by Barb Hendee
Several guests took sips of wine, and Rochelle broke her shy silence by asking Anton, “Was your journey pleasant, my lord? I hope it did not rain.”
“I fear it did,” he answered, “but the distance is not too far, and we spent a comfortable night in Rékausi.”
Céline again nodded politely in agreement as she silently tried to get a read on everyone. Although she’d seen no evidence yet that Carlotta had been murdered, something about Lizbeth’s absolute certainty was troubling.
Lady Helena and Lord Hamish both seemed beyond eager to have a natural death proven to be the case. But how could it be proven? And if there was a killer here, and Anton took his own people and left, and then the killer struck again, Anton would look negligent to Prince Lieven. No, they couldn’t leave Castle Kimovesk . . . and yet, because Damek had forced her to share her initial thoughts on this matter, she was now uncertain how to continue with a murder investigation.
Her mind rolled over other possibilities.
What if Carlotta had been murdered after all? Céline tried to think of any poison she’d ever heard of that might leave no trace. She’d heard rumors of a few from distant lands, but how could such be obtained, and by whom?
Her gaze moved to the tall bodyguard who had come in with the trio of siblings. He was handsome in a rugged way, with a weathered complexion. His chin was solid and his nose was aquiline. His dark hair curled down the nape of his neck, and his build suggested great strength. He wore chain armor over a wool shirt, covered by his pale yellow tabard. Céline couldn’t help noticing how his eyes constantly followed Rochelle whenever she moved, with a hint of hunger.
As she continued her scan, she stopped on Captain Kochè. He, too, stared at Rochelle, but with an entirely different expression. His eyes were narrow . . . as if he hated her.
What possible reason could he have? Prince Damek’s marriage wouldn’t affect him.
“What exactly does Prince Anton mean when he says that you’re a seer?” Lizbeth asked Céline suddenly.
Céline turned to the girl. “Pardon?”
“What does a seer do?”
Lady Helena pursed her mouth as if again displeased with her youngest daughter’s manners.
But Céline saw a possible opening. “I can read a person’s future, and my sister, Miss Amelie, can read the past.”
Lizbeth raised an eyebrow. “Prove it.”
“Oh, Lizbeth,” Heath said quietly. “Can’t you just leave off for once?” His tone was not harsh or scolding. He sounded more embarrassed than anything else.
“Why?” Lizbeth challenged him. “I want to see this. She says Carlotta may not have been murdered, and our mother can’t wait to believe her. Let her prove who she is.”
Although the girl had a penchant for stirring up trouble, there was something refreshing about her . . . something that reminded Céline of Amelie.
“Shall I read you?” Céline answered the girl. “Tell you your future?”
Lizbeth’s gaze grew sharp. She shared the same light brown eyes of her siblings. “No . . . ,” she answered slowly, “not me.” Looking around, she pointed at Johanna. “Her. And have your sister read her past. That way, Johanna can verify if the reading is true.”
A penchant for stirring up trouble indeed.
* * *
Startled by this quick change of events, Amelie glanced at Anton. What should she do? To his credit, Anton turned casually to Damek and asked, “What say you? It could provide some entertainment before dinner.”
Amelie knew well that Anton had no interest in providing entertainment, but a successful show here could be useful if he had to press the family later—and try to convince them that their guards, their servants, or they themselves must agree to a reading. Or, if someone vehemently refused after seeing what Amelie could do . . . well, that could be just as telling.
Prince Damek, however, seemed uncertain, and he smiled at Lizbeth. “Must it be Johanna? She so dislikes attention. Could you not choose someone else?”
“No,” Lizbeth answered firmly. “Her.”
Damek’s eyes glinted in warning at Lizbeth, but the girl was not daunted. Amelie began to suspect that there was something behind Lizbeth’s choice.
When Damek did not argue further, his silence appeared to imply assent.
“Good, then,” Lizbeth said, turning to Amelie. “How do you start?”
