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

by Barb Hendee

  After jumping to his feet, he jogged barefoot into the trees.

  “You could be nicer to him,” Amelie said.

  Helga just grunted. “Where’s that water? His Lord Majesty lieutenant is taking his time.”

  This gave Céline an idea, and she started for the tree line. “I’ll go and check on him.”

  Before either of the other women could call her back, she hurried onward, vanishing into the trees and down the slope. At the bottom of a small ravine, she found Jaromir crouched over a rushing a stream, washing his face.

  The bucket was already full.

  Realizing she was thirsty, she knelt beside him and made a cup with her hands, drinking a few mouthfuls of water.

  “Is Helga yelling for water?” Jaromir asked.

  Céline smiled. “I fear so.”

  He started up.

  “Wait,” she said nervously, wondering how to word her next sentence. How would he react? “I wanted to tell you . . . There’s something about Marcus that you don’t know.”

  Jaromir stood and grasped the handle of the bucket. “You mean that he’s a shifter?”

  Céline’s mouth fell half-open. “You know?”

  “Of course I know. Corporal Rurik told me before we left Ryazan.”

  “He promised to keep silent.”

  “That was before we’d decided to bring the family home.” Jaromir raised one eyebrow. “You don’t really think Rurik would have let me bring a shifter back to Sèone without telling me first? And risk having me find out later? He’s not that foolhardy.”

  “Oh.” As she thought on this, it made sense. There was no telling what Jaromir would have done to Rurik under those circumstances. “So you don’t mind?”

  “That Marcus is a shifter? Why should I? He fought on our side. He protected you and Amelie. I’d say he’s a useful man. Why do you think I brought him along?”

  He started back up the slope, and Céline fell into step beside him. The situation seemed somewhat upside down. She’d expected Helga to be glad upon learning about Marcus, and she’d expected Jaromir to explode. But Helga had been the one to become upset, and Jaromir wasn’t even fazed.

  To her mild annoyance, he chuckled. “You really thought I didn’t know?”

  She didn’t dignify his question with an answer, and the two of them came up over the top of the slope, making their way back into the camp.

  “There you are,” Helga scolded Jaromir. “What did you do, wet down your shirt and use it to wring water into the bucket?”

  “Give me some peace tonight, old woman,” he growled back, pouring water into the teakettle. “I’ve had a long day behind the reins.”

  “Don’t you ‘old woman’ me,” she said. “You wanted to play at being a Móndyalítko, and our men fetch the water.”

  Amelie watched this exchange with some amusement. The large cast-iron cooking pot now sat on the ground near the fire, and Helga was busy chopping onions and potatoes on a flat board. Oliver sat nearby, watching her, occasionally twitching his tail when the knife slammed down on the board.

  “Be sure to cut the onions in large chunks so Marcus can pick around them,” Céline said. “He likes the flavor they add, but not to eat them.”

  Amelie looked over and frowned. “When did he tell you that?”

  Céline felt herself turning pink. This was the problem. She’d never eaten a meal with Marcus, and he’d never told her any such thing. But she knew.

  Thankfully, Jaromir didn’t notice her discomfort. “I’ll go and take care of the horses,” he said. Then he looked around. “Where is Marcus?”

  As if on cue, Marcus came walking out of the forest. Céline’s breath caught, and the sight coming toward them gave even Jaromir pause.

  Marcus carried a dead rabbit in one hand and his shirt in the other. Thankfully, he was wearing his pants, but spots of blood smeared his face and his upper right arm. His black hair was tangled. His bare torso exposed his long, tightly muscled arms and chest.

  He stopped a few paces from camp. “What?”

  Céline almost pitied him. He was the most . . . natural person she’d ever met. He had no vanity but no modesty, either. Sometimes he seemed more animal than man, even in his human form.

  The spell was broken, and everyone but Helga pretended to go back to their duties.

  Helga stood up from her cutting board. “Do you have no manners at all?” she asked him. “Traipsing back in here like that? With ladies about? Why didn’t you get dressed proper?”

  Céline wanted to roll her eyes at the “ladies” comment, but her heart went out to Marcus as he flinched and then looked down at himself in some confusion.

  Holding out his shirt, he said, “I didn’t want to get blood on it and cause extra laundry.”

  When those words left his mouth, Helga’s face changed. Something happened, and suddenly she was the one who looked chagrined. Stepping forward, she took the rabbit and the shirt. “Of course you didn’t. Go down to the stream and wash up. I’ll keep your shirt here.”

  “Thank you for the rabbit, Marcus,” Céline added.

  Seeming slightly relieved, he headed off.

  Helga waited until he was gone and then sighed. “You’re right. He is safe.”

  “I told you,” Céline said. “And Amelie is right. You need to be nicer to him.”

  Helga only grunted again, dropping back to her cutting board. “Come here, girls. Let me show you how to skin a rabbit.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Amelie exclaimed. “We know how to dress down a rabbit.”

  “Not like a Móndyalítko. Now, you start here at the neck.”

  * * *

  The following day, a change in travel arrangements proved a relief for Amelie.

