by Barb Hendee
“To assault my sister again, of course,” Heath answered.
Anton glanced at Damek and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Maddox was desperate last night, but he’s not mad. He wouldn’t attempt to abduct Rochelle again.”
Damek said nothing.
Amelie crouched beside Rurik, looking at the wound first. “This was made by a thin blade.” She looked down at Maddox’s side. “His sword isn’t drawn, so there wasn’t a fight.” She turned to see Heath. “You didn’t come down to the great hall very long before Anton. Did you see anything when you left your room?”
“No, this passage was clear. I didn’t know Lizbeth was still sleeping in her room. I woke up, dressed, came out of my room, and went downstairs.”
“Then whatever happened must have been quick,” Rurik said. “Or Lizbeth would have heard a scuffle.” He frowned. “So Maddox arrived after Heath went down, and someone killed him?”
“What about one of the Väränj guards?” Damek suggested, speaking for the first time.
“The men on duty are in the hall, and the others are in the barracks,” Anton answered. “And if a Väränj guard had killed Maddox, he’d have reported it right away. Besides . . . even in that case, there would have been a fight. I can’t imagine anyone getting the jump on Maddox like this. Before going into Lady Helena’s service, he was a captain in the Äntes forces.”
“So, what are you saying?” Amelie asked.
“I’m saying either he knew the person who killed him, so he wasn’t on guard . . . or he didn’t feel he needed a reason to protect himself.”
Everyone fell silent, and Anton almost wished he hadn’t spoken. A third murder had been committed, and he had no more answers for this one than the first two. In addition, almost everyone’s whereabouts were accounted for except Lizbeth . . . and he hardly suspected her.
Amelie looked around the passage. “Again, why would he come here? Why didn’t he try to run? Climb the wall and go on foot if he had to? But he came up here, to the family’s rooms. Why?”
Anton had no answer. Poor Maddox. “I think the body has told us all it can for now. Perhaps we should have it—”
“My lord Damek!” someone called from the stairwell. A Kimovesk guard in a black tabard came off the landing and hurried toward them.
“Oh, what now?” Damek breathed.
“My lord!” the guard called again. “Your father has just ridden into the courtyard with a large party. He has Lord Malbek with him!”
Anton went cold, not certain he’d heard correctly. Their father never personally interfered in any of their affairs unless he believed they were about to fail at something he considered important—and thereby disappoint him.
Looking to his brother, Anton said, “Father is here? What can that mean?”
Damek’s face was tinged with gray.
Chapter Twelve
Early that evening, Céline and Amelie were in their room, feeling almost as if they were hiding. The mood in the castle had altered greatly in the past few hours, taking on a kind of frenzied energy.
The door to their room opened. Helga came in quickly and closed it again. “The kitchen is a madhouse,” she said. “You should see what’s going on down there.”
Upon the news that Prince Lieven had arrived, all talk of Maddox’s death stopped. Céline had not yet seen Anton’s father, as apparently upon his arrival he and Lord Malbek went straight up to Damek’s private chambers. Shortly after, Damek and Lady Helena were summoned to join them.
After that, Saorise excused herself, and then Rochelle, Lizbeth, and Heath slipped away to their own rooms. No one knew what was happening, and it seemed no one was ready to speculate. Céline and Amelie opted for mutual solitude in their own room as well.
Céline had no idea what Anton might be doing, but at present, she felt it best for her and Amelie to keep out of sight until he came to them.
What was Prince Lieven doing here?
Worse, Céline was once again troubled by the limited scope of the future vision she had seen yesterday from Lizbeth. From the emotions expressed in the image she saw, she’d been fairly convinced that Lizbeth was no murderer. But if the vision had continued only a few moments more, Céline would have learned that it was Captain Maddox whom Lizbeth found dead. Why had the vision cut off?
