Sparing a moment to be grateful for the thickness of the door and the thunderous crash of the sea, she said, “How do you even know about that blind spot?”
“I had an advance scout reconnoiter the island weeks ago.” He drew closer, the smooth glide of his body leisurely, predatory. “Back before the snows began. He hired a pleasure yacht and sailed around the island, and afterward he came to the abbey along with a group of petitioners. Apparently visiting the abbey was a pleasant experience. The priestesses he spoke to were very nice, while children played in the courtyards. He drew a map of the weakest points of your surveillance and defense. On this side of the island, you rely too much on the elements to protect you.”
She had said almost that very thing the night before, but it felt devastating to hear Wulf state it so coldly. “You scouted us weeks ago.”
“I have been scouting the seat of every principality. Like you said, your grace—I’m always plotting four steps ahead.”
She had been right. He was still very angry. Retreating a step, she asked, “When did you discover who I was? Did that manservant tell you when you questioned him?”
“I knew almost immediately.”
She felt again as if the floor tilted sharply on her. “You knew?”
“I guessed when we first met on the dock. Everyone else in your party acted their part. They focused on me and on your minister, but you were off script. You weren’t paying attention to us—you were focused on other things, and you didn’t stay in formation. Instead, you maneuvered around a little as you assessed us. And of all the Defenders on that dock, the strongest ones had been stationed at your back, not your minister’s. And when you agreed to come with me, everyone reacted.”
Intensely chagrined, she closed her eyes. Even at the time, she’d had no doubt he noticed everything. Apparently she seemed destined to make accurate enough observations, but she was a spectacular failure at extrapolating anything useful from them.
“I had no idea Margot had arranged the Defenders like that,” she whispered. “So when you picked me out of the crowd, you already knew.”
“I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure until you told me about the bicycles.” He shook his head. “Nobody talks more lovingly than themselves about their own pet projects, and you loved bringing that opportunity to the town. Your face lit up when you told me about it. After that, I thought once or twice you might confess. Remember when I said your minister didn’t have any objection to giving me a priestess, she just didn’t want it to be you? I thought you were going to tell me then, but you didn’t. You managed to slide away from it.”
He had known all that time. Instead of confronting her, he had watched and waited, conversed and assessed. And she hadn’t suspected, not even once.
With Gennita’s bitter words still twisting like a knife in her gut, he couldn’t have confronted her at a worse time.
What else had she missed? What else, what else?
The visions were always strongest when she felt the most broken and vulnerable, as if those were the times when divinity could truly shine its light into her mind. Now they swept over her again, blinding her to the physical world around her.
Bitter winter, lean harvest. Kingdoms filled with unrest. A darkening over the land, clashing swords, and two men in mortal combat. One of them would grind Ys to dust.
And always the fall of Calles…
You will be the death of Calles if you don’t change your ways!
While she observed so much, she failed to really see.… And people would die on her word, by her actions.
Would she be responsible for the fall of Calles? Again, she felt a tearing sensation, as if contradictory forces would pull her apart. Even though she tried to repress it, a low groan escaped, and she bent at the waist.
Goddess, I can’t do this.
“Lily,” Wulf said. “What’s wrong?”
Dimly, she was aware that the hateful sardonic tone had vanished, but still, his presence was all but unbearable. She felt too raw, too wounded.
“Don’t look at me,” she gritted while her tears dropped onto the marble floor. “You invaded my private space just because you got mad. You don’t get to see this. This is mine, do you hear? Mine to deal with, not yours.”
Silence throbbed to the beat of the blood pounding in her face. Still bent over, she focused on the floor underneath her feet, on taking her next breath.
She was excruciatingly aware of the moment when he shifted. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his blurred figure squat beside her. He had angled his face away.
“I’m not looking at you.” His words were quiet and even. Nonaggressive. “You abbey women are fierce about your boundaries, aren’t you?”
She coughed. It was not quite a laugh. “Damn right we are. Defending boundaries is every bit a tenet of our faith as nurturing those at our hearth and practicing the healing arts.”
Still not looking, he reached toward her. His fingers ran lightly up her thigh to her waist, searching her body by touch until he found her forearm and curled his fingers around it. Slowly he tightened his grip, applying pressure until that became the focal point, not the tumultuous crash of thoughts, emotions and images roiling in her mind.
Like the tide as it ebbed, the visions receded. No longer feeling quite so crushed, she took a deep breath, then another, and the tears stopped. Scrubbing the wetness from her face, she straightened.
He stood when she did. Instead of releasing her, he ran his hand down her arm to clasp her fingers lightly. “That has got to be the most unsatisfactory argument I’ve ever had.”
She almost laughed again, but damn it, no, she wouldn’t. “For what it’s worth, I really don’t think you realize how crazy it is that you climbed my tower.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, the blind spots my scout mapped are useless for anything other than a small, targeted strike force. You might get an assassin up here, but not a full-scale invasion.”
She said dryly, “A danger no Chosen in the past several hundreds of years has faced.”
He shrugged. “Fix metal bars at the windows and you’ll be safe enough.” Pausing to scoop up a leather bag, he led her to the array of floor pillows in front of the fireplace. “And lady, you don’t have any high ground from which to call me crazy.”
When they reached the pillows, he tugged her down.
She shouldn’t sit with him. She should do something else, like take advantage of his relaxed demeanor to pull away from his hold, run for the door, throw off the bar, and scream for help. She had seen for herself just how fast he was, but he was already half sitting. She might get away with it.
But she was tired, and that sounded like so much more hassle than she wanted to face. The consternation, the alarm, the certain violence.