CHAPTER 41

Lanri laid curled up in Seeker’s bed without care or thought, warm and safe, dreaming that familiar dream about a place she’d now finally seen. About this beautiful palace with pillars of marble, and trims of gold and copper. She dreamt about Seeker leading her by the hand as they ran down the halls and paths of this amazing place, laughing the entire way to their shared bedroom.

She fell down onto the bed with a smile on her face, eyes closed and bouncing a little on the springy mattress while Seeker crawled in by her side. She felt her soft, strong hands caress and pet her, running along her arm and side, rubbing her back and neck, stroking her thighs and stoking a fire between them.

Lanri let out an eager moan, and leaned into the touch by rolling onto her side. “You’re eager,” she whispered, happily.

“You’re hard to resist,” retorted a voice that was familiar to Lanri, but was absolutely not Seeker’s. She opened her eyes with a lethargic curiosity, and was surprised to find that the eyes that looked back at her faintly glowed the rosy pink and gold she’d grown so familiar with since meeting Seeker.

“Ishara,” Lanri whispered. There was no mistaking her, with that dark skin, curly hair, and alluring, inviting smile.

The goddess trailed a finger up along Lanri’s side, then down her belly and to between her legs. “To think she tried to hide such a pious mortal from me.” Lanri squirmed under Ishara’s touch.

“H–hide?" She managed.

Ishara nodded. “It’s such a waste of time. You could have been here all along, right where you were always meant to be.”

Lanri tried to parse that, but the finger between her legs made it all but impossible to think straight. “I… belong… with her.”

Almost immediately, the finger stopped exploring her. Lanri let out a frustrated whine as the hand it was a part of trailed up and up, caressing her waist and breasts as it passed them, leaving a trail of her own evaporating essence to chill the skin. “Is that so?” She asked.

Lanri nodded. “She saved me. I’m her favorite.”

“But is she your favorite, Lanri?” Ishara asked. “I know my Seeker. I know how rigid, and–”

“Seeker’s mine,” Lanri whispered, cutting the goddess off. “And I’m hers. Forever. She’s strict, but… perfect.”

Ishara stayed with her just a second longer after that, thinking about it for a few moments before she smirked. She crawled out of the bed, and Lanri tried to watch as she left, but everything was so impossibly heavy, and… She slipped her eyes shut instead.

________________

“Wake up,” came Seeker’s voice, speaking in the clipped divine language. The spell took a hold of Lanri’s mind, banishing the lingering wisps of sleep that clung to her like the tentacles of some awfully comfortable monster.

The spell needed only a few seconds to do its work, and soon Lanri found herself staring at Seeker, still where she’d been when she put Lanri to sleep. “Good morning,” she said. She had the distinct sense that she’d been asleep for a lot longer than usual. “What time is it?”

Seeker considered that for a moment, as she, already dressed, rose from the bed and handed Lanri a set of clothes to put on. “Morning… -ish,” she said hesitantly.

Lanri took the clothes, and looked at them as she deciphered what counted as morning-ish. It was a simple outfit that Lanri had never seen, with snug leggings and a flattering tunic. “How long was I asleep for, then?”

“That I can answer,” Seeker said as Lanri started to get dressed. “Fifteen hours.”

Lanri’s jaw dropped a little. “Fifteen hours?!” She asked.

Seeker gave her a confused look. “That’s hardly the longest I’ve kept you asleep, Dear.”

“B–but, we’re in the Ishara’s domain,” Lanri began. “Your home! I want to look around and see everything, not just sleep through our time here.”

Seeker’s confused look melted into a smile. “Oh, don’t worry about that. After breakfast, we’ll have plenty of time to see the sights.”

Lanri rushed through getting dressed, wrestling a little to get the leggings to fit over her prosthetic without tearing them. She felt like she was ideally equipped for how hot this place was, with thin, white fabric to protect her from the light. She’d just finished putting her holster on over her tunic, and was ready to leave the room, when she saw Seeker reach into nowhere, and felt a tug around her waist as the belt and holster appeared in her hand.

“Hey, give that back!” Lanri said, playfully petulant.

Seeker snorted, and put the weapon down on one of her desks. “I’m not taking you to breakfast with Lady Ishara with one of the most powerful war wands in the world on your hip, Dear.”

Lanri crossed her arms. “You don’t trust me near a god with a wand?”

Seeker closed the distance between them, and pulled Lanri into an embrace. “Of course I trust you with a wand. I’d trust you with the power to destroy all of Eitheris. That doesn’t mean I trust others not to take it from you and try something.”

Lanri considered that, then looked down to Seeker’s gauntlet, which had the hilt of her sword sticking out, easily grabbed. “What about that?”

“Go ahead and take it,” Seeker challenged.

Hesitant but curious, Lanri did as she was told, taking a hold of the hilt, and pulling. It didn’t budge. “How does that work?” Lanri asked.

“The enchantments laid upon Valkyrie swords are as complex as they are powerful,” Seeker noted. “Do you remember back in Gorance’s villa, that the fae couldn’t pick my sword up, but you could?”

