Witches in Red

Chapter Four

By midday, the already narrow road had turned into little more than a path, but when Jaromir saw a clearing up ahead, he knew they’d arrived at their destination. As his horse broke through the tree line, he had no idea what to expect.

But . . . he had anticipated at least seeing a number of small buildings. From what he understood, Prince Lieven had had men stationed here for five years.

“Tents?” Amelie asked in equal puzzlement, pulling her horse up beside his.

Six enormous tents and numerous smaller ones were the only dwellings in sight. Behind the tents stood a large, makeshift wooden barn, but it appeared to be the only permanent construction.

Several soldiers in dark brown tabards—and carrying spears—turned their way, but they all froze as Céline rode up beside her sister and then Rurik brought up the rear.

Jaromir raised a hand in greeting. No one responded, and the soldiers milling among the tents stood staring at Amelie and Céline. These men appeared unwashed and on edge, with tight, anxious expressions. Following his instincts, Jaromir decided not to advance until someone approached him.

Finally, an overweight guard came walking over, gripping his spear but holding the point straight up.

“You lost?” he asked.

Two other guards came up behind him, looking even more unkempt up close. One was young, maybe seventeen, with long tangled hair and mismatched eyes: one blue, one brown. He appeared more skittish than edgy. His companion was a little older and taller, with two missing front teeth. The younger one hid halfway behind him, as if seeking protection.

But all three men continued to stare at Amelie and Céline.

Jaromir tensed at the complete lack of military discipline, and he pitched his tone to cold, angry authority. “I am Lieutenant Jaromir of Castle Sèone. We’ve been sent at the request of Prince Lieven. I would speak with Captain Keegan.”

There was still a soldier inside the rotund guard directly in front of him, because the man winced, as if remembering something forgotten. Then he straightened and touched his chest. “Guardsman Saunders, sir.” He pointed first to the youth behind him and then to the other man. “Guardsmen Graham and Ramsey.”

“Where is your captain?” Jaromir asked.

Saunders turned around. “This way, sir.”

Remaining mounted, Jaromir nodded to Amelie and then followed Guardsman Saunders through the tents. Many of the temporary shelters they passed looked years old, with patches and untended holes. It wasn’t raining, but the sky was overcast and gray, adding to the dismal quality of their surroundings. Saunders led them toward the back of the encampment to the second- largest of the tents—the size of a small house—only this one appeared newer than the others.

Jaromir dismounted and turned to help Amelie off her horse. She looked at his outstretched hands and seemed about to push them away, but he shook his head once, hoping she’d have the sense to play her part. Thankfully, she seemed to realize this as well and let him lift her down. Rurik was on the ground, doing the same for Céline.

“Announce us and then see to our horses,” Jaromir ordered.

Saunders stuck his head inside the open front flap of the tent. “Captain, visitors here to see you . . . from Castle Sèone.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Jaromir walked past him, inside, motioning to his companions to follow. After the shabby visage of the camp outside, he was somewhat taken aback by the luxury now surrounding him. The floor was covered in thick furs. Tapestries hanging from the ceiling had been tastefully arranged to create partitions. There was a long polished table with six wooden chairs in the center of the main area, decorated with silver candlesticks. Looking through the partitions toward the rear, he could see a round, stone-bordered fire pit with a ventilation hole up above, so this tent could be kept warm when necessary.

At present, the tent held only two occupants, both men in chain armor and dark brown tabards. Jaromir pegged Captain Keegan right away, but only by virtue of his age. Keegan was of medium height, with a stocky, muscular build that was just now going to fat. His hair had gone gray, and he wore a close-trimmed beard that completely covered the lower half of his face.

The other man was in his late twenties, tall, well built, and clean-shaven, with sandy-colored hair and light blue eyes.

Keegan immediately bristled at the visitors walking into his tent. “What is this?” he barked.

Again, Jaromir hesitated. Had all semblance of military professionalism broken down here?

“Lieutenant Jaromir,” he answered stiffly, “of Castle Sèone.” He held one hand toward the women. “May I present the ladies Céline and Amelie Fawe of Prince Anton’s court?”

As with Saunders, his manner had an immediate effect, and both men came to attention but seemed at a loss for words.

Céline smiled. “Forgive our appearance, Captain. We have been traveling for days.”

This had an even more rapid effect than Jaromir’s words, and both Keegan and his companion hurried to the table, pulling out chairs. “Ladies, please,” Keegan said, “come and sit.”

Saunders was gone now, and Rurik stood in the doorway. “You’re dismissed,” Jaromir told him quietly. “Make sure the horses are cared for.”

