CHAPTER 29

“I surrender,” cried the desperate voice of a woman that had ordered to take her hostage mere moments ago, as Seeker stepped over the twitching corpse of her accomplice, and Lanri took her wand from his hand.

She felt so confused, so numb. She’d said such awful things to Seeker. She’d said she’d defiled her wand; She’d implied she was abusive, arrogant, and not good enough, and none of that was true, even though she meant it at the time.

“I don’t care,” hissed Seeker. Lanri watched as she grabbed the desperate woman by the throat, and raised her sword to cut her down. The Heartwarden was trembling, she could see. Deep heavy breaths and a shaking sword. If Seeker looked like that on the outside, Lanri could only imagine the turmoil that must be going on within.

The bandit in her grip had fear plastered on her face; the same fear Lanri was still reeling from. It did not inspire much sympathy from her. But still, she couldn’t quite bring herself to let Seeker do this. She struggled to her feet with the only crutch she could reach, and slowly approached Seeker from behind. The Heartwarden was hesitating, Lanri saw. She’d been ruthlessly efficient in dispatching the man that posed a threat to her, but seemed to need to gather the courage to actually strike down this defeated foe.

Seeker pulled her sword back a little farther, and Lanri could see every muscle in her body tense for a moment. Just as Seeker started her swing, she put both of her hands on the angel’s sword arm to stop her. Seeker looked at her with wide eyes, eyes that betrayed she was reeling from the same rush of emotions as her. “No, Seeker,” was all she could think to say.

Seeker blinked several times, and the woman pulled helplessly at the grip she had on her throat. “What did you say?”

“Remember what you told me when we first met, Seeker,” Lanri urged. She could see Seeker would strangle the woman at this rate. “You… you told me I shouldn’t kill them, that the victim shouldn’t be the judge, jury, and executioner.”

Seeker scoffed. It was a forced sound, an attempt to hide her fury behind a veil of apathy. “I’m not her victim, Dear! You are.”

Lanri thought about their time together, and specifically their first session of learning to walk with the crutches. Seeker had said that she cared, and that she didn’t want her to be hurt because it would indirectly hurt her, too. “That’s not true. We’re far too close. Hurting me means hurting you,” Lanri said.

“She’s too dangerous to let live, Dear,” Seeker said with far less conviction in her voice. The angel sighed and looked away, at the bandit whose struggles were already petering out. “She’s a mage, she’ll use her spells to escape any cell I put her in.”

“Then take her spells away,” Lanri whispered. She’d never heard of a mage losing her powers before, but Seeker had mentioned priests with the Talent couldn’t easily become Touched. Surely there was some way to render her harmless.

“That’s impossible,” said Seeker. Then there was a pause. A pause during which she took several deep, slow breaths, and her whole posture relaxed slightly. The mage managed to take a single breath, and Seeker hissed “if you so much as even think about speaking a spell, I’ll break your neck before you finish. So shut up.”

All the mage could do was nod, and Seeker loosened her grip further, allowing her to burst out into a fit of retching coughs. Her eyes flicked from Seeker, to Lanri, to the growing crowd of people around them. She looked to each of them in a plea for mercy, but it seemed like Lanri was the only one willing to advocate for her in any way.

“Hold this for me,” Seeker instructed, offering her sword to Lanri. She stuffed her wand into its holster, and obediently took it. It was still as heavy as ever.

“Can you actually do it?” Lanri quietly asked, as the crowd was parted by Addler and Ithella.

Lanri did not get an answer before the Daughter of War spoke up. “Your Grace! You captured our quarry?!”

“I did,” answered Seeker without meeting her gaze. She wasn’t willing to look away from the mage for even a moment, it seemed. “Is Addler with you?”

“I am,” said the captain.

“Good,” purred Seeker, with feigned gentility to her voice. “Tell me about Cerene’s magistrate. Is he fair?”

“Magistrate Greyhaze is a woman. But yes, she is. I’ve never known her to take a bribe, nor pass unfair judgment.”

“Outstanding. Then I can count on Lah’s rope to fairly do what I’ve been convinced not to dull my blade on.” The hard edge returned to Seeker’s voice. It was as fascinating as it was unsettling to hear that voice without the love that usually suffused it when it was meant for Lanri’s ear.

“Your Grace, I do not know if Cerene has the resources to detain such–”

Seeker raised a single finger, which silenced Ithella, and all but a few whispers from the rest of the people that had gathered. “Tell me, mage, how did you learn magic?”

