CHAPTER 11

“How long have you been able to do that?” Asked Seeker. “I knew you understood most of it, but speaking it?”

“I’m not quite sure,” admitted Dear. “I hadn’t tried to, before that. It just sort of… came out, I suppose. When I had the dress in my hand, some of my thoughts were in the divine language.”

“You had thoughts in the language?” Seeker asked as she leaned forward, and leaned her head on her arm.

“I did,” Dear confirmed, and her thoughts went back to her session in front of the statue, pent up and bothered from the smell of the dress. She knew Seeker would get the picture from her thoughts alone, and smiled when the Heartwarden nodded, knowingly.

“There could be worse side effects, I suppose,” she told her with a smile, and Dear heard a low, rhythmic thud that reminded her of the large water-wheel powered smithing hammers of the royal armory. She looked around, curious for the source, and only saw the faintest, slightest glowing spot in the doorway leading into the hall.

“What’s making that noise?” She thought aloud as she squinted at the glow. It was zipping around like a hummingbird, chaotic, and fast. It stopped in front of Gorance long enough for Dear to get a good look at her. She looked like a tiny little woman with big, shimmering wings, no taller than Dear’s hand was big. She was outlined by a faint, purple glow, and her dress and wings sparkled like they were made of gems that had somehow been spun into a fabric.

“Pixie,” huffed Seeker, dismissively. “Try to ignore her.”

“Well, sure, but I asked about the noise,” said Dear, as the thuds became louder, and started to be felt in her bones. She tried to picture what would be making that racket, while doing her best to heed Seeker’s order to ignore the Pixie.

“Trouble putting it together?” Asked Seeker, playfully. Dear gave her a confused look. “Come on, Dear,” she teased. “We saw those big tables outside, didn’t we? Sheep setting it with a butter knife the size of my sword? And now the cutlery is rattling?”

Surely Seeker couldn’t be implying that, thought Dear. They were brutish, dull creatures. They had the attention span of an empty tub of butter, and the imagination of a block of lead. “What’s a giant doing here?” Asked Dear.

“We could ask them,” Seeker proposed, flatly. The rhythmic thuds grew louder still.

“You’re mad,” said Dear. “This whole charade depends on people being predictable, Seeker! A giant would be as likely to snap me in half as answer the question!”

“Don’t be a bigot, Dear,” Seeker told her. Her eyes widened in indignation, and Seeker raised a single finger that screamed I’m not finished, dear mortal. She swallowed, and patiently waited for Seeker to continue. “All you know about this giant is that they decided to come here. Giants aren’t dumb, or brutes, or simpletons; they’re just bigger.”

A dozen stories came to mind. From tales her father had read her, to ones she read papers about during her studies. She knew giants were savages, she just did! All of history was full of it. Sure, there was the occasional intelligent one, that would serve some ancient landlord, but they couldn’t possibly be anything other than outliers.

And that crashed into her new understanding of the world. The gods that had been mere theory a month ago were now made practical. Not that she hadn’t been sure they existed; she had been. But before, she’d been sure of them in the same way she was sure the Moon, Artemia existed. Now she was sure of them on a much more intimate level. Real and visceral, one of their agents sat in front of her, telling her with the objectivity of divine understanding that she was wrong. Dear sighed, and rubbed the side of her head. She knew Seeker was right, that’s just how things worked now. But…

“It’ll make more sense in a moment, I’m sure,” said Seeker, who rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “But take my word for it, Dear. Giants are normal people. They’re not better, or worse, or smarter, or dumber. They’re just bigger.”

Dear nodded, and gave Seeker a faint smile. “Okay. But… any giant that would come to this is probably an asshole, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Seeker assured her, then nodded up at something behind her. “Anyways…”

Dear’s gaze followed Seeker’s gesture, and she soon found herself looking up at Sheep’s pink face, and her bright smile. The valet placed two bottles on the table between Seeker and Dear, as well as two wine glasses. One of the bottles was just ordinary red wine, while the other was a dark, deeply vibrant blue. The sort of color that brought to mind a description of a poisonous frog from a book she’d once read. The Currant brandy. She recoiled from it.

