CHAPTER 4

“Reveillez,” marked Lanri’s return to reality. A single word that roused her far more abruptly than a person could ever awaken on her own. She felt rested, but wildly disoriented. She was not where she had been a moment ago, she knew. There was a ceiling above her, for one; her own ceiling, in fact. Not that of her pantry though; she remembered dreaming about her pantry, but that was not where she was.

“Good morning, my dear mortal,” Seeker said, from the other side of the room. Lanri craned her head up to look at her. The angel was leaning against the door frame leading from the bedroom to her office. She’d taken off most of the elaborate angelic armor, favoring a far more civilian look, with only a bangle in the same gold color she’d been wearing yesterday – earlier that day? – remaining.

“Do I even want to know how I got back here?” Lanri asked as she sat upright on her bed. “Or how long you’ve watched me sleep?”

“For the first question: No. You really don’t. For the second: Three hours, give or take,” Seeker responded. “I left you for a while, though. I forgot your boots and books back at the camp, and I had to seek out guidance on what to do with you.”

Lanri slid out of the bed, stepping into her slippers, and it quickly dawned on her that she’d left them by the door the last time she was here. She glanced at Seeker, who gave her a little bow. “Thank you,” she told her.

“Well, who doesn’t like slippers, right?”

“For saving me, Seeker,” she replied.

“You’re very welcome, Lanri,” Seeker answered. “Now, come along, please. I did say we have things to talk about.”

“Like what?” Lanri asked as she followed Seeker into her office. Her office, or this one, at least, was a mess. The one in the lecture hall was kept clean, of course. But nobody besides herself ever came into her home anymore.

“Uncomfortable things, my dear,” Seeker said as she took a seat on the mostly book-riddled sofa, and gestured to Lanri to join her. As soon as she sat down, the angel began. “You were in a lot of trouble,” she said, flatly. “Do you know just how rare divine intervention like that actually is, Lanri?”

Lanri shook her head. “Very?” She asked.

“Very,” Seeker confirmed. “Luckily for you, you were in a very rare kind of trouble. Tell me about the dress, and how you found it.”

“I…” Lanri stammered, and blushed. “You don’t know what it is?” She asked.

“Of course I do. But I need to know what you know about it.”

“But why?” Lanri asked. It was embarrassing. She didn’t want to get into the details of how it made her feel, especially not if this… She looked for the right word. Angel wasn’t wrong, of course. But it wasn’t specific enough. This one served Ishara. And they were called… “Heartwarden!” She told Seeker, who seemed to be getting ready to speak. “That’s what you are! You’re a Heartwarden!”

Seeker raised an eyebrow at that. “You say that like it’s new information to you.” Lanri cocked her head at that remark. Was everyone supposed to know what every kind of divine agent was called? “Tell me,” Seeker began again, “what do you know about Heartwardens?”

“I… I know…” She began, but trailed off. What did she know about Heartwardens? Gods, this would be so much easier if she had the dress to show her. “Heartwardens… protect… me?“ She guessed. “And you’re powerful.”

Seeker remained silent at that, seemingly lost in thought, and Lanri shifted uncomfortably. She was thirsty, she realized. For a few moments she stayed put, waiting for Seeker to say something. “Go get a drink, Lanri.” Seeker said, then added, “Before you ask; Yes I can, but I try not to.”

Lanri stared at the Heartwarden for a while. “Reading people’s thoughts is rude, you know,” she said as her wits caught up with Seeker, then got up, and made for her pantry. She didn’t have much, she knew. In her dream, it had been well stocked, but reality wasn’t as bountiful. Maybe some bottles of small beer or wine. She’d made sure to bring anything that would have spoiled in her absence with her on the trip. She opened the door leading into the small room, and fished out the first bottle she could find.

Curious to see what she’d found, she stepped away from the dark pantry, into the light of her kitchen. Veldirin’s Easy Ale. She smiled at the bottle. Faron hated the stuff, but would make sure to buy it for her whenever he saw it. He always tho–

She felt a tingle up her spine as a twisted sound came from her office. She ran in, worried Seeker had broken something, but saw absolutely nothing amiss.

