~ 6 ~
Margot’s expression tightened. “How long do you think we have?”
“I don’t know. Not long.”
“Can you see how it’s going to happen?”
“No.” She rubbed her tired face. “But it’s up to us to see that when we do surrender our autonomy, we do it in a way that creates the best outcome for our people. Camael has been preparing me my whole life to deliver this one message. Every vision and dream she’s ever sent me—everything—leads to this.”
“I believe you.” Margot rubbed her back. “But when we assemble those teams and send them out, the council is going to fight us. It’s not that anybody questions your appointment. The whole abbey attended the Choosing ceremony, and Gennita anointed every one of our foreheads with oil—and we all witnessed that magnificent flare of light when the oil touched your skin. But people are people, and this is a massive, frightening change they’re facing.”
“Well, we’re not picking an allegiance yet,” Lily said. “We’re just taking action because it’s the right and lawful thing to do. We need to save lives.”
“I agree, but there are going to be consequences. You might not be picking a side yet, but you will, for sure, be making an enemy of whoever is responsible for the weather magic. Not everybody is going to be okay with that.”
“Which is exactly why I created the position of prime minister.” Turning, Lily laid her head on Margot’s shoulder. “You handle the council while I figure out which outcomes are the best for us and what steps we have to take to get there.”
“That was our agreement,” Margot said wryly.
“So this is your battle to fight, not mine,” Lily told her cheerfully. “And we all know how much you love a good fight.”
Laughing, Margot hugged her. “I used to think there was nothing more that I wanted in the entire world than to become Camael’s Chosen, but now… I don’t envy you, Lily.”
“Smart woman.”
After Margot took her leave, Lily stared into the flames for a long time, hoping beyond hope to gain answers to the questions that plagued her, but the goddess’s presence had withdrawn.
Somehow she had to make the choices that would get Calles and the abbey to the right destination. She had to pick one of two men, the wolf or the tiger.
The invading force from Braugne or the neighboring kingdom of Guerlan.
One of them would open the door to a better future. The other one would destroy it.
No matter how Lily strained for clarification, Camael never allowed her to see too far past that one essential choice, but Lily could sense that the right choice would be… somehow better than okay. There was prosperity down that path, even the prospect of happiness.
Whereas the wrong choice would lead Calles into the worst disaster they had ever seen. If they went down that path, many wouldn’t survive. Perhaps Ys itself wouldn’t survive.
Lily was too new to her position. She’d not yet had the chance to meet Guerlan’s King Varian, but Guerlan had always kept peace with Calles and the abbey, and the letters Varian had sent to her were well written. She didn’t know if he was kind, or if he had a sense of humor, but he did come across as measured, thoughtful, and fair.
And now she had met the Wolf of Braugne.
Had met him, had liked him, and was drawn to him in ways she had never been drawn to a man before. The rogue who had teased her with such knowledgeable sensuality was all but irresistible.
That very same man was a savage killer who had the soul of a conqueror. But it didn’t feel wrong. He didn’t feel wrong.
She had always thought she would recognize the right man as soon as she had the chance to assess him, but she’d been wrong. Everything she had hoped for when events would reach this moment, everything she had thought she understood, had fallen into disarray.
If Lily were Margot, she wouldn’t envy her either.
Finally, her limbs dragging with exhaustion, she went into the bathing chamber to wash. It felt indescribably good to get clean, pull on her oldest, softest nightgown, and crawl into her own bed.
She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow and slid into a dream.
A man slipped into her bed and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.
Yawning, she complained, You swore this time you wouldn’t be so late.
I know, I’m sorry. He pulled her back into his arms. My generals wouldn’t stop talking. Let me make it up to you.
The countryside was at war, and she had turned herself into a gypsy to follow him, but he had made an extra effort to make their private quarters comfortable and inviting, and their nights were filled with peace, passion, and warmth.
His powerful body was nude, like hers, and the muscled length fitting along her back was both enticingly exotic and comfortingly familiar at once. Pleasure, like invisible smoke, unfurled warm tendrils along her nerve endings.
She had to force herself to sound cranky as she replied, Shh. I’m busy sleeping.
Are you sure? he whispered huskily in her ear as a long, strong hand curved around the swell of her bare breast. Are you entirely sure?
It felt so good when he caressed her, she wanted to arch like a cat underneath his fingers. Instead, she pretend-snapped, Yes, I’m entirely sure!
