by Grace Draven
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 your 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!
While she observed so much, she failed to really see.… And people would die on her word, by her actions.
Would she be responsible for the fall of Calles? Again, she felt a tearing sensation, as if contradictory forces would pull her apart. Even though she tried to repress it, a low gr
oan escaped, and she bent at the waist.
Goddess, I can’t do this.
“Lily,” Wulf said. “What’s wrong?”
Dimly, she was aware that the hateful sardonic tone had vanished, but still, his presence was all but unbearable. She felt too raw, too wounded.
“Don’t look at me,” she gritted while her tears dropped onto the marble floor. “You invaded my private space just because you got mad. You don’t get to see this. This is mine, do you hear? Mine to deal with, not yours.”
Silence throbbed to the beat of the blood pounding in her face. Still bent over, she focused on the floor underneath her feet, on taking her next breath.
She was excruciatingly aware of the moment when he shifted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his blurred figure squat beside her. He had angled his face away.
“I’m not looking at you.” His words were quiet and even. Nonaggressive. “You abbey women are fierce about your boundaries, aren’t you?”
She coughed. It was not quite a laugh. “Damn right we are. Defending boundaries is every bit a tenet of our faith as nurturing those at our hearth and practicing the healing arts.”
Still not looking, he reached toward her. His fingers ran lightly up her thigh to her waist, searching her body by touch until he found her forearm and curled his fingers around it. Slowly he tightened his grip, applying pressure until that became the focal point, not the tumultuous crash of thoughts, emotions and images roiling in her mind.
Like the tide as it ebbed, the visions receded. No longer feeling quite so crushed, she took a deep breath, then another, and the tears stopped. Scrubbing the wetness from her face, she straightened.
He stood when she did. Instead of releasing her, he ran his hand down her arm to clasp her fingers lightly. “That has got to be the most unsatisfactory argument I’ve ever had.”
She almost laughed again, but damn it, no, she wouldn’t. “For what it’s worth, I really don’t think you realize how crazy it is that you climbed my tower.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, the blind spots my scout mapped are useless for anything other than a small, targeted strike force. You might get an assassin up here, but not a full-scale invasion.”
She said dryly, “A danger no Chosen in the past several hundreds of years has faced.”
He shrugged. “Fix metal bars at the windows and you’ll be safe enough.” Pausing to scoop up a leather bag, he led her to the array of floor pillows in front of the fireplace. “And lady, you don’t have any high ground from which to call me crazy.”
When they reached the pillows, he tugged her down.
She shouldn’t sit with him. She should do something else, like take advantage of his relaxed demeanor to pull away from his hold, run for the door, throw off the bar, and scream for help. She had seen for herself just how fast he was, but he was already half sitting. She might get away with it.
But she was tired, and that sounded like so much more hassle than she wanted to face. The consternation, the alarm, the certain violence.
He couldn’t escape out the tower without being killed, so he would have to take her hostage. The whole abbey would be thrown into an uproar, and she and Wulf would have to go out into the cold again, and she’d only just gotten back.
Was it wrong of her to want to just sit? It didn’t feel wrong. She glanced at his psyche where the shadow of a wolf lay on its paws, its entire attention focused on her. The wolf was beautiful. It was a dangerous, perfectly natural creature. She kept hunting for the monster in him, but the monster wasn’t there.
Heaving a sigh, she gave up, sat beside him, and curled her legs underneath her. “What are you doing?”
“I brought your presents.” Opening the bag, he pulled out the chocolate bars and the can of Chef Boyardee along with the jars of caviar and salt bread. “I also brought supplies for myself. Climbing in cold weather is hungry work.”
He had brought presents to a fight. Oh goddess. What did she feel? Exasperation? Laughter? What? Throwing her arms wide, she flung herself back onto the pillows. “It’s going to be dark soon. You need to go, Wulf.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I can’t go out in that. If I try to make that climb in the dark, it’d kill me. I’m going to have to stay until morning.”
He was lying, shamelessly. He had to know she could sense it.
She squinted at his face, which remained in profile. He still hadn’t looked at her. How strange, that such an ephemeral boundary would hold him when he had trampled over almost everything else. There was a sophisticated reasoning behind it that she couldn’t quite grasp.
“You know I can tell you’re lying, don’t you?” she demanded.
The corner of his lips pulled into a smile. “You’ve already proven you don’t want to hurt me, so we’ll have to find a way to coexist for a while.”
