The War Priest

by Ann Aguirre

  More to the point, she wanted to cross the room and climb him. Friend thoughts. Think friend thoughts. Don’t focus on how it would feel to kiss him, whether his beard would be scratchy or soft.

  Before she could speak, he went on, “It’s not safe here. Not inside the walls. For damn sure not outside. And I don’t know who I can trust.”

  I really, really want to hug him. Until now, she hadn’t realized how alone he was, cut off from his familiar life in the order, tasked with running a hold he hadn’t lived in for years, in the middle of a war. Plus, he had to root out a traitor—or a group of them—in the middle of all that.

  “I won’t say that you can trust me. Words are easy. Instead, I’ll prove that you can,” Joss said softly. “So if you’re telling me to sing, then I’ll sing. Any requests?”

  Callum stared at her for such a long time, his hazel eyes intense, that her heart went wild. “Are you offering me a private show?”

  “Nothing that formal,” Joss said. “Sit down and I’ll make some tea. We can discuss who might have been following us and what we should do about it.”

  Those were entirely sensible suggestions, much to Callum’s disappointment. He did as she suggested, settling into the chair he’d sat in before. Was that today? It had been an incredibly long day, one that seemed to be endless.

  Callum could hear her moving about, water running as she filled the kettle, and while she worked, she sang. He hadn’t heard the song before, but it must be a lullaby, something you’d croon to a fractious child. The melody was delicate, and her voice held all the sweetness of a lost love. He let out a breath and tension slipped out of his shoulders as he tipped his head back against the upholstered chair.

  Who the hell was following us?

  He hoped it came from curiosity, soldiers with a crush on Joss who were wondering why she was heading off with Callum, but he feared the explanation might not be so simple or wholesome. With his eyes closed, the song swirled around him, like a shimmering stream bright enough to carry him away. Everything else seemed distant and ephemeral, fading beside the soft pleasure that trickled through him.

  Callum jolted upright, his heart pounding.

  For a few terrifying seconds, he had no idea where he was. Slowly, recognition came to him, though the room was dim. This is Joss’s place. A mug sat on the table to his right, but from the look of it, the tea had long since gone cold. Belatedly, he realized that there was a blanket tucked around him, and he could picture what must have happened with perfect clarity.

  I dozed off listening to her sing. When she delivered the drink, instead of waking and evicting him—the sensible choice—she’d quietly covered him and let him sleep. Judging from the soft breathing in the next room, she’d gone to bed long ago, and his whole body flushed over the quiet intimacy of the situation.

  It’s not like we slept together.

  But when he imagined her leaning close, pulling the covers across his chest, tucking it around his shoulders, it was like he could feel those gentle touches, ghosts of contact on his arms, chest, and shoulders. It was ridiculous to feel so undone over such a small, considerate gesture, but he was trembling when he stood.

  A quiet, subversive voice whispered that he should check on her before he went, and he even took a step toward the bedroom before he realized what a terrible idea that was. Callum left silently and blessed the fact that it was so late that it was early; he shouldn’t run into anyone on his way back to his own quarters, a modest room one floor up. That was partly why he’d volunteered to walk her back. It was literally on his way home. He hadn’t been able to make himself occupy Beren’s former home, a much larger apartment decorated in luxurious style.

  Callum wasn’t used to luxury or fine things, and he didn’t want to get used to them, either. Acquiring a taste for such pleasures would make it more difficult to return to his spare life with the order, once he steered the clan through this crisis. He wanted that contentment and simplicity back, but each day he spent on secular matters diminished his devotion and contentment. Already, he’d forgotten the sound of the morning chants, gotten used to hot showers instead of cold, and having options about what to eat for dinner.

  His luck held. Nobody crossed his path as he hurried to the stairs, but his heart didn’t settle until the door closed behind him. Instead of going directly to bed, he went to the half-bath and sluiced cold water on his face, hoping the shock of it would return him to reality. When he’d agreed to be her friend, he didn’t realize how dangerous that could be. Only the first day, and he’d already done something that the order would consider wildly inappropriate.

