by Jean Johnson
“A guh . . . ? No,” she denied, shaking her head. The housekeeper looked back at Teral and shook her head again, faster. “No, he can’t be dead! Not in the holy house of the Grove Keeper! Kata and Jinga would never allow the dead to walk around! Your jest is not funny, young lady.”
“She does not jest. I am quite dead,” Teral informed her, cutting into his own meat with fork and knife. “My body was squished in half under a fallen tree, and in my last few minutes of life, I called upon my God and Goddess to transfer my spirit into the body of a young mage named Aradin, whom you have met. By holy magics I was able to join my spirit with his, rather than head straight for the Afterlife. It is the way of Darkhanan Witches to share the accumulated wisdom of the deceased Guide with the body and life of a younger Host.”
“But . . . you’re real,” Nannan asserted tentatively. She reached out, hesitated, then pushed on his forearm, felt the fabric of his beige-and-black sleeve. “You’re clearly alive—and you clearly need to eat, and drink . . . right?”
“This is Aradin’s body, not mine,” he corrected her gently. “I am simply caring for it in his absence. His spirit has gone off to commune with our fellow Witches, and he has left me in charge for the time being. For the sake of alleviating an even worse state of confusion—since our personalities and behaviors are not the same—I have used holy magic to reshape his body into a semblance of what mine used to look like . . . but my own body has long since rotted and returned to the soil. I’d like to think it’s been fertilizing some pretty flowers in the cemetery where it was buried. Pushing up daisies, as it were—I believe that’s an expression they use here in Katan for the bodies of the deceased, yes?”
Biting her lip to quell the urge to laugh, Saleria nodded. Teral continued blithely, urbane and charming even as he ruined Nannan’s grasp on her half-formed fantasies. The housekeeper’s look of crumbling hope and dismay only grew as he spoke.
“This body is Aradin’s. Mine has ceased to be. And I should say that Aradin’s body may not like the vinegar-sauce you used on the greens, but I find the herb stuffing and the basting of the duck absolutely delicious. He’ll be rather sorry he missed tasting this meal, I can tell you that.”
“But . . . You . . . ?” Nannan stared at him, then looked to Saleria for help, her brow furrowed and her mouth turned down at the corners. “He . . . ?”
“Nannan, the ways of worshipping other Gods and Goddesses are perfectly valid, however strange they may be, even if they are rarely encountered outside their homelands,” Saleria told her. “Aradin and Teral are two men sharing Aradin’s body; they are both envoys of their people, and holy priest-mages of fairly high rank. We will treat them as honored guests while they stay with us, and you will treat them with respect. Aradin the Living Hortimancer and Teral the Deceased Guide are staying here to assist me as we finally strive to restore order and peace to the Grove. That task is far more important than any . . . any flirtations that may have been considered.”
Like a lifeline, Nannan seized on that word. Arching her brows, she gave Saleria a disapproving look. “Oh, really? Isn’t that why you wanted to place that younger man in the room next to your own? I do have eyes in my head, and I have seen how flirtatious the two of you have been at the other meals.”
Teral chuckled at that, drawing her attention back to him. “True, but isn’t life itself meant for the living to enjoy, milady, not just endure?” he challenged her. He nodded at Saleria. “Our kind hostess, the Keeper of the Grove and thus one of the holiest beings in your empire, is also a lovely young lady, quite alive, and quite worthy of seeking out all the joys thereof. Given she tends the very place where your Holy Jinga and Kata were wed, I would think she has every right to seek out a romantic union of her own—perhaps even as an imperative, to further her holy calling.”
“That’s true, I do,” Saleria agreed, resting her chin on the back of her hand. Her pose was similar to Nannan’s earlier one, but far more relaxed than flirtatious. She gave Teral a grateful smile, glad he had neatly cut the argumentative legs out from under her housekeeper’s stance. “Not just any gentleman will do for me, of course, but I’ll never know which partner is right for me unless I enter and trod the steps of the courtship dance.”
“But . . . you’re dead,” Nannan asserted, glancing between the two before settling on the dark-haired Darkhanan again. “You can’t have a romance with anyone . . .”
