CHAPTER 22

Lanri hobbled away as quickly as she could. She felt dirty. She felt unsafe. If Armitage had convinced even the youngest of the guard that she’d gotten her husband killed, what would the older ones do? What would happen if she came face to face with the ones who were close to retirement, who had seen Faron grow up like his bodyguard, sergeant Addler? They wouldn’t be able to content themselves with so heinous a remark. They would be angry. They would be hateful, like Armitage himself.

She didn’t even pay much attention to where she was going, other than away from Ithella and Mara. She’d heard Ithella call after her for a moment, but thankfully the priestess had the tact and grace not to follow her.

Perhaps she should have stayed, to explain to Ithella that what her Mara was saying wasn’t true, but she wasn’t sure she could. She’d thought so plenty of times herself, that it was her fault he was dead. The young woman hadn’t been hateful with her remark, she could tell that much from her intonation, and she couldn’t even think of a way to rebuke the accusation.

However that would have gone, whatever elaborations followed, Lanri likely wouldn’t have been able to deny it. Maybe Armitage had lied to his guards, but it didn’t matter. The truth was just as damning. Faron had died. He’d fallen through the ice, and died cold, and alone, and she hadn’t saved him. She had gotten him killed.

She turned a corner and the smell of warm bread hit her. She still had not eaten today, she realized, and decided not just to run away, but to at least go towards the source of that smell. As she did so, though, she kept thinking about it. About him. Faron Vattens. The man she’d sworn herself to before the gods, whom she’d not been able to imagine a life without.

She heard someone say something, but ignored it.

And yet, now she was living a life without him. A fascinating, exciting life. A life with someone new. Someone who had told her it wasn’t fair to compare her to him, and yet she couldn’t help it. Faron had been amazing. He’d been a devoted husband who gave up everything for her, and then worked so, so hard to allow her to get the best education. And now there was Seeker. Seeker, who–

That someone put a hand on her shoulder, and snapped her attention to the here and now.

She turned to look, and was beyond happy to see it was the nameless priest, again., now walking by her side. “You look… troubled,” they told her.

Lanri nodded. She was troubled, but first she had to say “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

Lanri nodded again. She’d kicked them out of her room for accidentally calling her dear. That wasn’t fair of her, she’d known that as soon as they disappeared from view.

“Well, you’re forgiven,” they assured her, and their expression told Lanri all she needed to know about whether they understood what she meant. “But, let me guess. The reason you look so upset. It’s the people I remind you of, right?”

“You hit the nail on the head.”

They smiled knowingly, and tilted their head forward, urging her to keep walking. “Tell me about that. I know one is Seeker, but who is the other?”

“My husband, late husband. Apparently, my reputation precedes me, and some of the people here in Cerene believe I got him killed.”

“I’m… so sorry,” they quietly said.

“And I hate that. I hate that. I hate that I can’t deny I got him killed, and I hate that anyone could think I didn’t love him. I did love him – do love him, more than I can describe. He’s just… not here to love, anymore.”

So I replaced him.

They looked at her with remorseful compassion. “I really doubt you killed your husband, Lanri. Mariticide isn’t looked upon kindly in these halls.”

“I didn’t kill him, I know that. But I got him killed.” Lanri paused, and again recalled the horror of that day. They’d been attending the Solstice market, built on the ice of the frozen river Torine. She’d decided she wanted to go, and been the one to decide she was cold, and wanted to go home. Then, once they were leaving, and walking away from the heavy stalls, and crowds of people, away from where a studied mage was monitoring everything, he’d just fallen through, and died. “I got him killed, and in just a matter of months I threw myself at Seeker.”

They stayed quiet at that. Said nothing as they kept walking. They were clearly lost in thought, and that was fine. Or it would be, most times. Right now that just let her get lost in her own thoughts, which were a deeply unpleasant place to be. They were full of visions of Faron’s last moments, when that awful realization the ice was breaking flashed across his face. And they were full of thoughts about Seeker. She loved Seeker. She really did. She adored her with all her heart. But still loved Faron, too. And she’d consistently felt like her feelings to Seeker were a disservice, or even a betrayal of that first love.

