“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.