Read Online Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches by Barb Hendee - Free Book Online
Authors: Barb Hendee
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to sleep in my shift. I don’t have anything else to—”
Without a knock sounding, the door burst open, and a stocky, stooped old woman came inside carrying a surprisingly large load of folded blankets and drying towels, with a wooden tray of food balanced on top, complete with a porcelain pitcher.
“Ah, here ye are,” she announced. “His lord majesty lieutenant told me you were already in the room, but you never can tell with men. Half the time, they’ve no idea what they’re saying.”
At the irreverent reference to Jaromir, Amelie turned with some interest and took in the woman’s measure. Céline followed suit, but the aging creature rambled on.
“Blankets I can see a need for, but there’s no tub in sight, so what do you need with drying clothes, I ask? Men. Never know what they’re about. Now, you both come and have some of this bread and cheese. He said you’d not eaten either. But Helga’s here now. She’ll feed you.”
She appeared to be at least in her seventies, with thick white hair up in a bun that was partially covered by a green kerchief. Her wrinkled face had a dusky tone, and she wore a faded homespun dress that might have once been purple.
For Céline, another mystery of this castle was figuring out exactly who was who in the order of things. For one, Jaromir’s rank was that of lieutenant, not even captain, so why did he appear to be second to the prince in the command structure here? This aged woman…Helga, appeared to be a lowly servant, but she’d called Jaromir “his lord majesty lieutenant” with enough sarcasm that it could not be missed.
Who was she?
“Don’t just stand there, my girls,” Helga wenton. “Come and eat.” She set the blankets and towels on the bed and brought the tray to the dressing table. Picking up a generous slice of soft, yellow cheese and placing it on a piece of white bread, she held it out to Amelie.
Céline had tasted white bread only a few times in her life, as it was a delicacy afforded only by the wealthy. “I…,” she tried to say, at a loss. “I…”
Amelie appeared equally uncertain, but she reached over and took the offered food.
“Two seers,” Helga murmured, prepping the next helping of bread and cheese. “Good, good, just what the castle needs now. From the line of Fawe.” She nodded in approval. “How many years apart were you born?”
Céline’s mouth fell open. What did she mean by “two seers,” and how did she know their family name? Well, Anton knew it, and he must have told Jaromir. Jaromir must have told the woman.
“Three years,” Amelie answered, biting into the cheese.
Just then, a single knock sounded at the door—which was still open—and all three women looked over.
A fourth woman stood in the doorway, and something about her caused Céline to tense.
She was young, perhaps eighteen, as slim as a reed and standing stiffly, as if she’d rather be anywhere but in that doorway. The first word that came to Céline’s mind to describe her was “colorless.”
Her hair was that shade of grayish blond, like ditch water, and her eyes matched. She wore a plain gray dress with a high collar—but it was well made from good wool—and she had small gold hoops in her ears. Again, Céline was lost to place her position. She was hardly a lady of the castle, but servants did not normally go around wearing gold earrings. Although her features were small and could even be called attractive, her face was pinched, and her expression was nervous or worried. As she took in the sight of Céline, her eyes flashed clear dislike—possibly hatred.
Céline’s gaze moved down to see that she carried two silk gowns in her arms, one a shade of rich amber and a second of midnight blue.
“That would be Inna,” Helga announced, gesturing at the young woman with one hand, as if this should give Céline and Amelie an idea of Inna’s place or position here.
Inna seemed hesitant to enter the room, and Céline glanced back
Without a knock sounding, the door burst open, and a stocky, stooped old woman came inside carrying a surprisingly large load of folded blankets and drying towels, with a wooden tray of food balanced on top, complete with a porcelain pitcher.
“Ah, here ye are,” she announced. “His lord majesty lieutenant told me you were already in the room, but you never can tell with men. Half the time, they’ve no idea what they’re saying.”
At the irreverent reference to Jaromir, Amelie turned with some interest and took in the woman’s measure. Céline followed suit, but the aging creature rambled on.
“Blankets I can see a need for, but there’s no tub in sight, so what do you need with drying clothes, I ask? Men. Never know what they’re about. Now, you both come and have some of this bread and cheese. He said you’d not eaten either. But Helga’s here now. She’ll feed you.”
She appeared to be at least in her seventies, with thick white hair up in a bun that was partially covered by a green kerchief. Her wrinkled face had a dusky tone, and she wore a faded homespun dress that might have once been purple.
For Céline, another mystery of this castle was figuring out exactly who was who in the order of things. For one, Jaromir’s rank was that of lieutenant, not even captain, so why did he appear to be second to the prince in the command structure here? This aged woman…Helga, appeared to be a lowly servant, but she’d called Jaromir “his lord majesty lieutenant” with enough sarcasm that it could not be missed.
Who was she?
“Don’t just stand there, my girls,” Helga wenton. “Come and eat.” She set the blankets and towels on the bed and brought the tray to the dressing table. Picking up a generous slice of soft, yellow cheese and placing it on a piece of white bread, she held it out to Amelie.
Céline had tasted white bread only a few times in her life, as it was a delicacy afforded only by the wealthy. “I…,” she tried to say, at a loss. “I…”
Amelie appeared equally uncertain, but she reached over and took the offered food.
“Two seers,” Helga murmured, prepping the next helping of bread and cheese. “Good, good, just what the castle needs now. From the line of Fawe.” She nodded in approval. “How many years apart were you born?”
Céline’s mouth fell open. What did she mean by “two seers,” and how did she know their family name? Well, Anton knew it, and he must have told Jaromir. Jaromir must have told the woman.
“Three years,” Amelie answered, biting into the cheese.
Just then, a single knock sounded at the door—which was still open—and all three women looked over.
A fourth woman stood in the doorway, and something about her caused Céline to tense.
She was young, perhaps eighteen, as slim as a reed and standing stiffly, as if she’d rather be anywhere but in that doorway. The first word that came to Céline’s mind to describe her was “colorless.”
Her hair was that shade of grayish blond, like ditch water, and her eyes matched. She wore a plain gray dress with a high collar—but it was well made from good wool—and she had small gold hoops in her ears. Again, Céline was lost to place her position. She was hardly a lady of the castle, but servants did not normally go around wearing gold earrings. Although her features were small and could even be called attractive, her face was pinched, and her expression was nervous or worried. As she took in the sight of Céline, her eyes flashed clear dislike—possibly hatred.
Céline’s gaze moved down to see that she carried two silk gowns in her arms, one a shade of rich amber and a second of midnight blue.
“That would be Inna,” Helga announced, gesturing at the young woman with one hand, as if this should give Céline and Amelie an idea of Inna’s place or position here.
Inna seemed hesitant to enter the room, and Céline glanced back
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