The next few days passed in a blur.
Céline suffered through several regrets, such as her continued inability to tell Amelie the truth. She’d managed to put her sister off by claiming that she’d made a guess while attempting to make herself appear useful in the investigation and then had been overwrought when Sybil had actually been killed.
Amelie had appeared to accept this on the surface, but she also told Céline they’d better come up with a much better plan than simply guessing and trying to look useful.
Céline couldn’t fault that logic, but she was also mildly alarmed by how quickly she was adapting to castle life. Lady Karina continued her kindness and had sent up more clothing: gowns, clean shifts, stockings, and even a pair of dark breeches for Amelie.
Helga brought breakfast to their room every day, and she built the morning fire. She also made their bed and laundered their clothing. Lunch was served in the dining hall in a buffet fashion, and there were sit-down suppers with meat, root vegetables, white bread, early spring strawberries, and wine every night—not as lavish as the banquet, but still fine meals.
Céline had no duties other than reading any young women Jaromir brought to her, and Amelie spent much of her time playing cards with off-duty soldiers. The sisters were both living like ladies of leisure.
But Céline couldn’t help feeling these quiet days were like a lull before a violent storm. That something was about to happen. Jaromir had apparently made her true purpose here more widely known, and he’d asked for volunteers among families with daughters. But so far only a few parents had brought their daughters to be read, and Céline had been relieved not to have found herself pulled along in the mists, forced to witness an ugly death.
At the same time, she felt she was making no progress.
Anton had kept his distance after their rather raw exchange in the upstairs portrait hall.
On the fourth day, however, he sent out announcements for another banquet at the castle set for the following night, and he made it clear a refusal would be perceived as an insult.
The following day, castle cooks and servants bustled with the preparations.
As Céline dressed for this banquet, she knew she would be on display again and that Jaromir and Anton both expected results. Jaromir had been growing more and more restless, and he wanted something he could fight.
The wardrobe in her room now contained a number of gowns, and she chose one of soft lavender wool with a scoop neck and a fairly straight skirt. It matched her eyes and accentuated her slim hips.
As she stood before the mirror, her mind flashed back to the way Anton had looked at her in the portrait hall, and she wondered if she should change into her own threadbare red dress. At least she felt like herself in that dress…and could keep her sights on the end goal.
“Céline, who do you really think is doing this?” Amelie asked, pulling on her boots. “Killing the girls, I mean. It has to be someone who wants to discredit Anton, but I’ve been talking to the soldiers for days, and everyone here seems loyal.”
Céline turned from the mirror. “You’ve been talking to the soldiers? Trying to gain information?”
“What did you think I’d been doing? Amusing myself with cards?”
Actually, that was exactly what Céline thought she’d been doing.
After seeing the black gloves and the sight of Sybil’s life draining away, Céline had been wallowing in fear that the killer was indeed, as Anton so politely put it, “more arcane” in nature.
But he’d also mentioned the possibility of an unknown poison. She knew of nothing to make flesh shrivel so quickly, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist.
“And none of the maids claim to know anything of secret passages in the guest quarters,” Amelie went on. “Not even Helga, and I think she’d tell me if she knew.”
“Secret passages?”
“How else could the killer get inside that room? There’s no window, and Jaromir was standing on the other side of a locked door. But I haven’t been able to do a search of the room.”
Céline stared at her. “Why don’t you just ask Jaromir for permission?”
“What? And let him find it? Let him solve this? No, we have to solve it ourselves and make you look like the ‘seer’ in the process.”
Céline turned away. “We’re late,” she said, realizing dusk had fallen.
They stepped out into the passage, walking side by side, but Céline’s thoughts were churning. What if Amelie was right? What if the killer was simply someone trying to discredit Anton? A perfect way to discredit a respected leader would be through a series of deaths of pretty, unmarried girls—which he was unable to stop.
“Do you remember Pavel saying something odd at the table at the last banquet?” Céline asked, murmuring in case they passed someone unexpectedly.
“No…just him telling you about the people closest to Anton. What else did he say?”
“That he’d never serve Prince Damek, but he thought Damek would make a better grand prince, that Anton was too kind…or rather that Damek was a harder man and therefore better qualified to protect the country.”
