“I assure you, Heartwarden, not everyone who came to this... atrocity, as you put it, is here with ill intent.” Seeker took yet another step back, and pushed Dear into doing the same. “I am not among the Touched, but I am a follower of the gods’ teachings. What Gorance is planning here is a cruelty, and I have the resources to be merciful.”

He wants to help us?

“I doubt it,” Seeker told her without looking back. She wondered whether the giant knew she was talking to her. “I’m sure you’ll have a whole laundry list of orders for me should you win this auction.”

“I will have requests, not orders,” said the giant. “Gorance told all of us how he enforces your compliance, and assured all of us that we could do the same should we gain custody of you. But I will not. If I exhaust my treasure today and all I gain from it is your freedom, I will be quite content.”

“I’m sure,” Seeker scoffed. “And your sprite there won’t try to put a stop to that.” Skepticism dripped from every word. A benefactor would be better than having to kill people to escape, Dear thought, but she struggled to believe the giant’s story too. Wynn’s spell and justification for it could be taken as proof that they really want to undermine the chances the other guests would place a bid, but it was just as easy to interpret it as being proof she was just another being who wanted to control them.

Wynn crossed her arms. “I was only trying to—”

“Do what he wanted?” asked Seeker, who gestured at the giant. “That’s not improving my impression of either of you in the slightest. I see a giant who has one magical being under his thumb, and would probably like another.”

“Wynn is not my servant, Heartwarden,” assured the giant, speaking at glacial speeds. “And my name is Andorf.”

“Fine, Andorf,” said Seeker.

“Wynn is my friend. And I hope you might become that as well, after I earn your trust.”

“That’ll be the day,” Seeker said under her breath, though she seemed to calm, if only enough for her to sheath her sword. “Earning my trust won’t be easy, Andorf. Being here at all is a black mark you won’t easily be rid of.”

“I understand,” said Andorf. “I know my intentions are pure. You will too, eventually.”

At that, Seeker nudged Dear back another few paces, and the two turned the corner to go back inside. On their way there, Sheep passed them, carrying a very large roasted bird on a platter, and wearing a large, purple crystal around her neck. A turkey for Andorf, Dear guessed, though she hadn’t the faintest what the crystal was for... Sheep smiled at both of them.

“Do you believe him?” asked Seeker, quietly.

Dear considered it for a while, as they shuffled back through the kitchen. A lot of the food that had been there a moment ago was gone, she noticed, and she briefly wondered how the hell Sheep had gotten all of it out of there on her own. “I’m not sure. It’s plausible enough, I suppose,” she eventually said.

Seeker nodded. “It is,” she said, and paused briefly. “But... Why would Gorance invite anyone like that?”

Fucked if I know. Seeker smiled at her. “Why wouldn’t he, though?” She asked after a moment. “He doesn’t seem to care about being particularly mean. He doesn’t have a horse in whatever race comes after this.”

Seeker considered that, then flatly said “Yes he does.”

“He does?”

“He does,” repeated Seeker. “If he lets someone who won’t control us win today, he knows he’ll have to face my wrath sooner than later.”

“Won’t he have to face that eventually, anyway?” she asked. After I’m dead?

Seeker gave her a sad smile. “Oh, he will,” she said. “He’ll eventually come to regret all of this.” She stroked Dear’s cheek, and leaned in, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “But first, I’m going to get you to safety. Vengeance can wait until after that.”

Dear wrapped her arms around Seeker in a hug, and smiled up at her. “I know you will, Seeker. We’ll keep each other safe.”

The pair were soon back on their way to the main hall. They’d loitered for a while, but Seeker eventually reminded her that that would probably result in Gorance manifesting where Dear was standing again. Better to follow the path of least resistance until that resistance would get them somewhere.

The layout of the villa ever helpfully funneled them back to where they came from, and the by-now-indistinct voices told them the crowd of aspiring masters had grown significantly while they were outside.

“I bet he’s going to begin his show soon,” Seeker said, disdainfully. “Are you ready for it?”

“Not even a little,” Dear admitted. Her heart was racing. She was nervous, and more than a little scared. Fight or flight, and she had a strong preference for the latter. Not that it would work.

