CHAPTER 13

Seeker’s mind was dragged kicking and screaming from the void by Lanri’s obvious panic. Her head was pounding, and she felt like she had to throw up, but she was struggling to even register that. Her thoughts were slow, and moving felt like an insurmountable challenge. She felt hot, sticky liquid flow around one of her hands, which helped pull her back to the here and now.

“I’m warning you, fucking stay back!” Lanri said. The words had a tinny, distant quality to them. She wasn’t sure she would have even been able to discern them if it weren’t for her familiarity with the human’s thoughts. Seeker could feel Lanri’s heart skip a beat at something that terrified her. “I won’t let you–”

The mortal was cut off by something someone else said. Seeker couldn’t tell what it was, but she felt Lanri’s reaction to it, which wasn’t positive in the slightest.

“Calm down,” she tried to tell everyone in the room. She was pretty sure she hadn’t managed it. She could tell Lanri was glad she’d at least shown some sign of life, but she obviously hadn’t heard what she’d said. Concentrating on her, Seeker could sense the woman felt like an animal, backed into a corner. Though, that fear wasn’t the whole picture. It was the dominant emotion, but not the only one. Her mind was a big black ball of dread surrounded by an annulus of triumph, resignation, and… desire?

You lost your brooch, didn’t you?

Seeker put effort into suppressing her aura until she could rectify that. A moment later, she could hear Lanri’s thoughts, clearly screaming a prayer to Ishara. Ishara, protect me. Seeker smirked slightly at that. If Ishara were paying attention to prayers like that, she and Lanri wouldn’t be in this mess.

“Just drop the wand. We won’t hurt you,” came a voice. This one, Seeker heard clearly. It had an unnatural certainty to it. Like the speaker wasn’t voicing his own feelings.

“Bullshit!” Lanri easily retorted. Seeker began to form a picture of what was going on. Lanri had gotten into a standoff with someone. All the gods, I can’t leave you unsupervised for a second. Then Lanri continued. “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.”

Seeker managed to open her eyes. Ideally, she’d give herself several minutes of rest to recover from this, but the situation didn’t seem like it would allow that. As she struggled to refocus her eyes properly, and looked at the ceiling above her, she felt another slight rush of relief in Lanri’s system.

“They might not ask again, you know. You’d be better off just putting those weapons away. You won’t make things better with them.” A woman’s voice. That fae, Seeker thought. She’d bet anything she was to blame for the other’s mystic clarity.

Lanri’s mind shot back in the direction of distress. She could feel her contemplating something… Something awful.

Oh, no… The image that formed in Seeker’s mind, as she pieced together scraps of Lanri’s thoughts spoke of a dreadfully permanent solution to this temporary problem that wasn’t even hers to fix in the first place. Seeker rolled her head to her left, and looked at her gauntlet. She saw her sword was gone from it, and she felt her heart drop. “Lanri, don’t,” she managed as she began to struggle to get up. She was surprised at how scared she sounded.

Another rush of relief swept through Lanri’s mind as she did so. The poor thing was thrilled to be reminded of what her name was; That her name was Lanri. She felt the woman’s mind not quite put words to a perverse gratitude to Seeker. As if I deserve that. I’m the reason you’re planning to–

“Lanri, huh? That’s perfect,” came the fae. Seeker cursed herself. It wasn’t enough for the fae to use her logic on her, but Lanri probably didn’t know that.

Now or never, came Lanri’s thoughts. She definitely didn’t know that. She was gathering the courage to do something fucking stupid, and this fae bitch had just pushed her over the edge.

“Lanri, don’t!” Seeker repeated as she groaned, and got onto her feet. She stumbled slightly, and she watched Lanri’s shoulders slump.

I love you.

There was an awful finality to that. Lanri was doing this, expecting it to kill her. The widow dropped her late husband’s wand, and put her foot on it as she raised her sword, Seeker’s own sword, to destroy it. Seeker didn’t know exactly how powerful the enchantment on it still was, but the blast would be huge. Far too big for a mortal standing on the damn thing to survive it.

