To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) Read Free

bait, and Helga bossing everyone else around.
    They were a sad little company this morning, and Céline decided to take charge in Helga’s stead.
    “This is all we can do here,” she said. “Amelie and I have bread, butter, and strawberry jam inside. Everyone,come along, and I’ll put together some breakfast and spiced tea. Jaromir, you need to eat something.”
    He didn’t argue and let her lead him through the back door. This rear section provided their living quarters, and all four members of the funeral party passed down a short hallway, through a set of swinging doors, and into the front half of the shop, where the work and transactions took place.
    Céline took pride in knowing that all this belonged to her and Amelie.
    There was the sturdy counter running half the length of the large front room, and the walls were lined with shelves of clay pots and jars. The wooden table was covered in a variety of accoutrements such as a pestle and mortar, brass scales, small wooden bowls, and an open box of tinder and flint. A hearth comprised the center of the south wall.
    Céline’s enormous orange cat, Oliver, sat on the counter licking his paws. He kept the place free of mice.
    “I’ll slice the bread,” Amelie said. “Céline, can you get the water started for tea?”
    “Yes, I’ll be quick.”
    As Céline headed for the hearth, again she glanced back at Helga, who would normally have taken full charge by now, insisting upon slicing the bread herself and throwing a few insults at Jaromir. She often told him that he “needed to be taken down a peg or two,” and he never disagreed. Anyone else who dared speak to him in such a manner would have been given reason to regret it.
    In spite of his state of sorrow, Jaromir himself finally noticed Helga’s uncharacteristic silence and walkedtoward her. “What ails you? Try not to be too pained over Lizzie. I keep telling myself she had a good life and a peaceful end, and that’s more than most of us can hope for.”
    Helga started slightly and looked up him. He towered over her.
    “Oh, it’s not . . . yes, I’m sad about your Lizzie, but . . .”
    “But what?”
    Helga’s gaze moved from him to Amelie to Céline.
    Kneeling by the hearth, Céline asked, “Helga, what is wrong?” Forgetting the tea, she stood, hurried over, and led the older woman to a chair. “Please talk to us.”
    As Helga sat, her expression was deeply troubled. “What do any of you know of Prince Malcolm of Yegor?”
    Amelie blinked, and Céline had no idea what to say. The sisters knew little to nothing of politics outside the house of Pählen.
    Jaromir shook his head. “Prince Malcolm? Not much. I know he’s had the title only about five years, after inheriting from a brother who died with no heir. He holds a good deal of the southeast province, and his house earns most of their profits from agriculture. He’s also shown no interest adding his name to the upcoming royal election.”
    Droevinka had no hereditary king. Instead, it was a land of many princes, each one heading his own noble house and overseeing multiple fiefdoms. But they all served a single grand prince, and a new grand prince was elected every nine years by the gathered heads of the noble houses. At present, Prince Rodêk of the house of Äntes was in rule.
    In one year’s time, next spring, a new grand prince would be elected, and Anton was hoping for the opportunity not only to put himself up for election but to gain enough support to win.
    Helga studied Jaromir’s face. “Agriculture?” she repeated. “Does that mean crops?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    “I’ve been looking for a way to get the three of you alone since yesterday. I need your help.” She looked to Céline. “To save some of your mother’s people.”
    “Our mother’s people?” Amelie echoed.
    “There’s a meadow about half a league from Castle Yegor,” Helga went on. “The lands all around it are covered in apple orchards and berry fields.