Mist-Torn Witches 03:Witches With the Enemy

by Barb Hendee

  “Do we find shelter for the night or ride out now?” Anton asked.

  “We ride out now,” Damek answered.

  Amelie wanted to groan at the thought of hours more in the saddle, but she turned to see if Maddox needed help up.

  As she leaned down, he grasped her wrist briefly.

  “Watch Rochelle,” he said quietly. “She is not what she seems.”

  * * *

  The horses were nearly spent, so Damek set a slower pace on the ride home, and Céline opted for riding sidesaddle.

  Maddox had his hands tied and was surrounded by the Väränj guards.

  It was nearly dawn before they arrived in Kimovesk. Rochelle rode beside Damek all the way, and the two spoke softly for part of the journey. By the time it was over, he was treating her like a tragic maiden who had suffered a terrible ordeal, which she had.

  By that point, Céline was so weary she barely noticed Anton lifting her off her horse. She remembered him taking her and Amelie up to their room. She’d been starving on the way back, but now she was too tired to eat. She let Helga unlace her gown, and then she fell onto the bed. She remembered Amelie falling beside her.

  Then the world went dark.

  She had no idea how much time passed, but a delicious scent woke her sometime later in the day, and she opened her eyes.

  “There you are,” Helga said.

  “What time is it?” Céline asked, still groggy.

  “Late afternoon, but you need to wake up and eat. You’ve had nothing since yesterday.”

  Amelie opened her eyes. “What smells so good?”

  Helga set a tray on the dressing table, and she brought over two plates piled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and steaming rolls. Just the sight made Céline’s mouth water, but when she tried to sit up . . . she groaned.

  “Oh, I’m so sore I can barely move.”

  Amelie was in a similar state as she tried to sit up as well. “My legs hurt the worst.”

  Somehow they managed to get some pillows arranged against the headboard and for the first time in Céline’s memory, they ate breakfast in bed like two spoiled ladies. Céline didn’t care how it looked. She wolfed down the scrambled eggs first, and then Helga brought the sisters steaming mugs of spiced tea with generous amounts of milk.

  Amelie ate just as fast, but toward the end of finishing her plate, she began to talk. They’d had no chance to speak last night, and after hearing only a few sentences, Céline stopped eating to listen. Helga stood by the bed and listened as well as Amelie spilled out the story of Maddox and Rochelle, from stolen moments in back rooms, all the way to the attempted abduction last night.

  “She was playing with him,” Helga said. “That girl never had a mind to marry him.”

  Céline concurred, but something else—concerning herself—had her on the edge of real anxiety.

  “Amelie, I read Captain Maddox yesterday morning. I saw his almost immediate future . . . which was his past by last night. The only image I saw was the brief scene at the base of the stairwell where he asked her to run away with him. That’s all I was shown. Why didn’t I see him forcing her to leave with him? Had I seen, we could have stopped it.”

  Amelie stopped eating as well.

  “Maybe you weren’t meant to stop it,” Helga put in. “Maybe something had to happen last night for you to find the real killer.”

  Céline tried to think of anything that might have happened last night to reveal the identity of the murderer, but her mind went straight to Anton’s mouth pressing gently on her own.

  “Well . . . ,” Amelie began. “Right before Maddox was dragged out of the stable, I leaned down to help him up and he told me to watch Rochelle. He said she’s not what she seems.”

  “From what you told us about her tryst with Maddox,” Céline responded, “that would certainly appear to be the case, but she doesn’t seem averse to marrying Damek, so what would be her motive?”

  Amelie’s face was still thoughtful. “You know who else was different last night? Heath. When I read Maddox, Rochelle seemed sure he would be the one who’d come after her.”

  “Yes, I noticed the difference in him, too. But I think he was driven by getting his sister back. His family only benefits from a connection to Damek, so I don’t see his motive, either. I need to find a tactful way to suggest us reading the both of them.”

  “While you’re thinking about that, maybe you ought to speak to that fool of a captain?” Helga suggested. “Find out what he meant about Rochelle.”

