Lanri was perfectly content with leaning on Seeker’s shoulder in the cold landscape of the Unminded Lands. They’d been there for hours, sitting, and thinking, and watching the long shadows cast by the low winter sun slowly pivot around the things that cast them like sundials. Sheep had occasionally come out, setting a few tables on the little pier that stretched from the back of the mansion to the lake with the same beautiful tablecloths and silverware as the dining hall inside.

One of the tables, they’d noted, was almost two meters tall. Lanri and Seeker could both easily stand up straight while underneath it, and Sheep had used a ladder propped up against it to place the comically oversized utensils on it.

“Can I have my wand back?” Lanri asked, breaking the silence after Sheep finished. Seeker gave her a thoughtful look for a while, seemingly running the internal calculus. “If I lose it, it’s my own fault,” she added. “I won’t blame you.”

“I know you won’t, Dear,” Seeker said, as she reached into nothing, and pulled the wand free. “But I might.” Lanri considered that for a moment. As responsible for her as Seeker felt, it made some sense that she would feel responsible for her most cherished possessions, too. Still, she wanted her wand back, so she took it with only the briefest of hesitations.

“He’d never forgive me if I didn’t have it with me for something as dangerous as…” she vaguely gestured at the villa, and Seeker gave her an understanding nod. She looked down at the wand wistfully, and gently stroked it.

“It really is a marvelous gift,” Seeker said. “I understand why you’re so attached to it.”

“I don’t know if you do,” Lanri said. She regretted it almost immediately. She didn’t know anything; Seeker was almost a thousand years old. Gods know how many people she’s loved and lost.

Seeker gave her a hurt look, then nodded. “You’re right, in a way. I’ve never received a gift like your wand. But I’ve seen a lot of people like you, Lanri. Widows and widowers who savor one gift from their beloved above all else.”

“I’m sorry,” Lanri said. “I know you understand. This kind of stuff is your job.”

Seeker smiled, and extended her flattened hand, wiggling it back and forth in a gesture of sort of. “Eh…” she said. “Lots of Hearthtenders who would disagree and say it’s theirz.”

“Those are Brigga’s angels, right?” Lanri asked. Seeker nodded, and she felt a little surge of pride. “Well, I always got the impression there’s a lot of overlap between Ishi and Brigga’s domains, anyways. Their angels even have similar names.”

“You may well be right, Dear,” Seeker said, in a humoring sort of way. “Though, I really doubt Brigga would have wanted me as one of her Hearthtenders. I wasn’t exactly looking at that priest with sisterly love.”

Lanri laughed at that. “No, I suppose you weren’t. But who you are now? I think you fit that description perfectly.”

“Oh?” Seeker asked, as she quirked a doubting eyebrow at her.

“Sure!” Lanri said, as she recalled the soft old man who’d taught her and her classmates about Brigga when she was seven or eight. “You’re gentle, and patient, and protective. That sounds an awful lot like what the priests told me Brigga stands for.”

“Thank you. Though you could be describing Huin, too,” Seeker challenged.

“Well, yes. But that’s a technicality. Caring about the fruits of your harvest is not the same as caring about your spouse.” Seeker raised her hands in concession, and Lanri groaned. “Oh gods, pillow talk with you really is theology.”

“I warned you. Just you wait until we get to what Duin thinks of his predecessor’s morals,” Seeker softly said, then paused for a moment. Her face turned serious, and Lanri straightened herself.

“What is it?” she asked, and tried to put the questions Seeker had just raised about Duin and… the other Duin out of her mind. Seeker stayed quiet for a moment longer, looking at the villa. Lanri looked at it too, but saw nothing different with it.

“We should discuss our plan for this… auction,” Seeker said, disdainfully. Urgently, too.

“Okay…” Lanri hesitantly agreed. She got the sense Seeker had just learned something, and wasn’t sharing it.

“Don’t use your name in front of anyone here, okay?” Seeker said.

Don’t use my name? What kind of sense does that make?

“Names are powerful, Dear,” Seeker said, again glancing at the villa. “Just keep yours to yourself. Don’t mention it, don’t even think it.” She paused a moment, her grave expression amplifying her authority, ever so slightly.

Don’t think it? How in the hells…

Seeker sighed in frustration. “You can’t not think your own name. Of course you can’t,” she said in a tone that made Lanri feel ever so slightly inadequate. She frowned, and Seeker noticed. She stayed silent for another moment, and quirked an eyebrow. An expression of mischief, Lanri knew. “Don’t think about your name, Lanri,” Seeker ordered, firmly.

