Chapter 176

After assuring me half a dozen times that she didn’t need anything, I could tell Nomin was nearing the end of her patience. I excused myself. I was smart enough to back off before I crossed that line. Angry pregnant women were forces of nature I avoided whenever possible.

From there, I stepped to Highcoin to search for maps of the northern border.

I wasn’t entirely sure what I needed, which meant I almost certainly spent far too much money on maps that would end up being useless. Still, I hoped at least a few of them might help narrow down the Covenant’s waystations.

Then I headed east.

Because at this point, someone was very obviously trying to lead me somewhere. And I was getting pretty tired of gods deciding they knew what was best for me.

Between stepping and magical flight, I reached Silvermere by midnight.

The city clung to the eastern cliffs of Caldris like something slowly losing its grip on the world. Far below, a sprawling dock jutted into the dark waters while a rough stone jetty attempted - and clearly failed - to blunt the endless assault of the sea. Entire sections of cliff had collapsed over the years, leaving jagged scars where buildings had once stood.

Stone walkways wound along the cliff face, expanded in places by weathered wooden platforms and protected by railings that looked one harsh winter away from giving up entirely. Ladders and a complicated lift system connected the different tiers of the city. Homes, shops, warehouses, taverns - all stacked precariously against the stone, like barnacles clinging to a sinking ship.

Silvermere had once been prosperous. That much was obvious. Now it felt hollowed out. A city built for thousands reduced to perhaps two or three hundred stubborn souls unwilling - or unable - to leave.

I made my way down toward the harbor and eventually found the bathhouse at the southern edge of the docks.

Marble columns framed the entrance, worn smooth by centuries of sea spray and salt wind. Red lanterns swayed lazily overhead, their crimson glow painting the wet stone in warm blood-colored light. Even half ruined, the place was beautiful. Regal in the tired way old things sometimes were.

A faded sign above the entrance read The House of Red Lanterns.

The ocean wind cut through my cloak sharply enough to sting. Waves crashed endlessly against the cliffs below, throwing mist into the air that leeched warmth from skin and bone alike. The scents of saltwater, fish, and kelp hung thick despite the constant wind.

The moment I crossed the threshold, warmth wrapped around me.

The sea vanished entirely. Instead the air smelled of damp limestone and mineral steam, softened by lavender, cedar, and sandalwood. The scents blended into something soothing and heavy enough to make tired muscles ache for rest.

The foyer had clearly once been luxurious. Time had worn at it, but not neglected it. Dark hardwood counters, carved stonework, rich fabrics faded by decades rather than disrepair - it all carried the feeling of something lovingly preserved long after its prime.

Behind the desk stood a beautiful blonde woman in a finely tailored dress that accentuated her figure without crossing fully into indecency. Her hair spilled neatly over her shoulders, carefully styled, while her makeup enhanced rather than concealed. Everything about her suggested effort. Maintenance. Deliberate charm.

Her Faith was a careful braid of silver and orange. Sculpted, like the rest of her.

Her bright blue eyes met mine and she smiled warmly. “Welcome to the House of Red Lanterns,” she said. “How can I help you tonight?”

Her voice was melodic and impossibly smooth - carefully cultivated to sound attentive, comforting, and just suggestive enough to imply more if desired. Honestly, if I hadn’t been in such a foul mood, I probably could’ve listened to her read soup labels for hours.

“I’d like the ninth curtain,” I said flatly.

Her expression flickered. Just for an instant. Then the smile returned, slightly tighter than before. “Please,” she said carefully. “Come this way.”

She led me beyond the velvet curtains and past the large communal bath. Maybe a dozen patrons lounged within the steaming water, entirely unconcerned with clothing. Conversations remained hushed and relaxed, accompanied by soft music echoing somewhere deeper in the stone halls.

I ignored all of it.

We passed several other chambers carved directly into the limestone. Some appeared to be private bathing rooms. Others looked like lounges or meeting chambers. Heavy velvet curtains concealed most of them from view.

Eventually we reached the final room.

The ninth curtain.

