Amelie, as always, was dressed in her breeches, faded blue shirt, and short canvas jacket. Céline knew better than to even suggest anything else.
“Something’s wrong,” Amelie said as they approached the large archway of the great hall. “We haven’t passed any other guests, and I don’t hear any voices.”
Paying more attention to their surroundings, Céline realized her sister was right. Normally, from this range, they would hear the sounds of laughter and chatting echoing from the hall.
Céline and Amelie passed through the archway, expecting to see a hundred well-dressed guests—perhaps all hushed to silence for some reason—only to find the vast chamber nearly empty.
A light supper had been laid out on one of the long tables, and a few of the castle guards were eating cold ham with bread and drinking mugs of ale. One of the guards glanced over at them.
Before either of the sisters could inquire further, a deep voice sounded behind them.
“Céline.”
She turned to see Lieutenant Jaromir walking toward them.
“Did we get the night wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, the banquet was canceled.”
At the strained expression on his face, she felt a sudden coldness in the pit of her stomach.
“Canceled? Why weren’t we sent word? Is Prince Anton ill?”
“No, he’s not ill, and you weren’t sent word because something has come up that . . .” He faltered and glanced at Amelie. “You both need to come upstairs with me, to his apartments.”
As Amelie followed her sister and Jaromir into Anton’s apartments, she struggled with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Part of her couldn’t help feeling glad that something, anything, seemed to be happening, but she and Céline would never be called for a private meeting like this unless it was serious . . . and unless Anton wanted something from them.
Amelie closed the door behind herself and glanced around.
Most princes lived in some luxury, but Anton appeared to prefer austerity. There were tapestries on the walls and a large hearth. But the furnishings consisted of a messy writing desk, a few heavy wooden chairs, and rows of bookshelves along the walls. It looked more like the chambers of a scholar than those of a prince. A closed door stood on the same wall as the hearth, but Amelie knew it led to his sleeping chambers—as Céline had tended him once when he was ill.
Anton himself stood beside one of the heavy wooden chairs, wearing a simple blue tunic and black breeches. The expression on his face was no less strained than Jaromir’s, causing Amelie’s apprehension to increase. But then Anton’s gaze stopped on Céline, and he started slightly. She’d put some effort into her appearance tonight, and it showed.
“Céline . . . ,” he said, his eyes lingering on her silk gown.
“What’s happened?” Céline asked him, sounding openly worried.
Anton motioned them all further inside. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again.
“I hardly know where to begin,” he said finally. “Jaromir . . . perhaps you could . . . ?”
Jaromir ran a hand over the top of his head, and Amelie’s apprehension turned to alarm.
“What is going on?” she asked. “Does this have anything to do with that messenger who arrived from Castle Pählen today?”
“How did you know that?” Jaromir shook his head quickly. “No, it doesn’t matter. The prince needs your help to help solve a . . . difficulty for his father.”
“What kind of difficulty?” Céline asked, and suddenly Amelie regretted coming anywhere near the castle tonight. Earlier today, Céline had seemed more herself than she had in months, and now she was getting that haunted look in her eyes again.
“Have you ever heard of the Ryazan silver mines?” Anton asked, entering the conversation again.
Both sisters shook their heads. They’d both lived their entire lives in Shetâna before coming here.
“My father has owned these mines for the past five years, and they have proven quite . . . lucrative.” He hesitated for a few breaths, as if steeling himself, and then began speaking again, spilling out a bizarre story of the soldiers assigned to these mines turning into beasts, killing the contracted laborers, and then having to be killed themselves.
Amelie stood tense, waiting to see where this was going.
“At last count, my father had lost nine men to this affliction, at least one of whom was an officer,” Anton finished quietly, “and production at the mines has come to a standstill. He’s asked me to solve this for him, and he’s threatened to turn to Damek if I cannot.” He locked eyes with Céline. “It’s a test of leadership.”
Céline didn’t respond, but her left hand was trembling slightly.
“Even if any of this wild tale is true,” Amelie said, stepping in front of her sister. “What does it have to do with us?”
Jaromir sighed, looking beyond miserable, but Amelie was not about to make this easy on him. She wanted to know exactly why she and Céline had been dragged in here to listen to this.
“Prince Anton believes that sending a new contingent won’t help,” Jaromir finally answered. “He wants the three of us—you, me, and Céline—to solve this . . . as we did before.”
“No!” Amelie spat at him. She’d been feeling useless and restless lately, but Céline wasn’t going anywhere near some pack of Pählen soldiers reportedly turning into “beasts.”
“I can keep you both safe,” Jaromir insisted. “I’ll be there with you. While you and Céline use your abilities to figure out what’s happening, I will have no other task than protecting you. Once you know the truth, you turn it over to me, and I will take action . . . just like our plan last time.”
“You want us to read these soldiers,” Céline asked quietly, “their pasts and futures and figure out what is happening to them?”
“I’d never ask this of you, Céline,” Anton answered raggedly. “I don’t want to send you to . . .” He trailed off. “But this is the first time my father has asked me for a personal favor. I cannot refuse. I cannot fail, and this cannot be solved through force.” He stepped closer to Céline. “Jaromir and I have been planning all afternoon, and we’ve come up with several provisions. I will send you and Amelie as ladies of my court, as my personal healers and seers, to ensure you are given due respect from the soldiers stationed at Ryazan. For the journey itself, Jaromir will take a small contingent of our own guards, and as added protection we will dress you both in red cloaks.”
Amelie wanted to shake her head at his “provisions.” Droevinka was often in a state of civil war, even small wars between the houses. In years past, traveling healers who attempted to help wounded soldiers had often been killed along the road as spies or enemy combatants. Somehow—and no one quite knew where this started—they began wearing red cloaks to try to distinguish themselves. Still, too many of them were being lost, and the country was facing a shortage of skilled healers. As a result, all the princes had gathered and agreed that no factions would harm those in red cloaks.
“And you think those cloaks will protect us from madmen turning into beasts?” Amelie asked angrily.
“No,” Jaromir stated. “I will do that.”
To Amelie’s further discomfort, so far, Céline had not refused, but the tremble in her left hand was growing worse.
“You’ll need to dress as traveling ladies of my court,” Anton added, glancing at Amelie’s breeches.