CHAPTER 27

The sun was setting, and it was quickly getting colder. Lanri followed Seeker as they made their way across Cerene with all due haste. She knew that the guards would all be too busy preparing to take on the gang of bandits near Bodrin, and weren’t likely to face much trouble from them again, but loitering seemed unwise.

“Come on, Dear,” urged Seeker. “He’ll close for the day if we don’t get there, soon.”

“I don’t see why that’s such a problem,” said Lanri, struggling to mask how out of breath she was getting. The crutches, adept though she was getting at using them, were profoundly exhausting to actually use. “The guy’s a dick, anyways. He’ll probably complain I stink if we show up there now.”

“You do have an odor,” conceded Seeker. “We’ll buy some perfumes and soap for the journey before we leave.”

“And we have to do that today?”

Seeker considered that, briefly stopping to let Lanri catch up, and to look at the sun in the sky. “No, I suppose that might be able to wait until tomorrow. But we’re getting the prosthetic today.”

Lanri nodded. She knew trying to convince Seeker otherwise would be an exercise in futility, and she had to admit she was at least a little curious about what a prosthetic foot would look and feel like.

“We need to get you more clothes, a lot of rations, and… probably a tent, too.”

“A tent might be nice,” agreed Lanri, as Yornleif’s porcelain shop emerged into view from between the buildings. “I really hope this thing doesn’t turn out as ridiculous as a porcelain prosthetic sounds.”

“Of course it won’t!” Seeker promised. “On its own, sure, it wouldn’t be useful. But once I’ve laid the right enchantments, it should work. And it’s only temporary, Dear.”

Lanri was a little skeptical about that. “Temporary solutions have a bad habit of becoming permanent, Seeker.”

________________

Yornleif’s shop was obviously already closed by the time they got there. Wooden shutters covered the windows almost completely, and only the light coming through the cracks betrayed anyone might still be inside.

“Oh, tragedy. He’s already closed. I guess we’ll just have to make our peace with it, and head to bed.” Lanri’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she started to turn away, and she giggled a little when Seeker played along and took a firm grip on the scruff of her neck to keep her in place.

“Be not so hasty, little mortal,” Seeker said in mock chastisement. She took a step forward, then clanged her gauntlet against the shutters several times, loud enough to draw eyes from the passers-by. “Yornleif?!”

A few moments of awkward, patient silence passed before Lanri heard the door open, and the shutters parted a moment later. “Y’know, there’s a sundial in front of the palace. Reading that is a great way not to be late to your appointments.”

“The sun was too low to read it,” protested Lanri.

“If it’s too late to read a sundial, it’s too late to come knocking on my fuckin’ door,” huffed the dwarf, even as he stepped to the side, and gestured them both into his shop. “You’re lucky coin’s so tight, or I ponder I’d have made you wait.”

“It won’t be for long,” Seeker assured the man, and Lanri watched her reach into nowhere to produce a small purse. She shook it a few times, and the sound of heavy coins clattering almost immediately put a smile on the artisan’s face.

“Well, alright,” he said, as he marched up the stairs into his workshop, and Lanri grinned at Seeker when the Heartwarden followed him, and had to crouch ever so slightly to keep from hitting her head. “I had to reach out to some kin of mine for help with this, I’ll say. I’m not much of a leatherworker, you see. Maradas, though? She’s an artist. Not as good at her trade as I am at mine, but I think we made something beautiful together.”

Lanri and Seeker both squeezed into the same too-small sofa they’d shared the last time they were in, and patiently watched and waited as the dwarf retrieved a bundle wrapped in slightly dirty fabric from a workbench. With a sigh, he took a seat on a footstool in front of them both, and put the bundle in his lap.

With a minimum of pomp and circumstance, he opened the bundle, and revealed its contents.

A pristine prosthetic laid before her, made of many different pieces of porcelain that locked together intricately. The dwarven craftsman gently picked it up, and maneuvered it a little. He curled the whole foot down as far as a real foot should be able to, and Lanri looked on in fascination as the rigid porcelain moved apart, only to have the gaps that appeared filled with very light and pliable leather.

A moment later, he flipped it over, and showed her the sole. It was completely covered in a much thicker pad of leather, from the heel to the toes, and it folded and creased appropriately when the joints moved. “I don’t recommend going barefoot, but when you have to, this should make it at least possible.”

