The priestess joined him, and Jermaine and Gordon fell into step behind them.
As they walked the short distance to town, she pulled her hood up, but she didn’t complain about his insistence on exploring the town in inclement weather. He found himself liking her just a little bit.
Clasping his hands behind his back, he matched his longer stride to hers. “What is your name?”
“Lily.”
“Do you have a title? In Braugne we call Camaeline priestesses my lady.”
“That has always sounded so fancy to me. I was a foundling, so I’m not used to it. Please just call me Lily.”
He could hear the smile in her voice, and briefly, he wanted to lift her hood away so he could see that spectacular something in her expression again.
Frowning at the unwelcome impulse, he said, “You didn’t have to agree to this. You could have gone back to a cozy abbey fire. Your prime minister certainly wanted you to.”
Ruefully, she replied, “Margot is very protective.”
“Yet, when I brought up the subject of taking a liaison, I don’t think she had an objection to giving me a priestess. She just didn’t want it to be you.” He let her mull that over for a moment as he watched her closely, intensely interested in how she would respond next.
Then she sighed heavily enough he could hear it despite the wind. “She and I have known each other for most of our lives. She tormented me when we were small, but now that we’ve grown past all that, she seems to want to make up for it by keeping me wrapped in wool and tucked away in a drawer.”
He almost smiled. It was a good deflection. She was careful about what she said, confessing to a small truth without giving away too much.
He said, “You became friends.”
She laughed. “It still sounds funny to admit, but yes, much to my surprise, we’ve become friends.”
“I like your laugh.” While his tone was brusque, he spoke the truth. Her laugh sounded warm and infectious. If she were a courtesan, he might have purchased a night with her based on her laugh alone.
When she peeked around the edge of her hood at him, the wary expression was back in her eyes. “Thank you.”
They had reached the town’s main street, and as they walked he studied the closed shops and dark houses. In a few of the shops’ windows, he saw luxury items.
Chocolates and scented soaps and gourmet packaged foods from Earth. In one shop window, jars of caviars were stacked in a pyramid between bunches of roses that had been cleverly fashioned out of crimson velvet.
When he saw jars of caviar, he remembered the single taste he’d had once, spooned onto a flat salt bread called a cracker, and his mouth watered.
Much of Earth’s technologies didn’t work in what they called Other lands, like Ys, where magic took prominence. Most weapons, combustible engines, and the like were useless, if not outright dangerous, but from what he had experienced, there wasn’t a single thing wrong with the food.
After walking a few blocks, he said, “Most of the town’s population is on the island, I take it.”
“Yes, Commander.” She turned businesslike. “The town council urged everyone to evacuate, but a few refused.”
“Who remains?”
“There are two brothels who anticipate earning some of your men’s money, along with a couple of inns that remain open to any travelers who may desire a warm bed under a roof as a change from the hardship of a winter camp.” She paused, then said evenly, “The rest of us are simply hoping you don’t abuse the women, loot or ransack the businesses, or requisition everyone’s homes without their permission.”
He stopped walking, abruptly angry with the townsfolk cowering on the island, angry with their blasted Chosen who had decided to play this roundabout game instead of meeting with him openly, and angry with everything else about the miserable, freezing day.
Hold on to your temper, Wulf, Jermaine said. This isn’t her fault.
Pivoting, he glared at the other man. Then he strode back to the shop that had the jars of caviar in the window, his long legs making short work of the distance. Stripping off his gauntlets, he dug into his pocket for tools and picked the lock on the shop door.
Lily had followed him, her posture stiff with outrage, but she said nothing when he thrust open the door and strode into the shadowy interior.
By the door, Jermaine sighed. “You might as well step inside too, my lady. This might take a few minutes.”
“The shop is not open,” she bit out.
“No,” he agreed. “But there is also no reason to stand outside in this wind until we absolutely must.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped inside, and Jermaine and Gordon followed.
Wulfgar ignored them. There were twenty small jars of caviar along with a couple of different kinds of salt bread. He swept all the jars together and dumped them on the counter.
He preferred the salt bread made in Ys to the kind he had sampled from Earth, and he grabbed several packets to toss them beside the caviar, then selected a couple of bottles of wine. He had always wondered what chocolate might taste like, so he grabbed some packages, and then a strange metal container nearby caught his attention.
Picking it up, he frowned at the graphic and sounded out the strange words written in English. “Ch-ef Bouy…”
Lily snapped, “It’s called Chef Boyardee. The shop stocks it especially for the Chosen, who gets a hankering for it sometimes.”
“Well then. If it’s good enough for her, it’s good enough for me.” He added a can to the pile. “Gordon, Jermaine, is there anything you want from in here?”
“Not at the moment, Commander. Perhaps later.” Gordon spoke politely while Jermaine just looked at him in exasperation.
“Fine.” He said to Gordon, “Tally up the cost, and leave the coin in a jar behind the counter. When you’re done, take everything back to my tent.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Gordon busied himself, Wulf turned to Lily, who stared at him with wide eyes. She had pushed her hood back. The friction caused fine strands of dark hair to float around her head in a delicate nimbus.
“No matter how long I remain camped in Calles, that coin will remain untouched behind the counter.” With an effort, he kept his voice quiet and even, but his anger still burned through. “The shopkeeper may choose to remain on the island, but presumably he or she would still like to earn a living. If any of my troops want to buy anything, they will add their coin to mine. There will be no looting. Under my command, the punishment for rape is death. Since embarking on this campaign, I haven’t had to carry out that sentence once.”
“I see,” she said, her voice quiet.
“While we are at it, I also did not assassinate the lord of Braugne. That act was committed by someone else.” His gaze burned with a steady, banked rage. “He was not only my half brother, he was my closest friend, and I will avenge his death if it takes me the rest of my life.”