jealous and greedy, but perhaps she would not dare try to take what Karina wanted.

“Will you look into this for me? Seek information among the crones of the kettle witches?”

Lucrezia’s eyes were locked on the emeralds. “It may take a bit of time, my lady. May I take the necklace now?”

“Yes.”

*   *   *

A week later, Karina received a message asking her to meet Lucrezia a half league from the mill, down the village creek.

Karina slipped out alone and rode by herself. She knew this wasn’t safe, but the reward was worth the risk, and she also understood why Lucrezia had chosen such a secret meeting place. At this point, they shouldn’t be seen plotting together.

Past the mill house, she steered her horse down the creek until she was well outside the village, surrounded only by trees, the creek, and the calling birds.

The ground was damp, and her horse had some trouble with its footing, but soon enough, she spotted Lucrezia standing alone between the tree line and the rushing creek. Karina dismounted.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Lucrezia said.

“Can it be done?” Karina demanded without preamble.

Lucrezia’s eyes were alight with cunning again. Now that she’d had time to absorb what Karina was asking, it stood to reason that her mind would be fully focused on how she might serve herself. But Karina had no worries about that. She wanted Lucrezia to be self-serving.

“It can be done, my lady, but it’s no simple matter.” She unrolled a scroll in her hand; it was written in a language Karina couldn’t read. “I stole this from one of our elders,” Lucrezia said. “The power of a Mist-Torn witch can only be taken from
her and used if she is killed and her spirit is trapped. A spell is then cast to enslave the spirit…but the spirit must be visible to the master.”

“Visible?”

“Yes, the spirit must be held someplace, contained someplace where it can still be seen and commanded.”

The hint of an idea began forming at the back of Karina’s mind. Excitement began to build.

“Also,” Lucrezia continued, “wielding the power of an enslaved ghost will not work the same as it did for the Mist-Torn herself. You will be able to force her to use her power for yourself, but it may work quite differently coming from the hands of a ghost and being transferred to you…and I’m not sure what to expect. You may need some trial and error to harness the ghost’s abilities properly.”

That didn’t matter. Karina would figure it out. What mattered was enslaving Jaelle in the first place.

“Can you cast the necessary spells?”

At this, Lucrezia’s wrinkled, ugly face twisted with an expression of greed. “Perhaps we should speak of terms.”

“By all means. What is your price?”

“To be free of groveling for pennies reading fortunes. I want a house of my own. Servants of my own. To be my own mistress.”

“Done,” Karina said instantly.

The quick response put Lucrezia on her guard. “Where is the house?”

“In the prosperous village of Góra. My grandmother left it to me in her will, and it is mine to give. I will give you more jewels to sell, but that emerald necklace alone should keep you comfortable for years.”

“You mean to do this, don’t you? You’re not some spoiled noble hoping to help play the kettle witch.”

“Don’t insult me. Can you cast the proper spells?”

“I can…but, my lady, if you are the one to enslave Jaelle, you must be the one to end her life. Can you drive a dagger through her heart with your own hand?”

For eternal youth? Karina could slaughter half the village. “Have no fear on that score.”

“Then we only need to a find a prison, a place where her spirit can be trapped.”

Karina nodded. “I have an idea for that, as well.”

*   *   *

Another week later, and Karina was ready.

She’d worked night and day painting a backdrop large enough for a life-sized portrait. The scene had come to her when she’d thought on Jaelle by the campfire at night, with large evergreen trees just behind her. Jaelle had looked so pleased with herself by that campfire.

Karina would put her in such a setting forever.

Near midnight, she slipped out and went down to her mother’s rose garden. Lucrezia was already
there, with a campfire burning and a cauldron on a hook bubbling over a fire.

The whole scene was like something from a dark fairy story.

However, Karina was dragging the canvas with the backdrop, and as it was as tall as herself, she was having some trouble. Lucrezia came to help her lean it against the stone wall of the garden.

“Is the oil completely dry?” Lucrezia asked.