  It didn’t matter that he’d only slept in a chair. The chair in question was in a woman’s apartment, and the brothers wouldn’t understand in the slightest. In truth, Callum barely recognized himself when he pulled his hands away from his face, water streaming down his cheeks and dripping from his beard. His eyes were bruised beneath and bloodshot. The nap he’d taken in Joss’s chair had been some of the most peaceful sleep he’d known since the conclave.

  “Get your head on right,” he told his reflection sternly.

  The man in the mirror didn’t seem fazed. With a growl, he turned and went to bed, but sleep didn’t come as quickly as it had while he was listening to her sing. He played that memory over and over, drawing out each note of the lullaby until it was like she was in the room with him.

  When he had asked if she meant to give him a private show, he’d expected her to flirt with him—to tease him somehow. And if she had, he would’ve retreated because he had no interest in playing that game, where she pitted her wiles against his self-control. She surprised him with her matter-of-fact response and left him no reason to withdraw. And now, he was thinking about her in the middle of the night.

  Obsessive. You’re obsessive, Callum. The way you love is smothering me.

  The voice swam up from the depths, a memory he’d tried his best to bury. And for the most part, he succeeded. Only in moments of extreme weakness did he hear that accusation, born from the wreckage of another life. Before he joined the order and got himself under control. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and whispered the meditations, trying to calm the turmoil in his head.

  There is no desire. Desire is longing and longing is pain. There is only peace, peace and repose. Repose is born of inner harmony. I am at one with the world and with my brothers. My brothers are my—

  Clenching a fist, he slammed it into the mattress. He couldn’t finish the litany, and he wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight, either. The bathhouse would be deserted at this hour at least, sparing him the need to socialize with the rest of the clan. It was bad enough that they looked to him, expecting salvation from an impossible, untenable position.

  With a muffled curse, he shoved some clothes in a bag at random, along with soap and shampoo. Then he headed to sweat out some of his frustrations. As he’d guessed, the steam room was empty, and Callum stripped down to enjoy it. The moist heat engulfed him and he spent as long as he could tolerate in the room, until he felt empty-headed and dizzy. Afterward, he plunged into the ice bath to wake himself up fully, then finished with a lukewarm shower.

  By the time he left the bathhouse, it was just before dawn, light teasing at the edges of the sky. As spring came on, the days would get longer. Normally, he’d be turning the earth, preparing to plant what the order needed for another year. Here, others oversaw the garden—and most manual tasks—while they expected him to turn his mind toward more important matters.

  Jere found him as he headed toward the cafeteria for an early breakfast. “Sorry to disturb you, but there’s movement.”

  “The Gols?” he guessed. It didn’t take a genius to see that coming.

  “They’re coming in quietly. Slowly. If one of the drones hadn’t picked up movement, I might not have noticed.”

  “How? The grid’s still up?”

  “They’re following the path inward where the mines blew last time. There isn’t a
clear path to the hold yet, but they seem to be testing the grid and I think they’re prepared to make…sacrifices.”

  Acceptable collateral damage. That sounded about right for those assholes. The Gols under Tycho Vega didn’t value anyone’s life, certainly not that of their foot soldiers. The grunts would be ordered to defuse the mines—or blow them—and the rest would push onward to Burnt Amber.

  Sooner or later, they’ll be at our walls.

  “What are your orders?” Jere asked.

  Like Callum had anywhere good to go from here. He let out a heavy breath. No choice anymore. It’s war before breakfast.

  6.

  Callum was gone when Joss woke.

  She’d known he would be, of course, but it was still a mild disappointment to find the blanket tumbled on the floor, as if he’d started awake, then panicked and ran. He hadn’t left a note and he wouldn’t have stepped foot into her bedroom.

  It had been a miracle that he trusted her enough to fall asleep while she was present. Sighing, Joss glanced out the window and saw that it was early, not even dawn. Too soon to start roaming around.

