by Barb Hendee
Though the rider was panting hard, upon getting a better look at Jaromir, he leaned down and said something while wearing an urgent expression. Amelie couldn’t hear what was said, but Jaromir’s eyes widened, and he seemed to forget all about the public disturbance. Turning around, he ushered the rider to follow, and they both headed toward the castle.
Finally, something had happened.
Amelie was dying to know what.
* * *
Once inside the castle, Lieutenant Jaromir sent a guard upstairs to find Anton, and then he led the messenger into the vast main hall—whereupon he immediately began second-guessing himself. Due to the banquet planned for that night, the hall was in a state of uproar, with far too many servants bustling about moving tables and dragging benches into place.
The messenger in the brown tabard looked around at all the activity. He was still puffing, and Jaromir couldn’t help noting his grizzled face, gray hair, and wide chest. The man was too old to be riding at top speed all the way from Castle Pählen.
A serving girl in an apron stood just inside the hall, and Jaromir motioned to her. “Could you fetch this man a mug of ale?” he asked. It sounded like a request, but of course she dropped what she was doing and ran for the kitchens.
“Can you not tell me something of your message?” he asked the burly man beside him.
“No,” the man answered bluntly. “This comes straight from Prince Lieven to his son.”
Even though the man was possessed of a strong voice, Jaromir could barely hear him over the din in the hall. Still, Jaromir balked at the idea of bringing a stranger up to Anton’s private rooms. Such a prospect went against all his instincts.
No, it was better to wait here.
Suddenly, the hall fell silent as Prince Anton walked through the large open archway. Of medium height, he was slender, with dark hair tucked behind his ears. He wore black breeches and a midnight blue tunic. At twenty-three, he looked young to be in charge of so many people, but his bearing was noble, and Jaromir was proud of the man he served. Anton was more than his lord. The two had become good friends.
All the servants bowed their heads, but Anton didn’t seem to notice them.
“Leonides?” he asked, looking at the messenger.
The grizzled man offered a tired smile. “Yes, lad, it’s me.”
Jaromir couldn’t help bristling at this lack of respect. Everyone here addressed Anton as “my prince” or “my lord.” But when Anton did not insist on a proper correction, Jaromir suddenly felt at odds, uncertain of the situation.
“Look at the state of you,” Anton said, walking closer.
“I’ve been riding all night and half the day. I’ve a message from your father.”
The girl came trotting back in with the ale, and the aging messenger took it from her, downing it in a few gulps and handing back the mug.
There was a small side chamber in the hall with a door that closed, and Jaromir motioned toward it with his head. “Perhaps in there?”
Anton nodded and led the way. As soon as all three men were inside, Jaromir closed the door. The room was small indeed, with a single table, two chairs, and no window. Several candles glowed from the table.
“Jaromir,” Anton said, “this is Leonides, my sword master when I was a boy. He has served my father for years.”
The affection in his voice was undisguised and unusual, as Anton almost always guarded his emotions. Again, Jaromir felt uncertain. So, he simply offered a polite nod.
“Sit and rest,” Anton said.
With a grateful expression, Leonides dropped into a chair.
“Is my father well?” Anton asked.
“He’s well,” Leonides grunted. “But he’s got a problem, a tricky one, and he needs you to see to it right away.”
“Me?”
Leonides leaned back, and his brow furrowed as if he was gathering his thoughts. “Do you remember about five years ago when your father bought the Ryazan silver mines up in the Northwest Territories?”
Anton didn’t answer, but Leonides didn’t seem to notice.
“Those mines proved a good purchase,” the sword master continued. “Your father sent a contingent of his own guards to set up an encampment and hire workers to mine the silver. Over the years, he’s rotated the men posted there . . . as it’s foolish to leave anyone in that wild country for too long. But the miners are still digging and silver is still coming out.”
Anton shook his head in confusion. “And now there is a problem?”
Leonides didn’t look at him. “A few months ago, your father got a report he almost couldn’t believe, didn’t believe at first. The present contingent has been out there for only about four months, but even in a short time, those forests can do things to a man’s mind. A Captain Keegan is in charge, along with a Lieutenant Sullian. Keegan wrote to your father that several of the young soldiers under him had . . .” He paused. “Well, they had turned into beasts and gone mad and had to be killed.”
“What?” Anton asked.
Leonides nodded. “Your father sent a small number of reinforcements, but when more reports arrived at Castle Pählen, he started to think these stories were more than a bit of forest madness. By that point, eight of our guards out there were dead, and then . . . two weeks ago, Lieutenant Sullian changed into one of these beasts and had to be killed.”
“This is nonsense,” Jaromir said, unable to keep silent. “Prince Lieven’s initial instincts were right.”
“It’s not nonsense,” Leonides stated flatly, his voice carrying across the room. He looked back to Anton. “And these men who become beasts are too often killing the mine workers before they can be killed themselves. Some of the workers, with signed contracts, have been caught trying to slip away in the night. Production has come to a near halt, and your father wants this solved. He wants the silver flowing again.”