The blonde attendant pulled it aside and knocked softly against the wooden door hidden behind it. After a moment she cracked it open slightly, listened, then stepped aside while holding the curtain open for me.

“The mistress will see you now,” she said, though her smile faltered just a little.

“Thank you,” I replied. I wasn’t trying to be rude. But my patience was hanging by a thread.

The room beyond smelled faintly of jasmine and frankincense layered atop the soothing scents of the rest of the bathhouse. Though a steaming pool occupied one corner of the chamber, the humidity here was lower - more intimate than oppressive.

Dark velvet draped the walls, swallowing most of the candlelight. Dozens of small flames flickered throughout the room, providing just enough illumination to suggest shapes rather than fully reveal them.

Still, my vision was sharp enough to pick out every detail.

The chamber itself was large, maybe twenty feet square. A four-post bed draped in dark silk occupied the near right corner, its sheer curtains tied back invitingly. The pool sat opposite it, steam curling lazily upward.

Near the center stood a low table surrounded by comfortable chairs. Plates of fruit and delicate foods covered it - oysters, smoked fish, tiny decadent pastries. A bottle of spiced wine rested beside two stemmed glasses.

And stretched elegantly across a fainting couch nearby lay Oriselle.

She rose the moment she saw me, moving with the lazy grace of a cat warming itself in sunlight.

“You came,” she said with a smile.

As before, she wore layered robes of black velvet and deep crimson silk trimmed in muted gold. A faint blush colored her cheeks, making her look almost shy beneath the dramatic makeup. Her wine-dark hair spilled freely to her shoulders while burgundy eyes glittered beneath dark liner in the candlelight.

The door clicked softly shut behind me.

“Please,” she said warmly. “Sit.”

I remained standing. “Mind telling me why all my contacts suddenly became too busy to help me?” I asked.

A faint smirk touched her lips. “I don’t know,” she replied. “I’m not the goddess of busy work.”

She casually plopped back onto the couch and slurped down an oyster.

“And what exactly are you the goddess of?” I asked, watching her Faith coil and drift like smoke. Rose-colored devotion and romantic love. Orange passion and drive. Black willpower and defiance. Lust seemed the obvious answer, though she was dressed far too conservatively for the typical caricature.

“Pleasure,” she purred.

“A half-truth,” I replied immediately. Solenna’s gift made that much obvious.

“An incomplete truth,” she corrected. She rose again, though she still didn’t approach me. “I am the Velvet Hunger,” she said softly. “The goddess of pleasure… and addiction. I am unrequited love. The yearning for belonging. The craving for chocolate.”

A playful smirk crossed her lips.

“Great,” I sighed. “God of junkies.”

Her expression hardened instantly. “Did you come here solely to insult me?” she asked coldly. “To accuse me of things I didn’t do?” Her gaze sharpened. “Because if so, you may leave.”

And annoyingly enough, I didn’t think she was acting. She seemed genuinely upset.

Which left me with a choice. I could be an ass, storm out, and never deal with her again… or I could stop being defensive long enough to see whether there was actually something worthwhile beneath all this.

Just because she embodied addiction didn’t mean she lacked self-control. Yveth never spread suffering despite being the goddess of sorrow that never faded. Urzan-Brak wasn’t mindless slaughter. Hell, I’d never even seen him start trouble directly. And my bloodchildren were far more than their aspects.

Faith shaped us - it didn’t completely rule us.

So I bowed my head slightly. “I apologize,” I said sincerely. “It’s been a rough few days, and someone has been causing problems. I assumed it was the God-Kings. That may not have been fair.”

The tension visibly melted from her posture as she settled back onto the couch again. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Though your suspicion may not be entirely unfair. As I told you before, the God-Kings are not especially unified. One or more may indeed be interfering.”

She tilted her head slightly. “I know Anura has taken an interest in at least one of your daughters.”

I frowned immediately. “To what end?”

She shrugged lightly. “I don’t know. He isn’t cruel, merely impulsive. Perhaps he simply finds her interesting. If she resembles you at all, I can’t really blame him.” The smile she gave me was cute - not dripping with lust or hunger.

