To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (10 page)

The mists had never let the sisters down yet.

There was a reason for everything they saw or did not see.

As the morning went on, she felt herself beginning to grow weary. She’d never read so many people one after the other like this.

As she finished with a man who’d shown her images of nothing more than attempting to get more water from the guards—for his horses—that afternoon, she sat back in her chair, feeling the edges of exhaustion.

He looked at her calmly.

“Am I cleared?” he asked.

“Yes, I saw nothing of importance. You were trying to get more water for your horses.”

He shook his head. “This is a bad business, and some of the men are ready to overpower the guards.”

For the first time, Céline really looked at him. He was large with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache. She realized he was the one who so often escorted her aunt Sinead. Was he Sinead’s husband?

“Could they?” Céline asked.

“Of course. We have men and weapons, and with Marcus here, we have three shifters now. The prince posts twelve guards at most. It would be simple.”

Céline remembered Marcus’s friend Leif mentioning something like this, too. “Why haven’t you?”

“Because the prince would probably send more soldiers after us. They would catch us, and things would escalate. No matter the outcome, our summers here would end. None of us wants that. We would rather resolve this. I want to know who is responsible, even if it’s one of us.”

Unlike Leif, this man didn’t appear convinced of the innocence of all the Móndyalítko.

“Do you have any idea who it might be?” she asked.

“No, and that’s what troubles me.”

Perhaps he’d introduced himself upon entering, and perhaps not. Céline had met so many people this morning she couldn’t remember. This man had a quiet power about him—and possibly a good deal of common sense. “I’m sorry,” she said. “What is your name?”

He smiled slightly. “Terrell Fawe. I am your uncle by marriage. You’ve yet to meet your cousins, who are an unruly pack of young men.”

“You are Sinead’s husband? Oh, again, I am sorry. It’s been rather a long morning.”

“I can see that. Do not apologize.”

She liked him. She liked her aunt. She wondered about the pack of unruly cousins. Unfortunately, this budding affection and curiosity did not make things easier. She had no intention of remaining here once this crisis was over.

He stood. “Take a rest. Even a Mist-Torn can’t go on all day.”

After he left, she rubbed her temples, thinking perhaps it might be a good time to take a rest.

Helga appeared in the open doorway. “I thought
I’d have you clear Alondra, and then you should stop. You can start again tomorrow.”

As Céline’s head was beginning to ache, she didn’t argue. “Yes, do bring Alondra, and afterward, I think I will stop.”

“I’ll have to go find her.”

The short break was welcome, and Céline stood to stretch her back. She faced the bunks and saw Oliver asleep on the top bunk. Except for “doing his business,” he’d hardly gone outside since their arrival, and she’d been bringing his food and water in here. Perhaps the unfamiliar camp was too much for him.

Helga had been gone only a few moments when a shadow filled the interior of the wagon. Oliver awoke and jumped to his feet, hissing.

Céline whirled toward the doorway.

A large form, a man, stood there, blocking out much of the light. He entered and she recognized him from her arrival yesterday. He was tall and muscular and moved with a grace similar to Marcus’s. His hair was dark and cut short. His feet were bare. He wore loose pants and a loose shirt.

“I came to be read,” he said softly.

Something about him made Céline nervous, and she wondered how long Helga would be.

Oliver’s hissing grew louder.

“Stop,” she said to the cat. “It’s all right.”

His hissing dropped to a low snarl.

Céline drew herself up. “I had planned to read Alondra next and then stop for the day.”

“Alondra can wait. I want you to clear me. I am Jago Taragoš.”

Something about the way he spoke suggested his name should mean something to her and that he was accustomed to getting his way. But if he wanted only to be cleared, she thought this might be the fastest way to get him back out of the wagon.

“Come and sit, then,” she said, taking her chair again.

He approached and sank down, watching her. His eyes moved over her face and hair. “I’ve never seen a young seer from the line of Fawe, but I’ve heard stories. They weren’t wrong.”

She had no idea what he meant and wasn’t about to ask. “Give me your hand.”

“Nothing would please me more.”

