Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red

by Barb Hendee

  That was Céline’s assessment as well.

  “Marcus and some of the Móndyalítko men must have signed contracts with Keegan,” she said. “Horses to pull the wagons or not, I can’t think of any other reason why they’d stay here . . . and Marcus hates the soldiers.”

  “Yes, but how much does he hate them?”

  How much indeed?

  Jaromir came walking to meet them. “You look done in.”

  “You’ve no idea,” Céline answered. “Can we go to our tent and rest for a while?”

  “Of course.” He took the box from her and led the way down the path back toward the soldiers’ camp.

  “Did you learn anything from the men?” she asked.

  “Not a lot, only that there have been three attacks by these . . . wolves during the day, inside the mines themselves. The miners are refusing to work at all now, and Keegan’s soldiers won’t let them leave but also won’t enforce any work because that would mean the soldiers would have to enter to mines themselves to oversee, and they’re just as afraid of being trapped or caught down there.”

  Céline absorbed this. “I think you learned quite a bit. If someone is doing this on purpose—infecting the soldiers, I mean—it almost sounds like they are trying to shut down work in the mines.”

  The path emptied into the Pählen encampment.

  As the collection of tents came into view, Céline heard raised voices. Turning, she saw that Captain Keegan was out among his men. In fact . . . he was shouting at five of them. She recognized three of the soldiers from earlier in the day, the rotund Guardsman Saunders, the skittish young Graham, and the tall, semi-toothless Ramsey. She’d not met the other two.

  “We have guests here from the court of Sèone!” Keegan shouted. “Sent at the request of our prince! And you’re all wandering around out here with no one placed at his designated post. You’re all filthy, and you look a disgrace. I won’t have it! You’ll clean yourselves up and act like soldiers or I’ll have you on night watch in that gypsy camp. Do you hear me?”

  Had Jaromir ever given his men such a speech, they would have been groveling. He rarely made threats—as he rarely needed to—but a threat from Jaromir was taken seriously.

  Céline expected the soldiers to bow and scrape and express a chorus of “Yes, sirs.”

  They did not.

  Ramsey glared at the captain in thinly veiled hostility and spoke so softly that Céline had to read his lips, but it seemed that he said, “I’ll not take orders from a man who can’t pay his own debts.”

  Captain Keegan went stiff. “What did you say?”

  No one answered for a moment, and then Ramsey mumbled, “Nothing.”

  “Get to your posts,” Keegan ordered.

  The men shuffled away, but Céline was somewhat shaken. She’d never seen anything like that. Even back in Shetâna, the chain of command was unquestioned and soldiers followed the orders of a superior officer.

  Discipline was breaking down here . . . and these men would need discipline if they hoped to organize themselves and survive.

  However, as she, Amelie, and Jaromir walked up, they pretended not to have witnessed the scene.

  “Good evening, Captain,” she said.

  He turned and saw her approaching. “My lady, I was coming in search of you.”

  “Yes, we were detained in the miners’ encampment.”

  He frowned. “All afternoon?” But then he offered Amelie a polite bow of his head. “I’ve had a small dinner prepared, to be served in my tent. Could you be ready in an hour?”

  Céline wanted to groan. She wanted her bed. The last thing she wanted to do was put on an evening gown and sit at a table making polite conversation. But they were here for a reason, and she glanced at Jaromir. He nodded once.

  “Of course,” she said. “We’d be honored.” As she started to walk away, something occurred to her, and she was uncertain of the protocol. Amelie had stressed that as the ranking commander, he was in charge of everyone here. Did she need his permission to conduct any readings? “Captain . . . per our inquiry, I would like to do a reading of a young woman named Mariah and a man called Marcus. Do I have your permission?”

  His frown deepened. “Mariah? Why?”

  By way of answer, she looked him up and down, as would any haughty lady of Anton’s court.

  He glanced away, embarrassed. “Yes, do as you see fit.”

