Mist-Torn Witches 03:Witches With the Enemy

by Barb Hendee

  The tragedy was that Damek was right, and their father would not be able to accept the truth of what really happened down here. It was unthinkable.

  Later, Anton learned that Damek had left him in that room from one afternoon to the next.

  But that day, he was taken to his bed and fed water and broth so that he might recover.

  When his mother came to him, her eyes were sad. She sent all the servants away and sat down on the bed.

  “Did Damek do this to you?”

  He began to weep. At least his mother knew.

  “Why?” Anton asked. “Why would he do this?”

  She gripped his hand. “Listen to me carefully. Your brother is jealous because you can feel things he cannot. He cannot take joy from a new tunic or from the praise of a tutor. He cannot . . . love in the way that you do, and so he seeks to hurt you for it. There is something broken inside him, and I fear he cannot help himself from trying to punish you. I never thought he would go so far.”

  “Can I tell Father?”

  “No, that is the one thing you can never do. Your father respects only strength, and he would see your complaints as weakness. I would see you raised high, my Anton, and for this, you must have your father’s respect.”

  She leaned over and pressed a cool rag to his forehead. “But I will watch your brother. He knows I love him well, and I will speak to him gently on this matter. I promise to put a stop to these cruelties.”

  In relief, Anton closed his eyes, finally able to rest in the knowledge that his mother would protect him.

  And she did.

  The family went home to Castle Pählen, and for the next three months, Anton did not suffer from a single incident instigated by his brother. His mother often touched Damek on the back or hugged him and called him her “sweet boy,” and it seemed to Anton that Damek was striving to be the person she saw.

  Then, one night at dinner, she looked queer and could not eat any food.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” she said to Prince Lieven. “I am not well. May I retire to my rooms?”

  Their father stood, as such a request was unusual from their mother. “Of course,” he said. “Do you need a physician?”

  “No, just some rest, I think.” She was holding her right side.

  Before the middle of night, she was in agony, and by morning, she was dead. One of the serving women explained to Anton and Damek that their mother had been taken by something called the rupture, where an organ in her right side had burst and there had been nothing anyone could do to save her.

  Anton was numb, in shock, but that proved a good thing, as their father made it clear he would brook no tears from two princes of Pählen.

  The boys were allowed to see their mother’s body laid out before burial, and Damek stood, stone-faced, staring down at her. Even then, Anton, who had depended so heavily on his mother, understood the depth of Damek’s loss.

  Damek reached down and touched her face. “Now she will never love me as she should have.”

  Stunned, Anton blurted out, “She did love you!”

  Damek’s eyes narrowed as he looked up. “She loved you more. Everyone loves you more.”

  A coldness settled in the pit of Anton’s stomach.

  The following month came the day that Prince Lieven bought the boys their first puppies . . . and Anton came to love his dog Arrow so much. On that night, later, when Damek had arrived at Anton’s room, displaying brotherly affection, Anton had so wanted to believe in it.

  But after that, Anton never let himself hope again, and over the following years, Damek seemed to take his only real pleasure in destroying or sending away anything or anyone that Anton cared for. Sometimes Anton wondered what would have happened if their mother had lived. Could she have saved Damek?

  He never forgot her saying that there was something broken inside Damek and that he could not help himself.

  Anton never told Prince Lieven of a single cruel act of Damek’s.

  He never would.

  And yet tonight . . . on this night inside Castle Kimovesk, he had rammed his brother’s head into a wall and threatened him with a dagger. For the first time, he was the one who had not been able to stop himself.

  When he’d seen Damek gripping Céline and biting her ear, something inside him snapped.

  A part of him regretted his loss of control, but at the same time, Anton knew without a doubt that he was capable of carrying out the threat he’d made to his brother . . . and of never looking back.

  Chapter Seven

  By midmorning the next day, Céline and Amelie were still in their room, but they’d formed a plan of action and decided that the first thing they needed to do was learn more about the dynamics of the family. After some discussion, they felt it might be unwise to go downstairs and ask permission to begin reading people like Captain Maddox or Johanna, as this might inadvertently—and incorrectly—shift blame.

