Valkyrie of Desire

9. Conversion Conversation

Freedom does not mean free from duty

Report all to the community

Let consensus birth true unity

And banish false negativity

—Agastache Beebuzz

Sugar. The plate of pastries has no crispy bacon, no beef heart, and no lamb's liver. Only fruits and flaky bread, covered with a glossy film. Sugar.

Siting up from prostrating on her living room floor, Hildr holds her smile as her stomach flips. One bite to be polite. Two if necessary. At three ... Hildr grits her teeth. At three, she will have to keep going until it is done. As bad as betraying her diet may be, it is no worse than avoiding completion. The pastry, after being chosen, will be nibbled and tossed, or bitten and bitten and swallowed whole. It is the straightest path.

Hildr settles her twitching lip and flutters her lashes at Agastache. The large woman's demeanor has softened to match her marshmallowy body. Perhaps, the druidess is not so much like her own mother.

"My stomach is churning." Hildr climbs into her seat and picks up a marmalade-topped pastry. "I may only nibble."

Agastache brushes crumbs off her druidic sash of beads and rocks back in Apple's chair, making Hildr's heart thud as it creaks. Please hold together.

"A most impressive achievement," says Agastache. "Your independent band embraced all five alignments and thrived."

Hildr straightens. It was a rare thing for even demigods to dare. Hildr's divine mistress and her kin, as a group, claimed power from all the overgods while pledging allegiance to none. The Lords Under The Eye—Lute, a band to envy and to fear.

"We had reason for pride," says Hildr.

Agastache nods. "Here, in this remote place, Lute had the confidence to bully aside my crusade. With flame and fury, they—you wiped out the inconveniently placed Peach Tribe brownies. How hard, really, would it have been to curve your trade trail around them?"

Hildr gulps. "We warned and begged their tribe to move. I threw up when I learned my demigoddess burned them out." She points at Meepsin crouched in his wooden box, licking his fingers clean. "You accused me of having him around to worship me, but I worship him. That little twig man is my redemption. Coming here and marrying Apple is a part of helping Meepsin reunite with his tribe."

Agastache trills to Meepsin, deeper in tone but approximating his language. Hildr fingers her golden hairpin, and the brownie trills back.

"Your story holds up well enough." The woman grunts and scoots forward in her chair, straining its joinery. "Lute, like all independent bands, suffered more from the purge of demigods than the crusades. Do you accept this?"

Coin was the true god of Hildr's band; a truth made clear when adventuring gave way to investment and they built an economic empire that rivaled nation-states.

Hildr says, "It doesn't surprise me."

Agastache claps her hands like an amiable matron but smiles like a prowling cougar. "Tell me, my repentant child of Red. Why not?"

Another test. Hildr narrows her eyes. Could the druidess be pushing to convert her to the Verdant Crusade of Gardener's Green?

Hildr says, "Unlike bands, Crusaders aren't paid to be loyal. They have faith, and I've always admired the ... simplicity in worshiping an overgod above all else."

The woman nods. "Acceptable answer, though blind faith is more Pale Crusade than Verdant." She holds up a bit of her beaded sash, featuring a spiral of green, white, blue, black, and red. "Five colors, five crusades. It's complicated enough sorting our enemies without the additional meddling of independents."