Lukel thought for a moment, then spoke with a reminiscent voice. “Raoden made people happy. Your day could have been as sour as winter, and the prince and his optimism would arrive, and with a few gentle words he would make you realize just how silly you were being. He was brilliant as well; he knew every Aon, and could draw them with perfection, and he was always coming up with some weird new philosophy that no one but Father could understand. Even with my training at the university in Svorden, I still couldn’t follow half of his theories.”
“He sounds like he was flawless.”
Lukel smiled. “In everything but cards. He always lost when we played tooledoo, even if he did talk me into paying for dinner afterward. He would have made a horrible merchant—he didn’t really care about money. He would lose a game of tooledoo just because he knew I got a thrill from the victory. I never saw him sad, or angry—except when he was at one of the outer plantations, visiting the people. He did that often; then he would come back to the court and speak his thoughts on the matter quite directly.”
“I’ll bet the king didn’t think much of that,” Sarene said with a slight smile.
“He hated it,” Lukel said. “Iadon tried everything short of banishing Raoden to keep him quiet, but nothing worked. The prince would find a way to work his opinion into any and every royal ruling. He was the crown prince, and so court laws—written by Iadon himself—gave Raoden a chance to speak his mind in every matter brought before the king. And let me tell you, Princess, you don’t know what a scolding is until you’ve had one from Raoden. The man could be so stern at times that even the stone walls would shrivel beneath his tongue.”
Sarene sat back, enjoying the image of Iadon being denounced by his own son before the entire court.
“I miss him,” Lukel said quietly. “This country needed Raoden. He was beginning to make some real differences; he had gathered quite a following amongst the nobles. Now the group is fragmenting without his leadership. Father and I are trying to hold them together, but I’ve been gone so long that I’m out of touch. And, of course, few of them trust Father.”
“What? Why not?”
“He has something of a reputation for being a scoundrel. Besides, he doesn’t have a title. He’s refused every one the king tried to give him.”
Sarene’s brow furled. “Wait a moment—I thought Uncle Kiin opposed the king. Why would Iadon try to give him a title?”
Lukel smiled. “Iadon can’t help it. The king’s entire government is built on the idea that monetary success is justification for rule. Father is extremely successful, and the law says that money equals nobility. You see, the king was foolish enough to think that everyone rich would think the same way he does, and so he wouldn’t have any opposition as long as he gave titles to everyone affluent. Father’s refusal to accept a title is really a way of undermining Iadon’s sovereignty, and the king knows it. As long as there’s even one rich man who isn’t technically a nobleman, the Arelish aristocratic system is flawed. Old Iadon nearly has a fit every time Father appears in court.”
“He should come by more often then,” Sarene said wickedly.
“Father finds plenty of opportunities to show his face. He and Raoden met nearly every afternoon here in the court to play a game of ShinDa. It was an unending source of discomfort to Iadon that they chose to do this in his own throne room, but again, his own laws proclaimed that the court was open to everyone his son invited, so he couldn’t throw them out.”
“It sounds like the prince had a talent for using the king’s own laws against him.”
“It was one of his more endearing traits,” Lukel said with a smile. “Somehow Raoden would twist every one of Iadon’s new decrees until they turned around and slapped the king in the face. Iadon spent nearly every moment of the last five years trying to find a way to disinherit Raoden. It turns out Domi solved that problem for him in the end.”
Either Domi, Sarene thought with growing suspicion, or one of Iadon’s own assassins…. “Who inherits now?” she asked.
“That’s not exactly certain,” Lukel said. “Iadon probably plans to have another son—Eshen is young enough. One of the more powerful dukes would probably be next in line. Lord Telrii or Lord Roial.”
“Are they here?” Sarene asked, scanning the crowd.
“Roial isn’t,” Lukel said, “but that’s Duke Telrii over there.” Lukel nodded toward a pompous-looking man standing near the far wall. Lean and strong-postured, he might have been handsome had he not displayed signs of gross indulgence. His clothing sparkled with sewn-in gemstones, and his fingers glittered gold and silver. As he turned, Sarene could see that the left side of his face was marred by a massive, purplish birthmark.