“Thank you, Sheep,” Seeker told the beastkin, who soon wandered off, down a corridor leading to the rear of the building.

“How about you keep that bottle as far away from me as you can,” Dear suggested as Seeker picked it up, and examined it. She watched the Heartwarden open the latched stopper, and gave the brew inside a curious smell.

“How generous of her,” she mused as she gave the bottle a knowing smile, and put it nowhere. Dear looked on, perplexed. She’d seen Seeker put things nowhere, and she’d seen her get them back a few times now, but never so clearly. There was usually something in the way to block her view. This time, she got to clearly watch as the bottle seemed to disappear behind a wall of nothing.

“You’re putting it away?” Dear asked. “I thought you were curious, Seeker.”

“Oh, I am,” Seeker dismissively agreed. “But not that curious. I’ll have a glass when we celebrate our safe return to Remere.” She picked up the bottle of ordinary wine, and poured a glass for herself, and then for Dear.

“That definitely won’t get you drunk,” Dear said as she picked up her own glass, and took a drink. It was a lot sweeter than she’d expected. It barely tasted fermented at all, more like sangria without the citrus flavors than wine on its own.

“I know it won’t,” Seeker said, as she drank from her own glass, and it occurred to Dear that’s the first time she’d ever seen Seeker eat or drink anything. She looked like she was about to say more, but was interrupted by someone clearing her throat just behind Dear’s left ear.

She turned to look, and found herself staring straight into the tiny, thumb-sized face of the pixie. She hovered about a foot in front of her face, with her hands on her hips and an unimpressed coldness to her glowing eyes.

What the hell am I supposed to say to her?

The pixie huffed, and moved on to Seeker with her arms crossed. “I suppose you want proof I’m who Gorance says I am,” she said with a sigh. Dear imagined she could see the pixie frown in the reflection in Seeker’s eyes.

“Nothing so crass,” the pixie said, and her glow shifted from purple, to a faint yellow. She had an accent Dear couldn’t place. It had a bouncy, faintly mischievous lilt to it. “I just thought I would meet both of you before you’re no doubt ushered outside to… debase yourselves by entertaining the giant fellow.”

Seeker quirked an eyebrow. It was far from the playful expression she usually wore for her, Dear noted. It was calculating, and suspicious. “I’m Seeker,” she carefully said. “My friend’s name will have to wait until the fae are in no position to learn it.” She gestured to the other side of the dining hall, where the fae, Inquisitor, and Gorance were arguing.

“A sensible precaution,” said the pixie, as she flew to the rim of Dear’s glass of wine, and sat down on it with a little puff of shiny dust that fizzled out of existence when it hit something. “What do I call you then, lass?” She asked, looking up at her with the aura of an unimpressed school teacher, and the authority to match it.

“Seeker calls me Dear, and that… seems to be the…” She trailed off, and quirked her head at the little creature. She was not about to be put on the back foot by a stranger the size of a sock. “What’s your name?” She demanded.

“Wynn,” said the pixie, her accent twisting it onto sounding more like Hwenn. “And mind your manners, girl!”

“I’m twenty-eight!” Dear said, defensively.

“Little girl, then. Babe, even,” corrected Wynn, who turned away from her and back to Seeker. Dear glared at the back of the little thing’s head, and had to resist the urge to flick her off her glass. She thought Seeker looked to be on the same page, on that front.

“She’s scarcely the rude one,” said Seeker coolly. “You’re sitting on her drink.”

The pixie looked down. “Oh bother, I’ve done that, haven’t I?” She scolded herself as she hopped down from the glass, and simply sat down on the tablecloth with her legs crossed. “So, how’d a bloody demon talk the likes of you into this?” She asked Seeker.

