“He was a better prince than I am a princess, wasn’t he?” she asked, her voice falling.
“I wouldn’t say that, my lady,” Ashe said. “You are a very kindhearted woman, and you always treat your maids well. Do not compare yourself to Raoden—it is important to remember that you weren’t preparing to run a country, and your popularity with the people wasn’t an issue. Prince Raoden was the heir to the throne, and it was vital that he understand his subjects’ feelings.”
“They say he gave the people hope,” Sarene said musingly. “That the peasants endured Iadon’s outrageous burdens because they knew Raoden would eventually take the throne. The country would have collapsed years ago if the prince hadn’t gone amongst them, encouraging them and reviving their spirits.”
“And now he’s gone,” Ashe said quietly.
“Yes, he’s gone,” Sarene agreed, her voice detached. “We have to hurry, Ashe. I keep feeling that I’m not doing any good—that the country is heading for disaster no matter what I do. It’s like I’m at the bottom of a hill watching an enormous boulder crash down toward me, and I’m throwing pebbles up to try and deflect it.”
“Be strong, my lady,” Ashe said in his deep, stately voice. “Your God will not sit and watch as Arelon and Teod crumble beneath Wyrn’s heel.”
“I hope the prince is watching as well,” Sarene said. “Would he be proud of me, Ashe?”
“Very proud my lady.”
“I just want them to accept me,” she explained, realizing how silly she must sound. She had spent nearly three decades loving a country without ever feeling it loved her back. Teod had respected her, but she was tired of respect. She wanted something different from Arelon.
“They will, Sarene,” Ashe promised. “Give them time. They will.”
“Thank you Ashe,” Sarene said with a quiet sigh. “Thank you for enduring the lamentations of a silly girl.”
“We can be strong in the face of kings and priests, my lady,” Ashe replied, “but to live is to have worries and uncertainties. Keep them inside, and they will destroy you for certain—leaving behind a person so callused that emotion can find no root in his heart.”
With that the Seon passed out the window, in search of the maid Meala.
_______
By the time Meala arrived, Sarene had composed herself. There had been no tears, just time spent in thought. Sometimes it was too much for her, and her insecurity simply had to boil out. Ashe and her father had always been there to support her during those times.
“Oh dear,” Meala said, regarding the state of the room. She was thin and rather young—definitely not what Sarene expected when she had first moved into the palace. Meala more resembled one of her father’s accountants than she did a head maid.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” Meala apologized, offering Sarene a wan smile. “I didn’t even think of this. We lost another girl this afternoon, and it didn’t occur to me that your room was on her list of duties.”
“‘Lost,’ Meala?” Sarene asked with concern.
“A runaway, my lady,” Meala explained. “They aren’t supposed to leave—we’re indentured like the rest of the peasants. For some reason we have trouble keeping maids in the palace, however. Domi knows why it is—no servant in the country is treated better than those here.”
“How many have you lost?” Sarene asked with curiosity.
“She was the fourth this year,” Meala said. “I’ll send someone up immediately.”
“No, don’t bother tonight. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Of course, my lady,” Meala said with a curtsy.
“Thank you.”
“There it is again!” Sarene said with excitement, jumping out of her bed.
Ashe instantly burst back to full illumination, hovering uncertainly by the wall. “My lady?”
“Quiet,” Sarene ordered, pressing her ear against the stone wall beneath her window, listening to the scraping sound. “What do you think?”
“I am thinking that whatever my lady had for supper, it isn’t agreeing with her,” Ashe informed curtly.
“There was definitely a noise there,” Sarene said, ignoring the gibe. Though Ashe was always awake in the mornings when she got up, he didn’t like being disturbed after he had fallen asleep.
She reached over to her nightstand and picked up a scrap of parchment. On it she made a mark with a thin piece of charcoal, not wanting to bother with pen and ink.
“Look,” she declared, holding up the paper for Ashe to see. “The sounds always come on the same days of the week: MaeDal and OpeDal.”
Ashe floated over and looked at the paper, his glowing Aon the room’s only illumination besides starlight. “You’ve heard it twice on MaeDal and twice on OpeDal, four times in total,” he said skeptically. “That is hardly grounds for a decision that they ‘always come on the same days,’ my lady.”
“Oh, you think I’m hearing things anyway,” Sarene said, dropping the parchment back onto her table. “I thought Seons were supposed to have excellent auditory senses.”
“Not when we’re sleeping, my lady,” Ashe said, implying that that was exactly what he should have been doing at the moment.
“There must be a passage here,” Sarene decided, ineffectually tapping the stone wall.
“If you say so, my lady.”
“I do,” she said, rising and studying her window. “Look how thick the stone is around this window, Ashe.” She leaned against the wall and stuck her arm out the window. The tips of her fingers could barely curl around the outside ledge. “Does the wall really need to be so wide?”
“It offers much protection, my lady.”
“It also offers room for a passage.”
“A very thin one,” Ashe replied.
“True,” Sarene mused, kneeling down to view the bottom edge of the window at eye level. “It slopes upwards. The passage was constructed to angle up, passing between the bottoms of the windows on this level and the first story.”
“But the only thing in that direction is …”
“The king’s rooms,” Sarene finished. “Where else would a passage lead?”
“Are you suggesting that the king takes secret excursions twice a week in the middle of the night, my lady?”
“At precisely eleven o’clock,” Sarene said, eyeing the large grandfather clock in the corner of her room. “It’s always at the same time.”
“What possible reason could he have for such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” Sarene said, tapping her cheek in contemplation.
“Oh dear,” Ashe mumbled. “My lady is concocting something, isn’t she?”
“Always,” Sarene said sweetly, climbing back into bed. “Turn down your light—some of us want to get some sleep.”
CHAPTER 21
Hrathen sat down in his chair, wearing a red Derethi robe instead of his armor, as he often did when he was in his chambers.
The knock that came at his door was expected. “Come in,” he said.
Arteth Thered entered. A man of good Fjordell stock, Thered had a strong, tall frame, dark hair, and squareish features. He was still well muscled from his days training in the monastery.
“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing and falling to his knees with a proper sign of respect.
“Arteth,” Hrathen said, lacing his fingers in front of himself. “During my time here, I’ve been watching the local priests. I have been impressed with your service in Jaddeth’s kingdom, and I have decided to offer you the position of head arteth of this chapel.”
Thered looked up with surprise. “Your Grace?”
“I had thought that I would have to wait to appoint a new head arteth until a new batch of priests arrived from Fjorden,” Hrathen said. “But, as I said, you have impressed me. I decided to offer you the position.”
And, of course, he added in his mind, I don’t have time to wait. I need someone to administrate the chapel now so that I can focus on other tasks.
> “My lord …” the arteth said, obviously overwhelmed. “I cannot accept this position.”
Hrathen froze. “What?” No Derethi priest would refuse a position of such power.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” the man repeated, looking down.