Owlknight

Then again - if he couldn’t take care of twenty major things at once, Ayshen would never have picked him as an assistant.

“So tomorrow is the Ghost Cat ceremony,” Meeren went on. “I don’t foresee any problems there.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Darian agreed. “No speeches, for one thing. I’ve been to their sweat-house gatherings before. Anything you say is supposed to be right out of your head, and spontaneous. Nobody minds if you aren’t very articulate.”

Meeren chuckled. “That should certainly suit you,” he teased. “You’re at your best when you’re inarticulate.”

“Oh, thank you,” Darian replied sarcastically. “Have you been taking lessons in sarcasm from Firesong? By the way, you might want to consider adding needlework to your list of potential trade items; most of Breon’s lady-guests were positively drooling over our surcoats.”

“I doubt any of them could afford what we would charge for work like that,” Meeren said dryly. “But I’ll keep it in mind. Who knows? There might be potential in selling small motifs for ladies to add their own work around.”

Having satisfied himself that he had pried everything worth hearing out of Darian for now, Meeren left him to his soak and dinner, pausing only to add, over his shoulder, “Oh, and by the way - good work on the hot spring.”

Once he was ready to come out, the building had started to fill up with folk coming in from hunting and labor. He left the pools to them, and sought his bed, hoping Keisha was having a good time at the village. He was still so tired from the vigil, his nightmare, and the feast that followed that he’d almost fallen asleep on his dyheli’s back, and that was no mean feat.

Breon’s guests, no longer hindered by the need to be alert and fresh the following day now that the tournament was over, had kept him awake far longer than he’d wanted to be. It was just a good thing he’d been able to opt out of the Errold’s Grove welcome; he really pitied poor Anda.

When he got back to his ekele and into the bedroom, he found that Meeren had left a mug of something on the bedside table with a note attached. In the spiky hertasi script, it read, “Drink this, and nothing will wake you up until I do.” He contemplated the mug for a moment. He wanted to be awake when Keisha came back from the village - but he really didn’t want any of those uneasy dreams he’d been having off and on. So I suppose the question is, how much do I want to greet Keisha, versus how much I want to avoid having a nightmare.

He yawned, closed his eyes for a moment, and caught himself starting to drop off. That decided him.

The question isn’t “want” but “need.” I need sleep. They’re going to have the sweat house packed and hot, and I can’t leave it without losing face. If I don’t get enough sleep, I won’t be able to take the heat, and I might even pass out.

There was danger in that possibility as well; if he passed out, it was possible that no one would notice in the darkness until he was in serious trouble.

And wouldn’t that be a bad omen where everyone was concerned! No, Keisha’s Healer enough to expect me to be sleeping, and she’d probably get mad at me if I wasn’t getting the rest I need.

He picked up the mug and drank the contents off as quickly as he could, resolutely ignoring the bitter taste that no amount of honey could conceal.

Before the potion could go to work on him, however, he wrote a note for Keisha on the other side of Meeren’s. The hertasi want me to sleep, so I’m going to be obedient. Otherwise I might wake up to find all my clothing tied in knots. Sorry I couldn’t wait up for you, ashke.

Only after he had propped the note up on the empty mug did he lie down, and it was a good thing he did, because when the potion hit, it hit without warning, and not even an earthquake would have awakened him.

Seven

The Ghost Cat enclave was near enough to k’Valdemar that the inhabitants could send runners to the Vale for