Witches With the Enemy

by Barb Hendee

  * * *

  Anton knew Amelie well enough to see that she’d lied, but he also knew she must have a good reason, so he kept silent and stood close in case she needed any help extracting herself from Lord Hamish’s grip.

  She did not, and she deftly moved away from Lord Hamish to stand near Céline.

  The entire evening had been torture so far, and he longed to be away from this place. He did not know how long he could keep this polite mask on his face. It might help if he could stand with Céline for a little while. Her close presence sometimes helped him gather himself. But he didn’t dare. If he showed her any notice at all, Damek would see it.

  The sound of light, clicking heels echoed through the hall as the diminutive figure of Lionel came through the archway and went directly to Damek.

  Damek leaned down as Lionel spoke in his ear and then Damek nodded and addressed his guests. “I am informed that dinner will be served. Could we take our places at the table?”

  “Do you have a preferred seating arrangement, my lord?” Rochelle asked quietly.

  “Tonight?” Damek said as if mulling this over. “I think not.”

  To Anton’s surprise, Amelie walked over to Heath. “Would you sit with me, Baron? You can tell me about the wine business.”

  The young man stared at her. “Oh, my uncle is the one who runs the . . . I’m not allowed to . . .” He trailed off and then gathered himself, looking pleased at her invitation. “It would be my honor. And please call me Heath. No one here will notice.”

  Anton experienced a moment of relief, followed by guilt, that he wouldn’t have to converse with the young baron at dinner. Heath seemed so shy that conversation would be difficult and require effort, and Anton would rather keep his attention focused on everything transpiring around him.

  Lord Hamish hurried toward Céline, and held his arm out for her to grasp. “Shall we?”

  Without hesitation, Céline took his arm. Anton ground his teeth but didn’t move. Rochelle took Damek’s arm. Remembering his manners, Anton turned to look around for Lady Helena, but she was already drifting over toward the table with the Lady Saorise, and Anton found himself facing Lizbeth.

  Though he found her somewhat brusque, he held his arm out politely. To do less would be unthinkable.

  She blinked and blushed, and for a brief moment, she lost all her bravado and turned into an uncertain teenage girl right before his eyes. Pity washed through him.

  “Please join me for dinner,” he said.

  Quickly, she took his arm, and he decided he would not mind her company so much. She was certainly preferable to attempting small talk with Damek . . . and Céline could handle Lord Hamish, so he need not worry too much.

  The main thing was just to get through the evening and then see what Céline wanted to do next regarding this “investigation.” He fervently hoped she’d be able to prove Carlotta had died a natural death.

  Then they could go home.

  As people took their seats, Céline sipped from her goblet. “This is a good wine, at least to my palette.” She turned to Heath, who sat across from her with Amelie. “Baron, what do you think? Is this a good vintage?”

  Lord Hamish snorted in disgust. “The young fool wouldn’t know a white grape from a red. He knows nothing about wine.”

  Heath kept his eyes on his plate, but Lizbeth glared at her uncle. “At least he doesn’t drink up half our stores.”

  Lady Helena stiffened and another awkward silence followed, but Anton’s assessment of Lizbeth was rising. Brusque or not, she stood up for her brother.

  Lord Hamish ignored the comment and turned to Céline. “Will you read my future later?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” she answered smoothly.

  He smiled and took a long swallow of his wine. He leaned close to Céline as if he was about to say something else.

  No words came out.

  He attempted to clear his throat and draw a breath. Alarm crossed his features.

  “My lord?” Céline asked.

  Panic filled Hamish’s eyes as he stood and shoved back his chair, grabbing his throat and fighting to breathe.

  In that instant, everyone began talking or crying out at once.

  “Brother!” Lady Helena called, rushing toward him.

  Rochelle was on her feet, but she looked wildly to the tall bodyguard standing nearby. “Maddox!” she cried. “It’s happening again. Please make it stop!”