“Yes, sir.”

Keegan was pouring wine for Amelie and Céline, who were seated at the table, and he motioned to the tall, sandy-haired man. “This is Corporal Quinn. He is my current second-in-command.” Glancing back at Jaromir, he asked, “You were sent by Prince Anton?”

“Via his father, to offer our assistance,” Jaromir answered, stepping forward and pulling two letters from inside the quilted shirt beneath his armor. “The first is a letter from Prince Lieven to my lord, and the second is a letter from my lord to you.”

He and Anton had decided to hold nothing back and allow Keegan full access to all pertinent information.

With a confused frown, Keegan took the letters from him and took his time reading them both. The first one was the same letter Leonides had carried from Prince Lieven, explaining the situation and clearly asking Anton to handle the matter. The second letter was from Anton, written directly to Keegan, explaining that Céline and Amelie were seers and healers from the court of Sèone, who were to be given full cooperation. Anton blatantly stated that if Keegan wished to have the heart of this problem rooted out and solved, he must grant Céline and Amelie’s every request.

Finally, Keegan looked up and handed both letters to Corporal Quinn. But the captain seemed on the edge of strained disbelief.

“Let me understand this . . . ,” he began. “So, instead of sending a replacement for me or even reinforcements from Pählen, my prince appealed to his youngest son . . . who in turn has sent two women who claim to be ‘seers.’” His voice was rising toward the end of this short speech.

“Your prince already sent reinforcements once,” Jaromir answered. “They were no help.”

“Please, Captain,” Céline said. “I know how this must seem, but Prince Anton had a similar, seemingly unsolvable . . . problem in the spring, and my sister and I were able to stop a series of unnatural deaths. We would not have been sent here unless your prince and mine believed we could help you.”

Corporal Quinn was listening to her with interest. He had the same haunted, exhausted look of everyone else Jaromir had encountered here so far, but the man’s light blue eyes were more alert. “Did you ride all this way with no escort?” he asked.

“No, of course not,” Jaromir answered. “We had a small contingent, but I sent them back.”

“Sent them back?” Keegan repeated. “Why?”

Again, Jaromir decided on honesty. “Because my lord thought you might feel challenged or that your authority was being threatened if I rode in with a contingent of men from Sèone under my command.”

When Keegan glanced away, it suggested that Anton’s instincts had been correct.

“My lord wishes you to understand that we are here to help,” Jaromir went on. “That is all we wish to do. And he wanted to show his confidence that he trusts you to keep these ladies safe.” The last part was a mere compliment. He would protect Amelie and Céline himself.

Keegan let out a long exhale. “If he wanted to keep them safe, he shouldn’t have sent them here at all.”

Céline listened as the men talked, but on the inside, she was trying not to panic over everything she’d seen and felt since riding in.

This was a place deserted by hope. She could see it in the faces of the men, in their shabby living conditions, in the fact that they’d long since ceased to wash or have a care for the proper manner of soldiers on duty.

Worse, the inside of this tent only increased her concerns, as it suggested their leader had cut himself off and lived apart with his thick furs and his red wine and tapestries. And still . . . the entire encampment felt so temporary, as if for years, none of the rotating groups of men stationed here had ever harbored any intention of staying long enough to put up wooden barracks.

So far, Amelie had remained silent, but Céline knew she must be just as troubled by what they’d walked into.

It was difficult to help men who appeared to view themselves as beyond help—and that’s what she was sensing.

“Forgive me,” Corporal Quinn said cautiously, looking at Céline. “But I don’t quite understand the word ‘seer.’ What is it exactly that you claim to be able to do?”

She studied him. While Captain Keegan appeared to be a man letting himself go to seed, Quinn was in his prime. He, too, had been under great strain, but unlike those of the men outside, his tabard and face were clean. He had a coiled energy about him, as if he was capable of quick action when necessary. Céline thought he might be useful if she could win his trust.

“We each have a different ability,” she answered. “I can read a person’s future, and Amelie can read their past.”

Gulping half a goblet of wine, Captain Keegan made a loud, derisive snort, and Céline realized it was too soon to ask him to allow her to start reading his men. He would first need to understand they were not charlatans. Besides, she needed a better idea of the situation, and it seemed she was going to have to fall back on the authority that Anton had provided by sending his letter.

“Your prince mentioned that some of the workers here have been killed, but . . . where do the workers live?” she asked. “Riding in, we saw only your own encampment.”

Quinn glanced at his captain, and Keegan pulled out a chair, sitting down himself. He pointed north. “There’s a path through the trees, toward the mines. The workers live in a cleared area over there. I’ve been posting guards for them at night.”

