To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (18 page)

“I promise.”

A moment later, some of the gasping began again. Céline drew away, hurrying down the remainder of the short passage for the stairs. Was Malcolm serious in his promise? Did he intend to set Lilah up as a permanent mistress? Did Anna know about any of this?

Somehow the threads of these details must be important. She simply didn’t see how yet.

Upon reaching the base of a tower, she began to climb and emerged on the second floor. Walking down that passage, she stopped at the third door on the right and knocked lightly.

“My lady?”

Opening the door, she looked inside.

Both Anna and Jenelle stood by Lysander’s bed, and both women turned to see Céline.

Lady Anna smiled. “Miss Céline. You are most welcome. Come and see how your young patient fares.”

She appeared just as impeccable as the day before, standing straight with her white-blond hair held back at her forehead by the same simple silver tiara. Céline
couldn’t help feeling respect for this woman. Even in the face of several trials at once, she maintained such dignity.

Beside her, Jenelle wore a butter yellow velvet gown that set off her chestnut hair. She assessed Céline carefully.

Jane entered the room, carrying the steaming teapot. The bowl was still on the table, but it had been emptied. “We should do this before the water cools.”

Céline agreed and went to the bed. “Good morning, Lysander. Did you sleep any better last night?”

“Some,” he answered, climbing out of bed on his own. His color was better today and the dark circles beneath his eyes had faded. “I like the honeyed cough syrup you brought.”

“I thought you might.”

He was wheezing a bit and breathing mainly through his mouth, so she led him to the chair and covered his head with a blanket while Jane poured the water. Céline held the blanket while he breathed in steam.

Afterward, she helped him back to bed.

Jenelle watched her throughout, and this caused Céline to ponder the young woman. Though Anna’s dignity was admirable, she was also a carefully guarded person in her manner, and therefore a poor source for information. Perhaps it was time to get to know Malcolm’s daughter a little better.

“I just came to stick my head in and check,” Céline said to Anna. “Please send for me if you need anything.”

“I thank you,” Anna answered. “And I will.”

Taking in her elegant face, Céline tried not to think about Malcolm and Lilah downstairs. Instead, she
looked to Jenelle. “Would you mind walking me out? I got a little turned around on my way in.”

Jenelle raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

After a polite farewell to Lady Anna and Lysander, Céline followed Jenelle out into the passage and fell into step beside her.

“I assume you wish to speak with me on some matter,” Jenelle said. “You hardly strike me as the type to get ‘turned around.’ But I warn you, if you want to speak with someone frank, I bring new meaning to the word. I’ll tell you anything you want to know if you can lift this curse.”

Céline assessed the young woman as quick-witted, but her voice also held notes of bitterness and disappointment.

“I rather did want to talk to you,” Céline admitted. “My sister and I are no closer to learning anything of use. I wondered if you had any insights.”

“Me? I know nothing of the Móndyalítko down in that meadow.”

“Well, there is nothing to prove it’s one of them. Does your father have any enemies among the nobles?”

As she walked, Jenelle tilted her head as if this had not occurred to her before. “I don’t see how. He’s rarely in the same room with other nobles. My father hates social occasions with people of his own class. Five years ago, my uncle, Prince Kristoff, died without an heir. My father was named prince, and we moved here. Since then, we’ve hardly gone anywhere, and he only invites people to visit when there’s no other choice. He prefers living in his own little world.”

Again, she sounded so bitter.

“When did your own mother die?” Céline asked suddenly, hoping to throw Jenelle off balance.

“When I was seven, but I barely ever saw her and don’t remember her at all. From what I understand, she and my father were not a happy couple. He married Anna soon after. She must have been nearly twenty then.”

“Does it bother you to have a stepmother?”

At that, Jenelle offered a short, sharp laugh. “If you believe that, you are a very poor seer. Anna is the only one who makes life bearable. Before all this curse business, and then Lysander falling so ill, she was planning to take me on a trip to Enêmûsk, so I might finally . . . attend a few dances and events.”

The source of Jenelle’s bitterness became clearer. She was unmarried, and it seemed her father was doing nothing to amend that. Lady Anna took more of an interest.

“Anyway, as a child,” Jenelle said, “I felt sorry for Anna when she married my father. She and I are first cousins.”

Céline stopped walking. “Pardon?”

“You didn’t know? My mother and her mother were sisters. When my mother died, Father asked for Anna’s hand, and he got it. There’s no blood connection between them, so her parents didn’t object. Anna got rather pushed into it, though. She’d always viewed him as an uncle, and I’ve heard rumors that she was already in love with someone her own age.”

“Pushed into it? You mean she was pressed into the marriage?”