Seeker eyed her for a moment, then gestured at Lanri. “I have a duty to her,” she said, and after a sigh, continued. “And as of now, I haven’t thought of a way safely fulfill them.”

Wynn smiled, and nodded, knowingly. “I’ve seen this before,” she said.

“You have?!” Dear blurted out. Seeker sighed again, and the pixie grinned at her, as her glow turned from a pastel yellow to a pale pink.

“Oh yes,” she said. “A Valkyrie. He had taken a priestess into his custody, and he was strung along by his duty to her for years before he could leave her side.”

“What happened?” Asked Dear.

Wynn fluttered up from the table, and hovered in front of her face. Instinctively, Dear leaned back, and still had to cross her eyes to focus on her. “Daray got tired of waiting for him to return to his side…” She paused for a moment, and Dear was desperate to learn what had happened.

“Enough!” Snapped Seeker, and Wynn briefly turned blue as she spun around in the air to look at her. “I will not tolerate you frightening her with a fairy tale and lies,” she said. “Change the topic, or begone.”

“Oh, but I’m not lying,” said Wynn, as her color shifted back to pink. “You’re not omniscient, Heartwarden. And you know it’s something Daray would do.”

“What is she talking about?” Asked Dear, as she began to piece together what Wynn was implying.

“Not now, Dear,” said Seeker, poorly placating her before she returned her attention to Wynn. “Even if he did, I am not his. I am Ishara’s, and she would not.”

“Perhaps,” Wynn said, ominously. “But you’re worried about it, aren’t you? That your… What’s he called–”

“They,” corrected Seeker, sternly.

“Right. That they, your Mischief, will come down here, and end this charade?”

Seeker swallowed, and Dear saw her frown. You can’t be taking her seriously? She’s just trying to rile us up. Even I can see this is bullshit. Seeker turned to look at her, and gave her an encouraged nod.

“I asked you to leave this topic, sprite,” said Seeker, harshly. “Do not mistake my tolerance of this environment for weakness. Drop. It.” It sent a surge of pride through Dear to see her Seeker stand up for Mischief and Ishara like that, and she smiled, which extracted an odd look from Seeker.

Wynn rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she whispered, as she zipped around Dear’s head, and presumably kicked the brooch full force, as she felt a soft tap. “Very pretty,” she told her as she flew to the center of the table. “And very obvious,” she added, though now speaking to Seeker more than Dear. “You must be planning to keep her for quite a while, if you’re willing to give her such a gaudy artifact. Deferent, too.” Seeker’s frown deepened as the pixie continued. “She must be very… precious to you.”

A thunderous show of subtlety, that.

Dear was happy to see the joke elicited a smile from Seeker. “I won’t pretend she isn’t,” Seeker said. “It’s part of why I’m at this table.”

“Part of?” Asked Wynn as Dear lifted her glass of to take a drink. It tasted ever so slightly tangier than it had a moment ago, she thought.

“Part of,” repeated Seeker with a nod. “Do you have many more questions for us?” She asked.

“Oh, plenty,” said Wynn. “But I’ll have plenty of time too, to ask them later.”

Don’t count on it, thought Dear as the pixie fluttered away from the table in a series of zigs and zags, in the direction of Gorance. “She’s… interesting,” mumbled Dear once she was out of earshot.

“Indeed,” agreed Seeker. “They all are, I’m sure. Gorance doesn’t strike me as the type with boring friends.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the type with any friends at all,” said Dear. She liked to imagine him as perpetually lonely, desperate for friends. Though, if she was honest, she couldn’t really bring herself to believe he cared enough about other people to be lonely.

“No, I imagine he doesn’t have many, either.”

Dear took another sip of her wine and watched as, on the other side of the room, Gorance and Sheep exchanged words with Wynn, and welcomed several more parties of guests. An elven man, surrounded by several women of various races, all of them wearing robes that had a spider web motif, behind that group, a demon with green skin, and presumably several others waiting just out of sight. She sighed, and nervously whispered “There’s so many of them here.”

