Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red

by Barb Hendee

  “She says you woke her up.”

  Thinking back to her last conversation with Mercedes, Céline felt an unexpected wave of guilt. Had she induced Mercedes to try to murder Captain Keegan?

  “You can’t tell anyone,” Amelie said. “I made a promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone but you, not even Jaromir—especially not Jaromir—and that I’d think of something to help Mariah. Mercedes says she won’t try it again, and in the end, not too much harm was done. Will you help protect her?”

  “You know I will.”

  “There’s something else,” Amelie continued, her eyes growing more thoughtful. “Mercedes referred to Marcus several times as a ‘shifter.’ I know I’ve heard that word before, but I can’t remember where.”

  “It was Helga.” Céline remembered the speech. “Inside our guest room at Castle Sèone when she was telling us about our heritage. She said that Móndyalítko don’t have wealth or power in the same sense as the princes and lords. She said, ‘But they have their own bloodlines of power, the shape-shifters, the Mist-Torn, and the like.’”

  Amelie’s body tensed. “I remember that now. Shape-shifters? Do you think Marcus has some natural-born power like ours but that lets him change his shape?”

  Céline sank into a chair. “Oh, Amelie . . . I forgot to tell you something. I swear I wasn’t keeping it a secret. With all that’s happened since, I . . . forgot.”

  “What?”

  “Our first night here, Marcus was standing outside the tent. I was so tired, it almost didn’t seem real, more like a dream, but he let me read him, just for a moment, and I felt the strangest sensation. Instead of observing, I seemed to be inside another body, and I was running swiftly through the forest . . . on all fours.”

  “On all fours?”

  “Keep your voice down. Someone outside could hear.”

  “Céline, if Marcus can change himself into something that runs on all fours, he just made it to the top of our list of people to investigate. He hates these soldiers, and he certainly has a motive to get rid of them.”

  “So what are you saying?” Céline asked. “That he’s somehow infecting them with his own natural ability—if he even has one? We’re only guessing here. Do you think you or I could pass our gift to someone else and then twist it so the person goes mad?”

  Amelie frowned. “I just think we need to pursue this.”

  “Agreed. And we will. But right now, Captain Keegan has moved to the top of Jaromir’s list.”

  “Keegan?”

  “Yes. Come with me. I’ll tell you on the way.”

  * * *

  As Amelie walked into Keegan’s tent, the afternoon sun was already sinking, and she was disturbed by how much part of her wanted this corrupt captain to turn out to be guilty of the crimes here. She was hoping to do a reading and expose him as a false leader who was somehow destroying his own men in order to get himself relieved of an unwanted command.

  While she didn’t view herself as a vindictive person, she wanted to see him punished. Thankfully, the better part of her fought against such instincts. She needed to keep her mind clear to be able to focus on the reading, on seeing the critical scenes of his past.

  As she and Céline approached the bed, she looked down, and a different part of her wavered briefly. Corrupt or not, the man looked so . . . ill.

  Worse, Jaromir stood there with his arms crossed, and she still couldn’t manage to meet his eyes. During the crisis last night, he and she had worked well together, but they hadn’t looked at each other, not after what she’d said to him in the tent. How could she have said such a thing? Why did such terrible things come out of her mouth every time he made her feel backed against a wall?

  Captain Keegan’s bloodshot eyes were focused on Céline. “I’m told I have you to thank for my life,” he said hoarsely.

  “I’d have done the same for anyone,” she answered. “But you’ll be in bed for weeks, possibly longer. Mushroom poisoning takes a toll.”

  He didn’t argue. Perhaps he felt as bad as he looked.

  “I’ve assumed temporary command,” Jaromir said, “in the absence of another officer.”

  Keegan’s eyes rolled toward him. “Have you sent a messenger with a request for a replacement for me? Surely you can’t remain until I’m fit again. Your own prince must need you.”

  “I will remain as long as I’m needed here and until I complete the mission for which I was sent,” Jaromir answered coldly. “In that regard, I’ve authorized this lady to do a reading of you.” He motioned toward Amelie.

