Valkyrie of Desire

14. A Pale Advocate

Of the devout, some are blessed

Of the best, few are chosen

They speak with an angel's tongue

To direct the power of Hierophant

They are the faithful

Missionaries travel as advocates

Preachers solidify communities

While prophets claim whole cities

All in our Overlord's name

—Lord Talom Mourning of White

Belly full and breath shallow, Hildr climbs the spiral stairs at the base of the aviary tower. The air grows thick and damp as a jungle. She wets her hands on the sweating granite walls, and the ceiling drips on her nose.

Has a sauna been added? She wipes her face with her sleeve. It makes sense that an old obese woman like Agastache would remodel for comfort. She rubs her neck. A steam room would be a dream. Will the druidess tempt her with such luxury as a perk for surrendering to her Verdant Crusade?

A breeze comes down the stairs, bringing scents of ferns, moss, and the musk of foreign animals. She flares her nostrils. This does not come from a sauna nor from the griffin stables.

Hildr sucks in a breath. It has been years, but this mix of humid heat and exotic scents is familiar. It comes from an alien realm that is lush and full of lethal charm.

She presses her thumb against her forehead, a prayer to her overgod and a warding. A rift has been opened to Primal World, something only a demigod of Green or a caster with a place of power can do. If Agastache has made the rift stable, she is protected from a rush. Vines would entangle any who charged with spear or sword, and then the druidess could squeeze the life out of them like a constrictor snake.

Hildr steadies her breathing. With an unborn baby to consider, running is logical. Should Meepsin, Apple, or anyone else matter? She growls. This divine pregnancy is a curse, a burden promoting cowardice and sabotaging her strengths. How much of herself must be sacrificed to motherhood?

Honor matters. Loyalty matters. Her son needs a mother he can be proud of.

Heat builds. She sweats. Steam curls from her arms and face.

NON-PLAYER DESIRE CONNECTING ...

Darla stands up from her plush waiting room sofa. "There's knocking."

Across the room the gray door stands a crack open, kept from closing by a corner of a pillow. She flinches. The tapping is not coming from the door. Pressure tickles inside her mind, a yearning, a need, Hildr is calling—jumping the distance between the mortal doorway and her.

Darla stomps over to her angelic green companion prone on the carpet. Snug under his feathered wings, he snores with raucous power.

This was his doing. Rusty and without proper tools, he hacked a path to her host that can be maintained anywhere in this room. She frowns. He neglected to mention the connection could go both ways.

"Did you hear me?" She kicks the sole of his foot, drawing a drop of blood with her claws. "Wake up!"

He jerks and rolls up to his knees, yawning and spreading his wings. "I was dreaming. Warm, comforting. I'm not sure it's really a baby—"

"Hildr's knocking." Darla taps her forehead with a knuckle. "Do I let her in?"

His eyes widen. "Can you tell what she wants?"