The Grove(38)
“Experiments?” Daranen asked, raising one eyebrow at her.
She envied his ability to do that; Saleria could raise or lower both simultaneously, but had yet to figure out how to arch just one. “Yes, experiments—I told you about the oath, but I forgot to mention the rest of it, sorry. Aradin is going to help me see if any of the magic-warped plants in the Grove have useful properties which can be extracted and preserved. If not . . . we’re going to figure out a way to remove them from existence.”
Now he raised both brows. “No more attacks on the village from ambulatory masses of roses and marigolds?”
“Nor from walking gladiolas, or flying bluebells,” she promised. “And no calf-sized foxes with seven tails and fish fins on their backs, either. If he can make progress on helping me unravel the troubles in the Grove, that is.”
“Shall I just nip out and see if he needs help carrying any of his belongings over from the inn, then, to make sure he doesn’t waste any time walking every day from there to here and back?” Daranen asked, half-rising from his desk. He grinned and sat back down again, clearly only half joking. But still, somewhat serious about welcoming the other man. “. . . Right, then. If there’s anything I can do, ask me and I’ll try my best. But most of what I do best is sort correspondence and compose the exact wordings for prayers.”
“And that is a task you do exceedingly well. I’ve never been a great speech-writer, but you know how to turn a phrase just right—I’m still surprised you haven’t taken up the priestly vows, you’re so good at it,” Saleria admitted, nodding her head at the mail satchel, fully as long as Daranen’s arm and as big around as either of them could clasp the cylindrical sack. Some days, the sack wasn’t quite so full, but other days, he brought in a sack and a half of letters and scrolls filled with petitions, requests, pleas, and prayers. “Have you the evening’s prayer list drawn up?”
Daranen shook his head. “Almost. I had to rewrite the ‘lost pets’ prayer list a little bit. I’ll have the scroll ready to go by your evening walk. And I’m not taking holy vows. I much prefer my secular freedoms, thank you.”
Nodding, Saleria lifted her chin at the bay window. “Then I’ll go visit the market. Do you need anything?”
He smirked. “No, I’ve done my shopping, but you can say hi to the man when you see him.”
She started to protest that the Witch wasn’t her reason for going, then sighed and let it go. She was curious about Aradin Teral, and what he was purchasing. Leaving the study, she headed out the front door.
This section of Groveham featured walled residences with garden spaces. Not because the owners were wealthy and exclusive about whom they allowed into the privacy of their homes, but because they were located near enough to the Grove wall that an additional wall was considered helpful in slowing anything that escaped from the Grove. She could hear children shouting and playing some sort of chasing game in one garden, though the gate was closed. A trio of boys was drawing chalk designs on the cobblestones in front of another gate; happy domestic sights and sounds.
Once children turned six, they were given basic education in reading and writing during the morning hours, but were often let go at midday so they could play in the afternoons. At twelve, they were often apprenticed into a craft, or if their parents or a sponsor could afford it, granted a higher level of education. Her parents had enrolled her in a higher school in their city, since she hadn’t made up her mind yet at the age of twelve if she wanted to be a mage-warrior in the Imperial Army, following more or less in her non-mage father’s footsteps, or a mage-for-hire like her mother technically was, or . . . well, at fifteen, she had felt called to serve the God and Goddess, and that was that. No time for play after that, when I had to catch up with all the acolytes who had been apprenticed three years earlier than me.
The shrieks and the laughter were good sounds, though. They also sent a brief pulse of pity through her. At least Katani priests can marry and have children. I can’t imagine what Darkhanan Witch-priests could do, living their dual lives. Who’d want two men for their mate, and one of them dead at that?
Or worse, she wondered as the thought occurred to her, what if a woman was married to one Witch-priest, only he died and ended up Guide to another man. Would her husband, now a Guide, expect to continue their marriage? Would she even want to, given it’s technically the body and life of another man? And the children—surely they’d be of the Host’s body and seed, not her late husband’s. I can’t imagine the kinds of headaches that must cause. Or . . . or if he ended up Guide to a female Host, or . . .