To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (20 page)

The next morning, Céline helped Helga to boil some oats for breakfast, and everyone did their best to pretend the situation from the previous night was normal, with Céline and Marcus sleeping by the fire, and Amelie and Jaromir sleeping alone in the wagon.

In spite of his wounds, Marcus had gone to water the horses, and Jaromir came striding from the tree line with an armload of firewood.

He leaned over the pot. “Oats again?”

Helga offered him a withering look. “We didn’t bring our own chickens along. You could try trading with some of the people here for a few eggs.”

“I may just do that,” he growled back. “Is there tea?”

“Here,” Céline said, lifting a clean mug and pouring him a cup.

“What’s the plan for this morning?” he asked, taking a sip.

Céline had been contemplating that question herself. Yesterday, before being cornered by Jago, she’d been attempting to see Miranda Klempá.

“Amelie and I thought we might be onto something yesterday.” She lowered her voice. “It seems Prince Malcolm has been seducing and then discarding a new girl from this encampment every year. Amelie read one of them, but she’s not the kettle witch. It may have taken another of the discarded women time to realize his pattern and become angry enough to take revenge.”

He listened carefully. Helga stirred the oats, listening, too.

“We were hoping to try to put together a list of names,” Amelie added. “That line of action still seems more useful than reading people to clear them. At least we’ve uncovered a motive.”

Jaromir nodded. “Good. I agree. So you planned to start by questioning the girl Amelie read yesterday?”

“Yes,” Céline answered. “It’s possible she might know the names of the others. If she doesn’t, we’ll speak quietly with some of the leaders and see if they know anything. But we must be careful. If we’re wrong about this, we don’t want unfair accusations being cast.”

Though she’d slept well, she felt badly in need of a bath. Later, she might take Amelie to stand guard and attempt to wash herself in the stream. But this morning, she wanted to continue attempting to put together a list of names.

“All right,” Amelie said. “You start with Miranda. I’ll—”

Céline never heard what Amelie planned to do, as the sound of pounding hooves interrupted them. Looking east, she saw a guard from the castle racing into camp. He headed straight for their wagons, pulled up his horse, and jumped to the ground.

It was Ayden, the guard with the scarred forehead.

“The prince’s son can barely breathe,” he panted, speaking to Céline. “Lady Anna begs you to come.”

Céline thought quickly. During a crisis of this nature, the castle might well offer other avenues to learning the names of Malcolm’s conquests, but she herself had to focus on Lysander.

“I’ll need my sister and Jaromir,” she said.

“They can come up on foot, but you come with me now.” He jumped back on the horse and held his hand down.

Céline turned to Jaromir and Amelie. “Get my box of supplies and hurry after us.”

Grasping Ayden’s hand, she felt herself lifted off the ground. Swinging her leg over the horse, she sat behind him. Then they were off, racing for the castle.

*   *   *

Amelie and Jaromir wasted no time.

With him carrying the box, they nearly ran up the dry road to the gates of the castle, where they were passed through without question.

“Where to now?” Jaromir asked as they entered the courtyard and looked around. Céline was nowhere in sight.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “We should ask inside.”

After passing through the main doors of the castle, they headed for the great hall. Walking through the archway, Amelie saw Prince Malcolm and his daughter, Jenelle, standing by the dead hearth . . . facing six men in shabby clothes with dusty hair. All six had an air of desperation.

A few of Malcolm’s guards stood nearby, and one had his hand hovering above the hilt of his sword.

“You are not the only one facing ruin, my lord,” said a man standing out in front of the others. “We’re facing death if this is not turned around.”

Malcolm crossed his arms. “Do you think I’m not aware of that? I swear to you that I’m doing everything in my power to find out who has done this to the land.”

“But we heard you freed those tzigän in the meadow!” another man cried. “It had to be one of them, and you know it . . . my lord.”

Amelie winced at both his tone and his choice of term. “Tzigän” was a derogatory term for the Móndyalítko, and the word meant “vagabond thieves.” It didn’t take much for her to figure out what was happening here. These men were from Malcolm’s villages. Normally, they’d all be either harvesting crops or picking strawberries for him. Their lands were as dead and dry as the lands around this castle.

They wanted answers. And who could blame them?

