Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches

by Barb Hendee

  Would that make him any worse than her?

  She shook her head. Of course it would. She’d never give anyone medicine or advice unless it was in their best interests…Well, almost never.

  But Pavel hadn’t finished. “I’d not serve Sub-Prince Damek, not as one of his own men, I mean, but he is a harder man than my lord, and I think the grand prince of the land needs to be a hard man.”

  Something about this statement tickled the back of Céline’s mind, though she wasn’t sure why.

  More servants bustled in and berry pies were being served just as the music started. She looked up toward the first table to see musicians with instruments behind the dais: a flute, a lute, and a harp. The tune was lively, and people began getting up from the tables, moving to the more open area of the hall in order to dance.

  Several soldiers were gathering at an empty space at the end of one table, and a deck of cards came out. Amelie’s eyes lit up. “Céline, do you mind if I—”

  “Go,” Céline said, glad her sister might find some diversion here, as there wasn’t much else for her to do.

  But the moment Amelie was gone, Pavel stood up and held out his hand. “Will you dance?”

  Startled, Céline fell back on honesty. “I don’t know how.”

  Dancing was hardly a common pastime back in Shetâna. The people there were more interested in surviving either winter or the sporadic visits from Damek’s soldiers.

  “It’s easy,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

  How could she refuse without insulting him? Still uncertain, she took his hand and let him lead.

  As they approached the people dancing, she saw that everyone was swiftly sidestepping in a large circle while holding hands. Two dancers parted to let her and Pavel join, and a few seconds later, she found herself smiling.

  The sensation was enjoyable…foreign but enjoyable.

  Within moments, the steps changed, and she saw that all the women were supposed to skip to the man directly across the circle. Without hesitation, she skipped across, and a burly man with a fatherly face grabbed her hands and swung her around. The yards of fabric in the skirt of her gown swirled, and the strange sensation passing through her seemed to grow. She felt light. Happy.

  Then she saw that she was supposed to continue moving and skip back to Pavel. As she did, he grasped one of her hands firmly and put his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her close. He was so tall she found herself staring at his left collarbone.

  As suddenly as it had arrived, the happiness vanished, replaced by alarm. She continued the swift movement of the steps, letting him lead, but she was too aware of the strength in his hands and that she couldn’t have pulled away from him had she wanted to.

  She didn’t like this and wondered how she’d let him get such a firm hold. She and Amelie both knew better.

  Fighting for calm, she tried telling herself not to be such a coward. He was nothing like Damek’s soldiers. Had she not spent the previous night sleeping in his arms on the back of a horse? But the music grew faster, and he swung her around, still gripping tightly with both his hands. The world began to spin, and she felt dizzy.

  “Pavel,” she tried to say.

  Thankfully, with one last, sharp note, the song finished and the music stopped. As Pavel slowed, she attempted to disengage herself from his grip, but then she froze as her eyes landed on the pale, tense face of someone standing just beside the dance floor.

  It was Anton.

  His jaw twitched, and he walked directly to them. Pavel spotted him at the last second and came to attention.

  “Corporal,” Anton said coldly, “this lady is here to assist Lieutenant Jaromir, not to dance with you.”

  Pavel’s face blanched, and he stepped backward. “Pardon, my lord,” he stammered.

  In spite of her recent distress, Céline found herself tempted to spit a retort at Anton—that such a reprimand was hardly necessary. But in truth, she was here for a reason, and it was not to pass the evening dancing with soldiers in her fine borrowed gown.

  “Thank you for the dance, Corporal,” she told Pavel. “As I mentioned to you earlier, such an act will help me fit among the guests better.”

  Pavel blinked in surprise and then nodded. “It was my honor.”

  Then he was gone, and Céline stood alone with Anton, who was observing her with caution, as if trying to figure her out.

  Well, she might as well get started. “How do you want to do this?”

  But he had no need to answer, as she noticed that two cushioned chairs had been set up in one corner of the hall, near the enormous hearth.

  Lady Karina used the moment in between songs to stand up from the table and smile.

  The hall fell silent as everyone looked up at her.

  “Good friends,” she said, as if born to address halls filled with people, “Prince Anton has arranged for a special entertainment this evening.”

  Céline glanced at Jaromir up on the dais, but he was listening to Karina politely.

  “He has engaged a seer to tell the futures of our daughters,” she went on, still smiling. “They might ask her anything they wish…of a future betrothed, perhaps, and she will answer.”

  This last was said almost as a joke, and so the people in the hall tittered with good humor, but for the first time since walking into the hall before dinner, Céline sensed a strain—almost a fear—beneath the pleasant expressions of those around her. These people weren’t fools, and four of their young women were dead, and now Anton had engaged a seer to read the futures of unmarried girls.

  “Who would like to go first?” Karina asked, pitching her tone to suggest the first girl would have a great honor.

  The fathers and mothers in the hall all seemed to glance at one another at once.

  Sensing the unease growing stronger, Céline walked through the crowd with her head high, over to one of the cushioned chairs by the fire.

