The Grove

FIFTEEN

With the wards on the wall unpowered, two chunks of the stone barrier had been damaged enough to let plenty of bush-beasts through. There were two other treemen wandering around, too; one had headed northeast into the hills away from Groveham, and the other southeast into farmland. Saleria paused at the house to have Daranen dig through the Keepers’ archives in the basement of her home to look for instructions on how to repair the wardings, and focused on that aspect of the work for several hours. She had to unward and unlock the main gates to allow all the scattered mutations to return safely to the Grove, but at least that way they wouldn’t undo all the repairs she had to make.

Aradin headed into the Bower to start reining in the ever-circling energies of the Grove with Teral’s help. Since all that power had to go somewhere, they used the excess magic to start identifying, tagging, and compelling anything within four days’ walk with the resonance-signatures of their two locus trees to return to the Grove, find a place to plant themselves, and rest. When Saleria joined them—laden with a basket of food picked up from Nannan, filled with good energy-boosting vegetables and stamina-boosting meats and cheeses—most of the bush-beast mutations were on their way back. Adding her locus-rift’s powers to the mix made the resulting combination of spells look like it was going to catch everything that had escaped over the last couple of days.

By that time, it was near dawn, the air cool but promising the heat of another late-summer day. Aradin sighed and leaned against one of his tables, the one the basket was still on. He plucked out a handful of nuts and raisins from one of the wide-mouthed bowls the housekeeper had packed, and looked around the Bower. The soft pastel nodules embedded in the roots and branches forming the Bower dome were no longer static lights; some shone brightly, linked to the spells the three of them had woven. The rest pulsed slowly with the flow of energies being managed, forming a rippling, soft rainbow over their heads.

Somewhere out there to the east, he could hear the creak-and-thump of one of the treemen returning and looking for a place to take root and rest, as commanded. The eastern sky above the hills had turned from star-strewn black to a dusky shade of dark blue, and a few of the local birds were starting to twitter. Tired though he was, he took a few moments to chew and contemplate.

Saleria moved up beside him and leaned back against the table, too. Sidling close, she sighed and leaned against him, letting her temple rest on his shoulder. “A lot of work . . . but a good night’s work. Yes?”

He nodded, swallowed, and offered her the last few nuts and raisins in his hand. Gently grasping his fingers, she pulled them open and nibbled the treats directly from his skin, then pressed a kiss to the center of his palm.

Aradin smiled softly and closed his fingers around the lingering imprint of her lips. He tucked his arm around her and rested the side of his head on the top of hers. “An interesting week, I’d say. I’m glad Nannan told you no one was killed in the rampage. I’d hate to have that on my conscience. And your permission to ‘do anything it takes’ also helped . . . even if it was a bit backward, saving the Grove by wreaking havoc with it.”

“Blame that one on Shanno, because you were saving it from him.” She shook her head slightly, not enough to dislodge their comfortable side by side cuddle. “Enough of him . . . You know, Kata and Jinga approve of you. In the Grove, and in my life.”

No fool, Aradin knew what that meant. As devout as she was, having Their approval would mean everything to her in regard to a relationship with him. He breathed deeply again, enjoying the lightening shade of the eastern sky. It was on its way from dark to medium blue now, picking up hints of green in anticipation of the pale yellow of sunrise. His favorite time of morning.

By chance, his gaze fell on the now nearly circular, bed-sized patch of thick, green moss at the very center of the Bower. The sap residue had been successfully cleansed from the Bower cobblestones, though there was still more than enough to cause problems out in the rest of the Grove if one touched the soil with a bare hand. But that patch of moss had been left alone because it made for a very thick, comfortable cushion for his beloved to kneel upon and pray each day.

No doubt she would want to pray upon its cushioning surface at least once before leaving Groveham for the Convocation . . . but his mind thought of another use for the bed-thick material. “Saleria, my love . . .”

“Yes, Aradin Teral?” she replied, letting him—them—know she fully accepted Teral’s presence. If there was one thing she had learned about relationships while at the Convocation, it was that her God and Goddess did not object to these two men sharing her life at the same time.

“I’m speaking for just myself, Aradin, right now,” he corrected her. “What say I send Teral off into the Dark, so we can honor the Wedding of Kata and Jinga right here in the Bower, hm? Or would that be blasphemous, making love in here?”