Nothing, save for Seeker being gone. Had she just been whisked away by Ishara, off to do some other manner of divine deed?

“Thanks anyways,” Lanri whispered as she uncorked the bottle, and took to the chair behind her desk. She didn’t have any right to complain, she knew. She’d been saved from some of the worst horrors she could imagine by a literal angel.

Leaving unannounced was inconsiderate, but obviously, she’d be indebted to Seeker and Ishara forever. She took a deep swig, tasting the fruit-sweetened ale that was only barely alcoholic, and smiled as she noticed all of the notebooks she’d had with her in the coach in a neat stack, with her copy of Ytrandiir the Pure on top. She moved the novel to the side, and opened the first notebook.

I really am good at my job, she thought to herself as she spent several minutes reading her notes. Her description of the shrine, of the statue, they’d all be useful. She’d write a paper about them, and ask the university to pay the Ravenswood girl a few dragons for the information. She wasn’t quite sure if she would mention the dress to anyone, though. She didn’t have it anymore, and nobody would buy the an angel saved me from rape and took my find from me story.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she realized something. How in all the hells would she explain coming back several days early? Let alone without the coach and mercenaries.

She got out of her chair, and walked towards the window looking down into the university’s campus. The sun had barely risen yet, and students and faculty ran around between dorms and dining halls. She could just stay inside for now, she knew. She had hardtack and apples in the pantry, and enough to drink that she wouldn’t have to brave the outside to get water from the building’s faucets for several days. Once she ran out, though?

The same twisted sound, again, accompanied by a slight rush of wind. She turned around, and saw Seeker back on her sofa, smiling at her. “I agree. It is rude. As is disappearing in the middle of a conversation, my apologies; I had to look something up. Sit back down, please.”

Lanri stared at the Heartwarden. She’d completely lost the train of thought central to their conversation. “Rude?” She asked as she sat down in her office chair. “Oh. The reading thoughts thing.”

“You’re an interesting little creature, Lanri. And I have some theories,” Seeker said. “Comprenez vous les mots que je vous dis?" She asked in the increasingly familiar tones of the divine language.

She did. She understood what she said perfectly. She nodded as she said “Yes, I do.” That had struck her as odd before. On the way out of the shrine, she’d understood the writings, too.

“Can you explain why?”

She… She couldn’t. She assumed it was the dress, but how that worked was beyond her. She’d already had a very basic sense for it from her studies and field work, but she’d had no real reason to actually learn it. She shook her head, and said “no.”

“Well. You’re right to assume it was the dress. Tell me what you did with it while you had it.”

Embarrassment flooded her again. The dress was a personal thing to her, and she didn’t really want to justify what she’d done with it. Sadness mixed with her shame as she realized how badly she wanted it back, and she did her best to stamp all thought of the topic down.

“Lanri,” Seeker said. Lanri looked up at her, and saw an understanding smile on her face. She was remarkably pretty. “I need you to tell me, or at least think it. I warned you these would be uncomfortable questions.”

“You clearly already know,” Lanri said. “You know more than I ever will. About everything.” She was annoyed. Jealous, too. She didn’t want to humor this angel’s curiosity by telling her she’d– She deliberately cut the thought off. It wasn’t easy to recall, anyways.

“No, I don’t. I know more than you, yes, but I’m older than some of the ancient empires you study, so it’s hardly a fair comparison. But I am not all-knowing. I don’t know exactly what you did with the dress, and for your sake, I need to know.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it.” Lanri said. She just didn’t. She had enough sense to know better than to ever expect to get her dress back, and that offended some primal part of her. And… She knew she shouldn’t be rude to the Heartwarden, but she also knew no amount of being rude would ever motivate Seeker to harm her.

“I can make you want to talk about it, my dear. You know that,” Seeker said. “You know more about me than you’re supposed to, which is why I’m hoping you’ll see the truth in my claiming this is for your sake.”

I still don’t want to talk about it, Lanri thought to herself. She was nothing if not stubborn, she knew.