  The Äntes guard bolted toward Hamish, catching him as he fell backward.

  Céline was right there, pulling at Lord Hamish’s collar to loosen it. “Don’t fight it!” she told him. “Try to relax. Just let yourself breathe.”

  Hamish’s eyes bulged in terror and agony. His face first turned red and then blue as he fought to breathe and failed. All Anton could do was stand there helplessly. Hamish’s body began to convulse.

  It took him several moments to die, but finally, he went still . . . with his eyes open.

  The tall guard called Maddox lowered his body to the floor. He looked over to Rochelle as if he had just failed her.

  She stared back at him.

  Damek watched this exchange with a tight expression.

  Céline knelt on the floor beside Hamish, and Anton couldn’t help a rush of revulsion when she put her hands in the dead man’s mouth and opened it, feeling his tongue and peering in at his throat.

  “She did it!” Lady Helena shouted.

  In confusion, Anton looked up to see her pointing at Johanna.

  Johanna stepped back in fear.

  “You told us yourself,” Helena went on hysterically, this time speaking to Damek. “Nobody else touched the wine. It had to be her!”

  Damek had not moved from the head of the table. “I assure you it was not Johanna.”

  Poor Lizbeth was struck speechless, and so was Heath as they both looked across the table and down at their dead uncle.

  “It may not even have been the wine,” Céline put in, and all eyes turned to her.

  “What do you mean?” Anton asked.

  Céline didn’t answer. She stood. Hamish’s half-full goblet was still on the table. Picking it up, she sniffed the contents.

  “I don’t see any signs that he was poisoned,” she said. “His tongue is not swollen, his windpipe is open, and his throat appears normal. I don’t know why he ceased to breathe.” She paused. “But the only way I can think to test the liquid in this goblet for anything besides wine is to taste it myself, just a drop or two on my tongue. I may be able to taste a foreign ingredient.”

  “No,” Anton ordered.

  “I don’t know how else to test it.”

  As of yet, Amelie had not spoken since Lord Hamish fell. Now she looked to the Lady Saorise and said, “She might.”

  Damek’s face registered surprise at Amelie’s comment, but then he, too, looked at Saorise. She raised one silver-blond eyebrow, and after a moment, he nodded.

  With unhurried grace, Saorise walked over and reached out for the goblet. “May I?”

  Wordlessly, Céline handed it to her.

  Saorise held the goblet with both hands and closed her eyes. The great hall was silent when she opened them again. Before anyone could move, she dipped her finger in the liquid and then put it into her mouth.

  “My lady,” Céline cried.

  “There is nothing in this goblet but wine,” Saorise announced. As everyone stared at her, she took a long swallow as if to prove herself. “It is only wine.”

  Lizbeth found her voice. “Then what . . . what killed Uncle Hamish and Carlotta?” Taking a step backward, she shook her head. “This is madness. We must sever this betrothal and go home.”

  “She’s right,” Heath said quietly. “We should have left before now.”

  Lady Helena straightened. “No. Your uncle would
not have wanted that.” She looked to Damek. “We must move the date of the wedding closer, as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Chapter Six

  Not long after, Céline found herself in Damek’s chambers with only him, Amelie, and Anton present. Even Kochè and Rurik had been ordered to wait outside in the passage. Lord Hamish’s body had been removed to the cellars, and the remaining members of his family had gone to their rooms.

  Damek paced like a manic cat, all traces of the gracious host gone, as if he had been an actor playing a part downstairs.

  Céline struggled to make sense of the chain of events she’d just witnessed. With the exception of the mystery of how Lord Hamish had died, she was most confused by Lady Helena’s reaction . . . of wanting to move up the wedding date as soon as possible. Hadn’t she and the family threatened to leave Kimovesk after Carlotta died? That was what Damek had said in his letter to Anton. Had Damek lied, or had something changed?

