Even as she scolded, he knew she had switched to telepathy for a reason. Planting his feet wide, he crossed his arms. And?
Our Chosen has ordered me to send six teams to hunt down the weather mages and stop them by any means necessary. A hint of vengeful satisfaction flashed through her narrowed gaze. So by preventing us from following our orders, you are actually hurting yourself more than anyone.
He uncrossed his arms. She agreed to help us.
No, Commander. Margot shook her head. We are not offering help to you or affiliating ourselves with anyone. We are only committing to uphold the law and to aid any farmsteads who may be in jeopardy. Our Chosen doesn’t want to see innocent people die.
Bending, he offered his hand. She hesitated for a long moment before she grasped it, and he lifted her unceremoniously onto the dock. “Well, let me help you. I can provide backup to every team.”
“No, Commander.” Turning, she gestured, and the others disembarked. “We will deal with this on our own.”
Frowning, he watched as the teams formed in a line. There was one priestess, or witch, and three Defenders in each team. “Weather mages are Powerful magic users. Going after them will be dangerous work.”
“We are well aware of that.” Exasperation had entered her voice.
Wulf watched as she walked from team to team, pausing to look into the eyes of each witch. He would have liked to have heard the orders she gave them, but whatever their exchange was, they conducted it in silence.
Waiting until she was through, he said, “At least let us give you horses.”
“No, Commander,” she said. “Calles will not accept any support from Braugne on this matter, nor will we ask for help from any other principality. The abbey keeps horses at the inns in town. Now, that will be all.”
He had to hand it to her. She had only five Defenders that would remain with her, while he had a force of two hundred waiting at his back, yet she still managed to dismiss him as if he were a petitioner or a servant. There was a certain kind of splendid, suicidal arrogance in that.
He could have taken her prisoner. She might have damaged or killed a great many of them before he did, but he could have.
Instead, he relaxed and walked back to Lionel and his mount while the six teams from the abbey slipped through the lines of his troops and made their way to town. Margot and her Defenders climbed back onto the barges and set off for the island.
After watching their retreat across the strait for a few minutes, Lionel rubbed the corner of his mouth. “We could have stopped that.”
“Too costly without enough reasonable gain. Besides, I have another idea for how I’m going to deal with the abbey.” Mounting his horse, Wulf looked down at Lionel. “Send six bands of our best covert fighters after theirs. I want to make sure they succeed in their mission, whether they want our help or not.”
Lionel grinned. “Yes, sir!”
After her dream, Lily couldn’t fall back to sleep.
She needed to sleep. She had needed quality sleep for months now, but the visions and dreams wouldn’t leave her alone, and she never got enough rest.
Finally, even though she still felt desperately tired, she threw herself out of bed, dressed, and tried to tackle at least a few of the never-ending tasks piled on her desk.
There were petitions for the Chosen’s personal prayers along with large sums of accompanying donations, requests from other kingdoms and principalities for priestesses in residence, and letters from the Elder Races demesnes on Earth and from Other lands.
There were also over a dozen personal requests and complaints from inhabitants of the abbey, and she had to assess the abbey’s finances and either approve or amend the budget for the next quarter year.…
Even with the help of a secretary, she felt like she was drowning in paperwork.
How could she approve this budget? Right now the abbey had no business spending money on anything but the most basic of essentials that they needed for survival. They needed to hold on to their gold because they might need to import more food supplies from Earth before they saw any relief from the next harvest.
When Margot brought her a document with the teams she had created, Lily studied the list carefully, then approved it. Immediately after Margot left, a wave of dark emotion washed over her head.
People were going to die. Maybe it would be the weather mages, or it might be people from that list. She knew those people, had eaten meals with them, had laughed at their jokes, commiserated with their challenges, and cheered at their personal victories.
In the cold light of morning, it did no good to tell herself innocent lives were already in jeopardy. That was true. They were, and what was happening was wrong, and the action she had just taken was right, and none of that helped.
For the first time since she had become the Chosen, she had exercised the power of her office in such a way that people would die because of what she ordered them to do.
She whispered to Camael, “Goddess, please be with them.”
Sometimes the goddess’s presence was bold, vast, and miraculous. Sometimes, all Lily heard was silence. This time she heard silence, but at least the darkness in her heart eased enough for her to turn her attention to other things.
Sitting back in her chair, she opened the drawer that held the packet of letters she had received so far from the king of Guerlan. She pulled them out and read them again.
