Witches With the Enemy

by Barb Hendee

  “Halt,” Anton called out.

  Rurik halted.

  Anton ducked low, steered his horse around the side of Céline’s, and trotted toward the front of the contingent. Even passing beneath low branches on the side of the narrow road, he managed to do this gracefully, and he took the lead as they headed onward.

  Almost immediately, Céline saw the gatehouse and part of a high stone wall.

  Moments later they reached a portcullis with thick crisscrossed bars. Several hard-looking men in black tabards peered out. Céline looked left and right to see the stone wall stretching in both directions as far as she could see. Soldiers in black tabards walked the top of the wall. The break between the thick forest and the wall was only about twenty paces—far enough that the wall could not be breached by anyone climbing a tree and yet close enough that a gathering of any sort of forces out here would be nearly impossible.

  Anton rode directly to the portcullis, making certain the guards inside could see him clearly.

  “Raise the gate,” he ordered.

  Without argument, one of the men behind the bars looked upward and called, “Raise it!”

  A creaking and grinding sounded, followed by the portcullis opening. Anton led the way, and as Céline passed through, she found herself traveling down an enclosed gatehouse tunnel. There was a second portcullis at the far end, but that one was already up. Although the defenses here were not as sophisticated as they were at Sèone, they were certainly sufficient. The castle would be difficult to breach.

  However . . . the double walls around Sèone protected all the people of the main village. Here, Damek left his castle’s namesake villagers to fend for themselves.

  Once out of the gatehouse tunnel, the contingent rode into the courtyard, to the sight of dozens more men in black tabards, and Céline got her first full look at the castle. It was constructed of dark stone, and it was both older and smaller than Anton’s home.

  It was also of an unusual design. On the east end, a single tall tower stretched at least five stories into the air. The center section of the castle was a long, two-story, rectangular block. On the west end stood a shorter, four-story tower, connected to what appeared to be a half-width tower that connected to another four-story tower. The half-width tower also contained the main doors to the castle.

  The layout produced a rather lopsided effect. Still . . . lopsided or not, it was forbidding—which probably pleased Damek.

  Anton rode directly toward the main doors, and someone stood there, waiting.

  When Céline saw who it was, her stomached tightened: Captain Kochè. He looked exactly as she remembered him. Kochè was tall but with a protruding belly and a stringy mustache that stretched down past his chin.

  Anton rode right up to him and looked down. “Have someone see to stabling our horses and arranging proper bunks for my men.” His tone was arrogant, as if he resented even having to speak to one of Damek’s underlings. “I want a private audience with my brother now.”

  Kochè stared back at him in undisguised contempt.

  As of yet, no one had even looked at the heavily cloaked Céline and Amelie, but Céline pulled her hood closer to her face.

  Kochè barked out a few grudging orders to his own men, and Anton’s men began to dismount. Rurik was on the ground by now, and he hurried over to lift Céline down first and then Amelie. Thankfully, Amelie didn’t cause a fuss, and she let him.

  Anton turned toward them. “The three of you, with me.”

  Captain Kochè opened the doors, and with that, Céline followed behind Anton, leaving the activity in the courtyard behind. She hoped their guards and horses would be well looked after, but that was out of her hands.

  The pace Kochè set was quick. Upon entering the castle, he turned right and headed into a stairwell that curved up through one of the west-end towers. Why had Anton insisted on an immediate private audience with Damek? Their small group was wet and mud-spattered from the road. Would he not prefer to face his brother after bathing and dressing? She felt as if she was being swept along into something she didn’t understand and had no power to stop.

  In being so focused on keeping up, she wasn’t even certain how far up they’d traveled when Kochè stepped out into a passage, walked all the way to the end, and knocked on a door.

  “My lord, your brother is demanding to see you.”

  Silence followed at first, and then the door opened.

  A very small man, shorter than Amelie, stood on the other side, peering past Kochè to Anton. The man was dressed in fine black pants and a quilted tunic. A red birthmark covered nearly half his face. He looked back into the room and nodded.