She nodded and then steeled herself. It was time for more difficult questions.

“Captain, can you tell us . . . what exactly did you mean by reporting that your men are ‘turning into beasts’? What sort of beasts?”

A short silence followed, and this time Quinn answered.

“Like wolves, only larger, with wide chests and red eyes. It seems to happen quickly, with no warning.”

“But this is only happening to your own men,” Jaromir broke in, “not to any of the miners or their families.”

“So far, yes,” Quinn responded. “But you can’t imagine . . . these things, these wolves are savage, mad, and they start killing anything in sight within moments of the change. Not long after this started, our workers began trying to escape, and we’ve had to actually ride some of them down and bring them back.”

“Ride them down?” Amelie spoke up for the first time. “They’re not allowed to leave?”

The question appeared to baffle both Keegan and Quinn.

“Well . . . of course they’ve signed contracts,” Keegan answered. “My only duty here is to ensure the silver continues to flow. I cannot do that without enough workers.”

Céline digested this quickly. What he was describing sounded a good deal like slavery, via these “contracts.”

“How many soldiers have you lost?” she asked.

“Ten have been infected,” Quinn answered, “including one officer, Lieutenant Sullian, and we lost the tenth man only three days ago. But we’ve also lost several more of our own men who were killed by the wolves, so the captain hasn’t been able to spare anyone to carry a report to our prince about this last case.”

“Infected?” she repeated.

“Well, what else could it be?” Keegan snapped, taking another swallow of wine. “And it’s intentional. At first, I thought that one of the men had somehow . . . contracted this and it was spreading at random. But only my men have been affected. There is someone behind this.”

Céline had been coming to this conclusion as well, but the captain seemed so certain. Did he know something he wasn’t sharing?

“Have you noticed any warning signs before the men begin to change? Or made any connections between them?”

Quinn shook his head. “I’ve only seen it happen twice, and it was sudden both times. One moment the man was fine, and then he began to retch, and then . . . we have to kill them as soon as possible.”

“Do the bodies revert back to human form once they are dead?” she asked.

Both men were taken aback by the question, and she was aware that she probably didn’t sound anything like a lady of court, but these things had to be asked.

“No,” Quinn said. “And we burn them soon after.”

“You burn the bodies of the wolves?” This was not good news. Céline wanted to examine one. “What about the miners and other soldiers who’ve been killed? Are they burned too?”

“I’ve seen no reason to enforce that,” Keegan answered. “Some of our workers are Móndyalítko, and they have their own way of doing things, and I’m certain the infection is not being spread through the bodies of dead miners.”

“Móndyalítko?”

That hardly seemed likely. From what she understood, her mother’s people were nomadic.

But neither Quinn nor Keegan responded, and she glanced at Jaromir, who so far was allowing her to run most of the questions.

“Captain,” she began, wondering how to word her next request, “it is a pity that you do not have the body of someone who has undergone this . . . change for me to examine. When it happens again, it would be best if you could incapacitate the victim for me to study.”

She’d already begun to think of the men being turned as victims.

Keegan’s mouth fell open for a moment, and then he closed it again. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but you have no idea with what we are dealing. Trust me, you will not want one of these things merely incapacitated.”

“Oh, but I will,” she countered. “I cannot even guess what is happening to your men until I examine someone who has been afflicted. My prince wants this situation solved, and therefore I will do whatever I deem necessary.” Standing up, she said, “Until I have one of these . . . soldiers turned wolves to study, perhaps I might see the body of someone who has been killed by one of these creatures? The wounds might tell me something.”

If Keegan found her first request disturbing, he found this one distasteful and curled one side of his upper lip. “It’s been three days since the last attack. There were several injuries. One miner was killed, but he’s been buried.”

Céline pondered this and knew any useful evidence would probably be too compromised at this point for her to insist on a body being dug up.

“You mentioned injuries. Does anyone have wounds in need of attention?”

Keegan frowned thoughtfully, as if this had never occurred to him. “Possibly . . . yes, I think so.”

As if on cue, Amelie stood.

“We brought a large box of medicinal supplies,” Céline said. “If you would be so good as to assign us private quarters, my sister and I will change our clothes and then go see what help we might offer the miners.”

At first, she thought Keegan might refuse, but he nodded. “Of course.”

Céline and Amelie were provided with a medium-sized tent to themselves—about the size of their workroom back home, with an entrance tall enough that neither one had to duck to enter.

“Not bad,” Amelie said, looking around. “Considering.”