She grinned. “It would actually not be blasphemous. Before the Grove turned into a hazard, the previous Keepers had the right to shoo everyone out of here by nightfall . . . but nothing prevented the Keepers themselves from coming back in at night to do just that. But . . . you don’t have to send Teral away.”

Both Host and Guide stilled. Aradin blinked, not quite daring to breathe. Teral hesitated, then reached through the physical contact Aradin had with Saleria. (Are you absolutely sure, my dear?)

“Yes. You can stay and watch. And, erm, enjoy. Secondhand,” she amended, a little nervous with her choice even knowing it was the right one to make. Twisting a little at his side, she looked up at Aradin. “You see, I love Aradin deeply . . . but I’ve also come to love you. I’ve come to understand just how close your lives are intertwined. And I honestly accept that . . . and in accepting it, I accept you. Except I’m still a bit nervous about having you here, so let’s just have Aradin take and keep the lead this first time, hmm?”

Aradin could feel Teral’s sub-thought urge to kiss her. Acceding to her wishes, he leaned in and did it himself . . . but opened up his thoughts and sub-thoughts to his Guide so the older Witch could experience everything freely. The soft warmth of her lips, the slight hint of raisins and almonds in their taste, and the feel of her curves as she shifted to press her body against his . . . (Glorious,) Teral breathed into both their minds. (Beautiful, and glorious . . . and even a bit “magnificent.”)

Reminded of Aradin’s comparison of her legs to the thettis-vine mutation, Saleria broke the kiss with a chuckle. She stepped back from Aradin, moving toward the moss-covered ground. “Come here, both of you,” she told the man in front of her, “and help me recreate the wedding nights of both our Gods and Goddesses.”

Host and Guide stilled. Teral recovered first, since he wasn’t confused by her double-meaning. (I, ah, told her about the wedding-gift of the Moons to our God and Goddess . . . but I don’t think she meant it that way.)

(I didn’t think so, either.) Out loud, Aradin cautiously stated, “As lovely as that suggestion is . . . first of all, you said you wanted only me to make love with you this time, and just let Teral watch. And second of all, both Brother and Sister Moon have to be up in the sky. You can only have one of me right now, even if that was your intent.”

Saleria blushed bright red at his blunt reminders. “I, er . . . that is . . .” She cleared her throat. “Ahh . . . one little step at a time, alright? I’m not sure . . . I’m, um . . . oh, bollocks,” Saleria muttered, still blushing. “Maybe—maybe—one day, but right now . . .”

“You’re not sure at this point if you could,” Aradin finished for her, pushing away from the table to join her. Catching her hand, he continued on toward the mossy sward at the heart of the Bower. “Don’t worry; neither of us are offended, either way. In fact, we both consider it an honor that you’re willing to let Teral enjoy the moment secondhand. But as it is my moment . . . my deepest wish is for you to enjoy this moment.”

Allowing herself to be tugged in his wake, Saleria stopped with him at the edge of the ragged circle and started removing her clothes. To her surprise, he didn’t shrug out of his Witchcloak; instead, he pulled the folds around his body, hiding his clothes for as long as it took her to unfasten her priestly gown and pull it over her head. Once clear, she glanced his way again, expecting him to begin disrobing.

Instead, he let the front edges of the Witchcloak drape open to either side, revealing his now nude, lean frame. Saleria pouted, gown half-folded in her hands. “That’s not fair. You can get dressed and undressed in the Dark, too?”

“With Teral’s assistance, yes,” Aradin admitted, flashing her a smile. “He just hasn’t been around to help put my clothes away until now.”

She pout-scowled. “Definitely not fair.”

Grinning, he gently took her robe from her and stuffed it up the broad, black-lined interior of one sleeve. It started pulling itself in on its own accord at about the halfway point, or rather, under his unseen Guide’s touch. He took the other garments she removed, too; her underthings, socks, even her boots, then removed the Witchcloak once they were stored and neatly folded it. Setting it on the cobblestone path circling the prayer-moss, the Darkhanan Witch gently tugged her into his arms and kissed her forehead.

“As many drawbacks as there may be to sharing one’s life with another soul, there are some nice advantages to compensate,” he admitted, holding her close. “It’s not the life I originally envisioned for myself . . . but it has led me here to you.”

“And the Grove,” Saleria agreed.

“And you,” Aradin asserted, hugging her. “I can find a gardening job anywhere in the world. Easier ones, for sure. But you are unique and special, Saleria, and I . . .”