Lanri nodded.

“Now try to draw it again,” Seeker commanded. Again, Lanri obeyed, and this time the sword came out with ease. Lanri stared at it, fondly, until Seeker tilted her head back with a single finger, and their eyes met. “You and Mischief are the only people I trust enough to hold my sword. When I tell you to leave your wand, Dear, that’s an indictment of the wand, not of you.”

“Oh,” Lanri said, breathily. Seeker had such a way with words, so adept at explaining anything in a way that made it okay. She offered the sword back to Seeker, who took it without looking, and slid it back into its impossible sheath. Then she took Lanri by the hand, and started to lead her out of the room, but paused.

“Almost forgot this,” Seeker hummed, as she walked around Lanri, and quickly gathered her hair into a bun she fixed in place with the brooch.

The corridor outside of the room was cast in the blue light and crisp air of morning, and Seeker led Lanri back in the direction of Ishara’s hall. “What about the other sword?” Lanri asked. Lanri saw Seeker’s shoulders tense for a moment. A touchy subject. On instinct, she squeezed her arm to reassure her.

“It belonged to a friend. A Valkyrie named Traverse. I was… close to him, once. Not as close as I am to you, but… close enough to have wanted something to remember him by.”

Lanri recognized that name, having seen a picture of him in Seeker’s sketchbook. “What happened to him?”

“I don’t quite know,” Seeker said. “When Lord Daray… struck down his predecessor, Traverse was lost.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lanri whispered.

Seeker gave her a fond smile. “Thank you, Dear. But let’s talk about something else, okay?”

Lanri nodded. “Like what?”

Seeker’s smile took on a conspiratorial aspect. “Like the fact that Mara is dreadfully jealous you got to meet Lady Ishara.”

Lanri giggled. “You talked to them?” When Seeker nodded, Lanri continued, “oh, she would be jealous about that.”

“She shouldn’t be,” Seeker said. “Assuming she goes through the seminary in Cerene like she’s planning, she’ll get plenty familiar with her, soon enough.”

Lanri snickered as she imagined the Touching ceremony Seeker had shown her. Then it occurred to her that Seeker might spy on Mara’s, like she had with Lorra, all those centuries ago. “I hope she does,” Lanri decided. “How are they all?”

Seeker considered that for a moment. “They were worried about us, after we’d disappeared. But they’re all okay.”

Ahead, voices could be heard, mixed together as a dozen conversations in half as many languages overlapped. Breakfast sounded nice, especially one shared with so many people in the orbit of the goddess she worshiped most closely.

When they actually got to the hall, though, that enthusiasm quickly curdled and turned to anxiety. For at that long table, now lined with people sitting on pillows on the floor, only two settings remained unoccupied. By the head of the table, at Lady Ishara’s side.

“I suppose that was to be expected,” Seeker grumbled in the divine language, as she led Lanri to the opposite end of the hall, where Ishara was talking to Mischief and the Heartwarden she had seen naked the day before.

When they got close, Ishara looked up at them with a warm smile and eagerly said, “Ah, Lanri, Seeker! Just who we wanted to see!” She gestured at the two open seats in turn as she said their names, making it clear she wanted Lanri in the seat closest to her.

Lanri and Seeker took their seats quickly, and Lanri eagerly looked at the food on offer, waiting for everyone on large trays set down the center of the table. A big pile of waffles, fluffy-looking and hot dominated the tray closest to her, and Lanri eagerly stacked several of the pastries onto her plate.

They were delicious, fluffy, and rich. Lanri hadn’t ever thought about what gods might like to eat, but this certainly seemed appropriate. Everything on offer was food she was familiar with, and if the waffles were any indication, it would all be the best she’d ever had.

“I see you like waffles, too,” Ishara teased. Lanri looked up, and saw she was pointing at a pair of bowls full of strawberries and whipped cream. “Would you mind handing me those? As much as I like pastry, it’s just not complete without them.”

Lanri did as her goddess asked, watching as she used a spoon to scoop a big helping of the cream from one bowl and grabbed a handful of the fruits from the other. Ishara spread the cream on one of the waffles, then took a bite. She managed to maintain her poised, elegant demeanor despite the messy nature of the dish. She put her waffle down, and ate one of the strawberries with a seductive smile.

“You should both try it,” she suggested, gesturing at her and Seeker’s plates, as well as the cream and strawberries. “Don’t worry about making a mess.”

Lanri thought that was an excellent idea. If Ishara herself thought waffles were incomplete without cream and fresh fruit, she wasn’t going to argue. She scooped up some cream and smeared it across a waffle as Seeker did the same, then they tried it.

She didn’t love it. It tasted well enough, she supposed, but she preferred the waffles on their own by a wide margin. Seeker, though, clearly loved what her Lady had suggested. She practically inhaled the pastry once she’d added the cream.

She was far from the picture of grace, cream running down her chin as she scarfed the food down. Lanri and the Heartwarden across from Seeker both giggled at the sight, and she fondly smiled at her.

