Céline hurried down an upstairs passage behind Jaromir, with Amelie following. It seemed that once the bargain had been struck, he was in a rush to get on with other business.
After leading them up from the cellars, where the bodies were stored, to the main floor of the castle, he’d bypassed the great hall and led them into a stairwell inside the north tower and then up three flights before stepping off the landing there and striding at a rapid pace down the chill stone passage, making several turns, until Céline felt hopelessly lost. This entire experience was making her more aware of just how little of the world she’d seen.
“Lieutenant,” she breathed, trying to keep up. “Could you slow your pace?”
He stopped. “Oh…pardon.” But he still looked distracted. Perhaps he wanted to report the bargain they’d made to Prince Anton. “Over there,” he said pointing to a door. “That is an empty guest room. I’ll have someone finish preparing it for you immediately. Go on in.”
“Thank you,” Céline answered for lack of anything else to say.
Without waiting to show them inside, he brushed past and headed back the way they’d come.
Amelie raised her thin black eyebrows at Céline. “Well, at least he’s gone.”
Uncertain if that was a good thing or a bad thing, Céline walked over and opened the door. While the room could hardly be described as “empty,” it was certainly unoccupied, and she stepped inside.
Amelie followed her, drawing a loud breath. “Is this for us? He might have made a mistake.”
“I don’t think he makes many mistakes.”
A four-poster mahogany bed waited across the room, covered in a sunflower yellow quilt. Interior shutters over the long window were open, letting misty light filter inside. Céline walked to the window and looked down, realizing they must be on the inner side of the tower, as they had a view of the courtyard below.
She turned back to take in the rest of the room.
A full-length mirror with a pewter frame stood in one corner and a mahogany wardrobe stood in the other. Dainty damask-covered chairs had been placed in front of a dressing table that sported silver brushes and a porcelain washbasin. A three-paneled dressing screen offered privacy for changing clothes. Best of all, the room contained its own small hearth.
Céline had never seen a room like this, much less been invited to sleep in one.
She walked over to the dressing table and noticed a miniature portrait leaning up against the mirror, of a lovely woman with chestnut-colored hair. Something about it made the room feel less their own, so she put it in a drawer. Then she touched one of the silver brushes, hoping for a few moments of peace, deciding she might not be able to handle even a mild event or encounter added to the long line since last night. And now…she had four deaths to solve. But she was also tired, sore, and hungry, having neither eaten nor slept, and she was sure Amelie must feel as weary as herself.
“Maybe we should rest?” Amelie said, as if reading her thoughts.
There was little else to do anyway. Even if they wanted to go in search of food, Céline doubted they could find their way back to the great hall. The only solid detail she could remember from the rushed journey up here was the sight of Jaromir’s back.
“All right,” she said, “but I’ll have to sleep in my shift. I don’t have anything else to—”
Without a knock sounding, the door burst open, and a stocky, stooped old woman came inside carrying a surprisingly large load of folded blankets and drying towels, with a wooden tray of food balanced on top, complete with a porcelain pitcher.
“Ah, here ye are,” she announced. “His lord majesty lieutenant told me you were already in the room, but you never can tell with men. Half the time, they’ve no idea what they’re saying.”
At the irreverent reference to Jaromir, Amelie turned with some interest and took in the woman’s measure. Céline followed suit, but the aging creature rambled on.
“Blankets I can see a need for, but there’s no tub in sight, so what do you need with drying clothes, I ask? Men. Never know what they’re about. Now, you both come and have some of this bread and cheese. He said you’d not eaten either. But Helga’s here now. She’ll feed you.”
She appeared to be at least in her seventies, with thick white hair up in a bun that was partially covered by a green kerchief. Her wrinkled face had a dusky tone, and she wore a faded homespun dress that might have once been purple.
For Céline, another mystery of this castle was figuring out exactly who was who in the order of things. For one, Jaromir’s rank was that of lieutenant, not even captain, so why did he appear to be second to the prince in the command structure here? This aged woman…Helga, appeared to be a lowly servant, but she’d called Jaromir “his lord majesty lieutenant” with enough sarcasm that it could not be missed.
Who was she?