“I could calm you down, if you’d like,” Seeker offered. “A simple spell, and you’ll be more at peace with whatever goes on in there, until it’s over.”

Dear considered it. She really did. It would make this horror easier to tolerate. But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tolerate it. She decided against it, for now. “No, thank you,” she told Seeker, who nodded in turn.

“Very well, Dear,” she said. “It’s available, should you change your mind.”

The pair rounded what had to be the last corner to the main hall, and stopped. “It’s closed?” Dear asked, and Seeker sighed. “Does that mean we can—”

“No, Dear. It does not.” Dear had known it didn’t, of course. That kind of non-joke was just second nature to a lot of people. “Though, I’m not quite sure what it does mean.”

The voices inside were loud, but ever so slightly muffled. Dear couldn’t make out what any of them were talking about. She knew the fae were sitting at the table closest to this door, but even just picking out the mere tones of their voices was impossible.

“Master Gorance would like you to enter from the stage,” Sheep said from behind them, which startled Dear. She jumped slightly, and had already put herself behind Seeker before she realized who it was.

“Excuse me?” asked Seeker.

“It’s as I said, Lady Seeker,” Sheep told her. “The guests have all arrived, and taken their seats. If you would follow me?”

Reluctantly, Seeker nudged Dear forward, and Sheep nodded happily as she led them around several corners and through a small door that led to a backstage area. It was a narrow room that was littered with props, and shelves of script books lined the walls. “Gorance actually uses the stage?” Dear asked.

“Oh, yes,” Sheep said. “Master Gorance regularly has plays and operas performed here. He quite enjoys them.”

In two of the narrow room’s corners, stairs led up to the stage, behind the curtains. Dear couldn’t see past them, and was glad for it. Though she could hear Gorance quite clearly.

“Oh, my friends, how thrilled I am to see you all here today,” he cheerfully said. Dear did her best to ignore it, and tried reading the names of the scripts for ones she recognized as a distraction. She failed.

“Fae and elves, demons and humans, orcs and dwarves, giants and pixies, genies and dragons, how delightful to see most of you here, and smell the rest.”

The audience laughed at the joke, and Dear saw Seeker roll her eyes. The angel’s impression of the people attending this show clearly wasn’t improving.

“I’ve long wanted to gather you all here for an evening, and I think I’ve finally found the right occasion for it. Something all of you want enough to compel that you travel out here to my humble abode. A font of near limitless power, and a means to control her.”

Dear’s heart rate picked up. The beats came quickly and lightly, and she felt her chest tightening. She really was the means to control Seeker. Seeker herself didn’t see her like that, but all of them did, and she understood why. It was true, wasn’t it? She didn’t need Wynn’s magic spiking her anxiety to see was the yoke around Seeker’s neck, one that would allow them to control Seeker for as long as Dear was alive.

“A mystic of unspeakable skill.”

Dear swallowed, nervously, and Seeker gave her a concerned look.

“An agent of the goddess Ishi.”

“Onto the stage, please, Lady Seeker,” said Sheep, calmly.

“Are you sure fighting wouldn’t be better?” Dear asked. Seeker looked almost as nervous as she felt, but nodded regardless. “I think I’d like you to cast that spell on me, then.”

“A Heartwarden!” Gorance finally finished, and dropped his garishly bubbly voice. “A Heartwarden that despises my guts, at that.” There was a pause, and the audience laughed, politely. “Why, she’d try to kill me the second she got the chance.”

Seeker smiled, and nodded. “Calmez, ma chérie,” she intoned. Every hair on Dear’s body stood on end for a moment, as she felt the spell took hold. It slowed her heart, and dampened her emotions.

You were right, that is a simple spell.

Seeker smiled at her, and that made her happy. Everything was suddenly so much easier to deal with, and think about objectively. She still didn’t want to get on the stage, and be sold off like chattel, but... she had to do something, she supposed, and Seeker, who took her by the wrist to lead her up the narrow stairs, seemed to think this was the best thing for them.

