Raoden knew that peace couldn’t last long, even if his father refused to see that fact. Raoden’s decision to marry Sarene had been influenced greatly by the chance to enter a formal treaty with Teod—giving Arelon at least partial access to the Teoish armada. Arelenes weren’t accustomed to battle; they had been bred for pacifism by centuries of Elantrian protection. The current Wyrn would have to be a fool not to strike soon. All he needed was an opening.
Internal strife would provide that opening. If the Guard had decided to betray the king, civil conflict would throw Arelon into chaos once again, and the Fjordells were infamous for capitalizing on such events. Raoden had to find out what was happening beyond those walls.
Eventually, he and Galladon reached their destination. Not New Elantris, but the squat, unassuming building that was the passage to the holy place. Galladon hadn’t said a word when he’d found out that Raoden had taken Sarene to the library; the Dula had actually looked as if he’d expected such a development.
A few moments later, Raoden and Galladon strode into the underground library. Only a few of the wall lamps burned—an effort to save fuel—but Raoden could easily make out Sarene’s form sitting in one of the cubicles at the back, leaned over a book just where he had left her.
As they approached, her face became more distinct, and Raoden wasn’t able to keep himself from remarking again at her beauty. The dark-splotched skin of an Elantrian was prosaic to him now; he didn’t really notice it anymore. Actually, Sarene’s body seemed to be adapting remarkably well to the Shaod. Further signs of degeneration were usually visible after just a few days—wrinkles and creases appearing in the skin, the body’s remaining flesh color dulling to a pallid white. Sarene showed none of this—her skin was as smooth and vibrant as the day she had entered Elantris.
She claimed that her injuries didn’t continue hurting the way they should—though Raoden was certain that that was just because she had never lived outside of New Elantris. Many of the more recent newcomers never experienced the worst of Elantrian pain, the work and positive atmosphere keeping them from focusing on their injuries. The hunger hadn’t come upon her either—but, again, she had the fortune of coming at a time when everyone had the opportunity to eat at least once a day. Their supplies wouldn’t last more than a month, but there was no reason to stockpile. Starvation was not deadly to Elantrians, just uncomfortable.
Most beautiful were her eyes—the way she studied everything with keen interest. Sarene didn’t just look, she examined. When she spoke, there was thought behind her words. That intelligence was what Raoden found most attractive about his Teoish princess.
She looked up as they approached, an excited smile on her face. “Spirit! You are never going to guess what I found.”
“You’re right,” Raoden confessed with a smile—unsure how to approach the topic of information about the outside. “Therefore, you might as well just tell me.”
Sarene held up the book, showing him the spine, which read Seor’s Encyclopedia of Political Myths. Though Raoden had shown Sarene the library in an effort to sate her interest in AonDor, she’d postponed that study as soon as she had realized that there was an entire shelf of books on political theory. Part of the reason for her shift in interest probably had to do with her annoyance at AonDor. She couldn’t draw Aons in the air; she couldn’t even get the lines to start appearing behind her fingers. Raoden had been perplexed at first, but Galladon had explained that such a thing wasn’t uncommon. Even before the Reod, it had taken some Elantrians years to learn AonDor; if one began even the first line with an improper slant, nothing would appear. Raoden’s own immediate success was nothing short of extraordinary.
Sarene, however, didn’t see it that way. She was the type who grew annoyed when it took her longer to learn than someone else. She claimed she was drawing the Aons perfectly—and, in truth, Raoden couldn’t see any flaws in her form. The characters just refused to appear—and no amount of princessly indignation could convince them to behave.
So Sarene had turned her interest to political works—though Raoden guessed she would have ended up there anyway. She was interested in AonDor, but she was fascinated by politics. Whenever Raoden came to the library to practice Aons or study, Sarene picked out a volume by some ancient historian or diplomatic genius and began to read in the corner.
“… it’s amazing. I have never read anything that so soundly debunks Fjorden’s rhetoric and manipulation.”
