Witches in Red

Chapter Eight

As Céline made her way down the path between the encampments, then broke through the trees to see the collection of the soldiers’ tents, a low male voice caught her attention. She looked over to see Corporal Quinn quietly giving orders to the men who were about to take duty on watch.

His manner with them was so different from Captain Keegan’s. He spoke to the men with authority, but also with respect and an awareness of the strain they must be under. Young Guardsman Graham was in the group, looking as miserable and lost as he had at midday.

As Graham began to walk away, Quinn stopped him and said, “I’ve covered your post. You take the night off.”

This small act of kindness moved Céline, and she wondered how Quinn had ended up as a mere corporal serving under a man like Keegan.

Quinn was a much better leader.

This got her wondering about several things, and she changed directions to intercept him. Looking at him, her curiosity grew. He was the type of man that princes often sought out for service, tall and strong, like Jaromir, with clear eyes and a direct but easy manner. His sandy blond hair was cut just short enough not to look cropped, but not so long as to become tangled. She had a feeling he didn’t do anything by accident.

“Good evening, Corporal,” she said. “It has been quite a day.”

He nodded uncertainly. “I’m sorry about that scene in the barn.”

She was not up to giving him absolution, but neither would she make him feel worse, so she changed the subject. “It cannot have escaped your attention that Captain Keegan is hindering our efforts, despite Prince Anton’s letter. I was wondering . . . could you tell me how the captain managed to receive this assignment? He appears to despise nearly everyone and everything here, as if the assignment is beneath him.”

If Quinn was taken aback by her question, he hid it well. However, he also appeared to be considering whether or not he would answer her.

“I regret having to remind you that it was your prince who engaged my lord,” she added. “I’d like to know what we’re up against as far as cooperation goes.”

At that, Quinn shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know why the captain has been so reticent to approve your few requests. I had good reason to worry about taking one of those beasts alive, but I understood why you asked, and I wished you’d learned more.” He paused. “He should let you read the men. We can protect anyone you point out, and he knows it.”

Though his last statement was close to disloyalty, it gave her hope.

“How did he end up here?” she asked again.

Quinn sighed. “He volunteered, as a payment. The previous man in charge here, a Captain Asher, died of a fever, and Prince Lieven could find no one willing to replace him. My captain . . . he ended up in an awkward position over a gambling debt he couldn’t pay, and our prince asked him to volunteer for this duty. At the time, Lieutenant Sullian and I were serving under him . . .”

“And so you ended up here, too.”

He nodded.

“What was Sullian like?” she asked.

“Too softhearted. Nothing like the captain. Don’t get me wrong—he was a good man, but he didn’t belong in the military. I think he was the second son of a second son and had little choice.”

“The morning we arrived, Keegan mentioned that he was hoping for a replacement. Has he officially requested one?”

“Yes. He views this assignment as an insult and a punishment, and he feels he’s paid his dues.”

As Céline digested that, Quinn began to move away from her. “Forgive me, my lady, but I need to check in with him.”

“Of course. Thank you for talking to me.”

After bowing slightly, he strode off.

But Céline’s mind was reeling. How badly did Keegan want to be replaced? Did he want it badly enough to do something desperate in order to sabotage his position here? Could he be infecting his own men? The problem with that theory was that he didn’t strike her as unusually clever, and the question of how such a thing could be done continued to rear its head. Some kind of poison wasn’t likely. Of course it was possible, but she was too experienced an apothecary to find it probable. Yet . . . if it was something arcane, then what?

As she walked through the camp, her thoughts were so busy that she barely noticed when she’d arrived at her own tent.

Passing through the flap, she saw Amelie sitting on the bed. Dusk had set in and the candle lantern on the table was glowing.

“Oh, you’re back,” Céline said, glad to have her sister to bounce ideas off. “How was your afternoon? I just had the most interesting talk with Corporal Quinn.”

Amelie didn’t answer.

“He told me Keegan was forced to volunteer to accept a commission here due to an unpaid gambling debt,” Céline went on.

No answer came.

Turning, she realized her sister hadn’t said a word since she’d walked in. “Amelie?” Walking to the bed, she was startled by Amelie’s bleak expression. “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Leave me alone.”

Céline couldn’t believe her ears. In their entire lives together, Amelie had never spoken to her like that. Not once.