Céline agreed. Most of the floor was covered with furs and there were no holes in the roof. There was a bed with a wooden frame and a down-filled mattress, along with a small table and three chairs. A plain washbasin and pitcher had been provided. She wondered who had previously been assigned here.

“Here,” Jaromir said, handing their travel bags through the entrance. “Change your clothes, and I’ll walk you north.”

Céline took the bags, and he closed the flap over the entrance from the outside, giving them some privacy.

“What do you make of that captain?” Amelie whispered. “I don’t think he’s going to be much help.”

“Me either,” Céline whispered back, taking off her cloak and opening one of the bags. “But I was surprised Jaromir was so quiet. I thought he might press a few points.”

“He can’t. Keegan outranks him.”

“What?”

“Keegan is a captain. Jaromir’s a lieutenant. He has to follow the chain of command.”

“Yes . . . but Anton put Jaromir in charge of the investigation.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Amelie said as she began to get undressed.

Troubled, Céline began unlacing the front of her own wool gown. Jaromir was in charge of the security of a great castle and everyone who lived around it, and Keegan was in charge of a pack of motley soldiers in the middle of nowhere, and yet Keegan had more power due to what she considered a slight difference in official rank. That somehow seemed wrong to her. Jaromir was the most capable man she’d ever met.

After struggling out of the lavender dress, she shivered slightly in only her long white shift and stockings. The poor dress looked far worse for wear after the journey. Its hem was filthy, and the sleeves and bodice were dotted with some of Pavel’s blood.

“I’d give anything to put on my blue shirt and breeches,” Amelie sighed, looking down at the shift she wore.

“Well, let’s see what else Helga packed.”

They found two evening gowns and a set of silver hairbrushes in the first bag, so they moved on to the second. Inside, they found clean stockings, extra shifts, and a pair of serviceable wool dresses, one of tan, about the color of Céline’s hair, and another of pale blue. Amelie took the pale blue, as it was slightly shorter, and Céline wore the tan. Then they tied on their red cloaks and Céline picked up her large box of supplies.

“We’re ready,” she called.

Jaromir drew the flap back and entered, seeing the box in her arms. “Let me carry that.”

He took it, and they followed him out.

“Where’s Rurik?” Amelie asked.

“Seeing the horses are properly fed,” Jaromir answered. “I don’t trust this lot with Badger, and Anton is fond of that gray mare.”

Out among the small sea of tents, Céline kept close to Jaromir as he led the way north, and a number of dirty soldiers in dark brown tabards turned to watch them walk past. There must have been women among the families of the miners, but Céline wondered how long it had been since these men had seen a pretty girl like Amelie in a pale blue gown and scarlet cloak.

However, with Jaromir as their escort, none of the soldiers tried to speak to them, and soon they left the collection of tents behind.

“There,” he said, pointing.

Following the direction of his finger, Céline spotted a path leading through the thick trees. Some of the gray clouds above were parting, and though the air was cool, patches of open sky peeked though.

The three of them took the path into the trees and had walked only about a hundred paces when it emptied into an open area with small hills in the background . . . and Céline found herself looking upon the Ryazan miners’ encampment.

To her right stood a collection of about thirty-five shacks or huts so haphazardly placed that they could have sprouted up only over time with no sense of planning. Some were made from old boards, but most were circular wattle-and-daub dwellings with thatched roofs.

To her left stood six more of the wattle-and-daub dwellings, surrounded by four decaying wagons with what looked to be small homes built on top of the beds. From what she could see, some of the wagon-homes had once been painted in bright colors, but now much of the paint had faded or been chipped away. Empty harness poles stretched out from the fronts of these wagons, with no sign that they had been used in some time.

There were no horses in sight. In fact, there were no animals at all, no goats or milk cows, not even a few chickens scratching at the dirt.

But there were people milling about.

“Which side?” Jaromir asked.

“Left,” Céline said. She didn’t know why, but she was drawn to the scattered collection of wagon-homes.

The largest of these was also in the best condition, with a solid-looking roof and shutters over the windows. Two women were busy out front. One was hanging clothes, and the other was tending a fire. Both straightened as Céline approached.

The one tending the fire was perhaps sixteen years old, but Céline stopped upon getting a better look at her. She was beautiful, slender and small boned, with a mane of black hair. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were as black as her hair. Her slight body tensed, and she reminded Céline of a young doe about to spring. There was something wild in her eyes.

Céline smiled. “Hello.”

The woman hanging laundry approached, protectively stepping up beside the girl. This one was about twenty-five, though thin lines were already etched about the corners of her eyes. Her thick hair was a shade of brown-black and pulled back into a braid. While she lacked the girl’s beauty, she was pretty, and Céline thought them alike enough to be sisters.

