The Mist-Torn Witches (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) - Softcover

Five Years Later

“I didn’t call you a liar,” Amelie Fawe said flatly. “I said you were trying to cheat me. There’s a difference.”

Jareth, the village butcher, frowned at her while still holding two lamb chops in the air. They stood outside amidst the tables and booths of the morning market, with just a drizzle of rain coming down on their heads. But he was trying to overcharge her, and they both knew it.

Amelie sighed. It wasn’t that she blamed him—or that she was even given to haggling over a few cuts of meat. But she and her sister, Céline, were among the dwindling number of people in Shetâna who had coins to spend. Most of the other villagers had been offering Jareth turnips in exchange for soup bones. Amelie had a feeling he was full up on turnips.

She had no intention of threatening him, but out of habit, her hand settled on the hilt of the short sword at her left hip. In truth, she was much better with the dagger sheathed on her right, but the sword made a stronger impression—and occasionally, she needed one.

Her sister, Céline, was slender and pretty, and Céline brought in most of the household’s money. They were a fiercely independent team, and Amelie had long ago taken on the task of protecting them both. They needed no one but each other.

“All right,” Jareth said, not appearing the least bit intimidated by her hand dropping to the sword. “A halfpenny, then, but you’re robbing me blind.”

She smiled at him and handed him a coin. “Céline asked after that rheumatism in your shoulder. Should I bring more of the bay leaf oil?”

His expression softened, and he was about to answer when the sound of hoofbeats stopped him. Amelie followed his gaze to the main path leading into the village, and she saw four riders coming from the tree line.

Three of them wore black tabards over chain armor, soldiers of Sub–Prince Damek. With distaste, Amelie recognized the man in the lead, Captain Kochè, the prince’s chief bullyboy and tax collector.

“What do you suppose he wants?” Jareth said softly, putting the chops down and wiping his hands on his already bloody apron. “Taxes aren’t due for two months.”

All around them, villagers in threadbare clothing began slinking away as quickly as possible, but Amelie kept her eyes on the soldiers.

“Who’s that with them?” she asked, squinting.

A fourth person—much smaller—in a full cloak rode just behind Captain Kochè.

“I can’t tell,” Jareth answered.

Amelie waited for the riders to come all the way into the village; then her stomach tightened when they began to pull their horses up just outside the village perimeter at a small two–story building with a painted sign that read, LAVENDER AND THYME.

It was the apothecary shop that she owned with her sister.

It was also their home.

All four riders stopped directly in front of the shop, and Captain Kochè swung off onto the ground.

“Oh, seven hells,” Amelie gasped, forgetting about the lamb chops. “He’s going after Céline!”

The smaller cloaked figure dismounted as well.

Jareth grabbed a meat cleaver off the table. “You want me to come?”

But Amelie was already running down the muddy path. “No,” she called, “I’ve got it.”

She and Céline didn’t need anyone but each other.

Céline Fawe unfortunately had no appointments that day, so she’d planned to boil down some marshmallow leaves to make an astringent for insect bites and bee stings, as midspring had arrived, and there would soon be an abundance of insects. Humming, just a little off–key, she started the fire, hoping Amelie wouldn’t give Jareth too much trouble over the price of a few lamb chops. However, the two sisters didn’t have many extra pennies either . . . which was why she tended to send Amelie to the village market. It was cowardly and she knew it, but Amelie was much better at holding firm.

Céline also knew that even while just scraping by, she and Amelie lived better than almost anyone in Shetâna. But they also lived slightly apart from everyone else as well. Their little shop, with the bedroom upstairs, had been built just outside the village as if it didn’t quite belong with the other shops and dwellings. She and Amelie had always felt that way about themselves, too. Though their father had grown up in Shetâna, their mother, Eleanor, had come from someplace else, which she never spoke of. He’d been one of the village hunters, and apparently, after an extended hunt one year, he’d come back with a bride—and he’d promptly built her an apothecary’s shop and home for them to share. Eleanor could read and write, and she arrived with her own texts and scrolls on herb lore. She made certain both her girls were literate, although Céline had taken more willingly to scholarly pursuits.

As a result, both Céline and Amelie spoke differently than the villagers of Shetâna, saw the world a little differently, and sometimes used words no one else could understand. This set them apart.

Still, people came from nearby townships and villages just to see Céline, the seer, and have their futures read. Her reputation had spread as far north as the Vudrask River.

