Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches (8 page)

At the word “whore,” Amelie made a fist and took a step forward, but Céline caught her arm. Inna did not appear to notice either movement as she turned and swept from the room.

Slightly shaken, Céline asked, “Who in the world was that?”

“That would be Inna,” Helga said again, still nodding to herself. Then she clucked her tongue against the roof off her mouth. “Gypsies my big toe. Ignorant, rude girl. The Móndyalítko could teach her a thing or two.”

Céline turned toward the dressing table. “Who are the Móndyalítko?”

Helga blinked. “You.”

“Us?”

The poor old thing really was quite mad.

“Your mother’s name was Fawe, was it not?” Helga asked. “And your father took it when they married?” She hung both gowns in the wardrobe and began talking to herself again. “Two? Two from the same mother? Born three years apart? The number three, the magic number, two sides of the same coin, the mind and the body, the future
and the past. Yes, yes. It’s good they’ve come now.”

Céline glanced Amelie, who shook her head once as if to discourage any further conversation.

“All done,” Helga announced, looking around with some satisfaction. “You both eat up, and if you need Helga again, just pull that cord over there, and I’ll come straightaway. Don’t want any scoldings from his lord majesty lieutenant. Certainly not.”

With that, she half walked, half hobbled from the room and closed the door behind herself, leaving Céline and Amelie alone, looking at each other.

“Well…,” Amelie said, “the cheese is very good.”

Céline’s stomach rumbled and so she reached for a piece of the white bread, but even as she did this, her eyes were on the gowns hanging in the wardrobe and her thoughts were on how Helga could possibly have known that their father had agreed to take their mother’s surname.

*   *   *

Just past sunset, Céline and Amelie walked into the great dining hall—after stopping twice to ask for directions.

Céline was feeling much more alert after having eaten and then slept for most of the afternoon, but she did not quite feel herself. From the moment Inna had delivered those gowns, Céline knew she was going to try on the one of rich amber and then look at herself in the full-length mirror. So she had.

She was still wearing the gown.

The square neckline was cut just above the tops of her breasts, with a point at each shoulder. The sleeves were narrow, and the slender waistline fit her perfectly. The skirt was full, draping about her in yards of fabric, and the color reflected just a hint of gold. It suited her dark blond hair, making the lighter tones glint under the braziers on the walls. She’d worn her hair loose, with its waves falling down her back.

She knew she had a part to play tonight, and somehow, this gown made her feel more like a seer who’d been hired by the likes of Prince Anton.

Amelie was still dressed her breeches, shirt, and canvas jacket. She wore her dagger but had thankfully left her short sword in their room. However, her breeches and jacket were dusty and covered in horsehair from a long night’s ride.

“By the gods,” Amelie whispered, looking around.

There were at least a hundred well-dressed people in the dining hall, perhaps more, milling around and visiting with one another with goblets in their hands.

Servants were preparing five long tables while the guests ignored their labors. At the top of the hall, near a dais, stood Prince Anton, surrounded by an assorted entourage. Jaromir and Pavel were just to his right, both having traded their chain armor and tabards for more comfortable-looking
tunics. Jaromir’s aging wolfhound, Lizzie, kept close to his leg.

Directly to Anton’s left was a beautiful woman in her late twenties with ivory skin and chestnut hair piled high on her head. She wore a gown of light green satin that matched her eyes, and there was something vaguely familiar about her.

Next to her stood a slender man with a long, thin mustache, wearing a black silk tunic that would probably cost a peasant’s yearly income.

“Oh, there’s that woman,” Amelie groaned quietly, and right away, Céline knew who she meant.

Inna, in her gray wool dress, hovered behind Anton with an eager, anxious expression, appearing for all practical purposes like a dog waiting for an order from its master, but she was still distinguished as neither a servant nor a lady of the castle.

A brief moment of panic coursed through Céline. Who were all these people? If she was to play a convincing seer here, she needed to know with whom she was dealing.

However, all of this noticing and pondering took place in the few moments when she and Amelie walked into the great dining hall, and then Prince Anton’s eyes locked on Céline, drinking in the sight of her gown and moving up to her face and hair.