“Let us hope the throne never falls to him,” Lukel said. “Iadon is disagreeable, but at least he’s fiscally responsible. Iadon is a miser. Telrii, however, is a spender. He likes money, and he likes those who give it to him. He’d probably be the richest man in Arelon if he weren’t so lavish—as it is, he’s a poor third, behind the king and Duke Roial.”
Sarene frowned. “The king would have disinherited Raoden, leaving the country with no visible heir? Doesn’t he know anything about succession wars?”
Lukel shrugged. “Apparently, he’d rather have no heir than risk leaving Raoden in charge.”
“He couldn’t have things like freedom and compassion ruining his perfect little monarchy,” Sarene said.
“Exactly.”
“These nobles who followed Raoden. Do they ever meet?”
“No,” Lukel said with a frown. “They’re too afraid to continue without the prince’s protection. We’ve convinced a few of the more dedicated ones to gather one last time tomorrow, but I doubt anything will come of it.”
“I want to be there,” Sarene said.
“These men don’t like newcomers, Cousin,” Lukel warned. “They’ve grown very jumpy—they know their meetings could be considered treasonous.”
“It’s the last time they plan to meet anyway. What are they going to do if I show up? Refuse to come anymore?”
Lukel paused, then smiled. “All right, I’ll tell Father, and he’ll find a way to get you in.”
“We can both tell him over lunch,” Sarene said, taking one last dissatisfied look at her canvas, then walking over to pack up her paints.
“So you’re coming to lunch after all?”
“Well, Uncle Kiin did promise he’d fix Fjordell revertiss. Besides, after what I’ve learned today, I don’t think I can sit here and listen to Iadon’s judgments much longer. I’m liable to start throwing paints if he makes me much more angry.”
Lukel laughed. “That probably wouldn’t be a good idea, princess or not. Come on, Kaise is going to be ecstatic that you’re coming. Father always fixes better food when we have company.”
Lukel was right.
“She’s here!” Kaise declared with an enthusiastic squeal as she saw Sarene walk in. “Father, you have to fix lunch!”
Jalla appeared from a nearby doorway to meet her husband with a hug and a brief kiss. The Svordish woman whispered something to Lukel in Fjordell, and he smiled, rubbing her shoulder affectionately. Sarene watched with envy, then steeled herself with gritted teeth. She was a royal Teoish princess; it wasn’t her place to complain about the necessities of state marriages. If Domi had taken her husband before she even met him, then He obviously wanted to leave her mind clear for other concerns.
Uncle Kiin emerged from the kitchen, stuffed a book in his apron, then gave Sarene one of his crushing hugs. “So you couldn’t stay away after all. The lure of Kiin’s magical kitchen was too much for you, eh?”
“No, Papa, she’s just hungry,” Kaise announced.
“Oh, is that all. Well, sit down, Sarene, I’ll have lunch out in a few moments.”
The meal proceeded in much the same way as dinner had the night before, Kaise complaining about the slowness, Daorn trying to act more mature than his sister, and Lukel teasing them both merc
ilessly—as was the solemn duty of any elder brother. Adien made his appearance late, looking distracted as he mumbled some numbers softly to himself. Kiin brought out several steaming platters of food, apologizing for his wife’s absence because of a prior engagement.
The meal was delightful—the food good, the conversation enjoyable. Until, that was, Lukel took it upon himself to inform the family of Sarene’s painting talents.
“She was engaged in some sort of new-abstractionism,” her cousin proclaimed with a completely serious voice.
“Is that so?” Kiin asked.
“Yes,” Lukel said. “Though I can’t quite say what kind of statement she was trying to make by representing a flower patch with a brown smudge that only vaguely resembles a horse.”
Sarene blushed as the table laughed. However, it wasn’t over—Ashe chose that moment to betray her as well.
“She calls it the school of creative misdirection,” the Seon explained solemnly in his deep, stately voice. “I believe the princess feels empowered by crafting art that completely baffles one’s ability to distinguish what the subject could be.”
