by Barb Hendee
Prince Lieven had left his place and was walking toward them. Céline glanced around for Amelie but didn’t see her sister in the crowd.
Lady Saorise, Damek, and Rochelle all moved to join them as Lieven reached the small party, and he somehow seemed to assess them all at once. Céline began to suspect that rumors of his failing health had been greatly exaggerated.
Rochelle offered her future father-in-law a sweet smile. “My lord, I’m told I have you to thank for completing the contract today. Prince Damek told me you stood well against my mother.”
Any other man might have melted at both her smile and her compliment, but Lieven only glanced at her and then addressed Damek. “I suppose you have enough in your wine stores to satisfy this lot tomorrow? A few of them can drink half a cask by themselves.”
There was no warmth in his eyes and no affection in his voice.
With equally coolness, Damek responded, “I’m certain we have enough, Father. But I’ll check with Master Lionel if it pleases you.”
Lieven grunted. “You do that, and make sure everything’s ready by tomorrow afternoon. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
Rochelle stared at him, and even Lady Saorise appeared taken aback by Lieven’s manner toward Damek. Had she never seen them together before? It was possible she had not. She probably didn’t travel to Castle Pählen when he was summoned there for a rare family visit, and from what Céline understood, Prince Lieven hadn’t visited Kimovesk in years.
Lieven looked to Anton. “You’ll stand witness for your brother, won’t you?” Both his tone and expression softened.
“Of course, Father. If you wish.”
“I do.”
Although Céline cared deeply for Anton, and she feared Damek, she found Prince Lieven’s treatment of his elder son to border on inappropriate in this company. This was the night before Damek’s wedding, and Damek was marrying exactly as his father had wished.
Damek cast Anton a look of pure hatred. “I would be honored to have you act as witness, little brother.”
“My love . . . ,” Rochelle said to Damek. “Would you dance with me again?”
Damek allowed himself to be led away.
Lady Saorise’s normally serene face was not so serene.
“My lord,” she said to Lieven, “I do congratulate you on Damek’s marriage. And I hope that someday you will be able to marry Prince Anton to someone so advantageous as Rochelle Quillette.”
Lieven turned his icy gaze on her. “I wouldn’t saddle Anton with that sugarcoated she-wolf, but she’ll do for Damek. Pählen now has a close connection to Prince Rodêk, and that’s what matters.”
“Father . . . ,” Anton murmured. “Don’t be so mercenary. You’ll have a new daughter tomorrow, and you should welcome her.”
“Should I?” Lieven challenged. Then he relented. “I suppose you’re right. You usually are.”
Saorise turned to Anton. With a honeyed tone, she said, “Yes, in these past few days, Prince Damek and I have welcomed Anton’s good counsel here.” As she said this, she reached up to touch the side of his face, and when she drew her hand back, he flinched.
Céline didn’t know what to make of her false praise or of her touching Anton.
“Will you excuse me?” Saorise said. “There are a few other guests I’ve not yet had a chance to greet.”
As she turned away, her pleasant expression wavered, and Céline could see that she was shaken, possibly more than shaken.
* * *
Amelie stood at a loss among the crowd of nobles and the varied collection of guards. Looking over near the musicians, she saw Céline trapped in a conversation with Prince Lieven and Anton. There was little hope Céline would be able to extract herself from that any time soon.
Watch Rochelle. She is not what she seems.
Amelie couldn’t get those words to leave her thoughts, nor could she stop wondering about the possibility that she and Céline had been wrong about the killer’s motive.
Her mind kept turning to Captain Maddox.
From what she’d seen in his memories, he was an honorable man, and yet he’d killed a Kimovesk guard to escape his cell, and instead of fleeing, he’d gone up to the guest rooms of the family he served. Why?
If he’d been captured after killing one of Damek’s men, his own execution would have followed swiftly. What could be so important that he’d risk his life to go back to those rooms?
Did he think to find something there? Was it possible that during his final night with Rochelle, his opinion of her became so altered that he’d begun to suspect her of something darker than casting his love aside?
Had he intended to search her room? If so, he never made it that far. Lizbeth had been asleep in there at the time, and if he’d opened the door, he would have disturbed her. Amelie shook her head. This was all speculation. Maybe he’d been attempting to go all the way to his own room for something and been caught by someone who wanted him dead? But that made no sense, either. They’d already established there’d been no fight in the passage. He hadn’t even drawn his sword. So either he knew the person who killed him or he’d been caught unawares.
Still . . . Amelie scanned the great hall. Rochelle and Lizbeth were both here. Heath was not, but he’d most likely gone to his own room. He’d seemed quite upset about the announcement of Rochelle’s overly rushed marriage to Damek, and he probably wanted to be alone.
If Amelie was quiet, she could go upstairs, sneak into Rochelle’s room, and search it herself, just to be sure.
Looking over, she saw that Céline’s back was turned, so there was no way to signal her sister. Still, this had to be done.
Causally, Amelie strolled to the east archway and slipped away from the great hall, down the back passage.
