Even as she realized that, she snapped to an awareness that something important had happened.
The argument seemed to have turned a corner. She vaguely realized something had been suggested and accepted, but she had been so lost inside her own thoughts she had missed it.
Suddenly Wulfgar’s dark, powerful gaze speared her. Taken by surprise at his unexpected attention, she felt skewered, as if she had been stuck on a pin.
He said to Margot, “I agree. I think a liaison from the abbey is exactly what I need.” He gestured at Lily. “I’ll take that one.”
Margot flamed with outrage. “You can’t just pick out one of my priestesses like a horse and expect to take her home with you!”
“It’s all right, Margot,” Lily said. “I don’t mind. I’ll go with him.”
Reaction reverberated through both groups. On the barge, the Wolf raised an eyebrow while his men exchanged glances.
On the dock, Margot whipped around to stare at her. Armor clanked behind Lily as the Defenders took a quick step forward, as if they would prevent her from leaving through physical force.
Why were they all looking at her like that? Scowling, she thought back, teasing out the vague memory of what had just occurred.
Something had been said, along the lines of…
Someone should teach you a lesson.
Oh. Margot had said that.
She hadn’t actually offered a liaison to the Wolf of Braugne. She had been sarcastic, but he had leaped on the suggestion to take one anyway, and Lily had blundered right into it.
Well, that was awkward.
~ 2 ~
Lily was no good at diplomacy, and presumably she had just broken half a dozen protocols by jumping into the middle of their exchange.
She was, in fact, pretty much a disaster in most situations.
With a wince, she pinched the bridge of her nose, and then she gave Margot a sheepish smile.
For the goddess’s sake, what is wrong with you? YOU CAN’T GO WITH HIM! Margot shouted telepathically. Her expression remained rigidly composed, but terror burned at the back of her gaze.
I think I have to, she replied apologetically.
I’ll get you out of it. Margot’s eyes flashed. I’ll put my foot down as prime minister and forbid it.
No, Margot—I really think I have to go. I can’t read him when he’s standing in the middle of his men, and I don’t need to tell you how important it is we come to understand this man.
It was, in fact, vital—not only for the abbey, but for those in Calles who relied upon the abbey’s governance and protection. While she was sorry to put such stress on her friend, they hadn’t stepped outside the abbey walls to play a safe game. Margot was going to have to deal with it.
Margot pressed her fists against her thighs and looked like she wanted to explode again, but this time she remained silent.
Turning toward the barge, Lily looked at Wulfgar and reached another decision.
She said telepathically to him, You have a poisoner in your group.
His hard, dark gaze flared. For the first time since he had arrived, the Wolf of Braugne looked genuinely surprised.
If Wulfgar were the type of man to enjoy a gamble, he would put a thousand gold ducats on the fiery young prime minister holding a blistering telepathic exchange with the petite priestess who had just agreed to be his liaison from Camaeline Abbey.
As the priestess took hold of Jermaine’s hand and carefully climbed onto the barge, she nodded a couple of times, shook her head, made a face, and shrugged her shoulders, all as if in acknowledgment to some internal running dialogue, while her expression remained settled and calm.
A corner of his mouth tilted up. Aside from butting in where she didn’t belong, this little priestess wasn’t any good at schooling her features. That would prove useful. He expected to gather a great deal of information from her.
Margot Givegny speared him with a hard glance. “If you harm a single hair on her head, I’ll throw a curse on you that will haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Wulfgar’s impulse to amusement faded as quickly as it had come. He bit out, “I don’t abuse women—unless they try to abuse me first.”
His warning was unmistakable, and while she looked daggers at him, she refrained from issuing any other threats. On the barge, Jermaine steadied the priestess, and as she gained her footing, she gave the older man a quick smile that was startling in its sweetness.
He waited until Jermaine released her hand and they had begun their tortuous journey back to shore. Then, when she turned to face him, he snapped telepathically, Who is it?
He didn’t ask her how she knew. It was common knowledge all Camael’s priestesses were witches.
The woman glanced around warily. I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell with all of you standing so close together, and I only got a whisper of it.
She could be lying. He didn’t discount it. She could intend to sow dissension between him and his handpicked men, which might be the whole reason why she agreed to come with him.
But if he had a poisoner in his troops, it would explain so much. It might, in fact, explain everything about the sudden dysentery that plagued his troops and ground their progress to a near halt despite Wulfgar’s insistence on maintaining uncompromising sanitary conditions throughout the camps.
He said grimly, When we reach the docks, I’ll have everyone line up. You can walk with me among them and tell me what you find.
Sudden amusement gleamed in her eyes, and she grinned. Like her first smile, it turned her narrow features into something unusual, even spectacular, and the male in Wulfgar roused to take note.
I have very little experience of a liaison’s duties, but I’m fairly certain that’s not in the job description, she told him. While I was happy enough to warn you, I’m not your witch to perform at your beck and call. Your people are your problem.
We’ll see, Wulfgar said in a soft voice that brought the wary expression back to her features.