Raoden shook his head, realizing he had simply been staring at her, enjoying her features rather than paying attention to her words. She was saying something about the book—about how it exposed Fjordell political lies.
“Every government lies occasionally, Sarene,” he said as she paused.
“True,” she said, flipping through the book. “But not with such magnitude—for the last three hundred years, ever since Fjorden adopted the Derethi religion, the Wyrns have been blatantly altering their country’s own histories and literature to make it seem as if the empire has always been a manifestation of divine purpose. Look at this.” She held up the book again, this time showing him a page of verse.
“What is that?”
“Wyrn the King—the entire three-thousand-line poem.”
“I’ve read it,” Raoden said. Wyrn was said to be the oldest recorded piece of literature—older, even, than the Do-Kando, the holy book that Shu-Keseg, and eventually Shu-Dereth and Shu-Korath, had come from.
“You may have read a version of Wyrn the King,” Sarene said, shaking her head. “But not this one. Modern versions of the poem make references to Jaddeth in an almost Derethi way. The version in this book shows that the priests rewrote the literature from the original to make it sound as if Wyrn were Derethi—even though he lived long before Shu-Dereth was founded. Back then Jaddeth—or, at least, the god of the same name that Shu-Dereth adopted—was a relatively unimportant god who cared for the rocks under the earth.
“Now that Fjorden is religious, they can’t have it sounding like their greatest historical king was a pagan, so the priests went through and rewrote all of the poems. I don’t know where this man Seor got an original version of Wyrn, but if it got out, it would provide a major source of embarrassment to Fjorden.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
Raoden sighed, walking over and crouching down next to Sarene’s desk, putting her face at eye level. Any other time, he would have liked nothing more than to sit and listen to her talk. Unfortunately, he had more pressing things on his mind.
“All right,” she said, her eyes thinning as she put down the book. “What is it? Am I really that boring?”
“Not at all,” Raoden said. “This is just the wrong time. You see … Galladon and I just climbed to the top of the city wall.”
Her face grew perplexed. “And?”
“We found the Elantris City Guard surrounding Duke Telrii’s mansion,” Raoden said. “We were kind of hoping you could tell us why. I know you’re hesitant to talk about the outside, but I’m worried. I need to know what is happening.”
Sarene sat with one arm leaning on the desktop, hand raised and tapping her cheek with her index finger as she often did when she was thinking. “All right,” she finally said with a sigh. “I guess I haven’t been fair. I didn’t want to concern you with outside events.”
“Some of the other Elantrians may seem uninterested, Sarene,” Raoden said, “but that’s just because they know we can’t change what is going on in Kae. I’d prefer to know about things on the outside, however—even if you are a bit hesitant to talk about them.”
Sarene nodded. “It’s all right—I can talk about it now. I guess the important part began when I dethroned King Iadon—which, of course, is why he hanged himself.”
Raoden sat down with a thump, his eyes wide.
CHAPTER 44
Even as she spoke, Sarene worried about what Spirit had said. Without her, the others had no legitimate claim on the throne. Even Roial was stumped; they could only watch
helplessly as Telrii solidified control over the nobility. She expected to receive news of Telrii’s coronation by the end of the day.
It took her a few moments to realize the look of stunned shock her comment had caused Spirit. He had fallen back into one of the room’s chairs, his eyes wide. She chastened herself for lack of tact; this was, after all, Spirit’s king she was talking about. So much had happened in court the last few weeks that she had grown desensitized.
“I’m sorry,” Sarene said. “That was a little blunt, wasn’t it?”
“Iadon is dead?” Spirit asked in a quiet voice.
Sarene nodded. “It turns out he was involved with the Jeskeri Mysteries. When that got out, he hanged himself rather than face the shame.” She didn’t expand on her role in the events; there was no need to complicate them further.
“Jeskeri?” Spirit repeated, then his face turned dark and he gritted his teeth. “I always though of him as a fool, but … How far did his … involvement go?”