“Very well,” Seeker said with a sigh. “Cassez.”

“Hey, what did you break!?” Lanri demanded. She understood the word, and she felt it. She looked around the room, waiting to see something precious to her turn to rust and dust. But she didn’t see anything like that.

“You’ll see,” Seeker said with a mischievous smile. “Don’t be scared. You’ll probably enjoy it.”

As she spoke, Lanri felt her hair begin to come loose from the bun it was in. Greasy locks dropped onto her shoulders. She grabbed one, and saw the remains of an ornate golden brooch she didn’t recognize quickly turn to corroded powder. She looked back up at Seeker in confusion, and smelled… She giggled at the Heartwarden. The same overwhelmingly pleasant, familiar scent of the dress radiated from her. She remembered sitting against the coach wheel, watching Seeker save her in adoring awe, and, aside from the effects of the dazeweed, she felt exactly the same way she did then. The same sense of absolute infatuation flooded over her.

“You’re a hero…” She whispered as she got up, and walked towards Seeker. Seeker, whose hair glistened and shone in the light of the rising sun. She carefully sat down on the sofa, next to the Heartwarden. She wanted to behave; to not make a fool of herself. But…

Gods, she loved this smell. “You…” She purred at Seeker. “You’re… I haven’t thanked you properly,” she said, and the truth of it made her miserable. This agent of Ishara had saved her from something evil, and she’d become a stubborn contrarian as soon as she stopped enjoying the questions.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, now?” Seeker asked. She looked so powerful. She was so, so powerful.

“I… Is that what you want me to do?” Lanri asked. She leaned against seeker, and quickly noticed the angel’s hair smelled most strongly of the dress, and of Faron. She grinned as she nuzzled into Seeker’s red curls. “You smell just like him,” she whispered.

“I think I’m already beginning to get an idea of what you might have used it for,” she heard Seeker say. “Now, will you tell me about it in detail?”

She should. She would. It was Seeker’s will that she tell her, and by extent that made it Ishara’s will, too, and everything was easier when a god commanded it. “I smelled it. A lot,” she moaned as she took a deep breath. “It reminded me of the truth every time I did.” Seeker gently pushed her away at that. She groaned in frustration at the Heartwarden’s strength. Frustration and desire.

“And what’s that truth, Lanri?” Seeker asked.

“Mortals have a calling to feel good, and to make others feel good.” Lanri said with certainty. She was quite proud of herself for knowing this truth. “Faron wouldn’t want me to be a lonely spinster of a widow. I… I should… I don’t know. I could…” She trailed off. She wanted to make Seeker feel good, too. Seeker had saved her, and she could teach her so, so much. She grinned at the Heartwarden as she imagined how much she could learn about Ishara’s will, and the world in general, just by being around her for a while. If a dress could teach her the divine language, what could an angel?

“You really are entirely tangled up, aren’t you, my dear?” Seeker whispered. She raised an eyebrow. “Such fantasies. Such ambition. Doesn’t a part of you want to go back to before you found the dress? To be a normal mortal woman, untainted by divine influence? To not have… truths about mortals bouncing around in your head?”

Lanri couldn’t even imagine it correctly. She tried to visualize herself going back to teaching her students, occasionally exploring some novel ruins, and it seemed hollow. Like it was missing something. When she pictured her normal sense of the world, it felt like picking up a book she’d read before and loved, but that had been translated back and forth, with the nuance destroyed, and the prose reduced to bland and colorless descriptions of once riveting accounts.

“Divine influence is good,” she told Seeker. “It is… certainty. Divine influence saved me from Mick and Tallah’s attack.”

“You don’t think it might have caused part of it?” Seeker asked. She confidently shook her head for no. It was absurd to imagine Ishara could have had anything to do with something so evil as murder and rape. No. The gods were good. Ishara was good. She knew that.

Lanri could see the angel making plans, once more lost in thought. She made a plan of her own. She wanted to make Seeker feel good. She wanted to thank her properly for saving her. Perhaps most importantly, she just wanted to smell and taste her. She crawled slightly closer, grinning at the very idea. Ishara approved of this, she was sure of it. Why else would this beautiful agent still be in her apartment? She imagined how much fun they could both have. If just making herself feel good felt so right, surely making Seeker feel the same way would be even better.