“Whatever it is, you should share it with me,” Céline said. “You and I don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Don’t we?” Amelie’s eyes flew up to her face. “What about you on our journey here? You told me nothing happened between you and Pavel. That was a lie, and you know it.”

The weight of everything came pressing down on Céline: the ugly poverty of this place, her inability to discover or solve anything, the senseless deaths that continued to occur, the thinly hidden fear of the soldiers—that any one of them might turn into a beast and start killing the others at any moment. It was all too much. Always before, no matter what happened, she’d had her sister, and right now, she felt alone.

Sinking onto the bed, she whispered, “I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Back in Sèone, I knew Pavel had feelings for me, and I used him in our last investigation. He was angry . . . so angry that he frightened me on purpose, and then I managed to avoid him. That second night of the journey, he caught me . . . and pinned me against a tree.”

“What?”

“It’s all right. Jaromir stopped him, but I can’t imagine what he must have been thinking when he walked up and saw us. I was just so embarrassed and I couldn’t bring myself to tell you, too. I’m sorry.”

“Céline,” Amelie breathed.

Now that she’d started speaking of these things, Céline couldn’t seem to stop. “I know things are much better for us in Sèone, but sometimes I can’t help feeling they were simpler back in Shetâna when it was just you and me. I’m so grateful to Anton and Jaromir for all they’ve done for us, but now both those men have become our friends, and they matter. I don’t know how to be friends with men, and yet I’m terrified of losing one of them or hurting one of them.”

Amelie hung her head. “Oh, Céline. I said the most awful thing to Jaromir. It was . . . it was so awful. I almost can’t believe I said it.”

“You quarreled with him?”

Amelie nodded, and her face shone with misery. “I wish I could take the words back. I wish I’d never said them.” She choked once. “I hurt him.”

Céline put both arms around her sister and pulled her close. “He’ll understand. He knows you have a temper.”

“This was more than temper. You didn’t hear it. I compared him to Keegan.”

Still holding Amelie, Céline realized what a cut that would be to Jaromir, but she was glad that she at least knew what was wrong.

“Let’s make a pact,” she whispered. “No more secrets no matter what. We vow to tell each other everything.”

Amelie gripped her back. “I promise.”

Before Céline could say more, an unfamiliar voice called from outside, “My lady?”

She didn’t know which one of them he was calling for, so she answered, “Yes?”

A soldier who’d been serving at dinner last night came through the flap carrying a tray, and she realized it was fully dark outside.

“I was asked to bring you dinner,” he said, moving in and setting the tray on the table. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, we’re fine. Thank you.”

He left as quickly as he’d entered, and Céline walked over to look down at two bowls of stew, fresh bread, and two goblets of wine. “Well, I guess we won’t be dining in the captain’s tent tonight.” That was a respite at least. She wondered where Jaromir and Rurik were eating.

“Do you think you could come to the table and eat some supper?” she asked Amelie. “We’ve not had much today.”

Somehow, they both managed to swallow some of the stew and bread. They had only the single candle lantern for light, but it provided enough.

“So what’s our next step?” Amelie asked, perhaps looking to speak of something else.

Céline had already given this some thought and could come up with only one conclusion. They were going to have to find a way to coerce Keegan into letting her read the men. At present, they were dead in the water until she had a new avenue to pursue.

But before she could answer, the sound of running feet came from outside the tent.

“Lady Céline!”

She knew the voice. It was Quinn. Without asking permission, he burst through the tent flap.

“Come quick!” he called. “The captain’s in pain. I think he’s dying.”

When Jaromir and Rurik’s dinner was delivered to their tent, Jaromir took it as an insult—that Keegan was deliberately avoiding him. In his current mood, Jaromir realized that he probably would have taken almost anything as an insult, but he wasn’t wrong about Keegan. For some reason, the man didn’t want Amelie or Céline reading any of the soldiers here, but sooner or later, he was going to have to agree. It was just a matter of time.

Unfortunately, the captain seemed determined to drag out the time as long as possible.

Because he was hungry, Jaromir ate the stew and bread and drank the goblet of wine. Rurik ate with him but had the good sense not to try to make conversation. Jaromir didn’t feel like talking, not after what Amelie had said to him.

However, when they’d finished, Jaromir stood up. “I’m going to go speak to Keegan.”

