Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (5 page)

Amelie looked over with her face turning red. “I thought we going to be in the middle of a forest.”

Helga nodded sagely, causing her kerchief to fall further askew. “Yes, and some of those captains posted to the middle of nowhere insist on bringing their own wine and goblets and putting on airs to try to pretend they ain’t in the middle of nowhere. His lord majesty lieutenant has no idea what you’re walking into, and he told me to make sure you were prepared.”

“Thank you, Helga,” Céline said. “We know you’re trying to help.”

Helga grunted and turned back to the large travel bags. “I’ve got stockings and clean shifts and brushes for your hair. Do you have any potions you need to need to pack?”

Céline bit the inside of her mouth at the word “potions” and went to the door to retrieve a large box of supplies she’d brought up from the shop. Like Jaromir, she had no idea what they were walking into and wanted to be prepared for any contingency.

“Will there be room in the provisions wagon?” she asked.

“The lieutenant will make room,” Helga answered, hefting the box.

“I can barely move in this thing,” Amelie complained.

Glancing over at her sister, Céline saw that she was
trying to swing her arms while wearing the green gown.

“You’ll get used to it,” Céline said, almost crossly. Really . . . they had bigger worries than Amelie being forced to abandon her breeches and put on a dress.

“The color suits you,” Helga said.

Indeed, the shade of forest green did suit Amelie’s pale skin. The gown was simple, long sleeved, with a straight neckline. The skirt was not too full, though it did seem rather long. Hopefully, she wouldn’t trip over it.

Crouching, Amelie tucked her dagger into a sheath inside her boot.

Helga picked up a set of bright red cloaks lying on the bed. “You’d best put these on.” She held one out. “Prince Anton had them purchased down in the village this morning. I heard he paid a fortune.”

Céline didn’t doubt it. Both cloaks were of fine quality, dyed a rich shade of scarlet. Only a prince could afford to buy two such ready-made garments at a moment’s notice.

Amelie reached out and touched one. “Won’t these make us look more like ladies of court just playing at being healers?”

Céline took a cloak and put it on, leaving the hood down so that it rested on her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that this Captain Keegan believes we’re seers and healers from Anton’s court sent to help him.”

Ironically, they both
were
seers from Anton’s court, and Céline was a skilled healer, but no one at Ryazan
could know they were peasants who, until a few months ago, had been scraping out an existence in a tiny, muddy village under the harsh thumb of Damek’s rule. They would need to command respect if they intended to conduct a proper investigation.

By way of answer, Amelie donned her cloak as well.

Turning, Céline looked into a tall mirror on the stand in the corner. Amelie stood beside her, and they appeared as two respectable young healers preparing for a journey.

“What about my hair?” Amelie asked.

“If anyone asks, we’ll tell them you had a fever and I had to cut it off, and it’s just now growing back out.”

“Right, then. Are we ready?”

Céline didn’t answer. This was all happening much too fast, and she didn’t feel remotely ready.

* * *

Near midday, Céline found herself in the courtyard of the castle, standing just outside a bustling collection of soldiers and horses as Jaromir called out orders in preparation for departure. He was dressed in chain armor and a tan tabard of Castle Sèone, with a sheathed long sword on his left hip.

Amelie was overseeing their travel bags being packed into a wagon, but Céline didn’t seem able to speak or move. A part her still couldn’t believe that only last evening, she’d walked up to the castle looking forward to attending a banquet.

Now she felt lost and out of control, as if she was being swept along on a current instead of guiding her own path.

“All right,” Jaromir called. “Get the provisions tied down and covered.”

Céline glanced over the men he’d chosen. Though not surprised, she was slightly unsettled to see Corporal Pavel at Jaromir’s side. Pavel was tall with a lanky build and dark close-cropped hair. He was considered quite good in a fight, and so Jaromir often brought him on journeys. But Céline was cautious around Pavel. He had a well-hidden temper, and although he’d never actually hurt Céline, he had come close once, and she avoided him when possible.

