Chapter 192

Her Faith twisted like smoke - rose, orange, and black mingling before separating again - as she watched me. Her burgundy eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Would you like to go first?” I asked.

The corner of her mouth curled upward. “My, aren't we daring tonight?” she purred. “Very well. You said your week was eventful. Tell me about it.”

“Ugh.” I groaned. “There’s an organization called the Covenant of Mercy. Are you familiar with them?”

“A little.”

“Well, it turns out they wanted to destroy all the gods and replace them. Or at least create one new god to replace the rest of us. We stopped them.” I paused. “I think. And there’s a new goddess now.”

That caught her attention. “Oh?”

“Naevira. Goddess of Refuge.”

Oriselle blinked. Then she smirked. “Refuge?” she asked. “Interesting. I didn't realize there was enough Faith in sleepovers to sustain a deity.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think refuge is?”

A faint blush touched her cheeks. “Did I overstep?”

“No.” I smiled despite myself. “That just wasn't the reaction I expected.”

“And what reaction were you expecting?”

I shrugged. “I'm not sure. Anger. Disdain. Something dramatic. I wasn't expecting vague amusement.”

She studied me for a moment. “It seems like an odd aspect,” she said. “I understand the concept, but I would have expected something more... concrete.”

“Concrete?”

“We embody the things that shape the world.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Fire. War. Secrets. Authority. Pleasure.” The last word came with a slight smile. “Refuge is... ambiguous. It isn't safety. It isn't peace. It isn't defense or migration. One person's refuge is another person's prison.”

I considered that. “Interesting. I never thought of it that way.”

A small, smug smile appeared on her face. Apparently she enjoyed being right.

“So how long have you been a god?” I asked.

She placed a hand dramatically against her chest. “How rude. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to ask a woman her age?”

“Technically, I didn't.”

Her smile widened.

“Were you around during the Silent War?”

“No,” she said, relaxing back into the couch. “I was born centuries afterward. I don't believe many remain who witnessed it firsthand. Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity, mostly.” I took another sip of wine. “You've been doing this a lot longer than I have. Do you have animals in your demesne?”

Her eyebrow rose. That clearly wasn't where she expected the conversation to go. “Yes. We all do. They usually come about as a result of our association phase.”

“Where do they come from?” I asked.

“They're manifestations of our Faith.” She gestured lazily. “They live. They breed. They can survive outside the demesne. But they're born from Faith first.” Then she frowned. “I'm surprised you don't know that.”

I laughed softly. “There's a lot I don't know.” The words came easier than they once would have. “I wasn't born like you.”

Something shifted in her expression.

“I was mortal once. Back on my world. Then somehow I ascended and I’ve been trying to figure this all out.” I swirled the wine in my glass. “Yveth helped at the beginning, but...” I sighed.

“I don't have the knowledge you gods gained during your association and collation phases. I don't instinctively understand my Faith. I've spent nearly five years stumbling around in the dark, trying to figure things out through trial and error.”

A sad smile touched my lips. “Yveth helped. She’s the one who told me I was a god. She taught me how to connect to my Faith. How to reach my demesne. And while I appreciate everything she taught me, I only knew her for a few months.”

For a moment, Oriselle was quiet. “I apologize.”

I blinked.

“I'd heard rumors,” she said softly. “I just didn't realize.”

I wasn't entirely sure what she was apologizing for. My ignorance. My loss. Maybe both. Either way, I appreciated it.

“What was it like?” she asked. “Your world.”

I chuckled. The sound came out tangled with nostalgia, bitterness, and something that might have been grief. “Different. I actually just came back from there.”

Her eyes widened. “You returned?”

“Briefly.”

I stared into my wine. “It was everything I remembered. And more.”

“Is that good or bad?”

I laughed. “A little of both.”

The answer hung between us.

“I was never good at life there,” I admitted. “I was miserable. Odds are I'd have died miserable if the High Witan hadn't kidnapped me and dragged me here.”

My smile softened. “But going back reminded me how lucky I am.”

I thought of home. Of laughter around the dinner table. Of children racing through the house. Of Mirri. “Made me appreciate everything I have here.”

I shook my head. “The big things. The small things. My family. My friends. Mirri's cooking.” A smile escaped me. “The way Elise blushes when she gets flustered. Ashlara's hugs.”

The smile became genuine. “I'm glad I'm here.”

The words felt simple. Honest. “I'd be perfectly happy never going back.”

Oriselle watched me carefully.

“That chapter of my life is over.”

Silence lingered for a moment. “What was it actually like?”

I leaned back. “A world without mana. A world without Faith. A world without gods - or at least gods as we understand them.” I exhaled slowly.

“It's dirty. We're poisoning ourselves physically and emotionally. There isn't enough compassion. We obsess over the stupidest things. It's loud. It smells bad.” I paused. “And somehow it still manages to feel sterile.”