The stairs had a bend in them, and when they rounded it, they saw Gorance standing there, facing to their right. He was wearing his usual white cotton suit and brimmed hat, and a small purple crystal hung around his neck, sparkling in the harsh limelight that let him cast such a striking shadow on the stone of the stage and the curtains behind him.

“And there she is!” said Gorance cheerily as he noticed the two of them. As she and Seeker walked onto the stage, most of the audience burst into derisive laughter. She glared at Gorance, and at all of them, though she flinched against the bright lights that shone into her eyes, and drowned a lot of them out. And oh, gods, there were so many of them. Wynn had somehow made her way back into the audience, and sat on the edge of what had been their table a few moments ago. Farther back, she could spot that awful pink hair, which needed only the light of the candle at the table she shared with the silver-haired woman to stand out.

The rest were hard to make out. She knew there must be another demon in there somewhere, and apparently a genie? She was quite curious about that, and faintly wondered how she’d be feeling if Seeker hadn’t cast that spell on her.

Do genies even exist?

“They do,” Seeker whispered.

“This delightfully oblivious little mortal is an absolute treasure, my friends,” Gorance told the audience. “The Heartwarden we’re all here to admire cares for her far past a fault. They love each other, and are both loyal to an extremely exploitable degree.”

Dear frowned. Their relationship really was very exploitable. It was the whole reason they were here. Seeker might have been trapped in that circle of runes in the shrine either way, but she wouldn’t have been coerced into stepping onto this stage. And that had been after they’d only spent half an hour together. Now, though? Now their bond really was binding to Seeker.

You could just leave me. You don’t have to-

“That’s my spell messing with your head, Dear,” whispered Seeker into her ear. She didn’t believe her.

“Even now, she’s spending most of her attention on keeping her little mortal safe, and comfortable,” Gorance mocked. “Whispering reassurance, and comfort, and promising everything will be okay.”

The audience laughed again, and Dear wasn’t quite sure why. Nothing Gorance had said seemed funny, nor like it was meant to be. She took a step back, closer to Seeker. “I still don’t like this,” she whispered.

“I know. It’ll be over soon,” Seeker assured her. Dear had her doubts about that. If anything, Gorance seemed like the type to draw this out.

I won’t let them hold you prisoner forever, Seeker. Dear meant that. She would not be a burden to Seeker. Not that she had a plan, but that would come with time.

“You’ll do as I say,” Seeker firmly hissed at her. “Getting us out of this mess is my job, not yours.” Dear wasn’t sure she agreed with that. They weren’t equals, but she just... she couldn’t just leave this to Seeker. It wouldn’t be fair of her.

Gorance started to say something, but Dear didn’t really care. Did she even need to hear it? It was probably just some self-aggrandizing drivel about how clever he was to have trapped Seeker, and how special whoever bought them would be. What would she and Seeker do once this was all over? She dissociated herself from the situation, and imagined the pair of them at a table in a nice tavern, free to get to know each other in a safe environment, deciding on what the future would be like.

Seeker put a hand on her shoulder, and rubbed it affectionately. “We’ll be fine, Dear,” Seeker said, cutting through her magically induced apathy. “It’s almost—”

Suddenly, Gorance took Dear by the wrist, and yanked her across the stage. The strain of it felt like it might dislocate the joint and she yelped on instinct, her hand already reaching under the cardigan for her wand. Gorance’s tail, surprisingly prehensile, grabbed that wrist as well, stopping it. “It would be a waste of a charge, Dear.”

To their side, Seeker took two angry steps closer, then grunted and froze as faintly glowing runes appeared, almost seeping from the grains of the stone. “S-seeker?!” yelped Dear, and Gorance let her go. She ran back to the Heartwarden, who stood rigid in place, one foot on a line of the runes that now bisected the stage. The runes looked like the ones in Ishi’s shrine, and ran around the perimeter of the half they’d come up onto.

“That’s the second time I’ve managed that,” Gorance scoffed, turning to the audience. “She should learn to watch where she steps!” They laughed.

Dear knew from before that Seeker would be fine once she was pushed clear of the line of runes, and said a silent prayer thanking her for the spell to keep her calm. “I’ll get you out of here,” she whispered, and turned to focus on Gorance. She glared at him, and again, her hand trailed down to her wand.