“What?” Asked the bandit mage, giving voice to the same question Lanri guessed everyone had on their mind.

“Magic, mage. Arcana, spellcasting, wizardry. Tell me who taught you about it.”

“M–my master, Adran. H–he realized I had the Talent, a–and taught me the arcane language, and how t–to manifest my will.”

“Good,” said Seeker, as she slowly lowered herself and the defeated mage to the dusty white road. “Tell me how he did that.”

“He… he made me practice. Told me that I should demand the world change to my whim, the way he demanded I pay attention to his lessons.”

“And how did he teach you the language?”

“H–he had to teach me to read at all, first.”

“And what’s your favorite enchantment?”

Lanri watched in rapt fascination, and it slowly dawned on her what Seeker might be trying to do. The Heartwarden had taken individual memories from her before, and she’d guided her through lines of thought much like this. But when Seeker had done it to her, she’d tried to narrow her focus as much as possible, keep her mind on a single topic. Now she was seemingly doing the opposite.

________________

Seeker and the mage stayed like that for several minutes, interrogating her about the minutiae of learning magic. Many of the people that had gathered around to watch had already wandered away, but most stayed, and watched the whole show.

“Good,” Seeker assured the mage after she mindlessly rattled off the answer to a question about potions. “Now, finally, what was the spell you put on the earrings?”

She opened her mouth to answer the question, when Seeker suddenly pounced onto her. They tumbled back, and Lanri watched the Heartwarden use her knees to pin the woman’s arms in place, then put both hands on her head with the fingers splayed. “Oubliez ça!”

Lanri let out a gasp and staggered back at the sheer intensity of the spell. When Seeker invoked her magic, it was usually a pleasant tingle. This was a jolt up her spine, and the spell wasn’t even aimed at her. Ithella and one of the priests from the monastery gave her peculiar looks, but they were quickly distracted by the bandit mage, as she started to thrash and scream.

She kicked her legs uselessly, and let out a few pleas, begging Seeker to stop, or for someone else to stop her. Nobody did. Not her, not the militia, not the Cereni guards, and certainly not the priests.

Lanri covered her ears and closed her eyes, but it didn’t work. She could still feel Seeker’s power like it was wind blowing over her, and she could only imagine what it was like for the mage whose name she didn’t even know. She’d asked Seeker not to kill her, and maybe in isolation that was the right thing to do, but this was torture, only to make her harmless enough to await a different executioner.

She didn’t even think this woman deserved mercy, not really. Even ignoring the spell she’d cast on Lanri, she and her cronies had stolen, kidnapped, murdered, and raped. But perhaps this was too much to inflict on one person.

After a few more heartbreaking moments, though, the magic stopped. Lanri couldn’t feel it anymore, and reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Seeker was still straddling the mage, both of them out of breath. Seeker looked fine, of course. Exhausted, but otherwise as good as ever. It was a vast contrast against the mage who had now had white streaks running through her hair from stem to tip, and was seemingly barely conscious.

“Cast a spell, mage,” Seeker ordered her, coldly. The mage lulled her head for a moment, then Lanri watched her eyes slip shut. Seeker tisked, but had a satisfied expression on her face as she got to her feet, and approached Lanri. “There. She won’t hurt anyone again,” she said as she took her sword back from Lanri, and sheathed it.

“That was awful,” Lanri whispered. “That must have been torture for her.”

Seeker gave her a sympathetic look. “It was the best I could do, Dear. I’ve never had to do anything like this before. Mages usually know better than to make themselves my problem.”

“I suppose, but… still. It might have been kinder just to end her outright.”

“Look at what she did, Dear,” Seeker urged, gesturing at the ever-growing group of people the militia and guard were freeing from their earrings with magic, or clippers and pliers. “I don’t want to be kind to her. Hells, I barely want to be fair. But you were right to remind me I shouldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner, so I had to make sure she could safely be held for trial. Speaking of which…”

Seeker trailed off, and quickly walked to where the three priests that had joined the militia were talking to a fourth Lanri didn’t recognize. All four of them looked up at her expectantly, and Lanri struggled to follow at any kind of pace, with only one of her crutches to lean on. Where did the other one go?

“You four will ensure that mage doesn’t escape, after I depart.” Seeker ordered them.

“Your Grace?” Asked one, though all four looked confused.