  Once the sisters knew a little more about the family, they would gain a better understanding of who indeed might have a reason to go to such lengths to stop the impending wedding.

  “I think we must divide and conquer,” Céline said. “I’ll start with Lizbeth. She might be open with me. You try your luck with Heath. He seemed quite taken with you last night before . . . well, before his uncle died.”

  Amelie made a face. “He was not taken with me. I was simply one of the few people in the room who spoke to him.”

  Yes, poor Heath. He’d seemed so unable to assert himself. His uncle had been condescending, and his mother ignored him for the most part. Only his sisters seemed to welcome his company.

  Helga pulled two wool dresses from the wardrobe, one brown and the other dark purple. “You two should wear somber colors today.”

  Céline agreed, and she took the brown dress. Although the Quillette women had been wearing bright colors last night, the family would be in double mourning now. Somber colors might be best.

  “And no wandering off by yourself today!” Helga ordered. “I never thought you such a fool.”

  “Don’t start,” Céline warned.

  Amelie glanced over but managed to keep quiet. There had been quite a scene last night upon her returning to this room, with Amelie demanding answers and Helga raising a fuss. Céline had decided to tell them the truth about what had happened . . . thinking they should both be better warned about Damek. But she had played down the danger to herself and the swiftness of Anton’s arrival, and then she’d asked them both not to bring it up again.

  Amelie took the dark purple dress and laced it up, pulling the sleeves down over her sheathed weapons.

  Céline laced the front of her own gown and brushed her hair. The scratch on her cheek was still red, but it had stopped bleeding.

  “I’m starving,” Amelie announced.

  Céline was hungry, too. “I’m sure something is being served in the great hall for breakfast. We can go down and see who else has arrived. Helga, would you like to come with us? If breakfast here is anything like in Sèone, it will be a casual affair with people dishing up for themselves.”

  “Nope,” Helga responded. “I think I’ll try my luck in the kitchen and see what gossip I might pick up.”

  “Oh . . .” Céline nodded. “Good idea. Should we let Prince Anton and Rurik know we’re going down?”

  Helga’s already wrinkled face wrinkled slightly more in thought. “No, if they’re sleeping, let ’em sleep. If they’re not asleep, they’re probably already downstairs.”

  Jaromir had been right to send Helga. She might be abrasive, but she was sensible—and determined to help.

  With that, all three women set out for the day. At the bottom of the stairwell of the east tower, Helga headed off down a passage that ran down the shorter side of the center section of the castle, leading to the kitchen. Once again, Céline and Amelie started down the long passage running along the backside that led to the great hall.

  Upon passing through the archway, Céline took stock of everyon
e present. For the most part, this looked like a typical breakfast in the hall of Castle Sèone. A number of guards—a mix of Väränj, Sèone, and Kimovesk—milled around, helping themselves to food that had been laid out. Servants were busy checking pots and bowls.

  Céline continued scanning to see which nobles were present. To her relief, Prince Damek wasn’t here, but she hadn’t expected him to be. It seemed he seldom came out of his rooms during the day. Lady Helena was not in the hall. Anton and Rurik had not arrived, either.

  However, Rochelle and Lady Saorise sat together near the end of the table. Saorise sipped at a cup of tea. Rochelle was working on a piece of embroidery. She wore a muslin gown dyed dove gray that complemented her red-gold hair. Lizbeth and Heath sat a short ways down the table, both looking somewhat at a loss and picking at their food.

  Captain Maddox stood at attention against the back wall, watching Rochelle.

  Just then, Captain Kochè walked in from the western archway. He looked around the hall, and then began to pass through, not stopping to eat. As he passed by Rochelle, she stiffened and her body moved in the chair as if to pull as far away from him as possible. He gave her a sidelong glance of hatred as he walked by, and Céline made a mental note to try as quickly as possible to find out what—if anything—had occurred between those two.