  Keegan’s eyes widened. “No. I refuse.” He tried sitting up and failed.

  “You have no choice,” Jaromir went on, “and unless you allow her to touch you, I’ll hold you down.”

  The captain’s greenish skin went pale. “Where’s Quinn?”

  Jaromir ignored the question and closed the short distance between himself and the bed. Without any hesitation, he leaned over and pinned Keegan’s arms. “Amelie?”

  “You can’t do this!” Keegan cried weakly. “I order you to stop.”

  Amelie hated doing readings like this. Jaromir had once ordered Corporal Pavel to hold down a traitorous court physician at Castle Sèone and then told her to read the man in order to gain evidence to prove his guilt. It had been . . . uncomfortable.

  But she wasn’t about to turn back now. Kneeling by the bed, she tried to shut out Keegan’s weak protests. Touching the back of his hand, she closed her eyes and reached out for the spark of his spirit. On the walk over here, Céline had related that Jaromir wanted to know Keegan’s secrets, his reasons for having volunteered to take this command—something more specific than gossip about a gambling debt.

  A simple gambling debt wouldn’t be enough to coerce a man like Keegan into overseeing what he would consider a pack of shabby miners. It had to be more. And if so, how far would he go to be relieved of this unwanted position?

  With her eyes closed, she cleared her mind and continued focusing on Keegan’s spirit, reaching back in time to whatever had brought him here to Ryazan. The first jolt hit, and she braced herself. The second jolt hit, and the tent around her vanished. She was swept backward through the white-and-gray mists. This time, she kept herself carefully separated from Keegan. She needed to view only as an observer, to see what was happening to him and around him—not to mention she was sickened by the thought of being inside his head and seeing through his eyes.

  The mists kept rushing as she was drawn backward, and when they cleared, she found herself standing in what felt like an underground chamber lit by a few lanterns. There were no windows and the walls were made from stone. A man in a long tunic with a heavy blue gem hanging around his neck stood behind a long table. He was counting money into a bag.

  Captain Keegan, Corporal Quinn, and a handsome man with thick hair stood on the other side of the table. Amelie studied the third man for a moment. His expression struck her as . . . fragile, as if he could be easily hurt. He looked out of place in his dark brown tabard and armor.

  “All right,” said the man in the long tunic as he finished counting. “That’s it.” He held out the bag and pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Captain Keegan and Lieutenant Sullian, please sign at the bottom to verify that you’ve accepted this season’s pay for your men.”

  “We’ve done this before,” Keegan answered in an unfriendly tone, as if he didn’t care for the man, who was probably Prince Lieven’s treasurer.

  Amelie realized the third soldier was Lieutenant Sullian, who had transformed into a wolf and been killed before her arrival in Ryazan.

  Both Keegan and Sullian signed. Keegan hefted the bag of coins, and all three men walked toward the door. Amelie stepped aside even though she knew they couldn’t see her. She wasn’t actually there. She was simply witnessing an echo in time.

  But why was she watching
Keegan receive the payroll for his men?

  The room vanished, and she found herself standing outside in the open air, in the courtyard of a castle. Soldiers in armor and brown tabards milled around, and she spotted four of them crouched down and playing a game of dice.

  New voices drew her attention, and she turned to see Keegan, Sullian, and Quinn all walking into the open courtyard. Keegan was still carrying the bag of money with his men’s wages inside.

  He stopped at the sight of the dice game, and Lieutenant Sullian’s face took on an anxious expression.

  “Sir,” Sullian said, “we need to see the horse trader from Miltaná about those new geldings.”

  But Keegan ignored him and continued watching the game. Amelie observed Quinn and Sullian glance at each other in alarm.

