“You’re right,” Sarene said, “I am too busy to deal with Spirit. That’s why you are going to find out what he’s up to.”
Ashe sighed.
“Go back to the city,” Sarene said. “You shouldn’t have to go very far inside—a lot of Elantrians loiter near the gate. Ask them about Spirit and see if you can discover anything about the treaty between Karata and Aanden.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I wonder if maybe we misjudged Elantris,” Sarene said.
“I don’t know, my lady,” Ashe said. “It is a very barbarous place. I witnessed several atrocious acts myself, and saw the aftermath of many others. Everyone in that city bears wounds of some sort—and from the sounds of their moans, I would guess that many of the injuries are severe. Fighting must be common.”
Sarene nodded absently. However, she couldn’t help thinking of Spirit, and how strikingly unbarbaric he had been. He’d put the lords at ease, conversing with them affably, as if he weren’t damned and they the ones who had locked him away. She had found herself almost liking him by the end of the afternoon, though she worried that he was toying with her.
So she had remained indifferent, even cold, toward Spirit—reminding herself that many a murderer and tyrant could appear very friendly if he wanted to. Her heart, however, told her that this man was genuine. He was hiding things, as all men did, but he honestly wanted to help Elantris. For some reason, he seemed particularly concerned with Sarene’s opinion of him.
And, walking out of the entryway toward her own rooms, Sarene had to try very hard before she convinced herself that she didn’t care what he thought of her.
CHAPTER 24
Hrathen was hot within his bloodred armor, exposed as he was to the bright sunlight. He was consoled by how imposing he must look, standing atop the wall with his armor shining in the light. Of course, no one was looking at him—they were all watching the tall Teoish princess distribute her food.
Her decision to enter Elantris had shocked the town, and the king’s subsequent bestowal of permission had done so again. The walls of Elantris had filled early, nobles and merchants packing themselves along the open, wall-top walkway. They had come with faces like men watching a Svordish shark fight, leaning over the wall to get the best view of what many projected would be a thrilling disaster. It was commonly thought that the savages of Elantris would rip the princess apart within the first few minutes of her entrance, then proceed to devour her.
Hrathen watched with resignation as Elantris’s monsters came placidly, refusing to ingest even a single guard—let alone the princess. His demons refused to perform, and he could see the disappointment in the crowd’s faces. The princess’s move had been masterful, castrating Hrathen’s devils with a sweep of the brutal scythe known as truth. Now that Sarene’s personal aristocrats had proven their courage by entering Elantris, pride would force the others to do so as well. Hatred of Elantris would evaporate, for people couldn’t fear that which they pitied.
As soon as it became obvious that no princesses would be devoured this day, the people lost interest, returning down the wall’s long flight of steps in a steady, dissatisfied trickle. Hrathen joined them, climbing down the steps, then turning toward the center of Kae and the Derethi chapel. As he walked, however, a carriage pulled up alongside him. Hrathen recognized the Aon on its side: Aon Rii.
The carriage pulled to a stop and the door opened. Hrathen paused for just a moment, then climbed in, seating himself opposite Duke Telrii.
The duke was obviously not pleased. “I warned you about that woman. The people will never hate Elantris now—and, if they don’t hate Elantris, they won’t hate Shu-Korath either.”
Hrathen waved his hand. “The girl’s efforts are irrelevant.”
“I don’t see how that is the case.”
“How long can she keep this up?” Hrathen asked. “A few weeks, a month at the most? Right now, her excursions are a novelty, but that will wear off soon. I doubt many of the nobility will be willing to accompany her in the future, even if she does try and keep these feedings going.”
“The damage is done,” Telrii said insistently.
“Hardly,” Hrathen said. “Lord Telrii, it has barely been a few weeks since I arrived in Arelon. Yes, the woman has dealt us a setback, but it will prove a minor inconvenience. You know, as I know, that the nobility are a fickle group. How long do you think it will take for them to forget their visits into Elantris?”
Telrii didn’t look convinced.
“Besides,” Hrathen said, trying another tactic, “my work with Elantris was only a small part of our plan. The instability of Iadon’s throne—the embarrassment he will sustain at the next taxing period—is what we should be focusing on.”
“The king recently found some new contracts in Teod,” Telrii said.
“They won’t be enough to recoup his losses,” Hrathen said dismissively. “His finances are crippled. The nobility will never stand for a king who insists that they maintain their level of wealth, but who doesn’t apply the same standard to himself.
“Soon, we can begin spreading rumors as to the king’s reduced circumstances. Most of the high-ranking nobility are merchants themselves—they have means of discovering how their competitors are doing. They’ll find out just how much Iadon is hurting, and they’ll begin to complain.”
“Complaints won’t put me on the throne,” Telrii said.
“You’d be surprised,” Hrathen said. “Besides, at that same time we’ll begin implying that if you were to take the throne, you would bring Arelon a lucrative trade treaty with the East. I can provide you with the proper documents. There will be money enough for all—and that is something that Iadon hasn’t been able to provide. Your people know that this country is on the verge of financial ruin. Fjorden can bring you out of it.”
Telrii nodded slowly.
Yes, Telrii, Hrathen thought with an inward sigh, that’s something you can understand, isn’t it? If we can’t convert the nobility, we can always just buy them.
The tactic wasn’t as certain as Hrathen implied, but the explanation would do for Telrii while Hrathen devised other plans. Once it was known that the king was bankrupt and Telrii was rich, certain other … pressures placed on the government would make for an easy—if abrupt—transfer in power.
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The princess had countered the wrong scheme. Iadon’s throne would collapse even as she handed out food to the Elantrians, thinking herself clever for having foiled Hrathen’s plot.
“I warn you, Hrathen,” Telrii said suddenly, “do not assume me a Derethi pawn. I go along with your plans because you were able to produce the wealth that you promised me. I won’t just sit back and be pushed in any direction you wish, however.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Lordship,” Hrathen said smoothly.
Telrii nodded, calling for the coachman to stop. They weren’t even halfway to the Derethi chapel.
“My mansion is that direction,” Telrii said airily, pointing down a side street. “You can walk the rest of the way to your chapel.”
Hrathen clenched his jaw. Someday this man would have to learn proper respect for Derethi officials. For now, however, Hrathen simply climbed out of the carriage.
Considering the company, he preferred walking anyway.
“I’ve never seen this kind of response in Arelon,” one priest noted.
“Agreed,” said his companion. “I’ve been serving the empire in Kae for over a decade, and we’ve never had more than a few conversions a year.”
Hrathen passed the priests as he entered the Derethi chapel. They were minor underpriests, of little concern to him; he noticed them only because of Dilaf.
“It has been a long while,” Dilaf agreed. “Though I remember a time, just after the pirate Dreok Crushthroat assaulted Teod, when there was a wave of conversions in Arelon.”
Hrathen frowned. Something about Dilaf’s comment bothered him. He forced himself to continue walking, but he shot a glance back at the arteth. Dreok Crushthroat had attacked Teod fifteen years before. It was possible that Dilaf would remember such a thing from his childhood, but how would he have known about Arelon conversion rates?
The arteth had to be older than Hrathen had assumed. Much older. Hrathen’s eyes widened as he studied Dilaf’s face in his mind. He had placed Dilaf as no older than twenty-five, but he could now detect hints of age in the arteth’s face. Only hints, however—he was probably one of those rare individuals who seemed many years younger than they really were. The “young” Arelish priest feigned lack of experience, but his planning and scheming revealed an otherwise hidden degree of maturity. Dilaf was far more seasoned than he led people to assume.