To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches)

by Barb Hendee

  Marcus Marentõr.

  The previous summer, Céline, Amelie, and Jaromir had traveled north to the silver mines of a place called Ryazan. They’d been asked to solve an ugly situation up there for Anton’s father. Some of the soldiers who were overseeing the mines had begun turning into mad wolves.

  The sisters had uncovered the mystery, but in the process, they’d come to know a group of Móndyalítko who’d basically become enslaved there, trapped with no horses to pull their wagons and forced to work in the mines.

  Marcus was one of them. He and Céline had come to depend upon each other during that crisis, and as the nights passed, they’d found themselves more and more drawn to each other. But Céline allowed nothing to happen between them. Somehow, for some reason she couldn’t explain, it would have felt disloyal to Anton.

  When the time had come to travel home again, Jaromir arranged for the Móndyalítko group to leave that awful place and come to Sèone. They’d been given an abandoned plot of land well outside the walls of the village. It had a cottage and a small barn. The family now worked the land. Half the crops went to Prince Anton, and they kept half to sell or use for their own purposes.

  This must have been a difficult adjustment for a group of natural travelers, but they’d been desperate to escape Ryazan and to make a home, and they’d jumped at the offer.

  Céline hadn’t seen Marcus since.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  A flicker of surprise passed across his face. Perhaps he’d expected a different greeting.

  “The lieutenant asked me,” he answered. “He said you needed a ruse, and that you needed help.”

  With that, everything became clear to Céline.

  After a night of planning with Helga, Jaromir had ridden out that morning and gone to visit the Marentõrs. He must have explained what was happening in Yegor and asked to borrow the wagons, horses, and, for some reason, Marcus.

  Turning to Jaromir, Céline asked, “What about other guards?”

  “Helga says this is better,” he answered “and I agree. Anyone of quality will ignore us, and bandits don’t normally bother with Móndyalítko. Too much trouble for too little reward. But Marcus, Amelie, and I can handle any problems that do arise.”

  He sounded so certain.

  Céline tried to grasp the change of circumstance. So, just the five of them, she, Amelie, Helga, Jaromir, and Marcus, would be traveling in close quarters all the way to Yegor, and then somehow convince the Móndyalítko there that they were a bonded group who had formed their own family. For some reason she couldn’t name, she didn’t care for the idea of living with Marcus for what might be as long as a month.

  As she was about to ask a few more questions, she noticed Helga studying Marcus warily. The aging woman even sniffed the air.

  He looked back at her. “Do I know you?”

  “How long since you spent a summer in Yegor?” she asked.

  He tilted his head. “Four years.”

  “I haven’t been in five,” Helga said. “You’d have been young to pay much notice to an old woman like me.”

  While that might be an unfair assessment of Marcus, it also might be true. Céline guessed him to be about twenty-five.

  He motioned to his chest and said, “Marcus of the family Marentõr.”

  Helga nodded back. “Helga of the family Ayres.”

  This was the first time Céline had ever heard Helga’s family name.

  “Yes, I know of your family,” Marcus said. “You must know mine. My aunt was the great Moira.”

  Recognition dawned in Helga’s eyes. “I remember her. Jaromir didn’t say what family he’d brought back from Ryazan.” Still, she continued to study him warily, and Céline wondered what might be wrong.

  However, as this did not appear a good time to ask, she didn’t.

  Hooves clopping on cobble sounded behind her and she turned around to see a small contingent of guards coming toward them. The men were on foot and the horses were loaded with what looked to be food supplies.

  Anton walked in the lead.

  Céline hadn’t expected to see him before leaving, and her mind flashed back to a few things they had shouted at each other the night before. She always felt off-kilter in his presence. A part of her wished he hadn’t come, and a part of her wanted to run over to kiss him good-bye.

  She remained in place.

  He closed the distance and glanced at the first wagon. “Jaromir, have the men load these supplies.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Anton’s eyes moved over Céline’s attire. He didn’t seem pleased. “What are you wearing?”