  Chapter Five

  Though Céline was still feeling weary as she entered Captain Keegan’s tent that night, she was aware enough to be somewhat unsettled by the state of her gown. At Jaromir’s request, Helga had packed for the two sisters, including two fine dresses from the castle—which had probably once belonged to Anton’s aunt. Both gowns were silk. Amelie wore a seafoam green, and Céline’s was a dark shade of pink. But . . . even though both garments had been carefully folded, they’d still been jostled about for days inside a bag. Céline wished a travel chest had been used instead, but she supposed that Jaromir felt bags would be easier to tie onto the back of a horse if necessary.

  As a result, no matter how she’d tried to smooth both gowns, there were creases in the skirts, and as there was no way the delicate slippers Helga had packed would have survived the walk to Keegan’s tent, both sisters ended up wearing their boots. Somehow, this combination made Céline feel less like a lady of court.

  Worse, she’d almost had to wrestle Amelie into the seafoam green dress, as both gowns were cut rather low across the bosom, and at first Amelie had refused to wear either of them, but when forced to choose she’d decided that she disliked the pink more than the green. Once she’d finally been laced in and her hair had been brushed, she looked both startlingly pretty and painfully uncomfortable at the same time.

  Again . . . the latter was hardly reflective of a lady of court.

  However, neither Captain Keegan nor Corporal Quinn appeared to notice the creases as they watched their guests enter. Jaromir brought up the rear of the trio. Apparently, as a mere guardsman, Rurik had not been invited, and Céline hoped he was faring all right among a group of unfamiliar soldiers.

  “A sight for sore eyes,” Keegan said, appraising Céline, who had put up her own hair with soft fringes hanging down. “I’ve not seen a lady in a proper gown since this past spring.”

  While she found this rather forward, she managed a smile. The table was adorned with more silver candlesticks and pewter goblets.

  As Quinn pulled out a chair for her, Jaromir stepped in to hold one for Amelie. He’d not teased her once about the silk gown, but he also seemed unable to take his eyes off her. This had not helped Amelie’s comfort level.

  Once they were all seated, Keegan snapped his fingers. A Pählen soldier entered from the back of the tent and began pouring wine like a servant. When he finished, he vanished again.

  Keegan looked down the table at everyone seated there and cleared his throat.

  “Lady Céline,” he began with what could only be called a lecturing intonation. “I’ve been informed you spent the entire afternoon tending to that filth living in the miners’ camp.”

  Céline’s hand stopped with her goblet halfway to her mouth. “I beg your pardon?”

  He took a long swallow of his own wine. “I thought you were going in order to attend to a few injuries for the workers. But most of those miners and gypsies will do nothing to help themselves. Of course you have my full cooperation in your efforts here, but you must not tire yourself out or waste medicine by giving it to those little better than animals. It does them no good, and they won’t thank you.”

  Céline stared at him, and Amelie’s face had gone red.

  “Lieutenant,” Quinn blurted out, as if trying to change the subject, “how was your summer crop back in Sèone?”

  “Abundant,” Jaromir answered, perhaps equally glad to be speaking of anything e
lse. “The weather has been kind.”

  Two more soldiers entered, one carrying a plate of steaming flatbread and another carrying a large tray with two roasted birds on top. The tray was placed directly in front of Keegan, who picked up a knife and two-pronged fork to carve. Both soldiers vanished.

  “We have a well-stocked provisions tent, with a stove, and I brought a cook with me from Pählen.” He gestured to the tray before him. “But we also have plenty of game here. These are wild pheasants baked with pears. I think you’ll enjoy the dish.”

  At the sight of the pheasants, Céline heard Marcus’s voice in her ears.

  I hunt, and we eat whatever Captain Keegan doesn’t take.

  Marcus had probably caught those birds himself. Thinking of the tragic conditions she’d seen in the miners’ encampment, she wondered if she could manage to swallow a bite. Looking across the table, she guessed Amelie was thinking the same thing.

