CHAPTER 14
Sarene had about as much talent for needlepoint as she did for painting. Not that she let it stop her from trying—no matter how much she worked to become a part of what were traditionally considered masculine activities, Sarene felt an intense need to prove that she could be as feminine and ladylike as anyone else. It wasn’t her fault that she just wasn’t any good at it.
She held up her embroidering hoop. It was supposed to depict a crimson sisterling sitting on a branch, its beak open in song. Unfortunately, she had drawn the pattern herself—which meant it hadn’t been all that good in the first place. That, coupled with her startling inability to follow the lines, had produced something that resembled a squashed tomato more than it did a bird.
“Very nice, dear,” Eshen said. Only the incurably bubbly queen could deliver such a compliment without sarcasm.
Sarene sighed, dropping her hoop to her lap and grabbing some brown thread for the branch.
“Don’t worry, Sarene,” Daora said. “Domi gives everyone different levels of talent, but he always rewards diligence. Continue to practice and you will improve.”
You say that with such ease, Sarene thought with a mental scowl. Daora’s own hoop was filled with a detailed masterpiece of embroidered perfection. She had entire flocks of birds, each one tiny yet intricate, hovering and spinning through the branches of a statuesque oak. Kiin’s wife was the embodiment of aristocratic virtue.
Daora didn’t walk, she glided, and her every action was smooth and graceful. Her makeup was striking—her lips bright red and her eyes mysterious—but it had been applied with masterful subtlety. She was old enough to be stately, yet young enough to be known for her remarkable beauty. In short, she was the type of woman Sarene would normally hate—if she weren’t also the kindest, most intelligent woman in the court.
After a few moments of quiet, Eshen began to talk, as usual. The queen seemed frightened of silence, and was constantly speaking or prompting others to do so. The other women in the group were content to let her lead—not that anyone would have wanted to try wrestling control of a conversation from Eshen.
The queen’s embroidery group consisted of about ten women. At first, Sarene had avoided their meetings, instead focusing her attention on the political court. However, she had soon realized that the women were as important as any civil matter; gossip and idle chatting spread news that couldn’t be discussed in a formal setting. Sarene couldn’t afford to be out of the chain, she just wished she didn’t have to reveal her ineptitude to take part.
“I heard that Lord Waren, son of the Baron of Kie Plantation, has had quite the religious experience,” Eshen said. “I knew his mother—she was a very decent woman. Quite proficient at knitting. Next year, when sweaters come back in, I’m going to force Iadon to wear one—it isn’t seemly for a king to appear unconscious of fashion. His hair is quite too long.”
Daora pulled a stitch tight. “I have heard the rumors about young Waren. It seems odd to me that now, after years of being a devout Korathi, he would suddenly convert to Shu-Dereth.”
“They’re all but the same religion anyway,” Atara said offhandedly. Duke Telrii’s wife was a small woman—even for an Arelene—with shoulder-length auburn curls. Her clothing and jewelry was by far the richest in the room, a compliment to her husband’s extravagance, and her stitching patterns were always conservative and unimaginative.
“Don’t say such things around the priests,” warned Seaden, Count Ahan’s wife. The largest woman in the room, her girth nearly matched that of her husband. “They act as if your soul depends on whether you call God Domi or Jaddeth.”
“The two do have some very striking differences,” Sarene said, trying to shield her mangled embroidering from the eyes of her companions.
“Maybe if you’re a priest,” Atara said with a quiet twitter of a laugh. “But those things hardly make any difference to us.”
“Of course,” Sarene said. “We are, after all, only women.” She looked up from her needlepoint discreetly, smiling at the reaction her statement sparked. Perhaps the women of Arelon weren’t quiet as subservient as their men assumed.
The quiet continued for only a few moments before Eshen spoke again. “Sarene, what do women do in Teod to pass the time?”
Sarene raised an eyebrow in surprise; she had never heard the queen ask such a straightforward question. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“What do they do?” Eshen repeated. “I’ve heard things, you understand—as I have about Fjorden, where they say it gets so cold in the winter that trees sometimes freeze and explode. An easy way to make wood chips, I suppose. I wonder if they can make it happen on command.”
Sarene smiled. “We find things to do, Your Majesty. Some women like to embroider, though others of us find different pursuits.”
“Like what?” asked Torena, the unmarried daughter of Lord Ahan—though Sarene still found it hard to believe that a person so slight of frame could have come from a pair as bulbous as Ahan and Seaden. Torena was normally quiet during these gatherings, her wide brown eyes watching the proceedings with a spark that hinted at a buried intelligence.
“Well, the king’s courts are open to all, for one thing,” Sarene said nonchalantly. Her heart sang, however: this was the kind of opportunity she had been anticipating with excitement.
“You would go listen to the cases?” Torena asked, her quiet, high-pitched voice growing increasingly interested.
“Often,” Sarene said. “Then I would talk about them with my friends.”
“Did you fight one another with swords?” asked the overweight Seaden, her face eager.
Sarene paused, a little taken aback. She looked up to find nearly every head in the room staring at her. “What makes you ask that?”
“That’s what they say about women from Teod, dear,” Daora said calmly, the only woman who was still working on her needlepoint.
