Mist-Torn Witches 03:Witches With the Enemy

by Barb Hendee

  “So pretty,” he whispered, touching her face. “Would he still care for you if you weren’t so pretty?”

  One of his fingernails raked down her cheek, and she couldn’t help crying out and trying to push him away. He gasped in pleasure at her struggles, and when she got another look at his face, all semblance of reason was gone. He did not seem to see her. From the twisted words he’d been speaking, she realized he only saw something Anton cared for.

  Was that Damek’s sickness? A need to hurt or destroy whatever Anton cared for? Did he need to feed this hunger enough to ruin himself?

  In terror, she realized that she was nothing to him in this moment. Nothing. He only wanted to cause Anton pain.

  Leaning down, he brushed his face against the side of hers. “Push at me again,” he whispered. “Or scream.” One of his hands moved down her side, and he gripped her rib cage, pressing with his thumb. “We have all night.”

  Wild fear coursed through her. He cared nothing for anyone else’s life, he enjoyed inflicting fear, and he seemed to have utterly lost himself. When she did not push at him or scream, he nuzzled her face again and took the lobe of her ear in his teeth.

  He started to bite down.

  At this, she pushed and struggled, knowing she was doing exactly what he wanted, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “My lord, please!”

  And then . . . he was wrenched off her.

  Céline stumbled forward into empty air, and when she somehow stopped herself from falling and looked up, she saw Anton standing a few paces from Damek.

  Damek appeared dazed, as if trying to understand what had just happened.

  Anton was only partially dressed, in a loose shirt and pants. His feet were bare, but he gripped a dagger in his right hand. This confused Céline. Anton didn’t carry a dagger.

  Damek’s eyes cleared slightly, and his right hand shot down for the sheath at his hip.

  The sheath was empty.

  The skin over Anton’s cheekbones drew back, and he launched forward, slamming Damek against the wall. Anton’s face was a mask of rage. He shoved his left forearm against Damek’s throat, pinning his brother’s head.

  In equal rage, Damek tried to shove back . . . with no effect. Anton held him there and then pressed the point of the dagger low against Damek’s abdomen. Céline stood frozen, watching.

  She didn’t even recognize Anton. The prince she knew was gone, replaced by a stranger.

  He spoke directly into Damek’s ear. “If you ever touch her again . . . I don’t mean if you hurt her. I mean if you touch her. I will cut you from your groin to your rib cage, and then I’ll drag you down to that little room we both know, and I’ll lock you inside. If anyone asks me where you are, I’ll tell them I don’t know, and I’ll leave you there in the dark to die over the next two days.”

  Horror passed through Damek’s eyes, and he struggled to breathe with Anton’s forearm straining against his throat.

  “Do you believe me?” Anton asked.

  No answer came, and it was possible Damek couldn’t speak.

  “Nod if you believe me,” Anton said.

  Damek tried to nod.

  With one last shove against his brother’s throat, Anton stepped back, still holding the dagger. “Céline, go into the passage,” he ordered.

  She ran for the east archway. Once inside the passage, she kept running for a few moments, and then she stopped and turned. Anton was striding after her, carrying the dagger.

  She waited.

  About ten paces away, he halted. His face was so tight and his eyes were so hard, she still barely recognized him.

  “What were you doing down here?” he demanded.

  Her body was shaking, and she couldn’t stop it, and he was in no state to listen to rational explanations, so she just stood there.

  “I told you not to walk alone,” he said, his voice ragged. “There’s something broken in Damek, and he can’t stop himself once he . . . Do you understand what would have happened if I hadn’t . . . if I hadn’t . . . ?” He lifted the dagger and looked at it. Then he threw it across the passage.

  When he turned back to Céline, the anger in his face was gone, replaced by pain, and he held one arm out to her. She ran to him.

  He gripped her with both arms and pulled her tight against his chest. She was still shaking.

  “Nothing like that will ever happen again. I swear. I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he said, holding her tighter. “Do you believe me?”

