Witches With the Enemy

by Barb Hendee

  “Yes,” Céline said, turning back to business. “Of course.” She reached out and touched Amelie’s hand. “You’ve done well.”

  It embarrassed Amelie how much she liked hearing her sister’s praise. For much of her life, Amelie had longed to be useful at something besides being good in a knife fight, and now she finally was.

  “Two other people worth watching are that Captain Maddox and Captain Kochè,” Céline continued. “Maddox never takes his eyes off Rochelle, and he looks lovesick to me. And Captain Kochè glares at her.”

  “Really?” Amelie asked. “I hadn’t noticed. All right. We’ll see what we can find out.” She paused. “Helga, do you think you might learn anything from the other servants? Might they gossip?”

  “Maybe,” Helga grunted. “I can try.”

  “We can’t discount the family, either,” Céline said. “One thing that truly puzzles me is why the killer hasn’t targeted Rochelle or Damek. If someone wished to stop the wedding cold, wouldn’t they kill the bride or groom?”

  “I know,” Amelie agreed. “I wondered about that, too.”

  “Lizbeth is the most outspoken,” Céline said, “and she was also the first one tonight to insist the family leave. Heath backed her up, but she spoke first. She seems fond of her two siblings, and Rochelle is too gentle-natured to argue with her mother or uncle. If someone tried to force you to marry Damek . . . I’m afraid I might be willing to kill in order to stop it.”

  Amelie glanced away. She’d certainly kill to protect Céline from such a fate—but she wouldn’t do it by poison or arcane means.

  “And what about the bride . . . this Rochelle?” Helga asked. “Is she truly so gentle? Could it be an act? What if she’s trying to save herself?”

  Amelie sighed. Perhaps they were trying to make too much progress in a single night?

  As if reading her face, Céline drew her over to the dressing table. “That’s enough speculation for now. Let’s eat a little and get some sleep. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

  “What about Anton and Rurik’s supper?” Amelie asked. “Is someone going to feed them?”

  “Don’t you worry,” Helga answered. “Rurik knows what to do. He’ll make sure the prince eats.”

  With some relief, Amelie reached for a cup of tea. It was probably cold by now, but she didn’t care.

  * * *

  Late in the night, Céline lay awake in the bed she shared with Amelie.

  Her sister was fast asleep, and Helga snored loudly as she lay on a palette on the floor. Though Céline longed for sleep, she couldn’t stop trying to reason out how the deaths of Carlotta and Hamish had been arranged.

  Amelie’s news about the Lady Saorise was unsettling.

  Could the victims have been murdered via some sort of spell? Even if so, there was no guarantee that it had been Saorise. Céline knew nothing of Rochelle or her family or their guards. Any one of them could have knowledge of the arcane arts.

  If a spell had been cast, how much time would it need to take effect? Carlotta and Hamish had both died within moments of sitting down at the table—before the food had even been served. Where had everyone been standing just before dinner was announced?

  Closing her eyes, Céline tried to re-create the scene in her mind . . . to place everyone, to try to remember who had been engaged in conversation and who had not. Amelie’s reading of Johanna had brought most of the party nearer to the table.

  Céline herself had been near Lizbeth, but she had not been watching the girl. Damek had been near Rochelle. Beyond that . . . lying there in the bed, Céline couldn’t place everyone. She would probably need to be standing in the great hall for her memory to accurately re-create the scene.

  As that thought passed through her head, she opened her eyes.

  No . . . not at this hour, she told herself.

  But then again, what time would possibly be better? Everyone would be asleep except perhaps a few Kimovesk guards on night duty. They were no danger to her. Damek had made sure of that. She would have all the time she needed to stand alone in the great hall and use it as a visual guide to re-create the events before everyone sat down. The more she considered this, the more it seemed her best course of action.

  It was an odd thought that she would be safe walking around at night inside the home of Anton’s enemy . . . but she would. There was no one here who wished her any harm. Of course there was a killer somewhere in the castle, but as of yet, Céline was no threat to him or her, and Céline had no part in the marriage negotiations.

  She would be risking nothing by going below and trying to set a few things straight in her mind. Anton was desperate to get this solved as quickly as possible, and she was willing to try almost anything to make that happen.

  Quietly, she crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the wardrobe, which was cracked but not open. Thankfully, the hinges were oiled and after pulling open one door, she lifted out a wool gown that laced up the front.

  In moments, she had it on. Then she pulled on the silk shoes she’d been wearing earlier.

  Amelie had not stirred, and Helga hadn’t ceased her snoring.

  Céline slipped from the room and out into the passageway. Closing the door, she breathed in relief. The passage was empty, and she hurried for the stairs. Upon reaching the main floor of the castle, she peered out of the stairwell down the long passage to the great hall.

  She saw no one.

  If she ran into any of the Kimovesk guards, she would simply tell them she was unable to sleep and had decided to try a walk. They were under orders to treat her as a guest, and they feared Damek a good deal more than they might wish to interfere with her.