“Oh, I do remember. So even someone loyal to Anton might be working against him, just because the person thinks Damek could better protect Droevinka?” Amelie shook her head. “That could leave a lot of people here to choose from.”
A flush of shame passed through Céline. Amelie had been actively looking for suspects, questioning soldiers and castle maids, while she had wallowed in self-pity and guilt, certain she was chasing a shadow and at the same time worrying that she might even be accelerating the murders.
That would stop right now.
“We need to make a list,” she whispered as they walked down the stairs, “of everyone who thinks Anton is too soft to rule the country.”
“Good.” Amelie nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Their discussion stopped as they entered the great hall.
It was crowded with milling guests as before, but now few people bothered with any pretense of attending an enjoyable dinner offered by their prince. More than half the guests in the hall glanced at Céline as she entered, and the rest preferred to pretend she was not a reality.
But she could hardly blame them.
At the last banquet, she’d read a lovely young woman who’d wound up lying dead on a table in the cellars only a few hours later.
Anton stood at the top of the hall near the dais with his usual entourage, and Lady Karina smiled at Céline from her place beside him. Céline smiled back. But then she shifted her gaze back to Anton as he took in the sight of her lavender gown. After only a second or two, he looked away.
Master Feodor had donned his usual black silk tunic, but he drank down a large goblet of wine rather quickly and signaled to a servant to pour him more. Was something bothering him? Or did he always drink that much?
Inna was hovering behind Anton, and Jaromir was dressed in his chain armor again, along with his tabard and sword, wearing an expression dark enough to make Céline wish she could avoid him for the remainder of the evening. Even his loyal wolfhound, Lizzie, kept her place by the fire instead of at his side. He looked as if he could kick a small kitten across the hall.
“I like that dress,” someone said from beside her, and she turned to find Corporal Pavel towering over her and Amelie. His familiar face and cropped dark hair were a welcome sight. He might be slightly besotted, but at least he was a simple man with simple needs. She knew how to handle him.
“Thank you,” Céline said. “Lady Karina has nearly packed our wardrobe, and she has good taste.”
“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” Amelie told him. “Where have you been?”
He hesitated. “My lord saw fit to have the lieutenant place me on night watch at the lower gates. But I’m off duty tonight.”
Céline tried not to wince. Anton had ordered Pavel on night watch at the outside gate? She hoped that hadn’t been due to his attentions to her.
But if so, it didn’t appear to daunt him. The gong for dinner sounded, and he lowered his arm for her to take. “Come and eat with me,” he said.
She took his arm.
* * *
Once dinner had ended, Jaromir wasted no time getting Céline set up in her chair near the hearth, and then he practically ordered Baron Medev to go fetch his youngest daughter. Jaromir no longer felt he had the luxury of pretending these readings were some sort of entertainment, and no one would believe such a sugarcoated illusion anyway. Not after Sybil’s death.
In part, this lack of pretense was a relief, as it allowed him to use his power and give the necessary orders, but it also drove him even harder to find a way to make these murders stop. He wanted Céline to pinpoint the next victim, to get him the next name, and then he was going to try a different tactic to catch the killer.
Baron Medev’s daughter came over and sat across from Céline. The girl looked frightened, but Céline took her hand, murmuring reassurances.
Jaromir couldn’t help liking Céline. She was good at her job.
However, he also had a feeling this was going to be a long night, and he hoped it would not be fruitless. Many daughters of the minor nobles and local merchants were present tonight, but that was no guarantee the next victim was here among them. There were other pretty young women in the village outside.
And he badly wanted a name tonight. He needed to do something.
For now, all he could do was keep an eye on Céline and let her go to work.
Turning around, his gaze moved to Amelie, as it often did when she was in the vicinity. She’d made some friends among his men and earned a reputation as a good card player. Now she was sitting on a bench, waiting for a few soldiers to join her and get a game going. She wore the same faded shirt and jacket, but with clean breeches. Her hair shone in the candlelight, and he liked how it swung along her jaw when she moved her head.
Then…a flash of sapphire blue silk caught the corner of his eye, and he turned a little further to find Bridgette watching him. He had not spoken to her or called her to his bed since the night Sybil was murdered. She’d sent him a few sympathetic notes, telling him to take heart and reassuring him that he’d have this solved soon. But he knew she was just playing a part, and he hadn’t answered the notes; she was probably beginning to suspect there was more to his cooling off than this murder investigation.