  “All right. Get out,” said a voice from inside.

  Lowering his head, the small man scurried past everyone waiting in the passage. Céline thought he must be one of Damek’s attendants. Anton didn’t care much to have personal attendants fussing over him, but most princes did.

  Kochè entered first, followed by Anton, Céline, Amelie, and then Rurik.

  The room they entered was warm, with a fire burning in the hearth. The walls were covered in tapestries that depicted designs of color rather than pictures or clear images. Stuffed chairs and low couches with velvet upholstery were carefully arranged. An open door led into a bedroom, and a man stood in that doorway.

  Although Céline had lived under his rule, this was the first time she’d ever seen him in person. She had, however, seen him while conducting readings of people involved with him—and seeing images of their future.

  He appeared to be in his late twenties, with narrow, even features. His hair was long and dark. His skin was pale, and he wore a sleeveless silk dressing gown loosely tied at his waist. Like Anton’s, his build was slender, with tight, defined muscles in his arms. For the most part, he looked like Anton, except for his eyes. Anton’s eyes were haunted. Damek’s were cruel.

  “Dear brother,” he said sarcastically. “You look positively muddy. Did you just climb off your horse?”

  He yawned and stretched like a lazy cat, and Céline realized that even though it was early afternoon, they had woken him.

  Anton didn’t respond to the question. He turned and nodded to Céline, who understood what he wanted, and she pulled her hood down. So did Amelie.

  “May I present my seers?” Anton said. “As requested.” He motioned with his hand. “This is Amelie and this is . . . Céline.”

  Before speaking her name, he’d hesitated, and as he said it, his voice altered ever so slightly. Damek’s eyes lit up, and he no longer appeared sleepy or lazy. He focused intently first on Anton, then Céline, and then back to Anton.

  Anton’s already pale face went white.

  Céline had no idea what this was about, but she didn’t have time to wonder. For in the same moment, Captain Kochè sucked in a loud breath and pointed at her.

  “My lord! That is the charlatan who crushed your betrothal plans to the Lady Rhiannon.”

  Céline tensed. She and Amelie had warned Anton about this. Last spring, Damek had sent someone to Shetâna to pay Céline in advance to do a private reading for a wealthy young woman . . . on the understanding that Céline would counsel the skittish would-be bride to marry Damek. Yet, when Céline had done the reading, she saw a future image of Damek falsely accusing his new wife of adultery and having her strangled. He’d wanted her dowry . . . but not her. In good conscience, Céline couldn’t fulfill the bargain she’d made, and she’d tried to send the money back. As a result, Damek had ordered their shop burned and the sisters killed. While escaping the flames of the shop, Céline and Amelie had encountered the unexpected intervention of Jaromir, who had put down several of Damek’s guards and then secretly taken the sisters to Anton.

  However, in response to Kochè’s outburst, Prince Damek’s expression grew mildly puzzled and dangerously annoyed. Céline guessed that his
guards did not normally interrupt such discussions.

  Kochè seemed to realize this and rushed on. “Do you not remember, my lord? The seer from Shetâna who was paid to counsel Lady Rhiannon to accept your offer?” He pointed at Céline. “That is her! She is one of your own peasants.”

  Some realization dawned on Damek’s face, but before he could speak, Anton stepped in front of Céline, speaking directly to his brother. “None of that matters. She lives in Sèone now, and she serves me, and you’ve asked for my help.”

  From behind, Céline heard Rurik move close enough to her that she could have reached back and touched him. He might not be Jaromir, but his presence was comforting.

  No one spoke for a moment, and Damek appeared to be absorbing and considering things. He walked farther into the sitting room and moved to where he could see Céline standing behind Anton.

