Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (4 page)

More than anything, Jaromir wanted Anton on that list.

But this task Prince Lieven had just demanded
hardly seemed fair . . . to stop a contingent of soldiers in an isolated, heavily forested area from turning into beasts?

Anton looked at Leonides. “You must be weary, and I won’t have you riding back out today. I’ll have you brought to a guest room to eat and rest while I write a response. You can take it to my father tomorrow.”

The aging sword master sighed. “Thank you, lad. I’ll admit I’m not as young as I once was.”

Jaromir opened the door and called to the same girl from earlier. “Can you have this man taken to a guest room?” he asked, and again it sounded like a request. “He’ll need a hot meal as well.”

“Of course, sir. Right away.”

Leonides followed the girl. Jaromir closed the door again and turned back to Anton.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. But my father is not given to fancies. If he believes these stories, then there is some truth.”

Though Jaromir didn’t want to agree, he realized Anton was right. Prince Lieven was not given to fancies.

“All right,” Jaromir said. “The main thing your father wants is production at the mines restored. Ryazan is a four-day day ride from here, and after that, there’s no telling how long this will take to solve. We both cannot be away from Sèone for so long a time. I suggest you let me handpick a contingent of our own men and ride out to see to this myself.”

Anton was silent for a few moments, and then he said, “My father has men . . . far more men than I do—
along with captains and lieutenants he trusts. Damek certainly has more men than me. Father wouldn’t be giving me this task if he thought it could be solved by sending a stronger contingent with a better leader.” He paused. “Besides, I’ve met Captain Keegan, and if he’s in charge of the mines, he’ll bristle at you riding in with a show of force, and then you’ll be at odds. No, he has to believe that he’s being sent ‘help,’ and not a challenge to competence. This must be approached differently.”

“Differently?”

Again, Anton hesitated. “Somehow, my father knows about the murders that took place here in the spring. I don’t know how he knows, but those murders were solved and stopped by three people.” He locked eyes with Jaromir. “Only three.”

Jaromir stared back at him and didn’t like where this was going.

C
éline and Amelie arrived at the castle that evening and made their way toward the great hall for the banquet. As they walked from the entryway down the main passage, braziers along the walls provided light. For the first time this summer, Céline wasn’t forcing herself to attend such an event. She wasn’t dreading Anton’s thinly veiled concern as he attempted to politely inquire whether or not she was using her abilities again.

Tonight . . . when he asked, she could give him some relief, for she knew his concern was partially motivated by unexpressed guilt—that what he’d asked her to do in the spring might have permanently damaged her. Tonight, she could erase his guilt, or at least ease it.

In addition, she’d worn the amber silk gown he especially liked. The square neckline was cut just above the tops of her breasts, with a point at each shoulder. The sleeves were narrow, the slender waistline fit her perfectly, and the skirt was full, draping about her in yards of fabric. The color reflected just a hint of gold, and it suited her dark blond hair, which she had worn loose.

Amelie, as always, was dressed in her breeches,
faded blue shirt, and short canvas jacket. Céline knew better than to even suggest anything else.

“Something’s wrong,” Amelie said as they approached the large archway of the great hall. “We haven’t passed any other guests, and I don’t hear any voices.”

Paying more attention to their surroundings, Céline realized her sister was right. Normally, from this range, they would hear the sounds of laughter and chatting echoing from the hall.

Céline and Amelie passed through the archway, expecting to see a hundred well-dressed guests—perhaps all hushed to silence for some reason—only to find the vast chamber nearly empty.

A light supper had been laid out on one of the long tables, and a few of the castle guards were eating cold ham with bread and drinking mugs of ale. One of the guards glanced over at them.

Before either of the sisters could inquire further, a deep voice sounded behind them.

“Céline.”

She turned to see Lieutenant Jaromir walking toward them.

“Did we get the night wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, the banquet was canceled.”

At the strained expression on his face, she felt a sudden coldness in the pit of her stomach.

“Canceled? Why weren’t we sent word? Is Prince Anton ill?”

“No, he’s not ill, and you weren’t sent word because something has come up that . . .” He faltered and
glanced at Amelie. “You both need to come upstairs with me, to his apartments.”

* * *

As Amelie followed her sister and Jaromir into Anton’s apartments, she struggled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Part of her couldn’t help feeling glad that something,
anything
, seemed to be happening, but she and Céline would never be called for a private meeting like this unless it was serious . . . and unless Anton wanted something from them.

Amelie closed the door behind herself and glanced around.

Most princes lived in some luxury, but Anton appeared to prefer austerity. There were tapestries on the walls and a large hearth. But the furnishings consisted of a messy writing desk, a few heavy wooden chairs, and rows of bookshelves along the walls. It looked more like the chambers of a scholar than those of a prince. A closed door stood on the same wall as the hearth, but Amelie knew it led to his sleeping chambers—as Céline had tended him once when he was ill.

