CHAPTER 18

“So, where are we going?” Asked Lanri as Seeker shut the gate behind them, and cast a spell on it that sent a shiver up her back.

“I told you, Dear; A craftsman.”

Lanri frowned at the Heartwarden as she began to walk away from the fence, and into one of the muddy Cereni streets. She grunted a little as she set after her. “Well, for what? I don’t need any music boxes made right now.”

Seeker looked at her, and smiled. “Not for that, Lanri. For your leg.”

Lanri looked down as she walked, at her right leg, and the pant leg she’d hastily folded back and pinned up to prevent it from dragging through the mud. She struggled to imagine anything other than a tailor would be of any use to her. “I don’t get it,” she admitted as she looked away from her vestigial limb, and tried to forget about it.

“Really? You don’t think, say, a prosthetic might help?”

“What? A peg leg or a metal spring?” Scoffed Lanri. She knew better options than those existed, of course. She also knew she could not afford them. “If that’s what we’re doing, I’d rather go back to bed.”

“And I wouldn’t,” Seeker said with a dismissive wave. “I’m not taking you to an amateur who plays at being a surgeon. We’re going to see the best Cerene has to offer. Someone who can make something comfortable and attractive, according to Du Bois.”

What does he know about losing a leg?

“That’s… a fair point.” Seeker paused for a while, and gave her a sympathetic look as they turned a corner and onto a bigger, busier street. It smelled of horse manure and stale beer, and was just as loud as Lanri remembered it. People at market stalls cried their wares, peddling ceramic jugs, bamboo trinkets, and cast iron cookware. “But give the man some credit. He’s smart, has lived here for over a decade, and didn’t even hesitate to send us to this…” Seeker trailed off, and reached into nowhere. A moment later, her hand reappeared holding a scrap of paper. “Yornleif. A dwarf, if the name is any indication.”

Lanri recognized that name. It had been a decade since she’d been to Cerene, but she absolutely knew that name. It definitely didn’t ring any bells as someone who might make prosthetic feet. She’d seen it written on a sign along with a magic rune somewhere in the city once, in a fancy, cleaner part. Where the streets are cobbled, and regularly get sweeped. “Don’t know ‘im,” she eventually said with a shrug.

Up ahead, Lanri could hear the clang of hammer on steel, and saw the open forge of the city’s one smithy. “What do you suppose that priestess–”

“Mirabelle,” Lanri offered.

“Mirabelle, thank you – meant by a street over?” Seeker continued, pronouncing the priestess’ name like it didn’t quite fit in her mouth. “I assume you’d still like to sit down and eat something.”

“Fuck, yes,” said Lanri, remembering the priestess’ promise of vol-au-vent. “I’ll kill a man for a bowl of sturdy stew.”

“I think we’ll try paying for food first. And if that doesn’t work, I’m sure I could find a chicken in that bamboo out there. We’re not quite desperate enough to kill for it, yet.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t get hungry.”

Seeker sighed good-naturedly. “And yet, I’m still forbidding you to harm another to fill your belly until we’ve exhausted our other options.”

Spoilsport.

“I know,” said Seeker with an exaggerated lilt to her voice. “Aren’t I just the cruelest creature you ever did meet, poor Dear?”

________________

“This place seems amazing,” said Lanri with a contented sigh as the door of the tavern swung closed behind them. The smell of roasting meats and stewing vegetables made her mouth water, and the decor reminded her of her favorite eatery in Astoria, and the lone inn in her hometown, Bodrin, before that.

The tavern had a gallery layout, and two floors, the top of which was cut off from the front of the building by a gap and a railing, but extended behind the bar and above what Lanri assumed to be the kitchen. Rowdy but polite enough patrons took up a little over half of the available tables, laughing with friends over the food and drink, as they exchanged stories or played games of dice.

“This was… not what I pictured,” Seeker said, cut off mid sentence by a barmaid who bumped into her, and apologized profusely. “From either of you.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Lanri as she looked around for a table. She really wanted to sit upstairs, in the loft area, but the narrow wooden stairs leading up to them looked a little too damp for her to risk it with the crutches.

