Free To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) by Barb Hendee

me to the edge. I want to see what I can.”
    Glad for some action, Jaromir looked over to see Céline and Marcus on the steps, waiting for her first patient. He trusted Marcus to stay with her.
    “Come on,” he said, reaching down for Helga.
    She let him haul her to feet and said to her sister, “You, too.”
    Just as they were about to head for the edge of themeadow, Helga stopped and her body went rigid. In alarm, Jaromir followed her gaze.
    She watched a man who had moved away from the white wagon, but not dispersed with the others. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair cut short. His feet were bare. His eyes were on Céline.
    “Not now, Helga,” Alondra said, her tone desperate. “Don’t do anything. Griffin is dead now, and Gerard leads our family, so things are different, but you stay away from Jago.”
    Jaromir had no idea what any of this meant, but Helga continued glaring at the man.
    “Your seer has Marcus right there with her,” Alondra pressed. “Nothing will happen.”
    Amelie’s expression shifted to alarm. “What’s wrong? Who’s that man?”
    “Jago Taragoš,” Helga answered, as if that explained everything. The hatred in her voice was thick. “Lieutenant, you watch him. He’s a killer.”
    Jaromir stepped closer. “What?”
    “He’s a killer, and that’s all you need to know.”
    “Helga,” he insisted, “what do you mean?”
    She didn’t answer, and the man called Jago turned and walked away.
    “See, he’s gone,” Alondra said, grasping Helga’s arm. “Now come to the edge of the meadow, like you wanted.”
    After a moment, Helga nodded to her sister. Jaromir wanted to press her but knew it would be pointless. Until she was ready to speak, he’d get nothing from her. The term “killer” was ambiguous. He himself had killed when necessary, and so had Amelie. For thatmatter, so had Céline once. This man named Jago didn’t appear to concern anyone besides Helga, so Jaromir wasn’t sure what to make of the situation.
    Still, he made a mental note to find out more about Jago.
    After this, the four of them walked through the wagons and made their way south toward one side of the dried meadow. Jaromir spotted an area with about sixty paces between two guards, and he led the way.
    Upon reaching the edge, Helga knelt and put her fingers into the dusty soil of the dead strawberry field. “Look at this,” she said.
    He knelt beside her to see what she’d uncovered. About two inches beneath the dried topsoil, the dirt was dark and damp and rich. The berries should be thriving.
    His eyes flew to her face. “What does it mean?”
    “It means there’s no doubt this is some kind of curse, something cast by a kettle witch. You saw the forested areas. Someone has targeted the crops and only the crops.”
    Jaromir absorbed that and stood up. He turned to Alondra. “When did this happen?”
    “Eleven days ago,” she answered. “But it took several more days for Prince Malcolm to come and blame us.” She paused. “For some reason, he turned on a young outsider named Gallius, who’d married in to the line of Renéive. The prince had him tied to a tree and beaten and burned with irons and finally killed.”
    “You’ve no idea why this Gallius was singled out?” Amelie asked her.
    “None. The prince said Gallius had been seen in theorchard with his arms in the air, but that’s nonsense. Gallius had only been with us since last year, but he loved summers in the meadow. He’d never have done harm to the crops.”
    Helga glanced away as if trying not to wince.
    “Has anyone else been questioned?” Jaromir asked.
    “Just one,” Alondra answered, “but not down here. Twice now, the prince has sent soldiers to take Lilah . . . Gallius’s young wife, up to the castle. I think you all must have seen her today? She’s Rupert’s daughter, pretty thing, a bit full of herself, but I’d never wish her any harm. Thankfully, she came back both times unhurt.”
    That made