“May I?” Asked Seeker, as she held her hands out to take it. Yornleif nodded, and very carefully passed the piece to her. For a moment, the Heartwarden simply held it still, and they both looked at it. She had a big smile on her face, a bigger one than Lanri felt was warranted, but it quickly faded to an expression that spoke of concentration as she began to turn the object over in her hands as if looking for something.

“The calf,” Yornleif said, knowingly, and Lanri gave them both a confused look.

“What’s special about the calf?” She asked, as Seeker turned it over one last time, and gripped a panel that ran from the top to just above the heel. The Heartwarden looked at the craftsman for approval, and when he nodded, gently pulled it off.

Inside of the leg, below the leather-lined socket that would fit her vestigial limb when the time came to actually wear it, was a cavity. A hollow space big enough to fit a silver vial that was already placed inside. Lanri watched as Seeker gripped it, and started to twist, unscrewing it. “Okay,” Lanri admitted. “I see what’s special about the calf. But… what’s it for?”

“Blood,” answered the dwarf, in a flat tone that implied she should already know that, and made Lanri wish she’d paid more attention the last time they were here. “Asked a priest of Shala by the name of Ellyn for help with the vial.”

“He did a fine job,” Seeker promised him as she pulled the little vial loose, and examined it.

Lanri was perplexed by the sight. “Why does my foot need a way to smuggle a vial of blood?”

“To power it, Dear.” Seeker said. “The enchantments would only last for a few hours without it.”

The next question came to Lanri quickly, but she hesitated to ask it for fear of the answer. “Whose blood?”

“Mine of course.” Seeker said it like it was obvious, then held out the vial for Lanri to look at. Lanri accepted it, and a series of divine runes engraved along the inside and outside caught the dim light of the workshop.

“This alone looks like it cost a fortune,” she whispered. Alchemical engravings were never cheap, that’s how Faron put food on their table. But along the inside of such a small metal vial? That would probably have been beyond even him.

Seeker sighed patiently. “That’s not your concern, Dear.” The Heartwarden looked at Yornleif. “I think something is missing from this.”

“Ah, right!” The dwarf padded his pockets for a moment, then smiled as he produced a narrow, curved thing which tapered into a point at one end. Lanri squinted at it, curiously.

“What is that?” She asked as Seeker took it from the man.

Lanri watched Seeker quickly slip an arm out of her cardigan’s sleeve, and scrutinize the inside of her elbow. “A snake fang,” she mumbled as she lined it up, and beckoned her closer with a quick tilt of her head. “They’re hollow, so that should let me…” Seeker trailed off, then poked the point of the fang into her skin. “Dear, live up to your nickname and hold that vial still for me.”

________________

A few minutes later, Lanri was holding a silver vial as big as her thumb full of Seeker’s blood, and she had nowhere sensible to put it down. Yornleif and Seeker were sitting on the floor, and worked together to fit the prosthetic. It was so, so strange to put on, even without the enchantments. It extended to just below her knee, and the leather padding snugly hugged what was left of her leg.

She was sitting straight, with both feet flat on the ground, and little to no weight actually resting on the prosthetic. The joints were all limp, and her leg inside of it was holding it up as much as the reverse.

From below, Seeker reached up, and said “hold out your hand.” Hesitantly, Lanri did as she was told. She opened her hand, and a moment later, Seeker put a handful of orange berries in it.

“What are these?” Lanri asked.

“Just eat them, Dear. Be sure to chew them thoroughly.”

With a shrug, Lanri said “okay,” and stuffed the handful of fruit in her mouth. The berries had a pleasantly firm texture, but tasted as saccharine as the most over-ripe, candied fruit she’d ever had. She almost gagged from the taste, and it took all of the effort in the worlds to chew and swallow as bidden.

“That’s my girl. Now hand me the vial, Dear,” ordered Seeker, and Lanri did so. The Heartwarden took it gratefully, then very carefully put it in the cavity she’d taken it from. A momentary sound of metal sliding against metal, then a click which she felt in her leg more than she heard it. Seeker put the missing piece of porcelain back on, and made the thing whole. “Are you ready?” She asked. “Because this is going to sting.”

Lanri swallowed. “Badly?”