“Well, this place, Dear,” Seeker said as she began to urge Lanri to an open table next to the lead glass windows that looked out on the bustling street they’d just escaped. “It’s so… rough. Not what I’d expect a priestess to recommend, and definitely not what I’d expect you to like.”

“Really?” Asked Lanri, who turned around to look at Seeker. “I think it’s perfect. This is the kind of place where you find the best food, y’know. A place with a cook rather than a chef.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

Lanri let out a sigh of relief as she settled down into one of the chairs at the table Seeker had chosen, and waited for her to sit down as well to elaborate.

“Well, the way I see it, you can trust a cook. A cook will look at the ingredients they have for the day, and throw together whatever looks good. Someone who can improvise, and will come up with something tasty eventually.”

Lanri paused for a while, amused by the slightly confused expression on Seeker’s face. She waited to continue until prompted with a little gesture.

“And a chef’s just too stuck up for that. Someone with recipes to follow, who would make someone go out and find the right ingredients instead of improvising.”

“And you think improvising is better.”

Lanri nodded. “Most of the time, yeah. It’s how I cooked for Faron, when I did. Whatever looked good and cheap at the market, and…” She trailed off as an orcish server walked past, carrying two big bowls of rich smelling and greasy looking broth that she decided she had to have.

“Cheap at the market?” Prompted Seeker, which drew Lanri’s attention back to her.

“Oh, right. It’s how I cook. It doesn’t take long to figure out which ingredients go well together. And you just get better stuff if you’re willing to change your plans because the peppers are a better deal than the celery.”

“I suppose I see your point. You’d rather get something a little different than what you expected because you replaced a dubious ingredient than whatever might come from using it anyways.”

Lanri grinned, and snapped her fingers at Seeker. “Exactly!”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dear,” said Seeker as she straightened herself a little, and craned her head around. After a moment, she pointed up at something, and Lanri turned to look. A big chalk sign hung down above the bar on chains, with vague descriptions of what they currently had for sale. Several options had already been struck through, presumably sold out.

“Stewed hare with tubers, carrots and onions, roast pig and potatoes with gravy, salted beef and mushroom soup, everything with buttered bread,” Lanri mumbled as she read the options, and winced a little at the prices listed with everything. “By the Law God’s gavel… They’re joking. Two pieces of silver for preserve soup?”

Seeker looked back at the sign, and frowned. “That is high. But I don’t think Lah’s ire will go to anyone in here, though.”

Lanri considered it. This tavern clearly wasn’t targeting the city’s elite, despite what they were charging, the ambiance and clientele made that more than clear. “Maybe–”

“See anything you like?” Came a happy voice from behind Lanri. She turned to look, and found herself looking at a man who looked like a particularly tall dwarf, with a barrel chest and a dopey grin under his salt and pepper braided beard.

“Not for three fu–”

“Two bowls of the stewed hare, the bread, and two tankards of ale,” Seeker said, simply talking over her. She reached into a pocket. She produced a single, brilliantly shiny coin, and presented it to the man with a smile.

“That’s… very generous of you!” He said as he accepted it. “Is there anything else I could get either of you? This will pay for a lot more than your order.”

“If we want something more, I will flag you down,” Seeker said. The man nodded briefly, then wandered off, presumably to fulfill the order. He had a sparkle in his eye that made Lanri curious about just how valuable of a coin she’d given him.

“Did you just order two of everything?”

“I did,” said Seeker as she shifted back in her chair, and smiled at Lanri.

“Well, why? You don’t need food.”

“Because you like it when I eat and drink, Dear. And I do like well-made food. I just don’t usually have time or a reason to sit down and enjoy it.”

“I do? Like it when you eat, I mean.”

Seeker’s smile widened, and understanding dawned in the Heartwarden’s eyes. “Oh, you don’t remember, right!” She happily said. “On the journey here, whenever we made camp, I woke you up enough to get you to eat and drink. And you made a point of sharing what I gave you. It was beyond endearing.”

I definitely don’t remember that.

Seeker reached across the table, and took Lanri’s hands in hers. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered.

From anyone else, that would have irked Lanri. She would have grown frustrated at being left in the dark, and demanded to get an explanation or lashed out. But from Seeker? That was different. Seeker knew how to take care of her, was brilliant and kind. It didn’t make it a satisfying answer, but it made it a lot easier to swallow.