To count further blessings, their shop was warm, with a decent hearth, and although they had no front counter, the main room did boast several sturdy tables, and the walls were lined with shelves containing countless numbers of pots and jars.

Their little establishment looked the part.

The Lavender and Thyme apothecary shop was quite respectable—and Céline was proud of it.

Still humming, she was just about to head into the storage room for the marshmallow leaves when the sound of hoofbeats outside made her pause and half turn. The hoofbeats stopped, and then she heard booted feet landing with a squishing sound in the mud just in front of her shop. Who could that be?

Before she could wonder a moment longer, the door slammed open, and she froze in her tracks. Captain Kochè filled the open doorway with his wet tabard dripping water onto the floor. He looked at her, and his eyes moved up and down, just as they always did when he got within ten paces of her. He was revolting: tall but with a protruding belly, greasy hair, and a stringy mustache that stretched all the way down past his chin.

Céline, on the other hand, had learned from her mother that it was necessary for a successful seer to also look the part. She wore her mother’s red velvet gown a good deal of the time, and it fit her slight body snugly. Her mass of dark blond curls hung to the small of her back, and both she and Amelie had inherited their mother’s lavender eyes. Céline was well aware that in almost any circle, she’d be considered at least moderately pretty, but here in Shetâna, any girl with a halfway clean face and all of her teeth was viewed as a beauty.

It was rather tiresome.

The captain licked his lower lip, and Céline drew herself up to full height—which was still slightly shorter than the average woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked, pitching her tone to suggest she’d rather do anything than help him. She had no idea what he wanted. The shop’s taxes were paid in full, and Sub–Prince Damek never paid an ounce of attention to Shetâna unless someone owed him money or he’d decided to have someone punished for insolence. The state of the roads was criminal, but no one here complained to him anymore.

“No, my dear,” said a voice from behind the captain, “but you can assist me.”

Kochè stepped aside, and a bent figure hobbled inside past him. One gnarled hand came up to push back the hood of a cloak, revealing the wrinkled face of an ancient woman who smiled, exposing yellow teeth. She closed the door behind herself. “I am Madam Zelinka. You might know of me?”

Céline did. She’d heard the name from several of her more prominent patrons, but no one who paid for Céline’s services would ever be closely connected to Madam Zelinka. She was a marriage broker to the great noble houses, spinning a web of connections to increase wealth or bloodlines or to shore up weakening titles.

What could she possibly want here?

But Céline wasn’t about to insult her and bowed politely. “Yes, ma’am. I’m honored by your visit. May I bring you some hot tea?”

The old woman’s smile widened, chilling Céline to the bone. “What a dear girl you are,” Madam Zelinka said, moving to a chair and sitting down. “Tea would be most welcome.” She wore her white hair up in a simple bun on her head, and even through her wet cloak, she smelled like a dusty attic.

Captain Kochè remained standing to one side of the doorway, still dripping on the floor, with his gaze locked on Céline’s waist. She tried to ignore him as she moved toward the teapot.

But before anyone else could say a word, the door burst open again, and Amelie came running inside, panting, with one hand on the hilt of her dagger.

“Céline!” she cried and then calmed somewhat at the sight of her sister by the hearth.

A guard from outside appeared behind her, seeming surprised and looking to his captain for orders, but Kochè waved him away and the guard simply closed the door.

Turning to the captain, Amelie spat out, “What are you doing in here? ”

Céline winced inwardly. Amelie and Kochè hated each other, and neither bothered to hide it. In fact, if the shop hadn’t been the most lucrative tax source in Shetâna, Céline might have worried for her sister’s safety.

The thing was, Kochè was the type who liked his women to look and behave . . . well, like women. At seventeen, Amelie was even shorter than Céline. But where Céline was slight, Amelie’s build showed a hint of her strength and muscle. She insisted upon wearing breeches, a faded blue shirt, a short canvas jacket, and boots. She shared Céline’s lavender eyes and small nose, but she’d inherited their father’s straight black hair, which she’d cropped into a bob that hung just below her jaw.

When she and Céline had first been orphaned, they’d seemed easy targets for wandering soldiers, but Amelie had quickly proven that assumption wrong. She relied on speed and the element of surprise, and she could cut a man open in a matter of seconds with that dagger on her hip.