Seeker considered that for a moment. “I’m afraid so. But just this once, I promise. Are you ready?” Lanri took a moment to steel herself, and when she nodded, Seeker quickly recited two spells. “Fourniez de l’energie,” first, and then “être uni.”

The first spell didn’t do anything to Lanri, though it thrummed with that delightful power, and for the briefest moment, the prosthetic seemed to hum with a power of its own. The second spell, by contrast, felt like it affected everything about her. A soft prickle that started in her chest, and slowly radiated out into her belly, then her thighs and biceps, her calves and forearms, her hands and feet–

Feet, plural. She felt the sensation in both of her feet. A smile crept onto her face. “I felt that!” She eagerly told Seeker. “That didn’t hurt at all!” The tingling lingered in her right foot and calf for a while, even as it faded elsewhere. It slowly built up, intensifying into something that felt like sunburn and worsening muscle cramps.

“I did warn you,” whispered Seeker, as she offered Lanri a hand. Lanri eagerly took it, and squeezed it. “The berries should start to help soon, though.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Lanri through clenched teeth. The sense of sunburn and cramps was joined by the sensation of holding her foot under running water, and a vaguely tickly feeling.

“Look at me, Dear,” Seeker ordered, and Lanri did so. “Just pay attention to me. It’ll be but a moment, and then your foot will feel normal. I promise.”

“O–okay…” Said Lanri, her eyes fixed on Seeker’s face. It was so pale, save for the freckles on her cheeks that formed a beautiful, divine constellation. They reminded her of learning about the first people to settle what was now Olney, south of Astoria. They had an elaborate calendar that predicted how the constellations would drift and distort over the millenia, and to this day, nobody was sure how they’d deduced it. Seeker smiled, and the constellations of freckles distorted, too. “You have stars on your face.”

“There they are,” Seeker said with a giggle. It was a lovely sound, the sound of being beloved, and worthy.

“They are,” agreed Lanri with a satisfied sigh, as she slumped against the Heartwarden, still looking up into her eyes. “Pretty stars on your face. I could stare at them forever.”

“What in all the gods’ names did you give her?” Asked the grumpy voice to her side. She turned to look at him, and giggled. He frowned, which made him all the funnier. “What?”

“You have a cloud on your face,” Lanri confidently told him. The thick fluffy pile of white that covered him from his cheeks down was a clean, pristine thing, like a cloud, or a big, big Sheep. The kind of Sheep that makes her take baths, or leaves drugged donuts out for her to find when she’s starving.

“That… doesn’t answer my question,” complained the Sheep-faced dwarf.

Lanri watched Seeker open her mouth to answer, and let out a yelp of her own. Her foot hurt. It had already been hurting, she realized, but the pain had changed. The sensation of needles pricking her joined the other feelings, and she scowled at the thought. She looked down at it, at the ceramic toes curled up in a cramp she shouldn’t be able to have.

“Try wiggling them, Dear,” Seeker ordered. The command cut through the haze, and Lanri tried to do exactly that. And it worked! It hurt a little, but she could force the foot to move when she put her mind to it.

She looked back at Seeker, and grinned. “My foot hurts! That’s… uhm…”

“Weird?” Offered Seeker.

“Weird! Exactly! My foot is made of glass and it hurts, and it’s weird.” Lanri tried to move her foot again, this time to splay her toes apart. She snickered sheer delight when she saw the white toes spread out, despite the painful sense of resistance.

“I promised you a candied life, not a normal one.” She heard Seeker say, but she didn’t look. She was enthralled by the thing that didn’t quite feel like part of her body, but that responded to her will as if it was. She reached down to take her boot off, eager to compare the new foot to the old, but a hand took her by the wrist, and stopped her. “Let’s leave that for in private,” Seeker urged her.

“Oh, okay,” she said, and she instead relaxed against Seeker. “But… If I’m not allowed to be barefoot… I didn’t bring a boot,” she confessed. “A boot. For my foot. Boot. Booooooooot.”

“Then I’ll just have to get you new boots,” Seeker soothed. “Does it still hurt?”

Lanri nodded. “Just a little.”

“Seriously, what did you give her?”

Lanri rolled her eyes, and let out a loud sigh. “Oh, who cares, grumpy cloud man? She told me to eat them, and I did, and now I feel fantastic.” And she did feel fantastic. The palette of painful feelings coming from her new foot was receding almost as quickly as it had come, and it only left behind whatever the berries did to her.