“Whath?” Seeker asked, before swallowing. Lanri reached across, and wiped the cream running down Seeker’s chin away with a finger which she then licked clean, much to the other Heartwarden’s amusement.

“You can be a messy eater,” Lanri teased.

Seeker grinned, and pulled Lanri close before giving her a waffle-flavored kiss. “Aren’t I just lucky as can be to have found you, then?”

“You two are fantastic together,” Ishara said, drawing all eyes back to herself. “And you, Lanri, are nothing short of exceptional. Here you are at my table, and you can scarcely keep your eyes off of my Seeker.”

“Oh, yeah,” agreed the other Heartwarden. “She’s a treat, Seeker. Where’d you find her?”

“Consort, I–” Seeker began.

“She saved me,” Lanri said, taking Seeker’s hand into her own. She didn’t want Seeker to downplay what she’d done for her because talking about it might make her uncomfortable. “Saved my life and virtue when people I thought were my friends attacked me.”

The Heartwarden, Consort, gave Lanri a sympathetic smile. “That’s Seeker, saving stray mortals at every turn.” The smile turned knowing and mischievous as she paused. “Of course, actually taking one of those strays in is new.”

“Good thing, too,” Ishara commented, and Lanri could feel Seeker squeeze her hand a little as she started. “A brave couple, getting each other out of trouble at every turn. That business with Gorance would have been a disaster if it weren’t for your bravery, Lanri. I really should think of a boon to grant you for that.”

“A… boon?” Lanri asked, quietly.

Ishara nodded. “A reward, or something. You saved my Seeker from his clutches, and smote a dozen blasphemers. That should be celebrated, don’t you think?”

Lanri shook her head. “I’m honored, but… I don’t want a prize for killing people.”

Ishara gave her an understanding smile. “I see,” she said, then looked down into her Augury, which was almost flush with the rest of the table when the magic wasn’t in use. With some effort, Lanri averted her eyes, not wanting to spy on what Ishara was doing, despite the burning curiosity pressing her to do precisely that. She looked at Seeker, who seemed lost in thought, and again found herself wishing she had the power to see into the Heartwarden’s thoughts as easily as she could into hers.

Ishara wanted to reward her for protecting Seeker. And yesterday, she’d mentioned having known Lanri since before she was born. What did that mean? Had Ishara been paying attention to her, personally? Would it be a good thing if that were the case?

When Ishara giggled, it drew Lanri’s attention back to her. She was still looking down into the Augury, but briefly glanced up and said, “look all you like, Lanri. I wouldn’t have invited you to sit here if I were worried about what you might see.”

Well, if she approves…

Lanri cast her eyes down onto the Augury, a mix of feelings of curiosity and honor at being allowed to do so prominent in her mind. She immediately recognized the image Ishara was looking at as Astoria, with slate roofs on the buildings that loomed above the narrow alleyways. “Astoria. The eastern quarter,” she whispered.

“Good eye,” complimented Seeker. Lanri glanced back at her, and saw the angel was watching, too.

Puddles lined the dirty street, reflecting the light pouring out of a rowdy tavern to cast a warm glow over the otherwise dark alley. A few figures moved about outside, city guards with pikes and shields, or shady men and women in baggy cloaks.

A young woman staggered out of the bar, nursing a bottle as she went. Lanri watched her step in a puddle, and in her mind, could hear her curse. She was tall and pretty, with vibrantly orange hair that marked her as unambiguously elven.

She took a swig from the bottle, then started the difficult process of making her way down the street and into an alleyway as she sang a song about King Ashlom, and how promiscuous his children both were. She tripped over her words several times, giggling every time she did so.

She was captivating to watch, in a way. She seemed content in her stupor as she navigated the alleyways. Behind her, though, another figure moved and grabbed Lanri’s attention. Tall and wearing a cloak with the hood up, he skulked about, suspicious and cautious, stalking her from the shadows.

“I do so like vampires,” Ishara said with a little laugh, as she reached into the image, touched the elven girl, and whispered “slow down.” The elf’s clumsy gait slowed down a little, and she soon leaned against a barrel as if out of breath.

“He’s a vampire?” Lanri asked, and a slight pit opened in her stomach as she realized why the man looked like he was following her, and that Ishara had helped him catch up. “Is he–”

As she was in the middle of her sentence, the Augury projected the noise he made into her mind. He whistled sharply, and the elf’s head snapped up to look. Almost as soon as she saw him, her posture changed. Her jaw slackened, and the bottle slipped from her fingers before it shattered on the ground.

“I don’t quite know what he’s going to do,” Ishara noted, as the vampire closed the distance between himself and his elven prey, quickly pinning her to a wall. “But it’s always interesting.”

“Interesting?” Asked Lanri, as her mind’s ear heard a series of gasps, followed by a few phrases in Aldressan Elvish. She made a point of looking away from the Augury, and mercifully, that was enough to end the sounds it projected into her mind. “Won’t he kill her?!”

Ishara shook her head without looking away. “Vampires rarely kill people, Lanri. It’s not their style. And, yes, they’re very interesting. They’re mortals with some of the strongest desires and urges of any sapient being. He wants her, needs her as badly as you need water or air.”