This was too much for Kiin, who nearly collapsed from laughter. Sarene’s torment was soon over, however, as the topic of conversation met with a slight change—the source of which was of some interest to the princess.
“There’s no such thing as a school of creative misdirection,” Kaise informed them.
“There isn’t?” her father asked.
“No. There’s the impressionist school, the neorepresentational school, the abstract derivational school, and the revivationist school. That’s it.”
“Oh, is that so?” Lukel asked with amusement.
“Yes,” Kaise pronounced. “There was the realist movement, but that’s the same as the neorepresentational school. They just changed names to sound more important.”
“Stop trying to show off for the princess,” Daorn mumbled.
“I’m not showing off,” Kaise huffed. “I’m being educated.”
“You are too showing off,” Daorn said. “Besides, the realist school is not the same as the neorepresentational school.”
“Daorn, stop grumbling at your sister,” Kiin ordered. “Kaise, stop showing off.”
Kaise scowled, then sat back with a sullen look on her face and began mumbling incoherently.
“What’s she doing?” Sarene asked with confusion.
“Oh, she’s cursing at us in Jindoeese,” Daorn said offhandedly. “She always does that when she loses an argument,”
“She thinks she can save face by speaking in other languages,” Lukel said. “As if that proves that she’s actually more intelligent than the rest of the world.”
With that, the torrent of words from the small blond girl’s mouth changed directions. With a start, Sarene realized Kaise was now muttering in Fjordell. Kaise wasn’t done, however; she topped of the tirade with a brief, but biting, accusation in what sounded like Duladen.
“How many languages does she speak?” Sarene asked in amazement.
“Oh, four or five, unless she’s learned a new one while I wasn’t looking,” Lukel said. “Though she’s going to have to stop soon. Svordish scientists claim that the human mind can only maintain six languages before it starts to jumble them.”
“It’s one of little Kaise’s life quests to prove them wrong,” Kiin explained in his deep, scratchy voice. “That, and to eat every morsel of food to be found in all of Arelon.”
Kaise stuck out her chin at her father with a dismissive sniff, then turned back to her meal.
“They’re both so … well informed,” Sarene said with surprise.
“Don’t be too impressed,” Lukel said. “Their tutors have been covering art history lately, and the two of them have been working hard to prove they can outdo one another.”
“Even so,” Sarene said.
Kaise, still displeased at her loss, mumbled something over her meal.
“What was that?” Kiin asked with a firm tone.
“I said, ‘If the prince were here, he would have listened to me.’ He always took my side.”
“He just sounded like he was agreeing with you,” Daorn said. “That is called sarcasm, Kaise.”
Kaise stuck out her tongue at her brother. “He thought I was beautiful, and he loved me. He was waiting for me to grow up so he could marry me. Then I would be queen, and I’d throw you all in the dungeon until you admitted that I was right.”
“He wouldn’t have married you, stupid,” Daorn said with a scowl. “He married Sarene.”
Kiin must have noticed the way Sarene’s face fell when the prince’s name came up, for he quickly hushed the two children with hard looks. However, the damage had been done. The more she learned of him, the more Sarene remembered the prince’s soft, encouraging voice traveling hundreds of miles through the Seon to speak with her. She thought of the rambling way his letters told her of life in Arelon, explaining how he was preparing a place for her. She had been so excited to meet him that she had decided to leave Teod a week early. Not early enough, apparently.
Perhaps she should have listened to her father. He had been hesitant to agree to the marriage, even though he knew Teod needed a solid alliance with the new Arelish government. Though the two countries were descendants of the same racial and cultural heritage, there had been little contact between Teod and Arelon during the last decade. The uprisings after the Reod threatened anyone associated with the Elantrians—and that certainly included the Teoish royalty. But with Fjorden pushing the boundaries of its influence again—this time instigating the collapse of the Duladen Republic—it became obvious that Teod needed to either reacquaint itself with its ancient ally, or face Wyrn’s hordes alone.