“Have a strawberry,” she offered casually. “They’re to die for.”

She poured two glasses of wine, only halfway full, and slid one gently closer to me before taking a sip herself.

I hesitated. Part of me distrusted absolutely everything about this situation. Warranted or not, it was hard to fully relax around a goddess of addiction.

But standing there suspiciously glaring at fruit made me look ridiculous. And if I wanted answers, I needed to stop acting hostile long enough to actually talk to her.

So I reluctantly sat down, picked up a strawberry, and took a bite. The flavor exploded across my tongue - sweet, fragrant, perfectly ripe. Before I realized it, I’d already eaten the rest.

“Thank you,” I admitted once I’d swallowed.

“Enjoy whatever you like while you’re here,” Oriselle said softly. “This is a place for people to set aside their burdens for a little while.” Her eyes lingered on me knowingly. “And you carry more burdens than most.”

“What makes you say that?” I asked.

She picked up a strawberry and popped it into her mouth with a soft little sound. It wasn’t seductive so much as playful - someone enjoying herself without apology.

“It’s obvious,” she said around the tender fruit. Somehow she still managed to sound graceful with her mouth full. “You have four women who are very much in love with you. That alone would crush most men.” She chuckled softly.

“You also have a small army of children who require your attention, guidance, and protection. Even the divine ones.” She tilted her wine glass lazily in my direction. “You are the hero of the Second Silent War. You’ve seen grief, loss, and horrors most people couldn’t survive.”

Her expression softened slightly. “And then there’s Nyssira.”

The candlelight flickered across her burgundy eyes. “You keep a deeply unstable goddess imprisoned. I imagine that carries its own particular kind of stress.” A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “Especially considering how she almost certainly feels about you.”

I grimaced faintly.

“You seneschal several villages, mingle with royalty, hunt the Covenant of Mercy, and spend your spare time wandering the world trying to fix problems other people created.” She spread one hand slightly. “Name one other man - mortal or divine - doing all of that simultaneously.”

Then she smiled at me with something dangerously close to sympathy and took a slow sip of wine.

“I have help,” I pointed out.

“Humble too,” she teased. “Wonderful.”

Then her smile faded just a little. “Even so, Seth… you are still one man carrying the weight of far too many lives.” She shook her head softly. “That can’t be easy.”

“I feel like you’re trying to lull me into a false sense of security,” I said.

Oriselle laughed lightly. “Not at all. I simply believe people deserve rest.” She gestured vaguely around the dim chamber. “That’s all this place is meant to offer. Relief. A pause.”

She leaned back against the couch comfortably. “Take it or leave it as you wish. There are no strings attached. No hidden bargain. No time limit.” Her eyes met mine steadily. “This place is here whenever you need it.”

I nodded slowly, though suspicion still gnawed at me despite the fact she hadn’t actually lied about anything yet. “First one’s always free,” I muttered.

Something sad flickered across her expression. “I understand your concern,” she said quietly. “The word addiction carries a great deal of ugliness with it.” She traced a fingertip idly along the rim of her glass. “But addiction is simply desire without restraint.”

Her eyes lifted to mine again. “And every living thing desires something.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but she held up one finger to stop me.

“I’m not speaking solely of lust, though obviously that plays a role.” A faint smile touched her lips. “I mean love. Acceptance. Comfort. Your favorite food after a terrible day. Sleep beside someone who makes you feel safe.”

Her voice softened. “Relief.” She paused. “It all comes down to joy,” she said. “To the desire for happiness, however brief.” She tilted her head slightly. “And I think everyone deserves that, don’t you?”

On the surface, she had a point. But it was also a slippery slope. Too much of anything became poison eventually.

“A life without suffering can never truly understand joy,” I told her.

“And a life without joy is hardly a life at all,” she countered immediately. “I’m not advocating indulgence to the exclusion of everything else.” She swirled the wine gently in her glass. “But people deserve moments where the weight lifts from their shoulders.”

She finished the last of her wine and carefully set the glass back onto the table between us.