This posed the next dilemma for Amelie, as Céline always took the lead in situations like this one. Céline knew how to play the game, how to put on a show . . . how to smile and put people at ease.
Thankfully, Céline was well aware of Amelie’s shortcomings in this regard.
“Over here,” Céline said, pointing to the table. “They’ll both need to sit down.” She smiled reassuringly at Johanna, who, as a servant of Damek, had no choice in this. “Amelie only needs to touch your hand.”
Before she knew what was happening, Amelie found herself seated in a high-back chair, facing Johanna—who was seated so close their knees almost touched. Hoping that she sounded reassuring, Amelie said, “Just give me your hand.”
Hesitantly, Johanna reached out, and Amelie grasped her fingers.
As Amelie had no set question in mind to be answered, she closed her eyes and focused on the spark of Johanna’s spirit and then on Johanna’s past. Amelie’s gift as one of the Mist-Torn often showed her scenes that were important for one reason or another.
She focused more intently on the spark of Johanna’s spirit.
When the first jolt hit, Amelie braced for another. The second jolt hit, and she found herself rushing through the gray and white mists, moving backward in time.
Her ability was slightly different from Céline’s in several ways. While Céline could only see someone else’s future as an observer, if Amelie wished, she could bond with her target and see the past through his or her eyes. In these cases, the people Amelie read could be just as conscious as she was of the scenes being replayed, and afterward they were aware of exactly what she’d seen. The people Céline read never had any idea what she was seeing. The two sisters had discussed these differences, and Céline guessed they might be due to the fact that the past was set in stone, and the future could still be changed—that she was just seeing one possible line unless something was done to alter it.
This time, Amelie did not bond with Johanna. She wished to be only an observer. When the reading was over, Johanna would have no idea what images from the past Amelie might have seen.
The mists rushed around her, and when they cleared, Amelie found herself in a familiar room with low velvet-covered couches . . . Damek’s private chambers.
Looking toward the hearth, she saw Damek holding Johanna in an embrace. It didn’t appear to be forced, as Johanna wasn’t struggling, but her face was turned away from him.
“Nothing has changed,” he whispered in her ear.
“Everything’s changed. You’re to be married. She and her family arrive tomorrow. What would you have me do? I swear I will leave and not return.”
His expression shifted to anger, and he shoved her away. “You have no place to go and we both know it. But I’ll not have sulking women about me, and you know that, too.” His tone was cruel as he asked. “Do you love me?”
Tears streamed down her face. “I love you.”
He reached out, slowly pushing the top of her gown over the edge of her shoulder. “Show me.”
The image vanished, and Amelie was once again in the mists, this time rushing forward. Then she was back in the great hall trying to control her expression—wishing she were as skilled at this as Céline. Johanna had not been concerned before, but now she looked anxious as she took in Amelie’s expression. Perhaps she had not believed Amelie would see anything.
Everyone around them waited expectantly.
Damek stood by, tense and wary.
Johanna could certainly not be exposed as Damek’s lover in front of Rochelle and her entire family. That would only cause emba
rrassment and further hinder the marriage negotiations. Panic flooded Amelie. What could she say? Céline would be able to tell the perfect lie here, but Amelie had never been skilled at the art of lying.
“What did you see?” Lizbeth asked.
Somehow Amelie managed to imitate her sister and she smiled, saying the first thing that came into her mind. “The mists took me back to Johanna’s youth. Her brother bet her a moon’s worth of chores that she could not ride a new horse purchased by their father. She accepted . . . and was promptly thrown into the mud . . . and did her brother’s chores for an entire moon.”
Relief flickered across Johanna’s face, and Damek relaxed.
Only Lizbeth frowned as she studied Johanna. “Is that true?”
Johanna nodded. She must be more quick-witted than she looked, because she lied. “Yes, it’s true. I’ve never forgotten that day.”
Lord Hamish stepped forward and held his hand out to Amelie. She didn’t care for the interested glint in his eye. “How charming,” he said. “You must read me after dinner.”
Amelie bit the inside of her cheek and allowed him to help her up from the chair. “Of course.”