  The thought of getting out of this bed and walking downstairs was hardly appealing, but the sisters couldn’t stay here all day.

  “Have you heard where they took him?” Amelie asked Helga.

  That was a good question. Helga must have gone down to the kitchen for the food.

  “Nope,” Helga grunted. “Either none of the servants know or they aren’t talking.”

  Céline swung her legs over the side of the bed and then winced. “Well, we must find out. Someone in the family will know.”

  Helga walked to the wardrobe. “I had your lavender dress laundered, and Amelie’s light blue one. I’ve also got wash water, and you’ll both need clean shifts.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Céline said, and she was grateful. The lavender wool was her favorite dress. It was comfortable and warm, and it fit her perfectly.

  Sore as she was, Céline did feel better after eating. She hoped Rurik had managed to get Anton some food by now.

  Amelie crawled out after her to wash up. As soon as the sisters were both dressed, they headed out the door and down the stairs into the back passage. As they walked, Céline couldn’t help being bothered by the fact that they were no closer to even a hint of learning whoever had killed Carlotta and Lord Hamish. They should have learned something by now.

  Although she still had no motive for Rochelle or Heath . . . or Lady Helena for that matter . . . she was going to have to find some way to let all three of them submit to a reading. How could that be done without insulting them? And even if she cared about insulting them, what power could she use to make them agree? Prince Damek couldn’t order them.

  When Céline passed through the archway into the great hall, with the exception of a few Väränj guards, the only people present were Helena, Saorise, and Rochelle. All three women sat at the table, speaking softly.

  Céline’s gazed paused on Saorise. There was someone else she needed to read—and as of yet had had no opportunity.

  “Amelie,” she whispered. “Do what you can to draw off Helena and Rochelle.”

  The sisters crossed the hall. Lady Helena looked drawn and weary, but she smiled at their approach. “I hope you got some sleep. Rochelle tells me you were a great comfort to her last night.”

  I’ll bet she did, Céline thought, especially considering that Amelie had convinced Damek of Rochelle’s abduction.

  “Are you well this morning?” Céline asked Rochelle.

  “As can be expected,” Rochelle answered with her eyes downcast. “I only woke up a short while ago myself. Lizbeth is still sleeping, and I didn’t knock on Heath’s door.”

  Amelie crossed her arms and shivered. “And where . . . where is Captain Maddox being held?”

  Lady Helena glanced away uncomfortably. “I understand he was locked in a cell in the old prison below the castle. He is being guarded.”

  That didn’t bode well. Céline had hoped he might be locked in his room. A prison cell branded him as the worst of criminals. But at least he was alive.

  Amelie looked over to the burning hearth. “I fear I’m still feeling the cold. Lady Helena, would you and Rochelle care to accompany me to the fire?”

  “Of course.”

  Both women stood up, and all three of them made their way across the hall to the hearth.

  Lady Saorise tilted her head up at Céline. “That was deftly done.”

  Céline sat down in the chair Lady Helena had occupied. “Prince Damek has authorized me or my siste
r to do a reading of everyone in his service. I’d like to handle it as quietly as possible.”

  Saorise smiled, and the sight brought an uncomfortable feeling to the back of Céline’s neck.

  “I assure you that I am not exactly in Damek’s service,” Saorise answered, “but I’ve no objection to you reading me.”

  She must have once been quite beautiful, and Céline couldn’t help wondering how this woman and Damek had met, how Saorise had become his counselor when he allowed so few people to normally live here in the castle.

  Still smiling, Saorise asked, “And how do we begin, my dear? I admit I’ve been wondering about you and your sister since the day you arrived. I assume you’re both Mist-Torn, and Anton picked you up from a gypsy caravan somewhere.”

  Céline stiffened, but she refused to take the bait. “You’ll have to ask Prince Anton about that yourself. May I touch your hand?”

  “By all means.”

  Céline glanced over at Amelie, who had the other two women engaged by the hearth, and for an instant, she felt a wave of trepidation. From what Amelie had told her, Saorise was a cold-blooded killer who had created an elixir that would turn men into beasts. Céline had expected anyone in Damek’s inner circle to be dangerous, but she was on uncertain ground here and had no idea what she was about to see.