I smiled and stared into the distance. “But there's beauty there if you look hard enough. Still places untouched. Still people who care. And if you're lucky enough to find one of those people, you hold onto them with everything you've got.”

Oriselle listened without interrupting.

“It's a place that tries to grind you down,” I continued. “But there are people fighting against that. People resisting the greed. The corruption.” I laughed quietly. “It's technologically advanced and socially backward. A world built from contradictions.”

“It sounds complicated,” she said.

“It is.”

Then she tilted her head. “But I noticed something. You keep saying 'we.' when you speak about that world.” Her gaze sharpened. “You still call it yours.”

I thought about that, then chuckled. “I suppose I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I lived there for almost fifty years.” I spread my hands. “For a mortal, that's a very long time. “I was born there. Grew up there. Tried to build a life there. It was all I knew.”

The memory felt distant now. Like looking through old glass. “I didn't realize the world could be different.” A smile tugged at my lips. “I'm glad I was wrong.”

I met her eyes. “I'm glad there are places where people care for one another. Places where love matters. Places that aren't slowly dying.”

I gestured vaguely. “Annwn isn't perfect. There’s plenty of cruelty, greed, and corruption. But I've been lucky. Lucky enough to find people I trust completely. Lucky enough to find people who care. And lucky enough to have been given the power to protect them.”

Oriselle tilted her head. “Given?”

“Given.” I nodded. “I didn't earn this. I didn't work my way toward it. I didn't deserve it more than anyone else.” The words surprised even me a little. “Whether it was fate, chance, or some higher power doesn't really matter.”

I looked down at my hands. “I was given power.” Then back at her. “And now it's my responsibility to use it to help people.”

Oriselle grew thoughtful. “Given,” she repeated quietly as though tasting the word for the first time. “I never thought of it that way.”

I leaned back into my chair. A small, smug smile spreading across my face.

* * *

The next day I stepped to Crownreach to speak with Archmagus Amberleigh. He had agreed to meet with me regarding the growing threat of civil war, though he neither confirmed nor denied the queen's absence.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said. He worked his jaw for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on his gums. “And yes, we could use your help. But you need to understand something, Seth.” His lone green eye fixed on me. “The problem is larger than you think.”

We sat in his study. The enormous desk between us was as chaotic as ever. Books teetered in precarious stacks. Loose pages sprawled across every available surface. Reports vanished beneath scrolls covered in dense spellwork, only to reappear half-buried somewhere else. It looked less like a workspace and more like the aftermath of a magical landslide.

Amberleigh sat behind it all in a tall padded chair.

His back seemed more bowed than I remembered. Purple robes trimmed in yellow draped his thin frame. His wild white hair and beard continued their decades-long rebellion against combs, brushes, and common sense. Deep lines carved his face. One eye remained clouded and milky with age. The other still burned with sharp intelligence.

Despite his years, his mind remained as keen as ever.

But he looked tired. Older. Considering he was somehow more than a hundred and fifty years old, that was saying something.

“Certain powerful interests are maneuvering,” he said. “There are factions within the kingdom that would benefit from the queen's absence. The assassination attempts I mentioned before have not stopped. Meanwhile Zelmyra's uncontrolled Faith continues to inflame tensions both within our borders and beyond them.”

He sighed and rubbed at his brow. “As I've said before, we must tread carefully. If word spreads that Arvellian nobles have been handing citizens over to the Covenant, it could destabilize the kingdom.”

His expression darkened. “If the queen ignores their crimes, they become emboldened. If she moves openly against them, she risks becoming exactly the tyrant they already whisper she is.”

He spread his hands. “And all of this comes while Morentis, Caldris, and Dumrath Kol-Varn continue applying pressure from without.”

For a moment the only sound was the crackle of the fireplace.

“We need information,” he continued. “Proof. We need to know exactly how deep the rot goes before we attempt to cut it out. And we need to remove it without tearing the kingdom apart in the process.”

I nodded slowly.

“That’s where you come in.” He reached for a folder and tapped it against the desk. “Whatever happened with the Covenant on your world, they're not gone from this one. There are still cells operating in the shadows. We need to know what they're doing and what they're planning.”

His green eye narrowed. “Marching in and crushing them will only drive them deeper underground. It may disrupt them. It may even slow them.” He shook his head. “But it won't stop them.”

He slid the folder across the desk. “I have several leads. Minor nobles suspected of assisting the Covenant. A handful of waystations they may still be using.”

I picked up the papers.

“Visit them. Speak with them. Learn what you can.” Then his beard twitched with the faintest hint of a smile. “And if possible, try not to destroy everything within a mile of the investigation.”

I winced. The jab landed hard. Unfortunately, it wasn't entirely unfair.

I'd made mistakes. A lot of them. Subtlety had never been my strongest skill, and people had paid for that more than once.

Still, I wanted to help. At the end of the day, many of the events that brought us here traced back to me. Maybe not intentionally, but that hardly mattered. And even if the queen no longer trusted me, I still had a responsibility to help make things right.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I'll do my best.” I glanced down at the folder. “And I'll try to do it properly this time. I understand what's at stake.”