“I think it’s good you’ve thrown yourself at her,” they finally said, mercifully preventing Lanri from finishing her thoughts. “I suspect Seeker is lucky to have you, Lanri, just as your husband was lucky to have you.”

“He’s my–”

They put a hand on Lanri’s shoulder, and tugged to stop her. “No. He isn’t. He was. You fulfilled every duty you had to him, I’m sure of it. And I know you would give anything to get to continue them. But you have a life to live, and duties to yourself to fulfill. If he was at all worthy of your devotion to him, I am certain he would want you to be happy. And if Seeker makes you happy now that he can’t, then… I bet he’d want that for you, too.”

Lanri felt ready to burst into tears. “But… I’m not sure that I would. If… If the gods all gathered to restore my Faron, I… I don’t know if I could accept him back. How I feel about Seeker, it’s… I’ve never felt anything like it. I loved Faron. I loved him, and I respected him, and I liked him. But he wasn’t Seeker. He didn’t make my chest tight with awe. He couldn’t make me feel so understood, and so important, so significant. When Seeker looks at me, it feels like the whole world sees me through those eyes. Like all I was ever meant to be is hers. I don’t think I could ever give that up.”

“Good,” the priest simply said.

Lanri was stunned. How could admitting she wouldn’t accept her dead husband back if given the chance be good? “Good?”

“Yes,” the priest said, as they began to walk again, leading Lanri towards the dining hall. “It’s good. It would be a disservice to be with Seeker, if you would rather be with another.”

“But what about Faron? Isn’t how I feel about Seeker a disservice to him?”

“No. It only means you live here, and now. It means that you acknowledge reality. You would not have left your husband for Seeker, I am sure. And now that you are with her, you would not leave her for him. That is not a betrayal. It is merely devotion.”

________________

Seeker was frustrated, and fatigued. Not her body, no. That was filthy, and stank of rotten fish and viscera, but Ishara’s strength never failed to imbue it with the vigor she needed to do her duties. No, it was her mind. The day had just dragged on, ever more complications arising, and loose ends being revealed that she needed to deal with.

But now, she was relatively confident she had finished her duties. She was looking at the little pile of mystic amulets, idols, and baubles. It didn’t even all belong to Ishara. Just when she thought she was finished she’d found a solid iron dagger, enchanted by a priest of Daray, that despite the elements was entirely free of rust, seemingly by the grace of his might. Had that been abused before the collar she’d taken from the sailor, a Valkyrie would likely be here in Seeker’s place

And now, the call of her mandate tugged at the back of her mind, urging her to report her findings to Mischief. Bizarrely, it did not direct her to the divine realm. She could, and did, send the bulk of what she’d recovered there. She picked up the amulets and idols, putting them nowhere one by one, happy in the knowledge that Casseil or another Heartwarden would deal with them there. But she kept two of the artifacts separate. She put them nowhere,, too. Just not on the same pile as the common stuff.

One was the collar, of course. It was after all the thing she’d been originally sent to investigate and neutralize, and the fact that it had already been stolen from the vaults made it too interesting to outsource.

The other was that dagger. That, she simply didn’t know what to do with. She could guess, of course. She knew it would eventually be returned to Daray. But it was unknowable if she would be told to simply hand it off to a Valkyrie, or if Ishara had a grander use for it, to extract some favor from the god of war.

But, to sate her curiosity, she would have to report to Mischief and ask, and as such, she invoked the right spell. She said “traversez,” and closed her eyes to the show. She knew that before, Lanri would have seen something akin to her fading and melting into the background. But from her perspective, it would be the world itself melting and fading into something different, something that would be unsettling enough without the nauseating interim of the spell’s effects. She was more than happy to ignore it as long as possible.

