Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red (13 page)

She would not allow him to see her in fear of anything.

“Of course I can do it.”

Striding over, she crouched down, and so did he.

“Céline,” he asked, “how long will this beast remain drugged?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about its internal workings. I had to guess at how much syrup to put in the water.”

Jaromir looked across the wolf at Amelie. “Go ahead and do your reading, but if this thing starts to wake up, I’m going shove you hard. Céline, you get back near Quinn and Rurik.”

As Céline hurried away, Amelie gritted her teeth. When it came to the three of them, why did Jaromir always have to insist on making sure everyone knew he was in charge?

Trying to forget he was there, she reached out and closed her eyes. Her hand rested on the wolf’s shoulder. She’d expected the fur to be soft, but it was
surprisingly coarse. Letting go of all her fears, she focused on the wolf . . . on Ramsey, and she tried to feel for the spark of his spirit.

After first, she felt nothing, sensed nothing.

Refocusing, she forgot the wolf and focused only on Ramsey, picturing him in her mind.

Without warning, without a single jolt, she was jerked back through the gray and white mists, rushing backward down the corridor of time. Now she could definitely feel a spirit, and it was strong. It was grabbing for her own, clinging to her, and she tried to fight back, to keep herself separated, to be only an observer, but the spirit meshed with hers, and she knew she had lost the battle. Struggling to keep her head, to make certain this reading was not a waste, she focused on Ramsey’s recent life in this camp, on trying to make him show her what had happened to him, what had caused him to change.

But the mists jerked her to a stop and would not allow her to cross a certain point. Then the mists cleared, and she found herself standing in the darkness on the edge of the soldiers’ encampment, looking inward at the tents.

Nausea hit her.

Pain like she’d never experienced flowed through her body in waves, and she couldn’t help crying out and choking as she retched up the contents of her stomach. Raising her hands before her eyes, she saw a man’s hands, with fur beginning to sprout and claws beginning to grow.

Terror exceeded pain.

She was inside Ramsey as he was last night, and he
knew what was happening to him. He was so afraid and in so much pain. She heard his clothing tear, and she felt his body expand.

And then . . . all she felt was rage, the need to kill . . . and she rushed forward on four legs . . .

“Amelie!”

The scene vanished, and she was choking. Opening her eyes, she found herself partially on the barn floor and partially in Jaromir’s arms. Céline was running toward her, falling to her knees.

“Are you all right?” Céline asked. “Jaromir had to pull you away. You were gagging so badly.”

Trying to draw in a few breaths, Amelie couldn’t help the waves of despair washing through her. Ramsey was gone. There was nothing left of him inside the wolf.

“I couldn’t . . . ,” she tried to say. “I couldn’t get past last night when he started to change. I felt it. I felt everything.”

Jaromir held her, rocking her back and forth.

For a moment, she let him. Then she pulled away and tried to sit up on her own. “Is there any water left in that pitcher?”

Rurik grabbed the pitcher and hurried over.

Once Amelie had washed out her mouth, she shook her head in strained sorrow. “I tried, Céline. I can’t see anything of Ramsey’s life. I can only see when the wolf began.”

* * *

Looking at Amelie, Céline hated that her sister had been forced to endure this. She couldn’t imagine what Amelie had seen and felt in the past few moments.

Climbing to her feet, Céline turned to face Keegan and Quinn.

Keegan looked more unsettled now and less disgusted.

Good,
Céline thought.
He should be unsettled.

“I had hoped this would work,” she told him, “but it seems that there is not enough left of Ramsey’s spirit for my sister to see into his past.” She paused and steeled herself. “It’s time to change tactics. Captain, you must give us permission to begin reading your men. If I can pinpoint the next victim, we might be able to find out what is happening.”

His mouth fell open, and this time, his green-tinged skin began turning pink.

“Absolutely not!” he spat at her. “I’ll not have my men subjected to two ladies playing at being Anton’s seers, only to have you single one man out as the next ‘victim,’ as you so gracefully put it. Do you know what would happen to him? The others would kill him on the spot.”

Jaromir stood up. “Captain, your prince requested help from his son, and his son sent us, and you were asked to afford us every cooperation.”