  “You’re the seer from Shetâna who scared off Rhiannon?” Damek asked, but he might as well have been speaking to himself. “Yes, I was put out about that. I remember now.” He paused and looked to Anton. “How did she end up with you?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Anton answered. “I’m assuming Father told you about her and her sister now working for me? Whatever he told you about their abilities is the truth. If you want their help, we’ll stay. If you don’t, say so now, and we’ll be back on the road.”

  With a sigh, Damek put one hand in the air. “Calm down, little brother. I’ve no quarrel with your seer. In fact, she might have done me a favor, as I’ve a much bigger prize on the hook now.”

  Anton’s body relaxed slightly. “All right. Then if the sisters are going to seek out whoever killed Carlotta, they’ll need to mingle at length with your bride’s family. I’m going to introduce them as Miss Céline and Miss Amelie, the daughters of a rich wool merchant who often dines at the court of Sèone. The Lady Helena has to accept them socially before anything can be uncovered. Do you see?”

  Suddenly, Céline began to understand the reason for this quick meeting upon their arrival.

  “Yes, of course, I see,” Damek answered, sounding annoyed again.

  “Then you’ll need to order Captain Kochè to keep quiet,” Anton went on, “as well as any guards who ever visited Shetâna to collect taxes . . . or amuse themselves by preying on the people there. All your guards must treat Miss Céline and Miss Amelie as honored guests.”

  “My lord!” Kochè began to object.

  Damek turned on him, and he fell silent.

  “Captain,” Damek said, “you will do as my brother asks. Be clear with your men. Anyone who even hints of the identity of these women will be . . . reprimanded.”

  Céline could only imagine what that meant.

  Kochè’s face darkened. “Yes, my lord.”

  And so, Anton had effectively solved the problem of Captain Kochè—at least to a point—and all the guards would be ordered to show Céline and Amelie proper respect. She could not help being somewhat impressed by how quickly Anton had headed off several of their initial problems.

  But now the hard part began.

  Damek studied her, glanced at Amelie, and then back to her. “And how did you plan to catch this murderer?”

  Céline instinctively knew that showing him an ounce of uncertainty would be a mistake.

  “Do you still have Carlotta’s body, my lord?” she asked.

  He smiled. The sight made Céline feel chilled, even in the warm room. “Yes,” he answered. “It’s in the cellars. I thought her family would wish to bring it home for burial.”

  “May we examine it?” she asked.

  If he found the request macabre, he didn’t show it, and instead looked to Anton, who nodded.

  “By all means,” Damek said. “Allow me to get dressed.”

  * * *

  At some point along the walk down into the cellars—Céline didn’t notice exactly when—the small man with the birthmark rejoined them, carrying a lantern. When they all emerged into a dark room below the main floor of the castle, the party felt rather large, but Céline supposed there was no help for it. She and Amelie were necessary. Both princes wanted to witness the examination, and both princes also had their own personal bodyguards present, so Rurik and Kochè brought up the rear.

  And Céline was grateful for the small attendant carrying the lantern.

  All such thoughts vanished from her mind, though, when she saw the body laid out on a long wooden table. Stores of wine casks and wheels of cheese and barrels of oats filled the back half of the room. It unsettled Céline that Carlotta’s body had the appearance of being “stored” here with the food.

  Amelie stepped up to the table first, and Céline moved to join her. Since arriving, Amelie hadn’t said a word, but that wasn’t unusual. She normally let Céline take the lead at the beginning of an investigation.

  “What exactly do you wish to see?” Prince Damek asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  “Signs of poison, my lord,” Céline answered. “Some are easy to obtain, and others are more difficult. If we know what was used, it could help in our search.” She looked over at the small man with the lantern. “Could you . . . would you mind bringing the light closer?”

  Instantly, he was at her side, holding the light over Carlotta’s face. “I am Lionel,” he said politely. His voice was almost musical when he spoke. “Please inform me of anything you require.”

  “Thank you,” she answered. “I am Miss Céline. Just continue holding the light there for now.”