Now she’d just caught him staring at Amelie.
Bridgette’s expression was hard, but when she found him looking at her, she smiled and curtsied in playful humor. He nodded and turned around to watch Céline again. He didn’t wish to encourage Bridgette to approach him. Not tonight.
After a few moments, though, he glanced back to see if she’d engaged someone else in conversation, but she was no longer where she’d been standing. He continued his search…and to his shock, he saw that Bridgette had walked straight to Amelie and was talking to her.
Knowing he should stay in place and watch Céline, he still couldn’t help himself. Bridgette’s back was to him, and he moved slowly up behind her, just close enough to hear what she was saying. Bridgette’s finery and pretty face would be enough to daunt most women, but Amelie was turning ashen.
“I suppose you learned to play cards in that hovel from where you came?” Bridgette was asking. “Where was it?”
“Shetâna,” Amelie answered tightly.
“Oh, yes, one of Damek’s mud pits. Did you farm pigs there? I heard almost all the peasants under Damek’s rule farm pigs for a living.”
Her tone was regally polite but held such a cutting edge of cruelty that Jaromir almost couldn’t believe it. He knew she could be haughty. He even liked that side of her, as it reminded him how far he’d come. But he’d not known she could be cruel. She was intentionally trying to make Amelie feel small, and for all Amelie’s skill with that dagger on her hip, she had no idea how to fence with someone like Bridgette.
“No,” Amelie said. “We had a shop.”
Several of the soldiers around her were beginning to look uncomfortable.
“A shop?” Bridgette said brightly. “How charming. So then you must have kept the pigs out back? Else why would you dress in that manner?” She motioned toward Amelie’s clothes.
“Bridgette!” Jaromir said, and when Amelie looked up and saw him standing there, her ashen face went pink.
Bridgette, however, turned pale. “Lieutenant,” she said, “I didn’t hear your approach.”
“Apparently not,” he answered coldly. “Why don’t you go and attend the Lady Karina.”
She stiffened at his dismissal but attempted a smile. “Of course.”
Turning in her sapphire gown, she swept away. Jaromir knew better than to apologize for her, so he simply said to Amelie, “I’ll go keep watch on your sister.”
She nodded, but for all her tough exterior, he could see she’d been cut—probably most by not knowing how to fight back in this polite verbal arena.
Walking toward Céline, he felt embarrassed by his mistress, and he wished he could somehow take back the words she’d spoken to Amelie.
* * *
After reading six young women in immediate succession, both Céline’s smile and her calming assurances were beginning to tire. Worse, Jaromir was pacing the stone floor like a restless wolf watching for any sign of unusual movement, but after each girl, when she shook her head at him, his expression grew darker.
He wasn’t helping.
Looking up, Céline saw a young woman of about eighteen standing near the opposite chair. She was tall, with a strong build. Blond braids hung forward over her shoulders. Though well made, her gown was of dyed cotton as opposed to silk, satin, or brushed wool. Her face was plain, but her blue eyes were bright, and she seemed almost eager to speak with Céline.
“I think I am next,” she said. “My name is Erin.”
“Come and sit,” Céline said, resummoning her smile.
To her surprise, the young woman grabbed the other chair and pulled it even closer, so that when she sat down, their knees were touching. She leaned forward and whispered, “I don’t care about this matter you’re handling for the prince. I wish to know something else.”
In spite of her weariness, Céline’s interest was piqued.
“I’m engaged to be married,” Erin said quickly.
Céline’s interest faded. Weren’t they all by her age? Most were married already.
Her face must have given her thoughts away, because Erin waved a hand. “No, I don’t want you to paint pretty stories of a handsome knight. I’ve known my betrothed since we were ten. Cecil is a fine man.”
“Then what is it you wish to know?”
Erin lowered her voice. “I need to know if I will bear him a son. My mother could only give my father one child…me. Cecil is his family’s only son. They have no other male heir and are anxious to ensure a male grandchild. His parents have doubts about him marrying me if I prove to be like my mother, not a good breeder.” She straightened. “But I won’t spend my life accepting their blame, suffering their accusing looks and words. Can you look into my future and tell me if I will bear a son?”
Céline hesitated. This was a very specific question, nothing she could dance around with vague details, and in truth, she didn’t believe this young woman’s happiness should hinge upon pleasing her betrothed’s parents.