Jenelle nodded. “That’s what the older servants all
say, but if it’s true, she’s made the best of things. That’s what Anna does . . . make the best of things. I’m not so inclined.” She paused. “And my father did make her the princess of Yegor. She’ll always have that.”

Again, these details were important, but Céline couldn’t see how they fit together in regard to having anything to do with the curse.

“And Anna did something my mother could not,” Jenelle went on. “She gave my father a male heir.”

More bitterness.

“Does he worry for Lysander’s health?” Céline asked.

“I think he does sometimes, whenever he can tear himself away from his newest Móndyalítko whore.”

Céline stumbled, almost dropping her box of supplies. “You know about him and Lilah?”

“Is that her name? There’s a new one every summer. Thank the gods Anna has no idea, but he picked up a taste for camp girls some years ago and can’t seem to get enough. It’s disgusting.”

Goodness. Jenelle had not been exaggerating when she called herself frank.

So Malcolm had been bedding Móndyalítko women for years? Did he make them all the same promises he’d made to Lilah? Céline mulled this over. It could give any jilted or forgotten woman in the camp a motive.

Jenelle led her to the front doors of the castle, and a guard there opened one.

Céline looked to Jenelle. “I must thank you for the talk. You have given me a good deal to consider.”

Jenelle’s face was serious. “I hope you can solve this. Selfish as it sounds, I want to go to Enêmûsk, and
Anna won’t leave Father or Lysander while things are in this state.”

Was this her only concern?

“Do you want to know if you’ll meet your husband soon?” Céline asked, hoping for an opportunity to read Jenelle. “I could see your future and tell you.”

Startled, the girl looked at her eagerly, and then the expression faded. “No. Sometimes I feel like I’m barely getting through the day now. If you tell me this will continue to go on, I don’t think I could bear it. I want the hope.”

She turned and walked away.

Jenelle certainly knew her own mind.

With her thoughts busy, Céline went out into the courtyard. Jaromir spotted her, made his excuses to the dice players, and came striding over.

“Well?” he asked. “Did you learn anything new?”

She hesitated. “Possibly.”

Back inside the blue wagon, Amelie’s morning was proving tediously similar to yesterday. The Móndyalítko who came to see her were all looking to be cleared, and the images she saw were mundane in nature. But sooner or later, the possibilities would be narrowed down—at least among the people here.

As she finished her fourth reading of the morning and bade a middle-aged man good-bye, she wondered how Céline and Jaromir were faring. This thought led to a flash of images from the night before, of things she’d done and said to Jaromir when they were alone in the darkness.

The images were certainly not unpleasant, but she pushed them away. She needed to focus.

When she looked over at the open doorway, a striking young woman of about nineteen was looking in at her. Amelie had seen her around camp but didn’t know her name. She was small with slender shoulders, a small waist, and curving hips. Her black hair was pulled up into a tail at the back of her head, and it still
hung to the center of her back. She hovered there in the doorway, seeming nervous.

“Come in,” Amelie said.

The girl didn’t move. “My father told me I had to come, that I had to be cleared.”

“You’ll need to sit down for me to do that.”

Finally, the girl came inside, still watching Amelie with caution.

“What’s your name?” Amelie asked.

“Miranda, from the line of Klempá.”

“I’m Amelie.”

“I know who you are.”

She didn’t sound accusing, only nervous, and Amelie’s interest began to pique. Up close, Miranda was quite lovely, with graceful, slender hands and straight white teeth.

“I’d rather have your sister read me,” she said. “Is she not here?”

“No, she’s gone up to the castle to check on the prince’s son, but I can clear you if that’s all you’re after.”

At the mention of the prince, Miranda glanced away. With a look of resignation, she held out her hand. “Very well. My father wants this done today.”

She clearly had something in her past she wanted to hide, and Amelie had no wish to expose anyone’s personal secrets, but Miranda was the first person to see her who’d been reluctant to be read.

Grasping the girl’s hand, Amelie focused on the spark of her spirit, on the past, and on anything that might be related to the curse. The first jolt hit, and she braced for the next one. Then she felt herself being pulled backward through the swirling mists.

When the mists cleared, she saw herself standing in a small room with stone walls, facing a bed. Prince Malcolm was stretched out on the bed, half-covered by a blanket. Miranda lay beneath him, half-covered as well, and he was stroking her hair.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered.

She beamed up at him. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as you. Do you promise it will always be like this?”

“Always. Ask me for anything and it’s yours. I’d give you the world.”

He leaned down and kissed her.

The mists rose again, and Amelie found herself moving quickly through a barrage of scenes of the two them in bed or in the woods on a blanket or once alone in the orchard, always touching and kissing, murmuring promises and words of love.