* * *
Anton knew Amelie well enough to see that she’d lied, but he also knew she must have a good reason, so he kept silent and stood close in case she needed any help extracting herself from Lord Hamish’s grip.
She did not, and she deftly moved away from Lord Hamish to stand near Céline.
The entire evening had been torture so far, and he longed to be away from this place. He did not know how long he could keep this polite mask on his face. It might help if he could stand with Céline for a little while. Her close presence sometimes helped him gather himself. But he didn’t dare. If he showed her any notice at all, Damek would see it.
The sound of light, clicking heels echoed through the hall as the diminutive figure of Lionel came through the archway and went directly to Damek.
Damek leaned down as Lionel spoke in his ear and then Damek nodded and addressed his guests. “I am informed that dinner will be served. Could we take our places at the table?”
“Do you have a preferred seating arrangement, my lord?” Rochelle asked quietly.
“Tonight?” Damek said as if mulling this over. “I think not.”
To Anton’s surprise, Amelie walked over to Heath. “Would you sit with me, Baron? You can tell me about the wine business.”
The young man stared at her. “Oh, my uncle is the one who runs the . . . I’m not allowed to . . .” He trailed off and then gathered himself, looking pleased at her invitation. “It would be my honor. And please call me Heath. No one here will notice.”
Anton experienced a moment of relief, followed by guilt, that he wouldn’t have to converse with the young baron at dinner. Heath seemed so shy that conversation would be difficult and require effort, and Anton would rather keep his attention focused on everything transpiring around him.
Lord Hamish hurried toward Céline, and held his arm out for her to grasp. “Shall we?”
Without hesitation, Céline took his arm. Anton ground his teeth but didn’t move. Rochelle took Damek’s arm. Remembering his manners, Anton turned to look around for Lady Helena, but she was already drifting over toward the table with the Lady Saorise, and Anton found himself facing Lizbeth.
Though he found her somewhat brusque, he held his arm out politely. To do less would be unthinkable.
She blinked and blushed, and for a brief moment, she lost all her bravado and turned into an uncertain teenage girl right before his eyes. Pity washed through him.
“Please join me for dinner,” he said.
Quickly, she took his arm, and he decided he would not mind her company so much. She was certainly preferable to attempting small talk with Damek . . . and Céline could handle Lord Hamish, so he need not worry too much.
The main thing was just to get through the evening and then see what Céline wanted to do next regarding this “investigation.” He fervently hoped she’d be able to prove Carlotta had died a natural death.
Then they could go home.
As people took their seats, Céline sipped from her goblet. “This is a good wine, at least to my palette.” She turned to Heath, who sat across from her with Amelie. “Baron, what do you think? Is this a good vintage?”
Lord Hamish snorted in disgust. “The young fool wouldn’t know a white grape from a red. He knows nothing about wine.”
Heath kept his eyes on his plate, but Lizbeth glared at her uncle. “At least he doesn’t drink up half our stores.”
Lady Helena stiffened and another awkward silence followed, but Anton’s assessment of Lizbeth was rising. Brusque or not, she stood up for her brother.
Lord Hamish ignored the comment and turned to Céline. “Will you read my future later?”
“It would be my pleasure,” she answered smoothly.
He smiled and took a long swallow of his wine. He leaned close to Céline as if he was about to say something else.
No words came out.
He attempted to clear his throat and draw a breath. Alarm crossed his features.
“My lord?” Céline asked.
Panic filled Hamish’s eyes as he stood and shoved back his chair, grabbing his throat and fighting to breathe.
In that instant, everyone began talking or crying out at once.
“Brother!” Lady Helena called, rushing toward him.
Rochelle was on her feet, but she looked wildly to the tall bodyguard standing nearby. “Maddox!” she cried. “It’s happening again. Please make it stop!”
The Äntes guard bolted toward Hamish, catching him as he fell backward.
Céline was right there, pulling at Lord Hamish’s collar to loosen it. “Don’t fight it!” she told him. “Try to relax. Just let yourself breathe.”
