Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches (28 page)

Karina’s interest began to focus on Anton, who
by all reports missed his mother and was lost in a lonely fog with only his cruel brother and overly busy father.

She waited until he was twelve years old before she wrote to him:

She went on to subtly offer him sympathy and a motherly shoulder to lean upon, not knowing what to expect in return. Her instincts proved infallible. He wrote a long letter back, thanking her and telling her a bit about his daily life and interests. But she read the letter four times in succession, as it touched her deeply, echoing the voice of a boy starving for love, starving for an adult in his life who cared for his thoughts and feelings.

A connection was formed, and she rejoiced.

But it was also at this time that her second obsession became an issue: how to remain youthful and beautiful indefinitely without being labeled some sort of sorceress. By trial and error, she’d learned how to best use Jaelle’s power. Greedy for the experience of euphoria in the early days, she’d had Jaelle drain five more young women and pass
their youth to her. But of course the deaths caused some local alarm, and though Karina did not fear she would be connected, she stopped…waiting to see how long the infusions would last.

They lasted five years.

She did not note a single change in either the glow of her skin or the gloss of her hair for five years.

But one day, she did notice a change, just a hint of dullness in her complexion, and so she had Jaelle take and pass on only one life. To Karina’s dismay, the infusion lasted less than a month.

Deciding to try what had worked the last time, she had Jaelle take six lives over a period of a few weeks and transfer them in quick succession. This lasted another five years. Karina was not certain why the power worked in this fashion, only that it did.

However, by the time Anton had turned twelve years of age, and their correspondence had begun, in the southeast, the people around Karina were beginning to talk—as she was in her midforties.

She debated on the best course of action.

But that was an eventful year around her, and both her parents passed away. As her father had died with no male heir, both his title and the family estate went to his younger brother. However, Karina came into her own inheritance money, and it was substantial. She let her family know that she didn’t wish to remain on the estate and live with her uncle but would prefer to travel.

She rented a villa far from her childhood home and hired a staff of new servants. After that, the only constant in her life was Anton—but only through a regular exchange of letters. Still, she felt she knew him well. As yet, he was only a seedling, so she did not try to visit him, nor invite him to visit her. She was waiting for the right time. If he saw her in his youth, and then saw her again later, he would wonder why she’d not aged.

But she swelled with pride when he was given charge of Castle Sèone—and then she managed to keep herself from chastising him when he thwarted his father and married a minor noble with no money named Joselyn…out of love. He soon wrote to her that his young wife was expecting a child. This news filled Karina with a strange longing, that somehow she had missed out on an essential element of life, though she wasn’t quite certain what it was. Shortly before Joselyn was to deliver, Anton wrote to Karina, expressing that he was missing the help and advice of a mother, and would Karina consider coming to live with them?

The idea stunned her at first, but then…she began to grasp hold of many possibilities—that this might be the
right
time. She was well aware that Lieven had not named Damek as heir and was in the process of choosing between his two sons. Could she help influence this? Suddenly, she found herself enjoying the image of stepping into a position as Anton’s surrogate mother at Castle Sèone.

Writing back, she asked him for his thoughts on when and how this transition might best take place.

He didn’t answer.

She waited.

Then one of her spies sent a message that Joselyn had died in the childbed, and Anton appeared to have gone mad with grief, locking himself away and refusing food.

She sent word to the castle that she was coming.

In a matter of days, Karina began her journey west.

While the death of Joselyn was indeed tragic, Anton’s need for a mother figure was now even greater. Karina would arrive awash in sympathy and step in to help him. He would be named heir. She would become his strong right arm and live out her dream as mistress of a great house—then mistress of a nation.

*   *   *

Traveling with a caravan, as her sister had done so many years ago, Karina arrived in the courtyard of Castle Sèone on a cloudy afternoon in the autumn. Upon dismounting, she was greeted by a tall, silver-haired woman in an apron.

The woman’s expression of relief was profound.

“My lady,” she breathed. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you’ve come. I manage the maids and kitchen girls. But with the mistress…gone, and the young prince in mourning, the household is going to ruin.”

Karina reached out and touched her hand. “I will do my best to assist you and to help the prince.”

“Thank you, my lady. We’ve had rooms prepared. Is there anything you wish brought up directly?”

“Only a few small chests for now, but I have another…concern.” She motioned to the tall painting wrapped carefully in canvas. “I have a family heirloom with me, a portrait, but I’d rather not hang in it my rooms. It’s not good enough for a family portrait hall, but might there be a lesser hall, someplace out of the way where it might be hung?”

She wanted it hidden in plain sight, but someplace where it might go unnoticed, finally forgotten by anyone but herself.

If the aging housekeeper found this an odd request, she didn’t show it. Instead, she pursed her mouth a moment and said, “Oh, yes, there’s a small hall above the guest quarters in the north tower with some old portraits. I could have it hung there.”

Karina smiled. “Thank you. That would be perfect.”

T
he white mists vanished and Amelie found herself still gripping Karina’s hand. She let go and jumped up off the dressing table chair, backing away, trying to clear her head from the years and years of events she’d just lived through, as if she was Karina.

A sensation of sickness, like worms crawling in her mind, made her choke as she backed away.

“You…you murdered those girls…Sybil…Inna. You took their lives!”

Karina was staring at her with wild eyes, more stunned than angry or guilty. “You
know
,” she breathed. “No one has ever known. No one could suspect me.”

As Amelie’s mind cleared slightly, she realized that Karina had viewed herself as untouchable. She’d not objected to Anton using Céline in this search, as she never believed anyone would learn her secrets or connect her to the murders.

“You’re mad,” Amelie said, shaking her head. “All those deaths for nothing more than a pretty
face.” Her hand went to her side instinctively, but the dagger wasn’t there. She was wearing the midnight blue gown.