“More than I expected,” said Seeker. “If he’s lacking in friends, he certainly isn’t short on allies and acquaintances.” Dear swallowed, and she reached out, encouragingly squeezing her hand under the table. “We’ll get out of this yet, Dear,” she said. “I’m not planning on letting any of these people see you again after today.”

“I know. You’ll keep me safe.” She nervously looked at the growing crowd of villains, and was painfully aware at least one was seven meters tall, and had to sit outside. “But that doesn’t make them less intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” Asked Seeker, and she quirked an eyebrow. “These fools aren’t intimidating.”

“You wouldn’t be trying to appease Gorance if he didn’t worry you, Seeker,” Dear challenged. “I know none of them are a real danger to you. But we both know they are to me. That’s why we’re stuck here.”

Seeker sighed again, and had a drink from her glass of wine. “They are. But they also know you’re the only thing keeping me from dealing with them. There’s only so much they can do to you.” Dear frowned, and was already opening her mouth to point out that still left a lot of terrible things they could safely do to her, when Seeker continued. “I will not let them torment you, Dear.”

“I know,” Dear said, and she shifted her chair a little closer to Seeker to lean against her. The day was already beginning to wear on her, and judging by the groups of people making their way into the hall, they weren’t even close to done yet. A silver-haired woman in black leather armor, and a much shorter girl in tan with downright distractingly pink hair filed in.

“Huh,” said Seeker, who watched the pinkette intently, and occasionally glanced at the bound elven priestess by the Inquisitor. Dear did the same, and noticed she too was staring at the girl.

“What is it?” She asked.

“The pink one. It’s another priestess,” she said. Dear focused on her and the woman with her. She noticed the priestess was leaning against the armored woman as they walked to their table, and the woman gave her a kiss on the top of her head in turn.

“How can you even tell?” Asked Dear. “She just looks like a tired handmaiden.”

“I think she’s that, too,” said Seeker. “And I can tell because… Well, I don’t know. I can just tell. She’s here with some god’s might behind her.”

“You mean the pixie, Wynn, was right?” Asked Dear, nervously. Consciously, she knew Ishara wouldn’t ever sanction something like that. But on a baser level, she was still worried.

“No!” said Seeker. “She’s not Ishara’s, or I’d know her, and none of the other gods have any cause or right to get involved.” Dear let that roll around in her head for a while. She’d met priests before, of course. And they were all, well, people. They’d told her they needed to uphold their patron deity’s mandate to keep their powers, but they weren’t slaves to that duty. They could forsake their gods, if they chose to. Seeker gave her a tired look. “My Dear,” she began, “your thoughts are an utter delight to listen to, they really are, but I implore you not to try to talk yourself into believing the half-asleep pink-haired priestess is an assassin sent by one of the gods.”

“You really do pay a lot of attention to me, don’t you?” Asked Dear, quietly.

“Of course I do!” Seeker proudly said. “I care deeply for you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Right,” said Dear with a chuckle, as she recalled her first real conversation with Seeker. “I’m impossible to get bored of, you said.”

“You are,” Seeker assured her, and let go of her hand to rub her cheek, “endlessly compelling.”

“You’re… pretty compelling, too,” Dear said as she leaned into Seeker’s caress, who smiled at her. “So strong, and nice, and talented… and trustworthy,” in contrast to everyone else. She looked away from Seeker, and had another swig of her wine as she looked at the room full of villains. All of them wanted to use her. To treat her like a tool to manipulate Seeker. She hated them. She’d already decided she hated Gorance, but… she hated everyone here.

They were all sitting there at their tables, looking at them, scheming. Planning how they’d harass and terrorize her; how they’d use her Seeker to do evil. The elven priestess, she was living proof that anyone can be broken, and Wynn’s story was evidence that all of the appeasement in the world from Seeker might not even keep her safe.