Seeker gestured at the sleeping form of the mage. “Just do as Commander Val Gyr says, please. Keep watch on her, put her to sleep if you think she’ll start casting spells. You enlisted in a militia, and watching the prisoners is part of that. This one obviously needs more than a mundane guard.”

“Shouldn’t Commander Val Gyr do so personally, Your Grace? Elves barely sleep, to begin with.”

“Normally I would,” came Ithella’s voice from one side. Lanri turned to look at her, and she suspected everyone else did the same. Lanri smiled when she saw Mara was by her side again, sweaty and with a scrape on her cheek, but otherwise unharmed. “However, I won’t be returning with the column.”

“You won’t?” Seeker asked. “What happened to your plan to rest in Cerene for a while?”

“I’ve had my rest, Your Grace, and I’ll get plenty more than that when Mara and I join you on your journey north.”

Lanri gave the priestess a confused look, and a brief glance at Seeker told her she was taken aback as well. “What about your plan to travel to New Gyr?”

Ithella gave a dismissive wave. “A worthy goal for later, Your Grace. But for now, I believe my calling lies with your party.”

“And I’m coming, too!” Mara eagerly said. “I’d prefer not to be here when Addler figures out I technically deserted to join the militia.”

“Ithella, Mara, I appreciate the offer, but–”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, I’m not joining you for your benefit, but for hers,” Ithella said with a slight bow at Lanri. “I’m indebted to your consort for her valiance earlier this month, and she has refused the trophy I offered her. That leaves ensuring her safety as the only obvious way to repay her.”

Seeker sighed, and fixed Lanri with a look that spoke of exhaustion. “She offered you a trophy and you didn’t take it?”

“Well, no! I don’t want to celebrate killing people, Seeker. And I didn’t know there was a whole implicit contract there.” Lanri thought about that night again, when Seeker had been gone and Lanri had seemingly had a heart-to-heart with every priest in Cerene. She’d not wanted a trinket reminding her of it then, and she didn’t like the idea much more than that even now.

“There isn’t a contract, of course,” Ithella assured her. “Not really, at any rate. However, I do sincerely feel that I’ve done all my Lord Daray needed me for here in Cerene, and I do genuinely owe you for saving my life, Lady Vattens. Even if you did not mean to.”

“And I’ve always wanted to see Amourot!” Mara helpfully chimed in. Everyone else returned the favor by giving her helpfully harsh looks telling her to shut up, and she shrank back behind Ithella.

Seeker sighed, quirked an eyebrow, and crossed her arms. “The last time you were alone with my Lanri, you told her she was to blame for her husband’s death, did you not?”

Lanri recognized Seeker’s tone as being insincere teasing, but judging by the mortified expression on Mara’s face, the girl did not. Lanri couldn’t blame her for not getting it. Seeker’s sense of humor could be odd at times.

“You never apologized?!” Demanded Ithella.

“It’s okay, Ithella, I know she didn’t mean much by it,” Lanri tried, but the priestess did not look mollified.

“Some things require malice to be insulting, and some things are insulting regardless of intent.” Ithella paused, and turned her attention back to Mara. “Apologize!”

“I’m sorry,” Mara said, quietly. “I didn’t mean to imply I believed you were responsible for the baron’s son’s death, only that the baron said you were.”

“I believe you, Mara,” Lanri said. “And I accept your apology.”

“Really?” Asked Mara, and her face lit up slightly.

“Sure, I doubt you ever even met my Far–” Lanri was cut off by the young woman wrapping her arms around her in a hug.

“Thank you!” The girl gushed. “Thank you, Lady Vattens. Does that mean we can come with you on your journey?”

Fucked if I know… Was what she wanted to say. In reality, she had ever so slightly more poise, and managed to restrict herself to mumbling, “uhm…” Like a dullard.

“I don’t know if I have enough supplies in the wagon to feed you both,” Seeker said, sounding as uncertain as Lanri felt. “Even if I fast for the whole journey.”

“There are several major towns along the way to Amourot, Your Grace.” Ithella shook a small purse of coins. “And upon invoking Lord Daray’s name, the bankers of Cerene were quite willing to lend me enough money to feed and clothe the pair of us for several months.”

Lanri wasn’t quite sure whether invoking Lord Daray’s name meant she took a loan and swore to repay it like Mirabelle had sworn the dazeweed was safe to smoke, or if she’d robbed them. She decided not to ask.