He didn’t sound remotely flirtatious. His expression was dead serious. After glancing once more toward the door for Helga, Céline reached out and took his hand.

Closing her eyes, she focused on his spark of spirit and on whoever had placed the curse. The first jolt hit quickly, and she braced herself for the second. The mists closed in, swirling in tones of gray and white, and she felt herself rushed forward in time.

The journey was brief.

When she opened her eyes, the mists cleared and she found herself inside a well-furnished wagon. The curtains were made from amber silk, and the table was of polished cherry wood. Small crystals hung from the ceiling over the beds.

Sunlight streamed in through the windows.

Jago was there with a smaller, older man.

The other man was dressed in a loose silk shirt
tucked into black pants, and his high boots looked expensive. Céline had seen him about the camp but had not spoken to him. His gray hair and thin mustache were both carefully groomed.

“I’m telling you, Father, it is time to leave!” Jago said. “Marcus will do as he’s told if the leaders agree. So will Leif. These guards would be nothing to us.”

“The leaders won’t agree,” his father answered, “certainly not Sinead or Rupert, and no one will resort to violence without their consent.”

“And what of you?” Jago challenged. “Have you become so tame?”

The intended insult had no effect. “I’ve no wish to destroy our welcome here.”

Jago turned away angrily. “But you should! We spend our summer picking apples and berries. Don’t you feel shame? It’s time to leave these tame summers in the past and live like Móndyalítko.”

His father moved closer to him, jerking him back by one arm and looking into his face. “You will do nothing without my instructions. Do you understand? I have saved you time and time again from your own excesses, but this is different. There is too much at stake.”

Jago opened his mouth and then closed it again. He argued no more.

The mists closed in.

When they vanished, Céline was back at the table looking at Jago.

“What did you see?” he asked.

“Nothing that would implicate you,” she said, although she wasn’t entirely certain about that. It seemed he hated
summers in this Yegor meadow and was willing to go to some lengths to make certain the Móndyalítko would never be welcome here again.

“What did you see?” he repeated.

She wanted him to leave. “I saw you arguing with your father. You wanted to use Marcus and Leif and some of the other men to attack the guards and leave the meadow.”

Surprise flickered across his impassive features. He leaned forward with interest. “What did he say?”

“He said no.”

Céline stood up. “But nothing in the vision suggests you had anything to do with placing this curse. You are cleared.”

Her words and actions were a dismissal.

He stood as well but made no move to leave. “Are you with Marcus?”

“I am here with Marcus, Helga, my sister, and her husband.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Could you please leave so I can prepare to read Alondra?”

He stood between her and the door. “I am not married at present, and the star of Fawe is fading. You could join the Taragoš, join with me.”

Was he seriously proposing marriage? He’d only introduced himself a short while ago. Céline decided the best way to handle this was to continue attempting to end the discussion. “Please allow me to prepare for the next reading.”

His expression darkened as if she’d insulted him. “That is your answer? I offer you a connection to
Taragoš and
that
is your response? Do all Fawe women have such poor manners?”

This was something she’d heard before. It was hardly uncommon for a man to describe a woman as “poor mannered” if she rejected his proposition.

“Please go.”

He didn’t move, but the skin over his cheekbones drew back, and his face began to change. Short black hairs appeared to sprout from his skin. His eyes turned yellow and his ears grew smaller and slightly pointed like those of a cat.

Jago was the third shifter.

With a sharp inhale, Céline stepped backward just as Oliver launched off the top bunk, landing on the table. As opposed to hissing, he let out what sounded like a mewling scream that must have carried a good distance.

With his right paw, he slashed at the air in front of Jago and continued to scream.

“Get away from her!” someone shouted.

Céline looked past Jago to see Helga in the doorway, brandishing a large knife.

“You get out of this wagon and away from her.”

Oliver stopped his screaming.

Jago’s face shifted back to that of a man, but when he looked at Helga, hatred shone from his eyes. “Or you’ll what?”

“I’ll call out for a wolf.”

“You think a wolf frightens me?”

Without hesitation, Helga turned her head. “Marcus!”

Apparently, Jago was more concerned about
Marcus than he cared to admit, because he strode for the door.