“What?!” scoffed Lanri. No matter how much she wanted to obey, that wouldn’t make a difference for something like this. “You know better, Seeker. That’s not how thoughts work. If you don’t want me to—”

Seeker put a comforting hand on Lanri’s cheek, and glanced back towards the Villa. Lanri did so as well, and though she still didn’t see anything, she faintly heard people talking. Seeker snapped her fingers between the two of them, drawing her attention back. “Your name, Lanri,” Seeker urged.

“Stop saying it, then!” Lanri snapped. “I can’t not think about—”

“Try,” Seeker urged. “Your name, and title. Take them, and put them in a box, and lock it.”

Lanri was baffled. How the hell was she supposed to compartmentalize something as fundamental as her name? Seeker seemed to think it would help, though.

“Okay…” she said uncertainly, as she visualized her name, and pictured herself putting it in a little box, somewhere in the top shelves of the library that was her mind, where she could ignore it. She pictured herself looking for something she could use to cover the whole shelf, and imagined a big cloth to drape over it.

The cloth had her name on it.

She groaned. The words Lanri Vattens were so ingrained in her mind, so central to her-

“Obliez ça,” Seeker intoned. The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight, and Seeker’s fingertips turned into needles of ice that seemed to burrow into her head. She yelped, and became so dizzy, so quickly. She pulled away, tried to stand up. But she tripped over her feet, and fell gracelessly on the cold, dead, grass.

For a few frantic moments, she tried to orient herself. She was… she was far east of Remere, in the middle of the Unminded Lands, at a villa, with… She looked up at Seeker, who compassionately looked down at her. Right. She was with Seeker, and they’d been talking about… angels? She blinked a few times at how intimately familiar this all felt, trying to place the déjà vu.

This isn’t the first time I’ve…

She let the thought go, and looked up at Seeker, who gave her a compassionate, yet satisfied look. She was about to ask her what the hell had happened, when she heard voices coming from the villa. She glanced over at them, and back at Seeker. New voices couldn’t be a good thing, not when Gorance was planning to-

“Not to worry, my Dear,” Seeker told her, as she offered her a hand, and pulled her back onto the bench. “Those particular voices won’t be getting to you any time soon.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she asked Seeker, who crossed her arms, and sternly looked at a bit of empty field in front of them. “What are you—”

The world warped, as if to answer the question, and Gorance appeared in front of them. He looked at them both, and gave them a smug, downright punchable grin. “Our first guests are here,” he told them in his sing-song way. He turned his attention fully to Seeker. “Go inside, and meet them,” he coldly added.

“Very well,” Seeker said.

“I could really use a moment,” she complained. She was still dizzy, and had the vaguest something was wrong.

“I know, Dear,” Seeker gently assured her, helping her up, and marched her towards the villa. “It will pass in a moment. Remember what we agreed on about appeasing him.”

“I do remember that,” she assured Seeker. “But…”

“It’ll make sense in a moment, I promise,” Seeker said. “And you’ll stop feeling disoriented soon, too.” That second sentence sounded like a lie, she thought.

As they walked, she decided to try to make sense of it now. She and Seeker had been sitting on the bench, and they were talking about playing nice with Gorance, and then the wand Faron had made for her, and then some of the kinds of angels… so what the hell was wrong? None of that was particularly interesting. None of that should have her so puzzled.

The pair walked along the dirty desire path that trailed between the rows of trunks, towards the back entrance of the villa. “Be polite, and cooperate,” Seeker whispered. “The easier they think you’ll be to deal with, the less likely we are to wind up with someone particularly nasty.”

They ducked through the kitchen, and into the corridor that led towards the villa’s main hall. The voices were getting louder, and clearer.

“I’m surprised we’re the first ones here,” said a soft, masculine coded voice.

“I am, too,” replied what must be Gorance. “The First Counselor’s vassal seemed particularly keen on this. I was quite sure she would have been here first.”

“Someone had better arrive soon, Gorance,” another voice said. Feminine. Rougher. “You’re not the most trustworthy sort.”

“My friends, please!” said Gorance, placatingly. “I’ve summoned today’s prize already. She and her leash will be here soon, and, honestly, isn’t that all you should care about? If nobody else is interested in them, that will make today all the easier for you!”

“I suppose,” conceded the soft masculine voice. There was a silence that even from several corridors away felt awkward. But as they got closer, an anticipation seemed to build. They knew they were coming.