(Not easy to say the words, is it?) Teral sympathized privately.

(I can think them just fine, as you well know,) he muttered mentally. (I just don’t want to mess this up when I ask her to be my wife.)

Teral snorted. (Tell her, then show her, and you’ll be fine.)

“I love you,” Saleria said.

Aradin blinked, staring at Saleria. She hugged him and repeated herself.

“I love you, Aradin. I love Teral in there, too. And I want enough of this Grove fixed fast enough that we can be the first mortal marriage celebrated in here,” she added, pulling back just enough to poke a finger into his naked chest, “so cleaning it up had better not take fifty years.”

“Yes, my love,” he agreed, gently catching her hand. He drew her finger to his lips, kissing it. “I—we—love you deeply, too. And it would be our joy to be your husband for as long as we all shall live, if that is your desire.”

She smiled and ducked her head. Placing her hand against his chest, she felt his heart beating, and felt her own respond. Saleria looked up into his hazel eyes. “That is my desire, yes.” For a moment, she hesitated, then gathered her courage, leaned in close, and murmured into his ear, “Teral tells me you like it when a woman rubs you . . . there . . . with her feet.”

The twitch of his manhood against her thigh was all the proof she needed. She didn’t need the sound of Aradin’s soft groan, or his muttered, “That dead rat traitor . . . !”

Chuckling, she tickled his chest and stepped back, up onto the mossy ground. “Is he really a traitor, Aradin, when it’s something you want to receive, and something I want to give?”

He groaned again, because she had a point, and because her willingness made his whole body ache.

“I just . . . don’t know how to do it, is all,” Saleria admitted sheepishly. “I’ve never done that before with a gentleman.”

Moving away reluctantly, Aradin lowered himself to the ground, then patted his crossed legs. “We can get to that later, since it’s usually easiest done when both people are sitting in chairs or something. Come here, love, and sit on me. I want to kiss you thoroughly.”

Saleria stepped onto the moss, but did not straddle his lap. Instead, she balanced herself carefully on one foot and gently placed the other on his thigh. Checking his expressions to see if she was getting this right, she wiggled her toes. The movement inadvertently inched her closer to his groin.

Breath hitching, Aradin bit his bottom lip. Fire, delicious, impassioned fire, seared his nerves with each tiny shift of her foot incrementally closer to his loins. His manhood had been ready ever since seeing her naked—and always halfway ready any time he was in her presence, as if he were a full decade younger—but this had him jutting up proudly, blatantly.

She slid her foot along his thigh, caressing his skin and the soft hairs on it, but her balance wasn’t perfect. Seeing her wobble, Aradin held up his hands. Saleria accepted them with a grateful smile, then went back to concentrating on stimulating his body with her foot.

(You know,) Teral stated, startling both of them, (this would be considerably easier with your air-walking spell, so she could just sit on a floating bit of mist and play with you that way.)

Saleria blushed bright red. Aradin grinned . . . then lost it, mouth agape, when she spoke.

“Well, if you’ll kindly cast it, Teral, I can do just that, rather than wobble around like an idiot. Hand him control for a moment, love,” she ordered.

It took him a few seconds to remember how to breathe. Licking his lips, Aradin snapped his fingers, conjuring a little puff of mist. It expanded into a vague armchair-shaped cloud. “I can cast it myself, you know.”

“Well, I insist the two of you teach me it at our earliest convenience,” she stated, checking her position versus the mist before settling into the makeshift seat.

A little flick of Aradin’s fingers wafted it up against the backs of her knees and then some, bringing her feet very much into range of his groin. In fact, as soon as she was seated, he grasped her ankles, settled her soles on his hip bones, then stretched out on his back. Sighing happily, he tucked his hands behind his head.

Distracted by the way his muscles flexed and moved on his lean, fit frame, Saleria caught the arch of one of his eyebrows—a trick she still couldn’t figure out how to do—and realized she was neglecting her side of things. With the mist-chair supporting her weight, she was free to slide her feet everywhere. Up onto his belly, where his stomach muscles tensed with a laugh, down onto his thighs, where he spread them apart slightly, giving her access to trail her toes along their insides. When she gently nudged his bollocks, he gasped and arched his back, fingers digging into the thick moss.