  Still, she touched Saorise’s hand. Then she closed her eyes and reached out for the spark of a spirit. She focused all her energy on receiving answers as to who was carrying out the murders in this castle.

  The first jolt hit her immediately, followed by the second, and she was swept forward on the mists. The journey was longer than she had expected, and when the mists cleared, she found herself in a large windowless room with walls of stone. Small braziers lined three of the walls, providing a good deal of light. Spears and crossbows lined the fourth wall.

  There was a long table to her right with various objects scattered across its surface: faded books, brass urns, unlit candles, quills, ink, bottles, small daggers, and a mortar and pestle. Light more intense than the braziers drew her eye and she turned to see a burning hearth—large enough to stand in—at the other end of the vast room. An iron hook had been set over the flames, and a small metal cauldron with symbols etched around the outside hung from the hook.

  Saorise stood before the cauldron with her eyes closed. Her mouth was moving, but Céline could not hear the words.

  Inside the image, she moved across the room to study Saorise, who appeared almost in a kind of trance. Her hair was uncombed, as if she’d not been attending to herself recently, and her face was pinched with exhaustion.

  “Munimentum,” she whispered. “Tutamen . . . Damek.”

  Without opening her eyes, she reached out and dropped several strands of long dark hair into the cauldron.

  The image vanished, and the mists closed in, rushing Céline forward again.

  When they cleared, she found herself in an even larger room, an enormous hall, only this one was crowded with well-dressed people and guards. Looking to the guards, she saw tabards of red . . . and light blue . . . and dark blue . . . and green . . . and orange. She lost count of the various colors of the great houses of Droevinka.

  “Prince Damek of the house of Pählen,” someone boomed.

  Inside the image, Céline turned to see Damek, wearing a sleeveless black tunic, dark pants, and polished boots. He looked both handsome and confident. Standing beside him, Rochelle was a vision in pale pink silk with small pearls in her ears. Her red-gold hair floated around her like a cloud. From all around the hall, men turned to stare. She was like a sweet confection.

  Lady Saorise stood on Damek’s other side, and she, too, was lovely, in her shining robe, with her silver-blond hair arranged on top of her head.

  A striking man in his late forties with a close-trimmed beard strode over to greet them. “Prince Damek, welcome to Kéonsk.” He bowed to Rochelle. “And to your lovely wife.”

  “Thank you, Lord Malbek,” Damek answered smoothly. “I see we already have quite a gathering.”

  “Yes, but the vote won’t take place until tomorrow. Tonight we should enjoy ourselves.”

  “Has my brother arrived?”

  “Not yet.”

  Inside the vision, Céline gasped. She was in Kéonsk . . . two years in the future at the gathering of the great houses for the vote of the next grand prince. Although of course she’d never met him, everyone knew that Lord Malbek was chancellor to Prince Rodêk.

  With another low bow, Malbek turned to Saorise and took her hand. “My lady,” he said, “what would Prince Damek be without your counsel?”

  “Oh, I’m certain he would do fine on his own.” But her tone suggested that she believed nothing of the sort.

  Lord Malbek kissed her hand.

  The image vanished, and the mists closed in, pulling Céline backward in time. When they cleared, she opened her eyes to find Saorise watching her intently.

  “What did you see?”

  Céline struggled to make sense of what she’d just seen. First, she looked over to the hearth. Amelie still had Rochelle and Helena engaged in conversation, and at some point Heath had entered the hall, and he now stood with them. Lizbeth had not come down yet.

  Céline was so puzzled by what she’d seen in Saorise’s future that she decided to share some of the truth and hope for light to be shed. After all, the future had not yet happened and it could be changed. “I saw you, Rochelle, and Prince Damek two years in the future . . . in Kéonsk, at the vote for the next grand prince.”

  Saorise went still in her chair. Then she asked, “Had the vote taken place?”