“Don’t just stand there, my girls,” Helga went on. “Come and eat.” She set the blankets and towels on the bed and brought the tray to the dressing table. Picking up a generous slice of soft, yellow cheese and placing it on a piece of white bread, she held it out to Amelie.
Céline had tasted white bread only a few times in her life, as it was a delicacy afforded only by the wealthy. “I…,” she tried to say, at a loss. “I…”
Amelie appeared equally uncertain, but she reached over and took the offered food.
“Two seers,” Helga murmured, prepping the next helping of bread and cheese. “Good, good, just what the castle needs now. From the line of Fawe.” She nodded in approval. “How many years apart were you born?”
Céline’s mouth fell open. What did she mean by “two seers,” and how did she know their family name? Well, Anton knew it, and he must have told Jaromir. Jaromir must have told the woman.
“Three years,” Amelie answered, biting into the cheese.
Just then, a single knock sounded at the door—which was still open—and all three women looked over.
A fourth woman stood in the doorway, and something about her caused Céline to tense.
She was young, perhaps eighteen, as slim as a reed and standing stiffly, as if she’d rather be anywhere but in that doorway. The first word that came to Céline’s mind to describe her was “colorless.”
Her hair was that shade of grayish blond, like ditch water, and her eyes matched. She wore a plain gray dress with a high collar—but it was well made from good wool—and she had small gold hoops in her ears. Again, Céline was lost to place her position. She was hardly a lady of the castle, but servants did not normally go around wearing gold earrings. Although her features were small and could even be called attractive, her face was pinched, and her expression was nervous or worried. As she took in the sight of Céline, her eyes flashed clear dislike—possibly hatred.
Céline’s gaze moved down to see that she carried two silk gowns in her arms, one a shade of rich amber and a second of midnight blue.
“That would be Inna,” Helga announced, gesturing at the young woman with one hand, as if this should give Céline and Amelie an idea of Inna’s place or position here.
Inna seemed hesitant to enter the room, and Céline glanced back at Amelie, who had put down her bread and cheese and was watching this new figure in the doorway with caution.
“What are you doing in here?” Inna demanded of Helga. “Get back to the kitchens.”
“The maids are shorthanded today,” Helga muttered. “His lord majesty lieutenant sent me to help.”
“Do not call him that!” Inna ordered. But then the dislike on her face shifted to disgust. “Well, I suppose it is only fitting. Gypsies serving gypsies.”
Céline’s mouth nearly fell open, and she struggled to keep her expression still. What could they possibly have done to earn this young woman’s contempt?
“How might we help you?” she asked.
At the sound of Céline’s voice, Inna’s attention shifted back.
Taking a breath, as if speaking to Céline was difficult, she said, “Prince Anton has invited a number of the better families to the great hall tonight for a banquet and entertainment. You and your sister are both expected to attend.” She walked in brusquely and dropped both gowns on the bed. “The Lady Karina was kind enough to send you decent attire for the evening.”
Although the suggestion that they were indecent posed a further insult, Céline could not help asking, “Lady Karina?”
But it was Helga who answered, “The prince’s auntie.” She nodded to herself again. “Yes, yes, his auntie.”
“I don’t wear gowns,” Amelie said flatly, looking at Inna. “And there’s nothing wrong with our clothes.”
However, as she spoke, Céline couldn’t help a flush of embarrassment. Her red velvet gown had once been her mother’s. Though the color had held fairly well through many washings, the seams were worn and the material was thin. Although as yet she’d not seen many other women of the castle, she’d seen no one here wearing such a dress of such bright scarlet—or that fit quite so snugly.
Inna first stared coldly at Amelie and then Céline, looking them up and down. “Well, if you wish to grace Prince Anton’s table dressed like a ruffian and a whore, that’s none of my business. I was told to deliver the gowns and bid you to be in the great hall at sunset.”
At the word “whore,” Amelie made a fist and took a step forward, but Céline caught her arm. Inna did not appear to notice either movement as she turned and swept from the room.
Slightly shaken, Céline asked, “Who in the world was that?”
“That would be Inna,” Helga said again, still nodding to herself. Then she clucked her tongue against the roof off her mouth. “Gypsies my big toe. Ignorant, rude girl. The Móndyalítko could teach her a thing or two.”