Lanri looked up at Seeker, smiling at the wonderful woman. More words came from those perfect lips and Lanri nodded along with them, not hearing a single word. “You sound like music and starlight,” she giggled drunkenly. Seeker’s face vanished in a blink that stretched far longer than she remembered any blink ever taking. But, eventually, she managed to open her impossibly heavy eyes again. “Seeeeeker,” she whined, “My eyelids are broken. Fix them.”

Even with confusion in her eyes, Seeker was breathtakingly beautiful. “If they want to stay closed, just let them, Dear.”

Her Seeker always had the best ideas. “Ohkay,” Lanri drawled, surrendering to her own eyelids and sagging into Seeker’s arms. She felt her mind and even her body grow number and number, her thoughts as viscous as syrup, and her muscles as firm as toffee. She grinned.

Candied life…

________________

Lanri’s eyes opened to the ever more familiar marble ceiling of her and Seeker’s room in the monastery. She sighed and stretched, and rolled to one side to cuddle with Seeker.

But Seeker wasn’t there.

Lanri’s first and most instinctive reaction was fear. A fear she couldn’t place. She wasn’t afraid she’d been abandoned, nor was she afraid for Seeker’s safety, and yet Seeker just not being there anymore went well past unsettling.

The last thing she could remember was Yornleif’s shop, the prosthetic, and the berries.

Right. The berries.

The sedative fruit had worked wonders to keep her calm and comfortable through the spells Seeker had cast on her and the prosthetic, which–

She lifted her head, and looked down at herself. Sure enough, the leather and porcelain foot greeted her, sticking out from her trousers just like the other one. Almost on instinct, she tried to wiggle her toes again, and braced herself for the attempt to be painful.

But it wasn’t. The finely sculpted toes wiggled in every direction, just like they should. It didn’t feel the same as her other foot, but it felt similar, and more importantly than that, it felt at all. She could feel it when the joints made of metal and magic moved, and she could make sense of the feeling just as easily as the ones made of cartilage and blood.

“She did it,” she whispered fondly to herself, as she moved to sit upright to touch and experiment with it. She folded her right leg across her left thigh, and poked and prodded at the prosthetic. The first thing she noticed was that she could only feel it when she touched the leather parts. The padding across the sole and the knuckles. Just like the sensations of moving, the sensations of touching felt similar, but not quite the same. She could feel the pressure of her fingers on the sole, but not the heat. And she could tell the finger was there, but she couldn’t feel the faint texture of her skin.

Cautiously, she undid the button and laces keeping her trousers tight, and shuffled out of the article. She wanted to see exactly how she looked. Once the pants were off, the prosthetic was a far gaudier affair. She’d already known it would come up almost all the way to her knee, but now that she was in a position to actually look at it without clothes or grumpy dwarves in the way, she realized it highlighted how severe her injury had been as much as it was a way to overcome it.

The porcelain and leather had consumed half of her right leg. It was a fascinating thing to look at, as uncanny as it was artisanal. Cautiously, she kicked the leg a few times to test if it would simply fall off. When it didn’t, she cautiously swung both of her legs off of the side of the bed, and tried to stand. She failed.

Her right ankle rolled like she was limp, and she simply fell to the right. Unlike last time, when she’d discovered her injury the hard way, it wasn’t quite that same all-consuming sense of awfulness. She’d expected she might fall, and wasn’t even surprised about it. But it was still an unpleasant reminder of one of the worst things she’d ever experienced, and it remained at the forefront of her mind until she painfully landed on her hip.

Because Seeker wasn’t there to catch her, this time.

With a frustrated groan, Lanri pulled her crutches close from the nightstand, and stood up. She experimented a little with how much weight she could put on the leg, and once she found a balance, took a few cautious steps in the direction of the bathroom.

Looking out of the window on the way there, Lanri paused when she saw it was still dark outside. Stars sparkled above the rooftops of the city, and just past the city wall, the militia’s training camp was vibrant with the light of magical and mundane fires.