  She picked up the blanket and settled into what she already thought of as his chair. Hugging the afghan to her chest, she closed her eyes and leaned her head where his had been. Sitting like this, it was almost like snuggling into his arms, reclining as he had. The cover had been on him long enough that she could breathe in echoes of Callum, and her sharp senses picked out the separate notes: cedar and black currant, underscored with the crispness of verbena. The scent must be in his soap or shampoo, as she couldn’t imagine him using cologne. Eventually, she gave in and buried her face in the fabric, breathing him in in deep, desperate gulps.

  Joss felt all kinds of foolish and lovesick, but there was nothing she could do about it. She’d thought spending time with him might settle her feelings, allow her to migrate from an impossible crush to a healthy friendship. So far, proximity was fueling her imagination.

  Fighting tears, she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Never had she felt more lost or farther from home. Her phone still had a minor charge, but there was no signal. No outbound communications. More homesick than she had ever been, she paged through some old pictures. Her fingers stopped, trembled. The tears she had been fighting spilled over as she traced the features of people who were gone forever.

  Aunts and uncles. Cousins. Jase was still in the hospital when she left for Daruvar. And my dad—

  Joss would never see him again. Now that she’d dashed off like an absolute wobble-wagon, she might never see her family again. Mom must be so worried. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I just followed my heart and…went.

  And for what? The dubious benefit she could offer to troops on the frontline. Despite her bold talk to Nayan, Joss had little confidence that a nightly show could make a difference.

  Normally, she didn’t wallow like this, but adapting to a strange place and combating her doomed attraction for an irascible monk was wrecking her head. She breathed through the misery and waited until her mood lightened along with the sky. By the time morning broke like an egg, golden at the edges, she had herself together.

  Joss rummaged through the box the women had given her and found a brand-new pack of underwear. They’d claimed these were all donations, but who had a package of unopened undies lying around?

  She found a bandeau-bra that worked well enough, and the panties were a little big, not so much as to be an issue. Next, she put on a baggy green sweater, so soft that wearing it felt like an all-over hug, and she paired it with a pair of stretchy pants that were probably meant for sparring. Really, she wanted to wash up, but she didn’t feel confident about finding the bathhouse on her own. Breakfast first, then she’d ask for directions. Her curly hair was too wild to tame, so she braided it and tied the bottom with a ribbon she pulled off a blouse at the bottom of the box.

  As she stepped out of her room, she met Renna, who was headed for the stairs. The other woman brightened immediately, as if she had been hoping to run into Joss. Maybe that was just a side effect of her brilliant smile but Joss returned it, hoping this might be the start of a sincere friendship.

  In Ash Valley, she was always surrounded by people, was usually the one trying to get Pru to be a little more daring, take more chances. Her shy cousin had shocked the hell out of everyone when she abandoned years of pining after Slay and announced that she was mated to Dom, after spending only a week with him.

  Seems like she could teach me something about betting it all.

  “Good morning,” Renna said. “Are you heading to the caf?”

  That had to be short for the cafeteria. Joss nodded. “Callum said that’s the cheapest place to eat.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Come on, I was hoping I’d find someone to eat with on the way.” Renna hooked their arms together and led Joss toward the stairs.

  “Do you live on this floor?” Privately, she was wondering something else, why Renna didn’t have her own circle of friends.

  “I’m…staying here,” Renna said, which wasn’t quite the same.

  Joss got the sense that Renna was hesitant to continue so she let it go. To her surprise, as they went down the stairs, the other woman added quietly, “I’m not from here. My family lives in Hallowell. Lived. They lived in Hallowell.”

  There was so much loss woven into those soft words that Joss understood straightaway, and she squeezed Renna’s arm in an attempt at comfort.

  “I’m so sorry, I know how it feels. I…lost my dad in the conclave.” Others too, but that was her deepest grief.