  She tried to sound light. “Helga says we must look the part.”

  He had seemed about to respond when he looked beyond her and fell silent. Craning her head, she realized he’d just seen Marcus.

  For a long moment, Anton didn’t move.

  Tension filled the air, and Céline sought to break it. “My lord, this is Marcus Marentõr. He’s one of the Móndyalítko we brought back from Ryazan.”

  Anton glanced down at her. “Is this the man who helped you there?”

  “Yes, he was very helpful in our success,” she answered carefully.

  Marcus looked between her and Anton, but he didn’t say anything. Marcus wasn’t normally much of a talker.

  For a moment, Anton’s face hardened to the point that Céline feared he was about to change his mind and rescind his permission. She hoped he would not. This would all be much easier with his grudging support.

  Instead, he half turned to watch the guards passing bags of food up to Jaromir and Amelie—who were both now on the roof of the smaller wagon. Marcus noticed this, too, and he moved to help, jumping up to the bench and then swinging to the roof with ease.

  “Helga and Jaromir say that we must be trusted by the Móndyalítko being held in the meadow,” Céline explained to Anton. “I think they were up half the night formulating this plan. Poor Jaromir has been rather shy on sleep.”

  “He seems fine today,” Anton answered tightly.

  She didn’t want to leave things like this. “Don’t be angry. Don’t say good-bye in anger. We only want to do what’s right.”

  “And how do you know what’s right?”

  “My heart and head tell me at the same time.”

  He breathed out softly. “I would keep you here if I could, but I won’t stop you from going, and I won’t let you go unprotected.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. You have my hands tied.”

  The supplies were loaded and secured.

  Jaromir climbed down, and Amelie followed him. Marcus climbed to the bench and took up the reins.

  “I’ll drive the first wagon,” Jaromir said to Anton. “The women can ride inside.”

  “You think this is safe?” Anton asked him. “With no guards, and no men except you and one Móndyalítko?”

  “We have Amelie, too,” Jaromir returned. “She almost took me down once. We’ll be fine, my lord. I’ll make good time and bring the sisters back as soon as I can.”

  Unhappy, but resigned, Anton stepped away. “And yourself, too. Keep yourself safe.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  With that, Jaromir opened the door to the larger wagon. Céline remembered that when the wagons were camped, a small set of steps was always placed behind the door. Now they were missing, and the bottom of the doorway was several feet off the ground. Turning, Jaromir grasped Helga by the waist and lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. Amelie scrambled up and inside on her own.

  Céline wanted to grasp Anton’s hand but didn’t.

  “I do thank you,” she said to him, “and I promise to return as quickly as possible.” Looking back toward the shop, she said, “Oh, wait. I have to get Oliver.”

>   Helga’s earlier words made sense now. They would be taking their home with them, so Oliver could ride along. Hurrying back inside, she scooped him off the counter and came out with him in both arms. Anton came over to close the door behind her.

  “Can you carry him?” he asked.

  Oliver was indeed a large cat. His tail nearly stretched down to her knees. “Yes, I have him.”

  Walking over, she stood at the back door of the larger wagon and set him on the floor, letting him walk inside to where Amelie and Helga waited.

  Anton reached out, grasped Céline by the waist, and lifted her so she could climb inside.

  Her hand dropped to grip his fingers for a few seconds and then she let go. He closed the door from the outside.

  “Take a seat, girls,” Helga said. “I’ll make sure everything’s been secured.”

  The wagon lurched forward.

  Céline hadn’t even told Anton good-bye.

  Chapter Four

  Once outside Sèone and on the open road, the wagons headed east.

  Amelie, Céline, and Helga had all found someplace to sit, but in regards to the passing scenery, they could see only what was visible through the small windows.

