To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (4 page)

“The lieutenant informs me that you won’t give him leave to travel with us to Yegor.”

Her blunt manner took him aback. He’d not expected her to simply launch in. Céline was normally a far more tactful, far subtler person.

“I cannot give any of you leave to be away from Sèone for so long,” he said, “and I ordered an end to any more discussion in this regard.”

Turning, he started to walk past her for the door.

“I’m not one of your soldiers,” she said. “Neither is Amelie. Neither is Helga. You can’t order us to remain in the village.”

He stopped and stared at her in near disbelief.

*   *   *

Céline stood firm by the door with an outwardly brave expression, but on the inside, she wavered.

Anton was a good leader, and by nature, he was fair-minded. She had nothing to fear from him physically, but he was a warlord from a long line of warlords, and he expected to be obeyed. She’d never openly challenged him like this, and she had no idea what he might do.

“My mother’s people are being held prisoner,” she pressed. “Amelie and I cannot stay here in our safe shop and do nothing.”

She could see the battle taking place behind his eyes. It went against his instincts to allow himself to be drawn back into a discussion he’d already closed.

“Your loyalties are to Sèone and to me,” he said. “What if I need your skills while you are away? Have you thought on that? What if Sèone needs you? This situation in Yegor doesn’t concern us.”

“It concerns me. It concerns Amelie, and it concerns Helga.” She stepped away from the door, closed the small distance between them, and looked up at him. “And how can you say it doesn’t concern you? Do you not hope to be grand prince of this entire nation? Wasn’t your mother from the house of Yegor?”

He sucked in a harsh breath, and she worried she’d gone too far. Anton’s mother had died when he was only eight years old, but her family was from Yegor.

“You may not be one of my soldiers,” he said angrily, “but I gave you my protection and I gave you a livelihood when you had nothing.”

She flinched as if he’d slapped her. Was that what he thought? That she served him out of some sense of necessary gratitude?

“So because you gave us your protection and the apothecary’s shop, our abilities are now to be used
only
in your service? What will you do if we decide to go to Yegor anyway? Will you take the shop from us? Will you order your guards at the gates to detain us? Have we become prisoners here?”

“You asked me for my leave, and I said no!” His voice rose. “There is no need for any of these dramatics. Have I made any threats? Have I threatened to take the shop away or to lock you inside the village? Don’t paint me as some blackheart in all this!”

She whirled, taking quick steps toward the door. “Then we’ll leave in the morning, even if we have to borrow the horses and travel alone. I trust you won’t begrudge loaning three women a few horses!”

Grabbing the door handle, she’d just begun to pull when his hand passed by her head and pushed the door
closed. He stood behind her, holding the door shut, and she turned around to face his chin.

“Céline,” he whispered.

Her anger faded, and she wished she understood him better. “Please, Anton. Amelie and I can do something no one else can, and these are our mother’s people. Let us go to help them.” Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on his chest. “Please.”

“And if I don’t give Jaromir leave to guard you, you’ll go by yourselves? You would do that?”

With her head still pressed against his chest, she nodded. “Yes.”

He sighed in what sounded like
resignation.

The following morning, just before midday, Amelie and Céline were in the shop, making preparations to leave.

Amelie was still somewhat uncertain of the events of the previous day. Apparently, Anton had initially refused to give Jaromir leave, and then somehow Céline had changed his mind in the evening. After that, Jaromir and Helga had begun to plan together, and now the sisters were told to wait for further word.

Amelie couldn’t help feeling somewhat in the dark.

“I thought we’d leave before now,” she said.

“So did I,” Céline answered. “I wish I knew what Jaromir and Helga have been up to.”

As if by way of answer, a loud knock sounded on the door, followed by Helga shouting, “Hurry up! My arms are full!”

Amelie ran to the front door of the shop and opened it. Helga stood on the other side, carrying a pile of clothing—skirts, blouses, and brightly covered scarves.

“What is all that?” Amelie asked in sudden suspicion.

Every time the sisters had been asked to leave Sèone to use their abilities in Anton’s service, Amelie had been forced to play some ridiculous “part” and to dress accordingly. First, she’d had to play a lady of Anton’s court and later, she’d had to pretend to be the daughter of a wealthy merchant. In both cases, she’d been forced to wear a variety of silk gowns.

Now what did Helga have in mind?

“You’ll be rolling into that meadow as Mist-Torn seers from the line of Fawe,” Helga announced, stomping in with her usual energy. “You have to look the parts or you won’t be trusted. The Móndyalítko only trust their own.”

Rolling in? What did that mean?

Worse, Amelie eyed the garments in Helga’s arms. The white peasant blouses looked rather low-cut. “I’m not wearing one of those.”

“Yes, you are,” Helga responded. “Now get those pants off . . . and that dusty jacket.”

Céline had been packing medicinal supplies, but she came over to inspect the clothing. “Helga, it’s not that I disagree with you. I know we won’t be trusted if we’re viewed as outsiders, but won’t that become immediately apparent when we ride into camp with the lieutenant and a small contingent of Sèone soldiers?”

“Yup, you would,” Helga agreed. “That’s why the lieutenant and I came up with something else. He rode out of town early this morning, and he should be back anytime.”