“… Much as we would like to, we regret that we are unable to attend your ascension ceremony as matters in our own kingdom demand our attention. But we extend many felicitations to you, and in our absence, please accept a gift of toys for the abbey’s foundlings, made in your honor since you stand as the finest example in all Ys for how one from low beginnings can achieve great heights. …”
Then the next letter: “… I trust this missive finds your grace well, and you are beginning to find your balance. … I know too well the difficulties in the sudden assumption of an elevated office, especially in the middle of grief, as that is what happened to me when my father died. …”
And from another: “… Summer has once again raced past, and we thank you for the abbey’s annual gifts. The wine is especially appreciated. I heard how much you enjoy histories, so I hope you like the books I’ve sent. I also want to extend a personal invitation for you to attend the Masque here in Guerlan at winter solstice. It is but a week’s journey from Calles to the capital, and the city is beautiful during the Masque. Garlands of decorations adorn the streets and shops, and I always host the most lavish gala in the six kingdoms. …”
All told, she held half a dozen missives, each one a polished mix of the official and the personal. Almost certainly the king hadn’t written any of them. She had always guessed he had probably dictated the snatches of personal comments, but in truth those, along with the thoughtful gifts, could very well have come from his secretary.
She rubbed her face. Aware of the hard winter they would be facing, she had declined with warm regrets the king’s invitation to the Masque.
Now she was second-guessing that decision. If she left right away, she would have enough time to get there by the Masque.
If she could lay eyes on Varian and see for herself what visions there were to see, perhaps she might find the monster she had failed to discover in Wulf.
Or perhaps Varian’s psyche would be like his letters, warm and thoughtful, measured and fair.
She wanted to flail. She needed a nap.
What was Wulf thinking today? He had to be so mad at her for abandoning him without a word.
Whether he was angry or not did not bear any relevance in her life. She did not owe him an explanation for anything. As she put the letters away again in their assigned drawer and straightened, Gennita stormed into her office.
“Your grace, I must take a few moments of your time.” The older priestess’s chin shook.
Lily’s shoulders slumped. Even though she had tried to bring kindness and respect to Margot’s appointm
ent as prime minister to the council, she had offended Gennita deeply by not offering the position to her. Gennita had been Raella’s advisor for decades, and she was the oldest priestess on the council.
Now, no matter how many times she had asked Gennita to keep calling her Lily, Gennita had persisted in the more formal address, and Lily had begun to doubt the break between them would ever be mended.
She said, “Now is not a good time, Gennita.”
“This cannot wait!” Gennita advanced into the room. “Your grace, you must rescind the order to send abbey priestesses and Defenders to meddle in affairs that do not concern us!”
The darkness, like grief, threatened to wash over her again, and tension clamped down on Lily so tightly she had to force a deep breath into her lungs. “This affair does concern us. It concerns everyo—”
“Calles is too small to withstand a direct, sustained confrontation with another kingdom! Even now we have the Wolf of Braugne lingering at our door. How do you think that will look to Guerlan—our closest, very large, and very powerful neighbor? You could be jeopardizing generations of peaceful coexistence!”
For a moment she felt like she had in the days directly after her appointment—beset by visions, buffeted by opposition from the more established priestesses in the abbey, and bombarded by the sheer volume of duties that were, apparently, still hers alone to fulfill despite her best efforts to delegate where she could.
She remembered those days all too well, the combination of contradictory forces that competed for her attention and threatened to pull her apart.
Shoving the memories into the past where they belonged, she gritted her teeth and tried for patience. “This is not helpful, Gennita. You are supposed to voice your concerns to the prime minister.”
“She won’t listen to me!”
Lily’s patience fractured. “Margot is doing her job! You must listen to her and do what she tells you to do.”
“I can’t believe the abbey has come to such a place.” Gennita stared at her, betrayal in her gaze. “In the beginning you seemed to have such promise, and I had such high hopes for you. Now, not only are you threatening to destroy our safeguards and traditions, but we stand to lose our allies as well. And you’re building walls around you so nobody can urge you to consider a different path. Your grace, you will be the death of Calles if you don’t change your ways!”
The words hit Lily’s solar plexus as if she had taken a physical blow. Pressing a hand to her stomach, she fought to compose herself.
When she could speak, she said, “Get out.”
Gennita hesitated, staring at her as if she expected Lily to change her mind. When Lily said nothing, she turned and left.
For a short exchange, that had been very ugly. Locking her office door, Lily hurried to the winding staircase that led to the Chosen’s quarters at the top of the seaward-facing tower. Thankfully she didn’t run into anyone.
Once inside, she barred the door, then swiped at the tears that persisted in sliding down her cheeks, still covering her stomach with one flattened hand as if she could protect herself from the emotional blow that had already been struck.
All her life she had done everything she could to ascertain what was best for Calles. She simply couldn’t try any harder. To have someone like Gennita, someone who had comforted her when she was small and encouraged her throughout school, say that she might be the death of Calles was incredibly painful.
A brush of cool air touched her hot skin, and footsteps sounded beside her.
“What a shame,” Wulf said. “I came all this way to fight with you, but it doesn’t look like you’re up to it.”
The floor slid sideways underneath Lily’s feet. Catching herself as she staggered, she whirled to stare at him.
“Are you, Lily?” He advanced. “Or should I say your grace?”
He looked ruggedly handsome in a simple white shirt, leather pants, and boots. He also looked harder, meaner, more dangerous than ever, and the normally spacious, elaborately appointed apartment felt much smaller than normal.
The fact that he stood here, in the middle of her tower, was more than outlandish. It was impossible.