His lips teased the sensitive shell of her ear while clever fingers traced circles on her skin. I’ve never known anyone to talk so intelligently in their sleep before. You are a woman of many talents. Now I’m curious to see if you can kiss in your sleep as well.
When he pulled her onto her back, she pinched her traitorous lips together as they tried to widen into a grin. You’re the most stubborn man I’ve ever met. Do you always get your way?
I must confess, I do.
He sounded so smug she burst out laughing, even as she tried to see his shadowed features.
Her body knew his, and her heart had already been given, but for some reason, she didn’t know what he looked like, and it was vitally important she see his face.
He lowered his head, and his breath smelled like mint as his warm lips brushed hers. As she threaded her fingers through his hair, he settled his weight more firmly on top of hers and deepened the kiss. His tongue slipped into her mouth.
She plunged awake, heart pounding, and stared dry-eyed at the frescoed ceiling. Centuries ago it had been painted gold and a deep, celestial blue, but at night the brilliant colors were muted.
She could still feel the weight of her dream lover’s body lingering over hers and taste the mint from his mouth on her lips.
When she had created the role of prime minister to the council, she had confessed most of her visions to Margot, but not all of them.
In her earlier visions, there were always two men, and she would fall in love with one of them.
She had met the one who was intent on conquest. She hadn’t met the other.
One man, she knew from the visions, would be monstrous, while the other man… Well, the goddess only knew how well he would turn out.
She whispered to the ceiling, “Please Goddess, don’t let me fall in love with a monster.”
Gordon burst unceremoniously into Wulf’s tent. “Sir, she isn’t there.”
For a moment Wulf was convinced he hadn’t heard the other man correctly.
He had been awake late into the night and had rested only for a short while before rising again. After Jada had been thoroughly questioned, Wulf had him executed, keeping the whole affair as quick and efficient as possible. Passing judgment and carrying out the sentence was never easy, and he didn’t believe in prolonging a condemned prisoner’s misery any longer than necessary.
Jada had confessed to having another accomplice, one of the men who worked in the mess tent. That man had to be detained, questioned, and executed too. The second traitor didn’t name any more names, but food supply was one of the most critical components of the complex, massive operation of a mobilized army, so Wulf was not content to let it end there. There could have been others that the first two conspirators knew nothing about.
He ordered the witch who had the strongest truthsense to assess statements from every member of the cooking crew while Jermaine’s team and the camp doctors searched through the food supplies. All of this had been conducted while the rest of the witches fought to lessen the weather magic’s deadly storm to something that was at least survivable.
Now Gordon had put his tent to rights and had served a hot breakfast for two. Dishes piled with meat and potatoes, and mugs of hot tea sat steaming on the reassembled table, waiting for a woman who didn’t show.
Wulf had gotten probably an hour’s sleep at most, and a dull headache throbbed at the base of his skull.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he snapped, “What did you just say?”
Drawing himself up, Gordon said clearly, “The priestess isn’t in my tent. She’s gone, sir.”
He had surged to his feet before the other man had finished the first sentence. Striding to Gordon’s tent, he flung back the flap and glared inside.
The pallet had clearly not been slept in. There was an impression where it looked like she might have curled up, but the blankets were still neatly tucked in at the edges. The two braziers had gone out some time ago, and the edges of the metal bowls were rimmed with frost. Gordon had left a tall pile of wood just inside near the flap, but it looked like it hadn’t been touched.
The evidence kicked Wulf in the teeth. She had not only disappeared, but she had done so some time ago. He lunged around the tent, checking the outside of the walls and along the ground. There were no visible exit points, no signs of struggle. The walls were intact and the fresh fall of snow undisturbed.
Whirling, he glared at Gordon who was on his heels. “There were four guards and a witch out here all night.”
“Yes, sir.” The manservant’s expression was pinched with worry.
Something had gotten past four guards and a witch. Either that something had been Lily herself or it had been whatever had taken her.
“Get the dogs.”
“Yes, sir!” Gordon dashed away.
Wulf paced while he waited. Four guards. Four guards and a witch.
What had happened? Had she been frightened? Hurt? There had been no blood, or at least none that he had seen. There could have been small droplets he hadn’t noticed, but he didn’t want to enter the tent again until the trackers and their dogs had been inside.
Besides, there were other ways of being hurt. He thought of her slender bone structure, that delicate skin, and her obvious lack of fighting skills, and swore under his breath.
Jermaine had been right about Jada. Lured by the promise of gold, he had turned traitor almost two months ago, and recently he had received a communique to assasinate Wulf before he could reach Guerlan’s border.
