Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches (6 page)

“Here we are,” Jaromir said, stopping at the beginning
of the bridge and reaching his hand up to Amelie. “Hop down.”

She ignored his hand and climbed off by herself. Céline admired her spirit, but when Pavel moved to help her down, Céline let him, and then she grabbed the stirrup to hold herself when her legs nearly gave way. She’d never in her life spent a whole night on the back of a horse. She was going to be sore for days.

“You all right?” Jaromir asked her, frowning.

“I’m fine,” she answered, trying to straighten, and walking as quickly as she could to Amelie’s side.

They crossed the bridge and entered the walled courtyard of the castle. Jaromir and Pavel were still leading their horses, but a boy appeared from nowhere to take their reins.

“Be generous with the grain,” Jaromir told him. “They’ve both been going all night.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered, leading the horses away.

Then Jaromir and Pavel strode across the courtyard—leaving Céline and Amelie little choice but to follow. They moved through a large entryway inside the castle itself, down a stone passage, and emerged into what appeared to be a great common dining hall. An enormous burning hearth had been built in the wall directly across from the arched entrance. Servants and a few soldiers in tan tabards were milling around, but everyone came to attention when Jaromir walked in. The
hall seemed alive with dogs as well, spaniels, bloodhounds, and wolfhounds. A wolfhound with a smattering of white on its muzzle had been lying by the fire, but it scrambled stiffly to its feet and attempted to run to Jaromir.

“Lizzie,” he said when the dog reached him. “You’re getting too old to run.” He stroked her face while she continued to express great joy at his return by licking his hands.

Then he glanced at a servant carrying a tray and said, “Go and tell my lord I’m back, and that I brought the seer with me.”

The servant set down the tray and hurried off.

Céline couldn’t help wondering what it must be like to just give orders and have everyone run to do her bidding. She didn’t think she would particularly like it.

Still petting the dog, Jaromir turned to Pavel. “You’re dismissed. Go and find yourself something to eat.”

As Pavel headed off, Jaromir walked over to a side table and poured two goblets of wine. The dog followed at his heels. Carrying the goblets back, he held one out to Amelie. “Here.”

She didn’t touch it.

“Oh, just take it,” he said. “You haven’t had anything all night. I’ll arrange breakfast as soon as I can.”

Céline reached out and took the other goblet. She hated depending on him, but it was looking more and more like he was in control here, and
her own normal sense of survival was beginning to surface. “Thank you,” she said.

He didn’t answer her and just raised one eyebrow at Amelie, who finally reached out and took the goblet. “Thank you,” she said, but her tone hardly suggested thanks.

To Céline’s surprise, Jaromir flashed a grin, as if he found Amelie amusing. That was never a wise move.

But before Amelie could do anything stupid—like toss the wine in his face—the people around them began to bow, and Céline turned to see a young man in a burgundy tunic walking into the hall.

“My lord,” Jaromir said, bowing slightly.

But Céline froze as the young man met her gaze. She knew him, and she could see that he remembered her, although his eyes flickered as if he was somewhat taken aback by the sight of her. He hadn’t seen her since she was fifteen, and she had changed a bit. So had he. He was still pale, with brown hair tucked behind his ears, but now he had circles under his eyes. Without the circles, he would have been handsome.

He’d been her first patron five years before, and he’d asked her to help him decide if he should marry a girl he loved named Joselyn or a wealthy girl named…

Rhiannon.

Céline fought to keep her face still as the past and present collided. Damek and Anton were
brothers, and Rhiannon’s father had first tried to marry her to Anton, and he had refused in order to marry a penniless girl. What a blow that must have been to Rhiannon. Then her father had tried again five years later to marry her to Damek, and now Rhiannon was refusing the marriage. No wonder she’d been so worried about how her father would react.

Jaromir walked to Prince Anton quickly and leaned over, whispering in his ear. Anton’s dark eyes widened as he glanced at the sisters.

“Burned?” he mouthed.

Jaromir kept speaking in his lord’s ear, and Céline began growing nervous. What was he saying?