Could it have to do with what Helga had said about Captain Maddox’s desperate attempt to steal Rochelle away? If Céline had indeed known that Maddox would die, would she have tried to alter his future, and in doing so, would she have kept him from abducting Rochelle? Helga seemed to think that the night’s journey was important, that something had happened that would help lead the sisters to the truth. But . . . did Maddox have to be allowed to die for this? The possibility troubled Céline.
The remnants of the afternoon passed.
Finally, in the early evening, they’d sent Helga out to see what she could learn, and she’d not been away long.
“Did you hear anything about why Anton’s father is here?” Céline asked her.
“No one knows, but he brought a pack of Pählen guards and some of Prince Anton’s relatives. Master Lionel’s in quite a state, ordering guest rooms prepared. The cooks were told to make a big . . . and I mean big dinner. Since two formal dinners have been canceled in a row, there’s a good deal of leftover roasted chicken and beef. The cooks are using some of that to make meat gravies to pour over bread and potatoes. They got more brook trout to bake than I could count.”
“A dinner?”
“Yup, for Prince Lieven and all his fancy guests. You’re both expected. Master Lionel was on his way up to let you know, and he told me instead. He also told me to get you two dressed up before the gong sounds.”
Céline swallowed hard. She and Amelie were expected to dine with Prince Lieven and Lord Malbek? Well . . . they certainly couldn’t refuse.
“I’m going to put you back in that amber velvet,” Helga said to Céline, “and Amelie in the burgundy silk. I know those gowns have been seen before, but they’re the finest I brought.”
For once, Amelie didn’t argue or raise any kind of fuss, and she let herself be dressed. Helga pinned up her hair.
“We’re leaving yours down, Céline,” Helga said. “You both need to look as fetching as possible tonight. You’ll need to fit in with the folks of Lieven’s court.”
“Don’t make it worse, Helga,” Amelie warned.
The gong sounded, followed a moment later by a knock on the door.
Helga walked over and jerked it open. Anton and Rurik stood on the other side. Anton had clearly taken time with his appearance; he wore a dark brown tunic with an embroidered diamond pattern done in silver thread. His boots had been freshly polished. Although his beard did not grow quickly, Céline could see that he’d just shaved.
Behind him, Rurik wore his usual tan tabard, but his boots had been polished as well.
“Are you ready?” Anton asked. He both looked and sounded tense.
“Yes,” Céline answered. “Have you spoken to your father?”
“No, he’s been in a private conference in Damek’s chambers since he arrived.”
Amelie followed Céline out into the passage, but at the last moment Céline looked back into the room. “Thank you, Helga, for everything. I wish you could come down with us.”
“Oh, those fancy folks aren’t for me. Make my skin crawl. But you girls bring me back the gossip.”
Someday, Céline was going to learn of Helga’s past, and how she had come to serve in Castle Sèone. Tonight was not that night.
Anton led the way down the stairs and the back passage. Even before they’d reached the great hall, they could hear a chorus of voices in conversation ahead. Anton stopped walking. “Céline and Amelie, I want one of you on each side of me. Rurik, walk directly behind.”
No one argued or asked what he was doing. Céline assumed he knew how to make an entrance. She stood at his right, with Amelie at his left, and they entered the great ha
ll.
It was crowded . . . teeming with people. In addition to all the guests, there were now even more guards—the new ones wearing the dark brown tabards of Prince Lieven’s men. Three more tables had been set up and countless chairs had been carried in from somewhere.
Céline scanned the room. Prince Damek, Lady Saorise, Rochelle, Lady Helena, Lizbeth, and Heath were already there. As Damek turned to greet one of the guests, Heath reached out and grasped Rochelle’s arm. He pulled her closer and whispered in her ear. She shook her head once and drew away.
Continuing her scan, Céline stopped her gaze on a figure in the center of the hall. He was muscular with graying hair and a proud bearing. He wore a loose red jerkin accented by a gold thread. Three jeweled rings on each hand adorned his fingers.
Prince Lieven.
She had never seen him in person before, but she had seen him once while doing a reading of the future.