“I could, but only if my Host, Aradin, agreed to it. And only if the lady herself agreed to it . . . and only if Aradin’s choice of romantic companion agreed to it.” Holding up his hand, he forestalled another protest from the plump housekeeper. “Suffice to say, I am not concerned that the odds are so heavily stacked against such a thing from happening. I have had my share of romances while I lived in my own body . . . and I have lived through the romances of my own Guide, back when I was alive and was Host to a fellow Witch-priestess.
“It works when everyone involved agrees . . . but it is now Aradin’s life, and Aradin’s choice, first and foremost. He, I think, would far rather choose Saleria, who is close to his own age and engaged in work similar to his preferences,” he concluded. “Romances work better when the partners are of a similar age.”
“Not to mention, you’ve been rather rude to him all along, so I doubt he’d agree to let you have Teral borrow his body for you to flirt with,” Saleria stated. That earned her a chiding look from the older Witch. Sighing, she refrained from rolling her eyes. “Pardon my bluntness, and forgive me for any offense.”
Nannan sat back in her chair and frowned at the table. “This is all very strange,” she muttered. “The dead should stay dead.”
Daranen spoke, joining the conversation. “The Laws of God and Man state that the ways of all Deities, and by extension Their servants, Their priesthoods, shall be respected in every land, so long as those ways cause no harm to their neighbors or their surroundings. Foreign Gods and Goddesses need not be worshipped in someone else’s land, but Their ways and servants are to be respected,” the scribe clarified. “To do less than show common respect for a servant of the Dual One, Darkhan and Dark Ana, is to do less than show respect for a servant of the Married Gods, Kata and Jinga.”
Saleria shrugged and spread her hands when Nannan glanced her way for support. “Daranen has it right. Even I learned that in my temple training, as part of our courses on how to behave as a holy emissary while traveling overseas. If it applies to a priest or priestess of Katan, then it applies in reverse to a priest, priestess, or Witch of Darkhana.”
Caught between three such clearly united forces, Nannan scowled for a long moment, then sighed roughly and slumped against the carved wooden slats of her seat. “Well, it’s still very strange. And very disappointing. And . . . and very strange!”
“You are of course free to feel that way, if you like,” Teral allowed lightly. “It is simply a foreign way of service and worship, and does not cause any harm to the worship or the ways of Kata and Jinga, however strange our Darkhanan ways may appear. Now, to get back to the original topic . . . as you may have noticed, Holiness,” he said, addressing Saleria once more, “neither I nor Aradin need help ‘moving’ our belongings. But I should return to the inn to close out our rental agreement.
“Milady Nannan,” he added, turning back to the housekeeper, “do you think there might be a bit of that delicious apple cake left over from last night? And if there is, could you perhaps have a slice waiting for me when I return, with that spicy-sweet sauce? It’ll be yet another treat my Host, Aradin, will have to miss out on, but I find I am enjoying most of your cooking, now that I am free to enjoy it directly rather than sensing it only secondhand.”
The housekeeper blushed and smiled tentatively, not completely immune to his charm despite Teral’s uncomfortable revelations. Saleria bit her lip again to keep from laughing. From what she had observed, Aradin had a different quality and style of charm, b
ut both men were clearly used to smoothing their path diplomatically in their travels.
I can’t blame Nannan for being re-captivated, she decided, listening to her housekeeper promising to save him a piece. The older woman didn’t quite simper, but she wasn’t quite as dismayed as before, either. I do find Teral charming myself.
* * *
“Good morning, Nannan!”
“Aieee!”
Wits scrambled by sleep, it took Saleria a few moments to process the noises that had awakened her. When she did, she realized her housekeeper was now berating their house guest for scaring the older woman. Dragging the spare pillow over her head, Saleria tried to ignore the argument in the corridor outside her door.
With the feather-stuffed cushion muffling some of the sounds, she couldn’t hear any distinct words, but she could hear how cheerful Aradin sounded as he replied to Nannan’s scolding. Teasing her, from the sound of it. An involuntary smile curved her lips, and she stretched under the covers, luxuriating in the thought that maybe, just maybe, she could sleep in.