But Erin leaned even further forward, so close she was breathing on Céline’s cheek. “Please. I love Cecil. I would be his wife. But only if we will both be happy.”
Well, that was a better reason than the first she’d given.
“Here,” Erin said, holding out her hand. “I brought something personal of his and mine—locks of our hair.”
One chunk of hair was carrot red, and the other blond.
Céline pursed her mouth, wondering how to proceed. She could hardly refuse to read the girl. Taking both locks of hair, she grasped Erin’s hand with her free one and closed her eyes, wondering how she could handle this without making promises or creating disappointment. With her eyes shut tightly, she was about to pretend the first jolt…when a jolt actually hit her, and she found herself rushing down the corridor of mists.
Oh, no, not this young woman.
Fear and anguish flooded through her at the thought that Erin was the next victim, but the mists vanished and she found herself standing in a sun-drenched bedroom, near an open window, listening to the sound of harsh grunts, followed by a brief scream.
Erin lay atop a bed, soaked with sweat, and attended by a midwife. She was giving birth.
“Good,” the midwife said, sweating herself. “One more push. You’re almost there.”
Erin bore down, gritting her teeth and grunting hard, and the baby slipped out, landing in the midwife’s arms.
Céline looked on, wishing she could help. She had delivered babies in Shetâna and knew the many duties that must be attended to quickly, from cutting the cord, to cleaning the child, to seeing that all the afterbirth came out and massaging the mother’s abdomen.
“Is the baby all right?” Erin panted.
The child began to cry, and the midwife brought it up for Erin to hold. “A healthy boy,” she said.
The birthing room vanished.
Unfortunately, Céline instantly found herself back in the great hall with her eyes wide open, and Jaromir was standing behind Erin’s chair, ready to pounce. She waved him away. He frowned and didn’t move.
“What?” Erin asked anxiously. “What did you see?”
“I saw you lying in the childbed,” Céline answered without hesitation. “You have a healthy son.”
Erin leaned back and breathed in through her mouth. “Thank you,” she whispered.
But Céline was still awash in the realization that she’d just witnessed a future that did not involve horror or death. This girl had asked her a question, and she’d focused on the answer…and she’d seen it.
Erin was rising. “If I can ever do anything for you, please ask me. My father is the village blacksmith.” Then she was gone, hurrying back to a young man with red hair. Gripping his hand, she whispered in his ear, and he smiled broadly.
“What exactly was that?” Jaromir snapped, moving closer.
“I saw her future, and she is not the next victim.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Well, then, who is? I need something, Céline. Should I bring you another girl?”
But Céline’s gaze moved to Anton, and more specifically, to Inna hovering behind him.
“Lieutenant…,” she began, “how old is Inna?”
“Inna?” he repeated in surprise. “I don’t know; eighteen or so, I’d guess. Why do you—?”
“Some men might find her pretty, and I haven’t read her yet.”
He followed her gaze. Watching his face, she could almost see his mind working. “I don’t think she’s the next victim. In fact, I’ve even wondered…” He trailed off.
“Wondered what?”
“No, you’re right. You should read her.” He seemed determined now. “And tell me anything you see, even if you don’t think she’s in danger.”
Céline had no idea what he was after, but she had other concerns when it came to Inna. “You’ll have to go to Anton first and have him order her. I don’t think she’d submit to this otherwise.”
He glanced down at her and nodded. “I won’t be long.”
Although Céline was fully prepared for some opposition, the unfortunate scene that followed astonished her. Jaromir went straight to Anton and spoke in his ear. Anton’s brows rose briefly, and a short conversation ensued. Finally, Anton turned to Inna and said something to her that caused her features to twist.
“No!” she cried.
Nearly everyone in the hall turned toward the front. Anton appeared both stunned and discomfited as he leaned closer to her, speaking more forcefully. But she shook her head in refusal until he grabbed her arm and began dragging her toward the hearth.
“No!” Inna shouted again. “My lord, let go of me.”
He didn’t even slow down, and Jaromir followed him like some man at arms.
Everyone was watching, and Céline sat in helpless horror, thinking there was no way Anton could have handled this in a worse fashion. Inna looked like an angry lamb being led to the slaughter. This would hardly ensure the trust of Anton’s people when it came to their daughters being read by the seer.