Seeker began to run. She charged at Lanri as she brought her sword down, and shouted every single spell she could think of to protect her. “DURCEZ” to toughen her skin, “DÉTOURNEZ!” to deflect as much of the blast away from her as possible, and “GELEZ!” to turn the very air on her skin into a kind of ice, to absorb the heat. Each spell took a little more effort to cast than the last, and all of them were vastly more difficult than normal after getting caught in the ward.

Seeker reached Lanri just as the tip of her sword hit the wand, and pushed diminutive mortal to one side just in time to avoid the sword that bounced off, and straight back at her head. She threw herself onto the floor between Lanri and the wand, and looked on in dread as cracks of white light spread out from where her sword had cleaved into it. In a fraction of a second, the whole wand was glowing, and exploded with staggering force. It sent Seeker flying back, and she slammed into the stage’s curtain, and the wall behind it. She watched in horror as the heat of the explosion vaporized the two Abanians who had stupidly been watching the wand, and she saw the frost on Lanri’s skin quickly turn to steam and rush off.

She saw, but did not hear the stained glass ceiling above the auditorium of the hall shatter. Colored splinters, grains, and spikes rained down on those left in the audience in one solid barrage, occasionally sparkling as they caught the light of the wand in just the right manner.

Occasionally, a splinter of wood was thrown from the wand, leaving a streak of white hot death from where it had started, to the first thing it hit, and probably beyond. Two of them struck her directly, punching into her like crossbow bolts. One flew all the way across the room, and struck the Inquisitor, who screamed as he shielded his face from the heat with what was left of his arm. Several would have hit Lanri, who had been thrown against the same wall as her a few paces away. They curved away just enough to avoid her, pushed aside by the deflection spell. The majority simply hit the stone of the hall they were in. Each shard melted the rock, and sprayed the room with heinous volcanic slag.

The curtains, script books, and wooden furniture caught fire, and Seeker forced herself to her feet. She took Lanri, and dragged her away from the burning debris. She did her best to keep herself between the comparatively fragile woman and her wand, well aware of the fact that the protection spells were already failing. Lanri suddenly screamed in pain as another shard of wand shot past, and carved a shallow trench through the runes on the stage that trapped her. Only now did Seeker notice they weren’t glowing anymore, and, hoping that meant the enchantment was gone, she threw herself and Lanri over the edge of the stage, and into the shadow it cast on the ground below it.

Lanri grunted as they landed on the floor of the large room, and Seeker looked down at her in concern. Her face was twisted in pain, and her thoughts were incomprehensible gibberish. “Are you okay?!” She asked, shouting over the roar of the fires, and Lanri shook her head.

“M–my leg!” Lanri managed, and Seeker pulled away to look at the damage. Her eyes went wide in horror as she saw a piece of white bone stick out from the raw meat her right leg had become below the knee. She wasn’t bleeding much, thankfully. The heat of the wand’s shrapnel had cauterized most of it.

“I’m going to put you to sleep, now,” Seeker decided. It broke her heart to see Lanri shake her head. She was terrified. Her thoughts were a dozen ways of saying she was scared she wouldn’t wake up. “I know, Dear,” Seeker said, stroking her hair as she steeled herself. She was worried about that, too. “Just trust me, love. Dormez.” That spell, at least, came relatively easy, if only because she’d been using it so frequently on Lanri.

Seeker was immediately relieved to feel the fear, panic, and pain in Lanri’s mind soften as her spell took hold. “I’m s–sorry I… I juz’… I wanthed to… protect…” Her thoughts decayed into gibberish halfway through voicing them, and Seeker was left to finish them on her own.

“I know you did,” she told the sleeping woman. “Thank you.”

