Read Online To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) by Barb Hendee - Free Book Online Page B

about him put her on guard. In his early thirties, he was tall and muscular and moved with a swift grace. His hair was dark and cut short. His feet were bare, and he wore loose pants and a loose shirt like Marcus’s.
    At the sight of her, he stopped cold and for some reason she couldn’t explain, she was nervous. His gaze flicked to Marcus and then back to her again.
    There were far too many people here for Céline to meet at once, and poor Amelie was watching Helga and Alondra in some alarm. Jaromir hadn’t said a word but remained within arm’s length of Amelie, keeping his eyes on the crowd as if making sure no one got too close.
    For the most part, the gathered crowd had fallen silent, watching Céline and Amelie expectantly, as if waiting for something. Céline didn’t think this was the right time to tell everyone why they’d come: to catch whoever had cursed the fields.
    Instead, she moved back to the steps of the wagon and walked to the top. There, she let her voice carry.
    “I do not know if you have another healer among you now, but my mother taught me her skills, and I have brought a large supply of fresh medicines. If you will bring any sick or wounded, it would be my honor to tend them.”
    Relief washed over the faces of those watching her, and the small crowd dispersed quickly. She heard some voices calling to each other, such as, “I’ll get Tildy. You get Ryen.”
    Céline looked down at Marcus, standing below heron the ground. He nodded once and silently mouthed,
Good.
    *   *   *
    Jaromir was at a loss.
    For the first time, he regretted this ruse. He badly wanted to don his armor, sword, and tabard of Sèone. He wanted to be seen as Prince Anton’s lieutenant. Though the Móndyalítko appeared to revere Céline and Amelie, he had no power here and no control.
    He had become accustomed to control.
    The Yegor guards would view him as just another Móndyalítko, and the people of this meadow would view him as an outsider who’d married in.
    He could see that Amelie was visibly shaken by everything that had just transpired, but he was thankful to Céline for having broken up the crowd and redirected their attention.
    “You all right?” he asked Amelie.
    “That was our aunt,” she said quietly. “And Céline had to tell her that our mother is dead.” She looked over to Helga, still holding Alondra. “I didn’t expect so much so fast.”
    “Neither did I,” he answered truthfully.
    Helga caught his eye, and he walked over, motioning Amelie to follow.
    Gently pushing Alondra up, Helga said, “Amelie, this is my sister.”
    Amelie’s troubled expression shifted to a mix of interest and sympathy. “Oh, I am glad to meet you.” She turned as if to introduce Jaromir, but Helga cut her off.
    “Alondra, this is Amelie’s husband, Jaromir Fawe.”
    For a moment, he was taken aback. His given namewas Kirell, even though few people knew it and those who did never used it. Everyone called him by his surname. Then he remembered that some Móndyalítko often took the name of the woman’s family when they married. Helga had simply combined his more commonly used name with Amelie’s surname.
    This made him feel even more out of control, but he understood it.
    “So good to see you both,” Alondra said, sniffing and wiping her face with one arm. “I never thought to meet young seers from the line of Fawe again.”
    “We’re here to find out who did that,” Amelie said, pointing to the dead apple orchard. “And to get you out of here.”
    Alondra nodded sagely. “Yes, yes, I thought as much. I wondered if Helga would see what was happening, but I never expected her to bring help.”
    Jaromir glanced at Amelie, who shrugged. Not all of this discussion was making sense.
    Helga grasped her sister’s hand. “How far into those dead fields can we go?”
    Alondra shook her head in alarm. “Not at all. We can’t leave the meadow.”
    Helga thought for a moment and then said, “Jaromir, take