Lieven looked over as soon as they entered, and his eyes rested on Anton. Without hesitating, Anton went to him. Through the crush of people, Céline and Amelie each managed to remain at his side.
“Father,” Anton said, and Céline could hear his affection.
“My son,” Lieven returned, and his eyes softened.
Céline was not certain what she’d expected, as Anton never talked about his father, but it was clear the two men cared for each other.
“May I present my seers, Miss Céline and Miss Amelie?” Anton said. “These are the sisters who provided help in your recent . . . difficulties up in Ryazan.”
When Lieven’s gaze shifted first to Amelie and then to Céline, his surprise could not be misread. “These are your seers?” He didn’t sound entirely pleased, and his eyes moved down Céline’s velvet gown. Then he studied her face and hair.
“Is something wrong?” Anton asked.
“No, they are simply . . . not as I pictured.”
While Céline had no idea what that meant, Anton didn’t press. Instead, he stepped closer to his father. “I’m glad to see you, but I apologize that you had to come here yourself. I hope you did not doubt I could bring matters to a close.”
Lieven touched Anton’s shoulder briefly. “Not at all. You know my faith in you. But this matter is of such importance that after some thought, I decided my own presence was necessary.”
They spoke so easily to each other. Céline hadn’t expected that. Anton was normally so closed off, and Lieven had a reputation for being cold and arrogant.
“Now that you’re here, I’m going to get this started,” Lieven said, turning to walk away. Three guards in dark brown tabards followed him.
He went to the first table at the head of the hall. When he faced the crowd, everyone fell silent. “Take your seats,” he ordered.
Watching him now, Céline saw the calculated, steely-eyed man she had expected.
“Where do Amelie and I sit?” she whispered to Anton.
“With me.”
Her stomached tightened as he led them both toward the head table. She had not anticipated this. She wondered what she would have said a year ago, had someone told her she would soon be wearing a fine gown and dining at the head table of Kimovesk with three princes of Pählen.
Another man came walking toward them. He was well dressed, in his mid-forties with a close-trimmed beard. She recognized him from her reading of Saorise: Lord Malbek, chancellor to Prince Rodêk.
Lieven took the head of the table, with Damek and Rochelle sitting on his right. Lady Helena and Lord Malbek sat on his left. This was some relief to Céline. At least she, Amelie, and Anton would be far enough down the table they wouldn’t be expected to converse with Anton’s father. Lady Saorise, Heath, and Lizbeth also took places at this head table.
Other guests began taking their seats around the hall, and when the last guest had found a chair, Prince Lieven remained standing.
“Wine,” he called.
Servants hurried forward, pouring wine into goblets. Céline could not help noticing the lovely Johanna was serving at the head table.
Once everyone’s goblet had been filled, Prince Lieven picked up his own and raised it.
Again, the hall fell silent, and he addressed his audience.
“With great joy, I announce that marriage negotiations have been completed and signed for the betrothal of my son Prince Damek of the house of Pählen to Rochelle Quillette, first cousin to Prince Rodêk of the house of Äntes.” Despite his words, there was no joy in his voice. He sounded more like someone who’d just finished a deal for a large tract of land or a new silver mine. “As the young couple has expressed a wish to join their lives as soon as possible, the wedding will take place here at Castle Kimovesk tomorrow afternoon. The house of Pählen is honored that Lord Malbek himself will officiate the ceremony.”
Tomorrow? Céline couldn’t believe her ears. The ceremony would take place tomorrow?
Lieven raised his goblet higher. “Let us drink to their happiness.”
A chorus of cheers rang out and everyone drank, but Céline could hardly swallow.
If the murderer was in this hall, how would he or she react?
* * *
As large trays of food were carried into the hall, Amelie sat in silence.
Anton sat stiff as a board beside her, and Céline was on the other side of him. Amelie badly wished to speak to her sister, but she could hardly look around Anton to do so.
What had just happened?