________________

An hour later, Seeker was happy to be back in the purely physical world, with the discomfort and stress of magical travel behind her. Her mandate had, confusingly, brought her back to the monastery to speak with Mischief. She hoped that was solely them being considerate of her personal life – now that she had one – but a sense of foreboding put doubt in her mind that that would be the case.

She followed that itch at the back of her mind through the stone halls, and up the stairs. She hoped beyond hope that they weren’t waiting for her in her room, with Lanri. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Mischief themselves, she did. It was the fact that when Mischief thought someone was interesting, they usually wound up in front of The Lady.

Thankfully, they weren’t in her room. They were above it. She followed the narrower stairs up, and onto the roof. The door opened up into a beautifully maintained greenhouse, and they were outside of that, with their back turned to her, leaning on the stone railing around the edge. She crossed the walkway between the little plots of soil and mind-altering plants, then slipped out of the glass door onto the roof proper.

Mischief had noticed her, she knew. They weren’t as perceptive as she was, but she had had neither cause nor reason to hide her approach. She saw they had a bottle with them, perched on the ledge. In the faint light of the night sky and enchanted stones, she could just barely see it glistening blue.

My brandy.

They turned to look at her, and grinned. “How was your day, Seeker?”

Seeker recognized that for what it was. Despite the casual demeanor, they wanted a report. Obediently, she recited the facts as succinctly as she could. “Feral sirens had a hoard of artifacts, and didn’t seem to care about using most of them.” She paused, and reached into nowhere to produce the chain collar, and dagger. “These are the most interesting,” she said, as she handed them to them.

“You’re filthy,” Mischief commented with a grimace, and they took the dagger and collar.

“That would be the sirens, and their… familiars.” Seeker looked down at herself, and found herself matching their expression.

“How unfortunate,” they said, and Seeker thought it sounded sincere. They looked at both artifacts for a while, leaving Seeker to wonder why they had her brandy. Was a scolding remark about trying to get drunk before coming? They drew her attention away from it by offering the collar back. “Do you recognize this?”

Seeker shook her head. "Am I supposed to? It's powerful, but it's not very descript. I know it’s of the Lady."

"Obviously it's hers," Mischief scoffed. "I suppose you wouldn't know about it, though. She made it…" They trailed off, thoughtfully. "Gods, it was centuries ago, when Daray… It's able to subdue even as mighty of a warrior as a Valkyrie."

Seeker didn’t fail to notice Mischief’s discomfort at the war god’s replacement. It was a topic that made all of the gods uncomfortable, and Mischief had been at the forefront of Ishara’s making sense of it. She decided not to draw more attention to it than they had. "That's a mean feat."

"You'd be the expert," Mischief said with a grin that reminded her a little of Lanri. Their eyes sparkled just like hers. It made Seeker blush. Her blush, in turn, extracted a giggle from them. "How did these sirens get their hands on it?"

“I don’t know.” Seeker sighed. It was her job, her very purpose for being, to investigate whatever may concern Ishara. But all she could do here was guesswork. “I suppose however Gorance got the dress is probably how they got the collar. Maybe he… sold it to them?”

“Didn’t you say they were feral?”

“I also said I don’t know,” insisted Seeker. “And I really don’t. I was thorough, Mischief, you know that. I saved the kid they’d snatched, traced them to their village to ask questions. And when that failed, I searched it.”

They gave a dismissive wave, and a roll of their eyes. “Oh, I know you were thorough. You always are; You can’t help it.” They paused, and offered the artifacts back. Seeker took them, not quite sure why they were giving them back. “You’ll figure out what happened, eventually.”

Still looking at the collar and dagger, Seeker asked, “What do I do with these?”

Mischief shrugged. “You’re the one who gets along with Valkyries so well. Pawn the dagger off on one of them during your next rendez-vous.”

“It’s been a very long time since I saw any Valkyrie in that way, Mischief. And I intend to keep it that way for the foreseeable future.”

“Point taken. Hang onto it either way.”

“I would prefer my brandy back, frankly,” said Seeker.