“What do you want?” the older one asked, glancing at Jaromir, her tone a mix of anger and anxiety.

Céline had to admit that he did look rather intimidating, especially in comparison with some of the soldiers stationed here.

“We’ve been sent here to help,” Céline said quickly, turning to open the box in Jaromir’s arms. “I’m a healer from Castle Sèone, and Prince Lieven asked his son, my lord, to send you some assistance. He’s heard of your troubles and these terrible attacks.” She motioned the woman closer and pointed to various pots, jars, and bottles inside the box. “There is cough syrup, healing ointment, salve for aching joints, bandages, insect and burn salves, and, oh, this is a cleansing tonic.”

The woman’s eyes flew over the contents of the box. Her body gave off waves of slow-burning anger, but something akin to hope passed across her face at the same time. The slip of a girl took a step or two closer, just enough to peek inside the box, still moving like a forest animal come in from the trees.

Céline smiled again. “I am Céline, and this is my sister, Amelie. This man is Lieutenant Jaromir. He is our bodyguard, but I do assure you, we’ve been sent to help.”

The woman’s eyes moved up to Céline’s face as if searching for something, and then, satisfied, she nodded. “I am Mercedes. This is my sister, Mariah.”

The girl studied Amelie curiously, but she would not move closer to where Jaromir stood.

“Do you have any injured or ill here who need attention?” Céline asked.

Mercedes shook her head in seeming disbelief. “Do we have any . . . ? Yes. We have a number of people in need.”

Céline motioned to the wagon. “Perhaps I could set up here, and you could tell the others?”

Mercedes glanced back at the box.

“Mariah,” she said finally, “bring these ladies inside and give them what help they need. I’m going to find Marcus and have him round up any wounded men. I’ll speak to the women myself.”

The girl tilted her head to one side and waved Céline forward. Then she sprang up the back steps of the wagon and opened a door.

Céline followed.

Watching Céline head up the steps, Amelie turned to Jaromir. “You’d better wait out here. We’ll be fine, and I don’t think there’s much room in there.” She looked over toward the shacks and huts. “You might even try walking around and talking to some of the men. See what you can learn that Captain Keegan didn’t tell us.”

“I doubt any of them will talk to me.”

“They will,” she insisted. “After only a minute or two, they’ll see that you’re here to help. You have that effect on people. All the villagers at Castle Sèone trust you.”

He blinked several times and then nodded. “All right, but I won’t go far.”

Turning, she hurried up the stairs to help her sister.

Inside, the covered wagon felt even more like a house. Toward the front were two bunk beds nailed into the wall. A bench was built into one sidewall with a stationary table. Pots and pans hung from the other wall. Threadbare curtains covered the shuttered windows.

“Mariah, would you open the shutters for some light and air?” Céline said as she took off her cloak and began setting out a collection of jars and bottles on the table.

“That soldier won’t come in, will he?” the girl asked.

It was the first time she’d spoken. Her voice was soft and wild, like her eyes, but she spoke with real fear—and something deeper, possibly hatred. Amelie wondered what she might have suffered at the hands of the soldiers here.

“No,” Amelie answered firmly. “He won’t. But even if he did, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

Sounds of footsteps came from the stairs, and Mercedes returned with Céline’s first patients, a bone-thin woman and two children, all coughing.

“Come in,” Céline said.

Mercedes sent the family in, but she remained outside.

The rest of the afternoon became a blur. Mariah slipped out so there would be more room inside. Amelie stayed to help her sister, but the condition of the people here soon began to wear upon her. She had seen poverty, true poverty, in Shetâna, but this was different; a string of half-starved women and children flowed through, suffering from deep coughs, ringworm, infected insect bites, and shingles. Some of the women were pregnant. Céline did what she could for them.

Things only got worse when the men began arriving. Mining must be a dangerous business, as the equally underfed men coming through the door bore old injuries of poorly set broken bones. Most of the men over thirty were beginning to succumb to their joints stiffening to the point of constant pain.

There was nothing Céline could do for poorly set bones, long healed, but she’d brought along two jugs of a dense liquid she made from monkshood that worked well on aging joints, and she spent several hours just rubbing it into elbows and shoulders and knees to help relieve pain. She told some of the men that she’d come back tomorrow, and if they brought her a small empty jar or bottle, she’d send some of the monkshood home with them.

Several times, Mercedes came up to stand in the open doorway, just watching Céline.

