The Grove(75)

EIGHT





“More spinach, Teral?” Nannan asked their “newest” guest, smiling at him. Almost simpering.

“Thank you, but no more, please. It’s good,” Teral temporized as politely as he could, “but the sauce is a bit tart for my foreign taste buds, I’m afraid.” He softened his refusal with a slight smile, and Nannan set the bowl back down gently. She didn’t thump it as she had for Aradin, but then she hadn’t given the younger, blond priest such a coquettish pout, either.

Saleria didn’t think Nannan understood what Teral was. From the way Nannan was reacting, the fact that Teral was a part of Aradin, physically, had gone right over the housekeeper’s head. No doubt she just fastened on to the half-truth that he’s a fellow Darkhanan Witch-priest who is here accompanying Aradin on his visit . . . and completely ignored the part where they’re technically two men in one shared body.

Worse, she’s flirting with him. Saleria winced when Nannan rested her chin on her fingers and leaned his way, her lashes fluttering briefly over her deep blue eyes. Saleria tried not to think about the love-quadrangle she had worried over earlier. For her own sanity, that was not an option, not if she herself was going to be playing courting games with Aradin. Which she wanted to do; she did not lie to herself about that. Aradin was fascinating, intelligent, learned, and kind. Not to mention helpful, handsome, funny . . .

Clearing her throat, she spoke up before her housekeeper could continue her flirtations. She knew her choice of topic would only encourage such things, but it had to be discussed. At least, until Nannan realizes what Aradin-Teral is. Then the fecal matter will probably hit the aeration charm . . .

“Teral, I believe you were listening when I discussed a change in living arrangements with your Host earlier, yes?” she asked. “If you like, I could assist you in moving your and Aradin’s belongings to the Keeper’s house after supper.”

“Oh! I have just the room for you,” Nannan agreed quickly, smiling at the gray-and-brown-haired priest. “It’s the one right next to mine, with a lovely view of the neighbor’s garden.”

“Actually, I was thinking we could put Aradin Teral in the room next to mine,” Saleria said dryly. “I figure that would be more convenient, since they will be my apprentices.”

Nannan frowned at her briefly, then fluttered her free hand at her employer. “Oh, fine, you can put the young man next to you. This gentleman will be next to me . . . yes?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, milady,” Teral stated, his tone quelling, but accompanied by a polite smile. “Where Aradin goes, I go. Where I go, Aradin goes.”

“Nonsense!” Nannan dismissed. “You may be travel companions, but you aren’t joined at the hip.”

Teral slanted a look at his hostess. Saleria couldn’t hear his voice in her mind, but she didn’t have to; his expression spoke volumes. “Nannan,” she said firmly, forcing the older woman to glance her way. “They are more than just ‘joined at the hip.’ Teral is dead. He is a ghost. What you see is Aradin’s body, shaped by holy magics to look like Teral’s, but only in a borrowed sense. They share their body, and just the one body alone, which means they only need one bed.”

“A . . . what?” Lifting her chin from her knuckles, Nannan stared back and forth between the two of them. Across the table from her, Daranen wisely kept quiet, but didn’t let her dawning realization stop him from serving himself another helping of roast duck.

“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?”