“So?!” Asked Lanri, perhaps a little too loudly. “She doesn’t look like she wants him!”

Lanri felt Seeker put a hand on her shoulder. “My Lady, I think I should take Lanri back to my room. This is… a bit much.”

For the first time since she started to gaze into her Augury, Ishara looked up. “That won’t be necessary, Seeker,” Ishara assured her before Lanri could object to it herself. “If you’re worried about the elf, Lanri, by all means, check on her for yourself.”

Ishara cast her eyes back down into the Augury, and reluctantly, Lanri did the same. It felt so, so wrong to her to just watch as someone violated another like this, but… In the image, the elf had gone completely slack in the vampire’s grip, still faintly giggling as he sated his urges, with his face buried in her neck.

“See?” Ishara purred. “She’s perfectly happy to participate, and he gets what he needs to survive.”

Lanri wasn’t sure what she should, or even could say to contradict that. Vampires did need blood, and this elven girl didn’t look at all bothered by what was going on, but it still irked Lanri. This didn’t feel right to her. The elf hadn’t actually agreed to this, as far as Lanri could tell, she was just too stunned to object.

“You don’t approve?” Ishara asked, as the Augury turned opaque. Lanri looked up at her, and saw that she’d propped her head up on one arm, fixing her with a studying gaze. “It’s alright to be bothered, if you are. One can’t explain to a sheep why the wolf does what it does, after all. But I assure you, Lanri, in the grand scheme of things, a vampire feeding on a drunken fool and letting her go afterward is harmless.”

“I…” Lanri began, uncertainly. Who was she to tell Ishara she was wrong to allow this? Did she even have any way to stop it if she wanted to? Maybe Seeker could have gotten there in time to prevent this specific instance of it, but surely it hadn’t been even close to the worst thing happening at that moment.

“Perhaps, My Lady, Lanri wasn’t quite ready for a demonstration of this complexity.” Seeker offered stiffly, with intonation that did not allow for the uncertainty the words implied. It made Lanri feel a lot better that Seeker didn’t like it, either.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Ishara said, after a long and considerate pause. Then she stood up from the table, and continued. “I apologize, Lanri, for showing you that. I suppose I misjudged you a little, by assuming you would be interested to see my work.”

“My Lady, I–”

Ishara silenced her with a smile. “Please, don’t try to minimize my blunder. From all I know about you, I believe I have something to show you that you’ll enjoy far more than me carrying out my duties with my Augury, if you’ll follow me.”

Lanri looked to Seeker for guidance, and the Heartwarden only gave her a reassuring nod as she and Mischief both rose from the low table and waited for Lanri. Lanri quickly got to her feet as well. She was a little confused, though, that beyond Consort giving her a wink, nobody else seemed to even notice that their goddess was leaving. She supposed they were just better accustomed to Ishara’s whims than she was.

Ishara and Mischief led Lanri and Seeker out of the hall and past that grand statue of what Lanri assumed was Ishara in a different form, then down stairs and a corridor she’d not seen before. It was very calm, but not quite deserted. A few people that had skipped breakfast were scattered about, pressed against pillars. As yesterday, Lanri saw hands roaming around under clothing, and blissful expressions that betrayed those hands had found what they were looking for.

“Who are all of these people?” Lanri asked. She’d seen perhaps a hundred people here so far, and suspected there were a lot more, hidden away in bedrooms in pairs or trios.

“They’re like you,” Ishara said. “Mortals me and my Heartwardens have grown too fond of to return to their lives on Eitheris.”

“Seeker is not so special to have taken you as a… consort, Lanri,” Mischief began, looking back at her and Seeker with a smirk. “Even her vows of lifelong commitment to you, unorthodox though they are, are far from unheard of.”

Consort. The word echoed through Lanri’s mind, obviously a euphemism for something else they worried she would take offense at. She suspected what they actually wanted to call her was pet.

Lanri shook her head. She did not want to look for reasons to be offended, did not want to scrutinize their words for little insults and innuendo. “Where are we going?” She asked instead, deliberately forcing herself to change the topic.

“You’re a scholar,” Ishara said. “A woman of science, and knowledge. Seeker was right, of course, to point out that the Augury was not what you would want to see of my realm.” Ishara stopped in front of a large double door, with her sigil set into it in rose golden inlay. She touched the sigil, and it glowed that familiar glow of her own power before it opened, revealing a vast chamber beyond. “I’d wager the vault is of greater interest to you.”

The chamber was vast, supported by rows of evenly spaced pillars, and filled with ornate cabinets and bureaus with glass display cases on their tops. Lanri smiled as Ishara and Mischief led her and Seeker inside while she took in the sights. Beautiful artifacts were locked inside every one of them, some made of ornate, precious metal, while others were intricately carved wood. Each of the cabinets had drawers, too, promising more artifacts within, just out of sight.