Lily’s presence had been incidental. When Jada had gone after her, he had simply hoped to take a hostage. And the interior of Gordon’s tent had not shown any signs of struggle.
Wulf had no reason to believe she had been targeted and attacked. It made more sense that she had left on her own. But he didn’t know for sure, which left him feeling both angry and…
Not panicked. The Wolf of Braugne didn’t panic at mysteries.
But he was riled. Oh yes, he was riled, and he was… most sharply concerned.
Striding back to his own tent, he grabbed his sword and cloak and sent for Jermaine with orders to assemble a team. When the trackers arrived, they moved to the edge of camp and worked with the dogs to get a fix on Lily’s scent. Gordon hadn’t yet disposed of her cloak, and once the dogs had the scent, the trackers loosed them.
Eagerly they leaped to the hunt, and within moments their simple trajectory became clear. As Wulf and his team followed them down the road, to the docks, his most sharp concern withered on the vine while his anger grew.
When the dogs stopped at the end of the dock, one bayed its frustration.
Wulf knew how the dog felt. Planting his fists on his hips, he glared at the abbey. In the gray, cold morning, the warm golden light glowing from its windows taunted him.
Lily had gotten to the dock, past two—no, three—sets of sentries and witches. She hadn’t used any of the barges. No, those barges were too much for one small woman to handle.
So how had she done it? How had she gotten from the mainland dock to that blasted island?
He had no idea, but he was by gods going to ask just as soon as he saw her again. Because he would see her again. He would make damn sure of it.
Tripling the military presence at the wharf, he stalked back to his tent and ate his cold breakfast and drank his cold tea.
He drank her cold mug of tea too while his restless thoughts chewed through possible courses of action.
Last night they had said things to each other. The most important communication had been nonverbal, but the body language she had used had been all too clear. And that conversation wasn’t over yet. It had, in fact, barely begun.
She did not get to walk away from him. That was not an acceptable scenario in any hypothetical reality.
She had agreed to be his liaison. She didn’t get to back out of that just because she felt like it. He would tell her when he was done with her. She didn’t tell him.
His gaze fell on the neat stacks of caviar jars and chocolate bars that had survived the previous night’s altercation, along with the strange, ugly can of Chef Boyardee.
“Commander!” Lionel threw back the tent flap and stuck his head in. “A large party just launched from the abbey. Two barges, sir.”
Wulf grabbed up his cloak and weapons again. “How many?”
“Looks to be around thirty people. The prime minister is one of them. Even at that distance, her red hair is unmistakable.”
He buckled on his sword. “Any sign of my priestess?”
He heard how that sounded after the words had left his mouth, and paused, then thought, Hell, yes. She’s my priestess, and they’d better give her back.
Lionel shook his head. “They’re too far away to tell.”
“Thirty people,” he repeated grimly. That probably meant several witches, and all of them were going to be better rested and much more highly skilled than any of his. “Muster two hundred troops and cavalry and set up a barricade at the wharf.”
“Yes, sir!”
Wulf sent for his horse and resumed pacing. He was not going to stand on that dock, waiting for her to reappear like some pining lapdog. The Wolf of Braugne didn’t panic or pine, gods damn it.
When he judged enough time had passed, he mounted his stallion and cantered to the wharf. He had gauged correctly, and the barges were just beginning to dock.
Margot Givegny glared at him from the foremost barge. “You have no right to keep us from moving freely on our own land. Move out of our way, Commander.”
Planting one fist on his thigh, he held his restless horse from plunging back and forth and bit out, “If I had a liaison to explain your intentions, I might be persuaded to shift aside and let you go about your business. However, I don’t have a liaison any longer. She slipped out of my encampment like a thief in the night.”
“She’s not your servant,” Margot retorted. “She has the right to come and go as she sees fit. None of us are subject to you.”
“Well, then.” His voice turned silken while he gave her a dark smile. “I don’t see how I could let your people pass. After all, without proper representation, how can I be sure you don’t mean to attack us?”
Margot’s mouth fell open. “For the gods’ sake, man, you’ve got an army of eight thousand troops. What kind of damage do you think we could hope to accomplish against you?”
His smile fell away. Dismounting, he threw the reins to Lionel and strode to the edge of the dock.
“A solitary man tried to poison Lily and me last night. Two men working together have caused illness to run through hundreds of my troops. I count seven women in your party who are not wearing Defender uniforms. That means seven priestesses, who, I assume, are also Powerful witches.” He gave her a cold, hard look. “So you tell me just how much damage you could accomplish.”