  A moment later, Keegan took a number of coins from the bag he carried. “This is my own wage.” Handing the bag off to Sullian, he walked over to the game. “Room for one more?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The soldiers made room, and Amelie moved closer. She never played dice—as the games all seemed to depend on luck as opposed to skill—but she knew the one being played. It was simple, called Thrice Thrown. One of the soldiers functioned as the counter, and he didn’t take part in the game. The players all agreed on the amount of the bet first, and everyone gave him their money. Then each of the players took three rolls and whoever ended up with the highest count of their three rolls won all the money.

  Amelie found it foolish, but she knew many soldiers who enjoyed the random simplicity. It took no thought and passed the time. Sometimes instead of money, they bet extra chores or night watch duty.

  “Shall we say two silver pennies?” Keegan suggested.

  The other players hesitated. That was a large bet for normal guardsmen, but one of them shrugged. “Why not? Tomorrow is payday.”

  “Sir?” Quinn asked.

  Keegan gave him a hard look. “Yes?”

  “Nothing.”

  All the players took their turns, and Keegan lost. He did have the second-highest total for his rolls, but it was a winner-take-all game. A few other soldiers noticed Keegan playing, and they wandered over. On the next round a few more joined in.

  Keegan won the next two rounds, and his eyes glinted.

  Then he began losing.

  Two of the initial guardsmen dropped out when the newcomers began playing for higher stakes.

  Lieutenant Sullian’s appearance of anxiety was increasing. Walking over, he touched his captain’s arm. “Sir, the horse trader? He’s waiting.”

  “In a moment,” Keegan answered. “I just need to win my money back.”

  Amelie had seen men like Keegan before. Once they started, they couldn’t seem to stop. They always believed they would win the next round of dice or the next hand of cards.

  The courtyard vanished, and she found herself in the mists again, moving forward, just a little. The mists cleared, and this time, she was standing inside a stable. Keegan was leaning forward with his hands on knees, as if he was about to be ill.

  “What can I do?” he said. “Master Terlone is coming tomorrow. He said if I don’t settle my account, he’ll go to Prince Lieven.”

  Both Sullian and Quinn looked on in concern.

  Sullian was still carrying the bag with the soldiers’ payroll. “Could you not give some of your purchases back to him? The pewter goblets?”

  “He won’t take them!” Keegan snapped. “And I cannot give a season’s worth of wine back. It’s already been drunk.” He stood and ran his hands over his face. “The prince cannot find out how much I owe. I’ll be ruined.”

  “You know I’d give you my wage,” Quinn said. “But I send almost everything I earn home to my parents.”

  “And I owe for my own wine bill and that new saddle I purchased,” Sullian said. “Sir . . . if you’d only come away when I asked you. You wouldn’t have lost everything.”

  Amelie began to understand why she was here now. It seemed Keegan had lost an entire season’s worth of wages in that dice game, and he owed a merchant for wine and other luxury items he’d bought on credit.

  “Don’t mother me!” Keegan half shouted. “I have to do something. The prince cannot hear of this.” His voice was desperate.

  “Wait . . . ,” Sullian began. He hesitated and then said, “Quinn, what about that game of Hard Tens you promised to deal tonight? Could you get the captain in? He’s better with cards, and he could win his wages back.”

  Keegan stood straight, his eyes filling with hope. “Hard Tens?”

  Sullian nodded. “With Prince Damek here on a visit, a few of his officers asked Lieutenant Tanner to put a game together, and Tanner asked Quinn to deal.”

  “Can you get me in?” Keegan asked Quinn.

  “No,” Quinn answered. “We’d have to stake you, and what if you lose?”

  “I won’t lose!” Keegan’s features twisted into what looked like an expression of pain. “Please . . . please. I promise that if you help me this time, it won’t ever happen again.”

  Quinn glanced away, as if he couldn’t bring himself to even look at his captain. “All right. I’ll speak to Lieutenant Tanner.”

  The scene in the stable vanished, and Amelie saw only a blink of the mists before they cleared and she found herself in another small, windowless room. This one contained a round table, with six men sitting around it. There were goblets and pitchers of wine on the table. Candle lanterns burned from small square tables in the corners.