One artifact stood out to Lanri as they passed it. She was fairly certain she recognized it from her studies! A small crystal vial, no bigger than her fist, with Ishara’s sigil etched into it. Inside of the bottle, pink liquid swirled about, with flakes of sparkling metal suspended within that were perpetually in motion.

“Something’s caught our guest’s eye, my Lady,” Mischief purred, and Ishara stopped, a bemused expression on her face.

“So it would seem,” Ishara agreed.

Lanri did her best to recall what she’d read about this vial, assuming it was the same one. Immaculate Desire, a potion that had been made by a powermad priestess of Ishara. She’d alleged it was powerful enough to drive angels and even the gods themselves mad with lust. It was supposedly the cause of a Remero-Abanian war, centuries ago.

“Casseil?” Ishara called.

Lanri looked up. “Casseil?” She repeated. “What’s that?”

“Not what, Dear. Who. Casseil is the Heartwarden responsible for the vaults,” Seeker whispered into her ear.

Lanri gratefully smiled at Seeker, then frowned as heavy footfalls rang out from the corridor they’d all just come down. A few seconds later, a handsome, definitively masculine angel charged into the room. He was tall, with pale skin, and long brown hair in a ponytail. “My Lady?” He asked, with a voice as smooth as silk.

“One of the artifacts in your collection seems to have drawn our latest guest’s eye,” Ishara began, gesturing towards the vial. “Tell her about it.”

“It’s Immaculate Desire, right?” Lanri asked. “The potion that sparked a war?”

The Heartwarden blinked at her. “That’s… exactly right,” he said, uncertainly. “How did you know that?”

“School,” Lanri said, dismissively, as the Heartwarden came closer. “I studied archeology and history.”

“I imagine the story mortal scholars have pieced together doesn’t mention how it wound up in our possession, though,” Casseil challenged. He smiled widely when Lanri shook her head. “That would be Seeker’s doing.”

“Really?!” Lanri asked, looking to Seeker for confirmation. Seeker smiled and nodded.

“Really,” he continued, as he stepped towards the cabinet. He whispered a spell that opened it, then took out the vial, holding it up for Lanri to see. The liquid inside was mesmerizing to look at, with the flecks of metal occasionally catching the light. “The Abanians kidnapped the priestess that made it, and sacked a whole village on the coasts of Remere in the process. Lady Ishara sent Seeker to save her and confiscate the potion.”

Seeker sighed. “That whole ordeal was… a mess.”

“What does that mean?” Lanri asked. Seeker shook her head slightly, and even though Lanri took that to mean the topic should be dropped, Casseil didn’t seem to get the hint.

“Don’t mind the sourpuss,” he said, as he put the bottle back in the cabinet. “Seeker thinks she missed something. But she always thinks that.”

“Whether I missed something hardly matters as long as we keep that around,” Seeker said, a little bitterly. “That demon, Gorance, was able to steal artifacts from this place. We should destroy it, not keep it around, waiting for it to hurt someone.”

Ishara tisked at that. “Seeker, my dearest, we’ve had this talk before. Let’s not get into it in front of our guest, shall we?” She spoke with naked disapproval, intonation much like that which a teacher might use when talking down to a disliked pupil.

“My Lady?” Mischief said, somewhat meekly. “I hate to contradict you, but I believe Seeker is right.”

Ishara blinked a few times, then rounded on Mischief as all eyes turned to them. “Did I mishear you, love?”

Mischief swallowed, and straightened their posture. “No, my Lady. I believe Seeker’s concerns are warranted.”

“What did I just tell Seeker, Mischief? Did I not tell her not to get into this in front of–” Mischief stepped aside, revealing that the display case behind them was empty. Ishara fell deafeningly silent. The only sounds in the grand vault were those coming in through the door leading to the rest of the palace.

For a few seconds, they all stared at the cabinet with wide eyes. At the empty little velvet plinth, surrounded by glass, which wordlessly screamed something has been stolen. “Casseil,” Ishara began, carefully. “What was in that case?”

“Debaucherous Goblet,” answered the Heartwarden. He said the name like he thought everyone present would know what that was. Lanri supposed it was probably a bottomless cup of wine or spirits.

“How long has it been gone?”

“Less than three weeks, Lady Ishara,” he said, confidently. He reached into nowhere as easily as Seeker would have, producing a ledger that looked almost identical to Seeker’s sketchbook, save for the Cornon numerals on the spine denoting it as the hundred-and-eighth volume. He leafed through the pages, until he got to the page he was looking for, which he showed to Ishara. “It was accounted for when Seeker added the trophies from her last assignment to the collection.”

Three weeks. When Mara and I fought the paravians.

Ishara looked angry. Furious, even. “Explain to me, Mischief, how things keep getting stolen from my realm.”

Mischief took a long time to answer, Lanri thought. Their expression betrayed that they were considering their next words very carefully. “Perhaps a… regular guest in our realm has been exploiting your… hospitality?”

Even Lanri could tell they had a specific regular guest in mind. “No,” Ishara said. “He wouldn’t.”

Seeker took a step closer. “My Lady, Mischief is rarely–”

Ishara silenced her with a look. “You. Go find it. Now!”

