by Barb Hendee
“For once you’re right,” Damek hissed at him. “I don’t need help from you. I can complete this marriage on my own, and then through my connection to the house of Äntes, I’ll rise far beyond what you could ever hope for.”
“We can’t leave,” Céline said quietly. “Two people dying for lack of air . . . for no apparent reason at the dinner table cannot be a coincidence. I don’t know how these murders are being done, but there is a killer in this castle, and it seems to me that young Lizbeth is right. Someone is attempting to stop the marriage.” She looked to Damek. “After Carlotta died, who took over negotiations for Rochelle’s dowry?”
He paused a moment and calmed slightly before answering, “Lord Hamish. He was actually easier to deal with than Carlotta, and we had almost come to terms.”
“And then Lord Hamish died,” Céline finished.
She took a glance at Amelie and knew her sister well enough to see that Amelie was practically bursting to speak to her alone, but she didn’t think Anton or Damek would pay much attention to Amelie’s partially veiled expression of desperation. After all, they had just witnessed a death. Anyone might show some distress.
Anton ran his hands through his hair, and Céline could see that in spite of what she’d said, he was still considering packing up.
“If the goal is indeed to stop the marriage from taking place,” she went on, “then Lady Helena’s announcement tonight will only drive the killer to further action. Anton, what if he . . . or she decides to murder Rochelle next? Or Damek? How will that look to your father if you’ve already abandoned the scene?”
Damek and Anton both tensed at her words, and Damek said, “Murder me?”
Had that not occurred to him?
Céline didn’t answer and let her words sink in for a few moments.
Finally, Damek glared at her as if she was to blame. “And what is it you think you can do?”
“Amelie and I need to work up a list of people with possible motives, and then you need to back us absolutely should we ask to read someone.”
“I have no authority over Rochelle’s family or their guards,” he answered.
“I know,” she answered. “Let us worry about them, but if I ask, you’ll give the order regarding anyone else?”
His eyes were still manic. “You think you can root out this killer?”
She shrugged, and it seemed that expectations for all forms of scraping and deference and calling Damek “my lord” had gone out the window. “We’ve done it before. Ask your father.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “Make your list and I’ll give you a free hand, but I want this finished quickly, do you understand?”
“You’ll need to string along the marriage negotiations,” Anton put in. “As Céline said, if you rush it, you or Rochelle could become a target. Perhaps we should even say that the wedding is postponed?”
“No!” Damek closed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Perhaps. I need to think.”
“The sisters will need some time to put a list together,” Anton said as he started for the door, motioning Amelie and Céline to follow. “I suggest we discuss further plans from there.”
With his eyes still closed, Damek nodded. “Yes, now get out.”
* * *
At long last, Amelie finally found herself at the door of their own room. Anton and Rurik had walked with them from Damek’s chambers on the other side of the castle.
“We’re in the room right next door if you need anything,” Anton said.
“Yes, thank you,” Céline answered. “Try to get some rest.”
Without even waiting to say good night to the men, Amelie pushed the door of their own room open and went inside. Helga was there, amidst several glowing candle lanterns. She stood near the dressing table, arranging food on a tray: bread, ham, cheese, and steaming mugs.
Amelie was actually glad to see her. For some reason, Helga made the most bizarre situations feel normal.
“There you are,” Helga said. “I was starting to worry after I heard another one of the hoity-toity had dropped dead at the table. But I figured dinner might be canceled.”
“Oh, Helga,” she said. “Will you get me out of this ridiculous gown? I can barely breathe.”
As she turned to offer her back to Helga, Céline entered and closed the door.
“Amelie, I think you have a good deal to tell us,” Céline said.
“Yes, I don’t even know where to begin. Just let me get out of this gown.”
As Helga deftly unlaced the back of the burgundy silk, Amelie reveled in taking a long breath of air. Then she remembered the weapons strapped to her wrists and came to a decision.
“Céline . . . ,” she began, sloughing the gown off her shoulders and letting it fall. She held out her arms. “Jaromir gave me these before we left Sèone. He told me to keep them a secret, but I’m tired of hiding them every time I change clothes. Don’t ask me to take them off, because I won’t.”
“Why would you think I’d ask you to take them off?”
“I don’t know . . . for the ruse, I suppose. We’re supposed to be from a family of wealthy merchants.”
Mildly affronted, Céline said, “Well, you needn’t worry. I won’t ask you to take them off. Not after tonight anyway. Now tell me what you know about Lady Saorise . . . and how you know it.”
“You girls come and have something to eat first,” Helga said, dropping Amelie’s gown on the bed. “I know you’ve not had supper.”
“In a moment,” Amelie said, thinking where she might best start here. “Céline . . . first, you should know that Johanna is Damek’s mistress, and I don’t mean some servant girl he forces into his bed now and then. When I read her, I saw a scene of the night before Rochelle’s arrival, and Johanna was threatening to leave him. Damek told her his marriage would change nothing between them, and then she said she loved him.”