Walking out, he ignored the women’s tent and made his way directly to Keegan’s enormous tent toward the back of the encampment. Only a few steps outside, he heard a sound that gave him pause: a groaning like someone in pain. This was followed by a gagging sound.

“Captain!” a voice cried inside.

Grasping the hilt of his sword, Jaromir swept inside, uncertain of what he’d find.

It took him a moment to absorb the scene he walked in on. There was no one transforming into a wolf. Instead, Keegan was on his knees, gripping his stomach with both hands and gagging like he was trying to retch but couldn’t. Quinn knelt beside him with an anxious, helpless expression.

“Lieutenant!” Quinn called. “He just collapsed. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Hurrying over, Jaromir dropped down beside them. The captain looked ill indeed, choking and groaning, fingers digging into his own stomach. He began to fall to his side and Jaromir caught him.

“Run and get Céline,” he told Quinn. “Hurry.”

Quinn ran.

Keegan’s distress was increasing, and his eyes rolled back in his head. “It hurts,” he managed to say.

“What did you eat?” Jaromir asked.

Looking around, he saw dirty bowls and the remnants of supper on the table, but it looked to be the same stew and bread and wine that Jaromir and Rurik had eaten. By way of answer, Keegan groaned louder and doubled over in Jaromir’s arms. There was nothing to be done but wait.

Thankfully, Quinn was quick, and only moments later, he ushered both Céline and Amelie through the tent entrance. Jaromir couldn’t bring himself to look at Amelie, but right now, Céline was the one he needed.

Céline rushed over and looked down. “Can you carry him to the bed?”

Quinn came to help, and between the two of them, they got Keegan to the back of the tent and onto his bed. Céline wasted no time.

Sitting on the bed beside him, she looked into his eyes, pulling down the lower lids, and she felt his skin. When he gagged again, some of his dinner began to come up.

“Amelie, get a basin for him,” Céline called. Then she looked at Quinn. “He’s been poisoned.”

“Poisoned?”

As Jaromir had, Céline looked over at the table. Quinn followed her gaze.

“How long ago did you eat?” Céline asked.

“I don’t know.” Quinn sounded rattled. “Within the hour.”

“But you ate in here, and you both ate and drank the exact same things? Were you served wine from the same pitcher?”

Both Céline’s onslaught of questions and the idea that his captain had been intentionally poisoned was breaking through Quinn’s normal shielded demeanor.

“Of course we were served from the same pitcher and we ate the same . . .” He stopped. “No . . . the cook sent in a plate of mushrooms, fried in butter. They are a favorite of Keegan’s, but I don’t care for them.”

Céline jumped up. “Mushrooms? You’re certain? That was the only thing he ate that you did not?”

Quinn’s eyes shifted back and forth as if he was trying to think and failing.

“Quinn!” Céline nearly shouted. “You have to be sure. Various poisonings are treated quite differently. If it was mushrooms, we have no time to waste.”

“Yes.” He nodded, sounding more professional. “That plate of mushrooms is the only thing he ate that I did not.”

Céline started for the tent flap. She’d come with Quinn so quickly that apparently she’d not thought to bring her box. “I have to run back to our tent, but I’ll need boiling water, a lot of it, and as fast as you can.”

Then she was gone.

Jaromir glanced at Amelie, but to their credit, they moved into action. There was a campfire burning outside, and he called for an iron hook, while Amelie fetched a cast-iron pot of water, and they set it to boiling.

Céline wasn’t gone long and came running back with her box. Dropping to the ground by the campfire, she opened the box and took out a jar.

“I need a large mug,” she said.

By now, several of the off-duty soldiers, Rurik among them, had gathered and were asking questions, and one of them handed Céline a mug, which she filled with hot water. Then she opened the jar and measured several spoonfuls of a powered substance into the hot water and stirred it, blowing on it at the same time to cool the worst of the heat. She was moving so quickly, Jaromir had trouble following her actions.

Jumping up—without spilling a drop—she hurried back into the tent.

He followed.

Quinn was still at his captain’s side.

“Get him up,” Céline ordered. “He needs to drink all of this.”

“What is it?” Quinn asked, lifting Keegan up into a sitting position.

“A strong purgative. It will make him vomit.”

Jaromir felt rather than saw Amelie at his side, and they both watched the unpleasant scene that followed, in which Keegan tried to drink the concoction, then choked harder, and Céline doggedly forced the rest of it down his throat. She spilled some on her dress and his shirt. Watching her, Jaromir marveled at her calm, at her capability in an ugly situation. Her brand of courage might be different from his—and even from Amelie’s—but it was a sight to behold.