“Are you okay?” Asked Seeker, which drew her attention.

“W–what? Sure, I’m… fine,” she mumbled, and she dismissively waved her off. “I just need some… some fresh air, I think. Get away from all of these…”

Seeker nodded, and helped her up. As they stood, Dear noticed everyone in the atrium was staring at them. Of course they would be; she and Seeker were the night’s guests of honor, and the grand prize. They all made her so, so angry. The ones that came in groups were whispering at each other, she noticed. The Inquisitor at his guards, the fae at each other, and so on, all of them strategizing about what it might mean that she was standing up, and sweating, and being led out of the room. Once they turned a corner, she actually heard laughter. Laughter!

They’re fucking laughing at me.

“Fukghin… dicks…” She mumbled, and Seeker stopped. She grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her slightly.

“What is the matter with you?!” She asked. From anyone else, it would have come across as a scolding remark, but Seeker would never… Wait, yes she would. She’d scolded her just that morning. Over fucking pastry of all things. Dear could see her Seeker grow impatient.

“What’s the matter?!” Dear asked with a scoff, and Seeker’s expression hardened in a very entertaining way. “I’m in the middle of fukghin nowhere… up for auction, because I” – she jabbed her own chest – “had the nerve to be good at my job, and fell into a trap set by a demon.”

Seeker rolled her eyes. “No, that’s not it!” She said as she turned Dear around, and marched her towards the nearest door leading outside. Part of Dear wanted to resist, to struggle. That giant was out there, she knew. Ishara wouldn’t have to send an assassin to free Seeker of her if he got his hands on her. “This. The flippancy. The paranoid drivel. The giant isn’t here to kill you, love, none of them are.”

“I can be flippant if I want,” challenged Dear, Seeker led her through the kitchen, and outside. The smell of the industrial scale cooking made her mouth water. “You don’t own me.”

“No, you can’t!” Seeker scoffed. “And… yes, I do!” She added a moment later, as she pushed Dear along into the outside work area, and made her sit down on the stools besides the bathtubs. She crouched in front of her, and looked at her with a concerned expression that Dear thought was nothing short of condescension.

“Right,” she huffed. “natural order of things,

“No!” interrupted Seeker, as she put a hand on Dear’s forehead. “It’s nothing like that. You’re mine because you choose to be, because you trust me. And they” – she paused, and gestured at the villa – “they’re all assholes who think I can force you to. They all think they can have you after today, and clearly, one of them…” Seeker trailed off, thinking. Dear wanted to say something, but she put a finger on her mouth to silence her.

Two voices, silently chattering nearby. After a moment, Seeker’s expression hardened, and she hoisted Dear back up. She took her by the wrist, and set off in the direction of the two voices. They made their way in the direction of the lake, and turned the corner to the deck with the oversized table. At it sat a giant Dear guessed was six meters tall, and a little pink blob.

“WHAT SPELL DID YOU CAST ON HER?!” Demanded Seeker with sheer hate in her voice. She let Dear go, and pulled her sword from its impossible sheath as the pixie turned a deep, dark blue. She kept advancing on the sprite, and stretched a hand out towards her. “VENEZ!” She yelled as she closed her hand into a fist, and pulled towards herself.

Wynn yelped as invisible hands grabbed her, and yanked her towards Seeker, who flipped her sword around into a reverse grip. The little creature, a barely visible midnight blue by now, came to a stop touching the sword’s edge. Behind her, the giant turned to look at the scene. “I…”

“The scared act doesn’t fucking work on me,” spat Seeker. “Colors mean nothing on field sprites; you can control what you look like!”

Dear came a little closer. She hated everyone who’d accepted this invitation with a passion, but torturing them, terrorizing them? She was about to speak up, and ask Seeker to stop, when she noticed the pixie change back to pink.