Then Anton was standing directly in front of her, still gripping Inna’s arm. “Sit,” he ordered.
“My lord,” Céline whispered, “this is hardly necessary. Nor is it helpful.”
He ignored her and stared hard at Inna. “Sit,” he repeated.
Then it occurred to Céline that for all his kindness and concern for his people, he was accustomed to being obeyed. When he was refused, he reacted like any other warlord.
That was a piece of information worth storing away.
Inna’s face was wild, torn between fear and anger and the pain of having refused him. Perhaps realizing he would not relent, she changed tactics and began begging, “Please, my lord, do not make me do this. I cannot sit in this audience and submit to such indignity. Please.”
He stood there like a stone.
“Inna,” Céline said, with genuine pity. “It’s all right. I promise this won’t take long.”
Inna flashed her a look of pure hated. “Do not speak to me.”
“Sit down,” Anton ordered, “and stop this foolish behavior.”
He watched while Inna sank into the chair.
Céline sighed. “Inna, I have to touch your hand.”
She was beginning to regret having suggested this. The hall was quiet, and Anton turned around. “Musicians,” he said, “play something cheerful.”
For Céline, this macabre order was the last cherry on the cake of her self-control, and she glared at him. “You’re the one who should stop playing the fool!” she whispered.
He might have flinched, but she couldn’t be sure. “Inna,” he said, “give her your hand.”
The hostility on Inna’s face was so affecting that Céline hesitated, but she had to do this. Reaching out, she grasped the fingers of Inna’s left hand and then closed her eyes. She let her mind go still, trying to forget Anton and Jaromir standing there like sentinels. She focused only on Inna…on what was to come.
A hard jolt hit her, and then another. The great hall vanished, and she was swept away on the white mists, rushing forward, blind and bodiless until the mists vanished, and she found herself once again inside a small, darkened bedroom.
Why was it always bedrooms?
But then she looked down. Inna lay sleeping beneath a white quilt. She looked younger with her face so relaxed. Panic hit Céline immediately…as this was all too familiar.
“Inna, wake up!” she said, but she wasn’t really there. Inna couldn’t hear her.
Slender hands covered in black gloves came into view, moving slowly toward the bed, and Céline began to choke.
The black gloves continued to move. One of them settled on the side of Inna’s face and the other on her throat. Again the hands did not grip down, or do anything besides touch Inna’s face and throat, and the flesh on Inna’s cheek began to ripple…and then to shrivel.
Beneath the black-gloved hands, Inna’s face withered, sinking in upon itself until it was nothing more than a dried husk. Inside the vision, the black gloves pressed harder on her cheek and throat, and as with the other young victims, Inna’s body seemed to shrink beneath the quilt.
Céline began to weep, sobbing in gulps.
“Come out of it!” someone ordered.
The dim room vanished, and she found herself in Anton’s grip, looking at his pale chin. He had ahold of her upper arms. Though his voice was harsh, he also sounded worried. “Céline, come out of it.”
Without thinking, she leaned in, pressing her face into his shoulder.
“It’s Inna,” she choked. “Inna’s next.”
* * *
Within the hour, Jaromir had secured a small, windowless room just down the passage from his own apartments. He wasn’t taking any chances this time. He had Pavel and two other men, Guardsmen Rurik and Winshaw, whom he knew well, gathered around the outside of the door.
“No one closes the door,” he ordered. “We’ll run a two-man watch in three-hour shifts so no one gets tired. Just stand in the doorway and keep your eyes on her while she sleeps. Don’t look away for a second, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” his men answered in unison.
He had full control out here. But the scene playing out in the interior of the room was another matter—involving Céline, Inna, and Amelie. Inna was still stunned by having been rushed here, and she kept going on and on about not having laid out Anton’s bedclothes or his nighttime snack or his goblet of wine. She was nearly hysterical.
Anton himself had already retired for the night, leaving the arrangements to Jaromir.
“Please, please,” Inna begged, “you must let me go! My lord needs me to attend his sleeping preparations.”
Amelie appeared to have little patience with such a display and seemed close to knocking the young woman senseless—to which Jaromir might not have objected.
While Céline was normally calm and sensible, the experience from her vision had left her rattled, and to his consternation, she seemed bent on arguing with his strategy. For the third time, she came at him.