In the late afternoon, a father arrived with a boy of about fifteen who was holding his left arm with his right hand. The arm had been loosely tied up with a stained rag that was not wide enough to serve as a proper sling.

“Broke his arm three days back,” the father said. “We were among the few still willing to go back into the mines, and then one of those beasts attacked. The boy was standing in a cart and scrambled to get out. He fell.”

Amelie was attempting to straighten up the bottles on the table. “Inside the mines? One of the . . . wolves attacked you there? Were you working at night?”

“No, it was midday. But no one has gone back in since.”

Amelie took a moment to get her head around that. One of the Pählen soldiers had transformed and attacked the miners at work in the middle of the day?

“Bring the boy inside,” Céline said.

The boy was brought in, and she sat him on the bench and removed the makeshift sling to examine his forearm. Amelie winced. The bone had been broken and had not been set at all. Although the skin wasn’t torn, from what she could see, the bone was still in two pieces. If something was not done, he’d lose use of the arm.

Céline looked up at the father. “If it’s only been a few days, I should able to set this.” She picked up the bottle of poppy syrup. “But it will be painful enough that I’d need to put him to sleep first, and splinting the injury will take some time. Once the bone is secured, it will need to remain splinted and in a sling for at least a moon, probably longer. He’ll not be able to work for a while, but once the bone knits, he will have use of his arm again.”

The man was clearly unaccustomed to anyone trying to help him or his family, and he wrung his hands in indecision. Although he himself had not thought to do anything for the boy’s injury, Céline’s talk of pain and setting bones had clearly upset him. He seemed uncertain about entrusting his son to a stranger.

The man looked to Mercedes, who was standing in the doorway.

She wore the same quietly angry expression, but her head moved up and down once. “She’s one of my people, from the line of Fawe. If she says she can set the bone, she can set it.”

Amelie was startled. How would Mercedes know they were Móndyalítko, from the line of Fawe? But she bit back any questions. She didn’t want the miner to begin to doubt.

“How can I help?” the man asked.

“Get some boards,” Céline answered, “strong, but narrow and short, so I can splint his forearm.”

And so for the second time in two days, Amelie helped her sister drug someone senseless, set a bone, brace it with boards, and wrap it tightly. By the time they were done, Céline was pale and wiping her forehead with her sleeve. Since entering this wagon, she’d not stopped to rest for hours.

“Now we need something to make a proper sling,” she said, looking around.

Mercedes was still in the open doorway. “Use one of the curtains. They’re clean, and I cannot think of anything else.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

The curtains were one of the few homey touches inside the wagon, but Céline took one down and fashioned a sling, tying the boy’s arm against his chest.

“He should wake soon,” she said.

Mercedes turned to call outside somewhere, “Shaldon, you can come carry him home.” Then her voice lowered, and she spoke to someone else outside. “Mariah, go and tell Marcus not to bring any more men. The healer’s done in. But tell him that I want him to come himself.”

A few moments later, the still-sleeping boy was carried out, and Céline finally sank onto the bench.

Céline’s hands and arms were nearly numb as she allowed herself to sit still for a few breaths.

Mercedes stepped inside the wagon. “You did well. I’d forgotten . . . I’ve forgotten a lot of things.”

“How did you know she’s from the line of Fawe?” Amelie asked.

Céline looked up, as she had been wondering that herself.

“Her hair,” Mercedes answered. “Only the line of Fawe has hair that color. You see any Móndyalítko here with tan hair? And you’ve both got lavender eyes.”

“But how did you know we’re Móndyalítko?” Céline asked.

Mercedes snorted. “You think I’d let you in here, let you treat these people, if you weren’t? I know my own kind when I see one.”

Perhaps unconsciously, Amelie reached up and touched her hair. Ironically, she’d inherited her dark hair from their father, who was not Móndyalítko.

Then Céline felt rather than heard something in the doorway and turned her head. She froze. The man standing there was a taller, more muscular version of Mariah, though he was closer to Mercedes in age. His coal black hair hung down past his collar, and his eyes were locked on Céline. She would never have described him as handsome. He was . . . beautiful. Like Mariah, he had something almost feral about him, as if he didn’t belong inside any four walls. More important, even though she’d never seen him before, there was something familiar about him, as if she’d known him for years.

“This is my cousin Marcus,” Mercedes said. “I want you to look at his shoulder. He’ll be the last one today. I promise.”

“My shoulder’s fine,” Marcus answered.

“It’s not fine,” Mariah snapped at him, “and we have a proper healer. Let her see it.” She moved to the back of the wagon, to the bunk beds, to give him room to enter.

