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Only two things stopped her.

First, “ladies of court” should probably not be seen sitting on top of the provisions like so much extra baggage.

Second . . . Jaromir hadn’t looked at her once since the journey began. In fact, he hadn’t looked at her since the night up in Anton’s apartments. She’d both expected him to tease her about the green dress and make jokes about someone finally getting her into a skirt—and dreaded that he would do so.

But he hadn’t.

He hadn’t said a word.

With a sinking feeling, she thought she knew why. His face had been so shocked when she’d demanded of Anton, “What’s in it for us?” and he hadn’t looked at her since. In truth, she should be thrilled, dancing with joy that she’d finally done something to make him stop teasing her, flirting with her, attempting to make her like him. She knew his reputation for going through women, and she had no intention of being just another girl on his long list.

But still . . . was he angry with her? Had he been so appalled by her words to Anton that his opinion of her was forever changed? Quite unexpectedly, she found the prospect upsetting.

“Are you all right?” Céline asked tiredly, wincing at another jarring step of her own horse.

“Fine.”

Realizing her face must have given something away, Amelie pushed down all thoughts of Jaromir. Instead, she tried to ignore her aching backside and focus on the journey. A part of her had always wanted to travel, but she’d seldom had the chance. Once when she was younger, she’d visited the great city of Enêmûsk, but the actual journey had been somewhat of a blur.

Now she tried to keep track of the path they followed.

Castle Sèone was located in southwest Droevinka, not far from the Belaskian border. Even though Jaromir was well traveled, he carried a map, and he occasionally stopped and consulted it. He’d led them on a well-maintained road straight east at first, and then he’d turned north. She’d heard several of the soldiers mention that the Ryazan silver mines were at the top of Droevinka, right on the Stravinan border. But she couldn’t help noticing that the farther north they traveled, the thicker the trees seemed to grow and the more narrow and potholed the road became. It must turn to mud in the autumn.

The weather in Droevinka leaned toward cold and gray—sometimes even in summer. Amelie was accustomed to this.

But toward the end of this second day of the journey, she was beginning to find their surroundings downright oppressive. Daylight was fading, and old trees along the side of the narrow road were dotted with moss that dangled in scant beards from a few branches. Beneath the aroma of loam and wild foliage was an ever-present thin scent of decay. By the way several of the soldiers glanced around at the trees, she could see she wasn’t alone in noting the eerie quality of the forest.

“Small clearing ahead,” Jaromir called. “We’ll make camp for the night.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Céline said quietly. “I can’t wait to get off this horse.”

Within moments, they were off the road and dismounted, and a now somewhat familiar routine began. Several soldiers saw to the horses while others found branches for a fire and still others unpacked provisions. Whenever possible, Amelie and Céline tried to help, but Jaromir’s men were well trained, and Amelie felt more in the way than anything else.

“Voulter and Rimoux,” Jaromir said to a pair of men as he pointed west. “There’s a stream just below that drop-off. Go and fetch some water.”

Had he already known about the stream before stopping? Jaromir seemed to have planned for everything, and he knew how to give orders. Thankfully, he’d packed a small tent, and each night, one of the soldiers had set it up for Amelie and Céline so they wouldn’t have to sleep in the open.

By the fall of full darkness, camp had been set, water was boiling for tea, and several men were passing out rations of jerked beef, apples, and biscuits. Amelie moved to sit by the fire with her supper balanced in one arm. She had to keep her other hand free to lift the more than annoying hem of her skirt. She still hated wearing this dress and didn’t think she’d get used to it. The red cloak didn’t bother her so much. At least it was warm.

A few of the soldiers sat down beside her. The routine for setting camp and eating had been exactly the same last night, but tonight . . . something felt different. The men kept glancing into the thick, dark forest, and the long, dangling beards of moss from the nearest trees looked like black ropes, waiting to tangle whoever was foolish enough to go near.

Even Guardsman Rurik, who was known for his cheerful nature, sat down silently and kept his eyes lowered as he bit into an apple.

“Shall we have some entertainment?” Céline asked, smiling as she walked through the seated soldiers and stood near the fire. “You all look a glum lot to me.”

She wasn’t carrying any food, and her cloak was thrown back over her shoulders so that her arms were free. Amelie couldn’t help but feel a stab of admiration for her sister. Céline had a few faults, being overly sensitive for one, but at times that sensitivity could be useful. She’d probably felt the men’s trepidation over the past few hours even more keenly than had Amelie.

The difference was that Céline could do something about it.

“Guardsman Voulter,” Céline said, turning toward a young man with carrot red hair. “I saw you in the market last week, trying to win over Esmeralda, the butcher’s pretty daughter, and I could see she left you in some doubt.”

A few of the soldiers stopped eating and grinned as Guardsman Voulter’s face turned as red as his hair.

“Would you like to know how she will receive your attentions next time?” Céline asked.

“I’d like to know,” Rurik called out through a mouthful of apple.

Several of the others laughed.

Standing there with the darkness behind her, light from the flames glinting off her hair, and her red cloak thrown back, Céline looked every inch the beautiful gypsy fortune-teller.

“Would you like to know?” she asked Voulter more gently, and he nodded once.

Walking over, Céline took his hand.

“Oh, this is promising,” she said, gazing into his palm. She wasn’t really attempting to use her abilities and see his future, but the men didn’t know that. For five years, before her true power surfaced, Céline had made a good living pretending to read futures. She knew exactly what to say and do.

“Esmeralda’s father makes her family eat far too much meat,” she announced, still looking into Voulter’s palm. “I see here that the next time you see her, you bring her a small loaf of cinnamon bread and some strawberries—which are her favorites—and she is most welcoming and pleased to see you. Your attentions are gladly met.”

Most of the men were smiling in amusement now, and Céline turned to a soldier with a hint of gray at his temples. “You have a question. I can see it in your face.”

She was skilled at reading faces. She always had been.

The soldier hesitated and then said, “I’d like to get one more foal out of my mare, Aspen, but she’s growing older, and I don’t want to lose her. Will she be safe if I try?”

This was a trickier question. Céline had many friends in the village and had probably known that Esmeralda harbored a taste for cinnamon bread and strawberries. However, though this new dilemma was not as much fun as Voulter’s had been, all the men at the fire were listening intently, interested in the answer.

Céline didn’t hesitate. Walking over, she took the man’s hand and looked into his palm, running her finger down the centerline. “No, you are wise to be concerned. I see her in trouble if she breeds again. If you wish to keep her safe, you should not try.”

Amelie had a feeling this would be the answer. When in doubt, Céline normally erred on the side of safety, but she’d also managed to compliment the soldier on his wisdom and at the same time probably told him what he’d wanted to hear.