  With her face pressed into his shoulder, she nodded. In that moment, she did believe him.

  “How did you find me?” she whispered. “How did you know to look for me? I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was. Rochelle came and knocked on my door, asking permission to seek your help. It seems Lady Helena’s brave face took a bad turn in the night when it finally hit her that her brother is dead. She’s overwrought, and Rochelle hoped you could help. I went to get you . . . and found you gone. I ordered Rurik and Amelie to see if you’d gone to the kitchen, and I came here.”

  “Oh.” With a rush of guilt that people had been looking for her, Céline pulled away from him. He let her go. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Does Lady Helena still need help?” she asked.

  “I would think so.”

  With nothing else to say, they started back toward the east tower. Anton left the dagger where it lay. Céline assumed Damek had gone out the west archway of the hall and back to his own rooms, but she didn’t care to think about him at all.

  * * *

  Upon reaching her room, Céline managed to put off an immediate scolding from Helga. Neither Rurik nor Amelie was there yet—as they were both still looking for Céline.

  “Please just do what you can to let them know she has been found,” Anton interjected, leaving Helga sputtering.

  Céline quickly found her box of medicinal supplies, and Anton took her back to the stairs.

  “The family has rooms in this tower as well,” he explained, “one floor above.”

  They hurried up one flight of stairs and as Céline stepped off the landing, she could see Captain Maddox and Heath both pacing in the passage, outside an open door.

  Céline went right to them, with Anton on her heels.

  “How is Lady Helena?” she asked.

  Maddox remained silent and grim; perhaps he expected Heath to respond.

  Heath shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. Rochelle and Lizbeth are with her.”

  That wasn’t exactly an answer, but Céline moved past him into the guest room. Inside, Lizbeth stood near the open door, with a blue cloak thrown over the top of her shift, looking lost and helpless. Rochelle was across the room, kneeling on the floor, wearing nothing but a white shift and a shawl.

  “Please, Mother,” she said, “come back to the bed.”

  Lady Helena was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, her knees in her chest, and her face in her hands, whispering inaudible words. She also wore nothing but a shift. Rochelle must have heard Céline’s entrance, because she looked over her shoulder, and her expression melted into relief.

  “Miss Céline, can you do anything for her? She is distraught.”

  Céline walked over and dropped down, opening her box. “When did this start?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t exactly know. Lizbeth and I are sharing a room across the hall. Mother seemed fine when we went to bed. Of course she was troubled, but she was in control. I woke up to the sound of loud weeping, and I came in here, and I found her . . . like this, and she has not moved. I thought about asking Captain Maddox to lift her back into the bed, but I didn’t know if that would be the right thing to do.”

  “You were wise,” Céline assured her, reaching into her box and pulling out a bottle filled with a milky white substance.

  “What is that?” Lizbeth asked from near the door.

  “It’s poppy syrup,” Céline answered. �
��Your mother is in shock, and she needs to relax and sleep. When she wakes, she should be more herself again.”

  Céline opened the bottle and poured a wooden spoonful.

  “My lady,” she said gently. “Can you drink this for me?”

  Helena took her hands away from her face and looked at Céline without recognition. With her hair down, the aging noblewoman seemed younger somehow.

  “He was all I had left,” Helena whispered. “I know he drank too much and sported with women too young for him, but he was all I had.”

  “No, Mother,” Rochelle said, sounding hurt. “You have us. You have your children.”

  “All I had,” Helena whispered again.

  “My lady, please drink this,” Céline said, and thankfully, Helena swallowed the spoonful.

  She continued to mumble sorrow-filled words over the loss of her brother, but soon, the opium-laced liquid took effect, and she grew sleepy. Finally, Céline and Rochelle were able to help her back to bed, where she closed her eyes.

  “Oh, thank you,” Rochelle said to Céline. “I didn’t know what to . . . Oh, you’re hurt. Your face is bleeding.”