“That’s my girl,” Seeker said as she stroked the back of Lanri’s hand with her thumb. “Besides. I have to eat and drink something. We’re on a date.”

That put a smile on Lanri’s face. “You see this as a date?”

“I do. Oh, I could just feed you, do the bare minimum. But I don’t want to. I want to do more for you than that. And one of the very first things you ever did after we met was fantasize about me taking you out for dinner. Well, here we are.”

“Oh,” was all Lanri had for that. A little gasp, as if Seeker were literally taking her breath away.

The Heartwarden smiled at that, and the pair sat in pleasant silence. Between them, it was a pleasant silence at least. The tavern was still loud, and distracting, but it was easier to tune out than it normally would have been. For weeks now, Lanri had just wanted to be here with Seeker, where she was happy and safe, and now she had it. She had it, and savored it. She looked at the Heartwarden, watched her look around.

Seeker had seemingly spent so much time studying her, and now she could do the same. She saw where the Heartwarden’s eyes went, and followed her gaze as it flicked around. The first thing she noticed Seeker looking at was a young man in the corner wearing a rough and dark cloak. He looked a little dangerous, with a crude iron sword in a minimal sheath on his hip and a pipe in his mouth. But then, when Lanri saw him mouth a few words and his face erupted into an impish grin when his pipe lit, the aura of danger vanished from him.

A mage.

Seeker looked away from him, and at Lanri. “Very perceptive,” she said, as a tawny skinned young woman with a head covered in black curls and wearing an elaborate set of fine clothes and jewelry approached him with two big mugs. Instead of putting them down on his table like a servant, though, she sat in his lap. As they both raised their mugs to their mouths and drank, Lanri couldn't help but notice how bizarre she looked with only one earring.

Lanri shook her head. “You noticed him. I only looked at him because you did.”

Seeker shrugged to concede the point. “Well, why don’t you pick someone interesting for me to look at?” Lanri nodded, and obediently began to scan the room. She could only see about half of the tavern from down here, but that still left a solid thirty people she could see if she didn’t mind being obvious about looking around. And she didn’t.

She craned her head around, eyeing everyone in the room in turn. The rowdy gamblers weren’t very interesting, neither were the drunk mercenaries. A few of the patrons, men and women alike, had runny makeup caked to their faces. Whores.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I’m sure you don’t like them either, Seeker,” Lanri said with a dismissive wave that seemed to perplex and stun her.

“You’re right… I don’t,” she quietly said as Lanri continued with the game Seeker had chosen for her. More gamblers, a beggar scarfing down food like he was worried he’d get his plate taken away, and one of the serving men.

The server. He interested her. The orc had a stubble on his face, and he went from table to table with a sad, lonely air about him. He had a smile on his face that didn’t seem to reach his eyes. And every now and then, those eyes would linger on someone in the crowd, mostly the older, broader built men, and he would grimace ever so slightly.

“What’s so interesting about him, Dear?” Seeker asked.

Lanri kept looking at him as she considered how to answer that. She recognized the look he had about him. The brave face. She’d worn it herself to the handful of lectures she’d bothered to give after Faron–

“Here ya’ go!” The other server, the salt and pepper bearded dwarf said as he reappeared, and put two massive bowls of porcelain and wood down on the table, narrowly missing Lanri and Seeker’s held hands. The greasy broth sloshed around, and he gestured at the pair of them to move their hands so he could put the bread and tankards down as well.

How the hell did he even carry all of that?!

It all smelled amazing. The bread looked warm and crispy and smelled like the essence of a whole bakery imbued into a single loaf. The stew smelled meaty and rich, like a masterpiece that had been left to simmer for two days, rendering down into something that looked fit for a goddess, or an angel and her friend. Lanri grinned and giggled at the food, and had to swallow to keep herself from drooling into it.

As desperately as Lanri wanted to dig in, she just couldn’t yet. Curiosity got the better of her, and before she could stop herself, she asked “why is your colleague so upset?” Seeker groaned, and Lanri found herself agreeing with that. She had no business asking that, she understood that. But she had to know.

“Oh. Poor Millan,” the dwarf said, looking around in search of the man. Once his gaze found him, it turned wistful. “That cursed band. His betrothed… Well, it were tragic, from what I gather.”