“Addler knows I don’t intend to return to Cerene, as well,” Ithella added, pointing at where the guard captain was overseeing shackling the mundane prisoners into a coffle to escort back to the city;

Seeker sighed again. “Then I suppose I have no good reason to object.”

________________

“I’d have preferred to see the house again,” sulked Lanri. Above her, the blue sky was slowly succumbing to twilight, though the shadows of the hills and bamboo meant it was already too dark to travel. A fire and magic lights cast by Seeker and Ithella illuminated the clearing well enough, though, and her three companions set about building their campsite as Lanri stirred the pot of simmering stew.

“Dear, I promise you would not have,” Seeker said. Lanri fondly watched her struggle with the tent she’d bought, finding it bizarrely entertaining that Seeker was only now learning the reasoning behind the advice to practice setting up camp close to home. “It was abandoned. There was nothing for you, there.”

“Her Grace speaks the truth,” Ithella assured her. She was laying out two sleeping bags underneath the carriage, apparently not trusting the weather not to turn during the night. “The house had already succumbed to neglect from what I could see. And loitering when you are technically fugitives seemed profoundly unwise. That insufferable elven officer was guarding it when we rode out.”

“You could see it?” Lanri asked. She knew the road they’d taken, and she knew they never got quite to within sight of the farm, or the rest of Bodrin.

“Oh, of course,” said Ithella as she crawled out from underneath the carriage, and joined Lanri by the fire. “Mara can attest to how keen my senses are.”

The young human woman looked up from where she was feeding the horses, and visibly blushed. “Ithella, that–”

“Femme d’Arme, we’re on a six week voyage with a Heartwarden. You had best not weigh us down with prudishness and a misplaced sense of modesty.”

Lanri smiled, and brought the ladle she was using to stir the stew to her nose to sniff it. It smelled fine enough for something she’d decided to make out of the ingredients she thought were closest to going bad, though it was a far cry from the stewed hare she’d shared with Seeker. Leeks, potatoes, rice, and beans. “I don’t suppose those keen senses of yours are aware of a chicken or two roaming around out there.”

Ïthella squinted at her from across the steaming pot. “You want me to go hunting?”

“Not necessarily,” interjected Seeker, innocently. “We could always sprinkle the weevils infesting the hardtack into the pot if we want something fresh.”

“I take your point,” conceded Ithella, who got to her feet with that effortless grace no pureblooded human seemed to be able to ever master, and took her bow from Maréchale. “I will see what I can find.”

Lanri watched Mara consider it for a moment, then follow.

“Did you just send them away to hunt for chicken?” Asked Lanri. “You know I didn’t mean that, right?”

“I do,” said Seeker as she abandoned her efforts to pitch the tent for a moment, joined Lanri by the fire, and wrapped her arms around her from behind. “But you’ve had those chickens on your mind ever since we got here. And I wanted to have some time alone with you.”

Lanri giggled, and leaned into the embrace with a contented sigh. “If you wanted to be alone, why did you let them come?”

“Oh, they’re not so bad,” purred Seeker. “Ithella’s competent, pleasant, and discreet. If my mandate calls me away to go pull one of Ishara’s irons out of the fire again, there’s nobody I’d rather have to watch over you.”

“Is that going to happen a lot?”

“It’ll probably happen two or three times before we get to Amourot, yes,” Seeker easily answered. “However, I’ve decided we’re not going to worry about that tonight, Dear.”

Lanri snickered. “You’ve decided we’re not going to worry? How do you plan to enforce that?”

“I have my methods, little mortal of mine,” Seeker assured her. “General merriment has been known to alleviate worry, though.”

“Is my guardian angel mandating merriment?”

Seeker reached into nowhere with both hands, and quickly produced two bottles. One was half full of the dark blue currant brandy Sheep had given her, while the other had a label identifying it as mundane rice wine, sweetened with sugar and cherries. “Why, yes I am. We’re not worrying about anything at all until the sun comes up.”

“Well… it would be rude of me to disrupt your plans, wouldn’t it?” Lanri asked as Seeker made a show of opening the bottle of rice wine with one hand, then offered it to her.

“Oh, it would be a terrible insult, Dear,” Seeker told her. Lanri watched the bottle of dark blue brandy disappear from view, and could imagine Seeker taking several big gulps from the bottle of poison. She followed her Heartwarden’s lead, swallowing a big mouthful of the harsh but faintly sweet liquid. Behind her, she could hear Seeker snicker.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Oh, it just occurred to me that I probably should have finished setting up the tent before I opened the bottles.”