  Damek suddenly stopped pacing and whirled on Anton. “Your seers are useless! First they tell me there was no murder at all, and then they fail to stop the next one!”

  Anton’s entire body was rigid. “My task in coming here was to clear the way for your wedding to Rochelle, and yet it seems that two deaths in her family are no hindrance. I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t take my people and leave in the morning. You’ll be married inside the month.”

  “For once you’re right,” Damek hissed at him. “I don’t need help from you. I can complete this marriage on my own, and then through my connection to the house of Äntes, I’ll rise far beyond what you could ever hope for.”

  “We can’t leave,” Céline said quietly. “Two people dying for lack of air . . . for no apparent reason at the dinner table cannot be a coincidence. I don’t know how these murders are being done, but there is a killer in this castle, and it seems to me that young Lizbeth is right. Someone is attempting to stop the marriage.” She looked to Damek. “After Carlotta died, who took over negotiations for Rochelle’s dowry?”

  He paused a moment and calmed slightly before answering, “Lord Hamish. He was actually easier to deal with than Carlotta, and we had almost come to terms.”

  “And then Lord Hamish died,” Céline finished.

  She took a glance at Amelie and knew her sister well enough to see that Amelie was practically bursting to speak to her alone, but she didn’t think Anton or Damek would pay much attention to Amelie’s partially veiled expression of desperation. After all, they had just witnessed a death. Anyone might show some distress.

  Anton ran his hands through his hair, and Céline could see that in spite of what she’d said, he was still considering packing up.

  “If the goal is indeed to stop the marriage from taking place,” she went on, “then Lady Helena’s announcement tonight will only drive the killer to further action. Anton, what if he . . . or she decides to murder Rochelle next? Or Damek? How will that look to your father if you’ve already abandoned the scene?”

  Damek and Anton both tensed at her words, and Damek said, “Murder me?”

  Had that not occurred to him?

  Céline didn’t answer and let her words sink in for a few moments.

  Finally, Damek glared at her as if she was to blame. “And what is it you think you can do?”

  “Amelie and I need to work up a list of people with possible motives, and then you need to back us absolutely should we ask to read someone.”

  “I have no authority over Rochelle’s family or their guards,” he answered.

  “I know,” she answered. “Let us worry about them, but if I ask, you’ll give the order regarding anyone else?”

  His eyes were still manic. “You think you can root out this killer?”

  She shrugged, and it seemed that expectations for all forms of scraping and deference and calling Damek “my lord” had gone out the window. “We’ve done it before. Ask your father.”

  “Fine,” he snapped. “Make your list and I’ll give you a free hand, but I want this finished quickly, do you understand?”

  “You’ll need to string along the marriage negotiations,” Anton put in. “As Céline said, if you rush it, you or Rochelle could become a target. Perhaps we should even say that the wedding is postponed?”

  “No!” Damek closed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Perhaps. I need to think.”

  “The sisters will need some time to put a list together,” Anton said as he started for the door, motioning Amelie and Céline to follow. “I suggest we discuss further plans from there.”

  With his eyes still closed, Damek nodded. “Yes, now get out.”

  * * *

  At long last, Amelie finally found herself at the door of their own room. Anton and Rurik had walked with them from Damek’s chambers on the other side of the castle.

  “We’re in the room right next door if you need anything,” Anton said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Céline answered. “Try to get some rest.”

  Without even waiting to say good night to the men, Amelie pushed the door of their own room open and went inside. Helga was there, amidst several glowing candle lanterns. She stood near the dressing table, arranging food on a tray: bread, ham, cheese, and steaming mugs.

  Amelie was actually glad to see her. For some reason, Helga made the most bizarre situations feel normal.

  “There you are,” Helga said. “I was starting to worry after I heard another one of the hoity-toity had dropped dead at the table. But I figured dinner might be canceled.”

  “Oh, Helga,” she said. “Will you get me out of this ridiculous gown? I can barely breathe.”