Seeker took a deep breath, and took stock of the situation. Lanri was safe for the time being, and the hail of magic destruction had stopped. Gorance! Where the fuck is Gorance? She pushed herself off of the ground, and peeked onto the stage. The wand had punched a hole into the solid stone, and embedded her sword into one of the walls. The opposite wall had two large shadows behind where the Abanians had been, and several bodies, including one with Gorance’s bright red skin, lay against the base of the walls. She was relieved to see the demon was seemingly dealt with, for now. She reached her hand out towards her sword, and said “venez,” commanding it to come to her with a gestured pulling motion. She caught it easily, and looked to the other side of the room.

There, the elven priestess was huddled over the Inquisitor, still bound, and searching through his pockets. Some other people lay scattered about, either dead, or surely dying, and Seeker decided she didn’t want to help anyone who had chosen to put themselves in this situation. But the priestess? She could be useful.

She jogged towards her. She heard the woman cursing through her gag, and the Inquisitor letting out delusional babbles. “You,” she said to draw the priestess’ attention. “You’re his prisoner, yes?” She asked. The priestess nodded, staring at Seeker with wide eyes. Seeker smiled, and knelt in front of her. “Not anymore,” she purred as she put one of her hands on the priestess’ gag. “Cassez,” she intoned, as the metal turned to rust, and the leather to ash. The priestess gagged and coughed on it before spitting it out.

“Your Grace!” She said, reverently. “Y–your companion, she–”

“She’s a stubborn brat who nearly got herself killed?” Asked Seeker, as she used her sword to cut through the shackles binding the priestess’ wrist.

“N–no, Your Grace! She slew the demon!”

Seeker paused. “She what?” She asked flatly, demanding the priestess repeat herself.

“She slew him, my lady! Used your very sword after this filth dared to lay claim to you,” said the priestess, who spat on the Inquisitor, and resumed searching him. After a moment, she grinned in triumph as she found a dagger. Without hesitating, she drove it into his throat.

“You’re of Daray, then,” Seeker said. The priestess smiled at her, and nodded as she reached into her cloak, and pulled out an iron medallion of Daray’s sigil. “You’re cheery for one of his,” she noted. “What’s your name?”

“Ithella!” The priestess obediently replied. “And I have much to cheer for. I have been this scum’s prisoner for–”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she said, cutting her off. Seeker didn’t have time for this elf’s life story right now. “The other priestess. The one with the pink hair. Where is she? Did she survive the blast?”

“She and her escort left after the demon pushed your companion into you, Your Grace,” Ithella said. “Please, help her. Her injuries are dire. I will dispatch our enemies.”

“Thank you,” Seeker said, as she ran back to Lanri’s side. A priestess of Daray would be more than enough overwatch while she tended to her charge’s leg. It was a disaster, she could tell. Just mending the wound would be a massive undertaking. Hells, even her own leg, with the two gashes in it, was going to take effort.

She sheathed her sword, and sat down on the stone floor of the auditorium. She shifted herself back, scooting up against the wall to take Lanri’s mangled leg into her lap. In the process, the brooch fell out of her pocket. Seeker picked it up, and temporarily put it nowhere as Lanri had come to think of it. She frowned at the sight before her. The wound had cauterized well, but the shard had almost completely severed her leg, a bit below the knee. Only the fibula seemed to be holding it together. She was powerful, but she doubted she was that powerful, and the difference between healing this injury and restoring the leg would be vast.

She took a deep breath, and set to work.

________________

“Your Grace?” The question snapped Seeker out of her trance. She looked away from Lanri’s leg, and her fifth attempt to restore the flesh that the explosion had removed, up into a pair of pink, compassionate eyes. Looking down from the woman’s face, Seeker saw a medallion of Shala’s sigil, and behind her, on the other side of the room, her gray companion was talking to Ithella. For a brief moment, Seeker felt a rush of hope that the woman was there to lend her her strength, but the solemnity of her expression told her otherwise.

“I’m busy, priestess,” she said, trying to dismiss the woman. She didn’t want to hear her bad news right now.