Lanri looked at the pile of canvas and bamboo, then giggled. “Oh, yeah. That might have been wise. We could always just make Ithella do it.” Lanri scampered out of Seeker’s lap, and knelt by the fire, looking back at the Heartwarden. She shifted her voice down a little, and imagined what it must be like to have to impress Daray with her every word. With a salute, she said “as you wish, Your Grace! My Femme d’Arme and I will erect your tent promptly! Would you like a trinket I looted from a corpse, Your Grace?”

Seeker giggled. “Don’t you dare start calling me that!”

Lanri grinned, and took another sip of her wine. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Seeker followed her lead, likewise raising her bottle to her mouth before she crawled closer to Lanri. “If you think two drinks of poison will let you get away with disobeying me, Dear, you are sorely mistaken.”

“I thought it was an honorific.”

“It is,” Seeker conceded, as she took Lanri by the collar of her tunic, and pulled her a little closer. “But you’re not a priestess, Dear. You’re not Ishara’s, sworn to follow her rules about what to call angels. You’re mine, and you’ll do as I say, won’t you?”

Lanri nodded. In the back of her mind, she recalled Seeker mentioning that she’d thought of that as a temporary arrangement, that the Heartwarden would only tell her what to do as long as it was necessary to keep her safe. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?" She asked, softly.

Seeker smiled, and shook her head. “Not until I’ve restored your foot, and even then, only if you want me to. And I won’t ever allow you to be unhappy enough to want that.”

“A candied life?”

Seeker’s smile grew. “Exactly.” She kept crawling forward, prowling like a magnificent predator, delightfully intimidating, forcing Lanri to lean back more and more until she was flat on her back, looking up at Seeker’s face illuminated by the pink and golden flames of magical fire. “After all, what’s the point of a pet if you don’t spoil her, and make her love you?”

Lanri could feel the heat between her legs and the tightness in her chest sparkle to life. That wonderful mix of awe and love Seeker could so easily inspire. “P–pet? I thought you didn’t like that term.”

Seeker leaned down, and pressed her lips to Lanri’s. They tasted how the brandy smelled. “I didn’t. But… a thousand years, and nobody has ever captivated me like you do. Those adoring eyes, that curious mind, that delightful body. Lady Ishara herself couldn’t have made someone better for me. You can call yourself whatever you like, but at the end of the day, you still eat what I give you, wear the clothes I choose, and sleep when and where I tell you.”

Lanri giggled. There was something so primally appealing about being dictated to. It was as if every time Seeker talked to her like this, it scratched an itch she hadn’t known was there. “I love you,” she mumbled breathily, and Seeker giggled.

“I know you do, Dear,” Seeker said, stroking her cheek.

She really did. She loved Seeker, utterly adored her, even. And yet, she said such awful things to her sometimes. “And… I’m sorry about what I said earlier, b–before the battle.”

Seeker frowned, and shook her head. Lanri immediately regretted bringing it up. “I told you we weren’t going to worry about anything until sunrise. Ne vous inquiétez pas pour ça.”

The spell hit Lanri in an instant, washing away the sense of guilt and inadequacy she’d carried with her since she came back to her senses that morning. Seeker was above holding grudges, she realized. She was just wasting energy by apologizing for things that weren’t even her fault. “That’s a pretty neat spell,” Lanri admitted with a contented sigh.

Seeker’s frown melted into a grin, and she tapped Lanri on the forehead with a single finger. “I do so adore that mind of yours, but it can be a troubled, tumultuous beast at times. So much time spent worrying. No more of that.”

Lanri gave Seeker a confused smile. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seeker said with a dismissive shrug and mischievous giggle, as she moved to sit upright by the fire, and quickly pulled Lanri into her lap again. “A candied life isn’t one of stress and uncertainty, Dear. I’ll take care of everything for you, now that we’re safe now, away from Gorance, and Cerene.”

Lanri took those words for the gospel they were, and leaned forward to stir the stew pot again. The buzz of Seeker’s magic, the heat between her legs, and the fire in her belly from the rice wine all came together to leave her feeling wonderful.

She watched the fire underneath the pot for a while, the same pink and gold flames that Seeker had enchanted her wand with. They were delightfully hot and bright like the white flames of Faron’s magic, but inexplicably familiar to her. She felt a sense of ownership towards them she could not explain.