Chapter Thirteen
Céline stood politely as Anton and his father turned to discussing estimated tax income from Sèone once the last of the autumn harvest was in. Though she tried to appear interested, she never stopped watching Lady Saorise from the corner of her eye. Céline had thought the woman impossible to rattle, and yet Saorise had been badly shaken by Prince Lieven’s strikingly different interactions with Damek and Anton.
Before Céline’s true powers had manifested, she’d made part of her living by reading people’s faces and emotions, and she’d seen fear in Saorise’s face. Perhaps the woman had solidly believed that Lieven’s determination to procure Rochelle Quillette as a wife for Damek was proof that Damek would be named heir.
Now . . . it seemed possible that Lieven wanted to claim a strong Pählen connection to the house of Äntes, and that was all.
Céline watched as Saorise made her way around the hall, greeting some people briefly, and talking at greater length with others, but when she finally neared the east side of the hall, she walked through the archway and vanished down the passage. No one else paid attention as she left.
“Forgive me,” Céline said to Anton, “but I fear the dancing has made me a touch dizzy. Do you mind if I go and sit for a short while?”
He turned and looked down at her. “Dizzy? Are you all right? Should I take you to a chair?”
She realized she’d chosen the wrong excuse. “Oh no, please. Stay and talk with your father. I just need a moment.”
With a smile, she left them, and then she made her way past the musicians to the east archway. Unfortunately, it had taken too long to extract herself from Anton and Lieven. Saorise was nowhere in sight, and Céline had no idea where she might have gone. Perhaps to her private chambers? But where was that?
Amelie thought Saorise to be highly dangerous, and Céline knew her to be a power seeker. Why had she left the hall on such an important occasion? And why had she touched Anton first?
Light footsteps sounded from ahead, and Céline looked up to see Johanna coming down the passage toward her, carrying
a tray of sugared confections. With a jolt of guilt, Céline had an idea. She didn’t like it, but it was all she could come up with.
“Johanna?” she said, stepping into the passage and walking to meet the young woman. “Could I have a word?”
Johanna would know the location of Saorise’s private chambers, and Céline knew Johanna was Damek’s mistress. If she had to, she could threaten to tell Rochelle the truth . . . and then Johanna’s position here would not be long-lived once Rochelle was Damek’s wife.
“Yes, miss,” Johanna said. “How can I help?”
Though her words were polite, as she spoke she sounded so unhappy, so miserable, that Céline’s resolved weakened. Instead of making a threat, Céline couldn’t help asking, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, miss.”
Céline moved closer and lowered her voice. “I know you are Prince Damek’s mistress . . . No, please don’t be alarmed. I assure you I’m not one of those nobles in there, and I can see you are troubled. Tell me what is wrong.”
Johanna looked into the great hall, where Rochelle could be seen dancing with Damek. “Her,” she whispered. “My lord said that her coming here would change nothing between us, and I think . . . at the time he meant it. But he had never seen her. Of course he’d been told by her family of her beauty, but all families say that when offering a daughter in marriage.” Johanna dropped her gaze. “Then he saw her . . . met her, and he’s not called me to his chambers since. Worse, I think she knows about me. Once she has power here, I’ll be thrown out the gate and sent to starve in the village . . . and my lord will not care.”
A better idea, a much better idea occurred to Céline. “Johanna, I need to find the Lady Saorise right now, and I don’t know where her private chambers are located, but I must know. If you show me, I promise, when we leave here I’ll make certain Prince Anton takes you with us, and I’ll find you a good position in Castle Sèone.”
Johanna’s eyes flew up, but she was cautious. “Why can you not ask Master Lionel?”
“Because I don’t think he’ll tell me, and I fear Saorise may be up to something . . . harmful, and if so, I want to stop her.”
This was all rather too honest, but it seemed best in the moment.
Johanna didn’t react to—or seem to doubt—the suggestion that Saorise might be up to something harmful. “You swear? You swear you’ll take me to Sèone and find me a position in the castle?”
“I swear.”
Another few breaths passed, and Céline grew worried.
Then Johanna nodded. “Lady Saorise is not in her chambers. I passed her on my way here, and I know where she was going. She spends most of her time in the lesser hall, down below the kitchen.”
“The lesser hall?”
“Yes, in the days of war, the castle housed more soldiers. They ate in the lesser hall, but now Lady Saorise uses it as her sanctuary. None of us wish to know what she truly does down there.”
“Take me there.”
Again, Johanna paused. “Wait here a moment. We’ll need a key.”
With that, she hurried into the great hall and set her tray of confections on a table. Master Lionel was near the west wall, giving a servant instructions. Johanna went to him and spoke in his ear. He frowned but took a set of keys from his belt and handed them to her.
She hurried back to Céline. “I told him the cooks need to get into the locked stores in preparation for tomorrow’s wedding feast. I’m often trusted with the keys.”
They set off down the passage.
“Where to?” Céline asked, still uncertain about exactly what she was doing, but knowing she had to do something.
“Through the kitchen,” Johanna said.
* * *
When Amelie reached the third floor of the east tower, she walked past Heath’s room as quietly as possible.