Hamish’s eyes bulged in terror and agony. His face first turned red and then blue as he fought to breathe and failed. All Anton could do was stand there helplessly. Hamish’s body began to convulse.
It took him several moments to die, but finally, he went still . . . with his eyes open.
The tall guard called Maddox lowered his body to the floor. He looked over to Rochelle as if he had just failed her.
She stared back at him.
Damek watched this exchange with a tight expression.
Céline knelt on the floor beside Hamish, and Anton couldn’t help a rush of revulsion when she put her hands in the dead man’s mouth and opened it, feeling his tongue and peering in at his throat.
“She did it!” Lady Helena shouted.
In confusion, Anton looked up to see her pointing at Johanna.
Johanna stepped back in fear.
“You told us yourself,” Helena went on hysterically, this time speaking to Damek. “Nobody else touched the wine. It had to be her!”
Damek had not moved from the head of the table. “I assure you it was not Johanna.”
Poor Lizbeth was struck speechless, and so was Heath as they both looked across the table and down at their dead uncle.
“It may not even have been the wine,” Céline put in, and all eyes turned to her.
“What do you mean?” Anton asked.
Céline didn’t answer. She stood. Hamish’s half-full goblet was still on the table. Picking it up, she sniffed the contents.
“I don’t see any signs that he was poisoned,” she said. “His tongue is not swollen, his windpipe is open, and his throat appears normal. I don’t know why he ceased to breathe.” She paused. “But the only way I can think to test the liquid in this goblet for anything besides wine is to taste it myself, just a drop or two on my tongue. I may be able to taste a foreign ingredient.”
“No,” Anton ordered.
“I don’t know how else to test it.”
As of yet, Amelie had not spoken since Lord Hamish fell. Now she looked to the Lady Saorise and said, “She might.”
Damek’s face registered surprise at Amelie’s c
omment, but then he, too, looked at Saorise. She raised one silver-blond eyebrow, and after a moment, he nodded.
With unhurried grace, Saorise walked over and reached out for the goblet. “May I?”
Wordlessly, Céline handed it to her.
Saorise held the goblet with both hands and closed her eyes. The great hall was silent when she opened them again. Before anyone could move, she dipped her finger in the liquid and then put it into her mouth.
“My lady,” Céline cried.
“There is nothing in this goblet but wine,” Saorise announced. As everyone stared at her, she took a long swallow as if to prove herself. “It is only wine.”
Lizbeth found her voice. “Then what . . . what killed Uncle Hamish and Carlotta?” Taking a step backward, she shook her head. “This is madness. We must sever this betrothal and go home.”
“She’s right,” Heath said quietly. “We should have left before now.”
Lady Helena straightened. “No. Your uncle would not have wanted that.” She looked to Damek. “We must move the date of the wedding closer, as soon as it can be arranged.”
Chapter Six
Not long after, Céline found herself in Damek’s chambers with only him, Amelie, and Anton present. Even Kochè and Rurik had been ordered to wait outside in the passage. Lord Hamish’s body had been removed to the cellars, and the remaining members of his family had gone to their rooms.
Damek paced like a manic cat, all traces of the gracious host gone, as if he had been an actor playing a part downstairs.
Céline struggled to make sense of the chain of events she’d just witnessed. With the exception of the mystery of how Lord Hamish had died, she was most confused by Lady Helena’s reaction . . . of wanting to move up the wedding date as soon as possible. Hadn’t she and the family threatened to leave Kimovesk after Carlotta died? That was what Damek had said in his letter to Anton. Had Damek lied, or had something changed?
Damek suddenly stopped pacing and whirled on Anton. “Your seers are useless! First they tell me there was no murder at all, and then they fail to stop the next one!”
Anton’s entire body was rigid. “My task in coming here was to clear the way for your wedding to Rochelle, and yet it seems that two deaths in her family are no hindrance. I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t take my people and leave in the morning. You’ll be married inside the month.”
