CHAPTER 14
Sarene had about as much talent for needlepoint as she did for painting. Not that she let it stop her from trying—no matter how much she worked to become a part of what were traditionally considered masculine activities, Sarene felt an intense need to prove that she could be as feminine and ladylike as anyone else. It wasn’t her fault that she just wasn’t any good at it.
She held up her embroidering hoop. It was supposed to depict a crimson sisterling sitting on a branch, its beak open in song. Unfortunately, she had drawn the pattern herself—which meant it hadn’t been all that good in the first place. That, coupled with her startling inability to follow the lines, had produced something that resembled a squashed tomato more than it did a bird.
“Very nice, dear,” Eshen said. Only the incurably bubbly queen could deliver such a compliment without sarcasm.
Sarene sighed, dropping her hoop to her lap and grabbing some brown thread for the branch.
“Don’t worry, Sarene,” Daora said. “Domi gives everyone different levels of talent, but he always rewards diligence. Continue to practice and you will improve.”
You say that with such ease, Sarene thought with a mental scowl. Daora’s own hoop was filled with a detailed masterpiece of embroidered perfection. She had entire flocks of birds, each one tiny yet intricate, hovering and spinning through the branches of a statuesque oak. Kiin’s wife was the embodiment of aristocratic virtue.
Daora didn’t walk, she glided, and her every action was smooth and graceful. Her makeup was striking—her lips bright red and her eyes mysterious—but it had been applied with masterful subtlety. She was old enough to be stately, yet young enough to be known for her remarkable beauty. In short, she was the type of woman Sarene would normally hate—if she weren’t also the kindest, most intelligent woman in the court.
After a few moments of quiet, Eshen began to talk, as usual. The queen seemed frightened of silence, and was constantly speaking or prompting others to do so. The other women in the group were content to let her lead—not that anyone would have wanted to try wrestling control of a conversation from Eshen.
The queen’s embroidery group consisted of about ten women. At first, Sarene had avoided their meetings, instead focusing her attention on the political court. However, she had soon realized that the women were as important as any civil matter; gossip and idle chatting spread news that couldn’t be discussed in a formal setting. Sarene couldn’t afford to be out of the chain, she just wished she didn’t have to reveal her ineptitude to take part.
“I heard that Lord Waren, son of the Baron of Kie Plantation, has had quite the religious experience,” Eshen said. “I knew his mother—she was a very decent woman. Quite proficient at knitting. Next year, when sweaters come back in, I’m going to force Iadon to wear one—it isn’t seemly for a king to appear unconscious of fashion. His hair is quite too long.”
Daora pulled a stitch tight. “I have heard the rumors about young Waren. It seems odd to me that now, after years of being a devout Korathi, he would suddenly convert to Shu-Dereth.”
“They’re all but the same religion anyway,” Atara said offhandedly. Duke Telrii’s wife was a small woman—even for an Arelene—with shoulder-length auburn curls. Her clothing and jewelry was by far the richest in the room, a compliment to her husband’s extravagance, and her stitching patterns were always conservative and unimaginative.
“Don’t say such things around the priests,” warned Seaden, Count Ahan’s wife. The largest woman in the room, her girth nearly matched that of her husband. “They act as if your soul depends on whether you call God Domi or Jaddeth.”
“The two do have some very striking differences,” Sarene said, trying to shield her mangled embroidering from the eyes of her companions.
“Maybe if you’re a priest,” Atara said with a quiet twitter of a laugh. “But those things hardly make any difference to us.”
“Of course,” Sarene said. “We are, after all, only women.” She looked up from her needlepoint discreetly, smiling at the reaction her statement sparked. Perhaps the women of Arelon weren’t quiet as subservient as their men assumed.
The quiet continued for only a few moments before Eshen spoke again. “Sarene, what do women do in Teod to pass the time?”
Sarene raised an eyebrow in surprise; she had never heard the queen ask such a straightforward question. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“What do they do?” Eshen repeated. “I’ve heard things, you understand—as I have about Fjorden, where they say it gets so cold in the winter that trees sometimes freeze and explode. An easy way to make wood chips, I suppose. I wonder if they can make it happen on command.”
Sarene smiled. “We find things to do, Your Majesty. Some women like to embroider, though others of us find different pursuits.”