  “Here we go,” she murmured to Amelie.

  The sisters went to Rochelle and Saorise first with a polite greeting.

  “How is your mother?” Céline asked.

  Rochelle’s eyes dropped briefly to her embroidery and back up with a cast of guilt, as if she’d been caught out at something. “She’s still asleep, and her maid is sitting with her. I . . . I had to get out for a few moments.”

  “You were right to let her sleep,” Céline answered, “and you can’t sit with her yourself all day.”

  Rochelle smiled. Saorise listened to the exchange with some interest, but offered no thoughts.

  Breakfast consisted of oatmeal, boiled eggs, and stewed pears. The sisters dished up and sat down with Lizbeth and Heath. Lizbeth seemed glad to see Céline.

  “The oatmeal’s cold,” the girl said.

  “I don’t mind.”

  Then Lizbeth noticed Amelie’s shoulder-length hair—as it had not been pinned up that morning. “Your hair.”

  “Oh yes . . . I like to wear it like this,” Amelie said.

  “I wonder if Mother would let me do that. It would be so much easier to brush.”

  “I don’t think so,” Heath answered.

  Amelie sat beside Heath and asked him if he’d gotten any sleep. Céline didn’t hear the answer. She ate quickly, and then looked around for one of the guards from Sèone. Sergeant Bazin stood a few paces away.

  “Sergeant,” she said, “did you come in from the barracks this morning? How is the weather?”

  “Not bad, miss. The sky is gray, but no rain yet.”

  She turned to Lizbeth. “I’m longing for some fresh air. Shall we take a walk in the courtyard? Maybe visit the horses.”

  Lizbeth’s eyes lit up—as Céline knew they would. This was a girl who would be outside climbing trees if her mother would let her. She would jump at any chance to get out of this hall and do something . . . anything.

  The girl was already on her feet. “Rochelle, may I go for a walk in the courtyard with Céline?”

  This did surprise Céline a bit, first that Lizbeth would ask permission so politely, as she seemed rather headstrong, and second that she’d asked Rochelle and not Heath.

  Rochelle hesitated and looked to Maddox. Céline wasn’t certain why until Sergeant Bazin stepped forward and addressed Rochelle.

  “I’ll go with them, my lady. Make sure they are safe.”

  Then Céline realized Rochelle had been debating keeping Maddox here or sending him off with Lizbeth.

  Céline shot Bazin a grateful look, and then she and Lizbeth headed out the west entrance, through the bottom of one tower, into the strange half tower, and out the front doors. Bazin followed at a respectful distance. Lizbeth practically skipped beside Céline as they stepped into the light morning air.

  “Oh, thank you,” the girl said. “Let’s stay out as long as we can.”

  The courtyard was large, but activity was limited. Céline started down the front of the castle toward the stables, and Lizbeth fell into step beside her. Again, Bazin kept his distance, watching, but remaining out of earshot. Céline spent a few moments wondering how best to begin seeking a few answers. For one, no one could be discounted as the murderer, not even young Lizbeth. She appeared to be an awkward teenage girl, and Céline believed her to be innocent, but Céline had also met a few very good actors in her short time serving as Anton’s seer.

  Finally, she decided to fall back on honesty.

  “Lizbeth,” she began, “I hope you don’t mind, but part of the reason I suggested our walk was so that you and I could speak in private.”

  The girl seemed undaunted by this confession. “Really? Why?”

  “Because my sister and I have been engaged to find out who killed Carlotta and your uncle, and a few points are still hazy for me. I’d hoped you could help.”

  Here, Lizbeth hesitated for the span of a breath. “With what?”

  “For one, after Carlotta’s death, who was it in your family who threatened to pack up and leave?”

  “Oh, that was Heath.” The girl relaxed again. “And me. I think Heath even accused Damek of poisoning Carlotta.”

  “But your mother and uncle never made any such threat, to leave, I mean?”

  Lizbeth snorted through her nose. “Of course not.”