Céline turned toward the dressing table. “Who are the Móndyalítko?”
Helga blinked. “You.”
“Us?”
The poor old thing really was quite mad.
“Your mother’s name was Fawe, was it not?” Helga asked. “And your father took it when they married?” She hung both gowns in the wardrobe and began talking to herself again. “Two? Two from the same mother? Born three years apart? The number three, the magic number, two sides of the same coin, the mind and the body, the future and the past. Yes, yes. It’s good they’ve come now.”
Céline glanced Amelie, who shook her head once as if to discourage any further conversation.
“All done,” Helga announced, looking around with some satisfaction. “You both eat up, and if you need Helga again, just pull that cord over there, and I’ll come straightaway. Don’t want any scoldings from his lord majesty lieutenant. Certainly not.”
With that, she half walked, half hobbled from the room and closed the door behind herself, leaving Céline and Amelie alone, looking at each other.
“Well…,” Amelie said, “the cheese is very good.”
Céline’s stomach rumbled and so she reached for a piece of the white bread, but even as she did this, her eyes were on the gowns hanging in the wardrobe and her thoughts were on how Helga could possibly have known that their father had agreed to take their mother’s surname.
* * *
Just past sunset, Céline and Amelie walked into the great dining hall—after stopping twice to ask for directions.
Céline was feeling much more alert after having eaten and then slept for most of the afternoon, but she did not quite feel herself. From the moment Inna had delivered those gowns, Céline knew she was going to try on the one of rich amber and then look at herself in the full-length mirror. So she had.
She was still wearing the gown.
The square neckline was cut just above the tops of her breasts, with a point at each shoulder. The sleeves were narrow, and the slender waistline fit her perfectly. The skirt was full, draping about her in yards of fabric, and the color reflected just a hint of gold. It suited her dark blond hair, making the lighter tones glint under the braziers on the walls. She’d worn her hair loose, with its waves falling down her back.
She knew she had a part to play tonight, and somehow, this gown made her feel more like a seer who’d been hired by the likes of Prince Anton.
Amelie was still dressed her breeches, shirt, and canvas jacket. She wore her dagger but had thankfully left her short sword in their room. However, her breeches and jacket were dusty and covered in horsehair from a long night’s ride.
“By the gods,” Amelie whispered, looking around.
There were at least a hundred well-dressed people in the dining hall, perhaps more, milling around and visiting with one another with goblets in their hands.
Servants were preparing five long tables while the guests ignored their labors. At the top of the hall, near a dais, stood Prince Anton, surrounded by an assorted entourage. Jaromir and Pavel were just to his right, both having traded their chain armor and tabards for more comfortable-looking tunics. Jaromir’s aging wolfhound, Lizzie, kept close to his leg.
Directly to Anton’s left was a beautiful woman in her late twenties with ivory skin and chestnut hair piled high on her head. She wore a gown of light green satin that matched her eyes, and there was something vaguely familiar about her.
Next to her stood a slender man with a long, thin mustache, wearing a black silk tunic that would probably cost a peasant’s yearly income.
“Oh, there’s that woman,” Amelie groaned quietly, and right away, Céline knew who she meant.
Inna, in her gray wool dress, hovered behind Anton with an eager, anxious expression, appearing for all practical purposes like a dog waiting for an order from its master, but she was still distinguished as neither a servant nor a lady of the castle.
A brief moment of panic coursed through Céline. Who were all these people? If she was to play a convincing seer here, she needed to know with whom she was dealing.
However, all of this noticing and pondering took place in the few moments when she and Amelie walked into the great dining hall, and then Prince Anton’s eyes locked on Céline, drinking in the sight of her gown and moving up to her face and hair.
She fully expected him to look away after a second or two—out of sheer good manners—but he didn’t.
Perhaps, for all his apparent breeding, no one had taught him not to stare. With little idea what to do, she led the way toward him, with Amelie close behind.
They made their way easily through the throngs of guests, and on impulse, Céline made a small bow when they reached Anton. He looked even paler tonight than he had that morning, and the circles under his eyes held a hint of purple. She wondered if he wasn’t well.
“My lord,” she said.
He was still staring.