Just then, one of the men spotted her and Jaromir in the archway. As his eyes raked over their clothing, his expression flattened. “There’s two of them now!”

All five other men turned in equal anger.

“You!” the leader shouted. “It was one of you who cast this curse!”

Amelie stiffened in alarm, and one of the Yegor guards drew a sword, but Jaromir stepped in front of her, unarmed, and faced the desperate villagers.

“I am Prince Anton’s lieutenant, from the house of Pählen, here to investigate who it was who cast this curse,” he said, and his voice carried across the hall.
“It may very well have been one of the people down in that meadow, but that is exactly what this lady and I are trying to learn.” He spoke in the same voice he used when giving orders to his men back home. Even wearing no armor, no tabard, and no sword, he had once again become “the lieutenant.”

Both the sound and his words had an instant effect, and the hall fell silent. When Jaromir talked, people listened.

“We
will
find out who did this,” Jaromir said, “and we will reverse it.” He pointed to some mugs and several pitchers that had been set out on the table. “But from what I understand, the prince’s son is ill today, and as far as the curse is concerned, there’s nothing any of you can do. Have a mug of ale and rest for a while. The best you can do is to let us solve this, and we will solve it.”

Malcolm gestured toward the mugs. “Yes, Jerome,” he said to the leader, “come and have a drink and let us talk. As the lieutenant says, we will solve this. Now, tell me if there is anything I can do in the interim. Do you need grain for your livestock? I have emergency stores.”

The man at the front nodded tightly and finally said, “Thank you, my lord. I am sorry your son is ill.”

The tension broke, and Jenelle began pouring mugs. Amelie crossed to her quickly and whispered, “Where is my sister? We brought her box of supplies.”

For some reason, Jenelle was far less at ease with her than Céline, and Amelie had no idea why. Now Jenelle looked at her uncomfortably and glanced at Malcolm. In a flash, Amelie came to a realization. The girls Malcolm had chosen from among the people in
the meadow had been small with near-black hair and pale skin.

Amelie was Malcolm’s type, and so her presence concerned Jenelle.

“She’s with Anna, caring for Lysander up in his room,” Jenelle answered, and then paused. “I would take you myself, but I think I should stay with my father just now. The room is easy to find. Head down the main passage until you come to a right turn. Follow that to the base of the tower and go up to the second floor. Lysander’s room is the third door on the left.”

“Thank you,” Amelie said.

Going back to Jaromir, she took the box. “Stay here and learn what you can,” she whispered. “I’m going up to Céline.”

He nodded.

She left the hall and hurried down the main passage toward the front of the castle. When she reached the right turn, she took it and walked even faster until she saw the base of the tower. At the base, the passage continued a little farther, and she heard some kind of commotion up ahead.

Curious, she continued on a little farther and found herself standing outside a busy kitchen.

“Get it hotter,” an older woman ordered.

Several women were struggling to get large pots of water on top of a wide woodstove.

Amelie continued scanning the scene, and her eyes stopped at the sight of a young woman sitting at a table with a goblet in one hand and bread covered in jam in the other.

It was Lilah.

“I don’t care how busy you are, Helen,” Lilah said to the older woman at the stove. “My goblet is empty.”

“Yes, miss,” the woman said tightly. She left the stove and poured wine into Lilah’s goblet.

“That’s better,” Lilah said, sounding imperious. Then she spotted Amelie in the doorway and her eyes widened. “You?” She set down the bread and the goblet. “What are you doing up here?” she demanded.

The women in the kitchen glanced over, and Lilah’s expression grew angrier and more alarmed. Standing, she walked swiftly to Amelie and pushed her down the passage, out of sight of the kitchen.

By way of reaction, Amelie’s fist clenched, and her first instinct was to drop the box of supplies and flatten Lilah, but she held back.

“What are you doing here?” Lilah repeated, her voice lower now. The alarm in her eyes had grown, and it struck Amelie that Lilah might be worried about the exact same thing that worried Jenelle.

Amelie was small and pale and pretty with near-black hair and dressed in the garb of a Móndyalítko girl.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Amelie answered, “but I’m here to help Céline with the prince’s son.”