  Céline’s cheek had been stinging where Damek had used his fingernail, but she’d been too occupied to notice much. After touching her cheek, her finger came away covered in blood. “It’s nothing. I was careless and scratched myself.”

  Rochelle looked back to her sleeping mother. “I’ll stay with her. Lizbeth, you should go back to bed.”

  Céline turned her head toward Lizbeth. “Do you think you could sleep?”

  Wordlessly, the girl nodded, but she seemed so lost and distressed, nothing like the feisty creature from earlier this evening.

  Céline stood and went to her. “Come with me.”

  Lizbeth allowed Céline to usher her outside into the passage where Anton, Heath, and Maddox waited.

  “Lady Helena is sleeping now,” Céline told the men.

  Heath closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll see Lizbeth back to bed,” Céline finished, heading across the passage with the silent girl.

  Lizbeth opened a door and stepped inside.

  Céline followed, went right to the bed, and pulled the covers back. “You should take that cloak off and come crawl under these blankets.”

  Like a child, the girl obeyed her and even let Céline pull up the coverlet to tuck her in.

  “I didn’t want to be right,” Lizbeth said, her eyes bleak.

  “About what?”

  “About Carlotta having been murdered. I know I said that to you, but I didn’t want to be right.”

  Céline sat on the edge of the bed. “Of course you didn’t. You were a brave girl to speak up. Don’t be afraid to say what you think when lives are at stake.”

  Some color returned to Lizbeth’s face, and she rested on her pillow.

  “Will you stay here until I fall asleep?” she asked.

  “Yes.” On impulse, Céline leaned down and kissed her on her forehead. The poor girl seemed to need some mothering. “Close your eyes.”

  A few moments later, Lizbeth was sleeping, and Céline stood and slipped out the door. Anton was waiting there to walk her back to her own room.

  * * *

  Near dawn, Anton lay in his bed, still unable to sleep. Rurik slept quietly on a pallet on the floor. Upon returning Céline to her own room earlier, he’d had some unwanted unpleasantness with Rurik and Amelie both demanding that Céline explain herself, but Anton was near the end of his self-control, and he’d squelched their questions and ordered everyone to bed—technically leaving Céline to deal with Amelie on her own.

  Then he and Rurik had gone to their own room and fallen onto their respective beds in exhaustion. Anton had been lying awake since.

  I attacked my brother.

  The phrase continued to roll over and over in his mind, and he couldn’t keep up with the emotions that accompanied this inescapable reality: triumph, a sense of freedom, guilt, betrayal, relief . . . and then back to guilt.

  His history and connection to Damek were too long and too complicated for anyone else to understand. Perhaps that was always the way with siblings?

  When they were boys, their father had seemed like a god. As a warlord from a long line of warlords, Prince Lieven was a good father in the sense that he saw to his sons’ education. Tutors were brought in to teach writing and mathematics. Prince Lieven made sure the boys spoke fluent Stravinan and Belaskian so they would never need to depend upon a translator in discussions with neighboring nations. Both boys could ride almost as soon as they could walk. They had a sword master, and Lieven himself drilled them on military history. He might have been a taskmaster, but their father wanted them prepared for their place in the world.

  Their mother, the Lady Bethany, of the house of Yegor . . . she gave them love.

  Anton’s mother had been married to their father when she was only sixteen. Lieven had been a good deal older, but had finally gotten around to seeking a bride. The Lady Bethany was small and sweet-tempered, with a round face and a mass of chestnut-colored hair, and she never seemed to age. When Anton was quite young, he never fully understood that she was the wall between him and everything else.

  By the time Anton was five, Damek had already begun small cruelties against him.

  Once their father brought them each a tunic from Enêmûsk, and Anton had puffed with pride. The tunic made him feel manly, and he was so pleased to receive it. Before he had a chance to wear it even once, he found it shredded to pieces on his bed.