“Yes.”

Karina had chosen this spot, as it was close to the house but always deserted at night. She knew she’d not be able to drag the painting far, and she couldn’t ask for help.

Lucrezia had a dagger in her right hand. “Stand still.” Reaching up, she sliced off a thick lock of Karina’s hair. Keeping the hair, she held out the dagger. “Take it. It’s razor sharp.”

Karina took it. “When will your sister arrive?”

“Soon. I told her we were being well paid to entertain the lord’s daughter by helping her cast a love spell out here in this garden. We’ve done such things before, many times. Most young women enjoy the thrill of pretending.” Looking at the dagger in Karina’s hand, she said, “But most young women are nothing like you.”

“No, they are not.”

Then, to Karina’s worry, Lucrezia’s expression wavered slightly. “You must swear to me that no word will ever reach my people of my part in this…should it be discovered.”

Karina relaxed again. She could easily promise that.

“I swear.”

A few moments later, footsteps sounded outside the wall, and a lovely visage came walking through the gate. Karina couldn’t keep in a soft gasp as the envy hit her. What was it about Jaelle that caused everyone to gaze upon her with such admiration? What is her glowing skin? Her wavy black hair? Or was it her complete assurance that she was worthy of such worship?

“My lady,” she said, smiling, nodding to her sister first and then taking in the sight of the rosebushes. “What a perfect setting. Did you bring a personal object from the man whose love you hope to gain?”

She was dressed all in black, even to her gloves, and Karina wondered if this was typical or part of the “show” she’d intended to perform tonight.

“Yes,” said Karina, showing Jaelle the dagger. “I have something right here.”

Gripping the hilt, she stepped up and drove the sharp blade right through Jaelle’s rib cage, upward toward her heart. The girl’s expression shifted to horror as her body jerked once.

“Quickly!” Lucrezia shouted.

Karina jerked out the knife and watched the body fall. But Lucrezia grabbed the dagger from her hand and held the bloody blade over the cauldron, letting three drops fall. Then she dashed
back to the body and cut a lock of Jaelle’s hair, again rushing back and dropping the black lock, along with the chestnut one she’d taken from Karina, into the cauldron.

“By the heart’s blood of the Mist-Torn,” she whispered, “this gift is enslaved.”

Karina watched with fascination as Lucrezia took a ladle from the cauldron and dipped it into the boiling substance. Then she threw the ladleful of liquid against the painting, watching as it splashed across the surface.

“Inside!” she shouted. “Forever inside.”

A glow rose from Jaelle’s body, swirling and solidifying until her exact form appeared to be floating above the dead body.

“What have you done?” the ghost cried, but then she was swept toward the stone wall of the garden…and inside the painting, standing by the campfire, looking for all purposes like a life-sized portrait of a lovely gypsy girl.

Karina breathed in and out, with blood dripping from her right hand. But then she was struck by doubt, by disappointment. So she had murdered Jaelle, and then Lucrezia had trapped the spirit in the painting. But now what?

“You must command her,” Lucrezia said, breaking the silence. “You need to have her use her power to drain life from a living body and pass it to you. She is your slave now and cannot refuse anything you ask.”

Could it be so simple? Karina’s heart beat fast.
She would not turn thirty. She would not age another day.

Lucrezia strode toward her. “But the keys to my house first, and the title of ownership. You promised.”

Karina glanced at her briefly and then back to the painting. “There is no house,” she said calmly. “Anything I inherit instantly belongs to my father, and those emeralds you took are family heirlooms, well-known throughout the province. If you try to sell them, you’ll be hanged.”

Lucrezia hissed and stepped back. “No!”

But Karina was still staring at the painting.

She pointed to Lucrezia. “Jaelle, drain her.”

A black-and-white form blurred from inside the portrait, and the spirit of Jaelle flew toward her sister. The painting was now nothing more than the backdrop again. Lucrezia screamed and tried to run, but Jaelle caught her quickly, touching her with both hands.