“Lieutenant, you must see this won’t work,” she insisted. “By placing her inside this room in the castle, you’re signing her death warrant. If you wish to keep her safe, you’ll take her outside the city gates, somewhere far from here, somewhere the killer cannot reach her.”
She’d been pressing this point since only moments after having read Inna in the great hall, and he had no intention of voicing the main flaw of her argument: that he needed Inna for bait. To this point, he’d simply ignored Céline, but now she was questioning him in front of his men.
“Mistress Fawe,” he said quietly, pulling her aside, “I am not just trying to save Inna. I am trying to catch a murderer. Inna will not be left alone, but you need to leave me to this. Go back to your own room.”
“But, Lieutenant, you cannot just—”
“Now!” He looked back into the room. “Amelie, please come take your sister back to your room.”
He had no idea how Amelie would react, as she didn’t tend to follow orders, but she seemed relieved at the prospect of flight and came out quickly, grasping her sister’s hand. “Come on, Céline.”
“Amelie, we can’t leave her like this!”
“Do you require an escort?” Jaromir asked, not bothering to keep the threat from his voice.
“No,” Amelie answered, dragging Céline away.
Jaromir regretted having been so harsh, but he turned back to the task at hand, walking to the doorway of the room. “Inna, you can sleep in your clothes. I’m not shutting the door, even for a few moments.”
She stared out at him with hollow eyes but didn’t argue. Perhaps the reality of her situation was beginning to set in.
“Sir,” Pavel said, “Rurik and I should take the first watch. That way, you can sleep for a few hours. The last attack occurred halfway between the mid of night and dawn. If you and Winshaw take the watch in three hours, that’ll most likely be when the killer appears anyway.” He paused. “Plus, I’ve been on night watch this week, and I’m not tired.”
Jaromir hated to just go to sleep, but Pavel’s words made sense, and Jaromir was determined to count only upon these three men he trusted, spelling each other in teams, in short three-hour shifts in order to keep alert.
“All right.” He nodded. “Have me woken in three hours, and remember my apartments are within shouting distance.” He turned to look inside the room. “Don’t take your eyes off her…I mean it. One of you keeps a watch on her if she has to use the chamber pot. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Still reluctant to leave, he headed down the passage to his own rooms. Pavel was right, and he’d be in better form if he at least rested for a few hours. But only when he slipped inside his rooms and found himself alone did he relax enough to let doubts begin to flow. There was no guarantee the killer would strike tonight. This night vigil could be repeated for some time. He had to make sure his men remained alert.
Worse, what would happen when the killer realized he or she couldn’t attack Inna without being seen by two armed soldiers? Would the murderer choose another victim? No, Jaromir had to rely on Céline’s vision. It was all he had.
Running a hand across his jaw, he tried to remember the last time he’d shaved properly. His goatee was turning into a beard, but he was too exhausted to care.
A knock sounded on the door.
With a sigh, he went to open it, wondering if Pavel or Rurik had forgotten to ask him something.
But it was Bridgette standing on the other side, wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown with a half-tied sash. Had she walked from her own apartments like this? Her red-gold hair was hanging loose, and his eyes fixed on her face, moving down her throat to the V in the dressing gown between her breasts. He knew that her body was delicate and soft at the same time.
“I fear I offended you this evening,” she said. “If so, I have come to apologize.”
She hardly sounded apologetic, but her coming here—without him sending a message—must be humiliating on her part. She’d been married to one of the wealthiest silk merchants in the province, and now she was sharing a bed with an ex-mercenary.
A part of him thought on her earlier cruelty to Amelie tonight, and he wanted to send her away. Another part kept looking at the V in her dressing gown. He was tired, but he also needed release, and they’d always served each other well in that capacity.
Stepping back, he held the door, and she entered with the hint of a triumphant smile. By the time he’d closed the door and turned around, she’d untied her sash and let her dressing gown drop to the floor.
He couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath. Her skin was flawless, and he took in the sight of her high-set breasts and the small red-gold triangle at the tops of her thighs. Without waiting, he moved to her, grabbing her bare back with one hand and moving his other hand between her legs.
She gasped and said urgently, “Don’t take off your armor.”