“Be ready with that basin,” Céline told Quinn. Looking back at Jaromir and Amelie, she added, “This is going to be a long night. The only way to save him is to get the mushrooms out of his system before they fully digest. That means we’re going to need to make him throw up and then throw up . . . and then throw up again until nothing but juices come from his stomach.”

She turned back to Quinn. “If you cannot face this, no one will think the worse of you. Amelie can assist me.”

He blinked and then shook his head. “No, I’ll help.”

As those words left his mouth, Keegan rolled and began retching in earnest. True to his word, Quinn was ready with the basin.

“Amelie, keep mugs of boiling water coming,” Céline said, holding on to Keegan to help lean him over the basin.

“I will,” Amelie answered. But she didn’t go outside to the fire right away. Instead, she leaned closer to Jaromir and whispered, “I’ll see to the hot water. Maybe you should have a talk with the cook and ask him where those mushrooms came from. We don’t want the trail going cold.”

He glanced down at her. So far, he’d been fully focused on helping to save Keegan, but she was right. Now that Céline had taken charge, and she had assistance . . . it was time he talked to the cook.

Although Amelie had assisted Céline many times, by the second round of Keegan’s purging, even she was growing queasy. It was a messy, nasty business, but she understood that it had to be done.

Worse, after all this, they probably wouldn’t know if he’d live or not until tomorrow. It would all depend on how much of the poison had gone into his system before Céline had gone to work.

As Amelie kept the hot water coming, she expected Jaromir to leave and go hunt down the cook, but he didn’t. She was thrown slightly off-kilter when a soldier dragged a balding, overweight man into the tent, and the poor man began sputtering.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Jaromir stood near the bed and turned to focus on the man’s expression as he saw the scene before him. Then Amelie understood. Jaromir wished to gauge the cook’s reaction.

“Captain?” the man asked, watching Keegan being held over the basin. “What is happening?”

“You’re Volkian, the cook?” Jaromir asked coldly.

“Of course I am. What is happening here?”

“Captain Keegan was poisoned by a plate of mushrooms that you sent over.”

For a second, Volkian’s face was blank, and then horror began to dawn. “That I . . . oh, no, sir.”

“You didn’t send the dish?” Jaromir’s voice seemed to get only harder and colder.

“I . . . ,” Volkian stammered. “Yes, I sent it over, but I have several assistants going back and forth between where the oven is stationed and the front of the supply tent. They often bring me whatever is most available.”

That struck Amelie as an odd arrangement, but she let Jaromir continue with the interrogation.

“So someone brought you the mushrooms?” Jaromir asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t see . . .” The cook drew in a deep breath, perhaps trying to calm himself. “I was busy at the stove, seeing to the final touches of the stew. When I went back to my chopping table to fetch a bit of parsley, someone had left a pile of mushrooms. I assumed one of my assistants had brought them, and I remembered how much the captain liked them fried in butter.”

He sounded plausible, but Amelie could have sworn she saw the slightest twitch of his eye at the words “someone had left.”

He knows, she thought. He knows who brought those mushrooms.

For some reason, he didn’t wish to tell.

Jaromir did not appear to have caught the twitch. “You’re telling me you have no idea who left a pile of mushrooms on your chopping table, and yet you served them to your captain?”

Volkian raised both hands in the air, palms up. “As I said, I have several assistants bringing me ingredients. It is a common practice, and I gave it no thought.”

Jaromir pointed to Keegan. “Well, if he dies, you’ll have a good deal to think about.”

The cook went pale.

By morning, Céline’s opinion of Quinn had risen even higher. The man certainly had backbone. He’d held the basin and followed her every instruction for hours.

Amelie had kept up with the boiling water, and Jaromir helped out where he could, and not long past the mid of night, Céline was sure she’d purged Captain Keegan of anything in his stomach. After that, they were all in wait-and-see mode, so she’d sent Amelie and Jaromir off to bed to get some sleep. Quinn had insisted on staying.

Keegan was so weakened by that point that he was unconscious and no longer groaning, so Céline and Quinn spent the remainder of the night quietly sitting at his side. But Céline’s mind was not still, and she continued going over and over everyone who had a motive to kill the captain. Unfortunately, the list was long, and the possible motives were convoluted.