Lucrezia screamed again as her wrinkled flesh began to shrivel, sinking toward her bones, and she fell to the ground, nothing more than a dried husk. Jaelle’s spirit stood beside the body, looking whole and solid.

Karina remembered what Lucrezia had said about learning to use Jaelle’s power.

“You will feed me her life,” Karina ordered.

But Jaelle looked over at her in confused sorrow. “Won’t work,” she said as if finding speech difficult. “It must be youth. Must be beauty.”

Youth and beauty?

“Come with me,” Karina said.

She slipped back into the kitchens, which were silent and dark, and made her way to the servants’ quarters. She knew which room was Eveeta’s. The door was unlocked, and she silently entered, looking down at the sleeping girl.

Jaelle floated just a few inches off the ground beside her.

“Her,” Karina ordered quietly. “Take only what you need.”

With reluctance, Jaelle floated forward and touched Eveeta’s face with her black-gloved hands. Eveeta’s soft skin lost its luster, but only a little.

“Pass the youth and beauty to me,” Karina whispered.

Jaelle floated back to Karina and touched her.

Nothing happened.

“What is wrong?” Karina demanded.

“Not enough.”

Steeling herself, Karina pointed to Eveeta again. “Then take her life. Take it all.”

Jaelle moved to Eveeta, touching her face and throat. Her smooth skin began to shrivel and sink into itself, and soon, like Lucrezia, she, too, was a dried husk.

Jaelle floated back and touched Karina. This time, warmth and life flowed into her, giving her a feeling of euphoria, of unbelievable well-being.

A small cracked mirror hung on the wall, and when Jaelle had finished, Karina rushed to the
mirror. She didn’t look any younger than her twenty-nine years, but her face glowed and her hair was unusually glossy. She was beautiful. She felt beautiful, worthy of admiration.

Joy flooded through her.

“Back into the painting,” she told Jaelle.

The spirit of Jaelle vanished.

Karina walked through the house and out to the rose garden, finding Jaelle back inside the portrait, in her pose by the campfire. Karina tilted the canvas and picked it up, to try to carry it back to the house, but she left all three bodies where they lay, a mystery for her father’s guards to solve. No one would ever connect the dead bodies of two gypsies and a kitchen girl to the beautiful Lady Karina.

*   *   *

For the first decade no one noticed anything truly unusual about Karina, or at least no one said anything. Some women aged better than others. But although she did not turn thirty physically, she did have a birthday, and then a thirty-first…and a thirty-second…so on.

As the years passed, her focus slowly began to pinpoint on only two things.

First was her sister Bethany. As promised, the sisters corresponded regularly. Karina became obsessed with everything that involved the House of Pählen. She was not surprised—and was possibly a little pleased—to learn that her sister had almost no relationship with Prince Lieven. The two rarely
spoke and knew little about each other. However, within the first year of marriage, Bethany gave birth to a healthy son, named Damek. This news was like a knife in Karina’s stomach. Two years later, Bethany gave birth to a second son, named Anton.

After that, Karina found that Bethany’s empty, chatty letters weren’t enough by way of information, and she began to hire spies and send them across Droevinka. She soon managed to get a maid employed inside Castle Pählen, who sent her regular reports.

Through this maid, Karina learned a great deal.

Even as a child, Damek proved himself to be sly and cruel, sometimes torturing castle dogs or tormenting servants if he could.

Anton was gentle and quiet and loved to read.

But when Damek was ten and Anton was eight, Bethany took ill one morning and died within a day. She’d been gone nearly a month before Karina was informed by her spies.

Prince Lieven had been left with no wife, and two boys with no mother.

For a moment, just a moment, Karina allowed the spark of a fantasy that she might find a way to replace her dead sister, but that notion passed almost as soon as it had surfaced. Prince Lieven expressed no interest in taking a new wife. Why should he? He had claim to all his dead wife’s lands and two healthy sons to follow him.