“As you all see, even some fairly simple enchantments can bind her in place,” he told his audience. “Oh, sure, she might be able to break these. But if she did...” he gestured to Dear, “well, she wouldn’t like the result. All it takes is a dagger, literal or metaphorical, to our dear mortal’s throat, and she’ll walk right into whatever cage you build for her.”

“I won’t let you,” she hissed at him.

He laughed a fake, loud laugh, and repeated what she’d said. “You won’t let us?” he demanded between his false guffaws, and the audience’s bemused murmurs. He came a few paces closer, and whispered something under his breath. Every step he took, he grew an inch taller. She swallowed nervously, and took a step back. “And tell me, little mortal, how do you intend to stop us?”

Behind her, Seeker grunted something. It sounded pained, and when she turned to look, Dear saw Seeker’s face had flushed from the sheer effort of... whatever the runes did to her.

“Because, from where we’re sitting, you don’t have many options,” Gorance continued. “You can’t even try to fight me.”

I’ll be damned if I don’t.

She reached to her holster again, and in one motion drew her wand and turned to face Gorance. She regretted it as soon as she actually saw him. When she met his gaze, the futility of her fight became obvious to her. Those eyes of his were big and wise, glittering like embers, and her jaw slackened as she gawked into them. She couldn’t fight Gorance. She couldn’t fight anyone. She was small, and useless, and everyone in this room was more powerful than her.

She couldn’t save Seeker. She couldn’t even save Faron from the ice, but she’d had the hubris to think she could save Seeker from Gorance?! She let out a miserable gasp, and he took a step closer. “It’s okay, lost one,” he told her in the same soothing, wise voice he’d used to lure her into trusting him in the shrine. She’d learned from that encounter. She knew not to trust him, that he was a deceiver, but as he walked closer, fixing her with his ‘gaze, she felt it in her very bones that it didn’t matter.

He came closer and closer, until he was able to reach up and cup her chin in one hand. “Drop the wand,” he ordered her, and, looking into those endless eyes, she couldn’t think of a reason not to. It clattered to the ground, and it was positively raucous compared to how quiet the audience had gotten. The weapon bounced on the stone stage several times, and rolled away.

It was the exact sound it made after she’d fished Faron from the icy waters of the Torine. The clatter of it on the stones that lined the river’s banks. And she felt the same, too. Gorance’s eyes held the same utter despair, the same hopelessness in them that she’d felt that day. “Please don’t... please don’t do this to her,” she managed.

He blinked, and the eyes went away. Suddenly, they weren’t bright as embers, nor were they Faron’s brown after the life had left them, but his own black ones. “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” Gorance told her, with a surprisingly genuine sounding edge of regret, then turned to his audience, and grinned. “That’s all there is to it, friends! Controlling this girl, and by extension the power of Ishi, is as easy as a stern look,” he paused, and took a deep breath, “or a push.”

With that, he laid a single hand on Dear’s chest, and shoved her as hard as he could. Her breath was forced out with a wheeze, and her feet left the ground as she flew backwards. She couldn’t even scream, just stare in stunned surprise. In an instant, she slammed into Seeker with more than enough force to push her clear of the runes.

“So, who will have the first bid? We’ll start at... two hundred thousand dragons,” Gorance cheerily said as she and Seeker collapsed to the stone of the stage. Her ears rang, and for a few moments she lay dazed on her side, staring into the audience with Seeker behind her. Almost the entire audience raised their hands, easily agreeing to the price Gorance had demanded. Almost, because the pink-haired priestess and her associate got up, and quietly left the room. Huh. Maybe she’d misjudged... no, they were here in the first place, weren’t they?

She rolled onto her back, and gasped out a pained breath, her hair stuck to her cheek and caught in her mouth. “Two-fifteen?” asked Gorance as the ringing died down, and she could suddenly clearly hear the ruckus of the audience as they all screamed their bids at Gorance. Dear wiped her hair back out of her face, and finished rolling to look at Seeker.

Out cold. Of course.