“I would prefer you call me by my name, Your Grace. Lauren DuMare, Daughter of Mercy,” came a patient, almost reverent response.

“Fine,” said Seeker with a roll of her eyes. “I’m working here, Lauren DuMare.”

“I don’t think you are,” said Lauren with genuine pain in her voice. She reached forward, and grasped one of Seeker’s hands in both of hers. For a moment, Seeker was appalled by the flippance of touching her, and a little offended by the pity in her voice. “I’ve watched you cast that spell twice already. It doesn’t work on dead tissue. Nothing does. You can’t save the leg.”

Seeker cringed. She looked away from the priestess, at Lanri who was peacefully asleep. She knew she was right. After the second attempt, she’d known it was futile. But she didn’t want to wake Lanri up to such a horrible reminder of what had happened, which would follow her forever. It would be easy enough to get a suitable prosthetic made for an injury like this, but it would draw her thoughts to this awful place every time she put her weight on it. “Oh, you stupid girl,” she whispered at her as she stroked her hair.

“I don’t think she’s stupid, Your Grace,” Lauren offered. “I think she’s brave.”

Seeker smiled at that, and he found herself asking “you do?”

“Oh, yes,” said the priestess with a smile. She briefly looked back over her shoulder, at the other priestess. “When we heard the blast, we turned around right away. And when we got here, Ithella told us what she had done. That she was willing to throw herself into danger to keep you safe. I think that’s very brave of her.”

“Yeah,” Seeker wistfully agreed. “I think you’re right.”

There was a long pause, as Seeker carried her strength and courage to begin healing Lanri’s wound, instead of trying to repair it. “Would you like me to–”

“No, thank you,” Seeker firmly said. “I know what you’re offering, and it’s very kind, but I’m doing this myself. You should tend to the other wounded, Lauren.”

There was an unpleasant silence, and the priestess’ face soured a little.

“I see,” Seeker quietly said as she took the meaning. There weren't any. “I suppose I did tell her I wouldn’t be showing mercy to them, either.” Immediately, the gray haired woman’s head snapped up to look at her, and Seeker saw a hardened edge to her face. She’d misinterpreted what she said, and she and Lauren both looked like they felt threatened. “Oh, no,” Seeker quietly said to defuse the situation. “Not you. Ithella told me you left before the villainy got started. And you came back to help. I have no quarrel with you two.”

Seeker could see Lauren relax at that, and saw her companion’s harsh readiness dissolve back into her relaxed interest in Ithella. “Very well, Your Grace,” she said. “Gella and I will loiter for a while in case you or your ward–”

“Lanri and Seeker,” Seeker offered, pointing at both of them in turn. “And she’s far more to me than that.”

“Outstanding,” Lauren said with a smile. “We will loiter in case either of you need us, Seeker.” With that, the priest got up and returned to the mage’s side, leaving her to her work.

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When Seeker was finished, Lanri was left with a substantial stump below her knee. The joint was completely fine, and there was indeed plenty of leg left below it for a prosthetic to be fitted. The mage, Gella, had told her of a gifted flesh sculptor in Adampor who would gladly repair the leg completely. But, that would take more than a month of travel the safe way, and she was in no condition to take Lanri there by any other method.

Instead, after thoroughly searching the mansion for any more magical artifacts for her to deal with, she had asked for a map, and scavenged enough supplies and interesting objects from Gorance’s estate to last the trip to the nearest city, which would take a week of travel unless she was willing to ride the horses pulling the carriage she’d appropriated from Gorance’s stables to death. Ithella was joining them for the journey there, which pleased Seeker greatly, even if she did find herself unbecomingly jealous of the pegasus Lauren and Gella had at their disposal.

On her way out, during her final mental check if they’d gathered everything, Seeker paused. She’d spotted a little patch of dirt that had turned shiny, and on closer inspection, recognized it for what it was. A piece of Lanri’s wand had landed there, and melted the dirt around it to an ugly glass. It was a substantial piece, perhaps a fiftieth of the whole.

