To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) (5 page)

Walking over, she stood at the back door of the larger wagon and set him on the floor, letting him walk inside to where Amelie and Helga waited.

Anton reached out, grasped Céline by the waist, and lifted her so she could climb inside.

Her hand dropped to grip his fingers for a few seconds and then she let go. He closed the door from the outside.

“Take a seat, girls,” Helga said. “I’ll make sure everything’s been secured.”

The wagon lurched forward.

Céline hadn’t even told Anton good-
bye.

Once outside Sèone and on the open road, the wagons headed east.

Amelie, Céline, and Helga had all found someplace to sit, but in regards to the passing scenery, they could see only what was visible through the small windows.

Inside, the covered wagon felt even more like a house. Toward the front were two bunk beds nailed and bracketed into the wall. There were two short benches built into one side wall with a stationary table between them. A large cast-iron pot and teakettle hung from the other wall, but these were secured on hooks so they wouldn’t fall. There was a small cabinet nailed to one wall with its cupboards latched shut. Curtains hung from the windows, but Helga had tied them back.

Céline and Helga sat on the benches at the table.

Oliver hopped up to the top bunk.

Amelie took a seat on the lower bunk.

At first she was relieved at the prospect of not riding for days on the back of a horse, but after a few leagues, the motion of the wagon began to affect her, and she
felt queasy to the point of worrying her breakfast might come back up.

Helga glanced at her and said, “It’ll pass.”

Céline seemed immune to the rolling motion, but her expression was troubled. “I think we ought to tell Jaromir about Marcus as soon as possible.”

Amelie shook her head her in puzzlement. “Tell him what?”

“Well . . . you know. That Marcus is a shifter.”

A rush of embarrassment almost overcame Amelie’s nausea. How could she have forgotten Jaromir didn’t know about Marcus? Of the Sèone guards, only Rurik knew Marcus’s secret, and he’d sworn to keep silent. Amelie chastised herself for not having thought of this the moment Marcus had jumped down from the second wagon.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’d completely forgotten that—”

She never finished the sentence, as Helga jumped to her feet. “A shifter? I knew it! I thought I could smell it. What does he change into? A panther?”

“A wolf . . . a black wolf,” Amelie answered, completely taken aback.

“A wolf? You’re sure?” Helga pressed. “That might not be so bad. Why didn’t you girls tell me?”

Céline blinked in clear surprise, and Amelie had no idea how to answer. From what she’d been told, any Móndyalítko family with a shifter in the mix was considered quite fortunate. Shifters could bring down deer in harsh winters and feed everyone when little else was available. Also, among the Móndyalítko, shifters were viewed as counterpoints of the Mist-Torn, as gifted or blessed.

Helga’s reaction made no sense.

Finally, Amelie managed to say, “It never occurred to us to tell you that the family we brought back had a shifter among them. I’m sorry.”

Helga turned on her. “You should be sorry!” She closed her eyes and took a few breaths. “You’ve never been alone with him? You’ve been careful not to be alone with him?”

“Yes, I’ve been alone with him,” Céline responded. “Marcus is perfectly safe. Amelie and I wouldn’t even be here without him. Up in Ryazan, we were attacked by one of those wolf-beasts in our own tent, and he shifted and fought it off.”

Slowly, Helga sank back down on the bench. “The wolves aren’t so bad, but shifters only protect you when it suits them. Don’t you go trusting him just because he fought off something worse.”

Amelie glanced at Céline and shook her head once. Whatever was troubling Helga, more words were not going to solve it.

“You hear me?” Helga asked.

“Yes,” Amelie answered, trying to sound assuring. “We hear you.”

*   *   *

Céline listened to the soft creak of the rolling wheels for the remainder of the day. In the late afternoon, the wagon stopped.

She stood and stretched, putting her hands to her back. Though riding in the back of the wagon was certainly preferable to spending all day on a horse, sitting on a bench in an enclosed wagon was only marginally better.

As she stepped toward the door, it opened from the
outside. Marcus was there arranging the small set of steps.

Her legs felt shaky, and when he reached out with his hand, she took it and let him help her down. Touching him, gripping his hand was the most natural thing in the world and she was struck again by her reluctance to spend weeks living in close quarters with him.

Everything about him was far too familiar, and she had no explanation.

