“She can be discreet,” Daranen told him. “She has to be; the Keeper’s position has been endangered in the past by indiscreet staff. Saleria is no Seer, but she has some of the same level of fame. More, in many ways, for there can be two or three Seers alive at one time in an empire the size of Katan, but there is only ever one Keeper, and perhaps one apprentice.”
“I think it might be best to remove temptation from her presence all the same,” Aradin said. He didn’t need Teral’s mental nudgings to make his recommendations; they were simply wise. “The Netherhells are as real as the Afterlife, but considerably easier to access, since they do not require one to be dead. Gossip about a potential demonic invasion could be considered too alarming to keep silent. Perhaps if we retired to the study?”
Saleria knew he had a point. She shook her head. “I told her what little I did because she does need to know why your presence here is so important. On several levels. But you are right; she doesn’t need to know the rest . . . and Daranen, at this point, your knowing of what are still mere possibilities would only trouble your tranquility and concentration. Whatever Aradin Teral and I have to discuss, we should probably do it in the Bower. Which means tomorrow morning—if you gentlemen will excuse me,” she added just as Nannan came back, “I am in need of a bath and a good night’s rest.
“Aradin, Teral, Daranen, I will see you all in the morning. Good night. And a good night to you as well, Nannan—I can draw my bath on my own for at least one night,” she added, to prevent the older woman from having to choose between handling the supper dishes and preparing the tub. “I did it for many years before I came here. Have yourself an early evening’s rest.”
Aradin rose politely when Saleria did, and bowed to her. “Then I shall see myself out, and see you in the morning.”
(I can hear your sub-thoughts,) Teral mused quietly. He sent his Host a fleeting, wistful smile. (Alas, it is too early to offer to scrub her back. Perhaps later, though.)
(One can only hope,) Aradin agreed, heading for the door. (Let’s see if the inn has a tub available for my own use.)
* * *
Saleria did not want to get up. Her bed was comfortable, her body still tired, and she’d been enjoying a very delightful, if slightly bizarre, dream involving Aradin, whipped honey butter, sugared rose petals, and a waterfall made out of something thick and brown that looked like the spicy sauce Nannan slathered on meat when she grilled it. Alas, right on schedule, Nannan bustled into her bedroom, whipped away the covers, and smacked her on the rump. Just as the Keeper had suspected her housekeeper would.
“No mercy for you today, Keeper,” Nannan stated sternly, ignoring Saleria’s offended grunt. “I lay awake half the night, fearing I’d start dreaming about Netherdemons, and if I can’t get my sleep, then you cannot. Up you get!”
Rolling over, Saleria stretched across the feather-stuffed mattress. Her nightshift had ridden up a bit, but at least the heat wasn’t so strong this morning that she longed to be under the enspelled comforter again. A soft groan escaped, and her eyelids started to drift shut against the morning light. Hungry as she was, she was also still tired.
“Oh, no you don’t!”
Saleria yelped as the older woman whapped her in the stomach with a pillow. “I’m up! I’m up!”
Climbing out of the bed, she gave her housekeeper a dirty look, but accepted the lounging robe without complaint. Now that she was upright, with a little adrenaline in her blood from that whap, she could think. I’ll have an interesting day, I think, she decided, knuckling the sleep-sand from the corners of her eyes. Getting Aradin Teral settled, figuring out what we can do about the various plants, working it all in around my schedule of prayers and patrols . . .
Curiosity prompted her to ask, “Nannan . . . did you have any nightmares? If so, I am sorry.”
“No,” the older woman stated, her tone slightly sniffy. She shooed Saleria out of the bedchamber and toward the stairs. “But I wasted half the night worrying I would. Instead, I dreamed about getting into an argument with pickled turnips that looked like striped melons and talked like children. A very odd dream, but not all that frightening.”
“I do love the way you pickle things,” Saleria told her. She didn’t mention her own dream. “Any chance there’re pickled eggs for breakfast?”
Nannan snorted. “No, but Daranen went back to the inn with that man last night, and he certainly came home pickled. I’ll not be surprised if your scribe cannot abide the scratch of his pen on the page today.”