It was as if almost everyone involved here had forgotten the deaths that had taken place over the last week. There was no mention of Carlotta or Lord Hamish . . . or Captain Maddox. Prince Lieven behaved as if this were all a normal marriage agreement and that rushing the wedding was merely due to the happy couple’s wish not to wait . . . as opposed to a political marriage being moved forward over the bodies of three people.
Though the guests at the other tables were all chattering away to one another, this head table fell awkwardly quiet, and Amelie was thankful for the servants setting food down, as it gave them all something to focus on.
Only young Lizbeth shook her head in open and honest puzzlement. “Tomorrow?” she said. “Here? I thought Rochelle had decided to have the ceremony at home at the manor . . . outside in the autumn garden if weather was clear. She won’t want to be married here. This place is awful.”
“Be quiet,” Heath said tightly.
She winced, hurt. Amelie had never heard him speak to her like that.
Anton sat directly across from Lizbeth, and he leaned forward. To his credit, his tone was light but his voice low enough that it would not be overheard. “My father has a few things in common with your mother, and I suspect they both pressed Damek and Rochelle to rush things. Trust me. He is difficult to refuse.”
Lizbeth nodded in understanding, and Amelie’s estimation of Anton rose. He’d said the exact thing to make the girl feel as if she were an adult who had made a perfectly rational comment, for which he had an answer.
Yet on the inside, Anton must be just as panicked as Amelie was . . . as Céline must be. What was Prince Lieven thinking? Did he want to drive the murderer to an even more desperate act?
Glancing across the table at Heath, she could see he was just as troubled. He sat straight in his chair and began to eat a small helping of baked trout, but his light brown eyes were glassy, and she knew he must understand the risks of Prince Lieven’s decision as well.
Somehow . . . and later, she was never quite sure how . . . they all made it through three entire courses without speaking much.
A peculiar observation suddenly struck her. This was the third night upon which she’d dressed up for a formal dinner, and the first time they’d made it as far as having the food served. Normally, she at least enjoyed the richly prepared foods at these events, but tonight she hardly tasted them.
Finally, as the last of the plates were being cleared away, Amelie thought she might be able to get Céline alone for a few moments so they could discuss what to do next
.
To her astonishment, Prince Lieven stood up again.
“I brought musicians from Castle Pählen,” he announced. “Tomorrow will be the true celebration, but we can all enjoy some dancing tonight.”
Dancing?
Looking across the hall, Amelie could see a group of six musicians taking chairs. They began to play, and Prince Lieven looked down at Damek. His eyes were cold and expectant at the same time. Damek stood up and held his hand out to Rochelle. “Will you join me?”
She flashed him a beautiful smile and stood to take his arm.
Other couples were moving to the open area of the floor near the musicians, and Prince Lieven’s gaze shifted to Anton. It seemed he was expected to join in. Anton stood, and for an instant he looked at Céline with a hint of longing, as if picturing himself dancing with her, but he didn’t ask her.
Instead, he offered a bow to Lizbeth. “My lady?”
Until that moment, Lizbeth had still appeared somewhat lost and puzzled by everything happening around her, and Amelie suspected the girl was quite shaken by Maddox’s death. But at Anton’s invitation, Lizbeth jumped to her feet and nearly ran around the end of the table to join him.
She liked Anton. And who could blame her in this place?
As soon as they were off for the dance floor, Céline turned in her chair and caught Amelie’s eye. How could they possibly search out the murderer before tomorrow afternoon . . . if the killer waited that long?
Amelie glanced around for someplace where she and Céline might be able to speak, and to her frustration, an aging man with a white beard approached the table and offered a bow to Céline.
“My prince,” he said to Lieven. “Would you introduce me to this lady?”
“Baron Menchan, this is Miss Céline Fawe, personal seer to my younger son.”
“A seer.” The baron smiled at Céline with real humor. “Delightful. Would you dance with an old man, my dear?”
Amelie wanted to scream in frustration, but they were still playing their part here, and so Céline smiled. “It would be my pleasure. But I warn you, our mother neglected our dance training, and I’m not very skilled.”