If anything, Anton appeared more puzzled than before. “Why would he engage me for this?”
As if in agreement with the confusion, Leonides shrugged and answered, “Honestly, lad, I don’t know. He said you were clever—which I don’t dispute—and he sent me here as fast as I could ride.” Reaching beneath his armor, he pulled out a piece of paper. “Oh, and he sent a letter.”
Quickly, Anton scanned the contents of the letter and then held it out for Jaromir.
Jaromir took it and read an account of everything Leonides had just related, but his eyes stopped on two carefully worded sentences:
I’ve learned that you were recently troubled by a similar, seemingly unsolvable problem, and yet you managed it. I engage you to solve this one for me, as quickly as possible, but if it proves too much for you, I can turn the matter over to your brother.
His gaze flew up to Anton’s face. First, how did Prince Lieven know about their “problem” this past spring? They hadn’t told him. Second, this was a test, plain and simple. Anton’s father wanted this solved and had given the task to Anton . . . along with a veiled threat to engage Damek instead if necessary.
Jaromir couldn’t help feeling angry. Anton and Damek were always being pitted against each other, and if Jaromir had any say in the matter, Anton would not only survive but also come out on top.
Droevinka had no hereditary king. Instead, it was a land of many princes, each one heading his own noble house and overseeing multiple fiefdoms. But . . . they all served a single grand prince, and a new grand prince was elected every nine years by the gathered heads of the noble houses. This system had served the country well for more than a hundred years. At present, Prince Rodêk of the House of Äntes was in rule.
But within two years, a new grand prince would be voted in.
Anton and Damek were sons of the House of Pählen. Their father, Prince Lieven, controlled a large portion of the western region. He’d given Damek, who was the elder brother, an aging cast
le and seven large fiefs to oversee. He’d given Anton a better castle but six smaller fiefs. These “assignments” were a chance for each young man to prove himself. However, Prince Lieven had been aging in recent days, and it was rumored he would soon be naming a successor as leader of the House of Pählen. It was his right to choose between his sons, and should a victor be chosen within the next two years, then that son would have the right to place his name on the voting list for the position of grand prince.
More than anything, Jaromir wanted Anton on that list.
But this task Prince Lieven had just demanded hardly seemed fair . . . to stop a contingent of soldiers in an isolated, heavily forested area from turning into beasts?
Anton looked at Leonides. “You must be weary, and I won’t have you riding back out today. I’ll have you brought to a guest room to eat and rest while I write a response. You can take it to my father tomorrow.”
The aging sword master sighed. “Thank you, lad. I’ll admit I’m not as young as I once was.”
Jaromir opened the door and called to the same girl from earlier. “Can you have this man taken to a guest room?” he asked, and again it sounded like a request. “He’ll need a hot meal as well.”
“Of course, sir. Right away.”
Leonides followed the girl. Jaromir closed the door again and turned back to Anton.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. But my father is not given to fancies. If he believes these stories, then there is some truth.”
Though Jaromir didn’t want to agree, he realized Anton was right. Prince Lieven was not given to fancies.
“All right,” Jaromir said. “The main thing your father wants is production at the mines restored. Ryazan is a four-day day ride from here, and after that, there’s no telling how long this will take to solve. We both cannot be away from Sèone for so long a time. I suggest you let me handpick a contingent of our own men and ride out to see to this myself.”
Anton was silent for a few moments, and then he said, “My father has men . . . far more men than I do—along with captains and lieutenants he trusts. Damek certainly has more men than me. Father wouldn’t be giving me this task if he thought it could be solved by sending a stronger contingent with a better leader.” He paused. “Besides, I’ve met Captain Keegan, and if he’s in charge of the mines, he’ll bristle at you riding in with a show of force, and then you’ll be at odds. No, he has to believe that he’s being sent ‘help,’ and not a challenge to competence. This must be approached differently.”
“Differently?”
Again, Anton hesitated. “Somehow, my father knows about the murders that took place here in the spring. I don’t know how he knows, but those murders were solved and stopped by three people.” He locked eyes with Jaromir. “Only three.”
Jaromir stared back at him and didn’t like where this was going.
Chapter Two
Céline and Amelie arrived at the castle that evening and made their way toward the great hall for the banquet. As they walked from the entryway down the main passage, braziers along the walls provided light. For the first time this summer, Céline wasn’t forcing herself to attend such an event. She wasn’t dreading Anton’s thinly veiled concern as he attempted to politely inquire whether or not she was using her abilities again.
Tonight . . . when he asked, she could give him some relief, for she knew his concern was partially motivated by unexpressed guilt—that what he’d asked her to do in the spring might have permanently damaged her. Tonight, she could erase his guilt, or at least ease it.
In addition, she’d worn the amber silk gown he especially liked. The square neckline was cut just above the tops of her breasts, with a point at each shoulder. The sleeves were narrow, the slender waistline fit her perfectly, and the skirt was full, draping about her in yards of fabric. The color reflected just a hint of gold, and it suited her dark blond hair, which she had worn loose.