  “No, it was scheduled for the next day, but . . . Lord Malbek kissed your hand.”

  She thought on the first part of her vision, and she decided that speaking up and hoping for clarity was a wiser course than silence. “But before that, you were casting a spell. You used the words Munimentum and Tutamen, and then you spoke Damek’s name and put several strands of long, dark hair in a cauldron.”

  “Ahhhh.” Saorise nodded. “I was casting a protection spell on Damek, to ensure his safety.” But she seemed uninterested in this and pressed for more information about the second part of the vision. “But you saw me, Rochelle, and Damek all in Kéonsk, the day before the vote, and Lord Malbek kissed my hand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have your answer as to my involvement in the deaths of Carlotta and Lord Hamish.” She lowered her voice. “You see, my dear, like you, I come from less . . . auspicious beginnings myself and yet now I am counselor to Prince Damek of the house of Pählen, who controls a portion of the western provinces. He will marry a beautiful first cousin of Prince Rodêk, and in two years’ time, Lord Malbek will be kissing my hand in recognition of my influence over Damek, who I believe will be the next grand prince.”

  Without meaning to, Céline drew back in her chair.

  Saorise smiled again, and the sight was as eerie as before. “I would do nothing to stop this marriage from taking place. Were it in my power, I’d conduct the ceremony myself.”

  Feeling as if she’d just been trumped, Céline couldn’t argue with that logic. It appeared highly unlikely that Saorise would do anything to sabotage Damek’s marriage to Rochelle.

  And yet something about the smug look on Saorise’s face drove Céline to say, “The future is not set, and on several occasions I have managed to alter it. You should not be so certain of yourself . . . or Prince Damek just yet.”

  Saorise’s smile vanished.

  Céline stood up.

  She had a feeling Saorise was about to say something further when the sounds of shouting echoed from the east passage, and she heard the sound of pounding boots.

  “Inform Prince Damek!” The voice belonged to Anton. “Now!”

  Two Kimovesk guards ran into the hall and kept running without pause out through the west archway. Two breaths later, Anton and Rurik ran into the great hall.

  “What has happen
ed?” Lady Helena asked, her hand to her breastbone.

  “We stepped out from the bottom of the tower to find those men coming up from the prisons. They told us Captain Maddox has killed his guard and escaped his cell,” Anton answered.

  Rochelle drew in a loud breath. The Väränj and Sèone guards in the hall walked over to hear better.

  “It’s all right,” Anton went on, speaking to Rochelle. “You are well protected here, and I’ve ordered a search. Prince Damek should be down in a moment, and he knows the castle better than I do. He’ll be able to hone where we look.”

  “But what of Lizbeth?” Heath asked in alarm. “Is she still asleep in her room?”

  “Oh,” Helena answered, “she is! Heath, you must go and get her.”

  “No,” Anton ordered. “I’ll go back up and get her myself.”

  Before he’d taken a step, a scream carried from down the hall and everyone whirled toward the sound.

  Lizbeth came running in from the east archway with her hands and the hem of her dress covered in blood.

  “He’s dead!” she cried, shaking her hands and sobbing.

  Céline ran to the girl. “Lizbeth!”

  “He’s dead!” Lizbeth cried again. “I leaned over to touch him, to make sure, but he’s dead.” Céline caught her and pulled her close as several other people reached them

  “Who is dead?” Anton demanded, sounding like a Pählen prince.

  Lizbeth sobbed again. “Captain Maddox!”

  * * *

  Anton stood over a dead body on the third floor of the east tower.

  Amelie was there with him, as was Damek, Heath, Rurik, and Captain Kochè. Céline and the other women had remained downstairs to comfort Lizbeth.

  Maddox lay exactly where he’d been found, on the floor positioned between Heath’s guest room and the one shared by Rochelle and Lizbeth. Maddox had been stabbed only once, through the hollow at the base of his throat. A pool of blood surrounded his shoulders and head.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Rurik said, kneeling on the floor beside the body. “Why would Maddox kill his own guard, escape from the prison . . . and then come up here to the family’s rooms?”