  After breakfast, as they were breaking camp, Céline lifted Oliver to carry him to the wagon. Amelie moved to follow, dreading the prospect of being trapped inside while suffering from the rolling motion.

  But Jaromir stopped her. “There’s plenty of room on the bench if you want to ride up top with me. I should have thought of this yesterday. I didn’t think on what it might be like inside one of these wagons.”

  Amelie wanted to jump at the chance of sitting in the open air beside Jaromir, taking a turn driving the horses or helping him navigate. But still, she hesitated.

  She’d stopped trying to deny the connection, the attraction, between herself and him, but anything beyond their current friendship was impossible. Jaromir would not allow himself to love any woman. He was married to his job.

  He also had a long series of women in his past, and he was well-known for having a “type.” That type was certainly not Amelie.

  His last mistress had been a lovely, haughty, wealthy young woman named Bridgette. Amelie had learned through the other soldiers that Bridgette was never allowed to visit Jaromir’s apartments until she was sent for—which was always the arrangement with Jaromir’s mistresses. For about six months, Bridgette had slept in his bed whenever he sent for her, and when he got tired of her, he’d cast her aside like baggage and never once looked back.

  Amelie was not about to become another one of his obedient mistresses until he got bored with her, and she feared letting down her guard.

  As if he could read her face, he turned to walk away. “Suit yourself.” Then he stopped. “Oh, just climb up with me. I don’t want you losing your breakfast.”

  Realizing he was right, she followed him.

  Marcus had been listening to this as he harnessed the horses to the smaller blue wagon. Upon finishing, he headed for Céline and spoke to her quietly. She smiled at him and nodded.

  Moments later, they pulled out of camp with Helga and Oliver in the back of the larger wagon and with Jaromir and Amelie sitting up on the front bench. Marcus and Céline sat together on the front bench of the smaller wagon.r />
  Tilting her head back, Amelie looked up at the sky. It was a fine late-spring day, and she breathed in the morning air.

  “This is better,” she said.

  “I told you so. I thought as much.”

  Why did he always have to sound so smug? Did he do it on purpose?

  After that, though, she forgot to worry about getting too close to Jaromir and began to enjoy the day. The weather was almost warm, and the road was dry. They passed forests and fields and villages along the way.

  He did let her drive after a while, and he had a map that he brought out and showed to her.

  She liked the idea of learning more about the geography of the nation in which she lived, and Jaromir had a fondness of maps. He had always had a few in his possession when they traveled.

  “We’ll head straight east for six days,” he said, running his tan finger down a line representing a road. “Then we’ll turn south here.”

  She nodded. She also liked knowing the travel plan.

  And in this fashion the days began to pass. Sleeping arrangements had been simple to decide. The bunks in the larger wagon were wide enough for two people, so Amelie and Céline slept in the top bunk and Helga took the bottom.

  Jaromir and Marcus were allotted the other wagon, but they often slept outside, one on each side of the smoldering campfire. Amelie never asked why, but she assumed Jaromir felt he would be alerted to any trouble more easily that way, and Marcus probably just preferred sleeping outdoors.

  With each day, the routine grew more comfortable and familiar, and Amelie found herself filled with a strange contentment she’d never before known.

  One evening, as she was dicing up some tomatoes for the soup, she found Helga watching her.

  “You’re happy out here?” the older woman asked.

  Amelie thought on the question for a moment. “I am. I don’t know why.”

  “’Cause it’s in your blood. This life is in your blood,” Helga said this wistfully, as if she, too, was happy living in a wagon and rolling down a road every day.

  To Amelie’s relief, Helga appeared to have given up all suspicion of Marcus and did treat him more kindly. But by the time the wagons turned south, those two seemed to huddle in private conferences too often, and Amelie often wondered what they were saying.

  When Marcus wasn’t hunting or conferring with Helga, he spent every waking moment with Céline. For some reason, this bothered Amelie, but again, she had no idea why.

  The weather grew warmer and the forests less dense the farther south they traveled. One evening, when they were about a day from their destination, Jaromir spotted a small open field ahead. Amelie was driving the wagon, and he pointed.

  “There,” he said. “That’s a good spot to camp.”

  “You think?” she asked. “Won’t we be too exposed?”

  “No, I was worried up north about camping on private land. There’s a lot of mistrust of Móndyalítko up there. That’s why we camped so often just off the public road. But your mother’s people are more accepted down here. No one will bother us.”

  “Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s an easier life down here. A harder life makes for more mistrust of things we don’t know or don’t understand.”

  She had no idea what he meant but didn’t press further.

  By now, the routine for making camp had become second nature, and everyone went about their normal tasks: the campfire, fetching water, caring for the horses, making dinner. Marcus hunted almost every night, but he was quick about it and normally brought back small game like rabbits or pheasants. Once he brought back a large salmon.

  Helga did have some things to teach the sisters about Móndyalítko cooking, especially herbs and spices and how to cut any game into very small pieces before cooking it. She said that when cooking for large groups, this would ensure that everyone ended up with at least some meat in their bowl.

  Even though their current group wasn’t large, this made sense to Amelie, and she stopped questioning Helga’s lessons.