She undid the top laces of her jacket as she stalked. She knew just what she would do; she’d kiss her lip at first, then work her way down. When she was inches away, Seeker turned to look at her. That smug, amazing, raised eyebrow. She can read my mind. She’d stop me if she–”

“Adoucez,” the Heartwarden whispered, and Lanri had just the slightest moment to feel the power of it before her every muscle turned to jelly, and she collapsed onto Seeker’s lap. Her head twisted awkwardly, and her face was pressed firmly into the inside of the angel’s elbow.

She tried to move. To get back up. But her muscles just couldn’t support her anymore. She could contract them, but there wasn’t any strength left to them. “You’re in no state to decide you want to do that, my dear.” Seeker purred. “I know I put you there. But that was to get answers, not your body. Apparaisez.”

At the last word, Lanri’s hairs stood up again. She tried to ask what she was doing, or to just turn and look, but found she just couldn’t. She couldn’t talk, or move, or resist, or cooperate. That didn’t really bother her, of course; if Seeker did something to her, that was Ishara’s will. But she was desperately curious. She felt soft hands adjust her head to face down, and pull her hair back together. She sighed, happily. Was that all she was going to do? Tie her hair?

“Now, in a second, you’ll stop feeling the truth of it all. You’ll probably be embarrassed to be in my lap, and want to get up, or even run from the room. I promise I will let you. But first, I need to put this back in.”

Lanri felt her hair get pulled tightly. Seeker tied it into a bun, and put something through it. She felt the soothing and familiar smells fade, and they were immediately replaced with uncertainty, fear, and embarrassment, like Seeker had promised. She gasped as the angel kept working on her hair for a second, and whispered “durcissez.” It had that same fizz to it so many of the words she spoke in the divine language had, and it returned her body to her. Her muscles had strength again.

She scrambled off Seeker, onto the book-covered, carpeted floor of the office. With wide eyes, she looked up at the half entertained, half concerned looking divine agent, hoping for answers. “W–what the fuck!?” She demanded, and reached up to feel around in her hair.

“You should leave that.” Seeker told her. “It’s what’s protecting you.”

“F–from what!?” Lanri asked, and tightened her fist on the brooch, ready to pull it out.

“Laissez ça,” Seeker bade her, and she changed her mind. Or rather, she had her mind changed. She could vaguely feel it happening, and it wasn’t at all uncomfortable; she just didn’t agree with her decision to pull on it anymore. As her hands fell away from the brooch, she still distantly thought she could probably take it out. Though when she considered it, she found she didn’t want to do it quite yet. “From the effects my Lady’s artifact and myself have on you, my dear mortal. They were overwhelming you.”

“Right,” Lanri conceded. “I… I guess I do feel the difference. But… why did you…”

“Like I said. You were in no state to decide whether you wanted to do that.”

“But–” Lanri stammered.

“No buts, my dear. You went through hell just hours ago. Even if my unfiltered presence didn’t… overwhelm you like that, I’d still feel like I were taking advantage. Please, don’t feel slighted. I am beyond flattered that you want to do that with me, I really am. But I’d be a terrible Heartwarden if I didn’t make you slow down. Sit, please.”

Lanri got up, and sat back down on the sofa, next to Seeker. Even with a clearer head, she still found the woman remarkably pretty.

“Tell me, Lanri,” Seeker began. “What did you feel, just now?”

“Trust.” Lanri said. She didn’t really want to answer questions about how divine magic really affected her, but looking at Seeker, and feeling the supreme trust the woman inspired, she supposed she should. “Trust, and passion, too. A strong, strong urge to do what I felt I was supposed to, and please another.”

“Passion for who?” Seeker asked. “You mentioned I smell just like him.” She shifted her voice to mimic Lanri’s as she spoke. It was unsettling just how good of an imitation it was. “What did you mean by that?”