Saleria played with him for a little bit, circling around the base of his shaft, then finally tipped her feet and slid her soles up along the warm, silken flesh jutting up from his groin. For her part, this was just a thing of curiosity, of different textures and the fascinating ways he reacted. But oh, how he reacted! Liquid seeped from the flushed-red tip, and the whole shaft throbbed and jumped when she gently caressed it with her soles.

Soft groans became louder ones, which mutated into helpless whimpers. Finally, his hands flew from clutching at the moss to clutching the tops of her feet. Cupping them around his shaft, he helped guide her up and down, up and down, his hips flexing in counterpoint. Face flushed, skin glistening with sweat, mouth open and eyelids strained shut, he looked beautiful to her.

That was the word for it: beautiful. Men were normally handsome, but lost in his passion, Aradin was beautiful. What had started out as a simple act of wanting to pleasure her lover, and which had become an act of curiosity along the way, morphed now into an act of pleasure for her, too. It excited her to see and hear him so needy, so urgent. Saleria found herself speaking aloud, encouraging him.

“Yes, love, yesss . . . Find your release with me—enjoy my feet! You feel so hot and good against my toes,” she told him. “It’s making me tingle all over; I can’t imagine how good it must feel for you . . . yessss. More—more! Harder!” she added as he bucked upward. “More! Give me your love!”

He tried to say her name, but it emerged incompletely in a cross between a yell and a hiss. Pushing up between her clasped feet, he came. It felt glorious, and so satisfying—the first time in well over a year that any woman had been willing to fondle him this way. The other ways were good, even great, but this . . . this was a special treat. One made all the more special because it was a beautiful, precious gift from the woman he loved.

Sated and smiling, he relaxed into the moss and blinked sleepily up at the pastel-lit wickerwork of the Bower dome. His fingers stroked her ankles, then patted and released her feet in silent thanks. While she chuckled and dug her toes into the moss, wiping part of the mess he had made onto the green tufts, he focused on enjoying the afterglow while he stared upward. Beyond the brown-barked, blossom-dotted tangle, the sky had brightened to the vivid medium blue found on morning glory flowers.

Wait . . . blossoms? He blinked and stared upward in confusion. (Teral, am I imagining this, or . . . ?)

(No, I see them, too.) Teral started to say more, but Saleria rose from the mist-chair, her attention clearly still on Aradin’s body and not on the odd change in the dome overhead.

“Well, that was a lot more fun than I thought it’d be,” she purred, dropping onto all fours to straddle his hips and lower her head to his. Kissing him gently, she nibbled on his bottom lip, then deepened it for a moment. Ending it, she smiled at him. “I think we can do that again sometime.”

“Mm, yes,” he growled, twining his fingers in her soft, golden hair. Bower blossom questions could wait. Pulling her close, he kissed her thoroughly.

Teral took brief control of one hand, dismissing the mist-chair with a snap, then gave the limb back to Aradin, who rolled onto his side. Guiding Saleria onto her back, the younger Witch stroked his other hand down her body. He followed his hand with his mouth, nipping and kissing, licking and loving every inch he caressed.

Some of the areas he went to were ones he chose to please; others were suggestions murmured by his Guide. From her breathy moans and the fingers stroking and tugging through his sandy blond locks, both had a good idea of what the Keeper of the Grove found pleasing. Aradin didn’t stop until he had reached her feet, praising her generous loving and repaying it with a bit of foot-worship, kissing and kneading and stroking until she trembled and clutched at the moss.

Her thighs parted enticingly when he finally set her feet down, settling them to either side with her knees bent. Enjoying the sight, Aradin started to rock forward to worship her inner folds, but hesitated. Aside from his steady breaths and her uneven ones, beneath the twittering of birds and chirruping of insects waking up and greeting the rising dawn, there was one more sound. The intermittent plips and plops of sap-droplets falling into their collection pools.

Saleria frowned in confusion when he pushed back from her, rising to his feet. “. . . Aradin?”

“Stay right there,” he cautioned her. “Don’t move.” Casting around, he hurried over to a worktable with his alchemical supplies. One of them was a jar of clean glass rods, with smooth, impermeable surfaces perfect for stirring ingredients without fear of contamination.

Selecting one, he picked his way across the Bower to one particular vine, one with a clear, faintly amethyst sap. Touching the end of the rod to one of its droplets, he gently coated the very tip with a small bead. He carried it back to her, and found her still with her knees up and thighs parted, but with her gaze fixed on the canopy of the Bower dome.