  Inside, the covered wagon felt even more like a house. Toward the front were two bunk beds nailed and bracketed into the wall. There were two short benches built into one side wall with a stationary table between them. A large cast-iron pot and teakettle hung from the other wall, but these were secured on hooks so they wouldn’t fall. There was a small cabinet nailed to one wall with its cupboards latched shut. Curtains hung from the windows, but Helga had tied them back.

  Céline and Helga sat on the benches at the table.

  Oliver hopped up to the top bunk.

  Amelie took a seat on the lower bunk.

  At first she was relieved at the prospect of not riding for days on the back of a horse, but after a few leagues, the motion of the wagon began to affect her, and she felt queasy to the point of worrying her breakfast might come back up.

  Helga glanced at her and said, “It’ll pass.”

  Céline seemed immune to the rolling motion, but her expression was troubled. “I think we ought to tell Jaromir about Marcus as soon as possible.”

  Amelie shook her head her in puzzlement. “Tell him what?”

  “Well . . . you know. That Marcus is a shifter.”

  A rush of embarrassment almost overcame Amelie’s nausea. How could she have forgotten Jaromir didn’t know about Marcus? Of the Sèone guards, only Rurik knew Marcus’s secret, and he’d sworn to keep silent. Amelie chastised herself for not having thought of this the moment Marcus had jumped down from the second wagon.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’d completely forgotten that—”

  She never finished the sentence, as Helga jumped to her feet. “A shifter? I knew it! I thought I could smell it. What does he change into? A panther?”

  “A wolf . . . a black wolf,” Amelie answered, completely taken aback.

  “A wolf? You’re sure?” Helga pressed. “That might not be so bad. Why didn’t you girls tell me?”

  Céline blinked in clear surprise, and Amelie had no idea how to answer. From what she’d been told, any Móndyalítko family with a shifter in the mix was considered quite fortunate. Shifters could bring down deer in harsh winters and feed everyone when little else was available. Also, among the Móndyalítko, shifters were viewed as counterpoints of the Mist-Torn, as gifted or blessed.

  Helga’s reaction made no sense.

  Finally, Amelie managed to say, “It never occurred to us to tell you that the family we brought back had a shifter among them. I’m sorry.”

  Helga turned on her. “You should be sorry!” She closed her eyes and took a few breaths. “You’ve never been alone with him? You’ve been careful not to be alone with him?”

  “Yes, I’ve been alone with him,” Céline responded. “Marcus is perfectly safe. Amelie and I wouldn’t even be here without him. Up in Ryazan, we were attacked by one of those wolf-beasts in our own tent, and he shifted and fought it off.”

  Slowly, Helga sank back down on the bench. “The wolves aren’t so bad, but shifters only protect you when it suits them. Don’t you go trusting him just because he fought off something worse.”

  Amelie glanced at Céline and shook her head once. Whatever was troubling Helga, more words were not going to solve it.

  “You hear me?” Helga asked.

  “Yes,” Amelie answered, trying to sound assuring. “We hear you.”

  * * *

  Céline listened to the soft creak of the rolling wheels for the remainder of the day. In the late afternoon, the wagon stopped.

  She stood and stretched, putting her hands to her back. Though riding in the back of the wagon was certainly preferable to spending all day on a horse, sitting on a bench in an enclosed wagon was only marginally better.

  As she stepped toward the door, it opened from the outside. Marcus was there arranging the small set of steps.

  Her legs felt shaky, and when he reached out with his hand, she took it and let him help her down. Touching him, gripping his hand was the most natural thing in the world and she was struck again by her reluctance to spend weeks living in close quarters with him.

  Everything about him was far too familiar, and she had no explanation.

  The first time she met him back in Ryazan, he’d taken off his shirt and let her tend to some deep wounds on his back. In that moment, she’d felt she’d known him for centuries, as if in twenty lifetimes, he’d been a part of each one. In the days and nights that followed, this feeling had only grown stronger, and now here he was, standing in front of her once again.