“Back from where?” Amelie asked.

“You’ll see,” Helga answered. “Now come on and
get dressed, girls. I’ll need to help with the sashes and jewelry.”

“Jewelry?” Amelie repeated.

But by now, she knew it was useless to argue with Helga. No matter how much Amelie had protested in the past, Helga always somehow got her laced into what gown was necessary for the ruse they had to play.

Sighing, Amelie pulled off her canvas jacket. “Lock the front door,” she said to Céline.

In a surprisingly short amount of time, Helga had transformed both the sisters.

Céline was dressed in a bright red skirt, a white blouse, and an orange paisley sash tied around her waist. Her ears were pierced, so she wore silver hoops in her ears and a line of loose, dangling bracelets down both wrists.

Amelie wore a bright blue skirt, a white blouse—that was indeed too low-cut—and a yellow sash. As her ears weren’t pierced, Helga had to be satisfied by adorning her with a few silver bracelets.

Then Amelie secured her dagger into a sheath inside her right boot.

Though she’d never admit it, this attire was much more comfortable than the silk gowns she’d been laced into on their last venture. At least she could move and breathe.

Oliver, Céline’s cat, sat on the counter and watched all of this with interest.

“I have several spare blouses for you both,” Helga said.

“What about you?” Amelie challenged. “Don’t you need to look a little more . . . Móndyalítko?”

“I am Móndyalítko,” Helga answered. “Don’t need to worry about looking more like one.”

Amelie was about to press this further when Céline said, “I will need to run down to the blacksmith’s and ask Erin to take care of Oliver while we’re gone. I hate to leave him for so long, though.”

When the sisters traveled, Céline’s friend Erin came to the shop once a day to put out bowls of milk and water for Oliver. He hunted mice and took care of himself for the most part, but Céline feared he might feel abandoned if no one cared for him.

“Bring him along,” Helga said.

“Bring him? How can I possibly do—?”

A sound like rolling wheels could be heard from outside.

“There’s the lieutenant,” Helga said, starting for the door.

Amelie glanced at Céline, who shook her head in puzzlement as the sisters followed Helga.

Upon leaving the shop, Amelie needed a moment to absorb the scene before her.

Two wagons—that looked like small houses—waited out front, each one drawn by a pair of stout horses. The larger wagon in front was painted white with yellow shutters and a red roof. The smaller one in the back was painted blue with tan shutters and a tan roof.

Jaromir was on the front bench of the larger wagon, driving the horses. He set the brake and jumped down.

Amelie took in the sight of him. Gone were his armor, tabard, and sword. He was now dressed in loose
brown pants, a black shirt with an open front, and a canvas vest. She guessed he had knives and daggers hidden up his sleeves and in his boots.

He looked so different, almost rakish, and he flashed her a grin.

“Look at you,” he teased, running his eyes from her feet to her shoulders. “This journey might be more enjoyable than I thought.”

Oh no
, she thought, wondering how Helga would react if she dashed back inside the shop for her pants and jacket.

*   *   *

Céline had barely taken in the sight of the first wagon when she turned her gaze to the second one, and up to the man driving it.

Like Jaromir, he set the brake and jumped down.

“Céline,” he said simply.

She found she couldn’t answer. The man standing before her was tall and tightly muscled. His coal black hair hung down past his collar, and his black eyes searched her face. She would never have described him as handsome. He was . . . beautiful. There was something almost feral about him, as if he didn’t belong inside any four walls.

Marcus Marentõr.

The previous summer, Céline, Amelie, and Jaromir had traveled north to the silver mines of a place called Ryazan. They’d been asked to solve an ugly situation up there for Anton’s father. Some of the soldiers who were overseeing the mines had begun turning into mad wolves.

The sisters had uncovered the mystery, but in the
process, they’d come to know a group of Móndyalítko who’d basically become enslaved there, trapped with no horses to pull their wagons and forced to work in the mines.

Marcus was one of them. He and Céline had come to depend upon each other during that crisis, and as the nights passed, they’d found themselves more and more drawn to each other. But Céline allowed nothing to happen between them. Somehow, for some reason she couldn’t explain, it would have felt disloyal to Anton.

When the time had come to travel home again, Jaromir arranged for the Móndyalítko group to leave that awful place and come to Sèone. They’d been given an abandoned plot of land well outside the walls of the village. It had a cottage and a small barn. The family now worked the land. Half the crops went to Prince Anton, and they kept half to sell or use for their own purposes.

This must have been a difficult adjustment for a group of natural travelers, but they’d been desperate to escape Ryazan and to make a home, and they’d jumped at the offer.

Céline hadn’t seen Marcus since.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

A flicker of surprise passed across his face. Perhaps he’d expected a different greeting.

“The lieutenant asked me,” he answered. “He said you needed a ruse, and that you needed help.”

With that, everything became clear to Céline.

After a night of planning with Helga, Jaromir had ridden out that morning and gone to visit the Marentõrs.
He must have explained what was happening in Yegor and asked to borrow the wagons, horses, and, for some reason, Marcus.

Turning to Jaromir, Céline asked, “What about other guards?”