“There are flowers up there,” Saleria stated quietly, frowning in confusion. “Not many, but there have never been flowers on the Bower itself. Well . . . not since the Shattering. Daranen says he’s run across occasional mentions of the gazebo-dome being covered in blooms, but I don’t remember the details. Do you think it’s because we’ve reconvened the Convocation of the Gods?”

“I think that’s a question you will have to pose to Them when you return,” Aradin told her, dropping to his knees between her feet. Sliding his hand up her shin to her knee, then down to rub her inner thigh, he recaptured her attention. He lifted the stirring rod, displaying the tiny drop of sap on its tip. “Do you know what this is?”

Saleria started to shake her head, then blinked and blushed, feeling his fingers shifting to the crux of her thighs. Breathless, she felt him gently part her folds, exposing the little pleasure-bud they concealed. A moment later, her blue gray eyes widened in comprehension. He grinned at her, leaning forward, and she held up a hand, trying to forestall him. “That’s . . . no. No, Aradin. That’d be too much. Don’t—ahhh . . . Bollocks!”

Grinning, he touched the droplet to her flesh. The temperature of the liquid was the first sensation, a tingling coolness that was more akin to chewing a sprig of mint than sucking on a chip of ice. She felt the hard, smooth-rounded end sliding over and around her nubbin, felt the tingling liquid soaking into her skin. Felt every nerve prickling to life with icy heat. Dimly, she heard him murmuring once more for her to stay right there, but she couldn’t have moved anyway.

It was rather like descriptions she had heard of poison-leaf, the oils of which caused an itchy rash which scratching only made worse. Panting, she clung to the moss, knees carefully splayed apart, convinced that if she touched her throbbing flesh or even just pressed her thighs together, the passion rising in her would burn and burn and burn until she had rubbed herself raw in frenetic need.

The sweet, loving bastard returned, knelt once more between her thighs . . . and this time slid the droplet-tipped rod up into her. She convulsed with pleasure, nails digging deep into the thick greenery. That only made it worse, for her hips snapped, wanting more sensation, more thrusting and filling and pleasure from the too-slender, too-hard glass shaft. Aradin had to press down on her belly to hold her still while he worked the rod in and out a few times. Worse, he turned it, coating her in pleasure internally.

“B-Bastard! Bastard, bollocks, b-buhhh!” She couldn’t think of any other b-words to call him or to curse with; her body was melting, turned into liquefied fire by that second drop. She was a burning sap-pool of flesh and need.

Withdrawing the rod, Aradin rose and carried it back to the jar, muttering a strong cleaning spell twice to be sure it was safe. He didn’t want to just toss it aside and risk the brittle glass breaking, not when his intent was to make love to her thoroughly. Once it was tucked back into the jar, he returned to find her legs fluttering open and shut, her hips twitching and rolling. Crouching, he crawled over her—and found her legs snapping up and around him, ensnaring him as fast as that thettis-vine.

With a hard twist, Saleria rolled him onto his back. Settling over him, she growled and nipped at his chest, his collarbone, his chin, until her loins were snuggly settled against his. She rocked against him, nestling his re-hardening shaft among her potion-doused folds. The sound of his breath catching pleased her, but it wasn’t enough. Reaching between them, she grasped his shaft and teased the head into her opening . . . then sat up, sinking down onto him.

That scratched the sap-itch. She hummed softly in pleasure, in brief satisfaction, then rocked up and dropped again. And again, and again and again, until she had to toss her hair to get it to stop clinging to her sweating face, until he had to cup and guide her hips for fear of losing his place. Back behind her ears in that spot where she heard the voices of Kata and Jinga, where she heard Teral’s, she could hear the Guide groaning in pleasure. She heard Aradin’s, too, with her outer ears, and grinned.

“Thought you could . . . mmm . . . infuse me with pure lust . . . without consequences?” she panted, struggling to think.

Aradin grinned and pulled her down, pinning her on him. “I was planning on it! But first . . . oh, Goddess . . . I was going to . . . to . . .”

It was hard to think. Saleria leaned over him, palms braced on his chest. “You were going to . . . ?”

He looked straight into her eyes. “Lick you.”

His tongue darted across his lips. Saleria shuddered, undone by the blunt promise in his words, in his gaze. Flinging her head back, she rode him through the waves of her bliss, rode him through his, and let the aftershocks carry both of them onward, around and around.