  Sometimes she cried in her sleep and woke with tears drying on her cheeks. The aftermath haunted her, endless nights in the hospital not knowing if Jase would live while Jilly begged for reassurances she couldn’t bring herself to give. Though the twins were related to Pru on her mother’s side, Joss had watched them often and entertained them at joint family parties. So much heartbreak, too much to bear.

  “Several months before the conclave, my parents sent me here,” Renna said then. “They were hoping…”

  To marry you off? Improve family prospects by giving the old bear the heir he’d long desired. Joss didn’t say any of that because Renna must be suffering enough, knowing that she’d survived because of her parents’ ambition.

  “Sometimes it’s hard not knowing…” She hesitated, wondering if she could really say this to Renna.

  “Not knowing why you lived?” But Renna did understand, because she finished the sentence correctly.

  “Because you’re not as important as some of those who died. Why am I still here? Am I supposed to accomplish something or is it all just random, butterfly wings and chaotic winds?”

  The other woman stopped walking, eyes wide. “Yes. That, exactly. It’s so…” Her hands fluttered when words failed her, then she tried again. “Frustrating. Because I feel like nothing I do will ever make it feel all right.”

  “By ‘it’ you mean surviving?” Joss guessed.

  “You do understand.” Slender shoulders quivered and Renna’s eyes were very bright, so much that a tear trickled from the corner.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry before breakfast. We can talk more later if you’re up for it.”

  “I would love that. The soldiers think I don’t realize what it means, but they call me Beren’s Vase. I’m so sick of being treated like I’m useless.”

  It wasn’t an insult that Joss had heard before, but she could extrapolate the meaning from context. A vase was decorative, but not especially useful; it was also fragile and easily broken. Though she’d just met the woman, Renna didn’t strike her that way at all, and she sympathized. People at home often judged her by the same criteria, if not in that verbiage.

  Before they left the stairwell, Renna wiped her eyes quickly, then she led the way to the cafeteria. It was crowded, and people quieted as they passed, two relative strangers amid those who had been part of Burnt Amber for years. Now
that Joss was looking for it, she could see the speculation in the stares that lit on Renna, like they wondered what she was still doing here, now that Beren was dead. But if her family perished in the Battle of Hallowell, where was she supposed to go, exactly?

  Irritated on Renna’s behalf, she took the lead and got in line, accepting eggs, sausages, pastries, and coffee, then she scanned the room. “There’s Trini and Emilia. Let’s see if they can put us to work.”

  Callum would never ask anything of his men that he wasn’t willing to do himself.

  So when the soldiers assembled for the first skirmish, he stripped in the ready room along with them. He wasn’t a fantastic tactical thinker, so he could only lead from the front, venting his rage and bloodlust on the bastards who were trying to destroy everything the bears had built, take technology they had no right to touch. This wasn’t his first battle since leaving the order, but this was the closest the Gols had come to Burnt Amber.

  Garven was in this patrol group. Everyone was from the Daruvar goodwill mission, except Trini and Emilia. They apparently had the day off, the first in a while, and Callum couldn’t remember the names of their alternates, but they looked like capable women.

  He had no inspiring words for any of them. “Most of us will be going bear. Two on point and two at the rear will be moving with gear and weapons. We need to replace the mines and take out their recon force. If the battle goes bad, at least one of you needs to make it back to the hold to carry the word since our comms are down.”

  That was a calculated risk. While it hampered the bears a little, it had to be screwing with the Gols in a big way because it meant they couldn’t call Golgerra to find out how Tycho Vega wanted them to proceed. They’d live or die on their own initiative, and if Callum had his way, he’d irrigate Burnt Amber crops with Golgoth blood.

  They didn’t have the manpower for a stand-up battle, hence the skirmishes, hit and run. Only the bears knew the safe paths between the lasers and mines, so they could slide out of the tunnel and emerge in the middle of the enemy, fuck them up, and then bolt back to Burnt Amber. That strategy carried a risk, however, because if they did it enough, the Gols would eventually map the route Callum was using. They’d find the secret entrance.