“Oh . . . my,” Céline said, walking over and sitting down on the bed. “You’re certain? There’s no way you could have misinterpreted what you saw?”
“It was clear. But I couldn’t expose her downstairs. You can only imagine what would have happened.”
“No, of course you were quite right.” Céline’s brow furrowed. “But that puts Johanna’s name at the top of the list. She has a motive.”
Amelie nodded. Now came the difficult part. “And the Lady Saorise . . . brace yourself . . .” She trailed off, struggling for the right words, and decided to just spit it out. “She created the elixir that turned all those soldiers into wolf-beasts up on Ryazan. She’s some kind of sorceress.”
“What?” Céline gasped, standing.
Helga stopped slicing cheese and turned from the dressing table. “A kettle witch? Here?”
That was Helga’s term for anyone who practiced magic who’d not been born with a special gift as one of the Mist-Torn. But it was hardly helpful now.
On the sisters’ last journey, up to the silver mines in Ryazan, they’d been engaged to discover why the soldiers there were turning into great, mad wolves. In the end, Amelie had done a reading of the man responsible, and when she looked into his past, she’d seen him with the Lady Saorise and Damek.
Saorise had used the blood of a dead Móndyalítko shape-shifter—who’d been killed for this purpose—and several body parts from a dead wolf to make an elixir. This was all part of an experiment Damek had wanted to try, but Saorise had helped willingly and shown not the slightest concern over causing suffering or death.
Amelie had explained some of this to Céline last summer, but she’d never described Lady Saorise or mentioned the name. There didn’t seem to be a need.
Céline looked to Helga. “I don’t know much about . . . Saorise would need to be quite skilled in order to make such a powerful elixir?”
Helga nodded. “I should say so. Move her to the top of your list.”
“But what motive could she have?” Céline asked. “She’s highly placed here, but her power is dependent on Damek’s po
wer. She’d want him to marry into royal connections.”
That was true.
“She did seem awfully sure that wine hadn’t been poisoned, and she didn’t hesitate to drink it,” Amelie put in. “If she’d used some kind of . . . spell to murder Hamish, she’d have known beforehand that the wine was safe.”
“Yes, but she tasted a drop with her finger first. Perhaps she has knowledge of herb lore. Had Anton allowed me to do that, I could have told you if there was something more in the wine.”
All three women went silent for a moment.
“Motive or not,” Helga said, “I’d put her on your list.”
“Yes,” Céline said, turning back to business. “Of course.” She reached out and touched Amelie’s hand. “You’ve done well.”
It embarrassed Amelie how much she liked hearing her sister’s praise. For much of her life, Amelie had longed to be useful at something besides being good in a knife fight, and now she finally was.
“Two other people worth watching are that Captain Maddox and Captain Kochè,” Céline continued. “Maddox never takes his eyes off Rochelle, and he looks lovesick to me. And Captain Kochè glares at her.”
“Really?” Amelie asked. “I hadn’t noticed. All right. We’ll see what we can find out.” She paused. “Helga, do you think you might learn anything from the other servants? Might they gossip?”
“Maybe,” Helga grunted. “I can try.”
“We can’t discount the family, either,” Céline said. “One thing that truly puzzles me is why the killer hasn’t targeted Rochelle or Damek. If someone wished to stop the wedding cold, wouldn’t they kill the bride or groom?”
“I know,” Amelie agreed. “I wondered about that, too.”
“Lizbeth is the most outspoken,” Céline said, “and she was also the first one tonight to insist the family leave. Heath backed her up, but she spoke first. She seems fond of her two siblings, and Rochelle is too gentle-natured to argue with her mother or uncle. If someone tried to force you to marry Damek . . . I’m afraid I might be willing to kill in order to stop it.”
Amelie glanced away. She’d certainly kill to protect Céline from such a fate—but she wouldn’t do it by poison or arcane means.
“And what about the bride . . . this Rochelle?” Helga asked. “Is she truly so gentle? Could it be an act? What if she’s trying to save herself?”
Amelie sighed. Perhaps they were trying to make too much progress in a single night?
As if reading her face, Céline drew her over to the dressing table. “That’s enough speculation for now. Let’s eat a little and get some sleep. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”
“What about Anton and Rurik’s supper?” Amelie asked. “Is someone going to feed them?”
“Don’t you worry,” Helga answered. “Rurik knows what to do. He’ll make sure the prince eats.”
With some relief, Amelie reached for a cup of tea. It was probably cold by now, but she didn’t care.
* * *
Late in the night, Céline lay awake in the bed she shared with Amelie.
Her sister was fast asleep, and Helga snored loudly as she lay on a palette on the floor. Though Céline longed for sleep, she couldn’t stop trying to reason out how the deaths of Carlotta and Hamish had been arranged.
Amelie’s news about the Lady Saorise was unsettling.
Could the victims have been murdered via some sort of spell? Even if so, there was no guarantee that it had been Saorise. Céline knew nothing of Rochelle or her family or their guards. Any one of them could have knowledge of the arcane arts.