Instead of going straight into the bathroom, she first walked past it, closer to the window. The market streets were still empty, so it was probably a while until sunrise. She tried to imagine where Seeker might be, and what she was doing. The Heartwarden could be anywhere on Eitheris, on some quest for Ishara. Or she might be in the militia’s camp again, helping Ithella cross the Ts and dot the Is for their assault.

In the bathroom, she took off what was left of her clothes, and filled a basin with enough water to wet a cloth and soap and clean herself. She looked better, healthier, happier than she had a week ago. Her ribs weren’t pressing through her skin so much anymore, her limbs were a little fatter, and she didn’t look as tired.

The prosthetic didn’t look bad either, she supposed. It restored her silhouette, and filled out her clothes. It wasn’t ideal, not by a long shot, but… she could live with it. She wondered what Faron would think if he could see her now, whether he would approve at all.

She could just as easily imagine him with looks of pity, betrayal, or approval if he were to look at her standing here, wearing two divine artifacts, waiting for the angel that gave them to her to come back and pay attention to her.

She tensed as she heard a click and the creaking of hinges, and she immediately regretted discarding her clothes. She was almost certain nobody in the monastery would have the gall to come into her and Seeker’s room without knocking, and the idea of being seen naked by a priest or acolyte was far from repulsive, but still. It was preferable to be decent…

and armed. Her wand was in its holster, left with her pants. She knew she wasn’t at risk of anything more than embarrassment here in Ishara’s monastery, but after having been without her wand for so long, she felt like a fool for leaving it out of reach. She was certain Faron would disapprove of her leaving that out of arm’s reach, if nothing else.

But judging by the sound of the voice that let out a sigh as soon as the door closed, she didn’t have to worry about any of that. She relaxed, and continued her sponge bath, knowing Seeker would find her quickly enough.

“You should be asleep,” purred the Heartwarden as she appeared behind Lanri in the mirror, and wrapped her in an embrace.

“And you told me I stank,” retorted Lanri, as she leaned into Seeker. She smiled at her reflection, at seeing Seeker stand behind her and watching her eyes trace up and down her body.

“Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to interrupt your ablutions.” Seeker paused for a moment, then casually plucked the brooch from Lanri’s hair. By force of habit alone, she braced herself for the aura to make itself known, if not overwhelm her. But nothing came of it. “Oh, I’m suppressing it, Dear. I just got it out of the way so you could wash your hair.”

Lanri did her best to imitate how Seeker liked to quirk her eyebrow. “You’re not subtle about letting me know what you want me to do, are you?”

________________

“Your Grace, you simply cannot leave,” huffed Du Bois with an air of something bordering on petulance. Seeker didn’t look at him as he spoke, continuing to pack her and Lanri’s carriage. “We’re just days from the equinox, from Ishara and Hayer’s–”

Seeker sighed as loudly as she could, and she was gratified when that silenced him. “Do not presume to remind me of how holy of a day that is, abbot.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” said Du Bois.

Seeker sighed again, this time in a much softer and gentler register. She’d secured the last of the sundries they would be taking, and Lanri wasn’t back from whatever Mirabelle insisted she needed her for, yet. So, she had time to talk to him. She turned to look at the aging, tired looking priest, and crossed her arms. “You’re forgiven, Jean.”

“Thank you, y–”

Seeker raised a finger to silence him. “I’m not finished, abbot. I understand why you want me here, I really do. And it’s tempting. Your monastery is comfortable, your people friendly, and you personally have always been one of my favorites among the Touched. But I cannot stay.”

“As you say,” said the abbot with a slight bow. He wasn’t able to hide his disappointment from her, and she didn’t think he was even genuinely trying to do so. Part of her wanted to stay, to enjoy the holiday in the comfort of the monastery, surrounded by trustworthy people. But even if she didn’t feel the need to get Lanri away from her father-in-law’s reach as soon as possible, or to be alone with Lanri so she could make her birthday something special, she probably wouldn’t.

She wasn’t worried about overstaying her welcome. Rather the opposite, in fact. She was worried she would be the center of attention on such a holy day, which she could not abide by. The spring equinox, like the winter solstice, was a major holiday. It was when farmers began to plant their grain, and their optimism for the year to come often led to new passions taking root alongside the seeds. It was not a time for the acolytes, curates, and priests to look to her, but to each other and Ishara.