Overhead, every vine and branch and bark-covered root in the Bower burst into bloom, the translucent blossoms so thick, their petals could have blocked out the rising light of the sun, if they hadn’t glowed like fragments of stained glass.

They slept as hard as they had made love. The first to wake, Saleria breathed deep, stretched languidly, and rolled onto her back. Opening her eyes, she found the Bower dome still covered in blossoms, blotting out half the sunlight and not really giving her a clue as to the time of day, other than somewhere vaguely in the vicinity of late morning, midday, or early afternoon.

A moment later, a blonde head swayed into view. Startled, Saleria stilled and blinked. Her first impulse was to cover herself, to demand who the intruder was and how they got past the wards. Her second thought came on the heels of realization. The who was Kata, and She was quite capable of getting past a mere mortal’s shields.

Kata smiled down at her, an impish sort of look one might expect to see more on the paintings and sculptures meant to represent Jinga, not Her. (Good afternoon, My dear.)

My Goddess . . . Oh bollocks, I’m naked in front of my Goddess. She started to wince, then opened her eyes in a panic, glancing at the man at her side. Aradin is naked in front of my Goddess!

Laughter filled her head, sounding like perfectly tuned bamboo wind chimes. (Did you not say that We see you even when you’re sick in bed? Don’t be silly, Keeper. I have manifested not to ogle your bodies . . . though he is a nice one, isn’t he?) Kata observed on a smug, feminine aside. ( . . . But rather to let you know what We have done to the Grove. When you return to the Arithmancer, let her know the aether in western Katan will be calm and still by the end of this Convocation.

(For your safety and for Groveham’s sake, My Husband and I have rounded up all the stray mutations, and separated those with components that were too dangerous to keep, yet too dangerous to let loose. The rest . . . They have either been restored to pure specimens, or will have usefulness in the days and years and centuries to come. But what that use is . . . that is your task, the three and four and more of you to come. And you will still have to tidy the paths and catalogue what’s left before you should let people in without an alert escort,) Kata told her. Or rather, told both of them.

Aradin mumbled something, pawed at his face, wiped some of the sleep-sand from the inner corner of one eye, and squinted up at Her. His voice was deeper than usual when he formed coherent words. “Thank you. Your intervention is deeply appreciated, and Teral and I truly appreciate the shortening of our task. But, umm . . . Why is the Bower covered with flowers?”

Kata spoke out loud, lips curved in Her beatific, serene smile. “What, that? Oh, that always happens whenever a Keeper makes love with her or his true love in here. It’s a side effect from when Jinga and I . . .”

“I don’t need to know, honest,” Saleria quickly interjected. Naked and sated from lovemaking and rest, she twisted onto her side and held up her hands. “I’m overwhelmed enough by the mortal version. I don’t need to envy the godly kind.”

Jinga’s boisterous laugh filled the Bower. He came striding into view through the eastern path, one of Saleria’s crystal-topped pruning staves resting on His shoulder. The end of it glowed red, and in its light, every flower within reach grew visibly larger. “No worries, Keeper. When you join with the right person for the right reasons, it is always special. Not necessarily as intense every time, but special.”

He offered His hand to Saleria, who accepted without hesitation. It was warm and strong, like clasping solidified sunlight for all that it seemed to be an ordinary brown hand. There was no fear in her, no worry; she had His approval, and that was all she needed.

The moment she stood, she could feel her body covered in soft fabric. A glance down showed it surpassed her best Keeper’s garb. The tunic and trews were pure white edged with a rainbow of flowers stitched along the edges of the sleeves, hemlines, and neck in appliquéd silk. Her overrobe had long sleeves instead of the sleeveless vest version she was accustomed to wearing, and when she released Jinga’s hand to finger the collar, she discovered the slight weight behind her shoulders was nothing less than a deep hood.

A glance at Aradin showed him being helped to his feet by Kata . . . and a ripple of black that flowed down over his body. It, too, was covered in silk flowers at all the hems. The plain black edges of the neck-to-toe opening did not have flowers, but the cowled hood did. Amusingly enough, the clothes beneath the mostly black cloak echoed hers in cut and flower, save that the main color was also black, where hers was white.

Bemused, she looked at her Patrons. With Their approval of not only her work as Keeper, but of her choices in life, she was not afraid. In fact, she dared to tease the Boisterous God a little. “Does my cloak come with access to the Dark as well? Instant clothing changes and all?”