She was surprised, however, to see Guardsman Rurik in the mix. He was a smaller man with a wiry build and curly light brown hair he wore to the top of his shoulders. He was known as the swiftest rider of anyone under Jaromir’s command, and so he’d been offered the position of messenger between Anton and his father.

It seemed unlikely that Anton would wish to part with him for any length of time.

Still, Jaromir appeared to have great trust in Rurik, and when Céline and Amelie had first arrived in the courtyard that morning, Jaromir had explained his preparations a bit more carefully. He’d chosen fifteen men—whom he knew well—from the Sèone ranks as escort, and he’d had a wagon loaded with provisions. Once they neared Ryazan, he would keep Corporal Pavel with him and send the rest back to Sèone, as Anton did not want him riding into the encampment with a contingent. Jaromir would later send Pavel to arrange for an escort to come and see them safely home again,
once the . . . difficulty had been solved. Anton and Jaromir had considered having the contingent camp somewhere in the woods and wait. But there was no telling how long it would take Amelie and Céline to solve the situation—possibly weeks—and so in the end, they’d decided it was a better option to have the men simply return to Sèone and go back when necessary.

However, the gist of all this suggested the trip would not be brief. That much was clear. So Céline had asked Erin, the blacksmith’s daughter, to come check on Oliver at the shop each day, to bring him milk and make certain he had fresh water. Céline had left a back shutter open, so he could get in and out easily, and he was perfectly capable of hunting for himself, but she wanted him to know that he’d not been abandoned, that the shop was still his home.

And now she was simply waiting to ride out on a journey she could not refuse.

“I chose your horse myself,” said a soft voice behind her.

Turning, she found Anton standing there, taking in the sight of her red cloak.

“Would you like to meet her?” he asked.

His face was unreadable, but his voice was strained and his eyes shone with misery. Suddenly, all her numbness faded away. He didn’t want to send her on this task. He looked as lost as she by all the activity taking place in this courtyard.

Trying to smile, she answered, “Yes, please introduce us.”

She followed him over to a dappled gray mare with a cloth bridle and a blanket over her sidesaddle.

“Her name is Sable,” Anton said. “She’s gentle but swift.”

Céline didn’t know how to ride, so she simply nodded, petting Sable’s soft nose. “Thank you.”

The misery in his eyes increased, and he leaned closer. “Céline, I didn’t want to ask this of you . . . any of this. But I cannot fail my father, and I cannot see any other way. You and Amelie have a chance of finding out what is happening at those mines, and then Jaromir can stop it. There is no one else.” He paused. “You understand? This isn’t about me. It’s about the future of Droevinka.”

His normally haughty voice sounded so pained, she wasn’t certain how to respond. She did understand, and she could not fathom even the prospect of Damek as grand prince, with the power of life and death over the nation.

“Mount up!” Jaromir called.

Céline glanced over at Amelie, who was scrambling up into the sidesaddle of a small black gelding. Amelie didn’t know how to ride either, and sitting with her legs on the same side of the horse would hardly make it easier. The very concept of a sidesaddle struck Céline as ridiculous, but she and Amelie were supposed to be ladies of court.

Anton took hold of Sable’s bridle and helped guide Céline’s foot into the stirrup. Thankfully, Céline managed to lift herself and settle into her own saddle with a modicum of grace.

Then she looked down. Before leaving, she needed
to tell Anton something. She felt different from only moments ago. His coming out here to see her off, to express his regret and reluctance, had made her understand the importance of what he was asking.

“We won’t fail,” she said. “I swear that your father will not be disappointed, that he will see you as a leader who can step up to any task, any problem, and find a way to solve it.”

He stared up. “Céline—”

“I swear,” she repeated.

Then she managed to steer the mare around and follow Amelie and Jaromir toward the castle gates, with a contingent of fifteen soldiers and a wagon coming behind her.

T
wo days later, Amelie’s backside had never been so sore. Perhaps riding on a horse saved wear on one’s feet, but she didn’t find the trade-off worthwhile. Every step sent a new jarring pain up her spine. As the contingent traveled up a heavily forested dirt road, she seriously considered asking Jaromir if she and Céline might tie their mounts to the back of the wagon and ride on top of the provisions for a while.