When they rounded the final corridor into the hall, Gorance beamed at his guests. “There they are!” he happily said with an excessive bow.

Young, portly looking people, the guests skeptically looked at them. The woman was focused almost exclusively on Seeker, while the man had eyes for both of them. “You’re a Heartwarden?” The woman asked Seeker with a scoff. “I hardly think so.”

“Oh, I assure you she is!” Gorance said. “Ishi’s Seeker, as I promised.”

“Are you?” asked the man. Seeker nodded. She seemed to steel herself, rolling her eyes, and swallowing.

“I am,” she said, flatly. She reached to her bangle, and drew the rose gold sword from its impossible sheath. The guests’ eyes widened slightly, and Seeker tossed it onto the table they sat at. It shattered one of the empty wine glasses as it landed.

Why did you do that?

Seeker simply gestured at the pair, urging her to look at them. After squinting as if to read something, the woman moved to pick up the sword. Her hand simply phased through it. She gave a satisfied smile. “Tell me, Seeker, how did you wind up here?”

“He trapped me,” Seeker said through clenched teeth. “And my mandate and morals forced me to stay my blade once he released me.”

“I see,” said the man, knowingly. “I assume the human is to blame?” Seeker started to say something, but he simply kept talking. “What’s your name, little mortal?”

“I’m—” she stopped. She thought about the question. She wanted to answer it, she really did. She chuckled nervously, as she tried to jog her memory. She had to answer the question, at least to herself. Her husband’s name was Faron, and she’d taken his last name, which meant her surname would be…

“I don’t know…” she quietly whispered. She knew everything about herself, but her name? No. She… it was just gone.

“You…” began the man. “Oh, that’s very clever, Heartwarden. You had the foresight to do that, but not to avoid his trap altogether?” Seeker fixed him with a cool stare. The sort of stare that would inspire her to drop to her knees. He met it for a moment, then looked away, to Gorance. “Do you even know her Name, demon?” he spat. “Her True Name?”

“I do,” Gorance easily said. “If you win the auction, you will, of course, have it.”

“This is… acceptable,” said the woman. “You understand, however, that any bargain we strike is void if you cannot deliver.”

“Obviously,” Gorance dismissively said. His tail swayed back and forth.

You made me forget my name?

“I did, Dear,” Seeker whispered. “I’ll give it back, not to fret.”

“Very well,” said the man. He fixed her with a commanding stare. “Come here, Dear,” he ordered, pronouncing Seeker’s nickname for her with disdain. She paused a moment, then, remembering her instructions to cooperate, she stepped closer. He smiled at her. “Since we aren’t exchanging real names, call us… let’s say… Marlow and Alice?”

The woman, or, she supposed, Alice, nodded her approval of the moniker. “That will do,” she said. “So tell us, little Dear, why are you important enough to Seeker to warrant her submission to these circumstances?”

“Because she l—”

“That,” Seeker cut in, “is my knowledge to share, not hers, fae.” Dear looked at her in confusion.

What the hell happened to cooperate and play along? Seeker dismissively rolled her eyes at her, and stepped closer. A moment later, it registered what she’d called them. Fae. The word bounced through her head several times, and she recalled what Faron had told her about them. “That’s why you made me forget my name,” she whispered.

Now, the fae rolled their eyes. “Not for her quick wit, that’s for sure,” Alice said.

“Watch your tongue,” Seeker hissed as she stepped closer still, and picked her sword off the table. The fae couple seemed to tense for a moment, watching nervously as Seeker returned the beautiful sword to its sheath. “My Dear is… significant,” she said, cautiously.

“Oh, yes!” agreed Gorance. “Seeker is quite attached to her little pet.. Wouldn’t even abide me reminding her that mortals have a place in the natural order of things.” Seeker sighed, and gave the demon a withering glare, then looked past him, at Sheep rushing into the room.

“Master Gorance?” she asked, quietly. Dear noticed her glance at the shattered wine glass and saw her wince, and she giggled softly.

“Not now, Sheep,” Gorance commanded without looking at her. “I’m busy talking to our honored guests.”

Sheep swallowed, and nervously glanced back down the corridor she came from. “B-but—”

Gorance sighed, and turned to look at her. “What is it?” he asked, reluctantly. She pointed down the corridor, just out of Dear’s view. Gorance’s eyes went wide.

“The Inquisitor has arrived, Master,” Sheep quietly told him.

He nodded, and blindly pointed at the shards of glass. “Clean that up, and bring out the wine.” Sheep set out to do as told, picking up the splinters and fragments from the Fae’s table as the next guests entered the hall.