“Two hundred and fifty,” came Wynn’s voice.

“Two hundred and fifty!” agreed Gorance happily. Dear got onto her knees, and took Seeker’s hand, squeezing it. She was obviously alive, and it had only taken a few moments for her to recover last time. A trickle of blood rolled out of her nose, and Dear leaned forward to wipe it off. Her hair fell forward into Seeker’s face, and for a moment it blocked out the glare of the limelight.

“So pretty,” she whispered to the unconscious form, and she leaned closer to listen if she was breathing normally. She sighed happily at the woosh of air going in and out, and she matched the rhythm. She hadn’t been particularly worried that Seeker might have stopped breathing, but it was still a relief to hear it. It really was a neat spell she’d cast on her, she thought, and smiled at her Seeker. So strong, and wise, and utterly delightful smelling.

Faintly aware of Gorance’s talking elsewhere on the stage, she lifted Seeker’s head and put it in her lap. Taking a lock of her violently red hair and pressing it to her face, he took a deep breath. The wave of calm that smell normally carried with it wasn’t there, already enforced by Seeker’s spell, but the rush of nostalgic euphoria hit her with all of the strength the dress had had. She let out a giggle, and took another deep breath, holding it in as though it was life itself.

It sent a wave of heat through Dear, and she found herself taking off Seeker’s cardigan, putting it under her love’s head as a pillow. And she really was her love. She felt that, deep in her gut, that Seeker was hers. Hers to dote on, and protect, and savor, and...

You won’t mind if I steal a kiss when you’re like this, will you?

She leaned forward, and placed a single kiss on Seeker’s slightly bloody lip, and took another enchanting, wonderful breath. She really did love this feeling more than anything. Seeker smelled like joy, and wonder, and the past, and the future, and love itself. She giggled again as she straightened herself, and took Seeker’s hand back into hers, waiting for her to wake up.

“Half a million!” Gorance’s voice cut through her reverie, bringing her back from that ideal place where she only had Seeker to worry about, to the stage of her damnation, where a fucking demon was trying to abuse this sacred bond she and Seeker had for profit. He wanted to turn this feeling into a chain around Seeker’s neck. He wanted to enslave them.

She squeezed Seeker’s hand tightly, and felt the pommel of her sword press against the back of her hand. “Half a million?” repeated Gorance once as she considered the obvious. She could take the sword and do something with it. Seeker had tried to attack Gorance with it from their room, stabbing it through the door. So... it should at least hurt him.

“Half a million dragons for a Heartwarden. Is that what she’s worth, my friends?” Gorance said, as Dear reached up Seeker’s forearm, and grabbed the hilt of her sword firmly in one hand.

“It seems half of a million is what she’s worth!” Gorance happily said. “My sincerest congratulations, Inquisitor.” Her stomach dropped. The fucking Abanian had won. The one person here Dear was certain would just use pain as a tool to compel compliance, instead of magic or sorcery.

Dear could hear footsteps as he approached, and his shadow on the curtain came closer. He stopped a few paces away. “Oh, my. When did you lose this, little mortal?” he asked as he bent forward, picking something up.

“I won’t fucking let you sell us!” Dear growled as she drew the sword from Seeker’s wrist, and grunted in effort as she blindly slashed behind her. The sword hit resistance, and the audience gasped. Dear looked at what she’d hit, and saw the sword partially buried in Gorance’s gut. In one hand, he held an ornate golden brooch with Seeker’s eye on it, and his face was twisted in sheer shock and pain.

From behind the stage, Sheep screamed in terror as he began to topple over to one side, and Dear snagged the brooch from his hand. She got to her feet just as he hit the stage with a thud, and she turned to face the crowd. Bloodied sword in one hand, jewelry in the other, she squinted against the limelight, and heard, more than saw, the crowd split into two factions. Half of them were taking this opportunity to beat their retreat, while the other was getting closer, presumably deciding that without Gorance there to enforce the outcome of the auction, they could just take her and Seeker.

“Get her!” hissed the Inquisitor at his guards, and Dear turned to look at Seeker, who was still unconscious on the floor.

