“I had to,” he repeated. “I’d chosen Graham as the next target. I should have chosen him sooner. He’s no soldier. But . . . your sister knew, and if she could see the future, then you might be able to see the past.”
“So then you decided not to turn Graham, and you turned whatever poor soul was closest to our tent?”
He didn’t answer. She saw a flicker in his eyes . . . and realized he was done talking and about to charge—or do something. He was a trained soldier. A lieutenant. More, he was strong enough that he’d broken the neck of a Móndyalítko shape-shifter. She was good with her dagger but no match for him physically.
Moving as fast as she could, she threw the rock, aiming for his head. It connected with a cracking sound, and his neck snapped back. Darting through the brush, she ran back the way they’d come—toward the provisions tent.
Jaromir immediately set up a circle of perimeter guards around the mining encampment, with men to spare. Once Captain Keegan had been settled inside one of the shacks, Jaromir turned to a more detailed assessment of the weapons on hand. All the soldiers had at least one. About half the men had spears, seven of them carried loaded crossbows, and the rest had swords.
Even in their current situation, the camp was certainly defensible.
But how could Quinn have ordered everyone over here without gathering more spears and crossbows first? The man must have been badly shaken to overlook such essentials. That thought got him thinking that Quinn and Amelie should have returned by now.
They would probably come trotting back at any moment.
It would be best to have the first hunting party set up. Looking around, he noted that too many of the miners and Móndyalítko were still outside their homes, trying to learn what was happening. Several of the men carried pickaxes, and Jaromir welcomed their help, but he thought the elderly, the women, and the children should be moved inside behind locked or barred doors.
Seeing Céline and Rurik only a few paces away, he closed the distance. He could have Céline see to the civilians, and Rurik could help him with a hunting party. Jaromir knew the detailed backgrounds of all his men.
“Rurik,” he said, “isn’t your father Prince Lieven’s gamekeeper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’ve hunted with him?”
Rurik had sheathed his sword, but his left hand now gripped his right, as if the question unsettled him. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. I want you to walk the perimeter and pick out five other men with experience as well. Replace them with our surplus guards. I don’t want the line weakened. As soon as Amelie and Corporal Quinn get back with more weapons, you can lead the first hunting party.”
Even in her red cloak, Céline shivered slightly in the night air, and Jaromir turned to her. “Can you get the women and children to go back inside? Have them lock or bar their doors.”
“Of course,” she answered.
But Rurik hadn’t moved, and a light sheen broke out on his forehead. “Sir . . . perhaps I should stay here. I’m the only man from Sèone you have, and you’ll need me to ride for our escort when this is over.”
Jaromir stiffened. Rurik had been acting strangely since the morning he’d been ordered to replace Pavel, but now he sounded desperate. Céline was watching him in confusion as well. Rurik was no coward. Jaromir knew him to be a solid fighter who had once saved Anton from a rushing wild boar. Rurik didn’t fear hunting . . . so what made him so desperate now?
He’s hiding something.
The thought sickened Jaromir that one of his trusted men was keeping a secret . . . but it couldn’t be denied. It was all over Rurik’s face.
“All right.” Jaromir nodded. “Just pick out a party, and I’ll have someone else lead it.”
Relief passed across Rurik’s face, and Jaromir moved like lightning, stepping behind him, pinning his arms, and lifting his feet off the ground.
“Céline!” Jaromir called.
He didn’t have to tell her what he wanted.
She came toward them with her hand out.
Rurik went wild, kicking and struggling to break free. “No! Céline! Don’t do it. It’s not what you think. Don’t do it!”
Céline stepped to the side, but she didn’t slow down. She knew Rurik would never be able to break away from Jaromir . . . and Jaromir was right about this. She’d suspected something was off about Rurik for days now, but he’d never appeared even close to this desperate before. He was hiding something.
This was hardly the time or the place for a reading, but they were in danger from something unknown here, and no possible clue could be put off.
Reaching out, she gripped his right hand—which was held tightly against his side—and closed her eyes, feeling for the spark of his spirit.
A sensation of panic hit her like a wall. The first jolt hit within seconds, followed immediately by another jolt, and the mists rushed in. She was jerked forward in time so fast that she grew dizzy speeding along the corridor of white and gray.
The mists cleared.
She stood in a great hall. Rurik was kneeling on the stone floor beside her.
Looking up, Céline saw a muscular man with graying hair and a proud bearing sitting in a chair on a dais up above. He wore a loose red jerkin accented by gold thread. Three jeweled rings on each hand adorned his fingers.
“My lord,” Rurik said with his head bowed.
“My son’s report was vague, as always. That is his way. Tell me, who inside the camp was responsible?”
Inside the vision, Céline’s mind raced. The man on the dais was Prince Lieven. She’d never seen him before, as no vision of the future had ever taken her to Castle Pählen. But what was Rurik doing? He appeared to be giving the prince a report outside of what Anton had authorized.
“The criminal was Corporal Quinn,” Rurik said. “A spy and infiltrator of Prince Damek.”
“And these two . . . seers that my son employs, they uncovered this for Anton?”
“Yes, my lord. Prince Anton is ever resourceful in those he chooses to serve him.”
Just as Lieven was about to speak again, the mists closed in, and Céline was jerked away, rushing backward in time. It was the briefest future vision she’d ever experienced.
But when she opened her eyes and she saw Jaromir holding Rurik, she was so shaken and disoriented that she stumbled and fell to her knees and could not stop herself from crying out.
“He’s a spy for Anton’s father! He’s going to tell Prince Lieven all the details of this mission that Anton would not!”
Jaromir roared and shoved Rurik forward.
In one swift motion, Jaromir drew a dagger from the sheath on his belt.
“Sir, no!” Rurik shouted, spinning around. “I’m no spy!”
Céline tried to recover from the rapid, dizzying vision, and she somehow scrambled in between Jaromir and Rurik, blaming herself for this. Jaromir would kill anyone he suspected of betraying Anton, and she knew it. She’d seen a body lying at her feet once.
“Lieutenant!” she cried, holding one hand up.
“I’m no spy!” Rurik insisted. “My father asked me to share anything that would make Anton look better to Prince Lieven. Prince Anton won’t report any dark deeds done by his brother, nor ever say a word about his own strengths. My father . . . he thought I should use my position as a messenger to tell Prince Lieven the truth, that Anton is a better leader. I’d never do or say anything to injure him, Lieutenant. You have to believe me.”
Jaromir still had murder written all over his face, but he hadn’t struck yet . . . and he was listening.
“So, that’s why you were so desperate to survive this mission?” Céline asked. “Because Prince Lieven is expecting a report from you?”