Anton himself stood beside one of the heavy wooden chairs, wearing a simple blue tunic and black breeches. The expression on his face was no less strained than Jaromir’s, causing Amelie’s apprehension to increase. But then Anton’s gaze stopped on Céline, and he started slightly. She’d put some effort into her appearance tonight, and it showed.

“Céline . . . ,” he said, his eyes lingering on her silk gown.

“What’s happened?” Céline asked him, sounding openly worried.

Anton motioned them all further inside. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again.

“I hardly know where to begin,” he said finally. “Jaromir . . . perhaps you could . . . ?”

Jaromir ran a hand over the top of his head, and Amelie’s apprehension turned to alarm.

“What is going on?” she asked. “Does this have anything to do with that messenger who arrived from Castle Pählen today?”

“How did you know that?” Jaromir shook his head quickly. “No, it doesn’t matter. The prince needs your help to help solve a . . . difficulty for his father.”

“What kind of difficulty?” Céline asked, and suddenly Amelie regretted coming anywhere near the castle tonight. Earlier today, Céline had seemed more herself than she had in months, and now she was getting that haunted look in her eyes again.

“Have you ever heard of the Ryazan silver mines?” Anton asked, entering the conversation again.

Both sisters shook their heads. They’d both lived their entire lives in Shetâna before coming here.

“My father has owned these mines for the past five years, and they have proven quite . . . lucrative.” He hesitated for a few breaths, as if steeling himself, and then began speaking again, spilling out a bizarre story of the soldiers assigned to these mines turning into beasts, killing the contracted laborers, and then having to be killed themselves.

Amelie stood tense, waiting to see where this was going.

“At last count, my father had lost nine men to this affliction, at least one of whom was an officer,” Anton finished quietly, “and production at the mines has come to a standstill. He’s asked me to solve this for him, and he’s threatened to turn to Damek if I cannot.” He locked eyes with Céline. “It’s a test of leadership.”

Céline didn’t respond, but her left hand was trembling slightly.

“Even if any of this wild tale is true,” Amelie said, stepping in front of her sister. “What does it have to do with us?”

Jaromir sighed, looking beyond miserable, but Amelie was not about to make this easy on him. She wanted to know exactly why she and Céline had been dragged in here to listen to this.

“Prince Anton believes that sending a new contingent won’t help,” Jaromir finally answered. “He wants the three of us—you, me, and Céline—to solve this . . . as we did before.”

“No!” Amelie spat at him. She’d been feeling useless and restless lately, but Céline wasn’t going anywhere near some pack of Pählen soldiers reportedly turning into “beasts.”

“I can keep you both safe,” Jaromir insisted. “I’ll be there with you. While you and Céline use your abilities to figure out what’s happening, I will have no other task than protecting you. Once you know the truth, you
turn it over to me, and I will take action . . . just like our plan last time.”

“You want us to read these soldiers,” Céline asked quietly, “their pasts and futures and figure out what is happening to them?”

“I’d never ask this of you, Céline,” Anton answered raggedly. “I don’t want to send you to . . .” He trailed off. “But this is the first time my father has asked me for a personal favor. I cannot refuse. I cannot fail, and this cannot be solved through force.” He stepped closer to Céline. “Jaromir and I have been planning all afternoon, and we’ve come up with several provisions. I will send you and Amelie as ladies of my court, as my personal healers and seers, to ensure you are given due respect from the soldiers stationed at Ryazan. For the journey itself, Jaromir will take a small contingent of our own guards, and as added protection we will dress you both in red cloaks.”

Amelie wanted to shake her head at his “provisions.” Droevinka was often in a state of civil war, even small wars between the houses. In years past, traveling healers who attempted to help wounded soldiers had often been killed along the road as spies or enemy combatants. Somehow—and no one quite knew where this started—they began wearing red cloaks to try to distinguish themselves. Still, too many of them were being lost, and the country was facing a shortage of skilled healers. As a result, all the princes had gathered and agreed that no factions would harm those in red cloaks.

“And you think those cloaks will protect us from madmen turning into beasts?” Amelie asked angrily.

“No,” Jaromir stated. “
I
will do that.”

To Amelie’s further discomfort, so far, Céline had not refused, but the tremble in her left hand was growing worse.

“You’ll need to dress as traveling ladies of my court,” Anton added, glancing at Amelie’s breeches.

Oh, this just got better and better.

“We haven’t agreed to go anywhere,” she told him.

His expression darkened, and she fought to hold her tongue. Anton was normally well-mannered, but like all princes of this nation, he was a warlord vying to hold on to power, and he expected to be obeyed.

“I am asking you to do this for me,” he said tightly.