  Though the passage along the backside of the castle seemed longer than it had earlier in the evening, she walked it swiftly and emerged into the great hall. The fire was dead, and the hall was now deserted—as expected. A few low-burning braziers on the walls provided light.

  She stepped in slowly until she stood in the same spot she’d been in only moments before Master Lionel came to inform Damek that dinner was about to be served. Looking around, she tried to set the scene in her mind.

  First, closing her eyes, she attempted to hear the voices of who had been speaking and who had been silent.

  If someone had turned away from the group to do . . . something to set Hamish’s death into motion, who might that person have been?

  Johanna had been walking away from Amelie.

  Rochelle had been standing near Damek.

  Captain Maddox had been near the wall—and no one had been observing him.

  Where had the Lady Saorise been standing? Had she been engaged in a conversation?

  “Céline?”

  She opened her eyes. Prince Damek and two guards in black tabards stood just inside the west entrance. Damek was still fully dressed, wearing the same clothes from dinner with the sheathed dagger at his hip.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, coming closer.

  Suddenly, she was embarrassed. She’d thought him long asleep. She must look rather a fool standing there alone in the great hall at this hour.

  “Forgive me, my lord,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep and thought to try and re-create where everyone had been standing just before . . . before . . .” She trailed off.

  He didn’t appear to even hear her words. Then he was directly in front of her.

  “You are alone?” he asked in what sounded like disbelief. His eyes glinted.

  Though his manner was unsettling, she wasn’t afraid. At present, he needed her skills and abilities, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his impending marriage.

  Looking over one shoulder, he ordered his guards, “Get out.”

  Both men turned on their heel and strode out of the hall the way they’d come.

  Though she still wasn’t frightened, something a
bout this alarmed Céline enough that she took a few steps backward. “I only sought to get a few things straight in my mind. Again, my apologies. I should be in my room.”

  In a flash, he cut off her exit, not touching her, but neither would he let her move past him.

  “You’re my brother’s pet, aren’t you?” he whispered. “I can see it when he looks at you . . . when he speaks of you.”

  The glinting in his eyes grew brighter, and Céline tried to step around him. “My lord, if you please—”

  He cut her off again, and for the first time, fear began creeping into the pit of her stomach. He was staring at her as if he’d somehow come across an unexpected treasure.

  “His pet, aren’t you?” It was cold in the hall, but a few drops of sweat trickled down his temples. “Do you bring him comfort at night? Does he tell you his secrets?”

  Now she could see madness behind the glint, and she bolted, dashing around him and running for the east archway. Before she’d gone three steps, something wrenched on her hair, and she was pulled at a rapid pace toward the wall.

  The next thing she knew, he had her back against the wall, and he held her there.

  Fighting for calm, she searched for anything she might say to make him stop. “I was brought here to ensure your marriage to a member of the royal family. Have you forgotten that?”

  His body shook several times, and as his eyes bored into hers, she could see what looked to be a war taking place. A part of him had heard her, but another part couldn’t seem to stop.

  “So pretty,” he whispered, touching her face. “Would he still care for you if you weren’t so pretty?”

  One of his fingernails raked down her cheek, and she couldn’t help crying out and trying to push him away. He gasped in pleasure at her struggles, and when she got another look at his face, all semblance of reason was gone. He did not seem to see her. From the twisted words he’d been speaking, she realized he only saw something Anton cared for.

  Was that Damek’s sickness? A need to hurt or destroy whatever Anton cared for? Did he need to feed this hunger enough to ruin himself?

  In terror, she realized that she was nothing to him in this moment. Nothing. He only wanted to cause Anton pain.

  Leaning down, he brushed his face against the side of hers. “Push at me again,” he whispered. “Or scream.” One of his hands moved down her side, and he gripped her rib cage, pressing with his thumb. “We have all night.”

  Wild fear coursed through her. He cared nothing for anyone else’s life, he enjoyed inflicting fear, and he seemed to have utterly lost himself. When she did not push at him or scream, he nuzzled her face again and took the lobe of her ear in his teeth.

  He started to bite down.

  At this, she pushed and struggled, knowing she was doing exactly what he wanted, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “My lord, please!”

  And then . . . he was wrenched off her.

  Céline stumbled forward into empty air, and when she somehow stopped herself from falling and looked up, she saw Anton standing a few paces from Damek.

  Damek appeared dazed, as if trying to understand what had just happened.

  Anton was only partially dressed, in a loose shirt and pants. His feet were bare, but he gripped a dagger in his right hand. This confused Céline. Anton didn’t carry a dagger.

  Damek’s eyes cleared slightly, and his right hand shot down for the sheath at his hip.

  The sheath was empty.

  The skin over Anton’s cheekbones drew back, and he launched forward, slamming Damek against the wall. Anton’s face was a mask of rage. He shoved his left forearm against Damek’s throat, pinning his brother’s head.

  In equal rage, Damek tried to shove back . . . with no effect. Anton held him there and then pressed the point of the dagger low against Damek’s abdomen. Céline stood frozen, watching.

  She didn’t even recognize Anton. The prince she knew was gone, replaced by a stranger.