A curious mix of gratification that she’d been right, and pity for the man bubbled up in her. “That’s awful,” she whispered.

“Aye, it was.” The dwarf leaned in a little closer as he patted that same pocket he’d dropped the coin Seeker had given him into, earlier. “I’ll be sure to share the excess of your coin with him, you have my word.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Seeker told him with a little smile, and just the barest hint of impatience. He seemed to understand, and left with another nod.

As soon as he was gone, Lanri dug in. She picked up the one leg in her bowl by the bone, and chortled out of sheer delight when most of the meat simply fell off. What little of it didn’t and made it into her mouth, though, tasted like heaven. It was rich, and spicy, and sweet from the onions, and she groaned her pleasure. Before she’d even swallowed, she tore off a piece of the buttered bread, and dunked it into the broth.

“I take it it’s good, then?”

“Fughging… ahmazhing…” Lanri said with a mouthful of flavored bread before she swallowed.

“Worth what I paid for it?”

“Not even a little,” Lanri said with a certain shake of her head. “That should have bought a week’s worth of food, not one artisanal meal.”

“We can afford it,” Seeker assured her as she tore off a piece of the bread for herself, and likewise dipped it in the broth. Lanri watched her swirl it around for a moment, until it emerged covered in a mushy clove of garlic and a piece of meat. Seeker examined it for a moment, then cautiously put it in her mouth.

Lanri watched as Seeker chewed on it for a moment, and her eyes widened a little. “I aghreathy gnehw yhou were sharth…”

“I didn’t understand any of that.”

With a serious expression, Seeker raised a single finger, gesturing Lanri to wait as she swallowed the bread and broth. “I said, I already knew you were smart. But…” The serious expression on her face melted into a grin, and she giggled. “Gods above, are you right about the cooks and chefs thing. This stuff is fantastic!”

Without saying another word, Seeker picked up her serving’s hare leg, and, supporting it with her fork, brought the whole thing to her mouth to take a single, massive bite of it. Juices flowed down the Heartwarden’s chin and into her neck, and Lanri giggled as she reached across the table, and wiped the greasy liquid off with her handkerchief.

“Why thank you, Dear,” said Seeker as she put the hare leg down, and reached into nowhere for the briefest of moments to manifest a napkin of her own. “You’ve saved me. I would have perished on the spot had I done something so immodest. Shriveled to nothing like a devil opening an orphanage.”

“Bullshit,” was all Lanri managed before she started to laugh.

________________

An hour and two and a half tankards of ale later, Lanri felt divine. She had a full belly, the best company she’d had in longer than she cared to admit, and Seeker’s undivided attention. She was propped up against the rapidly cooling lead glass of the windows, and looked at the Seeker with sleepy, heavy eyes.

“Ye’r… really sober looking,” Lanri noted.

“That’s pretty observant for a woman whose eyes are pointing in different directions.”

Lanri frowned at that, and tried to focus on something nearby, then something far away. She found both of those quite easy. “Ye’r lying,” she concluded.

Seeker giggled, and raised her hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged, Dear. Are you still hungry?”

Lanri let out a contented sigh, and smiled again. “Nope. You fed me, good and proper. I could do with ‘nother tankard of ale, though.”

Seeker scoffed, and shook her head. “Absolutely not. You already look like I’ll have to carry you to this… Yornleif’s studio.”

Lanri shrugged. “I can think of worse fates th’n my guardian angel lugging me around.” She smiled absently, and pictured Seeker porting her around in a piggyback ride for the ages, knowing perfectly well that Seeker would pick up on the fantasy.

As if on cue, the Heartwarden giggled again. “We are not doing that, Lanri.”

Lanri grinned at Seeker, then picked up her tankard. “Are ya’ sure ‘bout that?" She asked, as she sloshed the few remaining gulps around. Seeker’s expression hardened a little in a delightfully amusing way. “I bet you’ll carry me a–ny–where you need if I just can’t fuggin’ walk!”

“Let me see that cup for a moment,” Seeker bade. She said it with such certainty that Lanri didn’t dare hesitate. She thrust the tankard towards her, and felt the beer within slosh around. Seeker examined it for a moment, then thumbed open the lid, stuck a finger inside, and whispered a spell. “Enlevez la drogue de cette eau.” The words made Lanri instinctively shiver, until she registered what they actually meant.