Helga stood aside and let him pass.

Then she ran inside and grabbed one of Céline’s hands, inspecting her manically. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“Helga, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.”

But something about him had left Céline very unsettled.

Marcus ran up the steps and stopped in the doorway. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Céline answered quickly. “Just a possible . . . nothing.”

He frowned when he saw the knife in Helga’s hand.

Helga’s body was shaking.

*   *   *

Jaromir made his way back through the forest and down the encampment. He stayed hidden in the trees until reaching the north side of the meadow. Then he changed his clothes and found a space beneath the root of a fir tree to hide his armor, tabard, and sword.

After making a mental note of the exact location, he picked up a few small branches on the ground, went to the tree line, and began making noise.

A guard down the perimeter heard him and came jogging over. “What are you doing?”

It was the same guard who’d welcomed them yesterday upon their arrival.

Jaromir did his best to appear puzzled by the question. He held up the branches. “I saw these and thought to gather them.”

“You aren’t supposed to leave the meadow.”

“I haven’t.”

The man looked around. “Where did you come from?”

Pointing to the nearest wagon, Jaromir said, “From over there.”

Frowning, the guard sighed. “I didn’t see you or I’d have warned you off. Next time, ask me and I’ll fetch the branches for you. My lord has ordered no one should leave the perimeter of the meadow.”

Jaromir couldn’t help noting the regret in the man’s voice. He didn’t care for this assignment.

“All right, I will,” Jaromir said, and he walked back into the meadow carrying the branches.

*   *   *

Upon hearing howling and shouting, Amelie ran from the blue wagon, jumped over the steps, and hit the ground.

Alondra stood on the ground near the white wagon, and Marcus stood in the doorway. Amelie ran to him, bounding up the steps.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head, and she pushed past him. Inside, she found Helga holding a knife in one hand and Céline in the other. Oliver was on the table with his fur standing up and his tail the size of a small bush.

Helga’s body was trembling, but no one appeared to be hurt.

“What in the world has happened?” Amelie demanded.

“Nothing,” Céline answered, helping Helga to sit on
the lower bunk. To Amelie’s surprise, Helga let her. “I had a visit from the third shifter here in camp, Jago Taragoš. It seems he is some sort of large cat. Oliver didn’t care for him and sounded the alarm.”

“Oh.” Amelie had a feeling there was more to the story than this, but Helga was white as a sheet, and so it seemed best to follow Céline’s lead by trying to play the situation down. Looking around, she asked, “Where’s Jaromir?”

“I haven’t seen him,” Céline answered. “Helga, can I get you some tea?”

“No. I don’t want tea.”

Amelie turned to Marcus, who still stood there helplessly. “Where’s Jaromir?” she repeated.

To her surprise, Marcus blushed as if the question were a difficult one. “I . . . I will go and look for him.”

He vanished.

Men.

Alondra entered, wringing her hands, and she went back to sit with Helga. “Not to worry. Jago is gone.”

“Amelie, would you close the door?” Céline asked tightly. Once the door was closed, she turned back toward the bunks. “Helga, please be good enough to tell us whatever there is between you and Jago. If there is some danger that we don’t know about, you cannot keep it to yourself.”

Helga wouldn’t answer, and Alondra shook her head once at Céline. When Helga refused to speak, nothing would move her.

With a sigh, Céline looked back to Amelie. “Did you see anything useful in your readings?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Going to the table, Amelie sat down and began to tell the other three women what she’d seen of Lilah and Prince Malcolm . . . and the guard Ayden.

Even Helga began to listen with growing interest as Amelie recounted one scene after the next.

At one point, Alondra gasped. “Lilah said Gallius mistreated her?”

“Yes,” Amelie confirmed. “Is it not true?”

“Goodness no. If anything, she mistreated him. He was a wealthy wool merchant’s son who fell for her so hard he married her against his father’s will. I think she believed the father would forgive them, but Gallius was cast from the family and cut off from his allowance or inheritance. Rupert took him into the family, but I think Lilah was disappointed by how it all turned out. She places a good deal of stock in her beauty.”