First . . . what if he indeed was a murderer—for that was how she’d come to think of whoever might be intentionally turning these soldiers into wolves—and someone had found out and, instead of accusing him, had decided to kill him? Keegan had a strong motive for wanting to shut down the mining project, even if he lost face in doing so. He hated it here and wanted out.

However, even if he was not the one behind these recent tragedies, there were a number of people who would be glad to see him dead: Marcus and Mariah for two. Both of them had a reason to wish to be free of him.

In addition, there was a whole camp full of panicked soldiers. What if one of them assumed they’d be transferred and replaced should their leader die? Had that not happened once before?

The list of suspects was overwhelming, but she kept turning them over in her mind through the night until one other possibility occurred to her.

Just past dawn, Jaromir and Rurik came into the tent, and Jaromir leaned over the bed. He looked as if he hadn’t slept well, with dark circles under his eyes.

“How is he? Will he live?”

Céline reached up absently and rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know for certain, but I think so. His breathing is even, and he’s been sleeping normally for the past few hours.” She paused. “But he’ll be weak and ill for some time, possibly up to a month, and he won’t be fit for command while he’s healing.”

At that, Quinn looked up, and a quick flash of alarm crossed his face. She wondered why. Did he fear a clear lack of leadership?

Jaromir hadn’t seemed to notice Quinn’s flash of alarm, and he nodded to Céline. “All right. But you both need to get some sleep. I’ll sit with him.”

“Where’s Amelie?” she asked.

“I left her sleeping in your tent,” Jaromir answered tightly.

Glancing at Rurik, Céline tried to stand and wobbled. “Guardsman Rurik, would you walk me back? I’m so tired I can barely stand.”

Rushing forward, Rurik took her arm. “Of course.”

She let him lead her out, and she took a deep breath. The fresh air smelled good after sitting with Keegan all night.

“The lieutenant said you were something to see in there,” Rurik told her as they walked. “He said he’d trust his life to you before any court physician he’s ever met.”

“Did he?”

That was unusual. Jaromir wasn’t one to pay compliments. But Céline had other things on her mind, and she noticed two small empty tents to their left.

“Rurik, stop a moment,” she said, stepping between the tents.

“What? Are you that tired? Do you need me to carry you?”

As soon as they were out of sight, she turned on him. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. Jaromir will find out anyway, and it’s better for you if he hears it from me.”

They were standing close enough that she could see his light freckles clearly, and she noticed his eyes were green.

Before he could speak, she asked, “Did you leave those mushrooms for the captain’s cook?”

Rurik’s mouth fell open.

“You’ve wanted out of here since before we arrived,” she rushed on. “And yesterday, you asked what was standing in my way, and I told you it was Keegan. You were off all afternoon with Amelie, through the forest and in a meadow. While she was resting or watching the horses, you could have slipped off, picked enough mushrooms, and hidden them. You were both back today before me, and then you went to stable the horses. You’d have had time to get the mushrooms onto the cook’s chopping table. What if we’d been invited to the captain’s table? Amelie loves mushrooms in butter. You could have poisoned her.”

Rurik closed his mouth and shook his head. “I never!” He took a step back. “I’ll not deny there was a moment or two when I thought everyone here might be better off if that captain was dead, but I wouldn’t kill him. And if I did, I wouldn’t do it by poison! I don’t know one mushroom from another, and poison is a woman’s weapon.”

Céline was skilled at reading faces and voices and gauging reactions. At one time, her profession had depended upon it.

He was telling the truth.

She reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I had to catch you off guard. I had to know.”

He exhaled through his nose and glanced away, still offended.

“I really am quite tired,” she said. “Could you take me to my tent?”

As they moved on, something he’d said kept echoing in her mind.

Poison is a woman’s weapon.

Amelie stirred and opened her eyes.

She was in the bed inside their tent, fully clothed, and Céline was sleeping quietly beside her—also fully clothed. Frankly, Amelie wondered that she hadn’t woken up when her sister crawled into the bed, as Céline’s hair and clothing smelled . . . rather strong. After all, she had been up through the night tending a retching captain. She wasn’t going to smell like a rose.

Carefully, Amelie slipped out from under the covers and made her way to the tent’s flap. Her sister didn’t stir. Amelie knew that Céline didn’t care to sleep during the day, but exceptions must be made.