“Hey!” Snapped Lanri as she snagged the tankard from Seeker’s hand, and examined its contents. It still smelled a little like beer, but the liquid left inside was just water now. “You… What the hell was that for?!”

“I think I made myself clear, Dear,” Seeker said, nonchalantly. “Even if I didn’t say it explicitly. You’ve had enough.”

“B–but, I–”

“No buts, Lanri. I decided you were done, and that’s final. How I enforce my decisions is my prerogative.” Lanri frowned. She didn’t have a counterargument to that. She wanted to keep drinking, to stay here with Seeker and keep having fun, but if Seeker didn’t…

“You really don’t think you’re done, yet? I’ll tell you what. If you can go to the bar, and make it back here with a new tankard without dropping it, I’ll let you keep drinking until you pass out.”

Lanri considered that. She looked away from Seeker, and towards the bar that suddenly looked so far away, and spun where it stood. “Are you… using a spell’n me? To make me dizzy?”

“Nope.”

Lanri shrugged, and dismissively waved at the bar as she turned back to seeker. “Don’t wanna pass out in the first place.”

“That’s what I thought,” Seeker said with a smile. “We’ll loiter for a spell, let your food and drink settle, then get out of here.” As she spoke, Lanri looked down at her empty bowl. The maker’s mark inside stood out to her. It was a little shield with a single rune of the magical language within. She’d seen it around the city before, she realized.

“Uhm… What’s the… uhm… Y’know, the craftsman we’re going to go see called ‘gain?”

“Yornleif.”

“I think I know who that is, after all.”

“Oh?”

Lanri nodded, and picked up her cleaned bowl. “He made this, I think.”

Seeker took the bowl from Lanri’s hands, and examined it. “I suppose we’ll have to find out,” she said, as she raised a hand, and beckoned the salt-and-pepper dwarf over. The man set into motion almost immediately, and Lanri noticed the other server, Millan, followed him with his gaze.

“Do the ladies need anything else?” He asked as he made it to their table.

“Two things,” said Seeker as she extended two fingers. “We’d like two big tankards of water, and I’d like you to tell me about this bowl,” Seeker said.

“The bowl?” Asked the dwarf. “Is there anything wrong with it, then?”

“Oh, no. It’s quite nice, in fact. We’re just curious where it came from.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever asked where we get our tableware.” The dwarf took the bowl from Seeker, and gave it a cursory once-over. “I just took the nicest ones we have in the house, seemed appropriate given the shiny coin and all. I reckon this one came from the potter in the center of the city, though. The dwarven fellow, Yornleif. Maker’s mark is akin to the one on his shop.”

“Thank you,” Seeker told him, politely.

“I’ll fetch that water, then.” He paused for a moment to gather the emptied bowls and tankards, then marched off towards the kitchen.

“The things you notice, Dear. They never fail to impress,” said Seeker as they both watched the server bustle away. The compliment brought a smile to Lanri’s face, and she giggled.

“I noticed s’mething else, too,” she teased as she looked at Millan again, and confirmed to herself that he was definitely watching his colleague. “The orc’s got eyes for our humble waiter.”

“The widower?” Asked Seeker as she joined Lanri in appraising him. “How do you figure?”

“Well, he’s been walking around with that forced smile on his face the whole time we’ve been here, an’… And he just looks so damn sad whenever he looks at the menfolk–”

Seeker snorted, interrupting her. “Menfolk?!” She asked.

Lanri rolled her eyes, and shrugged. “I’m drunk.”

“That you are, Dear. Continue.”

“Well, he looks so damn sad whenever he looks at any of the men around here, except our… Fuck, I wish I knew his name. And then he seems really damn knowledgeable about… uhm… Millan in turn.”

Lanri watched as Seeker considered that. “And you think… what? That they should be together?”

“Maybe!” Said Lanri, a little louder than she meant to. “Or maybe not. I’unno whether I’d go so far as to say the orc needs to be bent over a table–”

“I definitely let you have too much.”

“Would you let me finish, Seeker! Those two care about each other, I’m telling you. Maybe like that, maybe not, I won’t pretend to know. But I know they should try to figure it out!”