  Thankfully, Keegan seemed oblivious to their discomfort, nor did he expect conversation from the women at the table, and he proceeded to carve while continuing the discussion of the summer harvest with Quinn and Jaromir. Somehow, Céline managed to get through the meal and eat enough for the sake of manners, hoping she might be excused soon. Between the wine and the overly long day, the table was beginning to swim before her eyes.

  Through the pointless dinner talk, she heard Jaromir ask, “How many men do you have stationed here now?”

  Keegan and Quinn both went silent, and then Quinn answered, “Subtracting current losses, I believe we are down to forty-one.”

  “Forty-one?” Amelie repeated. “With the women and children added in, I’d guess there are maybe two hundred people or a little more over in the miners’ encampment. Do you need forty-one armed guards to keep them here?”

  Keegan shifted in his chair. “Well . . . some of those men are reinforcements my lord sent to assist with recent difficulties.”

  Yes, Céline thought, and those reinforcements have not helped.

  A commotion sounded outside the front of the tent, and to her shock, four soldiers dragged Mariah and Marcus inside. Mariah was openly frightened, but Marcus shoved both the soldiers holding him away, and he glared at one as if daring the man to touch him again. Then he looked as if he was about to strike the nearest man holding Mariah.

  Céline jumped to her feet, knocking her chair backward. “What is this?” She spoke to the soldiers. “Take your hands off that girl, now!”

  They let go of Mariah and looked to their captain.

  Keegan stood and frowned at Céline. “You told me you wanted to read them. You claim to be Anton’s seer? As does your sister?” From his tone, it was clear he believed she and Amelie possessed no real power at all and were merely bored ladies playing up to Anton.

  And this was not at all what she’d intended when she’d spoken to Keegan earlier.

  “Now that they’re here, you should read them,” Jaromir said, his voice tight.

  She turned back to him and knew what he was thinking. They were here to play a part, to do a job. If she was to convince Keegan that she was a true seer who should be allowed to read his men, she’d better start proving it.

  “Mariah,” she said softly, “it’s all right. If you can come here and sit with me, I just want to touch your hand. That’s all I want to do. Afterward, you can go home to Mercedes. I promise.”

  Some of the panic in Mariah’s eyes faded, and Céline reached out with one hand. “Come and sit with me.”

  She straightened her chair and pulled another over for Mariah. Hating herself for doing this in front of Keegan and Quinn and all these men, she kept her hand out, and Mariah came to her, gripping her fingers. The girl’s hands were so small. She couldn’t be more than two years younger than Amelie, but somehow she seemed much younger.

  Céline sat, and Mariah sat, too, almost as if she would find protection by close proximity. “It’s all right,” Céline said again. “I’m just going to close my eyes and see your future. No one will hurt you.”

  It might have been more useful to have Amelie read the girl’s past, but Amelie was not skilled at soothing or comforting someone frightened. Céline needed to show Mariah there was nothing to fear.

  Holding the girl’s hand, Céline closed her eyes and tried to shut out everyone and everything else in the tent. She cleared her mind and focused on Mariah’s spark of spirit . . . on her future. The first jolt hit almost instantly, and Céline steeled herself for the second. Then she was rushing forward on the white mists.

  The journey was short.

  A scene materialized around her, and for a moment, she was confused. She found herself standing in this same tent, only at the back, near a bed. The tent was much darker and only a single candle lantern burned on a small table. There was a basket of food on the floor near a hanging tapestry that divided this section of the tent from the front. Moving closer, Céline saw that it contained jerked beef and biscuits: the staples of traveling soldiers.

  Suddenly, Keegan stepped past the tapestry and into the back section of the tent. He wore only his breeches and shirt, with the tails of his shirt hanging loose, and he carried a goblet of wine.

  “Is that you?” he said, squinting out the back exit. “Hurry up.”

  A shadow moved in the doorway.

  Céline tensed as Mariah slowly came inside. Her feet were bare, and she again looked like a doe about to spring.