Tall, and pale, the one Sheep called an Inquisitor strode in with an aura of superiority. He wore a brilliant purple cloak, elaborately decorated with golden chains and clasps studded with gems. He walked past Gorance, and threw himself into a chair. A moment later, three more people entered. Two of them, a man and a woman, wore red cloaks with silver ornamentation. Between them, they dragged the limp form of a dark skinned elven woman. Dressed in an itchy looking black cloak, she was gagged and bound despite obviously being in no condition to resist them. The two clad in red pushed the elf onto her knees next to his chair, then stood at attention behind it.

“Please, continue,” the Inquisitor said to Gorance, once he and his entourage were in place. “You were telling your fae friends about mortals, and the natural order of things, no?”

Dear looked on as the elf looked around from her spot on the floor. Her eyes had the softness of sleep, but they dutifully flicked around the room. Her eyes spoke of contempt for her captors, Gorance, and the fae, pity for Sheep and herself, and the slightest flicker of hope at the sight of Seeker.

“I was,” Gorance told him. “We were discussing today’s prize, and her little mortal pet’s proud streak.” That was a misrepresentation at best, Dear knew. But Gorance lied so effortlessly that she almost believed that was all there had been to what he was saying. “Regardless,” he continued, “welcome, my friend.”

“We aren’t friends, Gorance,” the Inquisitor said. He leaned back in his chair, and glanced at her and Seeker. His eyes held contempt and superiority, and he smiled to himself. “You’re a Heartwarden, then?” he asked.

“I am,” said Seeker as Sheep picked up the last of the shards, and scurried away.

“Oh, yes,” said Alice. “You’ll love her, Abanian. An angel, subdued by mere threats.” Abanian. Another word that rang a bell. Dear’s husband had told her about them in hushed tones. They were slavers from the west that imprisoned mages and priests, and forced them to cast spells for them.

“I do not invite your counsel, fae,” spat the Inquisitor. “Nor will I offer you mine.” As he spoke, Dear looked at the elf, bound and on her knees at his side, and realized that’s what she must be.

I think that’s a mage.

“Very well, then don’t heed it,” said Alice, derisively. “What’s your Name again, Inquisitor…” The Abanian Inquisitor scoffed.

As the two argued, Seeker subtly shook her head.

Not a mage?

Seeker stepped a little closer, and tapped the brooch in Dear’s hair. She took that to mean something adjacent to divinity rather than Talent.

She’s not an angel.

Seeker shook her head again, and made a slight gesture pointing down. Not an angel, lower.

A priestess.

Seeker smiled, and nodded, stopping just before the Abanian Inquisitor looked at them again. “You certainly would be of use,” he told Seeker. “After you’re bent into obedience.”

The callousednes of it sent a shiver down Dear’s spine. Seeker’s plan of appeasement seemed far less wise, suddenly. This… Inquisitor didn’t stand a chance in hell of actually succeeding, but she knew in her gut he would try if he got the chance. And judging by the shape the priestess was in…

“You let the girl carry a wand?” he suddenly asked with a glance at Gorance, before he pointed at her hip and the holster that rested on it. She instinctively tugged at the belt, twisting the holster out of view.

Gorance shrugged. “Part of the package, I suppose,” he said nonchalantly.

“Typical,” huffed Marlow. “I suppose a pocket knife would frighten you too, in her hands.” The Inquisitor frowned, and grunted as he adjusted his cloak.

His ego’s fragile.

Seeker grinned at her, and led her away from the guests, towards the table they’d had breakfast at. “No more than me and my guards’ daggers should frighten you,” said the Inquisitor behind her. There was an edge to his voice, a genuine threat. “You think I would come to a meeting with fae unprepared?”

“My friends, please!” urged Gorance. “There is no need for such vitriol. Do we not all want the same thing?” The pair sat down at their table, and watched from across the room as Sheep returned with two bottles of wine, and a glass to replace the one Seeker had broken. “Have some wine, relax! Enjoy the rare sight of an angel, subdued by mere words.”

Couldn’t you attack now? They’re all distracted.

“Not yet, Dear,” whispered Seeker. She was so quiet, yet so clearly understood, that Dear wondered if it was a spell of some kind. “With Sheep and the priestess in the way… I’m not willing to risk it.”

The priestess could help us!

“I’m sure she will,” Seeker agreed, as the pair watched Sheep pour the fae and Inquisitor each a glass of wine. “But it’s too early. There are a dozen more tables here, and it only took two to spark conflict. If we bide our time, I think chaos will be our ally.”