Now would be good time for you to wake up, Seeker...

She saw the two guards in the back of the room, forcing the priestess onto her feet. “You need to run, lass,” said Wynn from the front row. She’d turned a deep, dark blue, and was barely visible.

“I’m not leaving her!” scoffed Dear, as she looked down at Seeker’s sword, and felt a mix of emotions. It made her feel powerful, like she’d reclaimed some agency in her life. It also made her feel dirty. Like a killer. But the calm ruled all. The blood had run into immaculate carvings along the blade, which had been barely visible before. Elaborate text in the divine language. “Forged with passion, wielded calmly.” She laughed slightly as she read it. If it weren’t for Seeker’s spell, she’d probably have been too scared to use it in the first place.

“Ye’r bloody mad,” Wynn scoffed, and she fluttered away.

“What have you done?!” demanded Sheep as she rushed onto the stage. “You... what am I supposed to do now?”

Dear found she just didn’t care. Seeker had insisted the beastkin was a victim in all of this, but that wasn’t her problem. At least, not right now. She gave the pink skinned woman a shrug, and turned to the audience. The Abanian guards were advancing, spears raised at her, while farther back in the room, the Inquisitor was working the captive priestess’ gag. He yelled something at her and the fae that had been sitting at the table next to him, but Dear didn’t register what it was, and the two guards were a far more immediate problem.

She didn’t know the first thing about battle, but even she knew two competent spearmen would just win by default when faced with a single short sword in an untrained hand. But she had her wand. She stuffed her brooch into her pocket, and reached to her unpleasantly empty holster. Right. I fucking dropped it. She looked around the stage for the wooden rod, and saw it had rolled almost all the way to the edge. As soon as she spotted it, the guards traced her line of sight, and noticed it as well.

Behind her, Seeker stirred. Thank all the gods, she was waking up. As the two guards ran for her wand, Dear did the same. They were too close for her to pause and pick it up, so she reached forward with her sword, hooked the tip of the blade behind the tiny guard in front of the wand’s grip, and flicked it towards her. The improvised motion didn’t send it to her, but it wound far closer to her than to the guards now. Close enough that while they struggled to climb up onto the stage, she could pick it up. She switched Seeker’s sword into her left hand, and gripped the wand with her right. She aimed it at the guards. They froze for just a moment.

“I am not for sale!” she hissed at them, as she advanced a pace. The two warriors staggered back. “And I will not let you take her!” The guards looked at each other, and had a wordless conversation. They took another step back, when a rough, feminine voice cut in.

“You aren’t scared of her at all, Mara Greyhaze and Ferrik Smith,” she said. Dear looked up at where the voice had come from. The fae woman stood halfway between her table and the stage, and Dear watched helplessly as the fear left the two Abanians’ faces. “You’re eager to take her alive, to please the Inquisitor,” she added.

When did you make friends? When they first met, the Inquisitor and fae had been threatening and mocking each other. But suddenly, she was using his guards? And presumably had his approval for it, if she’d learned their Names.

The two guards advanced, and to Dear’s dismay, Sheep got up from beside Gorance, and joined them. She looked viciously, mercilessly angry. Dear took a nervous step back, waving her wand at the trio. “I’m warning you, fucking stay back!”

A creak on the stairs leading up to the stage drew her attention. Dear gave it but the smallest glance, but was horrified to see the fae man standing on them, along with one of the guests she and Seeker hadn’t had the misfortune of having to speak to. For a brief moment, instinct told her to make a run for the opposite stairs, but she couldn’t leave Seeker behind. “I won’t let you—”

“Yes, you will,” interrupted the fae woman. Dear couldn’t remember her name. “You don’t have enough weapons to defend yourself.”

Below Dear, Seeker mumbled something. She was recovering. That’s good. All she had to do was stall. She looked at her weapons. The wand could easily fell the humans, and the sword might be enough to deal with the fae, but... not all at once, and not from two sides. Then, she had an idea. A dreadful, awful idea, that would guarantee Seeker’s freedom. If she could release more than one spell from the wand at once, use all of its potential in one blast, that would surely be enough to deal with this filth.