He knew she liked all elements of the act of having sex with a soldier. He’d never minded before. But something about the way she’d said it hit him wrong. He didn’t know why. Pulling her in tightly, he pressed his tongue into her mouth and waited for his body to respond.
In his mind, he kept hearing the same brightly spoken but cutting sentences over and over.
Did you farm pigs there? I heard almost all the peasants under Damek’s rule farm pigs for a living.
The cruel tone of it echoed in his ears.
Sliding his hand from her back up to cup one of her breasts, he kissed her deeper, willing himself into arousal.
It didn’t work.
A shop? How charming. So then you must have kept the pigs out back?
He stopped and took his mouth from hers. This wasn’t going to work. For all her beauty, the memory of her trying to hurt Amelie was branded onto his brain.
“What is it?” she asked.
He reached for her dressing gown and handed it to her. “I’m tired. Go back to your own rooms.”
Alarm—possibly fear—flickered across her face. She was wealthy enough, but her place here at court, and her choice apartments, were due to him.
“Jaromir?”
He could see any number of questions developing on her lips, and he hoped she wouldn’t ask them. He was too weary to lie to her tonight, and once spoken, the words could not be taken back. That was a great tragedy of life. Words could never be taken back.
She seemed to realize this as well, and managed a brittle smile while reaching for her gown. “Of course. You only need call on me, and I’ll come directly.”
After tying her sash, she made a graceful exit.
Looking at the closed door behind her, he didn’t think he’d be calling upon her again.
* * *
Amelie didn’t know what to do.
She’d led Céline back to their room, thinking that some time alone together by the crackling fire would help set things right, but Céline continued to tremble while pacing the floor.
“He’s wrong,” she kept whispering. “Why can’t he see that? He needs to get her away from here, but Anton won’t listen to me. He only listens to him.”
“Céline! What is wrong with you?”
Amelie had never seen her sister like this. Once again, she thought Céline pointing a finger at the next victim—and Inna at that—was a mistake. Last time, by a fluke, the poor girl she’d named had turned out to be the next victim. But Amelie doubted such an event occurring again. This strategy of Céline’s seemed to lack any sort of plan.
Céline looked over at her. “Jaromir is wrong, and he’s going to get Inna killed.”
“You can’t possibly know that. Are you starting to believe your own game?”
After standing there a moment longer, Céline went to the bed, sitting on the edge. “Come and sit with me. I have something to tell you. Something I should have said days ago, but I haven’t known how.”
Amelie moved slowly to join her sister. She didn’t like this. “What?”
Céline opened her mouth and closed it again. Whatever she had to say, she truly didn’t know how to say it.
“We’ve never had secrets from each other,” Amelie said.
“No. No, we haven’t.” But Céline paused again. “I’ve been seeing the future when I read some people…really seeing their futures. It started back home when I read Rhiannon. I saw Damek having her falsely accused of adultery and strangled. I saw Sybil die. I saw black gloves reaching for her face and throat. Tonight, I saw Inna die the same way.”
Amelie froze. “No, I know Mother could see for real, but we…we live by our wits.”
Céline stared at the floor and shook her head. “I was afraid to tell you. I was afraid of what you’d say. But it’s true. I’m becoming like Mother.” Her eyes flew up. “It doesn’t change anything. It could even help us. I’m giving the correct answers once I have a true vision…or I think I am.” Her voice grew intense. “But so far, I haven’t been able to change anything I’ve seen, not for certain! Jaromir is wrong for keeping Inna in the castle. She should be taken far away.”
Amelie sat there, still frozen. For the past five years, she and Céline had lived by their wits and their strengths, with Céline playing the seer and Amelie making certain they were both safe, protected. At times, the money Céline earned made the partnership feel less than equal, but Amelie had worked hard at her contributions, and as sisters, they treated each other as equals. Now Céline was becoming like Mother? A true seer?
“It won’t change anything,” Céline insisted. “But tonight, you have to help me.”
“With what?”
“To save Inna. We have to try and alter the future I saw for her.”
Amelie shook her head in confusion. “Save her? We’d never get near her. Jaromir’s got two armed guards on her door.”
Céline stood up. “I can get near her. As we were heading back here tonight, I heard Pavel volunteer for the first watch.” She paced toward the hearth. “But we need to get down into the village and break into the apothecary’s shop first.”
“Why?”
Céline turned around. “Because I saw poppies growing in the herb garden.”