  After dinner, they normally sat around the campfire and either Céline or Helga would tell stories to entertain the others. Céline told comedies, adventures, or romances. Helga’s tales were darker, normally ghost or revenge stories.

  Marcus didn’t speak much and he was hard to read, but he seemed to enjoy this part of the evening most of all.

  Tonight, once the pots and dishes were washed and set aside for breakfast, Helga sat down by the fire and announced, “No stories tonight. We need to make a plan.”

  “A plan?” Céline asked.

  “Yup. We don’t have far to go, and as yet, we’ve no idea what we’ll say when we get there.”

  “To say about what?”

  “Who we are, where we’ve been, how we came together.”

  Amelie still didn’t understand, and Jaromir looked equally puzzled.

  Marcus crouched by the fire. “Móndyalítko families are complex. A small group like ours will be viewed as unusual, especially with two Mist-Torn seers. Even having one in the family is considered a blessing, and she will be surrounded by a large extended family.” He paused. “And . . . as you know, my family was banished from the Yegor meadow.”

  Yes, Amelie knew all about this. Two younger members of Marcus’s extended family had been caught stealing from other Móndyalítko, and the result was banishment for all the Marentõrs. That was part of the reason they ended up in Ryazan.

  “So, what do we say?” Jaromir asked.

  Helga poked the fire, and said, “Marcus would be welcome into any family, banishment or no. He’s a shifter.” She sounded bitter as she said this. “And it’s well-known that Eleanor Fawe, the girls’ mother, ran off with some outsider and left her own people. No one knows where they went or what happened to them. We can make up a story about Céline and Amelie losing their parents, and afterward, I joined with them. Then Marcus offered us himself as protection.”

  “What about Jaromir?” Amelie asked.

  “He’s not Móndyalítko, so he’ll need to have married in,” Helga answered. “We can say he’s your husband.”

  Amelie was sitting in a crouched position, and she rocked back on her heels. “Say he’s my . . . ?” she sputtered.

  “Now, don’t get all huffy,” Helga warned. “Nobody would believe he’s Céline’s husband once they’ve seen him with you.”

  Amelie stared in near disbelief, and to make matters worse, Jaromir appeared just as uncomfortable at the suggestion.

  “You think they’ll believe Amelie and I are married?” he asked.

  Helga snorted. “I think anyone would believe you’re married.”

  They all fell silent for a while.

  Finally, Céline said, “All right, so to be clear, Amelie and I lost our parents, and then Helga joined with us. Marcus was looking to rejoin a Móndyalítko group, came across us and offered himself and his skills as a shifter, and we accepted.” She looked over at Helga. “And Amelie and Jaromir are married? That’s what we’ll say?”

  “That’s about the size of it. We’ll need to fill in a few details, but that should suffice.”

  Amelie tried to absorb all this while avoiding looking at Jaromir. This was going to be a much more difficult venture than she’d planned for.

  * * *

  In the night, Céline lay in the top bunk bed listening to the sound of Amelie’s even breathing.

  Helga slept below them, snoring like a badger.

  But it was not the snores that kept Céline awake. She’d not slept well since leaving Sèone. In the night, something continued to pull at her, something ancient and familiar. She’d managed to push it away, but sleep remained elusive.

  Tonight, the pull was worse.

  Finally, she gave in, crawled out of the bed, and landed on the floor as lightly as possible.
There she waited, but neither Amelie nor Helga awoke, so she crept to the door and slipped from the wagon.

  Outside, Marcus sat by the remnants of the campfire, as she knew he would be. There was a blanket on the ground, and a blanket around his shoulders, and his face was up toward the stars in the sky.

  “Where’s Jaromir?” she asked quietly.

  Marcus lowered his head and looked at her. “In the other wagon. He said that we need not sleep out here tonight, that no one would bother us here.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She could see he was troubled about something.

  Opening the right side of the blanket with his arm, he silently invited her to join him. Without thinking, she went to him and settled down, letting him draw her inside the blanket and up against his chest. She wasn’t worried or embarrassed. Somewhere, somehow, she’d done this many times before.

  He gripped her with both arms. His body was solid and warm.

  “I’ve been happy this week,” he whispered. “Happier than I’ve been in years. I’d forgotten the joy of the open road like this. But by evening tomorrow, we’ll be in the Yegor meadow.”

  “That worries you?”

  “I don’t want to answer questions. I understand the story Helga wants us to tell, but it sounds as if I’ve abandoned my own family.”

  “Do you have to answer? In truth, I don’t plan to say anything more than necessary. We’ve come here to help some of your people. Hopefully, they’ll simply accept our help.”

  He fell silent, and then he lay down, pulling her down onto the blanket on the ground. Again, she wasn’t worried. He drew her against himself with her back to his chest and the top of her head nestled in the crook of his neck. He liked to sleep like this. She knew it as clearly as she knew his tastes in food.

  “Stay with me,” he said.

  “What if someone sees us?”

  “I don’t care, and neither will they.”

  His warmth and strength enveloped her, and if she’d let herself, she would have drifted off and slept the night away in the comfort of his body. But someone else would care. Someone would care a great deal.