by Grace Draven
At first glance, he didn’t appear to live up to his legend. He didn’t have glowing red eyes, nor did he tower head and shoulders above his men. Lily was a little disappointed, to be honest. She’d been fascinated by the idea of a forked tongue, cloven hooves, and tail.
But no, this was an entirely human-looking man. While he had the strong figure and erect carriage of an experienced soldier, he wasn’t exactly handsome either. In fact, he could blend into a crowd on market day and she might brush past without ever giving him a second glance.
Then, as the barge drew close enough to dock, she looked at the Wolf’s dark, glittering gaze and thought no.
She would never brush past this man without a second glance. His still figure housed an immensely forceful presence, as if a blazing meteor had been lightly cloaked in flesh. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a juggernaut wearing a mild expression as he paused to turn his attention to a tiny principality on his crusade for total domination of Ys.
If the rumors were to be believed.
She drew in a deep breath, and almost without realizing it, she pushed back her hood as she stared at him and his men.
The psyches of the soldiers on the barge roiled and heaved with as much restlessness as the abbey’s group on the narrow dock. The images were ghostly and transparent, making it impossible to tell them apart when the physical men stood so close together.
Collectively, they shimmered with fierce, eager energy, as if they were a pack of hunting hounds held on a tight leash, but she couldn’t get a specific reading on the Wolf. She would need to see him separate from the others before she could tell anything for sure.
Folding her lips tight, she ran her gaze along the edges of the group, trying at least to glean some information that might be useful.
In direct contrast to Other lands she had read about, most of the populations in Ys were human. Vampyres, the Light and Dark Fae, the Djinn, and others of the Demonkind such as medusae, ghouls, and trolls, were mostly entertaining tales from far distant places. But Lily did see the stern visage and sleek, pointed ears of an Elf among the Braugne soldiers, along with another male who looked as if he might be part Wyr.
As she picked up random details, she narrowed her eyes. Like the waiting group from the abbey, the troops on the barge presented a united front, but not all was well among the Wolf’s men.
Lily, put your hood up! Margot exclaimed telepathically. I don’t want him to see your face!
Lily’s reply was distracted. Hiding under a hood won’t offer any protection from what is coming.
You don’t know that! Margot snapped.
Lily glanced at her friend. With all the visions the goddess has seen fit to send me, actually, I do.
As Margot’s mouth tightened, a rough, powerful voice rolled easily over the water and announced, “Wulfgar Hahn, Protector of Braugne, sends his regards to the Chosen of Camaeline Abbey.”
The voice startled her. She had been so intent on trying to sort through the confusing melee of visions and arguing telepathically with Margot, she hadn’t noticed that the older, brawny solder had stepped forward until he had spoken.
The soldier bowed to Margot.
Wulfgar Hahn did not bow. He watched with an impassive expression.
“You are mistaken,” Margot replied, all ice and hauteur. She was more than just a beautiful face and fiery temperament. She was also an accomplished sorceress, and she held her Power poised to retaliate against any sign of physical aggression. “I am not Camael’s Chosen. I am Margot Givegny, prime minister of the Camaeline Council, and if your commander has anything to say to me, he can address me himself.”
Scowling, the soldier had opened his mouth to reply when the Wolf moved to lay one gauntleted hand on the other man’s shoulder.
In a deep, pleasant baritone, he said, “I sent word yesterday that I would speak with your Chosen.”
Margot looked down her nose at him, and Lily had to bite her lip to suppress a sudden smile. Nobody did supercilious better than Margot when she put her mind to it.
Coldly, Margot replied, “Our Chosen does not respond to tersely worded imperatives from foreigners.”
The Wolf dropped his eyelids, shuttering his sharp, dark gaze. It turned his blank, hard expression even more unpredictable.
“Your response is unfortunate.” His pleasant baritone acquired bite. “I brought gifts of ancient manuscripts for her, and gold for your abbey. We could have made our business as pleasant as possible.”
When he said, “ancient manuscripts,” Lily derailed momentarily from her mission to consider them with a pang. But no matter how alluring they might sound, it would have been entirely inappropriate for the Chosen to accept them.
“It is not our duty to make your business as pleasant as possible for you,” Margot replied. “The abbey has no desire for your gifts.”
The Wolf raised one dark eyebrow, and suddenly his unremarkable face became arresting with silken menace. “I have approached you with courtesy—far more courtesy, in fact, than I have shown to any other principality I have met with thus far. You would be wise to take note.”
“There is nothing courteous about arriving on our doorstep with an army,” Margot said between her teeth.
Wulfgar gestured back to the empty shore. Even the town was silent, as most of the townsfolk had evacuated to the island. “Do you see an army?”
“You may have kept it out of sight, but we still know it’s there. Did you think we wouldn’t? It’s camped on the other side of the woods.”
Now it was Wulfgar’s turn to speak between his teeth. “I left it behind, again, out of courtesy. I did not arrive on your doorstep with it.”
“All the farmlands that surround the town are part of Calles,” Margot snapped. “You are on our doorstep. You cut down the Chosen’s trees and burn it for your firewood. You camp in her fields, hunt her creatures, and drink from her streams without permission. You trespass where you do not belong. If you had meant to be courteous, you would have sent word asking permission before you and your army set foot on our land.”
They both looked magnificent as they flared with temper. If they had been on stage, they could have made a grand romance out of it, but Lily got the impression the Wolf was only pretending to be angry as his restless gaze roamed over every detail of the scene.
She had no doubt he noticed everything, including the fact that the landing carved from rock upon which the priestesses and Defenders stood was too narrow for any invading force to make effective use of a battering ram on the massive, iron-bound gates.
The two-mile island was bordered by cliffs. It had no beach, only treacherous black rocks, many of which were submerged underwater when the tide rode high. Several generations of stonemasons had worked to build the ancient walls that towered along the cliff’s edge. Camaeline Abbey was known for being impregnable and had, on occasion, provided sanctuary to famous figures at different points throughout its long history.
The Wolf and Margot continued to snipe at each other. Their argument faded into the background as Lily angled her head and sidled a small step sideways. Then another. When she bumped shoulders with the priestess on her left, it earned her an uncertain glance.
She’d hoped a shift in perspective might help her gain a clearer vision, but it didn’t, and she sighed in frustration. Assessing people’s psyches gave her vital clues about a person, but she couldn’t get a decent reading on the Wolf, not with the layout of the scene the way it was, especially since she had no other vantage point from which to observe him, and he and his men were limited in their movements as long as they remained on the barge.
Margot would not allow the Wolf of Braugne to step onto the narrow dock, so Lily would need to do something else to get the information she wanted.
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?”