28

"What did he mean, 'not your religion'?" Timbella asked.

"Well, as I told you, the priests can't read the minds of the nobles. So there's no need for them in our services."

"What are the services?"

"Worship."

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't raised with a religion, so I don't really know what 'worship' consists of."

"Oh, well, it's just honoring the ancestors, for us. The priests try to say they have power and can intercede on the behalf of people, but really no one can influence our world but ourselves." He reflected for a moment. "And the witches, I suppose."

She nodded. "So Mynog is like, an expert on your world?"

"It would appear to be the case," he agreed.

"I almost wish we could talk to him now."

Deeter shuddered. "Whatever for?"

"To pick his brain!"

"That sounds unpleasant," he muttered.

"Oh, you just say that because he wants to take you back to your home."

"Well, yes! Our interests are not at all aligned! Quite the contrary!"

Timbella giggled. "I like how sarcastic you get when you're mad."

He scowled at her. "Can we please just go to sleep now?"

"Can we do other stuff first?" She stroked his upper thigh.

"Not in the mood."

"Morning?"

He shrugged. "We'll see."

"So pouty." She went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Deeter did likewise, alone, but she came out carrying two cups of steaming liquid. "I estimated a little less for you than me, since you've never taken any. It's really bitter so just drink it fast. I have a fruit drink for after, to get rid of the taste. And it'll kick in really fast, just so you know."

He did so. It was indeed bitter, so he gladly took the fruit drink. They kissed a little but before long he couldn't tell what he was doing. So they broke apart and just lay together in the bed while sleep stole over them.