The first time she met him back in Ryazan, he’d taken off his shirt and let her tend to some deep wounds on his back. In that moment, she’d felt she’d known him for centuries, as if in twenty lifetimes, he’d been a part of each one. In the days and nights that followed, this feeling had only grown stronger, and now here he was, standing in front of her once again.

“How did you all fare?” he asked, reaching back in for Amelie’s hand.

To Céline’s surprise, Amelie grasped his hand and let him help her down as well. Poor Amelie was looking a bit green.

“Tomorrow, I think I’ll walk,” she said, putting a hand to her mouth.

Inside, loud clanking could be heard, and then Helga appeared in the doorway carrying the teapot, a bucket, and a tall iron hook.

Marcus hopped up one step and reached out to relieve her of her burdens.

She glared at him. “Get away with you.”

Stunned, he jumped down and glanced to Céline as if seeking an explanation. She had none to give him.

Jaromir came striding over, and Céline still wasn’t
accustomed to seeing him without his armor, tabard, and sword. He looked so different in that black shirt and open vest.

“We’ll make camp here for the night,” he said. “There’s a stream downhill.”

Céline looked at the heavily forested area around them. Jaromir had found a clearing off the road large enough for the wagons. Deeper into the forest, she spotted a slope stretching downward, and she could hear rushing water.

“I’ll start a fire,” Marcus said quietly, heading away.

Oliver appeared in the top of the open doorway. He yawned and stretched and began walking down the steps.

“You’re going to let him out of there?” Jaromir asked.

“He needs to stretch his legs like any of us,” Céline answered. “He certainly can’t stay in that small space the entire journey.”

“He’s a cat. Won’t he just wander off and get lost?” Jaromir responded. “If he’s not inside the wagon in the morning when we’re ready to pull out, I’m not waiting to form a search party.”

At that, Amelie turned toward Jaromir with her expression darkening. This was another problem with the two of them on lengthy journeys. While in many ways, Jaromir was the best of men, he was so accustomed to giving orders that he often had no idea how arrogant he sometimes sounded. He viewed himself as utterly in charge—which he technically was—and his manner frequently produced a heated response from Amelie.

He might let Helga boss him around and berate
him.But Amelie openly fought with him, and he’d never learned to alter his behavior to stave that off.

“So because he’s a cat, you think he’s too stupid to look out for himself and stay near the camp?” she challenged.

He turned to face her. “Just make sure he’s in the wagon after breakfast.”

Amelie’s mouth opened again, but Céline cut her off. “We will, Lieutenant. I promise he won’t cause any delays.”

He nodded tightly with another glance at Amelie.

Helga handed him the bucket. “Make yourself useful and get me some water. I’ll start the tea.”

With a frown, Jaromir took the bucket and headed toward the slope.

Céline, Amelie, and Helga walked over to where Marcus had started a small fire. The twigs he used were dry, so he must have had them stored somewhere. Crouched there, he focused on the flames and didn’t look up.

“All right, girls,” Helga said. “You both need to start learning how to be Móndyalítko. All meals are cooked outside over an open fire.” She held up the iron hook with a solid and wide base, and then she set it on the ground with the hook positioned over the fire. The base would support even a heavy pot. “We start with tea first, and then bring out that big pot and move on to making dinner. I’ll show you what to do.”

Somewhat nonplussed, Céline glanced to Amelie, who shrugged. On journeys with Helga, the sisters had played at being ladies of Anton’s court who needed to be fed and laced into gowns, but that was all a show.

“Helga . . . ,” Céline began. “Amelie and I have been
cooking over a hearth or an open fire all our lives. We would gladly make dinner for you.”

The aging woman looked up at her in some puzzlement. Could she be growing senile?

“I’ll show you how to cook like a Móndyalítko,” Helga insisted.

Marcus lifted his head, and Helga studied him a moment before asking, “You think you could scare us up a rabbit for the pot while I get the potatoes and onions chopped?”

Nodding, he answered, “Of course. I’ll be quick.” Dropping back on his haunches, he pulled off his boots. Céline knew he preferred to get out of sight before shifting. Then he’d leave his clothes in the forest and get dressed on the way back.

After jumping to his feet, he jogged barefoot into the trees.

“You could be nicer to him,” Amelie said.

Helga just grunted. “Where’s that water? His Lord Majesty lieutenant is taking his time.”

This gave Céline an idea, and she started for the tree line. “I’ll go and check on him.”