Thankfully, or perhaps not, Jaromir broke the moment with a single laugh as he turned to Amelie. “Seven hells,” he said, looking at her dusty, horsehair-covered attire. “Couldn’t Inna at least have found some boy with a set of clean clothes to loan you?”
Amelie’s mouth tightened and her fist clenched, sending Céline into a state of alarm.
“Lieutenant,” the beautiful chestnut-haired woman admonished. “Really.”
Anton cast Jaromir a dark look and then seemed to find his own manners. He motioned to the woman. “Please allow me to present my aunt, the Lady Karina.”
Céline hid her surprise. Karina couldn’t be more than six years older than Anton. Up close, she was even more stunning, with a slender face and exotic slanted eyes. With little idea what a proper response might be, Céline simply bowed her head again. “My lady.”
Karina smiled. “Anton has told me of your kind offer of…assistance. I am so glad for your presence here, and I must say you come as a surprise. I had no idea what to expect. You look lovely in that gown, my dear.”
Céline was slightly taken aback, both at the lady’s somewhat diplomatic use of the term “assistance” and at her open honesty about not having known what to expect and the kindness in her voice. She seemed sincere.
“Thank you for the gown, my lady,” she answered. “I understand you had it sent.”
“Well, I had two of them…” Lady Karina trailed off helplessly as she looked to Amelie, who stared right back.
“And this is Master Feodor,” Anton put in quickly, gesturing to the slender man with the long mustache, “our court physician.”
“Charmed,” said Master Feodor, but his tone hardly suggested he was charmed in the slightest. Céline disliked him right away. He struck her as…oily.
Inna had moved a little closer to Anton’s shoulder and was glaring at Céline with poorly disguised hatred. What in the world was wrong with that young woman?
A gong sounded throughout hall, echoing off the stone walls.
“The meal is ready,” Anton said, sounding relieved, as if he realized this small, rather mixed party would not be capable of making polite conversation.
But that was also when Céline noticed that Anton had not been the only man staring at her. Pavel’s mouth was slightly parted, his eyes fixed on her as well.
She wanted to sigh. This entire event hardly felt like a good start to a murder investigation.
Pavel was just as tall as she remembered, but he was clean and dry now, and the brown tunic he wore suited his tan face and cropped dark hair.
To her surprise, he stepped forward and offered his arm. “This way,” he said.
Anton frowned but said nothing.
At a loss, Céline took Pavel’s arm. He led her to the second table and then motioned her to a place on the bench. He sat on one side of her, while Amelie sat on the other.
Anton, Jaromir, Lady Karina, and Master Feodor all sat at the first table, up on the dais, with Anton in the center. Inna did not sit down, but rather stood behind Anton, again looking like a dog waiting for an order.
It seemed within moments, the tables were full of seated guests, most of whom were dressed in the gowns or quilted tunics of merchants or minor nobles, but there did seem an unusual number of pretty girls in their late teens among the families.
“Look at all this,” Amelie whispered, gesturing to the food on the table, as if impressed in spite of herself.
“That’s just the first course,” Pavel said, and then added, “But we don’t eat like this every night, only when my lord calls for a banquet.”
The spread laid out before them was indeed impressive, with long trenchers of mutton with gravy, roasted potatoes, and greens. Loaves of steaming white bread were abundant. Bowls filled with spring strawberries were being passed around, and everyone’s goblet was kept full of red wine.
Without hesitation, Amelie took a gulp of wine and dove right into the mutton. Céline was a bit more stringent, especially with the wine, but she’d hardly taken two bites when a hoard of fresh servants came through the hall’s entrance carrying huge trays of roasted turkeys over their heads—two for each table.
“Second course,” Pavel said, taking a swallow of wine.
Céline had never seen anything like this. She wondered what Anton would think if he knew that she and Amelie had been considered beyond fortunate back home to have lamb chops and stale coarse-grain bread with tea for supper.
But Amelie was clearly enjoying herself, making small sounds of contentment with each new bite, murmuring about the delicious gravy, while Céline’s mind could not help turning to the future. Perhaps Sub-Prince Damek had done them a favor.
If she could succeed here and become not only Castle Sèone’s apothecary, but Anton’s official “seer,” then she and Amelie would never need to worry about scraping pennies together for a few bites of meat again.