Nannan’s voice grew abruptly louder as she marched into the Keeper’s bedroom, “. . . and you’ll never be allowed to do anything of the sort, you—you foreigner!”
Oh, that does it! That was far too rude for her to ignore. Rolling over, Saleria flung her pillow at Nannan the moment she spotted the older woman. Shrieking and flinching as it hit her shoulder, Nannan clutched at her ample chest.
“Oh! Oh, how dare you?” she demanded, facing Saleria.
Pushing up onto her feet on the bed, Saleria towered over her housekeeper. She knew she looked ridiculous, with her hair in a tangled mess and her night-tunic barely covering her thighs, but she had had enough. “How dare you, Nannan of the family Bourain?” Saleria demanded. Two steps moved her to the edge of the bed, where she balanced and glared. “I told you to treat Aradin Teral as an honored guest in this house. Yet you have done nothing but insult and berate him—and for nothing more than giving you a polite greeting.”
“But the man is a—” Nannan protested.
Saleria cut her off, jabbing her finger at the housekeeper. “You will attend the morning prayers in the cathedral today. You will say the Prayers of Penitence—all eight of them—and you will do it twice over. You will do one round of them as you apologize to Holy Kata for disturbing the tranquility of Her Keeper’s house, and for failing to be hospitable to an honored guest. You will do the second round as you apologize to Holy Jinga for lacking a sense of humor, and a sense of grace under pressure.
“You are not the Grove Keeper,” she added sternly. “You are the housekeeper. You keep this house and its contents clean and tidy, you wash the linens, you make the beds, you cook excellent food, and you are supposed to make all visitors, guests, and residents feel welcome. Most of the time you do all these things well, but today, you have failed.
“Attend to your penance after breakfast,” Saleria ordered the older woman, “and when you have come to accept that your actions have been rude and thus unacceptable behavior for the importance of your station, you may tender an apology to our holy guest. I will not have you lie to Aradin Teral before that point in time, but I hope that you will reflect on your poor behavior as you pray, and gain enlightenment as to what went wrong.”
Nannan bowed her plaited head in subdued obedience. It wasn’t often that Saleria used the “priestly voice of authority” on anyone, but she had trained on how to use it, and its sparing use made it all the more powerful in its impact. When she chose to exercise her authority as the Keeper of the Holy Grove, there were only four who outranked her: the King of Katan in all matters secular, the Arch Priest of Katan in all matters pertaining to the running of the Church of Katan . . . and Kata and Jinga Themselves in all matters religious. She still had to answer to others in terms of her budget, but then not even the King of Katan was above the headaches of fiscal meetings.
Stepping off the bed, Saleria softened her tone as she gently touched the older woman on the arm. “I know you’ve come to think of the three of us as a family, and yourself as the mother figure between you, me, and Daranen. I appreciate that you do feel protective of me, Nannan, and that you no doubt wish to guard what you think are my best interests. But in less than one week, I have awakened to the untenable neglect which the Grove has been subjected to all these years.
“And it is not just that I see the problem clearly now,” she continued, trying to coax the habit-reluctant woman to her view. “It is that I now have a solution to the problem at hand, thanks to the understanding that Aradin Teral brings.”
Sighing, Nannan mumbled under her breath, “But he’s an outlander. How could he have the Grove’s best interest at heart?”
She didn’t bother with further coaxing. That wasn’t going to sway the housekeeper’s heart, or her emotional instincts. Only the most blunt truth would work, Saleria guessed. “Because he swore a mage-oath in front of me to do no harm to the Grove or its rightful Keepers while he is here. That’s how both of us can trust him, Nannan.”
Thankfully, the blond outlander lurking by her doorway did not object to Saleria’s choice of reason. Not that it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t all of the truth. She trusted him as a fellow priest, too, and for other, half-formed reasons. Part of it came from talking with Guardian Shon Tastra, but part of it was just how well he and she were getting along.