“He is doing nothing here,” Madam Zelinka answered, sounding a tad less friendly now. “My business is with your sister.”

Céline hurried over to stand between them. “Amelie, this is a marriage broker. She may have a task for me.”

Amelie looked quickly between Céline and the woman. Although Amelie was overprotective and hot–tempered, she was certainly no fool, and this visit smelled of money.

“She’d like some tea,” Céline went on. “Could you please get it for her?”

Their eyes locked, and then Amelie nodded once, heading for the hearth. Kochè was not making any threats. In fact, as yet, he hadn’t said a word.

When it came to business, Céline always took the lead. She moved to the table and sat across from Madam Zelinka. “How is it that I might help you?”

The old woman’s smile returned—along with her exposed yellow teeth—and she pulled three silver coins from inside the damp cloak. “Just a minor task, a trifle really.”

The size of the payment hardly suggested a trifle, but Céline remained silent, waiting politely. She’d learned a long time ago that people tended to share more if they were left in silence for a while. Amelie set a steaming mug of the tea on the table.

“You’ll have another visitor late this afternoon,” Madam Zelinka continued, “a young noblewoman . . . a minor noblewoman, who will ask you about a pending marriage. She’s heard of your reputation in these matters, and she will not consent to the betrothal until she’s spoken with you and you have read her future. All you need do is assure her that the marriage will be a happy one and that she may accept without reservations.”

“What is the girl’s name?” Céline asked. “Just so I know who to expect.”

“Rhiannon, eldest daughter of the Baron Driesè.”

Something about that name was familiar . . . something from years past, but Céline couldn’t remember what.

Zelinka pushed the silver coins across the table. “Can you manage this, my dear?”

The situation was blissfully clear to Céline. The old woman worked for the prospective groom’s father—or perhaps the groom himself—and she wanted assurances that the wedding would take place, thus ensuring her own fat fee.

But if Kochè was escorting Zelinka, it meant the situation was also somehow connected to Sub–Prince Damek, so even if she’d wanted to, Céline was in no position to refuse.

“Yes, I can manage easily,” she answered.

“Be sure you do,” Kochè said in a low tone, speaking for the first time. “Be sure the girl says yes.”

Céline blinked and glanced at Amelie. What interest could he have here? He was far from noble, so nothing that Madam Zelinka arranged could possibly be connected to him.

“Of course she will,” the old woman said, standing up and hobbling toward the door. She hadn’t touched her tea. “Good–bye, my dear. What a pleasant visit this has been.”

Captain Kochè opened the door for her, but he kept his eyes on Céline, moving his gaze from her waist to her breasts. Now that his hair had dried partially, it looked even greasier. She fought to hold back a shudder.

Then, without another word, both Kochè and the old woman left as quickly as they’d come.

Céline shook her head, wishing she knew even a little more. “What do you suppose this is all about?”

Amelie shrugged. “At least he’s gone.” She walked over and looked down at the silver coins. “And that is easy money.”

Yes, Céline had to agree. It was easy money.

Lieutenant Jaromir hid behind the tree line, peering toward the edge of the village. Though he’d grown up in the wet world of Droevinka, even he was becoming uncomfortable in the cold spring rain. His chain armor was dripping, and his tan tabard was soaked though.

“What are they doing in there?” he asked quietly. “They didn’t even go all the way into the village.”

He was about to say more, but when he looked at his companion, the words died on his lips. Sub–Prince Anton, his lord and closest friend, had gone pale.

“It’s an apothecary’s shop,” Anton whispered. “They’ve gone to the seer who lives there.”

“A seer?” Jaromir asked. “In that rat hole of a village? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been inside the place.”

Jaromir peered through the trees again at the two–story shop, having a hard time picturing his prince inside such a dwelling. Two soldiers in black tabards waited outside the front door with the horses, while Captain Kochè and the old marriage broker went inside.

“Why would Damek send Zelinka here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Anton answered. “The last I heard, my brother’s marriage was a sealed bargain.” He shivered.

At least he was wearing a cloak, but Jaromir didn’t like the thought of him being out for so long in this rain. At the age of twenty–three, Anton was already a good leader, but he was slight of build, and his health was not strong. His brown hair only made his skin look whiter, and the circles under his eyes didn’t help.

“You think Rhiannon’s having second thoughts about marrying your brother? ” Jaromir asked.

“I don’...