Yet in order to make herself a permanent place here, she needed to know more about the people around Anton—who could be trusted and who was dangerous—if she was to understand how she might make herself indispensable.
Plus, she needed as much information as possible if she was to solve these strange deaths.
Watching Pavel take another swallow of wine, she said carefully, “I feel at a disadvantage here, not knowing anyone but you and the lieutenant.”
He put his goblet down, eager to engage her in conversation. “Who would you like to meet?”
“Not so much meet”—she smiled—“but who is the Lady Karina to Prince Anton? Is she his father’s sister?”
Her gaze moved to the woman sitting beside Anton, his aunt Karina, and even from here, Céline could see she had a comfortable relationship with Anton, close but not smothering.
Pavel appeared pleased to be speaking of Karina and shook his head. “No, she’s his mother younger sister, but his mother died when he was just a boy.” He paused. “Lady Karina came here about four years ago, after Prince Anton’s wife, the Lady Joselyn, died. My lord was in a bad way, and Lady Karina came to help, all the way from the southern territories, down near the Everfen. He depends upon her now. She plans the menus and oversees the kitchen cooks, and she handles the household staff. My lord listens to her counsel in matters of state and the management of the fiefdoms.”
Céline took this in quietly. So she’d been right about Joselyn being dead. That was a different kettle of fish best left for another time.
Amelie had been listening to the exchange and breathed out through her nose. “Jaromir seems to like being Anton’s main counsel. How did he feel about Lady Karina coming here?”
Pavel paused. “The lieutenant came to serve Prince Anton shortly after the Lady Karina arrived, so he has never known the castle without her.”
That pulled Céline’s attention sharply. Jaromir had been in charge of the Sèone guard for only four years? He wore that mantle of power in the castle like he’d been born here.
She needed to know more—about everyone surrounding Anton.
Although she felt somewhat guilty using Pavel’s obvious attraction in order to get information out of him, now that she’d started, she wasn’t about to stop.
“And who is Inna?”
The pleased expression on his face faded, as if she’d spoken a sour word.
Inna was still hovering behind Anton. No wonder she was so thin. She never sat down to eat anything.
Pavel hesitated. “She came here about five years ago as a girl, with the Lady Joselyn, as Lady Joselyn’s personal maid. Folks say Lady Joselyn saved her from a bad home, and she was most grateful, maybe too devoted. But now…she takes care of my lord.”
So Inna was some kind of servant who’d been here since she was only thirteen years old or so. Céline mulled over everything Pavel was saying, trying to interpret what he was not saying.
Joselyn had rescued Inna from some kind of unfortunate situation and trained her to be a lady’s maid, creating a possibly unhealthy devotion, which had now been transferred to Anton. She would definitely bear watching.
“What about Master Feodor?” Céline asked.
Pavel’s mouth tightened, and he looked even less pleased. Céline noticed that his eyes were an unusual shade of green-blue.
“He…,” Pavel began and then stopped for a few seconds. “He’s here at the request of my lord’s father, Prince Lieven. They say…”
He trailed off again, and Céline wondered who “they” might be.
“They say my lord is not well,” Pavel continued, lowering his voice. “And sometimes I think he fancies himself to be not well. But Master Feodor makes him believe he’s not well, makes him rest too much and take draughts and bleeds him and the gods know what else.” His voice dropped even lower. “But my lord’s color has only gotten worse. I don’t think Master Feodor knows what he’s doing.”
This got Céline’s full attention, and she would have liked to know what was in the “draughts” Feodor was feeding Anton. She knew from experience that people tended to view physicians or healers with far too much blind trust, and she hoped Feodor was not some charlatan trying to make himself a place here at Anton’s court by seeming indispensable.
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 of 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.
And that’s when the first jolt hit.
As a second one hit, Céline felt herself being swept along a tunnel of mist again, and she lost all sensation of anything besides speeding along through the mists swirling all around her in tones of gray and white.
The mist vanished, and an image flashed before her.
She saw a room with gray stone walls. She was standing beside a bed, but she could see only one side of it.
Sybil lay there sound asleep. Her chocolate brown hair was spread out like a curtain across the pillow, and she was covered in a yellow-and-red-checked quilt. She looked so peaceful, so deep in slumber.