  “How did you all fare?” he asked, reaching back in for Amelie’s hand.

  To Céline’s surprise, Amelie grasped his hand and let him help her down as well. Poor Amelie was looking a bit green.

  “Tomorrow, I think I’ll walk,” she said, putting a hand to her mouth.

  Inside, loud clanking could be heard, and then Helga appeared in the doorway carrying the teapot, a bucket, and a tall iron hook.

  Marcus hopped up one step and reached out to relieve her of her burdens.

  She glared at him. “Get away with you.”

  Stunned, he jumped down and glanced to Céline as if seeking an explanation. She had none to give him.

  Jaromir came striding over, and Céline still wasn’t accustomed to seeing him without his armor, tabard, and sword. He looked so different in that black shirt and open vest.

  “We’ll make camp here for the night,” he said. “There’s a stream downhill.”

  Céline looked at the heavily forested area around them. Jaromir had found a clearing off the road large enough for the wagons. Deeper into the forest, she spotted a slope stretching downward, and she could hear rushing water.

  “I’ll start a fire,” Marcus said quietly, heading away.

  Oliver appeared in the top of the open doorway. He yawned and stretched and began walking down the steps.

  “You’re going to let him out of there?” Jaromir asked.

  “He needs to stretch his legs like any of us,” Céline answered. “He certainly can’t stay in that small space the entire journey.”

  “He’s a cat. Won’t he just wander off and get lost?” Jaromir responded. “If he’s not inside the wagon in the morning when we’re ready to pull out, I’m not waiting to form a search party.”

  At that, Amelie turned toward Jaromir with her expression darkening. This was another problem with the two of them on lengthy journeys. While in many ways, Jaromir was the best of men, he was so accustomed to giving orders that he often had no idea how arrogant he sometimes sounded. He viewed himself as utterly in charge—which he technically was—and his manner frequently produced a heated response from Amelie.

 
He might let Helga boss him around and berate him.But Amelie openly fought with him, and he’d never learned to alter his behavior to stave that off.

  “So because he’s a cat, you think he’s too stupid to look out for himself and stay near the camp?” she challenged.

  He turned to face her. “Just make sure he’s in the wagon after breakfast.”

  Amelie’s mouth opened again, but Céline cut her off. “We will, Lieutenant. I promise he won’t cause any delays.”

  He nodded tightly with another glance at Amelie.

  Helga handed him the bucket. “Make yourself useful and get me some water. I’ll start the tea.”

  With a frown, Jaromir took the bucket and headed toward the slope.

  Céline, Amelie, and Helga walked over to where Marcus had started a small fire. The twigs he used were dry, so he must have had them stored somewhere. Crouched there, he focused on the flames and didn’t look up.

  “All right, girls,” Helga said. “You both need to start learning how to be Móndyalítko. All meals are cooked outside over an open fire.” She held up the iron hook with a solid and wide base, and then she set it on the ground with the hook positioned over the fire. The base would support even a heavy pot. “We start with tea first, and then bring out that big pot and move on to making dinner. I’ll show you what to do.”

  Somewhat nonplussed, Céline glanced to Amelie, who shrugged. On journeys with Helga, the sisters had played at being ladies of Anton’s court who needed to be fed and laced into gowns, but that was all a show.

  “Helga . . . ,” Céline began. “Amelie and I have been cooking over a hearth or an open fire all our lives. We would gladly make dinner for you.”

  The aging woman looked up at her in some puzzlement. Could she be growing senile?

  “I’ll show you how to cook like a Móndyalítko,” Helga insisted.

  Marcus lifted his head, and Helga studied him a moment before asking, “You think you could scare us up a rabbit for the pot while I get the potatoes and onions chopped?”

  Nodding, he answered, “Of course. I’ll be quick.” Dropping back on his haunches, he pulled off his boots. Céline knew he preferred to get out of sight before shifting. Then he’d leave his clothes in the forest and get dressed on the way back.