Then the mists closed in, and when they cleared, Amelie found herself inside a shabby wagon. She remembered the Klempá were among the poorer of the Móndyalítko. Miranda stood facing a woman about twenty years older than herself.

“The harvest is over,” the older woman said. “We leave tomorrow, and you’ll come with us. He wants you gone.”

“You’re wrong!” Miranda cried. “He loves me. He doesn’t want me to go. He said he’d keep me here with him, that he’d find a way.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the older woman said. “Men like him will say anything to get what they want.” She held up a pouch of coins. “He came down this morning and gave me this.”

Miranda stared at the pouch. “He gave you money?”

“He wants you gone.”

The mists closed in, and Amelie felt herself being pulled forward in time.

When they cleared, she stood in the Yegor meadow, only it was lush and green, and the apple trees to the east were covered in white blossoms.

It was spring.

Numerous wagons were settled and several were still pulling in. At least a year had passed.

Looking toward the tree line, she saw Miranda furtively slip into the forest, and she followed. The girl moved like a deer, easily passing through heavy brush until she came to a clearing and peered through.

Her body went stiff.

It was effortless for Amelie to follow—as she wasn’t really there.

Stepping up beside the girl, Amelie looked into the clearing. From what she’d already seen, she recognized this clearing as a place Prince Malcolm and Miranda had often met.

Now Malcolm lay on a blanket on the ground with Lilah.

“My sweet,” he murmured.

Hidden in the trees, Miranda put her hand to her mouth.

The mists closed in and Amelie was rushed forward again. Then she was sitting in the wagon, facing Miranda.

Both women remained silent for a few breaths.

“Did you see?” Miranda said finally.

Amelie was almost lost for words. “You . . . you were with the prince the last summer?”

“He loved me. He thought I was perfect.”

Amelie was not given to pity, but as she drew her hand away, she said, “I’m sorry.”

“Am I cleared?”

While Miranda certainly had motive enough to lash out at Prince Malcolm and try to ruin him, if she’d been the one to cast the curse, the mists would have shown this.

“Yes,” Amelie answered.

Without another word, Miranda got up and left. Amelie sat there, thinking. Last spring and summer, Malcolm had had a love affair with Miranda and then paid her family to take her away at the end of the harvest, and now this year, he’d turned his attentions to Lilah.

When Amelie had read both young women, the mists showed details of the affairs.

Why?

Movement in the doorway caught her eye, and she looked over to see Céline coming in.

“Can you take a break from readings? I have a good deal to tell you.”

“Of course,” Amelie answered. “Close the door.”

Céline closed it and came over to sit. “I’m not sure where to start.” She appeared weary, and Amelie wondered if she’d slept at all.

“Why don’t you start with whatever happened last night?”

Nodding, Céline launched into a story about Helga that was difficult to hear, but when it was over, Amelie understood a few things much better.

“Helga’s Mist-Torn?”

“Yes, and I’m nearly certain that’s how she learned of what was happening here.”

Poor Helga, to lose her daughter and granddaughter. No wonder she hated Jago Taragoš.

“You think it really was Jago?” she asked Céline.

“I do, but I don’t think he has anything to do with the land being cursed.”

“So, what happened up at the castle?”

Céline related of hearing Lilah and the prince in a side room of the castle, but then she moved to a more interesting conversation with Jenelle about Malcolm.

“She claims he chooses out a new girl from the camp every summer, and he’s been in power for five years.”

Amelie sat straight. “I just did a reading for the girl he picked last summer. It was awful. He convinced her that he loved her and then got rid of her once the harvest was in.”

Céline blinked. “Truly? Then she has a motive.”

“It’s not her, but . . . what about the girls who came before her?”

This was the first solid lead they’d encountered. If Malcolm had been convincing one girl each summer that he loved her, and then he discarded her and blatantly chose a new love the following year, there could be several women here driven to hurt him.

“Who was the girl you read this morning?” Céline asked.

“Miranda Klempá.”

“Do you think it’s possible that once she came to terms with the truth, she might have learned which other girls from among the families came before her?”

“It’s possible, but she’s rather tight-lipped.”

Céline stood. “I’ll go and talk to her. We need to find out one way or another.”

Amelie agreed Céline should try. For some reason, people often told her their secrets.

“I’ll come right back,” Céline said, and then she headed for the door.

*   *   *

When Céline stepped outside, she looked over to see Helga and Jaromir both crouched by the fire. Helga was pouring Jaromir a mug of tea. Marcus stood a few paces behind them.

“Should I fetch someone else for Amelie to clear?” Helga asked.

“No,” Céline answered. “We need to follow up on something first and discuss it.”