“I’m… not sure,” Lanri admitted. “I guess you did smell like Faron. At least a little. But you also smelled like how I felt two days ago, in the Shrine. And… I think you smell like her, too. Like purpose, and love. I really like it.”

“I know you do,” Seeker said, giving her that beautiful smug grin again. “That’s why Ishara gives us that power. It helps mortals be at ease around us, and let loose. Some of my equals are a little… liberal in how they use it, but those in their wake never speak ill of them, so–”

“I won’t speak ill of you!” Lanri interrupted. “I… You saved me, Seeker. I don’t… I don’t think I would have escaped from that situation. I really do want to thank you properly.” Her thoughts trailed off slightly, and she imagined what that might entail. With the enchanted brooch in her hair, her thoughts didn’t jump to sexual favors right away, but they were certainly still part of it.

She imagined herself by Seeker’s side, helping her in her Heartwarden-ing. Offering a mortal’s perspective on mortals’ affairs. Cooing comforting words to the next person they saved together, and assuring them that the gods hadn’t left them to their fate.

She imagined Seeker and herself as friends. She pictured decades going by between encounters, reuniting occasionally, and telling each other of their existences over a hot meal. Naughtily fantasizing about what it might be like to switch places.

She imagined overcoming divine power to rip the brooch out of her hair and pounce on Seeker, to reward her with the affection, intimacy, and reverence she’d earned in the process of stopping others from forcing those things on her. All the gods, she might wind up doing that regardless of the brooch. It certainly still appealed to her.

She imagined Seeker interrupting her reverie with an idea of her own, which would immediately be the obvious right answer, because it would come from divine authority. She had no real idea what that would be. Something truly alien to her, she hoped. Something she could learn from, and that would enrich her life.

“I could eat your soul,” Seeker suggested. “It’s what a demon would demand as payment.” Lanri blinked at that. For a second her thoughts raced, until Seeker added, “all the gods, my dear. That was a joke. I can read your thoughts, remember?”

“That’s not funny,” Lanri said, and she meant it. It wasn’t funny.

“No, I suppose not. I apologize. What I’d actually like is for you to show me where you found the dress. You mentioned a shrine. If you can take me there, and help me find out how it came to be there, I will consider that my reward for saving you.”

Lanri felt inexplicably disappointed at that. She would happily do it, of course, but… she’d hoped to be more useful to Ishara and her agent than a map. She wanted to show Seeker she understood, really understood, what a mortal’s place was. What she’d learned from the dress was a little distant, and muffled, but it was still true. She still knew what she should do, and she genuinely wanted to. She wanted to be responsible for joy in herself and others, and she wanted to start with Seeker.

“So?” Seeker asked. “Will you help me complete my investigation, please?”

“Of course I will!” Lanri declared. “I just… I didn’t expect you to ask that. You’re… You’re an angel. You serve a goddess; you wield her power. That I can help you with, well, anything, is an honor.”

“I’m glad you see it that way, my dear.” Seeker said. “Fetch that notebook of yours, and we’ll set off.”

Lanri did as she was told. She got up off the sofa, and made for her desk, collecting her notes on the shrine, as well as the map the Ravenswood girl had provided. She stuffed all of them in a bag, and wondered how useful she could really be to someone like Seeker. “Really?” She asked at random, as her thoughts pulled her back to earlier in the conversation. “Older than the ancients?”

“Some of them, yes. Though not most of them. I’m not quite a primordial being, if that’s what you’re imagining.”

“So, how old are you?” Lanri asked. Seeker looked younger than her, if anything. A human that looked like that couldn’t be more than twenty-five.

“Nine hundred and thirty-three years.”

The sheer size of the number struck Lanri. “That’s… old,” she said. “I’m just twenty-eight.”