And so Sarene had suggested the marriage. Her father had objected at first, but then had bowed beneath its utter practicality. There was no stronger bond than that of blood, especially when the marriage involved a crown prince. Never mind that a royal marriage contract forbade Sarene to ever marry again; Raoden was young and strong. They all assumed he would live for decades.
Kiin was talking to her. “What was that, Uncle?” she asked.
“I just wanted to know if there was anything you wanted to see in Kae. You’ve been here a couple of days; it’s probably time someone gave you a tour. I’m sure Lukel would be happy to show you the sights.”
The thin man raised his hands. “Sorry, Father. I’d love to show our beautiful cousin around the town, but Jalla and I have to go discuss the purchase of some silk for shipment to Teod.”
“Both of you?” Sarene asked with surprise.
“Of course,” Lukel said, dropping his napkin to the table and rising. “Jalla’s a fierce bargainer.”
“That be the only reason he married me,” the Svorden woman confessed with her thick accent and a slight smile. “Lukel is a merchant. Profit in everything, even marriage.”
“That’s right,” Lukel said with a laugh, taking his wife’s hand as she rose. “The fact that she’s brilliant and beautiful didn’t even enter into it. Thanks for the meal, Father. It was delicious. Good day, all.”
With that the couple left, staring into each other’s eyes as they walked. Their exit was followed by a series of gagging sounds from Daorn. “Ugh. Father, you should speak to them. They’re so dopey-eyed they make it hard to eat.”
“Our dear brother’s mind has turned to mush,” Kaise agreed.
“Be patient, children,” Kiin said. “Lukel has only been married for a month now. Give him a while longer, and he’ll turn back to normal.”
“I hope so,” Kaise said. “He’s making me sick.” Of course, she didn’t look very sick to Sarene; she was still packing down the food with a vengeance.
Beside Sarene, Adien continued to mumble in his way. He didn’t seem to say much, except to quote numbers—that, and the occasional word that sounded a lot like “Elantris.”
“I would like to see the town, Uncle,” Sarene said, the boy’s comments
reminding her of something. “Especially Elantris—I want to know what all of the furor is about.”
Kiin rubbed his chin. “Well,” he said, “I suppose the twins can show you. They know how to get to Elantris, and it will keep them out of my hair for a little while.”
“Twins?”
Kiin smiled. “It’s Lukel’s nickname for them.”
“One we hate,” Daorn said. “We aren’t twins—we don’t even look alike.”
Sarene studied the two children, with their similar bobs of blond hair and their identical determined expressions, and smiled. “Not at all,” she agreed.
The wall of Elantris stood over Kae like a disapproving sentry. Walking at its base, Sarene finally realized how truly formidable it was. She had once visited Fjordell, and had been impressed by many of that nation’s fortified cities—but even they couldn’t compete with Elantris. The wall was so high, its sides so smooth, that it obviously hadn’t been crafted by normal human hands. There were enormous, intricate Aons carved into its sides—many of which Sarene didn’t recognize, and she liked to consider herself well educated.
The children led her to a massive set of stone stairs that ran up the side of the outer wall. Magnificently carved, with archways and frequent viewing platforms, the stairs themselves were sculpted with a certain regality. There was also a sense of … arrogance about the tiered stairway. It was obviously part of the original Elantris city design, and proved that the massive walls had been constructed not as a means of defense, but as a means of separation. Only people supremely confident in themselves would craft such an amazing fortification, then place a wide set of stairs on the outside, leading up to the top.
That confidence had been proven unjustified, for Elantris had fallen. Yet, Sarene reminded herself, it hadn’t been invaders who had claimed the city, but something else. Something not yet understood. The Reod.
Sarene paused along a stone railing about halfway up to the top of the wall, looking out over the city of Kae. The smaller city stood like a little brother to the grand Elantris—it tried so hard to prove its significance, but next to the massive city it couldn’t help but seem inferior. Its buildings might have been impressive somewhere else, but they seemed tiny—petty, even—when compared with the majesty of Elantris.