Besides, Amelie had a task that was best handled alone.

Judging by the sun, she guessed it to be midday or so, and she wondered how Captain Keegan was faring. Had the man lived through the night? She assumed so. Otherwise, Céline would have awoken her with the bad news. Not that Amelie would have considered Keegan’s death much of a tragedy, but Céline and Quinn had worked hard to keep him alive.

And this morning, Amelie had decided it would be best to track down the poisoner.

Several of the soldiers milling about glanced her way, but no one tried to speak to her. Yesterday, Rurik had shown her the provisions tent, and she walked right to it.

It was huge, even bigger than Keegan’s.

The front section was filled with barrels and crates and casks sent from Castle Pählen.

Ignoring the front, Amelie walked around to the back of the tent. Before entering, she crouched and drew the dagger out of its sheath in her boot. She didn’t expect much trouble with this first visit, but still . . . it was better to be safe than sorry.

As she walked through the back entrance, the first thing she saw was a large wood-burning stove with a vent above it in the top of the tent. The bald cook, Volkian, was sitting in a chair beside it with his face in his hands.

Amelie cleared her throat, and he looked up.

Upon recognizing her, he jumped to his feet, moving faster than she would have expected.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I told your lieutenant everything I know last night.”

“No, you didn’t.” She kept the dagger hidden in her hand, gripping the hilt with the point upward and the flat side against her wrist. Walking closer to the cook, she tilted her head. “Who brought you those mushrooms?”

“I don’t know. I’ve talked to my assistants and no one will own up.”

“You talked to them this morning? So if my lieutenant goes and talks to them, they’ll tell him that you already questioned them yourself?”

Panic flickered across his face.

“I knew you were lying last night,” she said, “but I didn’t say anything. Tell me who brought you the mushrooms, and I’ll keep quiet. Stick to your current story, and I’ll go tell the lieutenant I think you’re lying. He’ll believe me. My sister and I are Prince Anton’s seers.”

His breathing grew labored.

“Trust me,” Amelie went on. “You’d be much better off talking to me. He always gets results, but I don’t think you’ll like his methods.”

In defeat, Volkian sank back into his chair. “It was the gypsy girl.”

“Mariah?”

“I’m not sure of all their names.”

“The young one with the black hair?”

“No, her elder sister.”

“Mercedes?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s her name.” He put his face into his hands again. “What a fool I am. I was trying to get the stew ready to serve, and she just appeared. But Captain Keegan has an arrangement with one of their young hunters, and those gypsies are always bringing venison or fowl or rabbits for the captain’s table.”

“And she told you that she had some mushrooms?”

“Not at first. First she asked me if you or your sister would be dining with the captain. He’d already told me to have your supper served in your tents, so I told her no. That alone should have gained my attention. But then she showed me the mushrooms and reminded me how much he loves them cooked with butter. Her sister . . . well, her sister knows the captain.”

Indeed, Amelie thought dryly.

“He’s been complaining about a lack of variety,” Volkian went on. “But I don’t have much to work with! I thanked her and fried up the mushrooms. Fool.” He looked up. “Do you understand how it will look to your lieutenant, to Corporal Quinn, if they find out I accepted mushrooms from some gypsy girl? I’ll be lucky if I’m only dismissed.”

Yes, Amelie could see his dilemma, but at present, she had no intention of giving away Mercedes, not until she knew more. And that meant protecting the cook.

“Listen,” she said. “You keep up your courage, and I’ll keep your secret.”

He studied her cautiously. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I like those gypsies a lot better than I like your captain.”

Turning, she walked out of the tent.

Although Jaromir had never been one for just sitting, at the moment, he was glad for having taken on the task of sitting at Keegan’s bedside. Hopefully, Céline, Amelie, Rurik, and Quinn would get some sleep while he sat here alone.

It gave him time to think.

Keegan had not yet awoken, but his breathing was still even. His complexion was a sickly shade of gray-green, and Jaromir did not doubt Céline’s assessment that the man’s recovery time would be long.

However, this left Jaromir with some decisions to make, and he considered what paths were open to him. In the end, though, he could think of only one way forward if he was to solve whatever was happening here, stop it, and get the silver flowing again.

The rear tent flap opened, and Quinn stuck his head inside.

“How is he?”

“I thought you were getting some sleep.”