Seeker was stirred from her reverie by the telltale clatter of Lanri’s crutches. She and Du Bois both looked up, at Lanri and Mirabelle crossing the courtyard. She immediately noticed her mortal was wearing new, shiny leather boots on both her good and prosthetic foot, and had a satchel slung across her shoulders.

“Where have you been?” She asked her.

“Trying to get this boot on,” Lanri answered as she came to a stop close to the wagon, and tapped her right leg with one of her crutches. “Getting it off without losing the whole foot is going to suck.”

“You bought her boots, Mirabelle?”

The bovine priestess smiled, but shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I’m simply owed far more favors by every farm this side of the Torine than I’ll ever know what to do with.”

Seeker quirked an eyebrow at that, and watched as Lanri walked past her, to the horses before their carriage. One of them was substantially smaller than the other, a consequence of having let Ithella keep the one it replaced, and as Lanri started to pet it, she turned her attention back to the priestess and abbot.

“This fool didn’t convince you to stay for the equinox, did he?” Asked Mirabelle with a soft jab to Du Bois’ ribs. The older man made a point of feigning pain.

Seeker smiled. “He gave it a very earnest try, Daughter of Plenty. But, no. We have to leave.”

“That’s unfortunate. An equinox feast blessed by a Heartwarden would be–”

Seeker again raised a silencing finger, and her smile widened when Mirabelle trailed off. The clergy were so easy to get along with. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t be blessing anything,” she pointed out, as she reached into nowhere. It took a few seconds to recall where she’d put it, but soon she produced a little cloth pouch. She gave it a quick blessing and murmured a spell before she offered it to Mirabelle. “I’ve seen that glass garden on the roof, and it’s so much nicer than this rather drab courtyard. I think some cherry trees would really spruce things up.”

She watched as Mirabelle opened the pouch, and her smile widened into a shameless grin when the priestess giggled at the sight of what was only a handful of cherry pits. “Absolutely, Your Grace! I’ll tend to them every time I see them.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Seeker fondly, as she turned to look at Lanri. “Do you have everything, Dear?” She saw and felt Lanri consider it for a moment, and smiled when the mortal nodded. “Onto the wagon, then.”

With a lot of grunting, Lanri heaved herself up onto the driver’s bench. Seeker offered to help twice, but each time she was met with stubborn insistence Lanri didn’t need help with this. Seeker disagreed, but she had to concede that Lanri did make it up without help, eventually.

“You might see one or both of us again, eventually,” Seeker announced as she walked around the wagon, and climbed onto the bench beside Lanri. “But I won’t promise anything.”

“Walk and marchez,” Seeker ordered the horses once she had a good grip on the reins, and they both pulled off, spell and mundane training coming together to make the horses act her will.

________________

“Did you give them the cherry pits from yesterday as a parting gift?” Lanri asked, her voice laced with as much accusation as amusement.

Seeker considered that, then nodded. “I figured they’d like it.”

Lanri burst out laughing. “They really do revere you, if they’ll smile so widely at getting the scraps from our picnic.”

“Hey!” said Seeker with a slight frown. “It was a thoughtful gift. Small, yes, but thoughtful. Neither of them would have ever accepted my coin. The monastery is a rich institution, and Mirabelle doesn’t strike me as avarice-stricken. Blessed seeds are the perfect gift for the equinox.”

“Can you even plant cherry trees at this time of year?”

Seeker’s cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. She hadn’t considered that. She’d enchanted the seeds, which would make the trees hardier and grow quickly, and with Mirabelle’s guidance would probably get the trees bearing fruit in only a year or two. But when those two years of growth needed to begin, she hadn’t the faintest. “That’s what I get for trying to dance along the edge of divine domains, I suppose.”

Lanri leaned in, and planted a kiss on her cheek as they rounded a corner onto the main avenue leading to the north-west gate. “It was very thoughtful. And I’m sure Mirabelle can make it work. If it’s too late in the year already, I’m sure she’ll stick them in a bucket in the greenhouse on the equinox, and transplant them into the courtyard later.”

________________

The carriage rattled and clattered as it went over the cobbled street. The metal cried, the wood groaned, and the leather strained. In the back of the carriage, she could hear all of the supplies she’d managed to secure make all manner of noise.

Perhaps I didn’t secure them well enough.