Before either of the other women could call her back, she hurried onward, vanishing into the trees and down the slope. At the bottom of a small ravine, she found Jaromir crouched over a rushing a stream, washing his face.

The bucket was already full.

Realizing she was thirsty, she knelt beside him and made a cup with her hands, drinking a few mouthfuls of water.

“Is Helga yelling for water?” Jaromir asked.

Céline smiled. “I fear so.”

He started up.

“Wait,” she said nervously, wondering how to word her next sentence. How would he react? “I wanted to tell you . . . There’s something about Marcus that you don’t know.”

Jaromir stood and grasped the handle of the bucket. “You mean that he’s a shifter?”

Céline’s mouth fell half-open. “You know?”

“Of course I know. Corporal Rurik told me before we left Ryazan.”

“He promised to keep silent.”

“That was before we’d decided to bring the family home.” Jaromir raised one eyebrow. “You don’t really think Rurik would have let me bring a shifter back to Sèone without telling me first? And risk having me find out later? He’s not that foolhardy.”

“Oh.” As she thought on this, it made sense. There was no telling what Jaromir would have done to Rurik under those circumstances. “So you don’t mind?”

“That Marcus is a shifter? Why should I? He fought on our side. He protected you and Amelie. I’d say he’s a useful man. Why do you think I brought him along?”

He started back up the slope, and Céline fell into step beside him. The situation seemed somewhat upside down. She’d expected Helga to be glad upon learning about Marcus, and she’d expected Jaromir to explode. But Helga had been the one to become upset, and Jaromir wasn’t even fazed.

To her mild annoyance, he chuckled. “You really thought I didn’t know?”

She didn’t dignify his question with an answer, and
the two of them came up over the top of the slope, making their way back into the camp.

“There you are,” Helga scolded Jaromir. “What did you do, wet down your shirt and use it to wring water into the bucket?”

“Give me some peace tonight, old woman,” he growled back, pouring water into the teakettle. “I’ve had a long day behind the reins.”

“Don’t you ‘old woman’ me,” she said. “You wanted to play at being a Móndyalítko, and our men fetch the water.”

Amelie watched this exchange with some amusement. The large cast-iron cooking pot now sat on the ground near the fire, and Helga was busy chopping onions and potatoes on a flat board. Oliver sat nearby, watching her, occasionally twitching his tail when the knife slammed down on the board.

“Be sure to cut the onions in large chunks so Marcus can pick around them,” Céline said. “He likes the flavor they add, but not to eat them.”

Amelie looked over and frowned. “When did he tell you that?”

Céline felt herself turning pink.
This
was the problem. She’d never eaten a meal with Marcus, and he’d never told her any such thing. But she knew.

Thankfully, Jaromir didn’t notice her discomfort. “I’ll go and take care of the horses,” he said. Then he looked around. “Where is Marcus?”

As if on cue, Marcus came walking out of the forest. Céline’s breath caught, and the sight coming toward them gave even Jaromir pause.

Marcus carried a dead rabbit in one hand and his
shirt in the other. Thankfully, he was wearing his pants, but spots of blood smeared his face and his upper right arm. His black hair was tangled. His bare torso exposed his long, tightly muscled arms and chest.

He stopped a few paces from camp. “What?”

Céline almost pitied him. He was the most . . . natural person she’d ever met. He had no vanity but no modesty, either. Sometimes he seemed more animal than man, even in his human form.

The spell was broken, and everyone but Helga pretended to go back to their duties.

Helga stood up from her cutting board. “Do you have no manners at all?” she asked him. “Traipsing back in here like that? With ladies about? Why didn’t you get dressed proper?”

Céline wanted to roll her eyes at the “ladies” comment, but her heart went out to Marcus as he flinched and then looked down at himself in some confusion.

Holding out his shirt, he said, “I didn’t want to get blood on it and cause extra laundry.”

When those words left his mouth, Helga’s face changed. Something happened, and suddenly she was the one who looked chagrined. Stepping forward, she took the rabbit and the shirt. “Of course you didn’t. Go down to the stream and wash up. I’ll keep your shirt here.”

“Thank you for the rabbit, Marcus,” Céline added.

Seeming slightly relieved, he headed off.

Helga waited until he was gone and then sighed. “You’re right. He is safe.”

“I told you,” Céline said. “And Amelie is right. You need to be nicer to him.”