Mischief grinned, and offered the bottle back to her. She took it into the same hand that held the dagger, and immediately noticed it was a lot lighter than it had been before. She held it up in what little light there was, and sure enough, about a quarter of it was missing. “You drank it?”

“Who knows,” said Mischief with another shrug. “I don’t think you put your name on it. If you’re not willing to make it clear something is yours, you shouldn’t be too surprised if someone else takes it.”

Seeker frowned at that as she considered it. She looked down at the length of chain in her dirt and blood-stained hand. “And the collar?”

“That’s your problem, too. The Lady doesn’t want it back. Throw it into the ocean, melt it down for those art projects you like, put it on that melancholy mortal that’s waiting for you in the room below us to cheer her up… Use your best judgment.”

“Melancholy?” Seeker asked. That concern that Mischief found Lanri interesting jumped to the forefront again. “How the hell would you know about that?!”

“Oh, calm down, Seeker. Unlike the bottle, you definitely put your name on her. I just kept an eye on her for you while you were busy. Such a tempestuous thing. Angry one moment, sad about her husband the next, worried about her parents the third. She’s fascinating.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Seeker said. It was a little hard to believe Mischief would spend a day babysitting Lanri out of altruism, but whatever their agenda, she didn’t have a reason to be angry about it. Yet.

“So suspicious,” teased Mischief. “Go check on her, then. She’ll just tell you about that nice priest that listened to whatever she felt like saying.”

Seeker pictured that, and found the idea was as amusing as it was concerning. Mischief, the best choice to turn to for counsel? That must have taken some organizing on their part. “So, why did you?”

“I genuinely just wanted to see to it that nothing bad happened, Seeker. I promise. You’ve never had anything like her before. The way you looked at her when I put you to sleep, the way she talks about you… It’s good for you.” They paused, and grinned. “I should have given you a pet centuries ago.”

Indignation at her Lanri being referred to so diminutively flared up in Seeker. Their relationship had turned out closer to that of an owner and a pet than she’d intended, but hearing it from someone else just reminded her of Gorance, and his natural order drivel “She’s not a–”

Mischief rolled their eyes. “Oh, calm down. I know she’s more than that.” They paused for a beat, and sighed. “Now, you should get back to her. Because I, lucky me, get to go tell the Lady that another artifact of hers got out, and drove a tribe of sirens mad.”

That stood out to Seeker as wrong. “I really don’t think that’s right.”

“Explain,” Mischief ordered.

Seeker thought about it for a moment, as she put together the rationale she hadn’t consciously thought through yet. “They… were feral. They weren’t even the ones wearing the collar, and they’d still lost their minds by the time I found them.” Seeker paused for a moment, and Mischief urged her to continue with a nod and a gesture that reminded her of her earliest days, with Mischief and Ishara both taking such a personal interest in grooming her for her duties. “But my– But Lanri had the more powerful artifact – the dress – and north of a day of exposure wasn’t enough to mess her up anywhere near that badly.”

“Didn’t you say you found her naked, drugged, and with her companions touching her? After they’d killed one of their own?”

“That doesn’t mean she lost her mind.”

“No, but it might mean they did.”

Seeker thought about that. The two mercenaries she’d subdued with her aura and spellwork definitely weren’t in their right minds. And sirens were far more malleable creatures than humans, which might explain the disparity. “But what about Lanri?”

Mischief shrugged a third time. “I’ll ask the Lady about it.”

“No!” Seeker blurted out, and Mischief quirked an eyebrow at her. She’d already drawn a lot of attention to Lanri by showing interest in her, herself. Bringing her up to Ishara again…

“No?” Asked Mischief.

“No, don’t bother,” Seeker began to lie. Mischief had said Ishara would love Lanri, and Seeker had agreed. And she hadn’t changed her mind about sharing her, either. “I know her best, and this is all my problem to solve. I’ll… figure it out on my own.”