“Not to the point where it endangers my men,” Keegan shot back.

His derision of their abilities didn’t surprise Céline, but he’d seemed uncertain after watching Amelie—as if he was beginning to wonder if they could do as they claimed. Until this moment, he’d not shown much concern for his men. But what other reason could he have for not wanting her or Amelie to read them?

Keegan turned back to the wolf, and the horror in his bloodshot eyes was clear enough. “Lady Céline,” he said, clipping off his words, “is there anything more you can learn from this beast?”

Perhaps he wished to dismiss her. She struggled for something else to try—anything. If he wouldn’t allow her to read the soldiers, she was at a dead end. But nothing came to her, at least not yet.

He seemed to take her silence as an answer, and she expected him to break up the group so they could all leave this barn. Instead, he motioned to Quinn and then to the wolf. Quinn hefted his spear and took a few steps forward.

Céline went cold. “Stop! What are you doing?”

Amelie climbed to her feet but didn’t say anything.

Jaromir drew his sword and said, “Céline, go outside.”

She could feel her eyes widening. “Jaromir, no! He’s tied to a stake and unable to hurt anything. You cannot just kill him. He is a victim here.” She couldn’t believe they were even considering this. “Amelie, don’t let them!”

But her sister glanced away, and Jaromir nodded to someone behind Céline. An arm reached around her stomach and lifted her feet off the ground. She kicked and tried to break free.

“It’s just me,” Rurik said in her ear. “Don’t struggle.”

“Rurik, put me down! Jaromir, you cannot allow this!”

Rurik turned and began walking swiftly though the barn, carrying her past the stalls and finally through
the door outside. Only then did he place her back on her feet, and she jerked away, pressing her back up against the outside of the barn.

“Rurik, how could you? How could you let them?”

“The lieutenant’s right!” His voice was ragged. “You heard Amelie. Guardsman Ramsey is gone. He died last night, and all that’s left is that
thing
in there. What if it got loose? Do you want it running around camp? You want it to kill one of the miners’ children or Amelie? Is that what you want?”

She fell silent, stricken.

He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. “You know the lieutenant’s right. He protects his own.”

The loyalty in his voice moved her, and she didn’t know what to think.

“How can we finish this, so that we can leave?” he asked quietly.

She was silent for a while and then whispered, “I don’t know. Amelie and I are not a pair of trained military investigators. We’re only seers, and we cannot solve anything unless we’re allowed to use our abilities. You heard Captain Keegan. Unless he gives us a freer hand, I’m not even sure what to try next.”

Rurik appeared to be considering this. “So Keegan is the problem?”

Things were more complicated than that, but, yes, Keegan was at the heart of it.

“I don’t want to see any of them when they come out,” she said, changing the subject. “Will you take me back to my tent?”

“Of course.”

* * *

After Rurik had left her inside the tent—and headed back for the barn—Céline busied herself, straightening up and making the bed. Time seemed to pass slowly.

Just as she finished, Amelie came in through the flap and stood near the entrance uncomfortably. She was holding a few red apples in her hands. “I got these at the provisions tent. I thought you might be hungry.”

Céline pretended to continue making the bed.

“I’m sorry I let Rurik carry you out of there,” Amelie added.

“That’s what you’re sorry about? That Rurik had to carry me out?”

Glancing over, she saw Amelie wince, and she regretted her words. “Oh, Amelie . . .” Walking over, she drew her sister further inside. “Forgive me. I’m just upset.” She hesitated. “Is it . . . is it done?”

Amelie nodded. “Jaromir made sure it was quick. That’s why I stayed, too.”

Céline sighed quietly, no longer certain what was right or wrong. Perhaps it had been the right thing to kill Ramsey. It just seemed so unfair.

“Rurik thinks we need an outing,” Amelie went on. “He says a few of the men told him there’s a small meadow not far to the east. He and I are going to lead all four of our horses there so they can graze for a few hours. He says it’s not good for them to live on a diet of straight grain.”

“He seems to know a good deal about horses.” Even as the words left Céline’s mouth, it seemed odd to be
speaking of outings and horses when a man had just been killed while tied to a stake.

