by Barb Hendee
It didn’t matter.
Without another word, he turned and strode out of the tent.
Chapter Eight
As Céline made her way down the path between the encampments, then broke through the trees to see the collection of the soldiers’ tents, a low male voice caught her attention. She looked over to see Corporal Quinn quietly giving orders to the men who were about to take duty on watch.
His manner with them was so different from Captain Keegan’s. He spoke to the men with authority, but also with respect and an awareness of the strain they must be under. Young Guardsman Graham was in the group, looking as miserable and lost as he had at midday.
As Graham began to walk away, Quinn stopped him and said, “I’ve covered your post. You take the night off.”
This small act of kindness moved Céline, and she wondered how Quinn had ended up as a mere corporal serving under a man like Keegan.
Quinn was a much better leader.
This got her wondering about several things, and she changed directions to intercept him. Looking at him, her curiosity grew. He was the type of man that princes often sought out for service, tall and strong, like Jaromir, with clear eyes and a direct but easy manner. His sandy blond hair was cut just short enough not to look cropped, but not so long as to become tangled. She had a feeling he didn’t do anything by accident.
“Good evening, Corporal,” she said. “It has been quite a day.”
He nodded uncertainly. “I’m sorry about that scene in the barn.”
She was not up to giving him absolution, but neither would she make him feel worse, so she changed the subject. “It cannot have escaped your attention that Captain Keegan is hindering our efforts, despite Prince Anton’s letter. I was wondering . . . could you tell me how the captain managed to receive this assignment? He appears to despise nearly everyone and everything here, as if the assignment is beneath him.”
If Quinn was taken aback by her question, he hid it well. However, he also appeared to be considering whether or not he would answer her.
“I regret having to remind you that it was your prince who engaged my lord,” she added. “I’d like to know what we’re up against as far as cooperation goes.”
At that, Quinn shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know why the captain has been so reticent to approve your few requests. I had good reason to worry about taking one of those beasts alive, but I understood why you asked, and I wished you’d learned more.” He paused. “He should let you read the men. We can protect anyone you point out, and he knows it.”
Though his last statement was close to disloyalty, it gave her hope.
“How did he end up here?” she asked again.
Quinn sighed. “He volunteered, as a payment. The previous man in charge here, a Captain Asher, died of a fever, and Prince Lieven could find no one willing to replace him. My captain . . . he ended up in an awkward position over a gambling debt he couldn’t pay, and our prince asked him to volunteer for this duty. At the time, Lieutenant Sullian and I were serving under him . . .”
“And so you ended up here, too.”
He nodded.
“What was Sullian like?” she asked.
“Too softhearted. Nothing like the captain. Don’t get me wrong—he was a good man, but he didn’t belong in the military. I think he was the second son of a second son and had little choice.”
“The morning we arrived, Keegan mentioned that he was hoping for a replacement. Has he officially requested one?”
“Yes. He views this assignment as an insult and a punishment, and he feels he’s paid his dues.”
As Céline digested that, Quinn began to move away from her. “Forgive me, my lady, but I need to check in with him.”
“Of course. Thank you for talking to me.”
After bowing slightly, he strode off.
But Céline’s mind was reeling. How badly did Keegan want to be replaced? Did he want it badly enough to do something desperate in order to sabotage his position here? Could he be infecting his own men? The problem with that theory was that he didn’t strike her as unusually clever, and the question of how such a thing could be done continued to rear its head. Some kind of poison wasn’t likely. Of course it was possible, but she was too experienced an apothecary to find it probable. Yet . . . if it was something arcane, then what?
As she walked through the camp, her thoughts were so busy that she barely noticed when she’d arrived at her own tent.
Passing through the flap, she saw Amelie sitting on the bed. Dusk had set in and the candle lantern on the table was glowing.
“Oh, you’re back,” Céline said, glad to have her sister to bounce ideas off. “How was your afternoon? I just had the most interesting talk with Corporal Quinn.”
Amelie didn’t answer.
“He told me Keegan was forced to volunteer to accept a commission here due to an unpaid gambling debt,” Céline went on.
No answer came.
Turning, she realized her sister hadn’t said a word since she’d walked in. “Amelie?” Walking to the bed, she was startled by Amelie’s bleak expression. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Leave me alone.”
Céline couldn’t believe her ears. In their entire lives together, Amelie had never spoken to her like that. Not once.
“Whatever it is, you should share it with me,” Céline said. “You and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”
“Don’t we?” Amelie’s eyes flew up to her face. “What about you on our journey here? You told me nothing happened between you and Pavel. That was a lie, and you know it.”
The weight of everything came pressing down on Céline: the ugly poverty of this place, her inability to discover or solve anything, the senseless deaths that continued to occur, the thinly hidden fear of the soldiers—that any one of them might turn into a beast and start killing the others at any moment. It was all too much. Always before, no matter what happened, she’d had her sister, and right now, she felt alone.
Sinking onto the bed, she whispered, “I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed?”