“You would say that. You mortals are quite fleeting creatures,” Seeker said. Lanri frowned at that, slightly; no human enjoyed being reminded they’ll die someday. Seeker seemed to notice the expression, and she got up from the sofa. She made for Lanri, and put a finger under her chin, tilting her head back so her eyes had little choice but to meet Seeker’s. “Don’t take it as a bad thing, my dear. It’s a charming trait in the minds of most of the more permanent beings of the world. You are all simply impossible to get bored of. So bright a spark can’t help but be captivating while it lasts. Especially one such as yourself. Because even in the magnificent display of fireworks that is mortality, you’ve managed to grab my and Ishara’s attention. That, my dear Lanri, is a remarkable feat.”

Lanri smiled at that. It was a sad smile, but still. It was flattering to think the gods and their angels thought mortals were charming. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re quite welcome,” Seeker said. “Now, then. Shall we be off? I just need one thing from you before we go.”

“You do?” Lanri asked. She cocked her head at the Heartwarden. What could she possibly need from her?

“I need a memory,” she clarified, as she walked around to behind Lanri. “Eyes forward, dear.” Seeker intoned. “I need to borrow a memory of where we’re going. I took one after you went to sleep earlier, but it’s much easier when you’re still awake to cooperate.”

“You took a memory?” Lanri asked. She pictured a library of books that was her mind, and the image of Seeker simply taking one for herself. The image confused her. Was that possible? Can she just take my memories?

“I did, yes,” Seeker answered. “After you heard my spell, I simply paid attention to your mind for a few minutes, until I found one that would let me take you home. That’s easy, really. Mortals constantly think and dream of home. There’s thousands upon thousands of memories in your mind of your pantry alone; I even put it back before waking you up.”

“I… I suppose I believe you.” Lanri said. She started to turn to face seeker again, but a gentle push from the Heartwarden kept her in place.

“However. Anywhere else is much harder. You might go months of sleep without something appropriate to my needs finding its way to the forefront. Close your eyes for me.” Lanri did so without hesitation. “I want you to picture where you found the dress for me. Remember what it was like. Imagine the plants, and the weather. The sun in the sky, and the horizon.”

Lanri pictured herself in the clearing, looking back at Tallah, making sure she was seen leaving their camp-to-be for the night. The sun was low in the sky.

“Good…” Seeker purred. “Keep going.”

Opposite the sun, Lanri pictured the Valtan mountains painted bright yellow by its rays. She remembered the crisp scent of the trees around her, the crunch of the snow, and the sporadic placement of boulders. “I have a map of this place,” Lanri whispered.

“I know, Lanri. But that way would take us days. You’re doing great.”

Lanri felt Seeker put a single finger on the side of her head. It was hot against her skin as she pictured the vertigo of the steep trail, the crackle of pebbles rolling downhill, and the feeling of slick mud under her feet.

“Perfect,” Seeker whispered. “Almost.”

She remembered the way the road into the Valtans stretched away below her. She saw it curl and switch back on itself time and time again as it snaked its way up the foothills from Nïewe-Caester all the way to– “Oubliez ça.” The finger against the side of her head grew painfully cold, and she flinched away. She took several steps, and disorientation overwhelmed her. She was…she turned around, and saw Seeker standing where she’d just been, patiently smiling at her. Right, she’d been talking to Seeker. They… Gods, what had they been talking about? Mortality?

“Outstanding work, my dear,” Seeker told her. “That will give me exactly what I need. I will return it when we get there, not to fret.”

“Return it? Return what?” Lanri asked. She rubbed her temple. It stung, for some reason, like she’d been burned.

“The memory you just lent me.”

“I… I lent you a memory? H–how? When?” Lanri was stunned. Seeker had just been telling her about mortal life spans being charming.

“That’s for me to know, and for you not to worry about.”

“But…”

“Please leave it be, Lanri,” Seeker told her, as she took a step closer. “You’ll have that memory back by the time you wake up, I promise. It’s not worth worrying about.”

“Wake up?”

“Good night, my dear. I’ll be sure to grab your boots. Dormez.”

“Whath…” Lanri slurred as her eyes unfocused. Dormez. The word swam in her mind. She knew what it meant, and what it was doing. She glared at Seeker in sheer indignation as darkness crept into her vision. “Buth you juth woghe me upf…” She mumbled as she slumped forward, very faintly aware of strong arms catching her.