Amid the Winter Snow

by Grace Draven

  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.”

  ~ 7 ~

  The sprinkle of freckles across Margot’s nose and cheeks stood out. As he had spoken, she had paled visibly.

  Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Someone tried to poison both of you?”

  She was too clearly shaken for it to be an act. His eyes narrowed. It appeared Lily had a lot of explaining to do to more than just him.

  He pointed at both barges. “Lily said no one from the island would want to leave as long as we were here. Why are you here? What has changed, and why should I allow you to set foot on land?”

  Instantly, she bounded back on form again. Glaring at him, she switched to telepathy. Keep in mind, Commander—I don’t owe you an explanation for anything, and you have no right to prevent us from moving about on our own land, so have a care for how far you push me.

  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 appointment 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.”
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  “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!”