Amberleigh studied me for a moment. Then he nodded. “Good.”

He settled back into his chair and gestured toward the door.

“Then I'll leave you to it.”

* * *

After my meeting with Amberleigh, I headed out into Crownreach.

I spent a few hours walking the streets, asking questions, and following leads until I finally found the Queen's Cup.

By then it was late morning. The tavern sat mostly empty. Three patrons occupied the common room - two men sharing drinks at the bar and another reading alone at a table with a mug in hand.

Nothing immediately stood out.

I made my way to the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

He was short but broad-shouldered. Well groomed. Decently handsome. The sort of man who probably knew it.

“An ale,” I said. “And some information.”

“The ale we've got plenty of.” He filled a mug and slid it toward me. “Information's harder to come by.”

I placed a gold coin on the bar. Far more than the drink was worth. “A friend of mine was here last week. Guy from Iilvarion. Friendly. Boisterous. Good looking.”

The bartender snorted. “That doesn't narrow it down much.”

“He got a note here and headed out back. You remember him?”

The bartender made a show of thinking. “Sorry, friend. Doesn't ring a bell.”

That was a lie. His voice echoed strangely in my thoughts, tugging at that part of me that recognized dishonesty. I still didn't fully understand it, but I was fairly certain it stemmed from Solenna's Faith.

I placed several more gold coins beside the first. “My friend forgot his hat,” I said. “He'd really like it back. His mother made it for him.”

The bartender glanced at the growing pile of gold, then back at me. “Sorry, friend. Don't know who you're talking about.”

“Fair enough.” I nodded. “Keep the money.”

He shrugged and reached for the coins.

The instant his fingers touched them, I grabbed his wrist and stepped.

The world lurched. The tavern vanished.

The bartender screamed.

A heartbeat later we stood at the mouth of a cavern overlooking a sheer drop. Wind howled through the opening. Far below, jagged rocks waited a hundred feet beneath us.

Yveth’s old lair.

The bartender dangled over empty air. Only my grip kept him from plummeting. His scream climbed an octave.

“Might not want to struggle,” I advised. “Don't want to lose my grip.”

“Please don't drop me!” he shouted. His fingers locked around my arm with surprising strength. “I'll tell you whatever you want to know!”

“My friend met a woman behind your tavern.” I adjusted my grip slightly. “Who was she, and where can I find her?”

“She called herself Cassia!” he blurted. The words practically tripped over one another. “But I doubt that's her real name! Dark hair! Dark eyes! Pretty! From the desert somewhere!”

He looked down and immediately regretted it. “She comes by every couple months to meet someone different. Spent most of the evening watching the door until your friend arrived.”

“How do I find her?”

“I don't know!” His voice cracked. “I swear! Meets different people every time! Always go outback into the alley!” He tightened his grip. “She pays in old coins. Got the queen's great-grandfather stamped on them.”

His eyes widened. “That's all I know! I swear that's all I know!”

I considered him for a moment, then stepped.

The world shifted again.

Unfortunately, my aim was slightly off. Instead of the tavern, we arrived in a bedroom.

A man and woman in the throes of passion.

The bartender collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath - which drew the couple’s attention.

The woman screamed.

The man scrambled backward, tangled himself in the sheets, and promptly fell off the bed - leaving her exposed on the bed. .

Which did nothing to improve the situation.

Her screaming intensified.

“Sorry,” I told her and I grabbed the bartender by the arm to drag him out the door and into a hallway.

A row of doors stretched along either side. Stairs descended at the far end.

I released him and he immediately sat down trying to catch his breath.

I started toward the stairs.

“Wait!”

I stopped and looked back.

“Are... you Seth?” the bartender asked.

“Yes.”

“Shit.” He shook his head. “I got something for you.”

That wasn't the response I'd expected. “You do?”

He nodded. “A package.”

“For me?”

“Woman dropped it off.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nine? Ten years ago, maybe.”

I stared at him. “You've had a package for me for ten years?”

“She told me to give it to a guy named Seth. Auburn hair. Causes a lot of trouble.” The bartender laughed weakly from the floor.

“What did she look like?”

The man frowned. “Brown hair. Cute, but not pretty.” He shrugged. “Blue dress, maybe? Honestly, I don't remember much. But she met with Cassia. Waited ‘till Cassia left before dropping off the package.”

His brow furrowed. “Like she didn't want Cassia to know.”

“Where's the package?”

“Downstairs.” He motioned toward the stairs. “Follow me.”

We descended into the tavern.

The man walked behind the bar and crouched beneath it. After a minute of rummaging, he emerged holding a small cardboard box. “Here.”

“Anything else I should know?”

He immediately shook his head. “I don’t know anything else, friend. I got no more crazy and I don’t want anymore.”

I tucked the box under my arm. “Thanks. Keep the gold.”

I stepped home.