She’d pulled it loose, and solemnly smiled at it. Lanri had given up something enormous for her by destroying it, she knew. She doubted she could ever replace it for the young woman.

________________

“I bedded a Valkyrie once,” Seeker found herself telling Ithella to pass the time, just after they crested the first of six ridges on the road through the Valtans. In the valley below, Seeker saw a vast forest of evergreens, and the occasional clearing. Lanri was fast asleep on one of the benches in the back of the carriage, and would likely remain that way until they were in a safer environment.

“You did?" Asked the priestess. She looked genuinely amused by the idea.

“Oh, yes,” Seeker said, recalling the day. “It was in the Fields of Battle, during the old Daray’s watch.” She grinned at Ithella. “I – being Ishara’s most war-like Heartwarden – decided I should challenge one of the Valkyries to a duel in the arena. Valiant, who ran the show there, put me up against Traverse.”

“Traverse?”

“Very, very large fellow,” Seeker quipped. “I… didn’t fare well. It took him all of fifteen seconds to lay me on the sand with his spear to my throat.”

“He didn’t finish you?” Ithella asked. Seeker sighed. The new Daray was a brutal man compared to his predecessor, and it showed in how his Touched thought.

“No, he did not!” Seeker said. “We were sparring, not fighting to the death. It was a learning opportunity. In fact, I was so certain I’d learned from the brief bout that I challenged him to a rematch then and there. In private.”

“Oh,” said the priestess with a smirk. “Did you win that one?”

Seeker giggled, mischievously. “Oh, I think we both did.” A moment later, her demeanor turned wistful as she recounted the end of that story. “He was lost when the Fields were corrupted, unfortunately.”

“My condolences, Your Grace,” Ithella said.

Seeker rolled her eyes, and quirked an eyebrow at the priestess. “You’re still calling me that? You don’t think me telling you about tossing and tumbling with a Valkyrie gives you leave to be informal?” She paused, and pointed her thumb behind her shoulder. “She doesn’t call me that.”

“I am not your consort,” said Ithella, which gave Seeker pause. She hadn’t thought of Lanri like that before. She supposed the term was accurate enough, though.

She shook her head to dispel the thought. “I do not stand on formality, Ithella. You may call me Seeker.”

“Very well. Seeker,” said the priestess, uncertainly trying the name. Seeker laughed, inwardly. She might not stand on formality, but Daray did, she knew.

She gave it a moment, secretly enjoying the petty discomfort she was causing. “What do you intend to do when we arrive in Cerene?”

“I… will rest before traveling to New Gyr, I suppose,” came an uncertain response. “There is no enclave of Daray’s temple nearer than that.”

“I see,” said Seeker. She was glad this woman wouldn’t let her time under the Inquisitor’s heel break her. “How long have you been away?”

“Almost two years, Your G– Seeker.”

Seeker barely suppressed a snicker, and handed the reins to her mortal companion. She wasn’t planning on sitting out in the cold the whole way back; She had to check on Lanri. “That’s not long enough to forget how to drive, is it?”

“I don’t think so,” replied the elf, uncertainly tugging the reins in both directions, one after the other, as if testing whether horses still had the same left and right they did two years ago. “Yeah,” she eventually said. “I can handle this until we stop for the night.”

Seeker gave her an assuring nod, and a pat on the shoulder before she hopped off the wagon. It was going at a little above walking pace, so she simply waited a beat, then climbed back onto the wagon once it had moved enough to put the door to the passenger compartment next to her. Inside, she saw her charge, wrapped up in the linen Seeker had appropriated from Gorance’s guest room, and surrounded by the food and drink Seeker and Ithella had pillaged from what was left of the villa. Curled up on the bench, Lanri was fast asleep.

