"How have you come to have such eyes?" Bishop Luis asked.

"My eyes have always been this way," Cyril answered, her grin widening.

The resemblance was uncanny now. The air around him had cooled to a small gentle warmth. Like a warmth after eating a stew made with love. The two conflicting feelings boiling in him made him hesitate to press for a more specific answer. So, he stayed silent to sort it out.

Contrary to the feeling that began hover around the G.o.ddess, Priscilla noted the raised tension in the air around the town. As the storm began to crawl slowly overhead, the warm colors of the evening were blotted out. Grey bloated clouds slithered overhead as fresh snow began to fall, pushed by a cutting breeze that snaked through the town. The few merchants that had defied the weather and set up shop had disappeared. The spa.r.s.e foot traffic had long drained up as well.

Only the sound of distant brattle of armor joined the coming winds.

"Bishop Luis, do you have any suggestions to ease the ill atmosphere?" Lord Gulley asked once they had reached the Cathedral. It's towering gothic architecture rose high as if it meant to pierce the storm clouds above.

"We could hold a ma.s.s prayer within the Cathedral," Bishop Luis suggested. "Prayers to the one true G.o.d Alistair for protection."

"Sounds good," Lord Gulley nodded. "Let's do that then. I'll bring out food and drinks to help as well. I'll have my patrols go door to door and tell the townsfolk to come."

"Why don't you put on a play?" Cyril asked Bishop Luis.

"We're not speaking to you, Lady Cyril," Lord Gulley barked. "You may have been left here by the First Prince, but I will not have you speak while the men talk."

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"Now now, my Lord," Bishop Luis intervened. "She does have a good idea. Entertainment can distract from the current situation. I will consider it, Lady Cyril."

Cyril only rolled her eyes before she walked up the Cathedral steps. As she did, she graced Lord Gulley with her middle finger.

"Insolent wench," Lord Gulley snarled. "If that d.a.m.n prince hadn't left her, I'd have thrown her into the dungeons already for her words."

"It's fine, my Lord," Bishop Luis gave a small smile. "She is a young woman, I'll take care of her."

He was used to this man's fiery temper. Such was the way of warriors. They were good with sweet words and courtesies. Such things were quite easily taught. Now restraining one's temper was another matter. Men of the sword were more intuned with their emotions than the average man in his experience.

"Very well, make sure she stays out of my way then," Lord Gulley said before he turned to Priscilla. "Now, I'll leave you with Bishop Luis, but give my regards to your father when you return home. I haven't seen him for such a long time. Farewell, Lady Priscilla."

Lord Gulley parted from them and headed off. Priscilla turned to Bishop Luis.

"I'm sorry for his temper," Bishop Luis chuckled softly.

"I'm used to it," Priscilla sighed, "My father has the same temperament."

The two walked up the steps together as the fresh snow crunched underfoot. The day was darkening quickly as the sun disappeared, and its dying light was mostly swallowed by the clouds. All around them, the town had begun to darken and lanterns were being lit across the city to illuminate the streets.

At the top of the steps, Cyril had appeared. That playful look in her eyes had faded. There was a touch of worry in those golden pools. From where she stood, she could see over the wall of white that was crawling towards them.

"Do you believe prayers will help?" She asked as her eyes scanned the coming blizzard.

"Without a doubt, yes," Bishop Luis said. "Why?"

"You better start praying..." Cyril said as her hand gripped Excalibur's hilt and her eyes dropped to Priscilla. "You better get inside."