  First, Céline took a visual impression. The body was several days old, and stiffening had set in. Carlotta had been a large-boned woman in life, and her age was difficult to determine. Her dark hair was coarse with strands of gray, but her face seemed younger. Her mouth was downturned, and her hands were large and sinewy. Her dress was black with white trim, and it covered her entire form with a high neckline and long sleeves. Even in death, something about her gave Céline the impression that she’d been an unhappy woman.

  Anton stepped up to the table. “Anything?” he asked quietly.

  Céline moved around him and pushed up one of Carlotta’s sleeves, examining her skin. Then she continued to the end of the table and did a check of the legs. “No red rash, so it wasn’t Belladonna.” Circling back to Anton, she whispered, “Could you ask your brother to describe exactly when Carlotta . . . when she died?”

  “You can ask me such things yourself,” Damek interrupted. “I don’t bite.”

  Céline wasn’t sure she believed that, but she looked over at him.

  He shrugged. “She took a drink from her goblet and then she couldn’t breathe. She died.”

  “Was she choking?” Céline asked, and then remembered to add, “My lord.”

  “None of us had eaten anything, so it had to be the wine,” Damek answered. “She made choking sounds, but it was more like someone attempting to draw air and failing.”

  Céline leaned down over Carlotta’s head.

  “What do you think?” Amelie whispered to her.

  “I don’t know.”

  Reaching down, Céline put her fingers in Carlotta’s mouth and pried her teeth apart.

  “What are you doing?” Anton asked in what sounded like revulsion.

  Without answering, Céline leaned close to examine Carlotta’s tongue and throat. She looked up to Damek. “My lord . . . her tongue isn’t swollen, and her throat isn’t red. Her windpipe is clear. I’m not . . . I’m not certain that she was poisoned. Did the family mention any history of illness? Perhaps a weak heart?”

  A mix of pleasure and hope washed over Damek’s face. “They mentioned nothing to me, but are you saying she might simply have died on her own? That would be welcome news were it true. It would certainly ease the way for my betrothal to Rochelle.”

  Although Céline was mildly sickened by his callous attitude toward Carlotta�
�s death, she understood what he was saying.

  “When will Céline have a chance to speak to the family?” Anton asked. He sounded hopeful as well. If this were to turn out to be a tragic but natural death, it would leave him free to take his people here and go home.

  “You’ll meet them at dinner tonight in the great hall,” Damek answered. “I know everyone is supposed to be in mourning, but we all must eat.” He tilted his head. “If Céline is so sure this wasn’t murder, is there any need for you to continue?”

  “I am not sure,” Céline put in quickly. “I am just telling you what I see here. In order to be sure, we must press onward.”

  “I agree,” Anton said reluctantly. “I hope you’re right, but we can’t leave until we’re certain. Father would not be pleased otherwise.”

  Damek stretched his arms. “As you wish. I will see you at dinner.” He yawned again. “Lionel will see to you from here.” Without another word, he turned and walked out of the cellar room. Captain Kochè followed him.

  Anton glanced at Céline and then down to Carlotta. “You really think she may have died from an illness or a weak heart?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t see any evidence that she was poisoned.”

  Lionel bowed his head once and asked, “May I see you up to your rooms? I can have hot water for washing and tea brought in for you.”

  Suddenly, a mug of hot tea sounded very good.

  Anton nodded to the small man. “Yes.”

  “I have rooms prepared for all of you on the second floor of the east tower,” Lionel continued. “Miss Céline and Miss Amelie’s maid has already begun unpacking in their rooms.”

  “Rooms?” Rurik broke in. “You have the women in separate rooms?”

  Lionel’s expression turned offended. “Of course.”

  Rurik shook his head. “No.” He looked to Anton. “My lord, Céline and Amelie should stay in the same room, with Helga on a palette on the floor. You should have a room nearby, with me sleeping on a palette. I’m in charge of your safety, and Lieutenant Jaromir would have my head if I agreed to anything less.”