“Helga says this is better,” he answered “and I agree. Anyone of quality will ignore us, and bandits don’t normally bother with Móndyalítko. Too much trouble for too little reward. But Marcus, Amelie, and I can handle any problems that do arise.”

He sounded so certain.

Céline tried to grasp the change of circumstance. So, just the five of them, she, Amelie, Helga, Jaromir, and Marcus, would be traveling in close quarters all the way to Yegor, and then somehow convince the Móndyalítko there that they were a bonded group who had formed their own family. For some reason she couldn’t name, she didn’t care for the idea of living with Marcus for what might be as long as a month.

As she was about to ask a few more questions, she noticed Helga studying Marcus warily. The aging woman even sniffed the air.

He looked back at her. “Do I know you?”

“How long since you spent a summer in Yegor?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “Four years.”

“I haven’t been in five,” Helga said. “You’d have been young to pay much notice to an old woman like me.”

While that might be an unfair assessment of Marcus, it also might be true. Céline guessed him to be about twenty-five.

He motioned to his chest and said, “Marcus of the family Marentõr.”

Helga nodded back. “Helga of the family Ayres.”

This was the first time Céline had ever heard Helga’s family name.

“Yes, I know of your family,” Marcus said. “You must know mine. My aunt was the great Moira.”

Recognition dawned in Helga’s eyes. “I remember her. Jaromir didn’t say what family he’d brought back from Ryazan.” Still, she continued to study him warily, and Céline wondered what might be wrong.

However, as this did not appear a good time to ask, she didn’t.

Hooves clopping on cobble sounded behind her and she turned around to see a small contingent of guards coming toward them. The men were on foot and the horses were loaded with what looked to be food supplies.

Anton walked in the lead.

Céline hadn’t expected to see him before leaving, and her mind flashed back to a few things they had shouted at each other the night before. She always felt off-kilter in his presence. A part of her wished he hadn’t come, and a part of her wanted to run over to kiss him good-bye.

She remained in place.

He closed the distance and glanced at the first wagon. “Jaromir, have the men load these supplies.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Anton’s eyes moved over Céline’s attire. He didn’t seem pleased. “What are you wearing?”

She tried to sound light. “Helga says we must look the part.”

He had seemed about to respond when he looked beyond her and fell silent. Craning her head, she realized he’d just seen Marcus.

For a long moment, Anton didn’t move.

Tension filled the air, and Céline sought to break it. “My lord, this is Marcus Marentõr. He’s one of the Móndyalítko we brought back from Ryazan.”

Anton glanced down at her. “Is this the man who helped you there?”

“Yes, he was very helpful in our success,” she answered carefully.

Marcus looked between her and Anton, but he didn’t say anything. Marcus wasn’t normally much of a talker.

For a moment, Anton’s face hardened to the point that Céline feared he was about to change his mind and rescind his permission. She hoped he would not. This would all be much easier with his grudging support.

Instead, he half turned to watch the guards passing bags of food up to Jaromir and Amelie—who were both now on the roof of the smaller wagon. Marcus noticed this, too, and he moved to help, jumping up to the bench and then swinging to the roof with ease.

“Helga and Jaromir say that we must be trusted by the Móndyalítko being held in the meadow,” Céline explained to Anton. “I think they were up half the night formulating this plan. Poor Jaromir has been rather shy on sleep.”

“He seems fine today,” Anton answered tightly.

She didn’t want to leave things like this. “Don’t be angry. Don’t say good-bye in anger. We only want to do what’s right.”

“And how do you know what’s right?”

“My heart and head tell me at the same time.”

He breathed out softly. “I would keep you here if I could, but I won’t stop you from going, and I won’t let you go unprotected.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. You have my hands tied.”

The supplies were loaded and secured.

Jaromir climbed down, and Amelie followed him. Marcus climbed to the bench and took up the reins.

“I’ll drive the first wagon,” Jaromir said to Anton. “The women can ride inside.”

“You think this is safe?” Anton asked him. “With no guards, and no men except you and one Móndyalítko?”

“We have Amelie, too,” Jaromir returned. “She almost took me down once. We’ll be fine, my lord. I’ll make good time and bring the sisters back as soon as I can.”

Unhappy, but resigned, Anton stepped away. “And yourself, too. Keep yourself safe.”

“Yes, my lord.”

With that, Jaromir opened the door to the larger wagon. Céline remembered that when the wagons were camped, a small set of steps was always placed behind the door. Now they were missing, and the bottom of the doorway was several feet off the ground. Turning, Jaromir grasped Helga by the waist and lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Amelie scrambled up and inside on her own.

Céline wanted to grasp Anton’s hand but didn’t.

“I do thank you,” she said to him, “and I promise to return as quickly as possible.” Looking back toward the shop, she said, “Oh, wait. I have to get Oliver.”

Helga’s earlier words made sense now. They would be taking their home with them, so Oliver could ride along. Hurrying back inside, she scooped him off the counter and came out with him in both arms. Anton came over to close the door behind her.

“Can you carry him?” he asked.

Oliver was indeed a large cat. His tail nearly stretched down to her knees. “Yes, I have him.”