She fully expected him to look away after a second or two—out of sheer good manners—but he didn’t.

Perhaps, for all his apparent breeding, no one
had taught him not to stare. With little idea what to do, she led the way toward him, with Amelie close behind.

They made their way easily through the throngs of guests, and on impulse, Céline made a small bow when they reached Anton. He looked even paler tonight than he had that morning, and the circles under his eyes held a hint of purple. She wondered if he wasn’t well.

“My lord,” she said.

He was still staring.

Thankfully, or perhaps not, Jaromir broke the moment with a single laugh as he turned to Amelie. “Seven hells,” he said, looking at her dusty, horsehair-covered attire. “Couldn’t Inna at least have found some boy with a set of clean clothes to loan you?”

Amelie’s mouth tightened and her fist clenched, sending Céline into a state of alarm.

“Lieutenant,” the beautiful chestnut-haired woman admonished. “Really.”

Anton cast Jaromir a dark look and then seemed to find his own manners. He motioned to the woman. “Please allow me to present my aunt, the Lady Karina.”

Céline hid her surprise. Karina couldn’t be more than six years older than Anton. Up close, she was even more stunning, with a slender face and exotic slanted eyes. With little idea what a proper response might be, Céline simply bowed her head again. “My lady.”

Karina smiled. “Anton has told me of your kind offer of…assistance. I am so glad for your presence here, and I must say you come as a surprise. I had no idea what to expect. You look lovely in that gown, my dear.”

Céline was slightly taken aback, both at the lady’s somewhat diplomatic use of the term “assistance” and at her open honesty about not having known what to expect and the kindness in her voice. She seemed sincere.

“Thank you for the gown, my lady,” she answered. “I understand you had it sent.”

“Well, I had two of them…” Lady Karina trailed off helplessly as she looked to Amelie, who stared right back.

“And this is Master Feodor,” Anton put in quickly, gesturing to the slender man with the long mustache, “our court physician.”

“Charmed,” said Master Feodor, but his tone hardly suggested he was charmed in the slightest. Céline disliked him right away. He struck her as…oily.

Inna had moved a little closer to Anton’s shoulder and was glaring at Céline with poorly disguised hatred. What in the world was wrong with that young woman?

A gong sounded throughout hall, echoing off the stone walls.

“The meal is ready,” Anton said, sounding relieved, as if he realized this small, rather mixed party would not be capable of making polite conversation.

But that was also when Céline noticed that Anton had not been the only man staring at her. Pavel’s mouth was slightly parted, his eyes fixed on her as well.

She wanted to sigh. This entire event hardly felt like a good start to a murder investigation.

Pavel was just as tall as she remembered, but he was clean and dry now, and the brown tunic he wore suited his tan face and cropped dark hair.

To her surprise, he stepped forward and offered his arm. “This way,” he said.

Anton frowned but said nothing.

At a loss, Céline took Pavel’s arm. He led her to the second table and then motioned her to a place on the bench. He sat on one side of her, while Amelie sat on the other.

Anton, Jaromir, Lady Karina, and Master Feodor all sat at the first table, up on the dais, with Anton in the center. Inna did not sit down, but rather stood behind Anton, again looking like a dog waiting for an order.

It seemed within moments, the tables were full of seated guests, most of whom were dressed in the gowns or quilted tunics of merchants or minor nobles, but there did seem an unusual number of pretty girls in their late teens among the families.

“Look at all this,” Amelie whispered, gesturing to the food on the table, as if impressed in spite of herself.

“That’s just the first course,” Pavel said, and then
added, “But we don’t eat like this every night, only when my lord calls for a banquet.”

The spread laid out before them was indeed impressive, with long trenchers of mutton with gravy, roasted potatoes, and greens. Loaves of steaming white bread were abundant. Bowls filled with spring strawberries were being passed around, and everyone’s goblet was kept full of red wine.

Without hesitation, Amelie took a gulp of wine and dove right into the mutton. Céline was a bit more stringent, especially with the wine, but she’d hardly taken two bites when a hoard of fresh servants came through the hall’s entrance carrying huge trays of roasted turkeys over their heads—two for each table.