“Oh.” Lilah released a breath. “Is that all? That sickly boy? He won’t matter much soon anyway. You should leave. Get out and go back to camp.”

Amelie began turning to head for the tower. “You don’t have the right to tell anyone here what to do. I’m going upstairs.”

“Oh yes, I do,” Lilah said.

Something in her voice made Amelie stop. The rude girl sounded so utterly certain.

“I’m going to be the lady of this castle soon,” Lilah went on, “and if you want a place in the meadow next summer, you’ll have to answer to me.”

Incredulous, Amelie looked back. “The lady?”

“It’s common knowledge. Why do you think those kitchen women rush to serve me?”

“What about Lady Anna? He can’t divorce her, and so you cannot be made mistress here.”

“Divorce, no. But the prince is weary of her and that sickly son.” Lilah smiled. “You think I’m some deluded girl, but you’re wrong. Malcolm wrote a letter to Grand Prince Rodêk, asking for an annulment of his marriage to Anna on the grounds that she’s not provided him a healthy heir and that as he was once married to her aunt, the family bond is too close and they shouldn’t have married in the first place. Malcolm promised that in return for this favor, he would back whomever Rodêk chooses in the upcoming election.”

“No,” Amelie whispered. “That would disinherit Lysander. He’d be illegitimate.”

“Oh yes. I saw the letter. Malcolm used his seal and sent it. Grand Prince Rodêk has no reason to refuse and a good reason to agree. It will be as if the marriage to Anna never happened. He’ll marry me, and I’ll give him strong sons.” Lilah took a step closer. “So you’d better do as I say if you and your sister ever want to return to the meadow for the harvest.” Turning on her heel, she headed back to the kitchen. “I’m going to finish my wine. I suggest you leave now.”

In disbelief, Amelie watched her go.

Malcolm planned to annul his marriage to Lady Anna? Could it be true? It seemed that not only did
Lilah believe it, but the servants of the castle believed it. How far had word spread?

So far, in the internal workings of the family, Amelie and Céline had garnered many small pieces of information but nothing that fit together.

This was a piece that fit.

Quickly, she jogged for the base of the tower.

*   *   *

Upon arriving in Lysander’s room, Céline found Lady Anna near to giving way to emotion. Her careful veneer of dignity was strained to the limit. Lysander lay in his bed, gasping for air through his mouth.

Jane was there as well. A pot and bowl of water sat on the table.

Céline hurried to the bed.

Anna’s eyes held fear. “I don’t know what to do. He started like this about an hour ago. The air is so dry today. There is dust throughout the rooms. We tried using a bowl of steaming water, but he couldn’t sit up well enough to breathe it in.”

“Have you given him any syrup to ease his throat?” Céline asked.

“Yes.”

Lysander’s face was nearly white, and circles under his eyes were a mix of yellow, purple, and black. Anna’s fear was warranted, and something had to be done quickly. Céline fought to think. Her mind slipped back to a night when she was a girl in Shetâna, and her mother had been called to the bed of a little girl whose condition looked and sounded much like Lysander’s. Céline tried to remember what her mother had done. And then . . .

“My lady! Do you have a large bathtub in the castle, something that can be carried in here?”

“Of course.”

“Have it fetched. Have it brought in, and then get the women in the kitchen busy heating as much water as they can. Lysander will sit in the tub, and the water will need to be as hot as he can stand it. Some of us will hold blankets to keep the steam in, and others will need to keep heating and pouring water.”

Anna listened and then nodded to Jane. “Run and give Miss Céline’s instructions. See to the tub first and then go to the kitchens. Hurry.”

Jane ran.

Within moments, the room was in a flurry of activity.

Several men came in carrying the tub, and they set it on the floor. Not long after this, Amelie stuck her head in the door, carrying Céline’s box of supplies.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

Something in her voice sounded odd, and looking over, Céline knew her sister well enough to know that she’d learned something she needed to discuss. Whatever it was, it would have to wait.

“Not from that box,” Céline answered. “But we’ll need your help soon enough.”

Soon, Jane and some of the women from the kitchen came through the door, struggling with buckets of steaming water. Bucket after bucket was poured, and thankfully, the eldest woman, who was called Helen, had thought to bring a bucket of cold water as well.