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Céline looked around the circle and smiled again. “Who’s next?”

Amelie stopped listening and turned her head slightly, attempting to glance behind herself.

Jaromir was standing outside the circle of seated men, watching Céline with gratitude on his face. He was no fool, and he must have felt the nervous energy of the men as they made camp. Now Céline had lightened the mood.

Yet an unwanted wave of unhappiness flooded through Amelie.

For some reason—and she had no idea why—she didn’t want Jaromir to think badly of her. It was outside her nature to either explain or apologize. In her entire life, she’d only managed it a few times with Céline. But Céline had always forgiven her with great warmth.

Jaromir was not a man known for his warmth.

Still, without allowing herself to think, Amelie climbed to her feet. She could not go another day leaving things the way they were.

Making her way outside the circle, she almost balked when Jaromir saw her coming and his expression closed up. How would she feel if she tried to explain herself and her attempt changed nothing? The humiliation would be too much.

But she couldn’t stop.

“Jaromir . . . ,” she tried to begin.

He looked back toward the fire, and her heart sank.

“I wanted to . . . ,” she stammered. “I wanted to tell you that I didn’t mean what I said in Prince Anton’s chambers.”

His head turned quickly, and his eyes dropped to her face.

“Céline and I grew up so poor,” she rushed on. “We had to ask for payment or trade for anything we did for others. What I said . . . it just came out. I felt backed into a corner, and when that happens, I always say the wrong thing. But I didn’t mean it. I am grateful for all Anton has done for us, and I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

All the hardness in his face vanished, and his brown eyes grew soft. “Don’t be sorry. You know I lived as a hired sword once, poor and hungry, and those scars never heal. I should have realized. You’re here now, and you’re ready to help. Let’s say no more about it.”

Amelie blinked in near disbelief. She’d reached out to someone besides Céline, and he had reached back. He’d been kind. She didn’t know what to say.

“Besides,” he added. “So far, the journey has been worth it just to see you in that dress.”

“Well, don’t get used to it!” she snapped before she could stop herself.

He flashed her a grin.

She didn’t return the smile, but she felt much, much better.

* * *

Céline continued entertaining the men until they’d finished their suppers. By trade, she didn’t read palms, and this certainly wasn’t how it was normally done, but she knew how to lean upon her deeply ingrained skills at gauging facial inflections, and her only goal tonight had been to create a distraction and help the men relax a bit in this oppressive forest. She’d succeeded. Glancing over, she saw Amelie talking to Jaromir, and the sight made her glad. Jaromir had been a bit standoffish on this journey, and no matter how much Amelie pretended otherwise, it was clear she’d been bothered.

“All right,” Céline said, “I need to eat my supper, too.” She took a step from the campfire.

“Oh, just one more,” Guardsman Rurik begged, his brown curls looking frizzy in the damp night air. “Sergeant Bazin’s wife threw him out again, clothes in the street and all. It was quite something. Can you see if she’ll take him back?”

A stocky, middle-aged guard choked on his tea and looked over. “Rurik!”

“Well, don’t you want to know?” Rurik asked him.

But Céline would not be tempted. Waving Rurik off, she began walking again. Nearing the edge of the circle, though, she stopped.

Corporal Pavel stood beside a dark tree, staring at her. She realized he must have been standing there in the shadows, watching her the whole time without joining in. His expression was sad, almost hungry, and she fought against feeling sorry for him. His moods could change swiftly. She’d underestimated him once, and it had almost cost her.

Changing directions, she walked more in the direction of Jaromir and Amelie.

“I’m going down to the creek to wash,” she said as she passed them.

“Do you want me to come?” Jaromir asked.

There was probably some water left in one of the buckets, but Céline was really after a few moments to herself. “No, I won’t be long, and I can see well at night. I just need to wash off the dust.”

Overhead, the clouds parted and moonlight shone down through the trees. She made her way down a slope, hearing the water rushing a short distance below. Up above, she could still hear the voices of the men as they talked around the fire, and she sank to a crouch, dipping her hands in the cold water and bringing them up to her face.

Her first moment of solitude in several days.

A part of her didn’t want to dwell on what lay ahead . . . on her promise to Anton that she wouldn’t fail, but success was going to involve more than making a few men laugh around a campfire. She would have to read the soldiers at Ryazan for real, to invoke her ability, and in all likelihood, to see blood and death in someone’s future.

Could she bear to go through that again?

“Céline,” said a quiet voice from behind her.

Still in her crouched position, she whirled in alarm to see Pavel standing a few paces away. Had he followed her down here? His expression was still sad and hungry.

In the spring, when she’d been engaged in solving the series of murders for Anton, she and Pavel had become friends. She’d known he was attracted to her, and she had used this to her own advantage once. When she and Jaromir disagreed over the best way to protect a potential victim, she’d tried to circumvent Jaromir’s authority and ended up offering Pavel a cup of tea laced with opium—as he had been guarding the victim. He took the tea from her hands, thinking she was favoring him with her attention. Shortly after drinking it, he’d fallen asleep, allowing her to sneak the victim outside the castle for better protection.

Yes, this had been a questionable action on her part, but at the time, it seemed her only possible course.

Pavel had been reprimanded, and afterward, in his anger, he’d cornered Céline inside a shack and terrified her. Later he regretted this, but it didn’t matter. She no longer trusted him. Though he kept this dark side of himself hidden away much of the time, she had seen it.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he asked. “Are you so angry that you won’t even talk?”

Glancing up the slope, she became very aware that they were alone. She wasn’t remotely angry. She was afraid of him. “I need to get back to Amelie.”

She tried to walk past, but his right hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist. Before she realized what was happening, he had her back pressed up against a tree. She gasped, instinctively pushing against his chest. He didn’t seem to notice she was struggling.

“Are you punishing me?” he whispered in her ear. “You know I’m sorry about . . . about before, but you played with me, tricked me, made me look a fool to the lieutenant.” He raised his left hand and touched her cheek. “That’s all done now.”

Her mind raced for a way to stay calm and get herself free, but when he moved his hand down her face, toward her throat, she couldn’t help trying to cry out.

“Amel—”

Instantly, his hand was over her mouth, and his eyes flashed in anger. “You’re going to stay here and talk to me! Tell me what I have to do to make you forgive me, to stop punishing me.”

She couldn’t move in his grip, and she was struggling to breathe though her nose. Somehow, she got one hand up around his wrist, trying to pull it off her mouth.