“I couldn’t.”

Quinn’s genuine concern caught Jaromir off guard, as he’d not seen much of a connection or loyalty between the two men.

“I think he’ll live,” Jaromir said, “but Céline is right, and he’ll not be fit to command for some time.”

The anxiety on Quinn’s face grew more pronounced as he came inside to stand near the bed. “Does that mean we’ll be recalled and replaced?”

“Not yet.” Jaromir paused. “As the only available officer, I’m taking command of the camp.”

He waited to see how Quinn would accept this news. Officer or not, Jaromir didn’t serve Prince Lieven. However, he did serve Prince Lieven’s son—and thereby the House of Pählen. If Quinn accepted him, the others would follow suit.

His concerns proved to be groundless. Quinn leaned against the bed in open relief. “Yes, sir.”

Amelie left the provisions tent and walked straight to the miners’ encampment. Upon breaking through the tree line, she turned left and headed toward the largest of the covered wagons. An old man sitting outside with a smokeless pipe in his mouth nodded a greeting. She nodded back.

When she reached Mercedes and Mariah’s wagon, she paused out front at the sight of the clothesline; both her green wool dress and Céline’s lavender one were hanging there and appeared to be nearly dry. Every last speck of mud and blood had been removed, and the dresses looked new.

Mercedes was a skilled laundress.

Unable to put the reason for her visit here off any longer, Amelie climbed the few steps up to the back door of the wagon. In spite of what the cook had told her, she needed to know for certain whether Mercedes was the one who’d poisoned Keegan . . . and she needed to know why. There were a number of possible reasons for Mercedes to want him dead, but those reasons had existed well before now. Why had she finally acted? And did her reason have anything to do with the Pählen soldiers being turned into mad wolves? Could Mercedes be the one behind that as well? Had Keegan learned something, so she’d decided to get rid of him? But if that were the case, why wouldn’t she simply infect him next? Why switch to poison?

Amelie had many questions, and if Mercedes wouldn’t talk to her, she had her own methods for learning the truth.

Raising a hand, she knocked lightly. “Mercedes?”

The door opened almost right away, and Mercedes looked out. Her posture was tight but not overly anxious.

“Are you alone?” Amelie asked.

“Yes, Mariah is off searching for berries. I was just about to go and join her.”

Amelie pushed her way inside and closed the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mercedes demanded, backing up.

“Céline was up all night trying to save Captain Keegan, but you probably already know that.”

Mercedes watched her carefully, and Amelie wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating this woman. She might be slender, but she didn’t look weak.

“I haven’t told anyone,” Amelie said. “Not Céline or the lieutenant. I just want to know why you did it.”

“Did your sister succeed in saving the captain?”

“Yes.”

Of course Amelie didn’t know that for certain yet, but if Keegan were already dead, she’d most likely have heard about it.

Mercedes turned away, closing her eyes.

“Why now?” Amelie pressed on. “If you were going to kill him over what he’s been doing to Mariah, you’d have acted before this.”

Opening her eyes, Mercedes spun back. “What do you know of our lives? Of what brought us here? Of how years of suffering can deaden a soul? You . . . with your fine wool gowns and your lieutenant and your meals at the officers’ table. Get out! At heart, you’re nothing like your sister, and I don’t owe you anything.”

Without warning, Amelie closed the distance between them and grabbed Mercedes’s hand, gripping hard. She expected fierce resistance and was caught off guard when Mercedes gripped back, leaning forward.

“Do you want to see?” Mercedes whispered angrily.

Fearing this was a trick and that Mercedes might try to break away, Amelie reached out with her thoughts for the spark of Mercedes’s soul. She felt it right away and focused on the events of last night, on what led up to the mushrooms finding their way to the cook’s table.

“No,” Mercedes breathed in her ear. “If you want to see, you’ll see it all.”

The first jolt hit and Amelie gasped, bracing for another, but she didn’t let go. As the second jolt hit, she found herself rushing through the gray-and-white mists, flying backward in time with Mercedes. Effortlessly, almost without choice, she felt her spirit meshing with Mercedes’s, intertwining with Mercedes’s, until she saw through Mercedes’s eyes. But unlike ever before, her consciousness remained separate and aware.

The mists cleared, and she found herself kneeling on a riverbank, looking down into the dead face of a beautiful woman.

Listen . . . , a voice whispered inside her mind.