For someone who had never previously had much time for witches, recent events had conspired to make him intensely interested in utilizing their services. He just needed to find out what this one wanted. Everyone wanted something, and it was always better to try a touch of honey first in case it eased one’s path.
But if honey—or in this case, ancient manuscripts and gold—failed, he would have to find other methods to employ.
Because he would not quit. He would not fail. And he would not turn back.
As the barge made the short journey back to the mainland, he sheathed his sword, crossed his arms, and studied his new acquisition in frowning silence.
She did not seem to be discomfited by his attention. That was unusual. Given enough time under the pressure of his regard, most people’s composure fractured to some extent.
Dominant personalities turned belligerent. Others grew fearful and anxious. Nearly all of them revealed something useful about themselves.
This one, however, ignored him with apparent ease. Turning to face the shore, she stole sidelong glances at the tall soldiers who, to a man, towered over her petite frame.
He cocked an eyebrow at Jermaine who gave him a sidelong grin. Points to her for surprising him back at the abbey dock. Points again for weathering his attention with no visible signs of stress or… any other reaction that he could tell.
Once the barge was moored, Jermaine climbed to the icy dock, moving with the nimble grace of a man half his age. Turning, he extended his hand again to the priestess, who accepted it with a quick smile of thanks, and he helped her to climb out safely.
When she stood solidly on the dock, Wulfgar vaulted out of the barge. Her gaze flickered as she surveyed him, and her expression changed. Something about him had finally caught her attention and made her react while his death stare, as Jermaine liked to jokingly call it, had done nothing.
What had she noticed? He decided he would enjoy figuring out what made her react. And enjoy figuring out how
to use it to his best advantage.
Turning, he strode down the icy dock to the shoreline. As he stepped onto land, he paused to frown at the collection of ice-crusted metal contraptions that rested between the bars of a long metal stand.
They had puzzled him when he had first arrived at the dock. Now he had someone he could ask for an explanation.
As the priestess stopped beside him, he gestured to the metal things. “What are those paired wheels for?”
She glanced at him in surprise. “Those are bicycles… my lord? I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t know how to address you.”
He replied, “Commander will suffice. What are bicycles?”
“Bicycles are an Earth invention that work successfully here in Ys. I forgot—there aren’t any crossover passageways in Braugne, are there?”
“No,” he said, his manner turning terse. “Only those who live near a crossover passageway and reap the economic benefits they bring can afford to forget something like that. But we who live in Braugne always remember. The nearest crossover passageway is halfway across the continent from us.”
Her gaze widened with such shocked dismay he felt almost as if he had physically struck her.
“Of course, you’re correct,” she said. “I apologize—I didn’t mean to cause offense. When I was a small child, I lived in an area that didn’t have any crossover passageways nearby either, so I understand what you mean.”
An unaccustomed sense of contrition bit at his conscience. Impatient with himself, he shook his head. “I am the one who should apologize. You didn’t mean anything by your remark.”
“You’re right though. There are three crossover passageways nearby. Two of them lead to France and another to northern Spain, so Calles has a lot of imports from Earth. They have made our lives better in many ways.” She stepped to the nearest metal contraption to lay a hand on it. “Take the bicycle. You sit here, on the saddle, and while you pump these two pedals with your feet, you can steer where you want to go with the handlebars. You have to learn how to balance, so it takes practice at first.”
He watched her closely. Her expression lit up when she was talking, and there it was again, that unusual, even spectacular something. “What interests you about them?”
She brightened further. “Most people can travel farther and faster on a bicycle than they can on foot, and they are far cheaper to own than a horse. It doesn’t get sick, and you don’t have to worry about the cost of feed or if you have enough field to pasture it. This summer the Chosen paid a subsidy to the town blacksmith to make them for some of the poorer farms nearby. When they attach a small wagon behind the rear wheel, they can bring their goods to market in town.”
Ah, yes. The quiet town.
But he would get to that in a minute.
“So, having a bicycle makes their lives better.” He considered the contraptions thoughtfully.
“Yes, and they’re also fun to ride once you get the hang of it. The children love them.” She frowned at the ice-packed dirt road that led into town. “Although they’re not so easy to ride in winter, and the whole of Ys would need to have a far better system of roadways for them to be viable for long-distance travel. Still, bit by bit, we’re working on making the roads around the town better.”
“I see.” She clearly didn’t realize how much she gave away about herself when she talked about a subject she felt so passionate about.
“Perhaps you might like to take a bicycle back to Braugne with you.”
“Perhaps so.” Reluctant to destroy the fragile rapport they had established, he didn’t tell her he had no intention of returning to Braugne anytime soon.
Instead, he turned to Lionel and ordered, “Major, set a watch on the dock and notify me immediately if there’s any movement from the abbey. Jermaine and Gordon, you stay with me and the priestess. The rest of you, return to camp.”
“Yes, Commander,” Lionel said.
As he set a pair of soldiers on watch, Wulfgar turned back to catch the priestess studying him. The icy wind had whipped her cheeks into a pleasing rosy color.