She took a step back from Seeker. Not to run away, just to get clear. The posse that the Inquisitor had assembled matched her. They tightened their circle slightly, and Dear slowly moved away from Seeker. Pace by pace, they followed her.

Ishi, protect me, she prayed, and she looked past her enemies to the Inquisitor himself, who was focused on the priestess. He’d shoved her to her knees, and was barking orders at her. He wasn’t the over-confident ass Gorance had been. He was careful. The priestess was still tightly bound, and not in any position to get up and jump to her aid.

“Just drop the wand,” said one of the guards. “We won’t hurt you.”

“Bullshit!” scoffed Dear. “You and your boss’ll torture me to keep Seeker in line. You’ll make me live on my knees next to the priestess. Use her as a weapon! I will not be party to it.”

She’d moved back far enough from Seeker by now to be able to see her in her peripheral vision. The Heartwarden was looking at the ceiling, and Dear smiled at her, fondly.

“They might not ask again, you know,” teased the fae woman. “You’d be better off just putting those weapons away. You won’t make things better with them.”

Dear’s heart rate picked up again. Spell or no spell, this was terrifying. She looked down at her wand again, feigning that she was considering surrender. The work of spellcraft was such a beautiful, powerful thing. And Faron would be furious if he knew what she was planning to do with it.

“Lanri, don’t,” came Seeker’s voice. There was a genuinely frightened edge to it, and it broke her heart, even as she felt the relief of being reminded what her name was. She was Lanri. Seeker had been so kind, so considerate in holding onto it for her, but she was happy to have it back for this part.

“Lanri, huh?” asked the fae. “That’s perfect.” They’d heard at least part of her True Name, now. Did it matter if it was from her or not? She didn’t remember, and didn’t want to risk that being enough for their sorcery.

Now or never.

“Lanri, don’t!” yelled Seeker, and she could hear her struggle to her feet.

I love you, she thought, to both the wand and Seeker, as she dropped the wand. For a moment, the fae and guards looked triumphant, but then Lanri put her foot on the wand. Confusion flashed across the fae’s face, and was replaced by terror as she raised the sword to chop down on the wand, to break the enchantment.

She brought the sword down with all of her strength, and the world seemed to slow down more and more as it got closer. She heard Seeker scream and run towards her. She saw the fae and Sheep dive away, leaving the oblivious, bravado-stricken guards to share Lanri’s fate. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up straight as Seeker barked a series of spells at her, and she wondered what they might be even as she felt her skin prickle and turn cold.

When the sword actually hit the wand, she wondered how angry Seeker would be at her for not listening.

Windstrider’s mighty wing beat brought an excited smile to Lauren’s lips. Great forces pushed on her for just a moment, and then the ground was dropping out from below them. Her smile turned soft and content. The air was pleasantly cool the higher they climbed, and they were headed back to her favorite place in the whole world.

She felt delicate arms wrap a little closer around her waist and her heart soared just a bit higher. Gella’s touch alone was enough to send a small wave of contented bliss through the priestess’s body. As fun as it was to escape for the day, I am glad to be heading back. The mage’s thoughts manifested in Lauren’s mind, soft as a whisper but carrying an undercurrent of power.

Lauren began gathering her will, pushing through that pleasant fog to impress her answer on Gella, when for a few seconds, the landscape below and around them was illuminated by harsh, white light. Everything, from the tallest tree, to the smallest bush, cast long and dark shadows, pointing in the direction they were traveling. A sharp concussive burst of air followed, nearly knocking them from the sky. Tugging on Windstrider’s reins, she brought the Pegasus around in a tight turn. The villa they had just departed from now lay in the center of a rising cloud of dust and smoke.

Immediately, she was torn. Shala’s will was to offer mercy and it filled her bones and muscles, urging her to do what she could. It met the control woven from care and magic and desire that Gella had crafted. She tensed. “W-we have to—” but that lasted for only a moment as her perfect Mistress leaned in close.

“Let’s go see what help we can give,” she whispered. The words banished her conflict, and filled her with uplifting, righteous confidence. With a single press to Windstrider’s flank, she urged them back toward the ruins.