  “At the time, did they protest or chastise you or Heath when you made this threat?”

  “Did they . . . No, they didn’t. Maybe once we’d said something, they feared looking as if they didn’t care that Carlotta was dead. Why do you ask?”

  “We came because Prince Damek believed your family was on the verge of leaving.”

  “Oh, that would never happen.” Lizbeth shook her head. “Mother and Uncle Hamish were set on seeing Rochelle married to Damek. Mother still is, believe me. Damek will be the next grand prince, and Mother is determined to have Rochelle seated as the grand princess.”

  Céline stopped walking. “That is pure speculation. There is no way to be certain who the next grand prince will be.”

  Lizbeth stopped as well. She tilted her head to one side. “In the past few years, better trade routes with Belaski have opened up, and the house of Pählen controls the western province of Droevinka. Belaski is a wealthy nation, and all the princes want a grand prince who can open trade even further. Prince Lieven will name Damek as heir, and the other princes will elect him when the time comes. Mother is never wrong about these things.”

  At first, Céline was so taken aback by the girl’s grasp of politics that she wasn’t certain how to respond. Then she said, “I think you’ve forgotten Prince Anton.”

  “I haven’t. Everyone knows that Prince Lieven much prefers Anton—and who wouldn’t? But the princes won’t elect Anton. They think he’s weak. Lieven may prefer Anton, but not enough to lose the chance of seeing his family in power. He’ll name Damek.”

  “Anton is a better leader than Damek.”

  “Of course he is,” Lizbeth sighed as if Céline were a simpleton. “You know that. I know that. Most of the people know that. But none of us get a say in the matter, and the princes won’t elect Anton. Lieven knows it. He’ll name Damek as his heir.”

  Céline’s head was spinning. “So . . . your mother and uncle believe that by this marriage, Rochelle will indeed become wife of the grand prince? What does Rochelle think of all this?”

  Lizbeth shrugged. “Who knows? Rochelle couldn’t say boo to a goose. She’ll do whatever she’s told. Heath is the same way.” She paused. “I love my brother and sister. They are good to me, but . . . neither one has an ounce of spirit.”

  “Did you love Carlotta?” Céline asked abruptly.
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br />   “No,” Lizbeth answered just as readily. “No one did. Carlotta was not lovable. That’s why she was so jealous of Rochelle.”

  Céline began walking again. “She was jealous?”

  “It was awful to watch. For years, men would contact Father, making initial offers for Carlotta’s hand, and then they would meet her. Even the most desperate of them decided tying their life to hers wasn’t worth my father’s money. Carlotta was bitter, coarse-faced, and bossy. No one liked her. But every man who walked through the door of our manor fell madly in love with Rochelle. She’s the type they all want . . . beautiful, quiet, and she does what she’s told.”

  Though Céline found that last part a rather unfair assessment of men, she pressed on. “But Carlotta was handling Rochelle’s marriage negotiations to Damek. If she was so jealous, why would she work so hard to make her sister a grand princess?”

  This time, Lizbeth stopped walking and raised one eyebrow. “Have you met Damek?” she asked sarcastically. “He’s the type who probably keeps a pair of shackles and a riding crop beneath his bed.”

  “Lizbeth!”

  “Well, he is. I think Carlotta wanted Rochelle to suffer for the rest of her life.”

  They began to walk again, and by this point, the stable loomed before them. Céline was still attempting to absorb everything she’d just heard.

  “Céline . . . ,” Lizbeth began slowly, and her tone had changed. Once again, she sounded like the uncertain teenage girl. “Can you truly read futures?”

  “I can.”

  “Would you . . . would you read mine? With everything happening here, I want to know . . . I want to know that I even have a future.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Céline breathed, and she meant it. In spite of her own necessary cautions, she couldn’t help her growing affection for Lizbeth.

  “Will you read me?” the girl asked again.

  Céline looked around for someplace more private, and she spotted an alcove at the base of the east tower. “Over there.”