Only two things stopped her.

First, “ladies of court” should probably not be seen sitting on top of the provisions like so much extra baggage.

Second . . . Jaromir hadn’t looked at her once since the journey began. In fact, he hadn’t looked at her since the night up in Anton’s apartments. She’d both expected him to tease her about the green dress and make jokes about someone finally getting her into a skirt—and dreaded that he would do so.

But he hadn’t.

He hadn’t said a word.

With a sinking feeling, she thought she knew why.
His face had been so shocked when she’d demanded of Anton, “What’s in it for us?” and he hadn’t looked at her since. In truth, she should be thrilled, dancing with joy that she’d finally done something to make him stop teasing her, flirting with her, attempting to make her like him. She knew his reputation for going through women, and she had no intention of being just another girl on his long list.

But still . . . was he angry with her? Had he been so appalled by her words to Anton that his opinion of her was forever changed? Quite unexpectedly, she found the prospect upsetting.

“Are you all right?” Céline asked tiredly, wincing at another jarring step of her own horse.

“Fine.”

Realizing her face must have given something away, Amelie pushed down all thoughts of Jaromir. Instead, she tried to ignore her aching backside and focus on the journey. A part of her had always wanted to travel, but she’d seldom had the chance. Once when she was younger, she’d visited the great city of Enêmûsk, but the actual journey had been somewhat of a blur.

Now she tried to keep track of the path they followed.

Castle Sèone was located in southwest Droevinka, not far from the Belaskian border. Even though Jaromir was well traveled, he carried a map, and he occasionally stopped and consulted it. He’d led them on a well-maintained road straight east at first, and then he’d turned north. She’d heard several of the soldiers mention that the Ryazan silver mines were at the top of
Droevinka, right on the Stravinan border. But she couldn’t help noticing that the farther north they traveled, the thicker the trees seemed to grow and the more narrow and potholed the road became. It must turn to mud in the autumn.

The weather in Droevinka leaned toward cold and gray—sometimes even in summer. Amelie was accustomed to this.

But toward the end of this second day of the journey, she was beginning to find their surroundings downright oppressive. Daylight was fading, and old trees along the side of the narrow road were dotted with moss that dangled in scant beards from a few branches. Beneath the aroma of loam and wild foliage was an ever-present thin scent of decay. By the way several of the soldiers glanced around at the trees, she could see she wasn’t alone in noting the eerie quality of the forest.

“Small clearing ahead,” Jaromir called. “We’ll make camp for the night.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Céline said quietly. “I can’t wait to get off this horse.”

Within moments, they were off the road and dismounted, and a now somewhat familiar routine began. Several soldiers saw to the horses while others found branches for a fire and still others unpacked provisions. Whenever possible, Amelie and Céline tried to help, but Jaromir’s men were well trained, and Amelie felt more in the way than anything else.

“Voulter and Rimoux,” Jaromir said to a pair of men as he pointed west. “There’s a stream just below that drop-off. Go and fetch some water.”

Had he already known about the stream before stopping? Jaromir seemed to have planned for everything, and he knew how to give orders. Thankfully, he’d packed a small tent, and each night, one of the soldiers had set it up for Amelie and Céline so they wouldn’t have to sleep in the open.

By the fall of full darkness, camp had been set, water was boiling for tea, and several men were passing out rations of jerked beef, apples, and biscuits. Amelie moved to sit by the fire with her supper balanced in one arm. She had to keep her other hand free to lift the more than annoying hem of her skirt. She still hated wearing this dress and didn’t think she’d get used to it. The red cloak didn’t bother her so much. At least it was warm.

A few of the soldiers sat down beside her. The routine for setting camp and eating had been exactly the same last night, but tonight . . . something felt different. The men kept glancing into the thick, dark forest, and the long, dangling beards of moss from the nearest trees looked like black ropes, waiting to tangle whoever was foolish enough to go near.