“Back in Sèone, I knew Pavel had feelings for me, and I used him in our last investigation. He was angry . . . so angry that he frightened me on purpose, and then I managed to avoid him. That second night of the journey, he caught me . . . and pinned me against a tree.”
“What?”
“It’s all right. Jaromir stopped him, but I can’t imagine what he must have been thinking when he walked up and saw us. I was just so embarrassed and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, too. I’m sorry.”
“Céline,” Amelie breathed.
Now that she’d started speaking of these things, Céline couldn’t seem to stop. “I know things are much better for us in Sèone, but sometimes I can’t help feeling they were simpler back in Shetâna when it was just you and me. I’m so grateful to Anton and Jaromir for all they’ve done for us, but now both those men have become our friends, and they matter. I don’t know how to be friends with men, and yet I’m terrified of losing one of them or hurting one of them.”
Amelie hung her head. “Oh, Céline. I said the most awful thing to Jaromir. It was . . . it was so awful. I almost can’t believe I said it.”
“You quarreled with him?”
Amelie nodded, and her face shone with misery. “I wish I could take the words back. I wish I’d never said them.” She choked once. “I hurt him.”
Céline put both arms around her sister and pulled her close. “He’ll understand. He knows you have a temper.”
“This was more than temper. You didn’t hear it. I compared him to Keegan.”
Still holding Amelie, Céline realized what a cut that w
ould be to Jaromir, but she was glad that she at least knew what was wrong.
“Let’s make a pact,” she whispered. “No more secrets no matter what. We vow to tell each other everything.”
Amelie gripped her back. “I promise.”
Before Céline could say more, an unfamiliar voice called from outside, “My lady?”
She didn’t know which one of them he was calling for, so she answered, “Yes?”
A soldier who’d been serving at dinner last night came through the flap carrying a tray, and she realized it was fully dark outside.
“I was asked to bring you dinner,” he said, moving in and setting the tray on the table. “Do you need anything else?”
“No, we’re fine. Thank you.”
He left as quickly as he’d entered, and Céline walked over to look down at two bowls of stew, fresh bread, and two goblets of wine. “Well, I guess we won’t be dining in the captain’s tent tonight.” That was a respite at least. She wondered where Jaromir and Rurik were eating.
“Do you think you could come to the table and eat some supper?” she asked Amelie. “We’ve not had much today.”
Somehow, they both managed to swallow some of the stew and bread. They had only the single candle lantern for light, but it provided enough.
“So what’s our next step?” Amelie asked, perhaps looking to speak of something else.
Céline had already given this some thought and could come up with only one conclusion. They were going to have to find a way to coerce Keegan into letting her read the men. At present, they were dead in the water until she had a new avenue to pursue.
But before she could answer, the sound of running feet came from outside the tent.
“Lady Céline!”
She knew the voice. It was Quinn. Without asking permission, he burst through the tent flap.
“Come quick!” he called. “The captain’s in pain. I think he’s dying.”
* * *
When Jaromir and Rurik’s dinner was delivered to their tent, Jaromir took it as an insult—that Keegan was deliberately avoiding him. In his current mood, Jaromir realized that he probably would have taken almost anything as an insult, but he wasn’t wrong about Keegan. For some reason, the man didn’t want Amelie or Céline reading any of the soldiers here, but sooner or later, he was going to have to agree. It was just a matter of time.
Unfortunately, the captain seemed determined to drag out the time as long as possible.
Because he was hungry, Jaromir ate the stew and bread and drank the goblet of wine. Rurik ate with him but had the good sense not to try to make conversation. Jaromir didn’t feel like talking, not after what Amelie had said to him.
However, when they’d finished, Jaromir stood up. “I’m going to go speak to Keegan.”
Walking out, he ignored the women’s tent and made his way directly to Keegan’s enormous tent toward the back of the encampment. Only a few steps outside, he heard a sound that gave him pause: a groaning like someone in pain. This was followed by a gagging sound.
“Captain!” a voice cried inside.
Grasping the hilt of his sword, Jaromir swept inside, uncertain of what he’d find.
It took him a moment to absorb the scene he walked in on. There was no one transforming into a wolf. Instead, Keegan was on his knees, gripping his stomach with both hands and gagging like he was trying to retch but couldn’t. Quinn knelt beside him with an anxious, helpless expression.
“Lieutenant!” Quinn called. “He just collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Hurrying over, Jaromir dropped down beside them. The captain looked ill indeed, choking and groaning, fingers digging into his own stomach. He began to fall to his side and Jaromir caught him.
“Run and get Céline,” he told Quinn. “Hurry.”
Quinn ran.
Keegan’s distress was increasing, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “It hurts,” he managed to say.
“What did you eat?” Jaromir asked.
Looking around, he saw dirty bowls and the remnants of supper on the table, but it looked to be the same stew and bread and wine that Jaromir and Rurik had eaten. By way of answer, Keegan groaned louder and doubled over in Jaromir’s arms. There was nothing to be done but wait.