“Like what?” asked Torena, the unmarried daughter of Lord Ahan—though Sarene still found it hard to believe that a person so slight of frame could have come from a pair as bulbous as Ahan and Seaden. Torena was normally quiet during these gatherings, her wide brown eyes watching the proceedings with a spark that hinted at a buried intelligence.
“Well, the king’s courts are open to all, for one thing,” Sarene said nonchalantly. Her heart sang, however: this was the kind of opportunity she had been anticipating with excitement.
“You would go listen to the cases?” Torena asked, her quiet, high-pitched voice growing increasingly interested.
“Often,” Sarene said. “Then I would talk about them with my friends.”
“Did you fight one another with swords?” asked the overweight Seaden, her face eager.
Sarene paused, a little taken aback. She looked up to find nearly every head in the room staring at her. “What makes you ask that?”
“That’s what they say about women from Teod, dear,” Daora said calmly, the only woman who was still working on her needlepoint.
“Yes,” Seaden said. “We’ve always heard it—they say that women in Teod kill one another for the sport of the men.”
Sarene raised an eyebrow. “We call it fencing, Lady Seaden. We do it for our own amusement, not that of our men—and we definitely do not kill one another. We use swords, but the tips have little knobs on them, and we wear thick clothing. I’ve never heard of anyone suffering an injury greater than a twisted ankle.”
“Then it’s true?” little Torena breathed with amazement. “You do use swords.”
“Some of us,” Sarene said. “I rather enjoyed it, actually. Fencing was my favorite sport.” The women’s eyes shone with an appalling level of bloodlust—like the eyes of hounds that had been locked in a very small room for far too long. Sarene had hoped to instill a measure of political interest in these women, to encourage them to take an active role in the management of the country, but apparently that was too subtle an approach. They needed something more direct.
“I could teach you, if you wanted,” Sarene offered.
“To fight?” Atara asked, astounded.
“Of course,” Sarene said. “It’s not that difficult. And please, Lady Atara, we call it fencing. Even the most understanding of men gets a bit uncomfortable when he thinks of women ‘fighting.’”
“We couldn’t …” Eshen began.
“Why not?” Sarene asked.
“Swordplay is frowned upon by the king, dear,” Daora explained. “You’ve probably noticed that none of the noblemen here carry swords.”
Sarene frowned. “I was going to ask about that.”
“Iadon considers it too commonplace,” Eshen said. “He calls fighting peasant’s work. He’s studied them rather a lot—he’s a fine leader, you know, and a fine leader has to know a lot about a lot of things. Why, he can tell you what the weather is like in Svorden at any time of the year. His ships are the most sturdy, and fastest in the business.”
“So none of the men can fight?” Sarene asked with amazement.
“None except for Lord Eondel and perhaps Lord Sh
uden,” Torena said, her face taking on a dreamy look as she mentioned Shuden’s name. The young, dark-skinned nobleman was a favorite among the women of court, his delicate features and impeccable manners capturing even the most steady of hearts.
“Don’t forget Prince Raoden,” Atara added. “I think he had Eondel teach him to fight just to spite his father. He was always doing things like that.”
“Well, all the better,” Sarene said. “If none of the men fight, then King Iadon can’t very well object to our learning.”
“What do you mean?” Torena asked.
“Well, he says it’s beneath him,” Sarene explained. “If that’s true, then it should be perfect for us. After all, we are only women.”
Sarene smiled mischievously, an expression that spread across most of the faces in the room.
“Ashe, where did I put my sword?” Sarene said, on her knees beside her bed, fumbling around beneath it.
“Your sword, my lady?” Ashe asked.
“Never mind, I’ll find it later. What did you discover?”
Ashe pulsed quietly, as if wondering just what sort of trouble she was getting into, before speaking. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to report, my lady. Elantris is a very delicate subject, and I have been able to learn very little.”
“Anything will help,” Sarene said, turning to her wardrobe. She had a ball to attend this night.
“Well, my lady, most of the people in Kae don’t want to speak of the city. Kae’s Seons didn’t know very much, and the mad Seons inside of Elantris seem incapable of enough thought to respond to my questions. I even tried approaching the Elantrians themselves, but many appeared scared of me, and the others only begged me for food—as if I could carry it to them. Eventually, I found the best source of information to be the soldiers that guard the city walls.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Sarene said, looking over her clothing. “They’re supposed to be the most elite fighting group in Arelon.”