  “You know what to do by now,” Keegan said. “Just get on with it. Unless you and your sister want to move on now that your father’s dead and you have no man to work the mines.” He waved his hand toward the basket of food. “And you want those vermin children to go hungry.”

  In the light of the candle lantern, Mariah’s young face was even more beautiful, but her black eyes glowed with hate and fear.

  She didn’t run or move closer to him.

  With a disgusted sound, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

  Céline wanted to shout and push him away, but she was only an observer, and she had a sick feeling in her stomach that she knew exactly what was coming.

  Keegan dragged Mariah toward his bed. As he reached it, he turned and roughly pushed the top of the dress down over her shoulders. Her breasts were pale and small, like the rest of her.

  Céline started choking. She wanted this to end. She wanted to be away from here.

  Then Keegan had Mariah pinned down on top of the bed. He shoved her skirt up, and she began to whimper. Inside the vision, Céline forced herself to turn, to look away.

  The image vanished.

  “Céline!”

  Opening her eyes, she could hear herself choking and see Jaromir crouched beside her chair. Amelie was right behind him.

  Céline feared she was going to be sick.

  “Come out of it,” Jaromir said. “I’m right here.”

  Captain Keegan walked up behind Amelie. “What is happening?” he demanded.

  Céline couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Mariah sat tightly in her chair, with her head swiveling back and forth, and Céline realized she’d need to get a quick hold of herself. She had no intention of humiliating the girl further in this company.

  “What did you see?” Amelie asked.

  “Nothing,” she answered. “It didn’t work.”

  Both Jaromir and Amelie would know she was lying, but neither would give her away. Putting her hand on the arm of her chair, she tried standing. Marcus was staring at her.

  Keegan appeared uncertain, but he motioned toward Marcus with his head. “You want to read him now?”

  “No,” Marcus said, his voice resounding through the tent. “Not like this.”

  Two of the soldiers moved to grab him, and Céline couldn’t stop herself from crying out, “Don’t touch him!” For some reason, she couldn’t stand the thought of those filthy soldiers putti
ng their hands on Marcus again.

  Both soldiers froze in place, and again, she fought for control of herself. “Forgive me,” she managed to say to Keegan. “The day has been too long, and I am weary. Could we please forgo this for the night?”

  The walls of the tent were swimming around her now, and she barely heard his reply, which seemed to include some kind of apology.

  “Please allow Marcus and Mariah to go home,” she said.

  The next thing she knew, Jaromir was on one side of her and Amelie was on the other, and she was being ushered out the tent’s front flap. She didn’t remember the walk back to their own tent, but she was aware of Jaromir coming inside when they reached it.

  * * *

  As Amelie helped Céline inside their tent, her concern was growing into open worry. She’d seen her sister this distraught only once before, and it had taken Céline a long time to recover. A candle lantern glowed from atop the table. Someone must have entered and lit it for them.

  “What happened back there?” Jaromir asked. “I know you saw something.”

  Amelie helped Céline into a chair and almost couldn’t believe it when her sister let out a single sob. They didn’t cry. Either of them.

  “Keegan is abusing the girl . . . ,” Céline managed to get out. She wiped her eyes and took a breath. “I saw him, and I could tell that it wasn’t the first time.”

  Amelie straightened. “What do you mean, ‘abusing’?”

  “You know what I mean,” Céline answered quietly. “It’s not exactly force, but he’s coercing her with food for the children and threats of making her and her sister leave.”

  Amelie whirled toward Jaromir. “You have to stop it. Tell him he has to stop or you’ll report him to Prince Lieven.”

  In all the time she’d known Jaromir, she’d never seen him grow so uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and couldn’t seem to meet her eyes.

  “Amelie . . . ,” he said. “Prince Lieven won’t care, and I can’t threaten a superior officer. I know this kind of thing is unfortunate, but it happens all the time when men are stationed in outlying places like this.”