Dear could see the wisdom of it. As she watched the Inquisitor and fae bicker, she thought about the kinds of people that would accept an invitation to this. They would all, without fail, think themselves better than the rest, she concluded. Arrogance was practically a requirement to go against someone like Seeker.

“You will give me my name back, right?” she asked. She’d been thinking in complete sentences to communicate with Seeker before, but this seemed innocuous enough to be safe to discuss out loud.

“I will, Dear,” Seeker assured her. “But not until these fae are gone. If they found out what your True Name is, I’d have to change it.” Dear nodded absently, as she looked at the bound elf. She seemed to be becoming more alert with every passing moment.

“Whatever they drugged her with is wearing off,” she told Seeker a moment before her last sentence registered. “Wait. Change it?”

“Change it,” Seeker repeated, flatly. “Instead of just making you forget your name for a while, I’d have to give you a new one. A fae that knows a mortal’s True Name is quite a nuisance.”

“I like my name!” Dear blurted out. She thought about that for a moment. “Whatever it is… I know I like it!” She did, too. She knew deep in her soul she loved her name. It was annoying her to no end that she couldn’t recall it. It also annoyed her how dry her mouth was.

Seeker giggled. “I know, Dear. That’s why I took care to protect it.” She took Dear by the chin. She smiled at the Heartwarden. It was an intimate, slightly dominating gesture that put her at ease. She’d come to interpret it as I know what I’m doing. Just listen, and trust me. “You’ve entrusted me with your wand, your destiny, and even your life. Surely you don’t mind if I hold on to your name for a while,” she said.

Dear smiled, and nodded. “I know I’m safe with you. I don’t mind,” she agreed with a slight giggle.

“Perfect,” Seeker purred, with her wonderful smile. “Now, do you want to see something fun?” Dear nodded, and her smile widened in anticipation. Seeker twitched her head up slightly, gesturing to Sheep, who stood in the corner like the dutiful valet she was. “Venéz,” she whispered, and underneath the table, raised her hand at the beastkin. It made the hair at the back of Dear’s neck stand up. She twitched a single finger, and Dear watched as the lapel of Sheep’s tailcoat was tugged on by an invisible hand.

That’s the same spell you used to pull me from Gorance.

Seeker grinned, and politely nodded at Sheep when the beastkin looked in their direction. She straightened her coat, and walked over. “Yes, Lady Seeker?” she politely asked.

“Could we have one of those bottles of wine, too?” Seeker asked as if she were ordering at a restaurant, rather than bargaining with a captor.

“Of course,” Sheep pleasantly said. “Would you like something, as well?”

“Me?” asked Seeker. She sounded genuinely surprised, like it hadn’t occurred to her that she could personally have a drink. “What do you have?”

“Master Gorance has a reserve of currant brandy, Lady Seeker,” Sheep told her. “It would be lethal to me or your ward, but I believe you might enjoy it.”

“Currants?” asked Dear. “Like the ones I ate? The ones from… wherever the Inquisitor said he was from?” She tried to picture what fermenting and distilling those would result in. Poison, she concluded.

“The very same,” Sheep said with a smile, then patiently looked at Seeker.

Dear did the same. She was surprised to see Seeker was actually seriously thinking about it. After a moment, she shrugged, and said “sure.” Sheep smiled, and nodded before she turned to make for what Dear assumed to be the wine cellar.

“Are you sure about this, Seeker?” Dear asked. She’d seen Seeker bleed, and be knocked unconscious; It didn’t seem wise to her to willingly drink poison. “You told me these things could get you stoned,” she added, thinking back to Seeker scolding her that morning.

“I was exaggerating,” Seeker told her with a soft smile. “But… I do see your point. I’m just curious, is all. It has been a very long time since I’ve been anything less than sober.”

“I doubt you can get drunk to begin with,” Dear said.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular divine encyclopedia, Dear?” Seeker teased. She blushed. “That dress really got to you, didn’t it?” Dear nodded. It had gotten to her. It seemed like ages ago by now, but in those days she had it, it had taught her so much.

“Vous pensez? Je comprends la langue divine à cause de cela,” (You think? I understand the Divine language because of it,) Dear said, easily. A moment later, she caught on to what she’d just done, and her eyes widened, and looked at Seeker who gave her a very similar look. “I didn’t even make any mistakes, did I?” she sheepishly asked.

“No,” Seeker said, thoughtfully. “You didn’t.”