“What do you think this is really all about?” Amelie whispered.

“I’m not sure. But I think we have to play along.” She choked once. “I’m so sorry about the shop.”

“Why? You didn’t burn it down.”

But Céline could hear the cold anger in her sister’s voice and hoped Amelie could hold herself together just a little longer. Amelie might not be angry with Céline, but she was angry and feeling trapped and needed an outlet.

Prince Anton turned from Jaromir and looked at Céline. “In there,” he said, pointing to a small side chamber. “I would speak with you alone.” His tone was haughty, as if he never expected anything but obedience.

“No,” Amelie said flatly.

“It’s all right,” Céline said. “Truly.”

Before Amelie could argue, Céline walked into the side room and found that she wasn’t even nervous when Anton walked in behind her and closed the door.

Prince he might be, but for some reason, even after all she’d been through since last night, she wasn’t afraid of him.

“Why did my brother try to kill you?” he asked.

This was not the first question she expected, and she looked at their surroundings. The room was small indeed, with a single table, two chairs, and no window. Several candles glowed from the table.

Anton was looking at her red dress. “Why?” he repeated. “Jaromir says you spoke to Lady Rhiannon? What did you say to her? And why did Madam Zelinka and Captain Kochè visit you that morning?’

So he knew some of the story already. She wondered how much.

Sighing, she realized she’d gain nothing by holding information back. “Madam Zelinka paid me three pieces of silver to read Lady Rhiannon’s future and tell her that she’d be happy with your brother and to consent to the wedding. I agreed. I feared what might happen to me and my sister if I did not.”

He shook his head, puzzled.

“I found that I could not keep my word…after I saw her future,” Céline went on.

“What did you see?”

“He had her falsely accused of adultery and then strangled. I could not counsel her to marry him after seeing that.”

Anton flinched and sank down into a chair. “Poor Rhiannon,” he said softly. “Her father won’t understand.”

Really, this was not at all what Céline would have expected from Damek’s brother. Anton seemed almost softhearted. But he certainly voiced no doubts that his brother was capable of murder.

Then his eyes narrowed, almost in anger. “You’re speaking the truth to me? You really are a seer?”

This was shaky ground. The first time she’d spoken to him, she’d had no idea he was the prince of a great house. If he ever suspected that she’d been faking…

“Yes,” she answered standing straight, “like my mother before me.”

The anger in his eyes faded, replaced by what looked like pain. “But you told me to marry Joselyn. You told me I’d be happy.”

At that, Céline had to call upon all her skills. Something had gone terribly wrong in his life, something to do with Joselyn, but when he spoke her name, only pain and sorrow rang in his voice, not anger. That suggested Joselyn had not made him miserable, nor had she run off with one of the castle guards.

He was in mourning.

Joselyn was dead. Céline would have staked her life on it.

Standing even straighter, she challenged, “And weren’t you happy?”

His expression collapsed inward, and he looked away. “Yes,” he answered after a long moment. “I was happy.”

Abruptly he stood up and faced her again. All traces of sorrow were gone, and he was the haughty prince once more. Without another word, he turned and strode for the door, jerking it open and walking out.

At a loss, she followed him. Only a few paces into the great hall, he stopped and said over his shoulder, “You are free to go.”

Go where?
she thought in sudden despair, looking across the hall at Amelie.

But as Anton began walking toward the exit again, Jaromir stepped forward and stopped him. “My lord, I had another thought.”

He leaned in and began speaking quietly in the prince’s ear. Anton frowned at first, but then he began listening in earnest, and finally he turned to glance back at Céline.

“Very well,” he said slowly. “But you’ll have to show them everything.” He paused, as if somehow the words Jaromir had whispered in his ear were beginning to take hold. “Show them the shop first, and then arrange a room for them in the castle.”

He walked out.

What shop?

Jaromir smiled at Amelie, and Céline had a sinking feeling in her stomach. He wanted something more from them.

*   *   *

Amelie kept close to Céline as they both followed Jaromir back through the bustling town, but she almost couldn’t believe how much her life had been altered in less than a full day. Their home was gone, and since she’d spent half the night unconscious, she had no idea where they were or how far they’d come.

