“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.”