From behind her, Seeker’s hand appeared into view, holding a single copper coin. “Take it,” she softly urged, and Lanri did so.

“A copper for my thoughts?” Lanri asked, looking it over as Seeker giggled. It had the seal of some past minister of the treasury stamped on it, and the relief was turning a sickly green from oxidation.

“Tell me about those flames, Dear,” Seeker urged. “You dreamt about them a lot while you were healing.”

“I did?” Lanri couldn’t remember that.

“You did.” Seeker offered her the bottle of rice wine again, and Lanri took a big sip. “That pink and gold fire. What does it mean to you?”

“Passion,” whispered Lanri, watching the flame crackle and pop like it was burning wet wood. “It’s love, and fear, and hate, all at once. It’s pain, and pleasure. It’s what I thought I’d lost when Faron died.”

“You didn’t lose it?”

Lanri nodded. Then she shook her head. “I did. But you and Ishara gave it back to me. Now… Now I’ll never lose it again.”

In the distance, thunder cracked, and the hills kept the echo bouncing around for what felt like an eternity. Lanri looked up, and could see clouds starting to peek over the hills. In the twilight sun, they were a vibrant mix of pinks and orange, a huge contrast against the almost black landscape below.

“I know I said we weren’t going to worry, but we should finish setting up that tent, first,” Seeker whispered. She lifted Lanri out of her lap like she weighed nothing, then got to her feet and approached the sad heap of canvas, poles, and ropes.

For a few moments, Lanri simply watched with a smile plastered on her face, as the Heartwarden started to make sense of the slight shelter. You’re so… good at stuff. Seeker shot her a smile, but kept working, lashing the poles together into a structure that, if Lanri squinted and begged the gods for insight, might just barely have the potential to eventually resemble a tent.

She didn’t quite understand why Seeker was doing it, though. The liquor left a pleasant haze draped across her thoughts, and she knew those clouds were nothing to worry about. She briefly wondered if that was the spell Seeker had cast on her guiding her thoughts, but she dismissed it. By Ishara, their leading edge was even the same colors as the fire. Those colors were good, so the clouds had to be, too.

She crawled closer to Seeker, a grin on her face. She was being silly. Mara and Ithella were still gone hunting chickens, and she and Seeker could be having so much more fun than wrestling with a tent. She picked up one of the poles Seeker hadn’t used yet, and stabbed it into the ground to help her get to her feet about a meter behind Seeker.

“Dear, you should really–”

Then, with a giggle, Lanri threw herself at Seeker. She wrapped her arms around the Heartwarden, as much for the sake of intimacy as to keep herself from falling face first onto the harsh ground. “You’re still worrying!” Lanri laughed as Seeker turned and caught her. She couldn’t help but notice that Seeker looked as if the brandy had already worn off. “If it rains, we’ll get into the wagon, or we’ll get wet, and that’s fine!”

Seeker gave her a sigh that sounded happy enough, if a little exhausted. “You’re a lot sometimes, you know that?”

Lanri pressed a finger to Seeker’s lips. “Rice wine and magic are a lot to subject one meek little mortal to, Your Grace,”

Seeker giggled. “Oh, you’re back to that, are you?” Lanri nodded. “I won’t even want you to call me that once you’ve made your vows.”

Vows? Lanri considered that for a moment. She wrestled with that haze of spell and drink much like Seeker had been wrestling with the tent, then concluded “you won’t let me become a priestess.”

Seeker quirked an eyebrow, and leaned forward to kiss Lanri. “Not a priestess’ oath to Ishara, Dear. Vows. To me.”

“V–vows… to you?” Did she mean vows of servitude? Vows of loyalty? Wedding vows?

Seeker nodded, and Lanri stared at her. Behind her, those gold and pink clouds kept moving, rushing towards the sunset, and revealing the dark clouds hiding behind them. “If you want to. You’ve already promised so much to me over the last few weeks, Lanri. Love and obedience. They’re tiny words, but they mean so much. And I know you meant them, just like I meant it when I promised you my love and loyalty.”

“So what would I… m–make vows about?”

“Be warned, good angels and mortal peoples!” Came Mara’s voice from the distance. “For we come bearing chickens!”

Seeker fondly smiled in the direction the voice came from, then returned her attention to Lanri. “Whatever you think needs to be said between the two of us, Dear.”