Grasping the latch of Rochelle and Lizbeth’s room, she opened the door slowly, slipped inside, and closed it again. For the most part, the room was similar to the one Amelie shared with Céline: a wide bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table with a chair. The wardrobe was much larger here, and the dressing table was covered in a variety of objects. There were silver brushes and combs, crystal bottles of perfume, boxes of bracelets and earrings. Walking closer, Amelie picked up a jar of pale pink rouge powder. She assumed most of these things were Rochelle’s, but they were all typical paraphernalia of a noblewoman.
Once she’d finished examining the top of the dressing table, Amelie began going through the drawers, finding nothing but stockings and undergarments. She searched the bed thoroughly, above and beneath, even under the mattress.
Nothing.
Finally, she turned to the wardrobe. It was packed with hanging gowns. She searched each one carefully, looking for . . . something. She didn’t know what. She only knew that Maddox had come up here for a reason and he’d ended up dead.
Three wool cloaks hung to one side of the wardrobe, rather smashed in among the dresses. The smallest one was blue. Amelie took it down and went through the pockets, finding nothing. The next one was longer, and dyed dark green. The pockets and lining were empty as well.
The last one was a rich shade of gray, and while it was too long for Lizbeth, it looked too heavy for Rochelle. Amelie pulled it out and felt nothing sewn into the lining. Then she put her hand in the right pocket.
She touched something soft and coarse at the same time. Closing her fingers around whatever she’d found, she withdrew her hand and found herself looking down at a handful of hair. The hair seemed familiar. It was dark and very dry with strands of gray.
“What you are doing in here?”
Amelie whirled to see Lizbeth standing in the door.
“Why are you holding Heath’s cloak?” the girl asked.
“This is Heath’s?”
Then she remembered. Last night, before the search party had ridden out, Lizbeth had been shivering, and Heath had covered her with his cloak.
“Yes . . . ,” Lizbeth answered. “Why are you in here, and where is Heath? I noticed him gone from the hall, and I came up to check on him. I think he’s sad. But he’s not in his room.”
Amelie dropped the cloak, strode over, and held out her hand. “Lizbeth, do you recognize this hair?”
The girl tensed. “That’s Carlotta’s. Where did you—?”
“Did you say Heath wasn’t in his room?” Amelie interrupted.
Lizbeth seemed to understand that something was terribly wrong, and she nodded wordlessly.
Where would he have gone?
And then . . . Amelie knew.
“Lizbeth, stay here and lock the door behind me when I leave. Don’t open it for anyone but Céline, Prince Anton, or me. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t! Tell me what is—”
“Just do it!” Amelie ran out the door and pulled it closed. “Lock the door,” she called.
Then she bolted for the stairs.
* * *
Johanna took Céline down the back passage of the castle. At the base of the east tower, she turned and led the way up the shorter passage into the kitchen. The place was alive with activity.
“Get those pots scrubbed!” shouted an exhausted-looking woman in an apron. “I need them for tomorrow.”
Several young girls ran for the pots, and only a few people glanced over as Johanna led Céline down the backside. Once they exited the kitchen, they descended three steps and turned into another short passage. Johanna stopped in front of a heavy door, and she held up the ring of keys.
“I’ll open it, but I’m not going down there,” she said.
“You needn’t. I owe you a good deal for getting me this far.”
“And you’ll keep your promise?”
“I will. You’ll like Sèone. It’s a good place.”
“Be careful,” Johanna wa
rned. “Lady Saorise frightens me.” With that, she unlocked the door and opened it.
“Leave it unlocked,” Céline instructed, and then she passed through the door into a dim stairwell. She descended the distance of a single floor and emerged from a narrow archway into 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.
She had seen this place before . . . in the vision of Saorise casting the protection spell over Damek.
As Céline entered the long chamber, she noticed differences from her earlier vision. The table was nearly empty now, with only a few stacked books on one end.
There were similarities, too.
She turned to see the hearth at the other end of the vast room. The fire was lit. The iron hook had been set over the flames, and the same small metal cauldron with symbols etched around the outside hung from the hook.
Saorise stood before the cauldron with her eyes closed and her mouth moving. She appeared in a trance again and seemed to have no awareness of Céline’s presence in the chamber. She held a small dagger in her right hand.
Unlike the vision from Saorise’s more distant future, her appearance was pristine, as if what she did tonight took little planning and little effort.
This thought brought Céline no comfort.
Could Saorise be the killer after all? If so, why had Céline not seen this when she’d done her reading? And what possible motive could there be?
“Breath . . . ,” Saorise whispered. “The breath of life cut off . . . prosterno . . . eroado.” Without opening her eyes, she pricked the point of the dagger into her wrist and several drops of blood trickled into the cauldron.
This was all Céline needed to see and hear. Whatever Saorise was casting in this moment, it was no protection spell.
The spears on the walls were taller than Céline’s head, and she doubted she could lift one. The crossbows weren’t loaded. But there was a short, stout javelin on the wall. Walking over, she took it down and gripped it.