The humid warmth of the bathhouse soon thawed out her cold body. Seated on a ledge running the length of the pool, she leaned her head on the smooth coping and closed her eyes to the presence of many women. The creeping need for sleep would have overwhelmed her had it not been for the persistent tendency of her legs to float to the surface. And Aeryl’s voice in her ear.
‘The addition of salt crystals,’ she was saying, ‘helps keep the water clean. And bags such as this…’
The sound of water dripping ominously close to her head made Irenya open her eyes. She flinched. In Aeryl’s hand was a glass float from which hung a small bag. It contained what looked like blackened plant material.
‘Herbs,’ said the herbalist. ‘I will not bore you to sleep with the details—though you clearly need it—the