“Can you be kind and polite to him from now on?” Saleria asked her housekeeper. Nannan sighed, but nodded. “Good. Go attend to breakfast for both of us, and remember to do your penance afterward. Since I’m now thoroughly awake,” she added dryly, “I think I can get dressed and ready myself without any further prodding today.”
Nodding, Nannan headed for the door. She slowed at the sight of Aradin, but dipped her head as he shifted out of her way. “. . . Sorry, milord.”
“May your Gods bless you for your kindnesses,” he returned politely.
Saleria lifted her brows at that, but didn’t say a word until after Nannan had vanished from view. Moving up to the door, she murmured under her breath, “It’s a very good thing that woman never took Deacon Parella’s classes on How to Insult People Politely.”
“Hmm?” Aradin asked. Most of his attention was caught by the long, muscular legs revealed by the hem of her short sleeping tunic, but he managed to drag enough of it free to look up at her and ask a more coherent question. “What brought that up?”
She knew what had held his attention. It was obvious where his gaze had been, and the implied compliment warmed her skin. “Deacon Parella was one of my instructors at the temple. She taught us acolytes that a truly good insult sounds like a compliment,” Saleria told him, striving to ignore her blush and stick to the topic at hand. “You just asked our God and Goddess to bless Nannan for her kindnesses . . . implying that the opposite should befall her for any unkind acts.”
Mouth twisting in a rueful smile, he shook his head. “It was sincerely meant, though I do see your point. But Witches are strongly encouraged to let go of grudges; such things threaten to poison the relationship between Host and Guide. Teral says our task is to share the wisdom of accumulated lifetimes with any and all who need it. Holding a grudge would not be wise, and would definitely prevent sharing our knowledge with the ‘any and all’ part.”
“A wise way to approach the matter,” she agreed.
About to say more, she realized Aradin’s gaze had drifted downward again. Down to the hemline of her night tunic. There were several responses to that gaze she could make. Had it been Daranen, she’d have muttered something about needing to get dressed and would have retreated. Had it been Deacon Shanno . . . No, never. No way is that little twit ever getting a look at my legs, she knew. But Aradin . . . and Teral? She had to include the older Witch, even if she couldn’t see him. But mostly it was Aradin she could see studying her with those hazel eyes framed by those dark blond lashes. Aradin, wh
ose masculine interest and appreciation warmed her self-confidence as a woman.
So she settled for a simple, pointed, and flirtation-laced, “See anything you like?”
Aradin flicked his gaze up to her face. “From this angle, yes,” he admitted, giving her a slow smile. “But I’ll need to see your legs from several other positions, too, to be absolutely sure.”
Tipping her head back, she laughed. She hadn’t even been awake a fraction of an hour yet, and already she had ridden a wild ride of emotions. From being annoyed at how she was awakened, to unhappy with Nannan’s attitude, from feeling stern about seeing the insults stopped, to flattered amusement . . . the lattermost feeling was a definite improvement on her morning. She felt him lean close and lowered her chin in time to receive a kiss on her cheek . . . and an arm slipped around her waist.
Warm and male, fully dressed for the day, Aradin cuddled her close. It felt remarkably good to be cuddled in his arms, up against his side. Natural, in fact. Saleria gave in to the urge to snuggle close, enjoying the intimacy of his embrace.
“You are far too appealing like this,” he murmured after several seconds. He kissed her brow and sighed. “Unfortunately, we have far too much work to do to dally in the mornings. You with your morning clearing rounds, I with my scanning wands, needing to take readings from all the plants and the wickerwork of the Bower. But one of these evenings, milady, I’m going to want to see your legs again, from several different angles . . . and quite possibly the rest of you, if you’ll agree.”
She sighed, reluctant to admit he was right, but knowing she needed to admit it. “Mornings are definitely out . . . but you’re right. Evenings are a possibility.”
He gave her a last squeeze and started to pull away, which meant the kiss she aimed for his lips ended up on his chin instead. He stilled for a moment, lips curving in a slow, surprised, but warm smile. Giving her shoulders a little squeeze, he let her go. “I’ll see you at the breakfast table.”