“What are you doing here?!” Her gaze flew around. “How in the goddess’s name did you get in?”
She caught sight of a pile of foreign objects near one tall window. Even as she darted over to inspect them, Wulf said, “I climbed up and broke a window. I knew it was only a matter of time before the Chosen returned to her tower.”
There was a cloak in the pile, along with other woolen wrappings, gloves, and rope, metal tools, and a pair of foot-sized iron frames with spikes at the toes that looked like they could be strapped on over boots. It was climbing equipment.
And there was his sword, sheathed in what appeared to be a shoulder harness, leaning against the wall. He was so confident he wasn’t even armed, and somehow that was terrifying.
Or maybe it was mortifying. She wasn’t sure which.
She pivoted to face him. He had followed her across the wide expanse of the room and stood with his hands on his hips.
“Are you insane?”
He eyed her sardonically, mouth held at a slant. “This from the woman who decided it was a good idea to cross a dangerously icy strait by herself in the middle of a snowy night.”
“Oh, I knew what I was doing, and I was just fine!” Feeling the need to flail again, she gestured at the broken window. “But you—this—is madness! You could have fallen to your death. What if the Defenders on the walls had seen you? With a couple of well-aimed arrows, they could have killed you! Even now, your body would be dangling out there until somebody cut it down.”
“You’re not the only one with the ability to cloak her presence.” He gave her a narrow smile. “One of my witches threw a cloaking spell over me and a small fishing boat.”
Her breath caught. “You said your witches weren’t as trained as we are. You trusted your life to that spell?”
“Unlike yours, the one she cast wouldn’t have been strong enough to let me through a busy army camp and three sentries, but it was good enough to get me to the seaward side of the island. I moored the boat at the private dock, and climbed a section of your tower that none of the guards on your walls can see.”
Her mouth dropped open. The chances he had taken were breathtaking. If the newly posted guards at the bottom of the staircase had heard him, they would be dead right now.
They would, not he. She didn’t have a single doubt about it. Her mind tried to gallop down the catastrophic consequences of that, and she had to haul herself back to what was relevant.
Sparing a moment to be grateful for the thickness of the door and the thunderous crash of the sea, she said, “How do you even know about that blind spot?”
“I had an advance scout reconnoiter the island weeks ago.” He drew closer, the smooth glide of his body leisurely, predatory. “Back before the snows began. He hired a pleasure yacht and sailed around the island, and afterward he came to the abbey along with a group of petitioners. Apparently visiting the abbey was a pleasant experience. The priestesses he spoke to were very nice, while children played in the courtyards. He drew a map of the weakest points of your surveillance and defense. On this side of the island, you rely too much on the elements to protect you.”
She had said almost that very thing the night before, but it felt devastating to hear Wulf state it so coldly. “You scouted us weeks ago.”
“I have been scouting the seat of every principality. Like you said, your grace—I’m always plotting four steps ahead.”
She had been right. He was still very angry. Retreating a step, she asked, “When did you discover who I was? Did that manservant tell you when you questioned him?”
“I knew almost immediately.”
She felt again as if the floor tilted sharply on her. “You knew?”
“I guessed when we first met on the dock. Everyone else in your party acted their part. They focused on me and on yo
ur minister, but you were off script. You weren’t paying attention to us—you were focused on other things, and you didn’t stay in formation. Instead, you maneuvered around a little as you assessed us. And of all the Defenders on that dock, the strongest ones had been stationed at your back, not your minister’s. And when you agreed to come with me, everyone reacted.”
Intensely chagrined, she closed her eyes. Even at the time, she’d had no doubt he noticed everything. Apparently she seemed destined to make accurate enough observations, but she was a spectacular failure at extrapolating anything useful from them.
“I had no idea Margot had arranged the Defenders like that,” she whispered. “So when you picked me out of the crowd, you already knew.”
“I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure until you told me about the bicycles.” He shook his head. “Nobody talks more lovingly than themselves about their own pet projects, and you loved bringing that opportunity to the town. Your face lit up when you told me about it. After that, I thought once or twice you might confess. Remember when I said your minister didn’t have any objection to giving me a priestess, she just didn’t want it to be you? I thought you were going to tell me then, but you didn’t. You managed to slide away from it.”
He had known all that time. Instead of confronting her, he had watched and waited, conversed and assessed. And she hadn’t suspected, not even once.
With Gennita’s bitter words still twisting like a knife in her gut, he couldn’t have confronted her at a worse time.
What else had she missed? What else, what else?
The visions were always strongest when she felt the most broken and vulnerable, as if those were the times when divinity could truly shine its light into her mind. Now they swept over her again, blinding her to the physical world around her.
Bitter winter, lean harvest. Kingdoms filled with unrest. A darkening over the land, clashing swords, and two men in mortal combat. One of them would grind Ys to dust.
And always the fall of Calles…
You will be the death of Calles if you don’t change your ways!
The Chosen: A Novella of the Elder Races Page 7