If a spell had been cast, how much time would it need to take effect? Carlotta and Hamish had both died within moments of sitting down at the table—before the food had even been served. Where had everyone been standing just before dinner was announced?
Closing her eyes, Céline tried to re-create the scene in her mind . . . to place everyone, to try to remember who had been engaged in conversation and who had not. Amelie’s reading of Johanna had brought most of the party nearer to the table.
Céline herself had been near Lizbeth, but she had not been watching the girl. Damek had been near Rochelle. Beyond that . . . lying there in the bed, Céline couldn’t place everyone. She would probably need to be standing in the great hall for her memory to accurately re-create the scene.
As that thought passed through her head, she opened her eyes.
No . . . not at this hour, she told herself.
But then again, what time would possibly be better? Everyone would be asleep except perhaps a few Kimovesk guards on night duty. They were no danger to her. Damek had made sure of that. She would have all the time she needed to stand alone in the great hall and use it as a visual guide to re-create the events before everyone sat down. The more she considered this, the more it seemed her best course of action.
It was an odd thought that she would be safe walking around at night inside the home of Anton’s enemy . . . but she would. There was no one here who wished her any harm. Of course there was a killer somewhere in the castle, but as of yet, Céline was no threat to him or her, and Céline had no part in the marriage negotiations.
She would be risking nothing by going below and trying to set a few things straight in her mind. Anton was desperate to get this solved as quickly as possible, and she was willing to try almost anything to make that happen.
Quietly, she crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the wardrobe, which was cracked but not open. Thankfully, the hinges were oiled and after pulling open one door, she lifted out a wool gown that laced up the front.
In moments, she had it on. Then she pulled on the silk shoes she’d been wearing earlier.
Amelie had not stirred, and Helga hadn’t ceased her snoring.
Céline slipped from the room and out into the passageway. Closing the door, she breathed in relief. The passage was empty, and she hurried for the stairs. Upon reaching the main floor of the castle, she peered out of the stairwell down the long passage to the great hall.
She saw no one.
If she ran into any of the Kimovesk guards, she would simply tell them she was unable to sleep and had decided to try a walk. They were under orders to treat her as a guest, and they feared Damek a good deal more than they might wish to interfere with her.
Though the passage along the backside of the castle seemed longer than it had earlier in the evening, she walked it swiftly and emerged into the great hall. The fire was dead, and the hall was now deserted—as expected. A few low-burning braziers on the walls provided light.
She stepped in slowly until she stood in the same spot she’d been in only moments before Master Lionel came to inform Damek that dinner was about to be served. Looking around, she tried to set the scene in her mind.
First, closing her eyes, she attempted to hear the voices of who had been speaking and who had been silent.
If someone had turned away from the group to do . . . something to set Hamish’s death into motion, who might that person have been?
Johanna had been walking away from Amelie.
Rochelle had been standing near Damek.
Captain Maddox had been near the wall—and no one had been observing him.
Where had the Lady Saorise been standing? Had she been engaged in a conversation?
“Céline?”
She opened her eyes. Prince Damek and two guards in black tabards stood just inside the west entrance. Damek was still fully dressed, wearing the same clothes from dinner with the sheathed dagger at his hip.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, coming closer.
Suddenly, she was embarrassed. She’d thought him long asleep. She must look rather a fool standing there alone in the great hall at this hour.
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep and thought to try and re-create where everyone had been standing just before . . . before . . .” She trailed off.
He didn’t appear to even hear her words. Then he was directly in fro
nt of her.
“You are alone?” he asked in what sounded like disbelief. His eyes glinted.
Though his manner was unsettling, she wasn’t afraid. At present, he needed her skills and abilities, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his impending marriage.
Looking over one shoulder, he ordered his guards, “Get out.”
Both men turned on their heel and strode out of the hall the way they’d come.
Though she still wasn’t frightened, something about this alarmed Céline enough that she took a few steps backward. “I only sought to get a few things straight in my mind. Again, my apologies. I should be in my room.”
In a flash, he cut off her exit, not touching her, but neither would he let her move past him.
“You’re my brother’s pet, aren’t you?” he whispered. “I can see it when he looks at you . . . when he speaks of you.”
The glinting in his eyes grew brighter, and Céline tried to step around him. “My lord, if you please—”
He cut her off again, and for the first time, fear began creeping into the pit of her stomach. He was staring at her as if he’d somehow come across an unexpected treasure.
“His pet, aren’t you?” It was cold in the hall, but a few drops of sweat trickled down his temples. “Do you bring him comfort at night? Does he tell you his secrets?”
Now she could see madness behind the glint, and she bolted, dashing around him and running for the east archway. Before she’d gone three steps, something wrenched on her hair, and she was pulled at a rapid pace toward the wall.
The next thing she knew, he had her back against the wall, and he held her there.
Fighting for calm, she searched for anything she might say to make him stop. “I was brought here to ensure your marriage to a member of the royal family. Have you forgotten that?”
His body shook several times, and as his eyes bored into hers, she could see what looked to be a war taking place. A part of him had heard her, but another part couldn’t seem to stop.