“Kaise, leave your cousin alone,” Daora ordered firmly. “She has had a full day.”
“And I missed it,” Kaise said sullenly, plopping down in her seat. Then she turned angry eyes on her brother. “Why did you have to get sick?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Daorn protested, still a little wan. He didn’t seem very disappointed to have missed the battle.
“Hush, children,” Daora repeated.
“It’s all right,” Sarene said. “I can talk about it.”
“Well, then,” Lukel said, “is it true?”
“Yes,” Sarene said. “Some Elantrians attacked us, but no one got hurt—at least, not on our side.”
“No,” Lukel said. “Not that—I meant about the king. Is it true that you yelled him into submission?”
Sarene grew sick. “That got out?”
Lukel laughed. “They say your voice carried all the way to the main hall. Iadon still hasn’t left his study.”
“I might have gotten a little carried away,” Sarene said.
“You did the right thing, dear,” Daora assured her. “Iadon is far too accustomed to having the court jump when he so much as sneezes. He probably didn’t know what to do when someone actually stood up to him.”
“It wasn’t that hard,” Sarene said with a shake of her head. “Beneath all the bluster he’s very insecure.”
“Most men are, dear,” Daora said.
Lukel chuckled. “Cousin, what did we ever do without you? Life was so boring before you decided to sail over and mess it all up for us.”
“I would rather it stayed a little less messed up,” Sarene mumbled. “Iadon isn’t going to react too well when he recovers.”
“If he gets out of line, you can always just yell at him again,” Lukel said.
“No,” Kiin said, his gruff voice solemn. “She’s right. Monarchs can’t afford to be reprimanded in public. We might have a much harder time of things when this is all through.”
“Either that or he’ll just give up and abdicate in favor of Sarene,” Lukel said with a laugh.
“Just as your father feared,” Ashe’s deep voice noted as he floated in the window. “He always worried that Arelon wouldn’t be able to deal with you, my lady.”
Sarene smiled feebly. “Did they go back?”
“They did,” the Seon said. She had sent him to follow Iadon’s guards, in case they decided to ignore their orders. “The captain immediately went to see the king. He left when His Majesty refused to open his doors.”
“It wouldn’t do for a soldier to see his king bawling like a child,” Lukel noted.
“Anyway,” the Seon continued, “I—”
He was interrupted by an insistent knock at the door. Kiin disappeared, then returned with an eager Lord Shuden.
“My lady,” he said bowing slightly to Sarene. Then he turned to Lukel. “I just heard some very interesting news.”
“It’s all true,” Lukel said. “We asked Sarene.”
Shuden shook his head. “It isn’t about that.”
Sarene looked up with concern. “What else could possibly happen today?”
Shuden’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll never guess who the Shaod took last night.”
CHAPTER 30
Hrathen didn’t try to hide his transformation. He walked solemnly from his chambers, exposing his damnation to the entire chapel. Dilaf was in the middle of morning services. It was worth the loss of hair and skin color to see the short Arelish priest stumble backward in horrified shock.
The Korathi priests came for Hrathen a short time later. They gave him a large, enveloping white robe to hide his disfiguration, then led him from the now empty chapel. Hrathen smiled to himself as he saw the confused Dilaf watching from his alcove, his eyes openly hating Hrathen for the first time.
The Korathi priests took him to their chapel, stripped him, and washed his now black-spotted body with water from the Aredel river. Then they wrapped him in a white robe constructed of thick, raglike strips of cloth. After washing and clothing him, the priests stepped back and allowed Omin to approach. The short, balding leader of Arelish Korathi blessed Hrathen quietly, tracing the symbol of Aon Omi on his chest. The Arelish man’s eyes betrayed just a hint of satisfaction.
After that, they led Hrathen through the city streets, chanting. However, at the city itself they found a large squadron of troops wearing Iadon’s colors blocking their path. The soldiers stood with hands on weapons, speaking in hushed tones. Hrathen regarded them with surprise; he recognized men preparing for battle. Omin argued with the captain of the Elantris City Guard for a time while the other priests pulled Hrathen into a squat building beside the guardhouse—a holding place, carved with Aon Omi.
Hrathen watched through the room’s small window as two winded guards galloped up and presented Iadon’s soldiers with a rolled-up sheet of paper. The captain read it, frowning, then turned to argue with the messenger. After this Omin returned, explaining that they would have to wait.
And wait they did—the better part of two hours.
Hrathen had heard that the priests would only throw people into Elantris during a certain time of day, but apparently it was a window of time, and not a specific moment. Eventually, the priests stuffed a small basket of food in Hrathen’s arms, offered one final prayer to their pitiful god, and pushed him through the gates.
He stood in the city, his head bald, his skin tainted with large black splotches. An Elantrian. The city was much the same at eye level as it had been from the wall—filthy, rotting, and unholy. It held nothing for him. He spun around, tossing aside the meager basket of food and dropping to his knees.
“Oh, Jaddeth, Lord of all Creation,” he began, his voice loud and firm. “Hear now the petition of a servant in your empire. Lift this taint from my blood. Restore me to life. I implore you with all the power of my position as a holy gyorn.”
There was no response. So, he repeated the prayer. Again, and again, and again….
CHAPTER 31
Saolin didn’t open his eyes as he sank into the pool, but he did stop mumbling. He bobbed for a moment, then took a sharp breath, reaching his hands toward the heavens. After that, he melted into the blue liquid.
Raoden watched the process solemnly. They had waited for three days, hoping against all that the grizzled sold
ier would regain his wits. He had not. They had brought him to the pool partially because his wound was so terrible, and partially because Raoden knew that he could never enter the Hall of the Fallen with Saolin inside. The mantra “I have failed my lord Spirit” would have been too much.
“Come, sule,” Galladon said. “He’s gone.”
“Yes, he is,” Raoden said. And it’s my fault. For once, the burdens and agonies of his body seemed insignificant compared with those of his soul.
They returned to him. First as a trickle, then as a flood. It took days for them to realize, and believe, that Sarene wasn’t going to return. No more handouts—no more eating, waiting, and eating again. Then they came back, as if suddenly awakened from a stupor, remembering that once—not so long ago—there had been purpose in their lives.
Raoden turned them back to their old jobs—cleaning, farming, and building. With proper tools and materials, the work became less an exercise in intentional time wasting and more a productive means of rebuilding New Elantris. Piecemeal roofs were replaced with more durable, functional creations. Additional seed corn provided a chance for a second planting, one much larger and ambitious than the first. The short wall around New Elantris was reinforced and expanded—though, for the moment, Shaor’s men remained quiet. Raoden knew, however, that the food they had gathered from Sarene’s cart wouldn’t last long. The wildmen would return.
The numbers that came to him after Sarene were much greater than those that had followed him before. Raoden was forced to acknowledge that despite the temporary setbacks they caused, Sarene’s excursions into Elantris had ultimately been beneficial. She had proven to the people that no matter how much their hunger hurt, simply feeding their bellies wasn’t enough. Joy was more than just an absence of discomfort.
So, when they came back to him, they no longer worked for food. They worked because they feared what they would become if they did not.