“You have no idea how happy I am you offered to come with me,” Shuden confided as they entered the room. A large band played at one end of the hallway, and couples either spun through the center of the room in dance or stood around the wide periphery in conversation. The room was bright with colored lights, the rocks they had seen outside burning intensely from placements atop banisters or poles. There were even chains of tiny candles wrapped around several of the pillars—contraptions that probably had to be refilled every half hour.
“Why is that, my lord?” Sarene asked, gazing at the colorful scene. Even living as a princess, she had never seen such beauty and opulence. Light, sound, and color mixed intoxicatingly.
Shuden followed her gaze, not really hearing her question. “One would never know this country is dancing on the lip of destruction,” he muttered.
The statement struck like a solemn death knell. There was a reason Sarene had never seen such lavishness—wondrous as it was, it was also incredibly wasteful. Her father was a prudent ruler; he would never allow such profligacy.
“That is always how it is, though, isn’t it?” Shuden asked. “Those who can least afford extravagance seem to be the ones most determined to spend what they have left.”
“You are a wise man, Lord Shuden,” Sarene said.
“No, just a man who tries to see to the heart of things,” he said, leading her to a side gallery where they could find drinks.
“What was that you were saying before?”
“What?” Shuden asked. “Oh, I was explaining how you are going to save me quite a bit of distress this evening.”
“Why is that?” she asked as he handed her a cup of wine.
Shuden smiled slightly, taking a sip of his own drink. “There are some who, for one reason or another, consider me quite … eligible. Many of them won’t realize who you are, and will stay away, trying to judge their new competitor. I might actually have some time to enjoy myself tonight.”
Sarene raised an eyebrow. “Is it really that bad?”
“I usually have to beat them away with a stick,” Shuden replied, holding out his arm to her.
“One would almost think you never intended to marry, my lord,” Sarene said with a smile, accepting his proffered arm.
Shuden laughed. “No, it is nothing like that, my lady. Let me assure you, I am quite interested in the concept—or, at least, the theory behind it. However, finding a woman in this court whose twittering foolishness doesn’t cause my stomach to turn, that is another thing entirely. Come, if I am right, then we should be able to find a place much more interesting than the main ballroom.”
Shuden led her through the masses of ballgoers. Despite his earlier comments, he was very civil—even pleasant—to the women who appeared from the crowd to welcome him. Shuden knew every one by name—a feat of diplomacy, or good breeding, in itself.
Sarene’s respect for Shuden grew as she watched the reactions of those he met. No faces turned dark as he approached, and few gave him the haughty looks that were common in so-called genteel societies. Shuden was well liked, though he was far from the most lively of men. She sensed that his popularity came not from his ability to entertain, but from his refreshing honesty. When Shuden spoke, he was always polite and considerate, but completely frank. His exotic origin gave him the license to say things that others could not.
Eventually they arrived at a small room at the top of a flight of stairs. “Here we are,” Shuden said with satisfaction, leading her through the doorway. Inside they found a smaller, but more skilled, band playing stringed instruments. The decorations in this room were more subdued, but the servants were holding plates of food that seemed even more exotic than those down below. Sarene recognized many of the faces from court, including the one most important.
“The king,” she said, noticing Iadon standing near the far corner. Eshen was at his side in a slim green dress.
Shuden nodded. “Iadon wouldn’t miss a party like this, even if it is being held by Lord Telrii.”
“They don’t get along?”
“They get along fine. They’re just in the same business. Iadon runs a merchant fleet—his ships travel the sea of Fjorden, as do those of Telrii. That makes them rivals.”
“I think it’s odd that he’s here either way,” Sarene said. “My father never goes to these kinds of things.”
“That is because he has grown up, Lady Sarene. Iadon is still infatuated with his power, and takes every opportunity to enjoy it.” Shuden looked around with keen eyes. “Take this room, for example.”
“This room?”