It was tempting to wake her up, Ishara was it ever. But Seeker knew better. She knew their destination was a relatively large city. It had inns, and smiths, and surgeons, and an actual monastery of Ishara. It would be the perfect place for Lanri to rest, regain her strength, and come to terms with her injury. It would also give her a chance to chew out the closest Abbot for failing to detect Ishara’s shrine, and allowing Lanri to stumble into it.

“Shala, how am I going to guide you through this?” Seeker found herself whispering. The flesh sculptor in Adampor would probably be able to restore her leg. Gods, she could do it herself if she had the time to learn. But… neither of those would be fast enough that keeping Lanri unconscious until it was done was an option. I could petition Ishara…

But that allowed for the unpleasant possibility that she would say no. After all, Ishara didn’t usually intervene in the lives of mortals like that. Gods, she realized she was the intervention.

She sighed, and sat down on the floor by Lanri’s head. She gathered her intent for a moment, then reached into nowhere and produced the brooch. She gathered Lanri’s hair into a tidy bun, then drove the brooch through it, fixing it in place. That was one incredibly small thing taken care of. If she hadn’t asked Ishara to help her make a damn piece of jewelry, she probably could have convinced her that she owed her Dear at least the restoration of her leg. She groaned, and pulled at her own hair in frustration. How could she have been so reckless? How could she have let herself get bound by Gorance twice?

How could she have been so stupid to not simply force her will on Lanri? To compel her obedience until they were safe, instead of relying on the poor thing to just do as she wanted, even when every instinct was obviously screaming at her not to?

Because I wanted her to have a clear head. I wanted to have fun with her.

It was her fault. She’d barged into this woman’s life, wound up with her loyalty and trust, and it had nearly gotten her killed. She leaned a little closer, and stroked her cheek. Grossly negligent. That’s what she was. Though, right now she just felt lonely. She’d quickly grown to adore her Dear’s quick, varied thoughts. The things she noticed were fascinating, and the things that went over her head were amusing. Her dreams were usually likewise interesting, though they were far less pleasant to pay attention to. Too sad, usually.

Not that Lanri normally experienced them as such. When Seeker looked into the woman’s mind when she was asleep, she was usually not dreaming at all, but when she was, she was almost always in Astoria with her husband. Usually at home, which had made traveling there trivial and were laced with nostalgia, and rarely on the frozen Torine, which always filled the mortal’s mind with unspeakable dread.

Thinking about it sparked Seeker’s curiosity. After the last week, it had become trivial to spy on Lanri. Her every thought was exposed to her, and she knew she genuinely didn’t mind it. By Veralla, she’d even begun to use it to talk to her, which struck Seeker as clever.

She gathered her strength and intent, and put two fingers on the woman’s temple. It wasn’t necessary to touch her to see her thoughts, of course. But without touching her, Seeker would have to expel vastly more energy to see her thoughts through the haze and gibberish of sleep.

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She stood over Gorance’s corpse, breast heaving from the effort, and brow sweaty from fear. She looked down on Seeker’s sword, and the dead demon below it. Her slash had been glorious. Seeker had argued it was better to humor him, but she could humor him no more. The Heartwarden’s sword had effortlessly slid through his guts, and he had collapsed into the pile of agony he deserved to be for defiling her and Seeker’s relationship like that.

Sheep had crawled to her, begging her to spare her master, but she had not shown him mercy. She’d put the beastkin to sleep by a single, magic-charged touch to the forehead and mere intent that it be so, and she had collapsed as she demanded. Then, she had finished Gorance where he lay, smiting him in the name of nothing but her righteous hate.

Now, she turned to the audience, all of them frozen in fear. They had thought to partake of Gorance’s blasphemies, and she would punish them for it. She dropped the holy blade to the stage below her, and raised her two hands at the great many sinners she would vanquish. It might not be her duty to punish villainy, but it was her every right. She poured willpower and energy into her wish to hurt them, and the world had no choice but to make it so.