“Indeed,” they purred. They looked at her for a moment, pinned her in place with a skeptical gaze. Seeker and Mischief both had an interesting relationship with lies. They’d been with her when she’d told her first lie, almost a thousand years ago. They hadn’t punished her for it, or even discouraged it, and doing so had set a precedent. A sort of unspoken agreement that she was allowed to lie to them, occasionally. Lies were a tool Seeker used sparingly – she didn’t use them to get her way often, usually finding that being trusted is more useful in the long term than whatever lying might get her here and now. But Lanri was worth lying for.

“Then… I suppose I will leave you to that, Heartwarden,” Mischief said, and Seeker noted the sudden uptick in formality as she nodded her deference at them, and slipped back into the greenhouse.

________________

Lanri couldn’t sleep.

The sun had set hours ago. Long enough for Lanri to have long talks with Ithella and the abbot, and then the androgynous priest. Long enough for her to wander into the dining hall afterwards, and poach enough bread and cheese to feed a marching soldier for a day. Long enough for her to scarf it down, and crawl into the bed she now wholeheartedly thought of as hers, and wait for the satisfaction of a full belly after an exhausting day to lull her to sleep.

But it didn’t.

She was as comfortable as she could be, and was genuinely tired. But she just did not fall asleep. It almost felt like her body had forgotten how. Like sleeping wasn’t an inevitability, but more like exercise. Not even a skill you get better at, but a routine you grow tolerant of. And now, it felt as though she had fallen out of that routine and was unable to get back into it.

She hadn’t had to decide when to sleep for herself in weeks at this point. Seeker had used her magic to force sleep on her every night she could think of, and now that she wasn’t there, busy Heartwarden-ing elsewhere, she found she missed it. Not just because she seemed unable to fall asleep on her own, but also because it was just nice. It was just… nice to have decisions like when to sleep made for her. Seeker cared for her so much, she knew, and she trusted her completely. So, as she’d begun making more and more decisions for her, Lanri had submitted to that authority gladly, if not necessarily easily. At first, Seeker had used a spell to compel her obedience, and Lanri had been able to feel it alter her thoughts to make her do things.

But now that she thought about it, she hadn’t felt that magical compulsion in days, and yet she still did as she was told. She wasn’t sure if Seeker had released the spell, or if she’d simply adjusted to it, and she wasn’t even sure she really cared.

What she cared about was her inability to sleep. Or rather, the fact that she was awake. She didn’t mind being dependent on Seeker for things like sleep, and until now, she had always been there to provide whatever Lanri needed. Seeker had kept her fed, warm, clean, rested, and safe.

With a groan, she got back out of the bed, and put her weight on her crutches. She was in a Monastery full of priests. Someone would have a potion, or perhaps be willing to just cast a spell. Insomnia was not something she was at all obligated to suffer, here. She would try the door across the hall first, she decided as she made to leave the room; Abbot Du Bois, kindly old man that he was, seemed like the exact type of Touched priest that would be glad to help her, and she could always seek out Mirabelle if he wasn’t available.

When she opened the door, Seeker was standing there with a smile on her utterly filthy face. “You did submit gladly,” she purred. She’d been listening to her thoughts.

Lanri’s heart leapt, and she followed its example. She threw herself at Seeker, and pressed her lips against hers, eagerly. But rather than tasting like the calm adoration of her aura, they tasted like seawater and blood. She broke the kiss, and had to resist the urge to spit out the saliva in her mouth. “I… don’t know if I hope that’s your blood, or someone else’s.”

Mercifully, Seeker reached into nowhere, and produced a handkerchief that looked just like the dress Lanri was wearing, white with coppery stitching. She took it gratefully, and spat the dreaded contents of her mouth into it. “Do you want to know?” Seeker asked. Lanri emphatically shook her head side to side. She suspected she knew the answer, and she did not want it confirmed. Seeker gave her a soft smile, and nodded. “Clever girl,” she said with a wink.

