* * *
“. . .Anything should happen to her, of course, but if something should, then I would be the next Keeper. It’s only logical.”
Aradin stopped in his tracks. He had gathered his spell-cleaned and –dried laundry, paid the bill, tucked the packet back into the Dark for Teral to deal with, and started back toward Saleria’s home, content with his errand and eager to get back to work. But those words were rather out of place, given what he knew of the Keeper’s life.
Twisting, he searched through the plaza for the source of the voice, knowing it had to be nearby. No one was within several lengths of him, however, puzzling the Darkhanan. At least until the same voice, a light tenor, chuckled and replied to an unheard question.
“Well, of course they’d choose me. You have to admit the Prelate is getting on in years, and tending the Grove is very much a young man’s job.”
It came from the tavern, or rather, from an open window in the tavern wall just a few paces away. Aradin could hear the clinking of glasses and cutlery, the murmurs of half a dozen conversations, and a feminine voice fawning over the speaker. Her words weren’t nearly as important as that speaker’s, though.
(That sounds like vain boasting to me,) Teral stated. (Or possibly a potential troublemaker.)
(Then we should check it out,) Aradin decided. He tried to peer inside discreetly. The sun wasn’t quite at the best angle, but he got a glimpse of a young man with golden hair several shades lighter than his own. At just that moment, the other male lifted a water glass to his lips and looked out the window. Their eyes met.
(We’ve been spotted. Confront, or leave?) Teral asked him.
Aradin decided quickly. (Confront.) Stepping up to the opening, he folded his arms on the sill, grateful the tavern owner had chosen to swing back the windowpanes to take advantage of the warm yet comfortable weather. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Swallowing, the younger man set down his drink with a charming smile. “Well, you do have the look of a stranger to Groveham, milord.” He gestured gracefully toward himself. “I am Shanno of the family Lorwethen, Deacon to the Cathedral of Groveham. And you are . . . ?”
“Aradin Teral, Witch-Envoy of the Darkhanan nation . . . and current guest of Her Holiness, the Keeper of the Grove. I couldn’t help but overhear your claim that you are next in line as a potential Keeper,” he added. Elbows braced on the windowsill, fingers laced together, he eyed the younger man. “It’s strange, but not once has she mentioned this idea to me.”
His comment received a smirk. “Well, she’d hardly mention internal religious structure to an outlander,” Shanno dismissed, chuckling a little. “I’m not surprised you didn’t know.”
“Considering we have been discussing religious structure, and the Keeper’s job in particular, I’m certain she would have mentioned it,” Aradin stated. (I can’t tell if he’s just arrogant or an actual troublemaker. What’s your opinion of the little snot?)
(That he’s an arrogant little snot,) Teral agreed as both of them watched the deacon’s smug expression falter. (But not a deliberate troublemaker, I think. I’d guess he’s just trying to inflate his status in the eyes of the two lovely ladies to either side.)
Aradin honestly hadn’t noticed the ladies, one a brunette, the other a dark blonde. They were lovely enough, he supposed, but he’d rather have looked at Saleria. Out loud, he stated, “Whether or not your claim is true, there are two things that should be considered carefully. If it is true, and it is such a secret, then would Her Holiness honestly care to have it discussed by someone supposedly trustworthy enough to hold the position, and discussed so openly and casually that a virtual stranger could overhear it out here on the street?
“And if it isn’t true . . . have you paused to consider what trouble such false rumors could cause the Keeper, whom I presume you respect?” he asked. “The higher a priest’s rank, the more discretion is expected of him. The higher a priest wishes to rise in rank, the same must be expected from him. With that in mind, perhaps you should find something else with which to impress these lovely young ladies—I’m sure you have many excellent qualities,” Aradin added diplomatically. “You are, after all, a fellow priest, and that alone should be recommendation enough for your good character, yes?”
He aimed a smile at the blonde and the brunette on either side of the deacon. They smiled back at him, trading amused, flattered looks with each other. The deacon, Shanno, gave Aradin a look somewhere between hard and sullen. It shifted to thoughtful after a moment.