Thankfully, Quinn was quick, and only moments later, he ushered both Céline and Amelie through the tent entrance. Jaromir couldn’t bring himself to look at Amelie, but right now, Céline was the one he needed.
Céline rushed over and looked down. “Can you carry him to the bed?”
Quinn came to help, and between the two of them, they got Keegan to the back of the tent and onto his bed. Céline wasted no time.
Sitting on the bed beside him, she looked into his eyes, pulling down the lower lids, and she felt his skin. When he gagged again, some of his dinner began to come up.
“Amelie, get a basin for him,” Céline called. Then she looked at Quinn. “He’s been poisoned.”
“Poisoned?”
As Jaromir had, Céline looked over at the table. Quinn followed her gaze.
“How long ago did you eat?” Céline asked.
“I don’t know.” Quinn sounded rattled. “Within the hour.”
“But you ate in here, and you both ate and drank the exact same things? Were you served wine from the same pitcher?”
Both Céline’s onslaught of questions and the idea that his captain had been intentionally poisoned was breaking through Quinn’s normal shielded demeanor.
“Of course we were served from the same pitcher and we ate the same . . .” He stopped. “No . . . the cook sent in a plate of mushrooms, fried in butter. They are a favorite of Keegan’s, but I don’t care for them.”
Céline jumped up. “Mushrooms? You’re certain? That was the only thing he ate that you did not?”
Quinn’s eyes shifted back and forth as if he was trying to think and failing.
“Quinn!” Céline nearly shouted. “You have to be sure. Various poisonings are treated quite differently. If it was mushrooms, we have no time to waste.”
“Yes.” He nodded, sounding more professional. “That plate of mushrooms is the only thing he ate that I did not.”
Céline started for the tent flap. She’d come with Quinn so quickly that apparently she’d not thought to bring her box. “I have to run back to our tent, but I’ll need boiling water, a lot of it, and as fast as you can.”
Then she was gone.
Jaromir glanced at Amelie, but to their credit, they moved into action. There was a campfire burning outside, and he called for an iron hook, while Amelie fetched a cast-iron pot of water, and they set it to boiling.
Céline wasn’t gone long and came running back with her box. Dropping to the ground by the campfire, she opened the box and took out a jar.
“I need a large mug,” she said.
By now, several of the off-duty soldiers, Rurik among them, had gathered and were asking questions, and one of them handed Céline a mug, which she filled with hot water. Then she opened the jar and measured several spoonfuls of a powered substance into the hot water and stirred it, blowing on it at the same time to cool the worst of the heat. She was moving so quickly, Jaromir had trouble following her actions.
Jumping up—without spilling a drop—she hurried back into the tent.
He followed.
Quinn was still at his captain’s side.
“Get him up,” Céline ordered. “He needs to drink all of this.”
“What is it?” Quinn asked, lifting Keegan up into a sitting position.
“A strong purgative. It will make him vomit.”
Jaromir felt rather than saw Amelie at his side, and they both watched the unpleasant scene that followed, in which Keegan tried to drink the concoction, then choked harder, and Céline doggedly forced the rest of it
down his throat. She spilled some on her dress and his shirt. Watching her, Jaromir marveled at her calm, at her capability in an ugly situation. Her brand of courage might be different from his—and even from Amelie’s—but it was a sight to behold.
“Be ready with that basin,” Céline told Quinn. Looking back at Jaromir and Amelie, she added, “This is going to be a long night. The only way to save him is to get the mushrooms out of his system before they fully digest. That means we’re going to need to make him throw up and then throw up . . . and then throw up again until nothing but juices come from his stomach.”
She turned back to Quinn. “If you cannot face this, no one will think the worse of you. Amelie can assist me.”
He blinked and then shook his head. “No, I’ll help.”
As those words left his mouth, Keegan rolled and began retching in earnest. True to his word, Quinn was ready with the basin.
“Amelie, keep mugs of boiling water coming,” Céline said, holding on to Keegan to help lean him over the basin.
“I will,” Amelie answered. But she didn’t go outside to the fire right away. Instead, she leaned closer to Jaromir and whispered, “I’ll see to the hot water. Maybe you should have a talk with the cook and ask him where those mushrooms came from. We don’t want the trail going cold.”
He glanced down at her. So far, he’d been fully focused on helping to save Keegan, but she was right. Now that Céline had taken charge, and she had assistance . . . it was time he talked to the cook.
* * *
Although Amelie had assisted Céline many times, by the second round of Keegan’s purging, even she was growing queasy. It was a messy, nasty business, but she understood that it had to be done.
Worse, after all this, they probably wouldn’t know if he’d live or not until tomorrow. It would all depend on how much of the poison had gone into his system before Céline had gone to work.
As Amelie kept the hot water coming, she expected Jaromir to leave and go hunt down the cook, but he didn’t. She was thrown slightly off-kilter when a soldier dragged a balding, overweight man into the tent, and the poor man began sputtering.
