Free Mist-Torn 01 - The Mist-Torn Witches by Barb Hendee Page B

green-blue.
    “He…,” Pavel began and then stopped for a few seconds. “He’s here at the request of my lord’s father, Prince Lieven. They say…”
    He trailed off again, and Céline wondered who “they” might be.
    “They say my lord is not well,” Pavel continued, lowering his voice. “And sometimes I think he fancies himself to be not well. But Master Feodor makes him
believe
he’s not well, makes him rest too much and take draughts and bleeds him and the gods know what else.” His voice dropped even lower. “But my lord’s color has only gotten worse. I don’t think Master Feodor knows what he’s doing.”
    This got Céline’s full attention, and she would have liked to know what was in the “draughts” Feodor was feeding Anton. She knew from experience that people tended to view physicians or healers with far too much blind trust, and she hoped Feodor was not some charlatan trying to make himself a place here at Anton’s court by seeming indispensable.
    Would that make him any worse than her?
    She shook her head. Of course it would. She’d never give anyone medicine or advice unless it was in their best interests…Well, almost never.
    But Pavel hadn’t finished. “I’d not serve Sub-Prince Damek, not as one of his own men, I mean, but he is a harder man than my lord, and I think the grand prince of the land needs to be a hard man.”
    Something about this statement tickled the back of Céline’s mind, though she wasn’t sure why.
    More servants bustled in and berry pies were being served just as the music started. She looked up toward the first table to see musicians with instruments behind the dais: a flute, a lute, and a harp. The tune was lively, and people began getting up from the tables, moving to the more open area of the hall in order to dance.
    Several soldiers were gathering at an empty space at the end of one table, and a deck of cards came out. Amelie’s eyes lit up. “Céline, do you mind if I—”
    “Go,” Céline said, glad her sister might findsome diversion here, as there wasn’t much else for her to do.
    But the moment Amelie was gone, Pavel stood up and held out his hand. “Will you dance?”
    Startled, Céline fell back on honesty. “I don’t know how.”
    Dancing was hardly a common pastime back in Shetâna. The people there were more interested in surviving either winter or the sporadic visits from Damek’s soldiers.
    “It’s easy,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
    How could she refuse without insulting him? Still uncertain, she took his hand and let him lead.
    As they approached the people dancing, she saw that everyone was swiftly sidestepping in a large circle while holding hands. Two dancers parted to let her and Pavel join, and a few seconds later, she found herself smiling.
    The sensation was enjoyable…foreign but enjoyable.
    Within moments, the steps changed, and she saw that all the women were supposed to skip to the man directly across the circle. Without hesitation, she skipped across, and a burly man with a fatherly face grabbed her hands and swung her around. The yards of fabric in the skirt of her gown swirled, and the strange sensation passing through her seemed to grow. She felt light. Happy.
    Then she saw that she was supposed to continue moving and skip back to Pavel. As she did, he grasped one of her hands firmly and put hisother hand on the small of her back, pulling her close. He was so tall she found herself staring at his left collarbone.
    As suddenly as it had arrived, the happiness vanished, replaced by alarm. She continued the swift movement of the steps, letting him lead, but she was too aware of the strength in his hands and that she couldn’t have pulled away from him had she wanted to.
    She didn’t like this and wondered how she’d let him get such a firm hold. She and Amelie both knew better.
    Fighting for calm, she tried telling herself not to be such a coward. He was nothing like Damek’s soldiers. Had she not spent