Even Guardsman Rurik, who was known for his cheerful nature, sat down silently and kept his eyes lowered as he bit into an apple.

“Shall we have some entertainment?” Céline asked, smiling as she walked through the seated soldiers and stood near the fire. “You all look a glum lot to me.”

She wasn’t carrying any food, and her cloak was thrown back over her shoulders so that her arms were free. Amelie couldn’t help but feel a stab of admiration
for her sister. Céline had a few faults, being overly sensitive for one, but at times that sensitivity could be useful. She’d probably felt the men’s trepidation over the past few hours even more keenly than had Amelie.

The difference was that Céline could do something about it.

“Guardsman Voulter,” Céline said, turning toward a young man with carrot red hair. “I saw you in the market last week, trying to win over Esmeralda, the butcher’s pretty daughter, and I could see she left you in some doubt.”

A few of the soldiers stopped eating and grinned as Guardsman Voulter’s face turned as red as his hair.

“Would you like to know how she will receive your attentions next time?” Céline asked.

“I’d like to know,” Rurik called out through a mouthful of apple.

Several of the others laughed.

Standing there with the darkness behind her, light from the flames glinting off her hair, and her red cloak thrown back, Céline looked every inch the beautiful gypsy fortune-teller.

“Would you like to know?” she asked Voulter more gently, and he nodded once.

Walking over, Céline took his hand.

“Oh, this is promising,” she said, gazing into his palm. She wasn’t really attempting to use her abilities and see his future, but the men didn’t know that. For five years, before her true power surfaced, Céline had made a good living pretending to read futures. She knew exactly what to say and do.

“Esmeralda’s father makes her family eat far too much meat,” she announced, still looking into Voulter’s palm. “I see here that the next time you see her, you bring her a small loaf of cinnamon bread and some strawberries—which are her favorites—and she is most welcoming and pleased to see you. Your attentions are gladly met.”

Most of the men were smiling in amusement now, and Céline turned to a soldier with a hint of gray at his temples. “You have a question. I can see it in your face.”

She was skilled at reading faces. She always had been.

The soldier hesitated and then said, “I’d like to get one more foal out of my mare, Aspen, but she’s growing older, and I don’t want to lose her. Will she be safe if I try?”

This was a trickier question. Céline had many friends in the village and had probably known that Esmeralda harbored a taste for cinnamon bread and strawberries. However, though this new dilemma was not as much fun as Voulter’s had been, all the men at the fire were listening intently, interested in the answer.

Céline didn’t hesitate. Walking over, she took the man’s hand and looked into his palm, running her finger down the centerline. “No, you are wise to be concerned. I see her in trouble if she breeds again. If you wish to keep her safe, you should not try.”

Amelie had a feeling this would be the answer. When in doubt, Céline normally erred on the side of safety, but she’d also managed to compliment the soldier on his wisdom and at the same time probably told him what he’d wanted to hear.

Céline looked around the circle and smiled again. “Who’s next?”

Amelie stopped listening and turned her head slightly, attempting to glance behind herself.

Jaromir was standing outside the circle of seated men, watching Céline with gratitude on his face. He was no fool, and he must have felt the nervous energy of the men as they made camp. Now Céline had lightened the mood.

Yet an unwanted wave of unhappiness flooded through Amelie.

For some reason—and she had no idea why—she didn’t want Jaromir to think badly of her. It was outside her nature to either explain or apologize. In her entire life, she’d only managed it a few times with Céline. But Céline had always forgiven her with great warmth.

Jaromir was not a man known for his warmth.

Still, without allowing herself to think, Amelie climbed to her feet. She could not go another day leaving things the way they were.

Making her way outside the circle, she almost balked when Jaromir saw her coming and his expression closed up. How would she feel if she tried to explain herself and her attempt changed nothing? The humiliation would be too much.

But she couldn’t stop.

“Jaromir . . . ,” she tried to begin.

He looked back toward the fire, and her heart sank.