“Are you hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Seeker promised, then nudged Lanri, urging her to step back. Lanri did so, making space for Seeker to come inside. Before she did so, however, she said “Devetez.”

The spell hummed with power that made Lanri shiver and as before, Seeker started to glow, brighter and brighter, until Lanri had to look away. She heard the door to their room close, and opened her eyes to see Seeker, as naked as can be. The majority of her was immaculately clean, except for her hands and head, which were both caked in what Lanri decided she wanted to call grime, to a little beyond where her clothes would have started.

Lanri did not know what to make of it. “Why…?”

“Call it a gesture of good will to the custodians,” said Seeker as she strode past Lanri, and into the bathroom. Lanri hesitantly followed. By the time she got there, Seeker was emptying one of the ewers into a wash basin, and a moment later, she dunked her head in it. Lanri was repulsed to see the water almost immediately run reddish brown. “Hand me the soap,” Seeker instructed.

Lanri obediently did so. She stepped into the bathroom, and handed Seeker a bar of honey-scented soap, which the angel immediately began rubbing against her hair. Lanri was morbidly fascinated by even the foam being slightly reddish. “Why don’t you use a spell for this?”

Seeker flinched briefly, but kept scrubbing and rinsing. “Out of respect.”

Respect for what?

“Respect for the things I fight, Dear. I picked it up from the Valkyries. If you get someone’s blood on you, the least you can do is look at it.”

“Do I have to look at it?” Lanri didn’t like this. She didn’t care for how ruthless Seeker must have been to wind up like this.

“No, of course not,” Seeker assured her, as she picked up the wash basin, dumped its foul contents into the bathtub and its drain, and refilled it from a second ewer to repeat the process. “Go lay in bed. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Lanri did so. She got back into bed, and was happy to find the sheets were still warm from her futile efforts to sleep. And she stayed there, waiting for Seeker to finish bathing. She thought about what could have happened to Seeker, what awful things she must have faced today to wind up like that.

The one time she’d seen Seeker fulfill her duties as a Heartwarden was when she herself had been the thing she was looking for, and then she hadn’t even drawn her sword. She regretted thinking of her as ruthless, that couldn’t be the case. Whatever could have happened for Seeker to wind up like that must have just been terrible.

Some small part of her, something at the back of her mind, urged her to get back up from the bed, and go comfort Seeker instead of sitting here in judgment. She heard Seeker whisper a spell, and came out in goosebumps that only spurred her on. She was already halfway through getting up when she heard Seeker say “I suppose I didn’t say you had to stay in bed, so I can let that slide.”

Lanri turned to look, and saw the Heartwarden in the portal to the bathroom, nonchalantly leaning against the frame. Her long red hair hung down, clean and dry, and covered just enough of her breasts to be what a painter would call decent. She smiled at Lanri, and quickly crawled into the bed, beside her.

“Another first for me,” she whispered, sounding almost giddy about it.

“What is?” Lanri asked. “The washing?”

“No, not that,” Seeker assured her as she pulled the covers up, and eyed Lanri with a degree of hunger in her eyes. “This. Coming home from – for lack of a better word – work, and having this!. A pretty woman, waiting for me, wearing the dress I tailored for her. It feels so… normal.”

Lanri considered that. Seeker’s enthusiasm about it was infectious. “You must have had people you cared about before. You had a whole life before you became a Heartwarden.”

Seeker’s face scrunched up a little, into an expression that, while pleasant and loving, also told her she was quite mistaken. “I barely remember it. A few flashes, here and there. I know she was… not quite sane, and frankly not very smart. I’ve told you about her half-cocked quest to find someone who could conquer her, have I not?”

Lanri nodded. She did recall Seeker briefly mentioning that, that she could remember how she died. She also remembered she’d used the third person then, too.

“I can’t imagine she ever had a lover waiting for her, warming her bed at home.”

“Why do you say she and her? Wasn’t that you?”

Seeker considered that. “In a way. But to say I feels wrong when I don’t even remember her name. Ishara took her soul, and used it to make me. A ship with the timber of a raft in it doesn’t make that ship and raft the same thing.”

