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.