Without thinking, Amelie exploded in the only way she could, by making her own demands. “What’s in it for us?”

Céline gasped, and Jaromir’s face tightened in shock. He stared at her as if she were a stranger.

Instantly, Amelie regretted her words and wished she could take them back. They might have done a service for Anton last spring, but he had not only given her and Céline a safe refuge and his protection; he’d given them an apothecary shop with an herb garden and a built-in livelihood. They owed him more than they could ever repay.

Only Anton did not appear affected by her demand. Instead, he looked her up and down as if she were a simpleton. “As reward, you might receive me as grand prince of your nation. Unless you would prefer Damek?”

Amelie glanced away, embarrassed.

“We cannot refuse,” Céline whispered.

Everyone fell silent, and as Anton again took in the sight of Céline’s silk gown and loose hair, it was his turn to appear embarrassed. But the expression passed quickly, and he drew himself to full height.

“Go home and rest tonight,” he said. “Come back up to the castle and see Helga tomorrow. Don’t bother about packing anything other than medicinal supplies you might wish to bring. Helga will get you both packed and prepared for the journey. You’ll ride out at midday.” He paused. “I swear Jaromir will keep you from harm.”

Céline didn’t meet his eyes, but she nodded.

* * *

After a nearly sleepless night in her own bed, the following morning Céline found herself back up at the castle, inside a guest room, trapped between two very strong-willed women.

“I am
not
wearing those,” Amelie insisted.

“Oh, yes, you are, girlie,” Helga countered, shoving both a green wool gown—which laced up the front—and a white cotton shift at Amelie. “His lord majesty lieutenant says you’re going in disguise for your own safety, so go in disguise you will! Now, get those breeches off or I’ll pin you to that bed and pull ’em off myself.”

Amelie’s eyes narrowed. “You can try.”

Helga squared off with the gown and shift over one arm, and her hands clenched into fists. She appeared to be at least in her seventies, with thick white hair up in a bun that was partially covered by an orange kerchief. Her wrinkled face had a dusky tone, and she wore a
faded homespun dress that might have once been purple.

“And what of your sister?” she accused. “His lord majesty lieutenant says you’ll be safe if you arrive as
ladies
of the court who’ve also taken up the red cloak. Mistress Céline’s safety depends on this as well. If you show up dressed like a hooligan boy, Jaromir’s story won’t hold water for a minute, and if those soldiers don’t believe it of you, they won’t believe it of her either. Then what happens?”

Amelie stood shaking with rage, but with gritted teeth, she finally held her out hand. “Oh, give them to me.”

Céline breathed softly in relief, but it was the first and only hint of relief she’d felt since last night. No matter how important this task might be, a part of her couldn’t believe what Anton was asking. She had begun to think he cared for her, that he’d been giving her all the time she needed to heal. But . . . it seemed he’d simply not required her abilities until now, and the moment he did, he’d not hesitated to ask. Worse, in spite of Jaromir’s skill with a sword, Céline and Amelie were being sent into danger—and Anton knew it.

Céline couldn’t help feeling numb. Nothing was as she’d thought.

As Amelie angrily pulled off her faded blue shirt, Helga stepped back and examined the lavender wool gown Céline had arrived wearing. “Good. That will do nicely. Ladies wear wool when traveling. Now, come and look at what I’ve packed for you.”

With little choice, Céline moved to obey, but she couldn’t help viewing Helga with affection. Though
the old woman was officially a servant here in the castle, Céline suspected she was more. For one, everyone else treated Jaromir with deference and respect—even fear on occasion—but Helga often referred to him sarcastically as “his lord majesty lieutenant” and had a tendency to boss him around . . . and for some reason, he let her.

Even more, Helga had been responsible for helping Céline and Amelie understand at least the roots of who they were and where their mother had come from: the Móndyalítko, or “the world’s little children,” traveling gypsies.

Before arriving in Sèone, Céline and Amelie had known little of their origins.

Their father had been a village hunter for Shetâna, and one year, he’d been on a long-distance hunt, lasting several weeks, and he’d come back with their mother and married her. Then the couple had built an apothecary shop in Shetâna and started a small family. Once Céline and Amelie were old enough, their mother taught them to read. She taught Céline herb lore and the ways of healing—while saying nothing of her own past.

Neither of the sisters had ever heard the term “Mist-Torn” before Helga explained it to them, that not only were they born of a Móndyalítko mother, but they were of a special line called the Mist-Torn, each of whom possessed a natural power. As sisters, Céline and Amelie were two sides of the same coin, one able to read the future and one able to read the past.

This knowledge had changed their lives.

“I’ve packed a second wool dress for each of you,” Helga was saying, “and a formal gown for both of you as well, should Captain Keegan be one of those officers who likes to entertain.”