by Barb Hendee
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 sister 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 happened?” 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?”
“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 ev
ening, 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.