“With what?” Jaromir asked.

“I’m not entirely certain yet, but I need to speak with someone alone. I won’t be gone long.”

Jaromir frowned—as he felt strongly about being told everything immediately. But this was a delicate matter, and she had no intention of embarrassing Miranda further without need.

Marcus came closer. “Should I walk with you?”

After last night, she had no wish to be drawn into a conversation with him just yet. “No, thank you. I’m not leaving the camp. Could you point me toward the Klempá wagons?”

She knew he felt rebuffed, but he pointed down the line of wagons. “Last group before the trees.”

“Thank you.”

Turning, she walked toward the edge of the meadow
and made her way down the front side of the wagons. Most of the activity in camp took place on the back sides—which faced inward—and she didn’t wish to be seen and stopped along the way.

Here, near the edge, she was alone and had time to think about what she might say. If Miranda knew the names of the other young women Malcolm had seduced, would she share them?

This was the first genuine motive she and Amelie had uncovered.

Her thoughts were so preoccupied that she was nearing the end of the line of wagons, almost to the Klempá, when she noticed a shadow up ahead. Then someone large stepped from beyond the side of wagon and stood in her path.

She froze.

It was Jago Taragoš.

Glancing around, she saw that they were alone here, with the trees to her right, a wagon to her left, and him blocking the way forward.

“I saw you leave your wagons and come this way,” he said.

Everything Helga had told her came rushing back. “Yes, I have someone to visit. Please do excuse me.”

She stepped forward, hoping he would move aside, but he didn’t, and when she tried to step around him, he cut her off.

“I would speak with you,” he said.

“As I told you, I have a visit to make.”

His eyes narrowed. “Show me the manners of hearing me out.”

There he was, insulting her manners again. Did he truly think this was the way to impress a woman?

“I had no idea there were any Mist-Torn seers from the line of Fawe,” he went on, “young and beautiful. I spoke poorly at our first meeting. I thought to impress you with my family name and standing.” He took a long breath. “But you must understand that I am free. I am not married, and I have much to offer.”

Céline suddenly wondered if he’d ever taken another wife. Nearly six years had passed since the death of his own and five since the death of Jo. If he hadn’t remarried, it was most likely because for all their silence on the question of Jo’s death, none of the families wished to hand him one of their daughters. No wonder he was so attracted to the idea of a young seer like herself who simply appeared one day. He probably saw her as a new prospect. Surely he must have known Helga would warn her?

Or perhaps he was so self-delusional that he’d convinced himself that he bore no guilt?

“Consider my offer,” he said. “I am a hunter and a good provider. I will someday, possibly soon, be the leader of the Taragoš. As my wife, you’d have a place of honor and status.” His voice lowered. “And I would cherish you with all my heart and all my body.”

Staring at her, he genuinely appeared to think his words would melt her resolve. His expression was open and vulnerable, and that made him more dangerous. She had to put him off without angering him.

“Jago . . . ,” she began. “I’m honored by your offer, but I have a home in Sèone, and I will be returning there. At present, I have no wish to marry anyone.”

His features flattened in surprise. “That is your answer? After what I just said?”

She took a step back, wondering if she could dash around the wagon and run for a more populated area.

“I don’t wish to offend you,” she said.

“But that is your answer? A refusal?”

When she didn’t speak, his eyes narrowed further, and his expression shifted to a mix of anger and blame. She remembered what Helga said about the way he’d viewed Jo after her refusal, that she was nothing more than a cold, heartless girl who’d spurned him and his family.

Before she could think or move, he darted forward, closing the distance between them in seconds. One of his hands closed over her mouth, and the other hand lifted her off the ground as he dragged her rapidly into the forest. She tried to struggle, but the strength in his hands was incredible, and she could only feel herself being half carried, half dragged across the forest floor. Was this how he had caught Jo? By snatching her away when Gersham had crawled under a bush to look for firewood?

A few moments later, he stopped moving and shoved her away. She caught herself on a tree and looked back wildly.

His eyes were alight with rage but also with hunger and pleasure, as if he’d been longing to do this and denying himself. Though it was daylight, the sky was overcast and scant light penetrated through the dense trees.

“Run,” he whispered, pointing deeper into the forest.

As he said this, his hands were no longer hands. Short black fur was sprouting from the skin on his arms, and his hands had become claws. His face began changing, and he dropped to all fours as more fur sprouted from his body.

In the span of a few breaths, Jago was gone. A great black cat, the size of a small pony, stood in his place, snarling, exposing white fangs. His breeches fell away on the ground behind him as he rushed forward. His shirt had ripped during the transformation, but shredded pieces still clung to him.