Céline began to relax at the sight.
Then…two slender hands wearing long black gloves came in from the side of the image, reaching down toward Sybil.
On instinct, Céline cried, “No!” and she tried to knock the hands away. But she wasn’t really there. She was only an observer, and she could do nothing. The black gloves continued to move. One of them settled on the side of Sybil’s face and the other on her throat.
Céline wanted to scream, to fight, to stop this, but she was locked inside the vision, just watching.
The hands didn’t grip down or do anything besides touch Sybil’s face and throat, but the flesh on Sybil’s cheek began to move, rippling of its own accord. It began to shrivel.
“No,” Céline choked.
Beneath the black-gloved hands, Sybil’s face continued to shrivel, to wither, sinking in upon itself until her face was nothing more than a dried husk. Inside the vision, the black gloves pressed harder on her cheek and throat. It went on and on as Sybil’s body seemed to shrink beneath the quilt.
Céline could feel herself choking in horror.
“Stop it!” someone ordered. “Come out!”
Strong hands had ahold of her arms, shaking her once, and the small room vanished. She found herself back in the great hall, staring up into Lieutenant Jaromir’s alarmed eyes.
“Let go of her,” someone else said, someone familiar, and Céline saw Amelie standing behind Jaromir.
“Amelie,” Céline whispered.
Anton was striding toward them, and half the hall was staring. The music had stopped. Perhaps realizing how this must look, Jaromir let go of her.
“Pardon,” he said.
Reality was rushing back to Céline as she tried to recover from the nightmare she’d just witnessed. Sybil was on her feet, frightened. “What did you see?”
Céline fought for control. The poor girl. The event in the vision had to be changed. Sybil had to be protected.
“Oh, I do beg your forgiveness,” Céline heard herself saying, astonished at her own self-control. Somehow, she smiled reassuringly at Sybil. “Sometimes my sightline into the future becomes crossed, and I see my own.” She moved closer to Sybil. “I saw something unpleasant, but it had nothing to do with you. Please forgive me. I think I sought too many visions, too quickly, in a short span of time. Perhaps I might rest?”
Sybil’s fear vanished, replaced by concern. “You saw something unpleasant for yourself? I’m sorry.”
She was kind.
“It’s all right,” Céline answered, still smiling but casting her gaze toward the small chamber at the bottom of the hall where she’d spoken to Anton that morning. She could feel his eyes upon her. “I just need to rest.”
With that, she began walking, head still high, toward the small chamber, hearing two sets of footsteps behind her.
“I will go and attend to the seer myself,” Anton announced. “I fear she has overtaxed herself. My Lady Karina, have the musicians play on.” A third set of footsteps sounded.
The walk felt long, but Céline finally reached the chamber, made her way inside, and collapsed in a chair. Jaromir, Amelie, and Anton followed her in. She didn’t see which one closed the door.
“What?” Jaromir demanded instantly. “You tell me what in the seven hells just happened out there.”
“She’s not your dog or one of your soldiers,” Amelie told him. “Don’t give her orders!”
They both sounded far away.
“Both of you stop!” Anton ordered. His voice softened, but the circles under his eyes looked black. “Céline, what did you see?”
“It’s her,” Céline whispered. “Sybil. She’s next.”
“What does that mean?” Jaromir asked.
“She was asleep, in a bed,” Céline went on, almost feeling as if someone else spoke. “Gloved hands…like a woman’s or a slender man’s, came in from one side and touched her. She just shriveled away, like those girls on the table in the cellar. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I just had to watch.”
“Who?” Anton demanded, sounding far less soft now. “Who did this?”
“I don’t know. I only saw the gloved hands…black gloves.”
“You must have seen more than that!” Jaromir insisted.
“Leave her alone,” Amelie said, but she looked puzzled, as if wondering about Céline’s game here.
“No, I didn’t,” Céline said quietly. “I only saw the gloves, and I saw her die.”
Jaromir sighed and turned to Anton. “What do you want to do?”
Anton stared at the wall for a few moments and then said, “Tell her parents the truth and place her under guard.” His eyes locked with Jaromir’s. “I’ll talk to her father. You get a room set up.”
“Yes, my lord.”