She had already received five similar prophecy-laden scrolls from the others, as each Guardian had come prepared to share their findings. Mother Naima looked eager to be off soon, to witness the birth of Guardian Serina’s children. Saleria had no such convenient excuse to get back to work, just the more tedious task of helping prepare potion ingredients for Aradin. Although if I brought some sort of stool or chair to the Bower to sit on, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so tedious, she thought, listening to Kerric redistribute her offerings. I could sit and sort ingredients while I listened to the others talk. Yes, I think I’ll do that.
The Bower was rapidly filling with tables, storage chests, various bits of alchemical gear, and more. The moss had been trimmed well back from several paths, and the intermingled saps saturating the ground had been collected into barrels for storage until it could be separated and purified or burned somehow. A stray corner of her mind, bored with the mirror-scryed meeting, wondered just how different the place would look in another month, if it had only taken a single turning of Brother Moon to change things as much as they had . . . and only in the Bower, so far. The entire span of the Grove awaited their efforts.
Listening with half her attention to what Guardian Marton was reporting from the prophecy archives of Fortuna—which wasn’t much more than what they already knew—she wondered if she dared sneak off-mirror long enough to grab a mortar and pestle to grind something while she listened. Anything to help keep her normally active body busy, however important and interesting the discussions at hand might be.
* * *
(Wake up, both of you!)
Guhh . . . whah? Wits swimming in a fog of deep sleep interrupted, Aradin became aware of himself and his surroundings. He had been sleeping in his favorite position, wrapped around Saleria from behind. The moment he identified the warm curves in his arm, the shapely naked bottom pressed against his equally naked groin, he instinctively cuddled closer. Nudged her with his loins, hoping it was early enough for . . .
(Oh for the love of the Light—wake UP!)
Both of them jolted, Aradin with wide eyes and Saleria with a gasped, “T-Teral?”
(Yes, and I apologize for coming back so early in the morning without warning, but it is time.)
“It’s time?” she asked. “Time for wha—oh!”
Aradin, struggling more with his body’s reaction to hers than to Teral’s words, found the source of his interest elbowing him accidentally in her awkward wriggle to get out of the bed. “What the . . . ?”
“Convocation! It’s time!” she clarified.
His eyes snapped open. Then squinched shut as she rapped the lightglobe by her bed, flooding the night-dark room with light. He grunted as his eyes smarted, waiting for them to adjust to the abrupt glow.
(Both of you need to hurry. The people of Nightfall are going to have all the petitions timed in the order of each priest’s arrival, so they want Katan’s representative to show up quickly, as a diplomatic courtesy from their rival, Nightfall. I have to go tap the rest of my fellow Guides in the contact-chain, but I won’t be long.)
“Right, right . . .”
Sliding out of the bed, Aradin squinted against the rapping of another lightglobe and followed Saleria into the dressing room. Now that they were more or less stationed here in Groveham permanently, and Nannan was able to do his laundry along with the rest—he and Teral had scrounged up and enchanted some tools to help that task go more easily for the non-mage housekeeper—he was keeping half of his things in Saleria’s dressing room. Their dressing room.
“Teral says they want you to arrive among the first, since the order of petitions heard will be in the order the priests arrive. As a courtesy from Nightfall to Katan, since they’re stealing your nation’s chance at reconvening it, as well as gaining their independence in the act.” He reached for a clean set of undertrousers.
She nodded, barely keeping her balance as she struggled into her own undergarments. “More power to them—oh! Prelate Lanneraun! I’m scheduled to go visit him today for lunch to discuss the upcoming Autumn Festival, one of my eight public appearances. And I thought of something: Aradin Teral, I give you both permission as officially appointed assistants to the Keeper of the Grove to use its powers in any way you best see fit while I am gone, in the understanding that you shall hide nothing from me when I return. I almost forgot about your oath-binding, but now you should be free to use the Grove energies to defend it against any possibility. I just need to find some paper and a pen and an inkpot for a note to the Prelate . . .”
“I’ll pray to all four Gods that it won’t ever have to come to that. And I can go visit Prelate Lanneraun for you,” Aradin reminded her, touching her arm in brief reassurance before pulling on a pair of trousers. “We don’t need to waste time with a letter. If nothing else, I can always tell him to postpone making the arrangements until your return.”