Karina drew herself up. “Far more than a pretty face, as you know if you lived through everything I just felt in that vision.” Though her expression was still wild, she almost seemed to find satisfaction in speaking of these things, and Amelie fervently hoped that Céline would remain hidden behind the dressing screen, just listening. As yet, she would not know the extent of the danger Karina posed.

“Anton will be named grand prince,” Karina said, “and when that happens, I will be at his side.”

“For how long?” Amelie shot back. “Even if all your plans come true? You’ve already been with him four years. What if he does become Lieven’s heir, and then he is named grand prince in the next election? What happens at the end of another nine years and you haven’t aged a day? Do you think you’ll still be at his side?”

Karina grew calm. “You are not as shortsighted as you appear.” She paused. “Yes, I will still be at his side because I will have aged. My place is with Anton now, and my reward will be the power I reap with him. Right now, I need my beauty to help influence the other princes in his favor…but after that, I can live without it. I’ve decided that in another five years, when this infusion
fades, I will not use the painting again. I will be content.”

Amelie didn’t believe her. But it didn’t matter.

“You’re not going anywhere near Anton. Not ever again. Once Jaromir hears of this, you’ll be lucky if you only wind up in a prison cell.”

But Amelie was only trying to lull her into a false sense that they were engaged in a fight of words, in the common battle of women, when all the while, Amelie looked for an opening, for the right instant to move.

“Jaromir will hear nothing,” Karina answered.

“Oh, yes, he will.”

Amelie moved like lightning, relying on the element of surprise—as always—to dash forward and strike out with her right fist, intending to knock Karina unconscious with one blow. But somehow, Karina must have seen what was coming and managed to pull back just enough that Amelie’s fist glanced across her jaw.

“Jaelle!” Karina called. “Come to me!”

*   *   *

Anton was ashamed of himself.

He stood in the great hall with Jaromir and Pavel. Guardsman Rurik was present as well, his head wound having healed enough for him to resume his duties.

Anton was waiting to greet his guests, waiting to see Céline enter through the archway.

But she did not.

He wondered what was keeping her, but his eagerness was not the source of his shame. His arm itched. His hands were trembling. He could not stop thinking of how he’d felt earlier that day when he’d taken his small dose of the poppy syrup and all the pain went away and he’d no longer felt like clawing off his own skin.

The bottle of poppy syrup was up in his rooms. Céline had told him not to take another dose until tomorrow, but this was going to be a long night. He told himself that he needed to be at full strength tonight, not some weakling with shaking hands. His people needed to see him as a leader.

Turning to Jaromir, he said, “Neither Céline nor the Lady Karina have arrived yet, and I just remembered that I left a half-written letter to my father on my desk. I’d prefer any servants coming in to clean did not see it.” He began walking away. “You wait here. I will return directly.”

Jaromir frowned but would never question Anton. “Yes, my lord.”

Still ashamed, Anton hurried out of the hall and up the stairs of the west tower, nearly jogging off the second landing and down the passage to his apartments. He tried not to let himself think, beyond making internal assurances that this would be the only time he’d circumvent Céline’s instructions. Tomorrow he would begin to wean himself off the opiate as planned.

Tomorrow.

After opening the doors to his front room,
which mainly served as an office and a library, he hurried through to his bedroom, to his bedside table, and picked up the bottle of poppy juice, hating himself but knowing he wasn’t going to stop.

Then he thought that he should at least be cautious enough to use the spoon and not just swallow straight from the bottle. But the spoon wasn’t on the night table. Turning, he glanced around to see where Céline had left it…and his eyes fell upon the portrait leaning against the wall beside the door.

The pale-skinned woman was no longer in the painting. Only the dark backdrop and the evergreen trees and the campfire remained.

And Céline had not arrived at the banquet.

“Céline.”

Dropping the bottle of poppy syrup, he ran from his rooms and back downstairs, panting from exhaustion by the time he reached the main floor and cursing how weak he’d allowed his body to become. Once, he’d been strong and swift, skilled with a sword. He would be so again.

Just outside the archway of the great hall, he put his hands on his knees and managed to shout, “Jaromir!”

*   *   *

Céline was crouched behind the dressing screen, peeking out through a crack.

She’d seen Amelie grab Karina’s hand and then watched as both their bodies froze, their minds lost in the mists of the past.

But when they’d both come out of it, nothing either one said made any sense…except that Amelie believed Karina was the killer.

Céline’s first instinct had been to rush out and protect her sister, but she was no fighter and was uncertain what she might do. And she had so often seen Amelie prevail in physical conflicts by relying almost entirely on speed and the element of surprise.

This was the thought that held Céline back. Karina had no idea she was in the room, and she still held the element of surprise.

But the exchange between Karina and her sister was growing heated.

“You’re not going anywhere near Anton,” Amelie said. “Not ever again. Once Jaromir hears of this, you’ll be lucky if you only wind up in a prison cell.”

“Jaromir will hear nothing.”

“Oh, yes, he will.”

Then Amelie’s body became a blur as she dashed forward and struck out with her right fist. At the last second, Karina moved back just an inch, and Amelie did not catch her with enough force.

“Jaelle!” Karina called, sounding like a madwoman. “Come to me.”

Céline tensed, but something told her not to move—not yet.

A black-and-white form whooshed in from the wall above the hearth, and the pale-skinned young
woman from the portrait floated there in the air, tendrils of her black hair dancing around her face.

Karina pointed at Amelie. “Drain her.”

As Amelie turned to run, the floating woman flew straight toward her.

Céline had already seen enough of what this ghostly creature could do, and it was clear that Karina was controlling it. In less than a second, two facts solidified in Céline’s mind. One, the shutters to the window were open, and two, Karina was standing directly in front of it.