  She sat with her back straight.

  A plump girl of about fifteen, wearing a pink gown, stood nearby, watching her.

  Céline held out one hand. This much she knew. She knew how to play the part.

  “Come and sit, my dear. Would you like to know something about the man you will marry?”

  The girl flashed a smile and nodded. “Yes.”

  Céline smiled back.

  And so it began.

  * * *

  While watching Céline, Jaromir kept his face as polite and impassive as possible. He’d certainly not missed seeing Anton’s unexpected and abrupt dismissal of Pavel. What was that about?

  But at present, he had his own dilemmas to deal with. He was a good deal more worried about the deaths of these young women—and all the possible repercussions—than he was willing to let on.

  Various concerns swirled in his mind. His own success and position depended on Anton’s success, but not all his motivation was mercenary. He’d cared about few individuals in his life to date, but he did care about Anton. He cared very much. Anton saw him as he’d always wanted to be seen: trustworthy and capable. Jaromir would do anything to maintain Anton’s high opinion—and to protect him.

  More important, Jaromir cared about this country, and he wanted the petty princes constantly in the throes of civil war, constantly at each other’s throats, to be reined in. If Anton became grand prince, he would fight to establish peace, fight for the welfare of the people.

  Why couldn’t Prince Lieven see this? The House of Pählen and the people of Droevinka would be far better served by a leader like Anton than by a self-serving warlord like Damek.

  Jaromir was determined to help prove Anton a superior prince, and that meant showing that the people of Castle Sèone were safe—were protected. There could be no rumors of pretty young girls murdered in their beds. He hated to even think of the ramifications of that in regard to Anton’s reputation. Anton could lose any standing he’d gained in his father’s eyes for promoting a different method of governing from his brother.
/>   Could Céline help them?

  Watching her, too far away to hear her words, he could see how easily she’d captured the plump girl’s fascination and eagerness. Holding the girl’s hand, Céline closed her eyes and whispered in the girl’s ear as if the room was empty and no one existed but them. Jaromir wondered if that unto itself was not part of the draw of Céline’s gift. Few people ever experienced having the complete attention of someone else. Céline was giving the girl her undivided attention.

  Who wouldn’t enjoy that?

  A few moments later, the girl rose, smiling and nodding, and Jaromir knew that she was not the next victim of this unseen murderer. He had no idea what Céline had told her, but it didn’t matter. Many people in the hall had been surreptitiously watching, and when the “reading” ended, the girl looked so happy that Baron Tarook’s youngest daughter hurried over to take her place…and Céline began again.

  Jaromir wanted to shake his head at these girls’ eagerness to have their fortunes told. The young never think evil will befall them, and they simply wish to know more about their bright futures.

  Looking down, he saw that Lizzie was still at his side. She’d been in his life longer than anyone he knew, since she was a puppy. He’d once taken her everywhere he traveled, but now her traveling days were over, and her favorite place was by the great hearth in this hall.

  “Go lie down, girl,” he ordered, pointing toward the fire.

  She obeyed instantly and made her way over.

  He stood there watching Céline read through two more girls, both of whom left nodding and smiling when their turn was finished. Then he did wonder what she was telling them, and he hoped fervently that she could do what she claimed. If not, he would remain in the dark.

  But in addition to all these worries and doubts swirling in his head, he also found himself unsettled by the effect Amelie had upon him. Why did he continue to tease her, to antagonize her? Worse, why was he worried about his penchant for teasing and antagonizing her? She could not be further from the type of woman who attracted him.

  His current mistress, Bridgette, was now crossing the hall to visit with Lady Karina, who had risen from the table to mingle with guests. Bridgette was a young widow with red-gold hair and a long, graceful neck, and she was a favorite of Lady Karina’s. Her dead husband had been a wealthy silk merchant, but she’d not hesitated to fill Jaromir’s bed when he expressed interest. Few women at Castle Sèone would hesitate, and he wasn’t vain enough to attribute this to his charm or muscular build—or his goatee.

  Just like men, women enjoyed power, and at present, he held power here.

  So why could he not keep from looking in Amelie’s direction? At thirty-one, he was too old for her…or maybe she was too young for him. She was coarse and bad tempered and had grown up in a filthy village ruled by Sub-Prince Damek.

  He chose only women who were personally ambitious, who had no interest in sowing a close relationship, but rather who followed his instructions in order to keep him pleased, in order to pursue their own advancement at court though him. He never allowed a mistress to come to his rooms unless he sent a summons first. He insisted on full control over when they saw each other.

  Something told him Amelie was not a woman who would ever submit to such an arrangement. She probably couldn’t care less about a social position at court, and if she ever did become involved with a man, it would be for love, and she’d expect to be loved in return. She wouldn’t sit around and wait for him to summon her, nor indeed would she agree to live apart.

  He had no place in his life for such a woman. His task was to protect Anton and the people of Castle Sèone.