Amelie, as always, was dressed in her breeches, faded blue shirt, and short canvas jacket. Céline knew better than to even suggest anything else.
“Something’s wrong,” Amelie said as they approached the large archway of the great hall. “We haven’t passed any other guests, and I don’t hear any voices.”
Paying more attention to their surroundings, Céline realized her sister was right. Normally, from this range, they would hear the sounds of laughter and chatting echoing from the hall.
Céline and Amelie passed through the archway, expecting to see a hundred well-dressed guests—perhaps all hushed to silence for some reason—only to find the vast chamber nearly empty.
A light supper had been laid out on one of the long tables, and a few of the castle guards were eating cold ham with bread and drinking mugs of ale. One of the guards glanced over at them.
Before either of the sisters could inquire further, a deep voice sounded behind them.
“Céline.”
She turned to see Lieutenant Jaromir walking toward them.
“Did we get the night wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, the banquet was canceled.”
At the strained expression on his face, she felt a sudden coldness in the pit of her stomach.
“Canceled? Why weren’t we sent word? Is Prince Anton ill?”
“No, he’s not ill, and you weren’t sent word because something has come up that . . .” He faltered and glanced at Amelie. “You both need to come upstairs with me, to his apartments.”
* * *
As Amelie followed her sister and Jaromir into Anton’s apartments, she struggled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Part of her couldn’t help feeling glad that something, anything, seemed to be happening, but she and Céline would never be called for a private meeting like this unless it was serious . . . and unless Anton wanted something from them.
Amelie closed the door behind herself and glanced around.
Most princes lived in some luxury, but Anton appeared to prefer austerity. There were tapestries on the walls and a large hearth. But the furnishings consisted of a messy writing desk, a few heavy wooden chairs, and rows of bookshelves along the walls. It looked more like the chambers of a scholar than those of a prince. A closed door stood on the same wall as the hearth, but Amelie knew it led to his sleeping chambers—as Céline had tended him once when he was ill.
Anton himself stood beside one of the heavy wooden chairs, wearing a simple blue tunic and black breeches. The expression on his face was no less strained than Jaromir’s, causing Amelie’s apprehension to increase. But then Anton’s gaze stopped on Céline, and he started slightly. She’d put some effort into her appearance tonight, and it showed.
“Céline . . . ,” he said, his eyes lingering on her silk gown.
“What’s happened?” Céline asked him, sounding openly worried.
Anton motioned them all further inside. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again.
“I hardly know where to begin,” he said finally. “Jaromir . . . perhaps you could . . . ?”
Jaromir ran a hand over the top of his head, and Amelie’s apprehension turned to alarm.
“What is going on?” she asked. “Does this have anything to do with that messenger who arrived from Castle Pählen today?”
“How did you know that?” Jaromir shook his head quickly. “No, it doesn’t matter. The prince needs your help to help solve a . . . difficulty for his father.”
“What kind of difficulty?” Céline asked, and suddenly Amelie regretted coming anywhere near the castle tonight. Earlier today, Céline had seemed more herself than she had in months, and now she was getting that haunted look in her eyes again.
“Have you ever heard of the Ryazan silver mines?” Anton asked, entering the conversation again.
Both sisters shook their heads. They’d both lived their entire
lives in Shetâna before coming here.
“My father has owned these mines for the past five years, and they have proven quite . . . lucrative.” He hesitated for a few breaths, as if steeling himself, and then began speaking again, spilling out a bizarre story of the soldiers assigned to these mines turning into beasts, killing the contracted laborers, and then having to be killed themselves.
Amelie stood tense, waiting to see where this was going.
“At last count, my father had lost nine men to this affliction, at least one of whom was an officer,” Anton finished quietly, “and production at the mines has come to a standstill. He’s asked me to solve this for him, and he’s threatened to turn to Damek if I cannot.” He locked eyes with Céline. “It’s a test of leadership.”
Céline didn’t respond, but her left hand was trembling slightly.
“Even if any of this wild tale is true,” Amelie said, stepping in front of her sister. “What does it have to do with us?”
Jaromir sighed, looking beyond miserable, but Amelie was not about to make this easy on him. She wanted to know exactly why she and Céline had been dragged in here to listen to this.
“Prince Anton believes that sending a new contingent won’t help,” Jaromir finally answered. “He wants the three of us—you, me, and Céline—to solve this . . . as we did before.”
“No!” Amelie spat at him. She’d been feeling useless and restless lately, but Céline wasn’t going anywhere near some pack of Pählen soldiers reportedly turning into “beasts.”
“I can keep you both safe,” Jaromir insisted. “I’ll be there with you. While you and Céline use your abilities to figure out what’s happening, I will have no other task than protecting you. Once you know the truth, you turn it over to me, and I will take action . . . just like our plan last time.”
“You want us to read these soldiers,” Céline asked quietly, “their pasts and futures and figure out what is happening to them?”