“Aren’t you curious?” Lanri asked. “What if she had kids? Maybe you have descendants alive today.”

“Not about her,” Seeker said with a shrug. “And I’ll eat my sword if she ever had kids.”

Lanri giggled a little as she pictured Seeker taking bites out of her sword like it was made of candy glass.

“Besides,” Seeker slowly began as she got a little closer, and Lanri could feel the heat radiating from her body. “Why should I care about any distant relatives when I have you?” She put a single finger on her hip, and started to slowly trace it up. “My mortal.”

Lanri felt her heart rate pick up. “How did your mission–”

Now Seeker giggled, and she put a finger on Lanri’s lips to silence her. “Oh, absolutely not, Dear. Ask tomorrow, if you’d like. But right now, we’re doing this.”

Lanri swallowed, and nodded. Seeker was deciding something for her again, and it thrilled her. She reached down to pull the dress up and over her head, and carefully put it on the floor next to the bed.

The Heartwarden thoughtfully looked at her, and said “I have an idea, and I think you’ll like it. A sort of… Call it a lesson, and an excuse to be a little adventurous at the same time. Are you interested?”

Lanri nodded, furiously. Of course she wanted to learn and be adventurous. Seeker grinned at her eagerness, and pulled the covers back. “Then take off your shorts, and kneel for me,” she bade, as she got on her knees herself.

Lanri obeyed. She hastily shuffled out of the soft underwear, and knelt in front of Seeker. The Heartwarden’s eyes regained that hungry quality, and she held out one hand. “Take it,” she ordered.

Lanri did so. She wove her fingers between Seeker’s, and now that she’d drawn attention to them, marveled at how remarkably perfect they were. There weren’t any imperfections around her nails, nor any scars. She’d already felt how soft they were, but she’d never actually looked at them.

“Rien à voir ici.” Seeker’s spell made Lanri shiver, and almost immediately, tunnel vision overcame her. She expected she’d get dizzy, too, the two symptoms usually accompanying each other. But she didn’t. Her vision simply got worse, and worse, until it was gone.

“What did you…” Lanri started, but she trailed off. On instinct, her breathing picked up, but Seeker just squeezed her hand, reassuringly.

“I’m teaching you something,” Seeker promised. Lanri wanted to ask what, but Seeker put a finger on her lips again, to silence the question. “That, and I’m going to make your toes curl.”

Lanri smiled at the promise. Seeker kept a hold of her hand as she felt her move around on the bed, crawling closer and to one side. Lanri did her best to keep her eyes focused on her, but blinded as she was, it was practically dead reckoning.

“You can’t see, my Dear. And I know that’s scary, but there’s a point to it.” As Seeker spoke, she kept moving. The hand that Lanri had been holding slipped out from between her fingers. It trailed up her forearm, past her elbow, to her shoulder, and then her neck without ever being lifted. Now behind Lanri, Seeker continued, whispering into one ear. “You don’t need to see me to know I’m here.”

Lanri felt the other hand, the one that had shushed her, tug at the back of her head, and soon her hair fell into loose locks again. “You can still hear me, and feel me, and smell me, can’t you?”

Of course she could. Lanri heard her, and felt her, and by Ishara could she smell her. She smelled like safety, lust, and devotion, and she wanted to say yes, but remembering Seeker’s silencing her, she nodded instead.

“Good girl,” Seeker purred. The praise sent shivers down her spine that surpassed any spell she’d known Seeker to cast. “And today, I was gone. I was off to fulfill my duties, and you did yours just as diligently.” Lanri leaned back against Seeker as she spoke, eager to be closer to that hair that smelled so good. “I told you not to go outside, and not to cause trouble, and you didn’t, did you?”

Now Lanri shook her head. She hadn’t. She’d done exactly as her Seeker had told her.