She could feel Lanri’s curiosity about the contents of the carriage growing. The mortal was thinking about what kind of food she’d bought, how many blankets, and clothes, and why it sounded suspiciously like half of it was cast iron cookware.

The city gates were wide open, and crowded as ever. They were easy enough to traverse, no guards harassed them or tried to interdict, but a few of them bore nasty expressions that were hard to miss. “Gods, I’ll be glad once we’re out of here,” Lanri mumbled, and Seeker couldn't help but agree. Cerene had been a good place for Lanri to recover from her injuries and the trauma they carried with them, but the baron had made it amply clear they were no longer welcome.

Past the gates, Seeker was surprised to see the seven score strong militia sitting on one side of the road, and as many Cereni guards on the other side. Both groups were formed up into columns four people wide, and looked ready to stand up and march at any time.

The difference in equipment was vast. To the left, the guards were wearing their iconic armor made of scaled bands of leather and metal, wielding either one of their faintly curved swords or glaive, depending on rank. To the right and in stark contrast, the militia wore their own clothes with blue fabric stitched across one shoulder, and either bore bows if they knew how to use them, or spears if they didn’t. Seeker couldn't help but notice that three priests from the monastery were mixed in with their number, their robes and calm demeanor the only thing telling them apart from the rest.

In the middle of the road between them stood two people, both of which Seeker recognized. Ithella and Captain Addler. Ithella’s robes and cloak had the same blue sewn to it as her militia, and the captain now carried an ornate helmet with a golden device on the forehead under one arm.

“I’m a commissioned officer of his lordship Baron Armitage Vattens, priestess. I’ve every right and authority to conscript your militia into my service, which I am doing.”

“I do not recognize the authority of a reluctant officer. I drilled these fighters, I came up with this battle plan, and I will lead them in Daray’s name.”

“A week’s worth of playing at being a drill sergeant does not make you a commander.”

“Being the commander makes her a commander!” Shouted someone from the militia. Seeker watched with amusement as Ithella paused her power struggle to stare at the offending enlistee until he quietly apologized. It was as she turned back to face Addler that the priestess noticed her, and her face lit up.

“Her Grace could lead,” Ithella told the man, and she pointed her staff at her and Lanri. Much to Seeker’s dismay, he rubbed his chin, and seemed to consider the idea. “She trained with Valkyries, and–”

“Absolutely not,” Seeker sternly said as she brought the carriage to a halt, and quickly hopped off with a gesture to Lanri that she should stay put. “I am no-one’s general, Daughter of War. I wasn’t even aware you were marching today.”

“We weren’t, Your Grace,” Ithella told her. “But when we saw the guards muster, I couldn’t let them pass us by.”

“And you won’t hold off until the militia’s ready?” Seeker asked Addler.

“I have my orders,” was all he had to say for himself. “I’m glad to have their assistance now if they’ll give it, but I can’t wait for them to finish training.”

“We’ll have your assistance, captain. My men and women are the ones who bear bows and arrows tipped with sleep charms. Most of the foes we’ll face wear those evil earrings. If I allow you to charge them in service of whatever half-cocked plan your baron came up with, you’ll wind up as slaves or butchers. Some of my spearmen might not be ready yet, but at least my archers and casters will prevent you from causing a massacre. If you charge your soldiers with protecting them, we might have victory without a slaughter.

Addler considered that for a moment, then let out a series of curses, and marched back to his column, pointing at his sergeants one after the next. “Dathan, Belle, Robin, Mickey, and Brynjolf, put some teams together to screen their bows, wizards, and priests. The rest of you, mix in with the farmers and make sure they don’t trip and fall onto their fucking spears.”

“Does that mean–”

“Yes, it means that. We’ll march when you give the word, commander,” grumbled Addler. For a man who had just had his command usurped, his voice didn’t quite hold as much resentment as Seeker would have expected.

“What about you, Your Grace?” Asked Ithella, who returned her attention to Seeker. The guards and militia started to mix together on the road, exchanging greetings and forming mixed units. “You have Lord Daray’s favor as much as any of his Touched. Surely you will join us in battle?”

“I said no, Ithella,” said Seeker. “We’ll travel with you for the sake of the safety your numbers bring, but I will not tempt fate and court a battle.” She paused and looked back at the carriage, where Lanri was shamelessly trying to listen in on the conversation. “Keeping her safe is my highest priority.”