The Grove(97)
“Much like Saleria’s Order, my own insists on being clean and neat as frequently as possible,” Aradin said. “Do you know when this Lavender opens her shop?”
“She’ll be open for customers at sixth hour, which is almost an hour after dawn this time of year,” Nannan gauged. “If you want to be helpful, you can grab a broom and sweep the floors or something, since I doubt you could cook.”
“I do know how to cook, though I am not familiar with how to prepare the local foods.” A thought crossed his mind. “Saleria has mentioned she prefers sleeping in. Since I have been accepted into her service by both her Gods and mine, why don’t we let her sleep in? I’ll grab one of the staves and make the rounds of the walls, and you can take your time preparing breakfast for all of us.”
She frowned at that, but sighed after a moment. “Fine. Though if I hadn’t seen the holy symbols myself on the page Daranen showed me last night, I’d not have allowed it. And I’ll blame you for it,” she added, poking him in the chest, “if the Grove goes wild while it’s in your care instead of hers.”
Rubbing the bruise she had left, Aradin raised one brow at her. “I should think all four Patron Deities would make you wait in line if I should fail to tend the Grove, milady . . . though They might just appoint you Their taskmistress for my punishment. I assure you that if I have any say in the matter, the Grove will be tended well, its dangers contained, and its inhabitants carefully restored to its long-lost glory.”
Nannan eyed him a long moment, then flipped her hand at the hallway. “Go on. Out the back door with you. If you get eaten by a carnivorous flower, though, it’ll be what you deserve for not being smart and fast enough to avoid being devoured.”
“. . . And a glorious good morning to you, too, milady,” Aradin replied, bowing himself out of the kitchen.
(A wise man knows when to retreat, hm?) Teral teased.
(Quite. I have no idea what I’ve done to get on her bad side,) Aradin sighed.
(I suspect she instinctively knows you’re a huge distraction for her employer. She fears change and the familiar order of her daily routines being upset,) the elder Witch observed. (She fears, too, I think, being supplanted in Saleria’s affections. A woman does not need a mother figure nearly as much when she has a husband to be her life-partner.)
(That could be,) the younger Witch allowed, opening the back door to the Grove. He closed it behind him and paused for a moment, inhaling the cool, damp air of pre-morning. (Or maybe it’s just because she didn’t pick me out for the household. She does seem to like being in charge.)
Teral chuckled. (That could be. Depending on when Daranen gets the morning’s correspondence sorted, we may be able to visit the laundress right after breakfast. Then the three of us could work on fixing the Grove for the rest of the morning in a solid block of time.)
(If not . . . then we’ll just take a break midway to stretch our legs into town.) Opening the shed door, he grasped one of the staves, found the triggering rune to light up the cutting spell, and readied himself for the hike. (Now help me concentrate. Given the past few mornings’ weirdness, I don’t know what we’ll be facing, and I’d rather not have to pay for repairwork to my court clothes.)
(I’m still in yesterday’s clothes,) Teral reminded him. (And they’re relatively clean; I wouldn’t mind wearing them today for a bit more. Would you rather risk them than your velvets?)
Aradin paused a moment, then shrugged, leaned the staff against the shed, and slipped into the folds of their Witchcloak. (Take the body then, until it’s time to head into town.)
* * *
Saleria woke slowly, gradually. The scent of egg-dipped toast perfumed the air. Along with hints of spiced meat minced with fruit, it lured her out of one of the best slumbers of her adult life. Inhaling deeply, she stretched and tensed every muscle, then let them all relax on a deep sigh. She almost drifted back to sleep, too, save for the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
It was too bright in her bedroom. Too bright . . . Daylight! Jinga’s Sweet Ass! Bolting upright, heart pounding, she looked at her windows, where the pink linen curtains couldn’t keep out the bright morning sunshine glowing through their thin weave. I’m late for the Grove!
She twisted to get out of the bed . . . and felt her muscles protest. Sore with exertion, she blinked, remembered, and blushed. Last night . . . oh wow. Three times for me, twice for him . . . Oh wow . . . Cheeks hot with her blush, she tried to piece together why she was still in her bed after the sun had risen . . . and realized what must have happened. He must have told Nannan . . . Uh, not to wake me, not that we . . . He must be doing the morning rounds—oh, did I tell him not to touch the collection crystal to the fissure? I don’t think I did!