“Find it? How?” Seeker challenged. “Until someone actually uses it, it could be anywhere on Eitheris. Let alone the divine realms and hells.”

“GO!” Ishara yelled. Her voice carried all of her power and authority. It sent shivers down Lanri’s spine and drew a giggle from her mouth, even as Seeker flinched and groaned. Lanri made a conscious effort to force that feeling down.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” was all Seeker managed to tell Lanri before she ran out of the vaults.

Lanri watched her go, a little stunned by how quickly a gentle conversation about artifacts of old had fallen apart. “I should probably wait for her in her room,” Lanri whispered. “She likes that.”

“Nonsense,” said Ishara. The goddess took a few breaths as if to recenter herself, then turned to Mischief. “Love, why don’t you go with Seeker?”

“My Lady?” Mischief asked.

Ishara rolled her eyes and huffed. “You mean to tell me you’ve already forgotten your theories about who might have… misplaced my Goblet? Help her, please, so our guest doesn’t have to wait for her for too long.”

Uncertainly, Mischief nodded and took off after Seeker, leaving only Ishara, Lanri, and Casseil. “Thank you, Ishara, but–”

“No buts,” chided Ishara. “You’re a historian. The first guest to my realm in decades who might appreciate the treasures in my vault. It would be an unspeakable waste to spend your time here in Seeker’s cluttered bedroom when you have access to all of this.”

Lanri couldn’t bring herself to disagree. She did want to see what Ishara had in her collection, and… Well, it wasn’t as if Seeker had actually ordered her to wait for her in her room.

________________

Hours later, Lanri’s head was spinning. So much history in one room, each artifact on display telling a story in its own right, and Casseil was always eager to expand on them. From wonderful jewelry to tools of evil, and from mighty weapons to marital aids, the vault was packed to the brim with things to look at, and learn about.

“Now, there’s one artifact left that I think you might enjoy seeing,” Ishara said as they walked.

“I’ve enjoyed seeing all of them,” Lanri corrected. “This… These things are what I’ve dedicated my life to, Ishara.” Even now, Lanri felt a little awkward using such familiar language when talking to the goddess she held dearest, when even the Heartwardens were required to call her my Lady.

“Oh, I know that,” said Ishara. “I don’t mean in a professional sense, Lanri. I mean one you might personally enjoy and appreciate seeing again.”

“Seeing again?”

Ishara nodded, and stopped in front of a cabinet that was almost exactly in the center of the vault. Like all of the other displays so far, it took a spell to unlock the cabinet. It was only the faintest surge in the background of magic, perhaps not even noticeable if she didn’t know to look for it.

Ishara slid out one of the cabinet’s drawers, and produced a bundle of white fabric. Lanri’s eyes widened at the sight, and at the risk of sounding presumptuous she asked, “is that…?”

Ishara smirked at her, then held up the fabric, letting it unfurl into the shape of a dress. The dress. “Look familiar?”

Lanri nodded, and almost unconsciously held out her hands for it, recalling the sheer euphoria that came with handling it. “May I?” She asked, hopefully. Ishara nodded, and handed it to her.

Lanri accepted the artifact, reverently. Her heart was pounding from simply being near it, from holding the thing that taught her so much about Ishara and her powers again. She couldn’t… She couldn’t smell it, though. Experimentally, she brought a sleeve up to her face, and sniffed at it. It just smelled like stale fabric to her.

Ishara chuckled at the disappointment that must have been writ large on her face. “Oh, my. That’s… forward of you.” When Lanri frowned, she continued. “That won’t work, Lanri.” She gestured at the back of Lanri’s head, then folded the dress over, to reveal a small square of the fabric was missing from the hem.

On instinct, Lanri reached back behind her head, touching the brooch she’d been wearing almost continuously for months. Seeker had said it had a bit of the dress in it, powering the enchantment.

“Such a storied artifact, that dress,” Ishara began, as she leaned against the cabinet it came from. “My beloved Mischief gave it to me, centuries upon centuries ago, and oh, how I’ve treasured it since. I wore it when I first seduced Shala and Hayer, lent it out to some of my Heartwardens for their first encounters with mortals.”

As Ishara spoke, Lanri ran her hands along the fabric, feeling the fibers under her fingers, savoring having it back for now.

“And of course, I accidentally lent it to you, when your eyes were reopened to me.”

Lanri swallowed. Casseil had wandered off, it seemed, leaving only the two of them in the vast vault. A painfully fragile mortal before her goddess.

“And what a wondrous thing it is that you found it, Lanri. What an unexpected blessing it was, to see a beautiful woman such as yourself recover from all that happened, and not only embrace my gifts anew, but do it with such zest and gusto that you attracted my Seeker’s eye. As I said this morning, it must be rewarded, and I’ve just the way to do it.”

“You… You do?”

“Oh, yes,” purred Ishara as she pushed off from the cabinet, and started to prowl around Lanri. “Seeker’s greatest weakness in this world, Lanri, is you. The knowledge that she won’t have you forever. I will change that.”