  A moon later, one of their tutors had praised Anton’s handwriting, and Anton had beamed. Praise was rare in their world. Later that day, when he went to his room, he found that all his quills had been snapped into pieces, and someone had taken his entire supply of ink and poured it all over the floor.

  Anton knew who had done these things.

  But after every incident, his mother had come to him and cleaned up the mess. She’d comforted him and promised him a new tunic or new quills. Something about her dependable kindness made Damek’s cruelties seem smaller.

  Three years passed, and when Anton was eight years old, his father announced that he was taking Lady Bethany and the boys on a journey. Anton was so pleased by this news, he could barely contain himself.

  The family home was Castle Pählen, and he’d barely set foot outside the courtyard except for riding practice. Prince Lieven owned other properties, and he’d decided on a trip to take stock of the new vassal he’d assigned to Castle Kimovesk.

  Damek had taken note of Anton’s excitement and frowned at him.

  Although the journey took less than a day, it was tiring for Anton—though he never complained. He rode his pony proudly beside his mother’s horse and remained determined to see and hear every new sight and sound.

  On their arrival, the castle itself struck him as a disappointment, nothing so grand as their home, but he and Damek ate dinner in the great hall with the adults and this made him feel quite grown-up.

  The next afternoon, Damek came and asked him if he wanted to go exploring. Since Damek never invited Anton to play at anything, Anton jumped at the invitation. He wanted his brother to like him. He wanted them to be friends.

  For the next hour, Damek behaved like a brother, and the two boys visited with some of the guards and were even allowed to walk the castle wall. Then Damek picked up a lantern and suggested they go down to look at the old prison located beneath the great hall.

  Anton was enjoying himself so much, he followed his brother like a puppy. Damek led him through the castle to a stairwell leading down. Most of the villages had their own jails, and as the house of Pählen had been at peace with the other houses for some time now, the old prison at Kimovesk was no longer used.

  As the boys emerged into what had once been the guardroom, Anton began to regret his agreement to come down here. The place smelled dank, and to him, it felt . . . sad. He walked through the guardroom and looked down a pa
ssage at the doors to the cells, and he thought about the past people who’d been locked away here.

  “Let’s go back upstairs,” he said to Damek.

  “In a moment. I came down earlier by myself and found something. I want you to see it.”

  Damek had come down earlier? Anton followed his brother down the passage between the cells, and at the end was a small door. Damek opened it.

  “Come and look in here.”

  Anton wondered what there might possibly be to see, but he obeyed his brother and walked over to peer inside. He saw nothing but darkness.

  Then he was shoved from behind, and he heard a loud click. After that, he heard nothing, and he saw nothing. He was alone inside the room. It was pitch-black, and the door had been closed.

  “Damek?” he called in confusion.

  No one answered.

  In panic, Anton ran for where he guessed the door must be, and he found it, but it was locked from the outside. He pounded and shouted, still believing this to be some sort of mistake.

  Again, no one answered, and no one opened the door. He had never been afraid like this in his life. He had no idea how large or small the room might be . . . or what might be in here with him.

  “Damek!”

  During the rest of the day and the night he spent in that room, he had no sense of the passage of time. He remembered becoming thirsty, and then his thirst became torture so that he could no longer call for help. After a while, his mind began to play tricks on him, and he imagined unseen things coming at him from the darkness.

  At some point, he believed he would die in here . . . of thirst.

  Then he heard a clicking sound, and the door opened, and Damek stood on the other side, holding a lantern.

  “You can come out now,” Damek said.

  With his throat so dry he couldn’t speak or weep with relief, Anton stumbled out the door.

  “Father thinks you’ve gone missing,” Damek said. “He’s had a search going. I told him you were last seen walking on the wall, as we were playing up there, and that I ran to get us some apples and then could not find you when I got back. So no one has thought to look down here. When you and I go up, I’ll say that you were a fool and came down here and managed to lock yourself in. I will say I saved you.” He leaned closer. “If you say anything else, I’ll call you out as a liar, and Father will believe me.”