Oh, this just got better and better.
“We haven’t agreed to go anywhere,” she told him.
His expression darkened, and she fought to hold her tongue. Anton was normally well-mannered, but like all princes of this nation, he was a warlord vying to hold on to power, and he expected to be obeyed.
“I am asking you to do this for me,” he said tightly.
Without thinking, Amelie exploded in the only way she could, by making her own demands. “What’s in it for us?”
Céline gasped, and Jaromir’s face tightened in shock. He stared at her as if she were a stranger.
Instantly, Amelie regretted her words and wished she could take them back. They might have done a service for Anton last spring, but he had not only given her and Céline a safe refuge and his protection; he’d given them an apothecary shop with an herb garden and a built-in livelihood. They owed him more than they could ever repay.
Only Anton did not appear affected by her demand. Instead, he looked her up and down as if she were a simpleton. “As reward, you might receive me as grand prince of your nation. Unless you would prefer Damek?”
Amelie glanced away, embarrassed.
“We cannot refuse,” Céline whispered.
Everyone fell silent, and as Anton again took in the sight of Céline’s silk gown and loose hair, it was his turn to appear embarrassed. But the expression passed quickly, and he drew himself to full height.
“Go home and rest tonight,” he said. “Come back up to the castle and see Helga tomorrow. Don’t bother about packing anything other than medicinal supplies you might wish to bring. Helga will get you both packed and prepared for the journey. You’ll ride out at midday.” He paused. “I swear Jaromir will keep you from harm.”
Céline didn’t meet his eyes, but she nodded.
After a nearly sleepless night in her own bed, the following morning Céline found herself back up at the castle, inside a guest room, trapped between two very strong-willed women.
“I am not wearing those,” Amelie insisted.
“Oh, yes, you are, girlie,” Helga countered, shoving both a green wool gown—which laced up the front—and a white cotton shift at Amelie. “His lord majesty lieutenant says you’re going in disguise for your own safety, so go in disguise you will! Now, get those breeches off or I’ll pin you to that bed and pull ’em off myself.”
Amelie’s eyes narrowed. “You can try.”
Helga squared off with the gown and shift over one arm, and her hands clenched into fists. She appeared to be at least in her seventies, with thick white hair up in a bun that was partially covered by an orange kerchief. Her wrinkled face had a dusky tone, and she wore a faded homespun dress that might have once been purple.
“And what of your sister?” she accused. “His lord majesty lieutenant says you’ll be safe if you arrive as ladies of the court who’ve also taken up the red cloak. Mistress Céline’s safety depends on this as well. If you show up dressed like a hooligan boy, Jaromir’s story won’t hold water for a minute, and if those soldiers don’t believe it of you, they won’t believe it of her either. Then what happens?”
Amelie stood shaking with rage, but with gritted teeth, she finally held her out hand. “Oh, give them to me.”
Céline breathed softly in relief, but it was the first and only hint of relief she’d felt since last night. No matter how important this task might be, a part of her couldn’t believe what Anton was asking. She had begun to think he cared for her, that he’d been giving her all the time she needed to heal. But . . . it seemed he’d simply not required her abilities until now, and the moment he did, he’d not hesitated to ask. Worse, in spite of Jaromir’s skill with a sword, Céline and Amelie were being sent into danger—and Anton knew it.
Céline couldn’t help feeling numb. Nothing was as she’d thought.
As Amelie angrily pulled off her faded blue shirt, Helga stepped back and examined the lavender wool gown Céline had arrived wearing. “Good. That will do nicely. Ladies wear wool when traveling. Now, come and look at what I’ve packed for you.”
With little choice, Céline moved to obey, but she couldn’t help viewing Helga with affection. Though the old woman was officially a servant here in the castle, Céline suspected she was more. For one, everyone else treated Jaromir with deference and respect—even fear on occasion—but Helga often referred to him sarcastically as “his lord majesty lieutenant” and had a tendency to boss him around . . . and for some reason, he let her.
Even more, Helga had been responsible for helping Céline and Amelie understand at least the roots of who they were and where their mother had come from: the Móndyalítko, or “the world’s little children,” traveling gypsies.
Before arriving in Sèone, Céline and Amelie had known little of their origins.
Their father had been a village hunter for Shetâna, and one year, he’d been on a long-distance hunt, lasting several weeks, and he’d come back with their mother and married her. Then the couple had built an apothecary shop in Shetâna and started a small family. Once Céline and Amelie were old enough, their mother taught them to read. She taught Céline herb lore and the ways of healing—while saying nothing of her own past.
Neither of the sisters had ever heard the term “Mist-Torn” before Helga explained it to them, that not only were they born of a Móndyalítko mother, but they were of a special line called the Mist-Torn, each of whom possessed a natural power. As sisters, Céline and Amelie were two sides of the same coin, one able to read the future and one able to read the past.
This knowledge had changed their lives.
“I’ve packed a second wool dress for each of you,” Helga was saying, “and a formal gown for both of you as well, should Captain Keegan be one of those officers who likes to entertain.”
Amelie looked over with her face turning red. “I thought we going to be in the middle of a forest.”
Helga nodded sagely, causing her kerchief to fall further askew. “Yes, and some of those captains posted to the middle of nowhere insist on bringing their own wine and goblets and putting on airs to try to pretend they ain’t in the middle of nowhere. His lord majesty lieutenant has no idea what you’re walking into, and he told me to make sure you were prepared.”
“Thank you, Helga,” Céline said. “We know you’re trying to help.”
Helga grunted and turned back to the large travel bags. “I’ve got stockings and clean shifts and brushes for your hair. Do you have any potions you need to need to pack?”
Céline bit the inside of her mouth at the word “potions” and went to the door to retrieve a large box of supplies she’d brought up from the shop. Like Jaromir, she had no idea what they were walking into and wanted to be prepared for any contingency.
“Will there be room in the provisions wagon?” she asked.
“The lieutenant will make room,” Helga answered, hefting the box.
“I can barely move in this thing,” Amelie complained.
Glancing over at her sister, Céline saw that she was trying to swing her arms while wearing the green gown.
“You’ll get used to it,” Céline said, almost crossly. Really . . . they had bigger worries than Amelie being forced to abandon her breeches and put on a dress.
“The color suits you,” Helga said.
Indeed, the shade of forest green did suit Amelie’s pale skin. The gown was simple, long sleeved, with a straight neckline. The skirt was not too full, though it did seem rather long. Hopefully, she wouldn’t trip over it.
Crouching, Amelie tucked her dagger into a sheath inside her boot.