The Grove(20)

“I’d also like to get to know you better,” Aradin stated. It was the truth. Saleria was not a conventional priestess, even for a cleric of a foreign land. She fascinated him, with her mix of wisdom and naivety . . . but to be honest, so did the little snippets he kept hearing about what was wrong with her Grove. He focused on luring her with that as well. “Plus, I think I may have enough knowledge about the many interactions between plants and magic to be able to help you with your difficulties.

“If so, that would solve both our problems. I could stay and tend the needs of the Grove while you go to the Convocation to tend the needs of your people . . . and as a mage-priest, I would be willing to swear before both your Gods and mine to take every bit as much care with the tending of the Sacred Grove as you yourself would take. An oath-binding, even.” He gently stroked the backs of her fingers with his thumb.

Feeling his warm, lightly callused skin caressing hers, Saleria blushed. She wasn’t accustomed to anyone holding her hand. At least, not like this, not in a courtly way. Now that she was the Keeper, her time had been deemed too dedicated to the needs of the Grove to receive petitions in person, so she no longer even prayed in the presence of others, let alone clasped hands with them for a joint prayer. His scent reminded her of that exotic perfume, sandalwood, with a hint of musk. His eyes were a mix of wood brown and leaf green, reminding her of a garden. Of what the Grove should be.

She knew she was woolgathering, but then Aradin—the younger of the two—was attractive. Part of her mind strayed from the subject at hand, wondering what strictures or rules Darkhanan priests and priestesses had on their courtship practices. Part of her mind wondered why she was even thinking such an absurd, abstract thought, and another, third part wondered how she would even begin to find out the answers to such personal questions.

Not like I could bring it up in polite conversation. At least, not right away. It would take several conversations to find out what else he might want from me . . . or with me . . . but the only way that would ever happen is . . .

Behind her, Daranen coughed discreetly. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your midday path-walk and tree-draining, Holiness?”

“Oh, right.” Tugging her fingers free was easy; he didn’t clutch at them or resist, just let them slide from his grasp as if in one last caress. She could still feel the lingering warmth of his skin on hers, and wished she could just take his hand and not have to think about being the Keeper of the Grove for a while. Blushing, Saleria rose to her feet.

So did Aradin Teral. He smiled at her, tugged his hood up into place, swooped the folds of his voluminous robes around both his body and the chest, turned completely around in a swirl of tan-and-black hemline, and faced her again. The chest had vanished somewhere in that spin, and again she could detect no magic in the act.

“How . . . ?” she asked, distracted by its disappearance. “I sensed no magic whatsoever, yet it had to be by magic. So how did you do that?”

“I’d tell you, but most people outside our Order don’t like hearing the answer,” he told her, pushing the hood off his head one more time. It was still the younger, blond-haired Aradin, or at least his body. And he stood and talked like the younger man did. “So, since there’s nothing more to discuss while you think about it, should I accompany you on your walk today?”

“But I do want to know,” Saleria protested, clinging to her curiosity. She stepped forward as she spoke, one hand coming up to touch his tan-robed arm. Her eyes searched his, and she felt odd, as if she were . . . flirting with him. . . . I’m flirting with him? I guess I am. “Please? It’ll plague me all day if I don’t know, and then I’ll be distracted, and get mauled by a . . . a stray, ambulatory fern bush or something.”

Just a little bit taller than her, he had an excellent view of her eyes from this close. They looked a bit more gray than blue here in the indirect daylight that illuminated her study. They also looked sincerely interested in his answer, wide, framed with short but thick golden lashes. A straight nose lay between them, and her rose-pink lips rested below, slightly parted as she awaited his answer.

What he wanted to do was kiss her. What he had to do was answer her question. Shrugging, Aradin spread his hands, then clasped them. “As you may know, death draws magic into the Darkness. Additionally, you may know that certain weak points in the Veil between Life and Death allow some of that magic to rush back into the world again, yes?”

“Yes, I know all that. I deal with it on a daily basis,” she dismissed impatiently. “Particularly the spewing back out into the living world part.”