Besides, after Damek’s attempt to kill them—and her stabbing one of his men in the throat—they couldn’t go home, even if someone there might take them in.

Worse, that bastard Jaromir kept smiling at her, as if sooner or later she’d find him charming. She wished she could run her dagger through his throat. Just thinking of how he’d knocked her out so easily and then trussed her up made her blood run hot. If he weren’t so damn strong, she’d have gotten away from him outside the moat this morning.

But…since coming inside the walls, her opinion of the situation itself had altered. Cows, goats, and chickens added to the noise of people doing business here, and everyone seemed warmly dressed and well fed. This was nothing like their drab home village, nor was it like the grand city
she’d seen on her one visit to Enêmûsk, which had been sharply divided between the rich and the starving.

She’d never seen anything like this place.

No one seemed afraid of the soldiers, and many people either nodded or called a greeting to Jaromir as if they liked him. He stopped in front of a solid one-story wooden building that had been stained a rich brown, with yellow painted shutters.

“This is it,” he said.

Amelie barely glanced at the building and had no idea why he’d pointed it out, but then he opened the door and stepped inside. “Come on.”

Once inside, Céline sucked in a sharp breath, but it took Amelie a moment to realize why. They were in the front room of a shop. There was a sturdy counter running half the length of the room, and the walls were lined with shelves of clay pots and jars. A dusty wooden table was littered with pestle and mortar, brass scales, small wooden bowls, and an open box of tinder and flint. A large welcoming hearth comprised the center of the south wall.

“This way,” Jaromir said, and he led them behind the counter and through a set of swinging doors into a storage area. “There’s a large bedroom through there,” he said, pointing to a closed door, “but the best is out here.”

He opened the back door of the shop and held it for Céline to see outside. She drew in another
sharp breath, and Amelie looked over her shoulder at the remnants of what had once been a thriving herb garden.

Divided into eight large separate beds, the herbs were now either overgrown or dying from lack of care: cumin, fennel, mint, lovage, sage, rue, savory, foxglove, pennyroyal, rosemary, lilies, and roses…Amelie lost count. Faded red poppies lined the back fence, and an apple tree graced one corner.

Céline stepped out and knelt down in what was left of the foxglove patch. “Many of these plants are still alive,” she said. “This could be brought back to its former state.”

Céline had always loved herbs. She loved healing. But this was cruel, letting Céline sit like that in someone else’s herb garden when her own was lost.

“Why did you bring us here?” Amelie demanded of Jaromir. “Why would you show this to her?”

“Because the owner’s dead,” he answered. He was standing so close she could see all the soft hairs of his goatee, and she backed up. “He died last summer,” he went on, “and we’ve had no apothecary since. Ownership reverted to the prince, but the place has been standing empty.”

Céline’s eyes were sad. “Lieutenant, I hope you don’t think we can purchase this place from your prince. We’ve no money hidden away.” She sighed. “At present, this dress is all I have left to my name.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m well aware you
lost everything last night. But the prince has given me leave to offer this shop to you if you can solve a problem for us.”

Amelie stepped around him. “Offer us the…you mean let us live here, as members of his own people?”

Céline stood up, equally shocked.

This was a prosperous community, and the people here had goods to trade and money to spend…and daughters who’d be begging Céline to read their futures, daughters with coins in their purses.

And the shop was perfect, far superior to their old home. This was too good to be true. But nothing like this came easily. Amelie crossed her arms over the top of her canvas jacket. “Exactly what problem does he want us to solve?”

Céline listened with rapt attention, but for once, Jaromir didn’t look even mildly amused. He’d gone deadly serious.

“I can’t just tell you. I have to show you.” He paused. “And I warn you, the sight isn’t pretty.”

That didn’t sound good.

But Céline looked around at the large, neglected herb garden and then up at the beautifully stained wooden exterior of the shop. “Show me.”

*   *   *

Céline stood amid countless barrels of ale in a cold-storage room below the castle larder, staring down into what had once been the face of a teenaged girl.