Slowly, still staring at Céline, he came inside.

“Please sit,” she managed to say, and he sank onto the bench.

Amelie went to sit with Mercedes on one of the beds.

“Take a look at the back of his right shoulder,” Mercedes instructed.

His shirt was dark brown, but when Céline moved to examine his back, she could see spots of blood soaking through.

“Please take off your shirt,” she told him.

This he did without hesitating.

“Oh, Marcus,” she breathed, as if she’d spoken his name a thousand times before. “What happened?”

Four deep gouges ran from the top of his shoulder halfway down his back. They were angry and swollen and looked as if they’d not even begun to close.

“One of those soldier-wolves slashed me. I was trying to draw it off that boy you just helped.” When he spoke the word “soldier,” the hatred in his voice was unmistakable.

“Inside the mine?” she asked.

“Yes. We managed to kill it, but it cost us.”

Céline didn’t ask what it had cost. Right now, she didn’t want to know. “These wounds are on the verge of infection. I need to do a deep cleaning . . . and it’s going to hurt.” She picked up the bottle of poppy syrup. “I want you to drink just a spoonful of this, not enough to put you to sleep, but enough to dull the pain.”

He glanced at the bottle skeptically.

“Do it,” Mercedes ordered him.

Céline poured a wooden spoonful, and he let her feed it to him.

“We need to wait a few moments,” she said, “and let that take effect.”

Mariah appeared in the doorway, looking in. The resemblance between her and her male cousin was astonishing. Then it occurred to Céline that although these three were slender, they weren’t starving. Marcus’s bare shoulders and arms showed lean but developed muscles.

“You helped the children,” Mariah said to Céline. “That was good.”

Her words and speech were so simple that Céline wasn’t certain how to respond for a few seconds. “There wasn’t much I could do. What they need is food.”

“They won’t find much of that here,” Marcus said, “except in the soldiers’ provisions tent.”

“Why don’t you have any animals?” Amelie asked. “Chickens or a milk cow?”

“Can’t afford to buy a cow,” Mercedes answered. “And we ate the last of the chickens years ago, before we even arrived.”

“How many years have you been here?”

“Three.”

Listening to the exchange, even with what little she knew of her mother’s people, Céline couldn’t imagine a group of Móndyalítko remaining in this awful place for three years.

“Where are your horses?” she asked Marcus quietly.

“Gone.” He glanced away. “I hunt for us, and we eat whatever Captain Keegan doesn’t take.” Again, when he said Keegan’s name, the hatred in his voice was thick. “We share what we can with the others here, and Mariah does what she can for the children.”

He looked at Mariah, in the doorway, and she looked back. Something passed between them, but Céline had no idea what.

Picking up the jar of adder’s-tongue ointment and a clean rag, she said, “All right, this won’t be pleasant.”

Turning her attention to his wounds, she remembered that one of the reasons she’d come here was to examine anyone injured by the afflicted soldiers. Judging by the distance between the claw marks on Marcus’s back, whatever had done this to him must have had enormous paws.

She started at the top of his shoulder and began to work her way down. He didn’t gasp or flinch once, and she knew the poppy syrup could not be dulling all the pain. When she finished cleaning all the wounds, she put away the adder’s-tongue and switched to a mixture of ground garlic and ginger in vinegar.

“This is going to sting, but it will ward off infection,” she said, dabbing the mixture onto a clean rag and touching it to his back.

Again, he didn’t flinch.

When she’d finished with that, she wrapped his shoulder as best she could and helped him get his shirt back on. He let her.

Mercedes stood up suddenly, seeming uncomfortable. “We can’t pay you anything.”

So weary by now that she was having trouble staying on her feet, Céline leaned on the table. “We didn’t come for payment.” Then something occurred to her. “Oh . . . there is one thing, perhaps a favor you might help us with.”

Mercedes’s entire body went rigid. “A favor?”

“Yes, we had to pack light for the journey, and Amelie and I were only allowed one extra wool dress for day wear. We nearly ruined the ones we wore on the journey here. I have blood on mine from tending to an injured soldier. How can we get them laundered here? Could you allow us to use your washtub and clothesline?”

Mercedes’s expression turned incredulous, and then she barked out a single laugh. “That’s your favor? Help with washing a few gowns?” She shook her head. “You bring them to me, and I’ll launder them myself. I can get blood out of wool.”

“Thank you.”

Still sitting on the bench, Marcus was watching Céline with his black eyes, as if trying to figure her out. She put on her cloak and gathered up the box of supplies as Amelie moved to join her.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Céline said, hoping she sounded businesslike. “Marcus, don’t take off those bandages, even if the wounds itch.”