Brilliant fire of pink and gold shot out of her hands. The sheer brightness of it hurt her eyes, and she closed them. She did not need them, anyways. She knew where the evil doers were, and where the two priests were trapped in their number. She would spare them, she decided. She did not know by heart which divinity lent them power, but she knew all priests respected all gods. They would not dare participate in this heresy of their own accord.

As the flames poured into the auditorium, viscous and sticky like Dwarven Fire, she heard their screams. She would have preferred hearing them cry in ecstasy, but that was a boon they had forfeited forever by being confederate to Gorance’s schemes, and threatening her and her Seeker with a life of sorrow and servitude. Now, they perished as became such filth.

Perhaps in the next life, some elements of the people she was unmaking would be better.

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Seeker cried out in sheer panic as she pulled away from Lanri, and slammed into the front wall of the cabin as the wagon came to a sudden stop. The woman was still fast asleep, oblivious to Seeker’s distress, and perhaps even her own dream.

How could you dream about casting spells like that? You don’t know what it’s like to wield ragira.

She swallowed, and a moment later, sunlight poured into the wagon’s interior as Ithella yanked the door open, wielding the dagger she had taken from the Inquisitor in one hand, and a straight, knobbly branch in the other. Her already elfishly big eyes were wide as she scanned the small space for whatever horror she was clearly expecting to find by Seeker’s side. After a moment, the elf’s expression turned to confusion.

“Your G– Seeker?” She asked.

“Just call me whatever you want, Ithella,” Seeker said with a dismissive wave. She crawled gracelessly to the open door, then swung her legs out to sit in front of the priest. She took a moment to catch her breath, and looked at Lanri again. She didn’t need magic to know what question Ithella wasn’t asking. She looked back at her. “She had a concerning dream,” she said.

“I… see,” Ithella managed. She was trying to hide her confusion, Seeker noted, and she was failing. “Would you tell me more of it?”

“Perhaps. But I need to gather my own thoughts on it, first.” She meant that. It was quite likely she would invite the priestess’ council on this, but first she had to sort her own thoughts on the matter. “Do you need to rest? Or can you continue to drive?”

“I can continue until it gets too dark, Your Grace,” said the priestess.

Seeker nodded, and jerked her head in the direction of the horses. “Then, if you please?”

“Of course,” said Ithella, who quickly returned to her bench, and intoned “marchez” with the barest hint of power. A moment later, the carriage slowly accelerated, and Seeker had to hold the door open with her knee to prevent it from falling shut.

For a while, she sat with her feet dangling a few centimeters above the grassed-over road, and thought about the dream she’d witnessed. She tried to reason with herself that her Dear’s Faron must have talked about what his Talent felt like a lot, and that the priests who enlightened her as a schoolgirl might have been more practical than she had implied, but that just didn’t ring true to her. They should by all accounts be wildly different, perhaps even incompatible experiences, and yet… Lanri’s dream, even second-hand, had allowed Seeker to feel what that was like.

It didn’t make sense. The mortal did not have the Talent. Seeker was sure of that. One does not navigate a marriage with an alchemist without him testing you for just-in-case eventualities. Lanri knew a lot about magic, but it was academic. She shouldn’t be able to conjure up something so… visceral.

She sighed, and reached around behind her. Between the excessive supplies that filled the wagon, Seeker had hidden another bottle of the Abanian currant brandy she had found. She grasped it, and pulled it out to look at it. The deep blue liquid shone brilliantly in the sunlight, and was completely opaque. It reminded her of quicksilver, but, well, blue.

She considered it. She really did. If this stuff was able to intoxicate her, and she strongly suspected it was, it would take the edge off. It would let her hide from the stress of the last few days, the dreaded conversation with Lanri about her leg, and the new, oddly concerning mystery that was her dream, and simply ignore them for a while. But she couldn’t. She looked away from the bottle and over her shoulder, at Lanri.

Maybe once we get to the monastery.