“He was sacrificing his cooks and maids,” Sarene said, feeling sick. There was a reason she had avoided explaining these things.
Spirit apparently noticed her pallor. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Sarene said. However, she knew no matter what else happened, no matter where she went in her life, the shadowed vision of Iadon’s sacrifice would always lurk in her mind.
“Telrii is king then?” Spirit asked.
“Soon,” Sarene said. “He might have been crowned already.”
Spirit shook his head. “What about Duke Roial? He’s both richer and more respected. He should have taken the throne.”
“He’s not richer anymore,” Sarene said. “Fjorden has supplemented Telrii’s income. He’s a Derethi sympathizer, which, I’m afraid, has increased his social standing.”
Spirit’s brow furled. “Being a Derethi sympathizer makes one popular? I’ve missed a lot, haven’t I?”
“How long have you been in here?”
“A year,” Spirit answered offhandedly. That matched what some of the other New Elantrians had told her. No one knew for certain how long Spirit had been in the city, but they all guessed at least a year. He had seized control of the rival gangs in recent weeks, but that wasn’t the sort of thing a person accomplished without a great deal of planning and work.
“I guess that answers how Telrii got the Guard to back him,” Spirit mumbled. “They’ve always been far too eager to support whoever seemed most popular at the moment.”
Sarene nodded. “They relocated to the duke’s mansion shortly before I was thrown in here.”
“All right,” Spirit said. “You’re going to have to start at the beginning—I need as much information as you can give me.”
So, she explained. She began with the fall of the Duladen Republic and Fjorden’s increasing threat. She told him of her engagement to Prince Raoden, and of the Derethi incursions into Arelon. As she spoke, she realized that Spirit understood the political climate of Arelon more soundly than she would have thought possible. He quickly grasped the implications of Iadon’s posthumous declaration. He knew a lot about Fjorden, though he didn’t have a working knowledge of how dangerous its priests could be; he was more worried about Wyrn-controlled soldiers.
Most impressive was his understanding of the various lords and nobles of Arelon. Sarene didn’t need to explain their personalities and temperaments; Spirit already knew them. In fact, he seemed to understand them better than Sarene herself. When she questioned him on the matter, he simply explained that in Arelon it was vital to know of each noble with a rank of baron or higher. Many times a lesser nobleman’s only means of advancement was to make deals and take contracts with the more powerful aristocrats, for they controlled the markets.
Only one thing beyond the king’s death shocked him.
“You were going to marry Roial?” he asked incredulously.
Sarene smiled. “I can’t believe it either—the plan developed rather quickly.”
“Roial?” Spirit asked again. “The old rascal! He must have thoroughly enjoyed suggesting that idea.”
“I found the duke to be an unquestionable gentleman,” Sarene said.
Spirit eyed her with a look that said “And I thought you were a better judge of character.”
“Besides,” she continued, “he didn’t suggest it. Shuden did.”
“Shuden?” Spirit said. Then, after a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Yes, that does sound like a connection he would make, though I can’t see him even mentioning the word ‘marriage.’ The very concept of matrimony frightens him.”
“Not anymore,” Sarene said. “He and Ahan’s daughter are growing very close.”
“Shuden and Torena?” Spirit asked, even more dumbfounded. Then, he regarded Sarene with narrowed eyes. “Wait a moment—how were you going to marry Roial? I thought you were already married.”
“To a dead man,” Sarene huffed.
“But your wedding contract said you could never marry again.”
“How did you know that?” Sarene asked with narrowed eyes.
“You explained it just a few minutes ago.”
“I did not.”
“Sure you did—didn’t she, Galladon?”
The large Dula, who was flipping through Sarene’s political book, didn’t even look up. “Don’t look at me, sule. I’m not getting involved.”
“Anyway,” Spirit said, turning away from his friend. “How is it that you were going to marry Roial?”