She told him, “If you might trust what I tell you, it would save your men a lot of effort in this cold. Nobody on that island is going anywhere while you’re here.”
“You may be right.” He studied the island with a narrowed gaze. “Or they may change their minds. And my men are not here to be spared any effort.”
At that her expression turned sour, but she shrugged.
Perhaps she didn’t want to destroy the fragile rapport either. Or perhaps it was no matter to her.
Either way, he didn’t think she had meant anything underhanded by her suggestion. It was probably just as she had said. The people sheltering on the island wouldn’t need to come to the mainland for supplies.
From the accounts he had read, the long-dead architects of the abbey had made good use of every inch of land. They would have vegetable gardens, fruit trees, fields of grain, and plentiful water. No doubt farm animals too, at the very least chickens and goats, and probably sheep as well.
The island would be well fortified, and there were only two gateways that offered an entrance through the fortress walls. The first was the public dock they had just left, which was wide enough for three or four barges to dock but too narrow to allow for all of them to unload at once.
In one text he had examined, the writer described a second dock that faced seaward. Smaller and more private, it mirrored the public dock in almost every detail, with a narrow ledge made even more slippery and treacherous by waves from the open sea and a stairway that cut into the cliff that was barred by a heavy, iron-bound door.
A battering ram was useless in those conditions, and even if either of those doors were breached, it would only take a few fighters to defend the stairways. They could hold off an invasion indefinitely while an attacking force would have to contend with the confined space, the narrow ledge, and the sea itself, along with whatever those manning the walls saw fit to throw down on them.
He and his men could climb those cliffs and scale the walls. Braugne was a difficult, mountainous country, and most soldiers were taught how to climb before they reached manhood.
But that kind of climb would be too hard and slow to gain any real purchase in battle. It would involve hammers, pitons, and rope. The abbey had a few blind spots on the towers that faced seaward, but he wouldn’t be able to get enough of his men up the walls before they were pelted with rocks from above, or worse, boiling water or oil. Inevitably, they would be swept into the sea.
Meanwhile, the abbey could survive for years under siege, definitely for far longer than all but the most stubborn of armies.
If they were under siege, they wouldn’t have access to the outside world, either to their precious crossover passageways or to the rest of Ys, and sooner or later, that isolation would chafe. But still, the only thing they were truly vulnerable to was treachery.
And the only way they could be taken was from within.
~ 3 ~
He turned toward Calles. It was time to survey the silent town.
“Come,” he said.
The priestess joined him, and Jermaine and Gordon fell into step behind them.
As they walked the short distance to town, she pulled her hood up, but she didn’t complain about his insistence on exploring the town in inclement weather. He found himself liking her just a little bit.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he matched his longer stride to hers. “What is your name?”
“Lily.”
“Do you have a title? In Braugne we call Camaeline priestesses my lady.”
“That has always sounded so fancy to me. I was a foundling, so I’m not used to it. Please just call me Lily.”
He could hear the smile in her voice, and briefly, he wanted to lift her hood away so he could see that spectacular something in her expression again.
Frowning at the unwelcome impulse, he said, “You didn’t have to agree to this. You could have gone ba
ck to a cozy abbey fire. Your prime minister certainly wanted you to.”
Ruefully, she replied, “Margot is very protective.”
“Yet, when I brought up the subject of taking a liaison, I don’t think she had an objection to giving me a priestess. She just didn’t want it to be you.” He let her mull that over for a moment as he watched her closely, intensely interested in how she would respond next.
Then she sighed heavily enough he could hear it despite the wind. “She and I have known each other for most of our lives. She tormented me when we were small, but now that we’ve grown past all that, she seems to want to make up for it by keeping me wrapped in wool and tucked away in a drawer.”
He almost smiled. It was a good deflection. She was careful about what she said, confessing to a small truth without giving away too much.
He said, “You became friends.”
She laughed. “It still sounds funny to admit, but yes, much to my surprise, we’ve become friends.”
“I like your laugh.” While his tone was brusque, he spoke the truth. Her laugh sounded warm and infectious. If she were a courtesan, he might have purchased a night with her based on her laugh alone.
When she peeked around the edge of her hood at him, the wary expression was back in her eyes. “Thank you.”
They had reached the town’s main street, and as they walked he studied the closed shops and dark houses. In a few of the shops’ windows, he saw luxury items.
Chocolates and scented soaps and gourmet packaged foods from Earth. In one shop window, jars of caviars were stacked in a pyramid between bunches of roses that had been cleverly fashioned out of crimson velvet.
When he saw jars of caviar, he remembered the single taste he’d had once, spooned onto a flat salt bread called a cracker, and his mouth watered.
Much of Earth’s technologies didn’t work in what they called Other lands, like Ys, where magic took prominence. Most weapons, combustible engines, and the like were useless, if not outright dangerous, but from what he had experienced, there wasn’t a single thing wrong with the food.
The Chosen: A Novella of the Elder Races Page 2