She glared at him. “Have you made a plan for how your witch is going to cloak you when you go?”
He shrugged. “I thought I might know someone who would agree to help me out.”
He was impossible. She couldn’t throw him out the window. She wouldn’t call for help. If he tried to leave during daylight, he would almost certainly be seen unless she cloaked him. And if she didn’t agree to help him, he would be stuck in her tower until the next night.
Of course she would help him. She couldn’t stand idly by and watch him get killed, and he knew it. Besides, it might be the only way she could get rid of him.
As she debated, he said gently, “Put it all aside for now. Take a break from whatever demons are crushing you. What was your final verdict on the caviar? Yes or no?”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, she said, “No.”
“Great. All the more for me.” He set the caviar aside. “Now, about this Chef Boyardee. You are going to owe me for this.”
“What do you mean?” She snorted. “I don’t owe you anything.”
His smile deepened. Reaching behind him, he dangled the can in her general direction. “What is the verdict? Do you want this? Yes or no?”
Damn it, she did. She hadn’t eaten much since the late supper Gordon had brought to her tent, and she was hungry. “Yes.”
“Then you owe me the story of how you came to like this food from Earth, and why.” He paused. “You also owe me a taste so I can see what all the fuss is about.”
Okay, he finally got her. Curling on her side, she laughed. “You are going to hate it. Everybody does. It’s horrible. Objectively, even I know that. It shouldn’t even be called food.”
“Now I’m even more intrigued to hear your story.” Using a knife, he opened the can by puncturing the edges of the lid repeatedly until he could bend back the metal. Cautiously, he inspected the orange contents and sniffed at it.
Laughing harder, she sat and held out her hand. “Here, give it to me. And stop trying so hard to avoid looking at me. It’s all right now.” She added quickly, “But it’s still not all right that you’re here.”
“I am well aware of that, Lily.” Turning his head, he looked into her eyes and smiled. “Yet here we sit. I propose we make the best of it.”
~ 8 ~
He was supposed to be brutal and domineering, not charming and insouciant. Now he really wasn’t living up to his reputation.
The intensity in his gaze was too much. She reached for his knife, and he let her take it. “This is supposed to be heated, but I like it cold too.”
Using the tip of his knife, she fished out a piece of ravioli and ate it with relish while he watched her, still smiling.
When she swallowed, he rubbed the corner of her mouth gently with the ball of his thumb, then licked it.
Dear goddess. Warmth washed over her skin.
He smiled. “Tell me the story.”
She surveyed the contents in the can. “I’m not actually from Ys. I used to live in a place called southern Indiana.”
He puzzled over that information, then said, “The language on the can is English.”
�
��Yes. Indiana is in the United States, in North America.”
Opening a jar of caviar and a packet of salt bread, he dipped a corner of a wafer in the jar and then popped it in his mouth. Around the bite, he said, “You must have had quite a journey. Ys doesn’t have any crossover passageways to America.”
“No, all our passageways are connected to Europe.” She looked into the cheery flames leaping in the fireplace. How could she tell this story quickly? “My early childhood was… complicated. When I was a toddler, we were poor, and we lived in a small town. My mother drank, and she had several men come and go until one of them stayed. He cooked meth, which is a very addictive, illegal drug.”
As she spoke, his subtle playful attitude had disappeared, and he watched her intently. “That doesn’t sound like a good home for a child.”
“No,” she said. “Mind you, I was too young to comprehend most of it. When the abbey took me in, the priestesses scried to find out where I was from and what had happened to me. I’m sure I breathed chemicals I shouldn’t have, and I was mostly left to my own devices, but I didn’t really understand, you know? I do remember that one of my favorite meals was Chef Boyardee and a packet of M&M’s—which is a kind of chocolate candy—for dessert. Occasionally I still like to eat them.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How did you get from there to here?”
She blew out a breath. “Camael led me here. I was a strange child, and… Let’s just say I saw things that weren’t physically present. I still do.”
He frowned. “Didn’t your mother ever have you tested for magic?”
She said wryly, “I don’t think she was that functional. Anyway, one night a shining woman walked into my bedroom. She kissed me on the forehead and said, ‘Come with me, little love.’ She was so beautiful, and I was very excited, and I asked if she would be my new mommy. She told me, ‘In a way, I will. But you must be brave as a lion and do as I say.’ So I did. I took my pillow and my stuffed bunny, and I walked out of the house.”
“How old were you?” He took the can from her, scooped out a ravioli, and ate it.