“Why not?” Sarene asked. “I never knew this Raoden. Everyone says he was a fine prince, but what do I owe him? My contract with Arelon dissolved when Iadon died; the only reason I made the treaty in the first place was to provide a link between Arelon and my homeland. Why would I honor a contract with a dead man when I could form a more promising one with the future king of Arelon?”
“So you only agreed to marry the prince for politics.” His tone sounded hurt for some reason, as if her relationship with the crown prince of Arelon reflected directly on its aristocracy.
“Of course,” Sarene said. “I am a political creature, Spirit. I did what was best for Teod—and for the same reason I was going to marry Roial.”
He nodded, still looking a bit melancholy.
“So, I was in the throne room, ready to marry the duke,” Sarene continued, ignoring Spirit’s pique. What right did he have to question her motives? “And that was exactly when the Shaod took me.”
“Right then?” Spirit asked. “It happened at your wedding?”
Sarene nodded, suddenly feeling very insecure. It seemed that every time she was about to find acceptance, something disastrous alienated her once again.
Galladon snorted. “Well, now we know why she didn’t want to talk about it. Kolo?”
Spirit’s hand found her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s over now,” Sarene said with a shake of her head. “We need to worry about Telrii’s coronation. With Fjorden supporting him …”
“We can worry about Telrii, but I doubt there’s anything we can do. If only there were a way to contact the outside!”
Suddenly ashamed, Sarene’s eyes darted up to where Ashe hid in the room’s shadows, his Aon nearly invisible. “There might be a way,” she admitted.
Spirit looked up as Sarene waved to Ashe. Ashe started to glow, the Aon’s light expanding into a luminescent ball around him. As the Seon floated down to hover above her desk, Sarene shot Spirit an embarrassed look.
“A Seon?” he said appreciatively.
“You’re not angry at me for hiding him?” Sarene asked.
Spirit chuckled. “In all honesty, Sarene, I expected you to hold some things back from me. You seem like the type of person who needs secrets, if only for the sake of having them.”
Sarene blushed slightly at the astute comment. “Ashe, go check with Kiin and the others. I want to know the moment Telrii declares himself king.”
“Yes, my lady,” Ashe said, hovering away.
Spirit fell silent. He hadn’t commented on Ashe’s inexplicable lack of Shaod madness—but, of course, Spirit couldn’t know that Ashe had been Sarene’s own Seon.
They waited in silence, and Sarene didn’t interrupt Spirit’s thoughts. She had given him an overwhelming mass of information, and she could see his mind picking through it behind his eyes.
He was hiding things from her as well. Not that she mistrusted him. Whatever his secrets were, he probably felt he had a good reason for keeping them. She had been involved with politics far too long to take the holding of secrets as a personal offense.
That didn’t, of course, mean she wasn’t going to find out what she could. So far, Ashe hadn’t been able to discover anything about a second son of Ien Plantation’s ruler, but he was very restricted in his movements. She had allowed him to reveal himself only to Kiin and the others; she didn’t know why he had survived where other Seons did not, but she didn’t want to lose any potential edge his existence might give her.
Apparently realizing they weren’t going to go anywhere soon, the Dula Galladon shuffled over to one of the chairs and seated himself. Then he closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep. He might be unstereotypically pessimistic, but he was still a Dula. It was said that his people were so relaxed that they could fall asleep in any position at any time.
Sarene eyed the large man. Galladon didn’t seem to like her. But, then, he was so determinedly grouchy that she couldn’t tell. He seemed a well of knowledge at times, but in other areas he was completely ignorant—and totally unconcerned by that fact. He seemed to take everything in stride, but he complained about it at the same time.
By the time Ashe came back, Sarene had returned her attention to the book on political cover-ups. The Seon had to make a throat-clearing sound before she even realized he was there. Spirit looked up as well, though the Dula continued snoring until his friend elbowed him in the stomach. Then all three sets of eyes turned to Ashe.