Shuden nodded. “Whenever Iadon comes to a party, he chooses a room aside from the main one and lets the important people gravitate toward him. The nobles are used to it. The man throwing the ball usually hires a second band, and knows to start a second, more exclusive party apart from the main ball. Iadon has made it known that he doesn’t want to associate with people who are too far beneath him—this gathering is only for dukes and well-placed counts.”
“But you are a baron,” Sarene pointed out as the two of them drifted into the room.
Shuden smiled, sipping his wine. “I am a special case. My family forced Iadon to give us our title, where most of the others gained their ranks through wealth and begging. I can take certain liberties that no other baron would assume, for Iadon and I both know I once got the better of him. I can usually only spend a short time here in the inner room—an hour at most. Otherwise I stretch the king’s patience. Of course, that is all beside the point tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I have you,” Shuden said. “Do not forget, Lady Sarene. You outrank everyone in this room except for the royal couple themselves.”
Sarene nodded. While she was quite accustomed to the idea of being important—she was, after all, the daughter of a king—she wasn’t used to the Arelish penchant for pulling rank.
“Iadon’s presence changes things,” she said quietly as the king noticed her. His eyes passed over her dress, obviously noting its less than black state, and his face grew dark.
Maybe the dress wasn’t such a good idea, Sarene admitted to herself. However, something else quickly drew her attention. “What is he doing here?” she whispered as she noticed a bright form standing like a red scar in the midst of the ballgoers.
Shuden followed her eyes. “The gyorn? He’s been coming to the court balls since the day he got here. He showed up at the first one without an invitation, and held himself with such an air of self-importance that no one has dared neglect inviting him since.”
Hrathen spoke with a small group of men, his brilliant red breastplate and cape stark against the nobles’ lighter colors. The gyorn stood at least a head taller than anyone in the room, and his shoulder plates extended a foot on either side. All in all, he was very hard to miss.
Shuden smiled. “No matter what I think of the man, I am impressed with his confidence. He simply walked into the king’s private party that first night and began talking to one of the dukes—he barely even nodded to the king. Apparently, Hrathen considers the title of gyorn equal to anything in this room.”
“Kings bow to gyorns in the East,” Sarene said. “They practically grovel when Wyrn visits.”
“And it all came from one elderly Jindo,” Shuden noted, pausing to replace their cups with wine from a passing servant. It was a much better vintage. “It always interests me to see what you people have done with Keseg’s teachings.”
“‘You people’?” Sarene asked. “I’m Korathi—don’t lump me together with the gyorn.”
Shuden held up a hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be offensive.”
Sarene paused. Shuden spoke Aonic as a native and lived in Arelon, so she had assumed him to be Korathi. She had misjudged. Shuden was still Jindoeese—his family would have believed in Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of both Korath and Dereth. “But,” she said, thinking out loud, “Jindo is Derethi now.”
Shuden’s fa
ce darkened slightly, eyeing the gyorn. “I wonder what the great master thought when his two students, Korath and Dereth, left to preach to the lands northward. Keseg taught of unity. But what did he mean? Unity of mind, as my people assume? Unity of love, as your priests claim? Or is it the unity of obedience, as the Derethi believe? In the end, I am left to ponder how mankind managed to complicate such a simple concept.”
He paused, then shook his head. “Anyway, yes, my lady, Jindo is Derethi now. My people allow Wyrn to assume that the Jindo have been converted because it is better than fighting. Many are now questioning that decision, however. The arteths are growing increasingly demanding.”
Sarene nodded. “I agree. Shu-Dereth must be stopped—it is a perversion of the truth.”
Shuden paused. “I didn’t say that, Lady Sarene. The soul of Shu-Keseg is acceptance. There is room for all teachings. The Derethi think they are doing what is right.” Shuden stopped, looking over at Hrathen, before continuing. “That one, however, is dangerous.”
“Why him and not others?”
“I visited one of Hrathen’s sermons,” Shuden said. “He doesn’t preach from his heart, Lady Sarene, he preaches from his mind. He looks for numbers in his conversions, paying no attention to the faith of his followers. This is dangerous.”
Shuden scanned Hrathen’s companions. “That one bothers me as well,” he said, pointing to a man whose hair was so blond it was almost white.