“I wanted to . . . ,” she stammered. “I wanted to tell you that I didn’t mean what I said in Prince Anton’s chambers.”

His head turned quickly, and his eyes dropped to her face.

“Céline and I grew up so poor,” she rushed on. “We had to ask for payment or trade for anything we did for others. What I said . . . it just came out. I felt backed into a corner, and when that happens, I always say the wrong thing. But I didn’t mean it. I am grateful for all Anton has done for us, and I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

All the hardness in his face vanished, and his brown eyes grew soft. “Don’t be sorry. You know I lived as a hired sword once, poor and hungry, and those scars never heal. I should have realized. You’re here now, and you’re ready to help. Let’s say no more about it.”

Amelie blinked in near disbelief. She’d reached out to someone besides Céline, and he had reached back. He’d been kind. She didn’t know what to say.

“Besides,” he added. “So far, the journey has been worth it just to see you in that dress.”

“Well, don’t get used to it!” she snapped before she could stop herself.

He flashed her a grin.

She didn’t return the smile, but she felt much, much better.

* * *

Céline continued entertaining the men until they’d finished their suppers. By trade, she didn’t read palms, and this certainly wasn’t how it was normally done, but she knew how to lean upon her deeply ingrained skills at gauging facial inflections, and her only goal tonight had been to create a distraction and help the men relax a bit in this oppressive forest. She’d
succeeded. Glancing over, she saw Amelie talking to Jaromir, and the sight made her glad. Jaromir had been a bit standoffish on this journey, and no matter how much Amelie pretended otherwise, it was clear she’d been bothered.

“All right,” Céline said, “I need to eat my supper, too.” She took a step from the campfire.

“Oh, just one more,” Guardsman Rurik begged, his brown curls looking frizzy in the damp night air. “Sergeant Bazin’s wife threw him out again, clothes in the street and all. It was quite something. Can you see if she’ll take him back?”

A stocky, middle-aged guard choked on his tea and looked over. “Rurik!”

“Well, don’t you want to know?” Rurik asked him.

But Céline would not be tempted. Waving Rurik off, she began walking again. Nearing the edge of the circle, though, she stopped.

Corporal Pavel stood beside a dark tree, staring at her. She realized he must have been standing there in the shadows, watching her the whole time without joining in. His expression was sad, almost hungry, and she fought against feeling sorry for him. His moods could change swiftly. She’d underestimated him once, and it had almost cost her.

Changing directions, she walked more in the direction of Jaromir and Amelie.

“I’m going down to the creek to wash,” she said as she passed them.

“Do you want me to come?” Jaromir asked.

There was probably some water left in one of the
buckets, but Céline was really after a few moments to herself. “No, I won’t be long, and I can see well at night. I just need to wash off the dust.”

Overhead, the clouds parted and moonlight shone down through the trees. She made her way down a slope, hearing the water rushing a short distance below. Up above, she could still hear the voices of the men as they talked around the fire, and she sank to a crouch, dipping her hands in the cold water and bringing them up to her face.

Her first moment of solitude in several days.

A part of her didn’t want to dwell on what lay ahead . . . on her promise to Anton that she wouldn’t fail, but success was going to involve more than making a few men laugh around a campfire. She would have to read the soldiers at Ryazan for real, to invoke her ability, and in all likelihood, to see blood and death in someone’s future.

Could she bear to go through that again?

“Céline,” said a quiet voice from behind her.

Still in her crouched position, she whirled in alarm to see Pavel standing a few paces away. Had he followed her down here? His expression was still sad and hungry.

In the spring, when she’d been engaged in solving the series of murders for Anton, she and Pavel had become friends. She’d known he was attracted to her, and she had used this to her own advantage once. When she and Jaromir disagreed over the best way to protect a potential victim, she’d tried to circumvent Jaromir’s authority and ended up offering Pavel a cup of tea
laced with opium—as he had been guarding the victim. He took the tea from her hands, thinking she was favoring him with her attention. Shortly after drinking it, he’d fallen asleep, allowing her to sneak the victim outside the castle for better protection.