“His father is Prince Lieven’s gamekeeper, but I think he grew up with horses, too.” Amelie reached for her red cloak. “Why don’t you come with us? At the moment, there’s nothing we can do here.”

Céline glanced at her supply box. “I promised some of the miners that I’d come back today. There are a few people I need to check on.”

“Oh . . . do you want me to stay and help?”

“No, no. You go with Rurik. He needs your help more. I just want to look at a few of the children with coughs and some of the men suffering in their joints.”

“You’re sure?”

Céline could tell from Amelie’s voice that her sister would much rather be outside with Rurik, away from this camp, sitting in a meadow and letting the horses graze. But Céline found herself looking forward to some time away from all her traveling companions—even Amelie.

“I’m sure. You go ahead.”

As Amelie slipped out, Céline wondered what Jaromir was going to do with his day, but she didn’t wonder for long. Donning her own red cloak, she slipped the apples into the large front pockets. After gathering up the soiled wool dresses from their journey, she hefted her box of supplies. Once she had everything in her arms, she headed out, walking north through the tents and to the path through the trees.

As the path emptied into the open area of the miners’ encampment, she couldn’t help being struck by a feeling that the camps were almost separate worlds,
joined only by a small stretch of cleared ground between them.

She looked right to the shacks and huts and then left to the collection of covered wagons. Her gaze stopped on the largest wagon, with its painted shutters.

Gripping her box, she headed left, wondering how her reception was going to be after last night. Several of the Móndyalítko milling around outside glanced her way, and she smiled in greeting. As she reached her destination, Mercedes opened the door and looked down at her with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry about Mariah and Marcus being dragged to the soldiers’ camp last night,” Céline said immediately. “I had no idea that was going to happen.”

Mercedes’s expression seemed locked in a quiet brand of eternal anger, but she nodded. “I know you didn’t. Marcus told me.” Her eyes moved to the supply box. “And even if you had, I’d be a fool to turn you away.”

Her black-brown hair hung loose this morning, making her look younger. She motioned with one hand. “Come on up. Marcus is off hunting, but I’ll have word spread that you’re here.” She reached out. “Let me put those gowns with the wash.”

“Where’s Mariah?”

“I don’t know. I rarely know where that girl is off to. She’s as wild as a deer.”

Céline climbed the few steps, passed off the gowns, and stepped inside. She took off her cloak and began setting up at the table as Mercedes prepared to head out.

“I’d like to see the boy with the broken arm,” Céline
said, “and certainly that older man with the swollen finger joints. I want to send some of this monkshood home with him.”

The afternoon progressed from there, and burying herself in work proved a good outlet for Céline. She lost herself in helping others.

She was pleased to see her rose petal cough syrup had done well for the afflicted children, and Mercedes had managed to find a few small bottles so that some of the mixture could be sent home.

The boy with the broken arm was in discomfort, but that was to be expected with a newly set bone, and as he complained more about the bandages itching than anything else, Céline thought him on the road to recovery. His father thanked Céline three times—to her embarrassment.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon massaging more of the monkshood into sore or swollen joints, and again Mercedes went out and scavenged some small containers so Céline could send the liniment home with those suffering the worst.

As the sun began to wane, after the last patient had been seen, both women sank into chairs. Céline reached into the box and pulled out a pouch.

“Do you think you could manage one more thing,” she asked, “and get us some hot water?”

Mercedes leaned forward. “What is it? Some other herb I haven’t seen you use?”

“No.” Céline smiled tiredly. “It’s spiced tea. For us.”

“Spiced tea? We haven’t seen tea in over a year. I’ll be right back.”

As Mercedes went outside, Céline took the apples from the pocket of her cloak and found a knife. She sliced them into pieces and cut out the seeds. When Mercedes returned with small pot of boiling water—from the fire outside—and produced two mugs, Céline made them tea.

As Mercedes looked down at the tea and sliced apples, some of the anger in her face faded as sorrow took its place. “You make me remember so many things I’d forgotten. You make me ashamed of what I’ve come to accept.”