Mariah made room in the doorway, and Céline headed out, nearly tripping on the stairs from exhaustion. The sun dipped low. Was it only that morning that she had waved good-bye to Corporal Bazin and the other soldiers from Sèone and then followed Jaromir into this encampment? It felt as if whole days had passed.

Jaromir was waiting for them near the path up ahead, but as Amelie walked beside her, Céline whispered, “What do you think of those three back there in the wagon?”

“I think someone in their family has a penchant for names starting with the letter M.”

This attempt at humor was so unexpected that Céline couldn’t help the corners of her mouth turning up. Amelie could almost always make her smile.

“In truth,” Amelie added, “I think Mercedes is angry, but she lets it out. Marcus and Mariah are holding in a lot of hatred.”

That was Céline’s assessment as well.

“Marcus and some of the Móndyalítko men must have signed contracts with Keegan,” she said. “Horses to pull the wagons or not, I can’t think of any other reason why they’d stay here . . . and Marcus hates the soldiers.”

“Yes, but how much does he hate them?”

How much indeed?

Jaromir came walking to meet them. “You look done in.”

“You’ve no idea,” Céline answered. “Can we go to our tent and rest for a while?”

“Of course.” He took the box from her and led the way down the path back toward the soldiers’ camp.

“Did you learn anything from the men?” she asked.

“Not a lot, only that there have been three attacks by these . . . wolves during the day, inside the mines themselves. The miners are refusing to work at all now, and Keegan’s soldiers won’t let them leave but also won’t enforce any work because that would mean the soldiers would have to enter to mines themselves to oversee, and they’re just as afraid of being trapped or caught down there.”

Céline absorbed this. “I think you learned quite a bit. If someone is doing this on purpose—infecting the soldiers, I mean—it almost sounds like they are trying to shut down work in the mines.”

The path emptied into the Pählen encampment.

As the collection of tents came into view, Céline heard raised voices. Turning, she saw that Captain Keegan was out among his men. In fact . . . he was shouting at five of them. She recognized three of the soldiers from earlier in the day, the rotund Guardsman Saunders, the skittish young Graham, and the tall, semi-toothless Ramsey. She’d not met the other two.

“We have guests here from the court of Sèone!” Keegan shouted. “Sent at the request of our prince! And you’re all wandering around out here with no one placed at his designated post. You’re all filthy, and you look a disgrace. I won’t have it! You’ll clean yourselves up and act like soldiers or I’ll have you on night watch in that gypsy camp. Do you hear me?”

Had Jaromir ever given his men such a speech, they would have been groveling. He rarely made threats—as he rarely needed to—but a threat from Jaromir was taken seriously.

Céline expected the soldiers to bow and scrape and express a chorus of “Yes, sirs.”

They did not.

Ramsey glared at the captain in thinly veiled hostility and spoke so softly that Céline had to read his lips, but it seemed that he said, “I’ll not take orders from a man who can’t pay his own debts.”

Captain Keegan went stiff. “What did you say?”

No one answered for a moment, and then Ramsey mumbled, “Nothing.”

“Get to your posts,” Keegan ordered.

The men shuffled away, but Céline was somewhat shaken. She’d never seen anything like that. Even back in Shetâna, the chain of command was unquestioned and soldiers followed the orders of a superior officer.

Discipline was breaking down here . . . and these men would need discipline if they hoped to organize themselves and survive.

However, as she, Amelie, and Jaromir walked up, they pretended not to have witnessed the scene.

“Good evening, Captain,” she said.

He turned and saw her approaching. “My lady, I was coming in search of you.”

“Yes, we were detained in the miners’ encampment.”

He frowned. “All afternoon?” But then he offered Amelie a polite bow of his head. “I’ve had a small dinner prepared, to be served in my tent. Could you be ready in an hour?”

Céline wanted to groan. She wanted her bed. The last thing she wanted to do was put on an evening gown and sit at a table making polite conversation. But they were here for a reason, and she glanced at Jaromir. He nodded once.

“Of course,” she said. “We’d be honored.” As she started to walk away, something occurred to her, and she was uncertain of the protocol. Amelie had stressed that as the ranking commander, he was in charge of everyone here. Did she need his permission to conduct any readings? “Captain . . . per our inquiry, I would like to do a reading of a young woman named Mariah and a man called Marcus. Do I have your permission?”

His frown deepened. “Mariah? Why?”

By way of answer, she looked him up and down, as would any haughty lady of Anton’s court.

He glanced away, embarrassed. “Yes, do as you see fit.”