by Barb Hendee
“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 hall.
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.”
Instead of being put off by this, Baron Menchan seemed pleased. “Oh, not to worry. My mother was overzealous. I’ll teach you.”
With little choice, Céline was whisked away to the dance floor. Prince Lieven fell into a low conversation with Lord Malbek. Lady Helena was speaking to Saorise, and Amelie found herself looking across the table at Heath.
She fervently hoped he would not ask her to dance—as she knew even less about dancing than Céline.
But he stood abruptly and said, “Excuse me.” Then he walked away.
His manner was so odd that Amelie watched him cross the hall. He stopped near the edge of the dancing, and he watched Rochelle with Damek.
The first song ended, and people applauded. Damek and Rochelle came away from the dance floor. Several guests flocked to them, offering congratulations—or that was what it seemed to Amelie. As Damek became engaged in speaking with a middle-aged couple, Heath slid up beside Rochelle and whispered something in her ear. She frowned and shook her head, and he leaned in and spoke again, more insistently.
This time, Rochelle allowed her brother to draw her away. They walked the short distance to the east archway, and then they left the hall, stepping out of sight. Was Rochelle leaving her own engagement celebration?
Amelie found that hard to believe.
No one was watching her, so she stood and casually made her way to the east arch. She’d intended to pass right through, but as she approached, she heard the sounds of an argument. Moving closer, she leaned against the outer right side of the archway, near the edge so she could hear the words clearly.
“You can’t,” Heath was saying. “You must put a stop to it.”
“I cannot stop it now,” Rochelle answered. “It’s done.”
“Marry Damek? Tomorrow? Do you understand what that means?”
“I know what I’m doing. I can handle Damek. I put him to the test, Heath. I asked him to dismiss the captain of his guards, the head of his castle security, and he agreed. He’ll do anything for me.”
“That was before the wedding. Things might be quite different after tomorrow.” Apparently, he was not so resigned to this marriage as he’d claimed.
“Everything is going as planned, better than planned,” Rochelle said, and her tone was soft and soothing now. “I know it sounds awful, but with Carlotta and our uncle gone, there’s only Mother to try and force my hand once I’m in power . . . and I can handle Mother. I’m going to be the grand princess of Droevinka, and Damek will do anything I ask. I can make you lord chance
llor, Heath. We won’t be separated, and I’ll give you any position at court you want.”
“I don’t want a position at court!” His voice rose, and then it lowered. “Listen to me, Rochelle. If you go through with this, you’ll be in Damek’s bed tomorrow night. His bed. I know you know nothing of . . . men and women, and you can’t possibly understand what that means, but by the time you do, it will be too late.”
“Don’t be crude,” she said. “Now stop this before someone comes looking for us. I’m going back to the hall.”
Her footsteps sounded, and Amelie hurried away from the side of the arch, walking back toward the crowd to try to disappear. Once she had a few people behind her, she looked back. Rochelle had rejoined Damek, but Heath didn’t return to the hall.
Amelie tried to make sense of what she’d heard pass between them. Her thoughts kept rolling over the same sentence.
With Carlotta and our uncle gone, there’s only Mother to try and force my hand once I’m in power . . . and I can handle Mother.
What if the motive had not been to sabotage the marriage? What if Rochelle had known her mother wouldn’t sever negotiations no matter what happened, and Rochelle was trying to strengthen her own position before the wedding took place? And who besides Rochelle had a stronger motive for killing Maddox? He’d threatened to make their history known and to ruin her.
The question was . . . how? Even Céline still didn’t know exactly what had killed Carlotta and Hamish, and Rochelle could not have killed Maddox. She’d been in the great hall when he died.
Still, another sentence echoed through Amelie’s mind: the last words she’d heard from Maddox.
Watch Rochelle. She is not what she seems.
* * *
After two dances with Baron Menchan, Céline was relieved when Anton suddenly appeared at her side.
“May I borrow my seer, Baron?” he asked politely.
“Oh, by all means,” Menchan answered, panting. “I’m not as young as I once was.”
He was a good-natured soul, and on any other occasion, Céline would have enjoyed his company. But now she was glad to let Anton steer her back in the direction of the table. They didn’t get far.