  As she turned to offer her back to Helga, Céline entered and closed the door.

  “Amelie, I think you have a good deal to tell us,” Céline said.

  “Yes, I don’t even know where to begin. Just let me get out of this gown.”

  As Helga deftly unlaced the back of the burgundy silk, Amelie reveled in taking a long breath of air. Then she remembered the weapons strapped to her wrists and came to a decision.

  “Céline . . . ,” she began, sloughing the gown off her shoulders and letting it fall. She held out her arms. “Jaromir gave me these before we left Sèone. He told me to keep them a secret, but I’m tired of hiding them every time I change clothes. Don’t ask me to take them off, because I won’t.”

  “Why would you think I’d ask you to take them off?”

  “I don’t know . . . for the ruse, I suppose. We’re supposed to be from a family of wealthy merchants.”

  Mildly affronted, Céline said, “Well, you needn’t worry. I won’t ask you to take them off. Not after tonight anyway. Now tell me what you know about Lady Saorise . . . and how you know it.”

  “You girls come and have something to eat first,” Helga said, dropping Amelie’s gown on the bed. “I know you’ve not had supper.”

  “In a moment,” Amelie said, thinking where she might best start here. “Céline . . . first, you should know that Johanna is Damek’s mistress, and I don’t mean some servant girl he forces into his bed now and then. When I read her, I saw a scene of the night before Rochelle’s arrival, and Johanna was threatening to leave him. Damek told her his marriage would change nothing between them, and then she said she loved him.”

  “Oh . . . my,” Céline said, walking over and sitting down on the bed. “You’re certain? There’s no way you could have misinterpreted what you saw?”

  “It was clear. But I couldn’t expose her downstairs. You can only imagine what would have happened.”

  “No, of course you were quite right.” Céline’s brow furrowed. “But that puts Johanna’s name at the top of the list. She has a motive.”

  Amelie nodded. Now came the difficult part. “And the Lady Saorise . . . brace yourself . . .” She trailed off, struggling for the right words, and decided to just spit it out.
“She created the elixir that turned all those soldiers into wolf-beasts up on Ryazan. She’s some kind of sorceress.”

  “What?” Céline gasped, standing.

  Helga stopped slicing cheese and turned from the dressing table. “A kettle witch? Here?”

  That was Helga’s term for anyone who practiced magic who’d not been born with a special gift as one of the Mist-Torn. But it was hardly helpful now.

  On the sisters’ last journey, up to the silver mines in Ryazan, they’d been engaged to discover why the soldiers there were turning into great, mad wolves. In the end, Amelie had done a reading of the man responsible, and when she looked into his past, she’d seen him with the Lady Saorise and Damek.

  Saorise had used the blood of a dead Móndyalítko shape-shifter—who’d been killed for this purpose—and several body parts from a dead wolf to make an elixir. This was all part of an experiment Damek had wanted to try, but Saorise had helped willingly and shown not the slightest concern over causing suffering or death.

  Amelie had explained some of this to Céline last summer, but she’d never described Lady Saorise or mentioned the name. There didn’t seem to be a need.

  Céline looked to Helga. “I don’t know much about . . . Saorise would need to be quite skilled in order to make such a powerful elixir?”

  Helga nodded. “I should say so. Move her to the top of your list.”

  “But what motive could she have?” Céline asked. “She’s highly placed here, but her power is dependent on Damek’s power. She’d want him to marry into royal connections.”

  That was true.

  “She did seem awfully sure that wine hadn’t been poisoned, and she didn’t hesitate to drink it,” Amelie put in. “If she’d used some kind of . . . spell to murder Hamish, she’d have known beforehand that the wine was safe.”

  “Yes, but she tasted a drop with her finger first. Perhaps she has knowledge of herb lore. Had Anton allowed me to do that, I could have told you if there was something more in the wine.”

  All three women went silent for a moment.

  “Motive or not,” Helga said, “I’d put her on your list.”