“Second course,” Pavel said, taking a swallow of wine.

Céline had never seen anything like this. She wondered what Anton would think if he knew that she and Amelie had been considered beyond fortunate back home to have lamb chops and stale coarse-grain bread with tea for supper.

But Amelie was clearly enjoying herself, making small sounds of contentment with each new bite, murmuring about the delicious gravy, while Céline’s mind could not help turning to the future. Perhaps Sub-Prince Damek had done them a favor.

If she could succeed here and become not only Castle Sèone’s apothecary, but Anton’s official “seer,” then she and Amelie would never need to
worry about scraping pennies together for a few bites of meat again.

Yet in order to make herself a permanent place here, she needed to know more about the people around Anton—who could be trusted and who was dangerous—if she was to understand how she might make herself indispensable.

Plus, she needed as much information as possible if she was to solve these strange deaths.

Watching Pavel take another swallow of wine, she said carefully, “I feel at a disadvantage here, not knowing anyone but you and the lieutenant.”

He put his goblet down, eager to engage her in conversation. “Who would you like to meet?”

“Not so much meet”—she smiled—“but who is the Lady Karina to Prince Anton? Is she his father’s sister?”

Her gaze moved to the woman sitting beside Anton, his aunt Karina, and even from here, Céline could see she had a comfortable relationship with Anton, close but not smothering.

Pavel appeared pleased to be speaking of Karina and shook his head. “No, she’s his mother younger sister, but his mother died when he was just a boy.” He paused. “Lady Karina came here about four years ago, after Prince Anton’s wife, the Lady Joselyn, died. My lord was in a bad way, and Lady Karina came to help, all the way from the southern territories, down near the Everfen. He depends upon her now. She plans the menus and oversees the kitchen cooks, and she handles
the household staff. My lord listens to her counsel in matters of state and the management of the fiefdoms.”

Céline took this in quietly. So she’d been right about Joselyn being dead. That was a different kettle of fish best left for another time.

Amelie had been listening to the exchange and breathed out through her nose. “Jaromir seems to like being Anton’s main counsel. How did he feel about Lady Karina coming here?”

Pavel paused. “The lieutenant came to serve Prince Anton shortly after the Lady Karina arrived, so he has never known the castle without her.”

That pulled Céline’s attention sharply. Jaromir had been in charge of the Sèone guard for only four years? He wore that mantle of power in the castle like he’d been born here.

She needed to know more—about everyone surrounding Anton.

Although she felt somewhat guilty using Pavel’s obvious attraction in order to get information out of him, now that she’d started, she wasn’t about to stop.

“And who is Inna?”

The pleased expression on his face faded, as if she’d spoken a sour word.

Inna was still hovering behind Anton. No wonder she was so thin. She never sat down to eat anything.

Pavel hesitated. “She came here about five years
ago as a girl, with the Lady Joselyn, as Lady Joselyn’s personal maid. Folks say Lady Joselyn saved her from a bad home, and she was most grateful, maybe too devoted. But now…she takes care of my lord.”

So Inna
was
some kind of servant who’d been here since she was only thirteen years old or so. Céline mulled over everything Pavel was saying, trying to interpret what he was not saying.

Joselyn had rescued Inna from some kind of unfortunate situation and trained her to be a lady’s maid, creating a possibly unhealthy devotion, which had now been transferred to Anton. She would definitely bear watching.

“What about Master Feodor?” Céline asked.

Pavel’s mouth tightened, and he looked even less pleased. Céline noticed that his eyes were an unusual shade of green-blue.

“He…,” Pavel began and then stopped for a few seconds. “He’s here at the request of my lord’s father, Prince Lieven. They say…”

He trailed off again, and Céline wondered who “they” might be.

“They say my lord is not well,” Pavel continued, lowering his voice. “And sometimes I think he fancies himself to be not well. But Master Feodor makes him
believe
he’s not well, makes him rest too much and take draughts and bleeds him and the gods know what else.” His voice dropped even lower. “But my lord’s color has only gotten worse. I don’t think Master Feodor knows what he’s doing.”