“That’s right. Because even when I was on the other side of Remere, you still felt me.” Lanri swallowed, and gasped as Seeker’s hand twisted around her neck, and very gently rubbed her throat, instead. Lanri relished in it, in that highlight of how powerful Seeker was, and how fragile she was by comparison. “You still felt that hold I have over you, that thrills you whenever you think about it.”

The hand on Lanri’s throat was joined by another one as Seeker planted a kiss on her neck. It trailed down between Lanri’s breasts, along her belly, and to between her legs. In the quiet room she couldn’t see, Lanri’s world did not extend past Seeker. The only thing she had to pay attention to was Seeker’s voice, and the only firmament was the strong body wrapped around her own. “That hold I only took because it was necessary to keep you safe, but am keeping because I like it.”

“You are mine, Lanri Vattens. Mine to lift up, mine to guide, and you know that. You adore that I can see into your mind as if it were an extension of my own.”

Two of the fingers between her legs began to rub, slowly exploring Lanri’s folds, and she let out a gasp. She’d known that’s where this was leading, of course. That didn’t make it less pleasant.

“Mine to shower in affection and gifts. Mine to shape, mine to guide and whisper praise to…” Seeker trailed off, as the hand around Lanri’s throat tightened its grip ever so slightly, and the fingers between Lanri’s legs stopped as quickly as they’d started. A mere tease of what Seeker had to offer that drew a whimper from Lanri’s lips. “And mine to punish.”

A sharp intake of breath at the mention of punishment. Had she done something to deserve that? She’d done her very best to do as Seeker bade today, and she’d sounded so pleased about it a moment ago. Seeker must have noticed, because moments later, a gentle stroke on her cheek with essence-slicked fingers and a cooing shhh promised her she hadn’t.

Seeker shifted to one side, and the hand on Lanri’s throat shifted to push down and away from herself. Lanri abided by its instruction, and followed as Seeker guided her to lie down on the mattress again, flat on her back. She preferred to be closer to her, in an embrace where she could smell her and feel her warmth. “I’m going to be the best thing that ever happened to you, my Dear, I promise,” Seeker whispered as the bed sank to one side. Lanri felt her knees press against her hips, and she realized the angel was kneeling. From there, she gently stroked her tummy. “Such a candied life you have ahead of you. Anyone in this monastery would kill to be where you are.”

I killed a dozen for it.

“You did,” Seeker whispered with that honeyed voice of hers, and Lanri felt her lean floward, pressing her lips to her own. The hair that fell onto her face still smelled like devotion and lust, but the kiss tasted like so much more. It tasted like purpose, and vulnerability. It tasted like the imbalance between them. It tasted like truth. The truth that she would not, could not defy Seeker, and could only ever be loyal to her. “You laid waste to my enemies, sacrificed everything you had to protect me, after just a few days together. Just think what you’ll do for me a month, or a year from now.”

To her frustration, the hand on her belly traced up, away from Lanri’s crotch. “Just think of what I will do for you.”

Lanri couldn’t see Seeker’s face, but she so dearly wished she could. She imagined the mighty Heartwarden’s face was a mix of lust, compassion, and solemnity. Seeker’s hold over her, the power she wielded, defied description. It was total. The notion of disobedience was absurd, and Lanri shuddered as she thought about it. “W–whatever you want,” she mewled.

“What?”

“I… I’ll do whatever you want,” Lanri promised.

Seeker giggled, and the hand that had been on Lanri’s belly kept moving up, following the contours of her body in one long, slow stroke. “Oh, I know you’ll do whatever I want,” Seeker said, and Lanri felt her lay down beside her. “You’ve hung on the edge of my every word since you laid eyes on me, been desperate to please me for just as long. Of course you’ll do what I want.”

“What do you want?” Lanri asked, again trying to point her eyes at where she thought Seeker’s would be.

"Nothing you haven't already given me. And you've given me everything, my Dear. No, I don’t want anything right now, but to make you feel good enough that I’ll deserve to keep it.” With that, Seeker’s hand began to trail down again, promising a fantastic night.