  And yet…the music was lively, and standing there, watching her playing cards with some of his men, he was struck by an overwhelming urge to dance with her, to see her smile at him while he held her tightly and whirled her around the floor, her short black hair flying and her lavender eyes focused on him.

  He shook his head hard to clear it.

  She was dressed in dusty breeches covered in horsehair. The idea of him being seen dancing with her was ridiculous. He’d be a laughingstock.

  And yet…he found himself moving toward her table. He couldn’t seem to stop.

  She saw him coming but only glanced at him before winning a hand while the soldiers groaned or growled.

  “Not again,” one of them said.

  “Pay up, boys,” she answered.

  There was a small pile of coins in front of her, and he wondered what she’d used for her initial bet to enter the game. She must have had a few pennies stored away in her clothes.

  He knew full well that he should be watching Céline, but he told himself that one dance wouldn’t distract him.

  As the hand of cards had just finished, and the musicians were beginning a new song, he decided this would be a good time to interrupt. When he stepped up to the table, his men jumped to attention, but he waved them back onto the bench and held out his hand to Amelie.

  “Will you dance?”

  She looked briefly at a line of barrels along the north wall and then picked up the deck of cards. “There’s not enough wine in this entire castle to get me to dance with you.”

  Several of his men started choking, and he flashed them a look of anger, wondering if they were smothering laughter.

  The choking sounds ceased.

  Even back when he’d been a lowly sword for hire, no woman had ever spoken to him like that, and he had no idea how to respond, how to save face in front of his men.

  Realizing any response at all would probably just result in another insult on her part, he started to turn away, but then Amelie dropped the deck and called out, “Céline!”

  Following her line of sight across the hall toward the hearth, he saw Céline tightly gripping a young woman’s hand. Céline’s eyes were wide open, staring at nothing. She was completely silent, and she’d gone pale.

  Jaromir began to run.

  * * *

  After five years of practice, Céline was quite skilled at telling people exactly what they wanted to hear without providing too much detail. Her descriptions of future husbands or wives often sounded detailed but in truth could be applied to a broad number of people.

  The real trick was gleaning proper bits of information from the one being read and then guessing correctly about hopes, dreams, or needs. Céline had a gift for this.

  Most sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girls were easy targets and only too happy to answer her initial questions.

  However, when she’d sat down tonight, she could not help feeling trepidation, almost dread. What would she see? Would the mists rush around her again as she witnessed the death of some innocent young woman?

  But upon taking the hand of the plump girl in the pink gown, she’d felt nothing out of the ordinary, and within a few seconds, she’d gone into her usual act. It was second nature.

  However, what she was doing tonight was different from when someone had a specific question—when they brought her a personal object or possession to “assist” in her reading. This was more general and therefore easier.

  “What kind of man do your parents have in mind for you?” she asked.

  “Someone of good family, with a dependable income.”

  Typical.

  “And what do you have in mind for yourself?”

  The girl blushed. “Well, someone not too much older than me…tall, with a pleasing face.”

  Also typical.

  Céline closed her eyes, pretended to feel the jolt, and then began weaving stories of the girl’s future.

  “He’ll come from a town inside the provinces ruled by the House of Pählen…ah, he does have a pleasing face. He is the son of a prosperous merchant…but I cannot see his name.”

  She went on with more general descriptions. What she told the girl would most likely be the truth. This girl didn’t seem to be one of the nobles here tonight, so her parents would probably choose a merchant’s son within this province o
f Droevinka.

  But once Céline finished, the girl was positively glowing.

  After that, the other young women in the hall seemed eager for Céline’s services, and she no longer had to encourage anyone to sit down. They were practically lining up.

  She read two more girls, leaving them with hopeful visions of their lives to come, and then she looked up to see a pretty girl about sixteen years old watching with interest. Her chocolate brown hair was so long it hung down past her hips, and she wore a gown of forest green.

  The girl smiled. “I’m Sybil,” she said. “It was kind of Anton to arrange this. I’m bored to death with dancing, and he never thinks of providing other entertainment.”

  The fact that she’d just called her prince by his first name meant she was probably from a noble family—of high rank. But she also might be somewhat sheltered, as she seemed to have no knowledge of any other reason for why Céline might have been hired.

  Céline nodded politely. “Come and sit.”

  Sybil moved to join her, holding out her hand with complete trust. “I’m already betrothed, but I haven’t met him yet. My parents arranged it.” She didn’t look entirely happy about the situation. “You’re not married, are you?”

  The question startled Céline. It was an unusual question. “No.”

  Sybil sighed. “I wish I could be a seer like you. Earn my own living.”

  Céline was moved by her words and suddenly wished she could tell the girl a different future from the one probably laid out for her.

  She grasped Sybil’s hand. “Well, let me try to look ahead. I’ll tell you what I see.”

  “Thank you.”

  Something about Sybil pulled at Céline. She was so trusting and yet clearly wanted more out of her life than to marry the man her parents had arranged for her. Closing her eyes, Céline let her thoughts roll, searching for something else she could tell this girl, something that might give her hope.