Lanri gasped.

“A creature such as yourself, a mortal so singularly captivating to earn my most inquisitive Heartwarden’s devotion, must be preserved. Seeker had every right to forbid you to join my touched, but she made no mention of ascending to become her peer.”

“Ascending? L–like… a Heartwarden?”

Ishara smiled and nodded. “Just think about it, Lanri. Rather than a mere lifetime as her coddled pet, you could be more. You could be useful to her. You could relieve her of the burden that she’ll have to part with you, and serve me by her side for eternity.” Ishara walked around Lanri, caressing her arms and waist. “I can give you the power you so brazenly crave, make you flawless. Ageless. Perfect.”

Lanri’s heart beat so very hard. She could hear the rhythm of it in the blood rushing past her ears, could feel it in every artery and vein. Ishara was offering her… everything. She was offering her forever, as a reward for… Just for finding this dress, and loving Seeker once she found her.

Now, Ishara was in front of Lanri, and tilted her head up to meet her glowing eyes. “My Seeker promised you a candied life, Lanri. But I will give you more. I’ll set you free. Free from fear, free from hunger, and free from grief. You’ve had enough heartbreak in your life, Lanri. All you’ll ever feel again is your love for Seeker and me, and our love for you.”

“Free from grief?” Lanri asked, quietly.

“Exactly,” Ishara purred. “You were a wonderful wife to your Faron, Lanri. Devoted, passionate, and patient. You don’t deserve that terrible pain of having lost him. I’ll help with that. I’ll free you from that burden, and rid you of that void he’s left behind.”

“But… I don’t want that,” Lanri whispered, and fixed the goddess with a pleading expression. “I already lost him. I don’t want to lose how I feel about him, too.”

Ishara giggled. “Seeker did mention just how nervous and concerned you can be. There’s nothing to fear here, Lanri. You and Seeker both will only get happier from this, I promise.”

Lanri shook her head. “I’m not nervous. And it’s… not about happy, either. I’m happier with Seeker than I ever was with Faron. But I’m not willing to be without him. He’s a part of who I am. Every fight, every kiss, all of them are as much a part of me as my faith in you and Seeker. If… If I lose my memories of him, I won’t be me anymore. I can’t accept that.”

Ishara gave her a knowing smile that put her at ease.

“I’m sorry, my Lady,” Lanri added in a whisper. She felt so selfish to say no to such a wonderful, infinitely generous gift. But if she accepted, and Lanri Vattens became that other person, as happened to the mortal that became Seeker, then… Who would Seeker actually come home to, tonight?

“There is nothing to be sorry about, Lanri,” Ishara whispered. The goddess stepped closer, and wrapped Lanri in a comforting embrace. For a few wonderful moments, her goddess was holding her, her arms stroking up and down her back. When they broke the hug, Ishara’s hands lingered on her, one on her shoulder, the other caressing her face. “After all. I wasn’t asking.”

Suddenly, there was ice in Ishara’s voice that was only matched by the ice in Lanri’s stomach. For the briefest second, she was afraid, even frightened of what Ishara meant. She started to back away, but was stopped by a tug on her hair, and…

And just like that, she could suddenly smell the dress. Just the faintest whiff of it, of that rightness, and power, and she needed more of it. Like certain herbs to beastkin and animals, it was just impossible to resist. Despite herself, Lanri buried her face in the bundle of fabric, and took in a deep, delicious breath that smelled like love and destiny.

She slumped into Ishara, and was grateful when the goddess caught her. Lanri giggled when she took another breath, so gratified to have that euphoria back at her beck and call. “There,” cooed Ishara. “Can you honestly say you don’t want this, Lanri? That you’d rather be melancholy for one lifetime than feel like this for as many as we want?”

Lanri couldn’t think of any reason she’d choose the former.

________________

Seeker lurched back into the divine realm, sweaty and out of breath, clutching that fucking Goblet. She’d deliberately aimed for the vaults, all the better to put the damned thing back as quickly as possible and be done with it, rather than wait for Casseil to deal with it.

She approached the display case it belonged in, grateful that Mischief’s tip about where it might have gone paid off. She whispered the spell to open the case, and was neatly putting the Goblet back where it belonged when something caught her eye. On the floor, a few rows away, a bit of gold sparkled in the dim light of the vault.

She quickly closed the case, heedless of whether the Goblet was displayed how Casseil might have wanted it, and approached it. Lanri’s brooch? She picked it up, and sure enough, her own sigil greeted her, showing her a warped reflection of her own face.

“What the fuck?” She whispered as she took off out of the vault at a jog, heading for her room and hoping against hope that Lanri would be there, waiting for her.

________________

“Lanri?!” Asked Seeker as she slammed the door to her bedroom open, and found it distressingly dark and empty. If Lanri wasn’t here, and didn’t have her brooch in… Seeker shuddered. She couldn’t imagine that would be good. She’d not trusted Ishara to mind Lanri. Not for a fucking second. Months spent trying to make sure Ishara wouldn’t notice her, wouldn’t take an interest, but here they were.