  He spoke directly into Damek’s ear. “If you ever touch her again . . . I don’t mean if you hurt her. I mean if you touch her. I will cut you from your groin to your rib cage, and then I’ll drag you down to that little room we both know, and I’ll lock you inside. If anyone asks me where you are, I’ll tell them I don’t know, and I’ll leave you there in the dark to die over the next two days.”

  Horror passed through Damek’s eyes, and he struggled to breathe with Anton’s forearm straining against his throat.

  “Do you believe me?” Anton asked.

  No answer came, and it was possible Damek couldn’t speak.

  “Nod if you believe me,” Anton said.

  Damek tried to nod.

  With one last shove against his brother’s throat, Anton stepped back, still holding the dagger. “Céline, go into the passage,” he ordered.

  She ran for the east archway. Once inside the passage, she kept running for a few moments, and then she stopped and turned. Anton was striding after her, carrying the dagger.

  She waited.

  About ten paces away, he halted. His face was so tight and his eyes were so hard, she still barely recognized him.

  “What were you doing down here?” he demanded.

  Her body was shaking, and she couldn’t stop it, and he was in no state to listen to rational explanations, so she just stood there.

  “I told you not to walk alone,” he said, his voice ragged. “There’s something broken in Damek, and he can’t stop himself once he . . . Do you understand what would have happened if I hadn’t . . . if I hadn’t . . . ?” He lifted the dagger and looked at it. Then he threw it across the passage.

  When he turned back to Céline, the anger in his face was gone, replaced by pain, and he held one arm out to her. She ran to him.

  He gripped her with both arms and pulled her tight against his chest. She was still shaking.

  “Nothing like that will ever happen again. I swear. I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he said, holding her tighter. “Do you believe me?”

  With her face pressed into his shoulder, she nodded. In that moment, she did believe him.

  “How did you find me?” she whispered. “How did you know to look for me? I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was. Rochelle came and knocked on my door, asking permission to seek your help. It seems Lady Helena’s brave face took a bad turn in the night when it finally hit her that her brother is dead. She’s overwrought, and Rochelle hoped you could help. I went to get you . . . and found you gone. I ordered Rurik and Amelie to see if you’d gone to the kitchen, and I came here.”

  “Oh.” With a rush of guilt that people had been looking for her, Céline pulled away from him. He let her go. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Does Lady Helena still need help?” she asked.

  “I would think so.”

  With nothing else to say, they started back toward the east tower. Anton left the dagger where it lay. Céline assumed Damek had gone out the west archway of the hall and back to his own rooms, but she didn’t care to think about him at all.

  * * *

  Upon reaching her room, Céline managed to put off an immediate scolding from Helga. Neither Rurik nor Amelie was there yet—as they were both still looking for Céline.

  “Please just do what you can to let them know she has been found,” Anton interjected, leaving Helga sputtering.

  Céline quickly found her box of medicinal supplies, and Anton took her back to the stairs.

  “The family has rooms in this tower as well,” he explained, “one floor above.”

  They hurried up one flight of stairs and as Céline stepped off the landing, she could see Captain Maddox and Heath both pacing in the passage, outside an open door.

  Céline went right to them, with Anton on her heels.


  “How is Lady Helena?” she asked.

  Maddox remained silent and grim; perhaps he expected Heath to respond.

  Heath shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. Rochelle and Lizbeth are with her.”

  That wasn’t exactly an answer, but Céline moved past him into the guest room. Inside, Lizbeth stood near the open door, with a blue cloak thrown over the top of her shift, looking lost and helpless. Rochelle was across the room, kneeling on the floor, wearing nothing but a white shift and a shawl.

  “Please, Mother,” she said, “come back to the bed.”

  Lady Helena was sitting on the floor with her back to the wall, her knees in her chest, and her face in her hands, whispering inaudible words. She also wore nothing but a shift. Rochelle must have heard Céline’s entrance, because she looked over her shoulder, and her expression melted into relief.

  “Miss Céline, can you do anything for her? She is distraught.”

  Céline walked over and dropped down, opening her box. “When did this start?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t exactly know. Lizbeth and I are sharing a room across the hall. Mother seemed fine when we went to bed. Of course she was troubled, but she was in control. I woke up to the sound of loud weeping, and I came in here, and I found her . . . like this, and she has not moved. I thought about asking Captain Maddox to lift her back into the bed, but I didn’t know if that would be the right thing to do.”

  “You were wise,” Céline assured her, reaching into her box and pulling out a bottle filled with a milky white substance.

  “What is that?” Lizbeth asked from near the door.

  “It’s poppy syrup,” Céline answered. “Your mother is in shock, and she needs to relax and sleep. When she wakes, she should be more herself again.”

  Céline opened the bottle and poured a wooden spoonful.

  “My lady,” she said gently. “Can you drink this for me?”

  Helena took her hands away from her face and looked at Céline without recognition. With her hair down, the aging noblewoman seemed younger somehow.

  “He was all I had left,” Helena whispered. “I know he drank too much and sported with women too young for him, but he was all I had.”