  Right away, Amelie noted Captain Keegan and Corporal Quinn. In addition, there were three officers wearing the black tabards of Damek’s guards and a middle-aged man in a brown tabard. She assumed he must be Lieutenant Tanner. Sullian wasn’t there.

  Quickly, Amelie realized she’d not come in time to observe the beginning of the game. From the state of the table and the men, she guessed they’d been playing cards for a while. One of Damek’s officers and Lieutenant Tanner had the largest piles of coins sitting in front of them. There were almost none in front of Keegan.

  Quinn was dealing.

  Again, although Amelie had rarely played Hard Tens, she knew the rules. It was another simple game, though this one involved some strategy. Before play, all the kings, queens, and jacks were removed from the deck, leaving only forty cards.

  The dealer dealt every player two cards, one faceup and once facedown. The players could glance at their facedown card and then make bets. After that, a player could stand with what he had or ask for another card . . . and more if he wished.

  The goal was to come as close to a total of twenty in any combination, with two tens as the best possible hand. Any player with two tens won, and in the rare—but possible—event that two players were dealt two tens, they split the pot of winnings.

  The dealer’s job was simply to deal. He didn’t take part in the game otherwise.

  Amelie could tell from the strained expression on Quinn’s face and the look of desperation on Keegan’s—along with his small pile of coins—that Keegan had not been lucky tonight.

  A new hand was dealt.

  Amelie walked up behind Keegan. He had a two of clubs showing. She leaned down as he peeked at his hole card: a ten of diamonds.

  Men began placing bets, and by the time they were finished, Keegan had put in almost every coin he had left.

  One of Damek’s officers raised an eyebrow. “Looks like a do-or-die hand for you, Captain,” he said dryly.

  Keegan didn’t answer and nodded to Quinn that he wanted another card.

  Quinn dealt him the ten of hearts. Keegan closed his eyes. He’d gone over.

  As the hand finished and the men turned over their hole cards, Lieutenant Tanner won with a combination of nineteen. Gathering his winnings, he shrugged. “Hard luck, Keegan, but it looks like you’re out.”


  Keegan’s forehead was perspiring. “No . . . wait. Just give me a moment, and I’ll be right back.”

  Quinn looked up in alarm as Keegan fled the room, and a few of the visiting soldiers shifted uncomfortably.

  “I do so pity a fellow who doesn’t know when to stop,” one of them said.

  But not long after, Keegan came hurrying back . . . carrying the bag with his men’s payroll. He was going to bet with his men’s wages? In spite of her low opinion of Keegan, Amelie had not thought even him capable of that.

  Quinn was staring at him as he sat down.

  But Keegan glared across the table. “Deal the cards, Corporal.”

  The small, dim room vanished, and Amelie was rushing forward on the mists again.

  When they cleared, she was in a great hall with walls of stone and a hearth large enough to stand in.

  Captain Keegan was down on one knee, on the floor with head bowed.

  Amelie looked to see a muscular man with graying hair and a proud bearing sitting in a chair on a dais up above the captain. He wore a loose red jerkin accented by gold thread. Three jeweled rings on each hand adorned his fingers.

  His expression was unreadable.

  “I don’t know what to say, my prince,” Keegan said. “The act is unforgivable.”

  Amelie’s eyes flew back up to the dais. She was looking at Anton’s father, Prince Lieven. He looked nothing like Anton, who was slender, with soft dark hair and narrow features.

  “It is unforgivable,” Prince Lieven said, and his voice echoed through the hall. “In all my years, I’ve never heard of a captain gambling away his men’s wages. You’ve broken a sacred trust. How will any of them send money to their families? Once this news is out, you will lose your office, and no man will ever serve under you again.”

  Keegan’s body flinched, as if he’d been struck, but he didn’t raise his eyes from the floor.

  Prince Lieven was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Though the act is unforgivable, it is not beyond repair. Would you be willing to do a small service for me? If so, I would replace your men’s wages, and no one need know.”