“No; that would require you being dedicated to Our divine companions, and We will not part with our best Keeper in centuries,” Kata told her. “These robes—yours and his—are for the Keepers of the Grove to wear, not for Witchly needs. Aradin Teral’s has a Witchcloak lining stitched into his, but it will be removed by Us when it is time for both of you to retire.”

“You both will be able to prune or wither, bloom or transport any plant within the Grove with just a thought and a touch while you wear these sacred robes,” Jinga told her. He paused, then shrugged His shoulders. “That, and on any patch of soil you tread, you’ll leave a trail of tiny flowers in your wake. You might find it annoying after a while, so I suggest taking it off when you’re not being official.”

“They have been crafted to mark Our favor upon you, and to ensure no one can doubt that We approve of your joint continued management of Our Grove,” Kata stated, giving Her mate a quelling look. He accepted it graciously.

“You still have some serious work ahead of you before you can safely reopen the Grove to anyone else,” Jinga warned both of them. He shrugged and spread His hand expressively. “Things like the bleeding hearts, which must be contained and studied before any varieties can be cultivated, or even encountered by the unwary or unprepared. But the treemen have been restored to mere trees, and things like the snake-bush and the thettis-vine are no longer a concern.”

“When you are ready to open the gates and once again celebrate marriages in Our Grove, do invite Us to your own wedding,” Kata told them. She took Aradin’s hands in Hers and kissed his cheek, then did the same to Saleria.

“We’ll be the first ones to wed in here,” Aradin promised Her. “And You’ll be the first ones to know the date, right after we do.”

Jinga chuckled and wrapped an arm around the Darkhanan’s shoulders, squeezing him. “Fate already let us know.” His other arm wrapped around Saleria for an equal hug. “Now get to work. You have only three hours to eat your luncheon, gather your supplies, and inform the people of Groveham that everything is once again safely under your control.”

“And . . . Shanno?” Saleria asked, wondering what They would have to say about that.

“We only grant miracles when they are needed,” Kata chided her gently. “The rest, We leave in your hands. That’s why it’s called free will.”

Releasing the pair, Jinga held out His hand to His Mate. Kata accepted it, the pair stepped into a shaft of sunlight peering down through the blossoms shrouding most of the Bower . . . and vanished.

Saleria stared at the empty air, her heart as light as that sunbeam. It took her a few moments to realize she still had a thousand questions, about the new condition of the Grove, how long it would take them to render it safe for visitors, about the Netherhell invasion, and so much more. But They were gone. “. . . Bollocks to that.”

“Bollocks to what?” Aradin asked, bemused by her expletive. “We’ve just had our task lightened by your Patron Deities, and you’re upset?”

She flipped her hand at the shaft of light. “They left before I could ask all the rest of the questions I’ve been wanting to ask! A load of bollocks, sneaking off like that . . .”

He chuckled at that, and wrapped his black-clad arms around her from behind. Kissing her temple, Aradin murmured, “Never change, Saleria. Remain the brilliant, blunt, beautiful inside-and-out woman that I love.”

(What he said,) Teral agreed in the backs of both of their minds. (Though I do wonder what They meant by “gather your supplies” . . . ?)

Saleria blinked, her mind blank for a moment. Until her gaze settled on one of the nearby vines, its sap trickling slowly down around the flowers dotting its length. “Oh! Right. Guardian Daemon. He wanted some samples of the sap to analyze. He actually trained as an Alchemist—not so much a Hortimancer, but he says he knows his potions, salves, and brews.”

Aradin looked around the Bower and slowly started nodding. “Yes . . . Yes, I think I can see which ones he’d want to experiment with right away. It’ll probably use up every flask with a stopper I bought from the merchant here in town, and we’ll need a large chest with some cloth for padding . . . that is, if you’re not afraid of helping carry it through the Dark.”

She shook her head, nuzzling her cheek against his. “It can be a very unsettling place . . . but with the two of you, knowing you, trusting you, working with you at my side . . . I’m not afraid, Aradin.”

“You’re not?” he asked, pleased by her acceptance of the odder aspects of his conjoined life.

“Not even with the threat of the Netherhells looming up ahead . . . and the annoying knowledge that They aren’t going to help us so long as we have the power to help ourselves,” she muttered, covering his arms with her hands. A contented sigh escaped her. Unlike in her dream of several weeks ago, she wasn’t going to be forever bound in chains of duties and vines to an ever-worsening problem. “Nope. I’m not afraid.”