In panic, Amelie pushed herself up. She knew what Quinn was doing: trying to get a firm enough hold to break Jaromir’s neck. But Jaromir’s hand flashed downward toward something on top of a crate, and the next thing Amelie knew, he had slipped around behind Quinn, and Amelie saw what he’d grabbed: a thick piece of twine torn loose from a fallen crate.
In an instant, he had the twine over Quinn’s head, and he jerked it taut, using both hands now to cross-pull it closed around Quinn’s throat. Quinn bucked wildly, trying to throw him off, but Jaromir held on, pulling tighter, shutting off Quinn’s breath.
From where she was half-crouched, Amelie saw fear dawning on Quinn’s face. His mouth opened, and part of his tongue protruded, but she didn’t look away. She watched as both the fear and the life faded from his eyes.
Jaromir kept twisting and pulling the twine for several moments after Amelie thought Quinn was already dead.
Then he dropped the body and looked over at her.
“Amelie,” he breathed.
Jaromir stared at Amelie, who was half-crouched among the fallen crates. He could see angry welts on her throat . . . but she was alive and looking back at him.
He ran her to her, pulling her up against his chest. “Let me see your neck. Can you breathe?”
She didn’t struggle in his arms; she just let him hold her.
“It was him,” she blurted out. “He’s the one who’s been turning all the soldiers.”
“I know. Do you know how?”
“An elixir . . . a black substance he puts on their skin. He keeps it in a metal flask.”
He held her a moment longer to make sure her breathing was normal, and then he leaned her back against a crate.
“A metal flask? I’m going to check his body.”
Moving back through the fallen crates, Jaromir didn’t see where Quinn might be hiding a flask. He wasn’t wearing his cloak, and the pockets of his breeches seemed too snug. But Jaromir searched the body anyway.
“Anything?”
“No.”
“Do you know which tent is his?”
Jaromir did. He retrieved his sword and slid it back into its sheath. When he turned to help Amelie up, he found she was already standing.
“Your face is a mess,” she said.
He touched his jaw, which had taken several blows—one of which had come from the butt of a spear. “It’ll heal.”
They left the provisions tent and walked through the empty camp.
“Is Céline all right?” Amelie asked.
“She was when I came after you. Rurik is with her, and all the soldiers. We’ll get back to her as soon as we can.”
Upon entering the tent he knew to be Quinn’s private quarters, he looked around at the sparse furniture, but Amelie walked right to the bed and picked up the cloak lying there.
“He kept it in his pocket.” She carefully pulled out a pair of leather gloves, but her expression turned anxious as she continued feeling the fabric of the cloak. “It’s not in here. We have to find it, Jaromir. Just a few drops on the skin will turn a man.”
A small travel chest sat near the end of the bed. Jaromir walked over and saw a padlock. Drawing his sword, he used the hilt to break the lock and opened the chest.
Amelie stood behind him.
“Oh . . . there.” She pointed down.
Seeing the edge of a stopper, he moved an extra shirt and saw a small metal flask.
“Don’t touch it,” Amelie warned. “There could be some of the liquid on the outside.” Leaning over, she used the shirt to wrap the flask without touching it.
“What do we do with it?” he asked, knowing they couldn’t just pour it out if there was a danger of anyone or anything touching it.
“We’ll take it to Céline. She’ll know how to dispose of it properly.”
A realization hit him. “This is over. Once we hunt down the last beast, this is finished. You’ve done it.”
They had succeeded, and Anton would be able to report to his father that the issue was resolved and the silver would soon be flowing again. Jaromir felt an emotion he couldn’t explain, something beyond gratitude.
“Amelie, you were right back at the castle. You deserve . . . something for what you’ve done here. If there is there is anything I can do, anything I can give you, tell me.”
At first she was quiet, and then she said, “There is.”
Within a few sentences, she explained to him what she wanted. As he listened, he didn’t completely understand why she would ask for such a thing, but it made him love her more.
“Will you arrange it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Chapter Fifteen
The next day, Jaromir walked through the soldiers’ encampment toward Keegan’s tent. He was still having some difficulty believing that Rurik, Marcus, and Céline had managed to take down the last wolf by themselves, but . . . the beast was dead, and Quinn was dead, and Jaromir still had a number of loose ends to tie up.
That morning, he’d sent out two messengers on horseback.
First, he’d sent Rurik back to Castle Sèone with a letter to Anton—along with some strict stipulations. Jaromir had not yet decided what to do about Rurik in the long run, but he was convinced that the young guardsman was no traitor and had thought himself to be working in the best interests of Anton. Of course, Rurik could never be allowed to function as a messenger between Anton and Prince Lieven again, but in their current situation, Jaromir didn’t have anyone else to send home, so he’d sent Rurik. First, though, he’d made the guardsman promise to deliver the letter to Anton and then stay put. He was not to leave Castle Sèone or take a message to Prince Lieven for any reason. Jaromir had made it blindingly clear that Rurik’s future in Sèone depended on him following this order. Rurik had agreed and thanked him.
Second, Jaromir had commissioned a Pählen soldier to carry a letter to Prince Lieven.
And now . . . Jaromir arrived at the tent of Captain Keegan, and he paused at the doorway. A part of him was looking forward to the conversation about to take place, and a part of him was dreading it.
Walking in, he made his way toward the back.
“Captain?” he called before stepping around the last tapestry.
“Here.”
Continuing on, Jaromir found Keegan alone and sitting up in bed. He’d been carried back and settled the night before, and now he seemed able to eat and drink on his own, though he was still weak, and according to Céline, he would be for some time.
But his expression was a mix of caution and anxiety, and Jaromir wondered how much he’d been told.
“So it was Quinn,” Keegan said flatly.
Well, he’d been told that much.
“Yes, and he was working in the employ of Prince Damek.”
As those words sank in, Keegan’s left hand began to shake.
Jaromir pulled a chair over beside the bed and sat down. “I sent a letter to Prince Lieven this morning.”
“You?” The anxiety on Keegan’s face grew more pronounced.
“You’re not in any state to take command here. I’ve volunteered to remain here until your replacement arrives.”
Keegan just watched him uncertainly, most likely wondering where this was going.
Jaromir leaned back. “You needn’t worry. I didn’t tell your lord much. Only that the issue has been solved, the silver will be flowing again soon, that you’ve been taken seriously ill, and that I’ll maintain command for now, but that a new contingent and commander must be sent as soon as possible.”
“That’s all you told him?”
“Prince Lieven has never been one to press for details. He cares about results.” Jaromir paused. “And so long as you agree to a request I’m about to make, I’ll ensure he doesn’t learn anything more.”