“You can either release the spell, or I’ll deal with you, so it dispels on its own,” Seeker growled.

Wynn giggled. “You’re clever,” she purred, and she snapped her finger. Dear gasped as she felt… something go away, and she stumbled back a few steps. “I really thought you wouldn’t notice in time,” she said. “That was educational, though.”

Seeker unclenched her fist, and the pixie flew a few paces closer to Dear. “What… what was that?” She asked, not really caring whether Seeker or Wynn gave an answer.

“Strategy,” said Wynn, proudly. “Testing the two of you… Undermining how useful the others might think you two can be.”

“What?!” Demanded Dear.

“She was screwing with your thoughts, Dear,” Seeker said, as she came a little closer, and patted her on the shoulder. “From the second she joined us at our table.”

“Huh?”

“Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is she?” Said Wynn, and Seeker glared at her. “I cast a spell on your wine, and sowed some seeds of discontent and paranoia,” she innocently said, like she hadn’t just messed with her mind like it was nothing. “Mortal minds are as malleable as clay.”

Dear began to piece things together, slowly. All of this stuff, people playing with her mind, she hated it. She didn’t like it when Seeker did it, but at least she trusted her. Anger boiled up in her at the thought of Wynn and Gorance having both changed things about her, and dread at the increasingly likely prospect it would happen again.

“So easy to upset, too,” Wynn teased. “No wonder your kind harasses and hurts itself so much, it’s the easiest way to entertain yourselves.”

“Leave her be, Wynn,” came a low, slow, unimpressed voice, and the ground rumbled as the giant adjusted himself in his chair to face them, rather than look over his shoulder “You went farther than I asked you to.”

The sprite turned a little bluer as she looked up at her… Dear decided to think of him as her ally, and zipped over to him. Hovering in front of his face, she put her hands on her hips in indignation. “You told me to–”

“Play nice,” interrupted the giant. He really spoke a lot slower than most people, Dear thought, though not in a way that made him sound stupid, like she’d expected. It made him sound like time just felt different to him than it did to her. “I told you… to make friends, Wynn.”

“Well, she didn’t!” Snapped Dear, while Seeker gave the giant a curious look.

“Indeed she did not,” noted the giant. He leaned forward, lowering himself a little. Dear took it as a polite gesture, and was accordingly skeptical of it. “I apologize for my companion’s overzealousness, truly. She can be liberal in her use of her magics, I’m sure you understand.”

“Understanding and patience are in short supply right now,” Seeker huffed, as she none too subtly put herself between Dear and the giant. She pushed Dear back a step, and then matched it.

“You needn’t fear me, Heartwarden,” said the giant with a smile. “I could be an ally to you in these trying times.”

“Trying times,” repeated Seeker. “That’s not how I would describe this atrocity. Hostage taking, indentured service, threats of violence and torture if I don’t comply.. That’s more than trying.” Dear put a hand on Seeker’s shoulder, and squeezed, softly. She trusted Seeker to get them out of this, she really did. Even if Seeker seemed to doubt it herself at the moment.

“That is… reasonable,” said the giant. “Though, regardless, I am not your enemy.”

“You’ll have to prove that,” Seeker said, again pushing her a step back from the giant, and Dear wondered why. “Being here of your own volition tells me you want to use me, and hurt her to do so.” Seeker nodded back at her, pointing her out with her chin. “Your pixie friend’s stunt did not help matters.”

The giant’s face dropped, and he gave a somber nod. “Also quite reasonable.”

Dear shivered. It had been cold before, but now that the sun was starting to set, it was only getting worse. Without looking at her, Seeker took off her cardigan, and gave it to her. Dear put it on gratefully, even if it was much too big for her. It hung down to her knees, and she noticed the left sleeve, which was where Seeker wore her gauntlet, was simply missing from the elbow down.

“I don’t care about being reasonable,” Seeker spat at the giant.