“Well, quiet down about it for now,” Seeker ordered. There was a harsh edge that spoke of urgency to her voice that Lanri frowned at, until she noticed the salt-and-pepper dwarf was on his way back, carrying two big wooden mugs.

He put them down on the table between them, then began to wipe their table down with a rag. “So, I asked, and these two are Yornleif’s, aye.”

Lanri watched him move the rag along the table for a moment, and tried to picture why the abbot would recommend a potter to make a prosthetic. A carpenter, smith, or even jeweler, she could make sense of. But a potter? The fellow that makes bowls for a living?

Is Du Bois an idiot?

Seeker turned to her, and fixed her with a cool stare that expressed a very specific, very mild kind of displeasure as she said “drink your water, Dear.” Lanri wasn’t willing to disobey.

“This Yornleif, he’s good at his craft?” Asked Seeker as Lanri gulped down her first mouthfuls of the ice cold water. It must have come directly from a rain barrel outside, she decided. The groundwater in Cerene had been drinkable enough from what she recalled, but always tasted a little too much like the river smelled.

“Oh, very. Can’t hardly afford a thing the man sells, myself. But his shop’s got some rightly beautiful things on display. Fancy dinnerware and some toys and idols and the like.”

“You should buy a bauble from him, an’ give it to… uhm… To him,” said Lanri, and she pointed at Millan with her mug of water.

“I told you to drop it!” Seeker hissed at her, and Lanri slumped her shoulders a little. “I’m sorry, she’s very…”

“Not a terrible idea,” mused the salt and pepper dwarf. “A wee statue of Brawna, or something.”

“Of Ishara.” The words, despite Seeker’s insistence, were just impossible not to speak. He should start with a statue of Ishara. It was the obvious choice. Every relationship started with her.

“Of Ishara, eh?” He asked, bemused. “That’d be very forward of me, wouldn’t it?”

“Almost as forward as it was of her to suggest it in the first place,” said Seeker through clenched teeth. “Please, don’t mind her. She gets very… devout when she’s tired.”

Lanri couldn’t but snicker at the half truth of it. “I think he’d like any kind of… uhm… Gift from you. Especially a little Isharan idol.”

“I’ll certainly give it a right long think.”

With that, the dwarf turned, and returned to his duties. Lanri watched Seeker massage her forehead and sigh. It was a vague gesture which had only negative connotations. Lanri didn’t dare speculate exactly how Seeker felt, but it made her feel like an inconvenience. “You really couldn’t stop yourself from bringing it up?”

Lanri shook her head. “It was too… true to shuddup about.”

“Right,” said Seeker as she put her hand down, and turned to look at Lanri. “Those truths about mortals the dress showed you. That ebbing and flowing ambition to act on them it put in your head.” The Heartwarden paused for a moment, and stared off into the space behind her for a while. Lanri turned to look, already knowing she wasn’t actually looking at anything in particular, but wanting to make sure, regardless.

“Seeker?” She asked once she’d confirmed that. She wanted to know what Seeker was getting at, to know what the dress had to do with anything.

Seeker blinked a few times at hearing her name, then smiled solemnly at Lanri, and took her hands. “My Dear, I know that you so very badly want to help me. But this isn’t what I do. I don’t go around nudging people into bed together like Mischief and Consort, no matter how good I think it would be for both of them. And I don’t think you should either.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Seeker started, then paused again, briefly interjecting “drink more water.” Lanri did so as she waited for Seeker to finish. “Because… that’s just not what I do. The priests and acolytes might like to, but it’s just not what I’m for. And I think you aren’t, either.”

Lanri rubbed her eyes, and she worked to pierce the haze of alcohol to parse what Seeker had just told her. “W–what we’re for?”

Seeker quirked her eyebrows, and grinned mischievously. “I knew that would get your attention. The barest hint of revelations, and you latch onto it. I don’t pretend to know your destiny, but I’m not blind. You’re not going to take the oaths and pledge yourself as a priestess of the Lady.”

“Why… Why not?”

Seeker giggled at that. She leaned forward, and put a single finger under her chin. “You know why, Dear! You can’t give yourself to Ishara, Lanri Vattens, because you’re already mine.”