“Lanri?” A voice asked behind her, slurring her words. “I know… lots of Lanris.”

Seeker spun around, hand on the hilt of her sword, and was surprised to see a dryad leaning against the wall opposite the door to her room. She had dark green hair, bright green eyes, and was wrapped up in a white sheet for clothing. “What did you say?” Seeker asked.

“Lanri,” said the dryad with a giggle. “I know seven girls with that name.”

“Did you see any of them today?” Seeker asked. “Brown skin, dark hair, beautiful, curious eyes?”

The dryad nodded. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I’ve seen her, alright. Saw all of her once, before… uhm…” She trailed off, stunned.

“All of her?” Repeated Seeker, putting menace into her voice as she drew her sword, and stepped closer. “What did you do to her?”

“Oh, you must be Seeker!” The Dryad proclaimed with a snicker. “M–Mischief told me about you. Said I should be scared of you for… Uhm…”

“They’re probably right,” growled Seeker, as she recalled the worries Lanri had shared with her on her birthday. Worries Seeker had dismissed out of hand. “Tell me where she is. Now!”

The dryad pointed in the direction of Ishara’s hall. “Saw ‘er there. Such a pretty girl…” She dreamily said.

Seeker grunted. As much as she might want to, right now she didn’t have time to figure out what this thing might have done to Lanri a month ago. She would have to settle for scolding herself for dismissing Lanri like that, and the knowledge she’d get to the bottom of it once she found Lanri.

She ran off towards the hall, sword in hand, trying to rationalize what was happening despite all of her instincts telling her this was bad. She knew Ishara was jealous and pushy, and knew her Lady didn’t handle being told no with any grace.

The halls of the palace were deserted as Seeker sprinted through them, which only added to her worry. Ishara didn’t often demand privacy, certainly not to this extent. Whatever was happening, it terrified her to think Lanri would be at the center of it.

When she got to the door leading into Ishara’s hall, she didn’t hesitate for even a second. Acting on protective instinct, she planted a firm kick to one of the doors, and was satisfied when she heard wood splinter when it opened.

That satisfaction quickly melted into dread and disgust. The hall was empty, with Lanri curled up next to Ishara in her chaise, wearing a dress that was covered head to toe in glowing symbols, runes, and sigils. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?” She demanded as she ran inside, but was met with only silence.

On the floor, the faintest circle of runes stood out to her. She recoiled from them on instinct, having been trapped like that too often already. She took two steps back, not taking her eyes off of Lanri for a second.

She hit something as she backed away. A person, standing behind her. She saw the dark hall briefly light up with an unnatural glow, and felt cold metal wrap around her throat. She spun around, to see what she’d hit.

Mischief was standing there, looking at her with a sympathetic expression. “I told you to get rid of this collar, Seeker. I told you to destroy it, or throw it in the ocean. You should have listened.”

Seeker’s eyes widened in horror, as she put a hand on the chain around her neck, and pulled on it as hard as she could. It wouldn’t come off. And she… She staggered away from them, narrowly avoiding the circle of runes.

Lanri and Ishara were both looking at her, one concerned, the other smug. “Lanri!” She groaned. “Get… Get away from that… That bitch. She… She’s…”

What was she doing? Ishara looked smug, but… that wasn’t necessarily bad. But if it wasn’t bad, then… Then why was she holding her sword, and… And why was she so angry? She looked behind her again, back at Mischief. That fucking traitor. They’d put that collar on her! That’s who she was angry at!

They walked past her, towards Ishara and her Lanri, and Seeker swung her sword at them in a fit of betrayed hate. She missed utterly, and stumbled as she struggled to arrest the momentum of the strike. All the gods help her, it was so hard to move, so hard to think. It was as if her thoughts were swimming in syrup, and the very air she had to move through were molasses. “You… What did you do?”

“Seeker?” Lanri asked. There was real concern in her voice, concern that helped her center herself. She snapped her head up to look at her mortal, curled up with… With Ishara.

She started towards them, the fury and hate in her heart being smothered out with every step, confusion and disorientation growing ever stronger. She was out of breath, she realized. Tired, and… and… She tripped as she tried to walk, barely able to catch herself on her hands and knees. Her sword clattered away, ignored as soon as it was out of sight and forgotten outright once the ringing of the metal died down.

“Lanri, I…” She tried, but… What was she even trying to say? Why was she feeling like this? Why…

Ishara made a noise, and Seeker looked up at her. That was a good place to start. Ishara… Ishara was smart, and… And she had Lanri with her, and Seeker adored Lanri. But she looked so worried about her, so… so concerned. Seeker didn’t want that. She didn’t… She wanted Lanri to be happy, n–no matter… no matter what. No matter how hard it was for Seeker to even try to imagine how to actually make her happy right now.

She had no idea how to make Lanri happy, no idea where to begin to make anyone happy.

And when Ishara made a gesture that Seeker should come closer, beckoning her forward with a single finger, Seeker did exactly that. She crawled towards them with a smile, grateful for the direction.