“Yes,” Seaden said. “We’ve always heard it—they say that women in Teod kill one another for the sport of the men.”
Sarene raised an eyebrow. “We call it fencing, Lady Seaden. We do it for our own amusement, not that of our men—and we definitely do not kill one another. We use swords, but the tips have little knobs on them, and we wear thick clothing. I’ve never heard of anyone suffering an injury greater than a twisted ankle.”
“Then it’s true?” little Torena breathed with amazement. “You do use swords.”
“Some of us,” Sarene said. “I rather enjoyed it, actually. Fencing was my favorite sport.” The women’s eyes shone with an appalling level of bloodlust—like the eyes of hounds that had been locked in a very small room for far too long. Sarene had hoped to instill a measure of political interest in these women, to encourage them to take an active role in the management of the country, but apparently that was too subtle an approach. They needed something more direct.
“I could teach you, if you wanted,” Sarene offered.
“To fight?” Atara asked, astounded.
“Of course,” Sarene said. “It’s not that difficult. And please, Lady Atara, we call it fencing. Even the most understanding of men gets a bit uncomfortable when he thinks of women ‘fighting.’”
“We couldn’t …” Eshen began.
“Why not?” Sarene asked.
“Swordplay is frowned upon by the king, dear,” Daora explained. “You’ve probably noticed that none of the noblemen here carry swords.”
Sarene frowned. “I was going to ask about that.”
“Iadon considers it too commonplace,” Eshen said. “He calls fighting peasant’s work. He’s studied them rather a lot—he’s a fine leader, you know, and a fine leader has to know a lot about a lot of things. Why, he can tell you what the weather is like in Svorden at any time of the year. His ships are the most sturdy, and fastest in the business.”
“So none of the men can fight?” Sarene asked with amazement.
“None except for Lord Eondel and perhaps Lord Sh
uden,” Torena said, her face taking on a dreamy look as she mentioned Shuden’s name. The young, dark-skinned nobleman was a favorite among the women of court, his delicate features and impeccable manners capturing even the most steady of hearts.
“Don’t forget Prince Raoden,” Atara added. “I think he had Eondel teach him to fight just to spite his father. He was always doing things like that.”
“Well, all the better,” Sarene said. “If none of the men fight, then King Iadon can’t very well object to our learning.”
“What do you mean?” Torena asked.
“Well, he says it’s beneath him,” Sarene explained. “If that’s true, then it should be perfect for us. After all, we are only women.”
Sarene smiled mischievously, an expression that spread across most of the faces in the room.
“Ashe, where did I put my sword?” Sarene said, on her knees beside her bed, fumbling around beneath it.
“Your sword, my lady?” Ashe asked.
“Never mind, I’ll find it later. What did you discover?”
Ashe pulsed quietly, as if wondering just what sort of trouble she was getting into, before speaking. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to report, my lady. Elantris is a very delicate subject, and I have been able to learn very little.”
“Anything will help,” Sarene said, turning to her wardrobe. She had a ball to attend this night.
“Well, my lady, most of the people in Kae don’t want to speak of the city. Kae’s Seons didn’t know very much, and the mad Seons inside of Elantris seem incapable of enough thought to respond to my questions. I even tried approaching the Elantrians themselves, but many appeared scared of me, and the others only begged me for food—as if I could carry it to them. Eventually, I found the best source of information to be the soldiers that guard the city walls.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Sarene said, looking over her clothing. “They’re supposed to be the most elite fighting group in Arelon.”
“And they are very quick to tell you so, my lady,” Ashe said. “I doubt many of them would know what to do in a battle, though they seem quite proficient at cards and drinking. They tend to keep their uniforms well pressed, however.”
“Typical of a ceremonial guard,” Sarene said, picking through the row of black garments, her skin quivering at the thought of donning yet another flat, colorless monstrosity of a dress. As much as she respected the memory of Raoden, she couldn’t possibly wear black again.
Ashe bobbed in the air at her comment. “I am afraid, my lady, that Arelon’s most ‘elite’ military group hardly does the country any credit. Yet, they are the city’s most informed experts regarding Elantris.”
“And what did they have to say?”
Ashe drifted over to the closet, watching as she rifled through her choices. “Not much. People in Arelon don’t talk to Seons as quickly as they once did. There was a time, I barely recall, when the population loved us. Now they are … reserved, almost frightened.”
“They associate you with Elantris,” Sarene said, glancing longingly toward the dresses she had brought with her from Teod.
“I know, my lady,” Ashe said. “But we had nothing to do with the fall of the city. There is nothing to fear from a Seon. I wish … But, well, that is irrelevant. Despite their reticence, I did get some information. It appears that Elantrians lose more than their human appearance when the Shaod takes them. The guards seem to think that the individual completely forgets who he or she used to be, becoming something more like an animal than a human. This certainly seems the case for the Elantrian Seons I spoke to.”
Sarene shivered. “But, Elantrians can talk—some asked you for food.”
“They did,” Ashe said. “The poor souls hardly even seemed animal; most of them were crying or mumbling in some way. I’m inclined to think they had lost their minds.”
“So the Shaod is mental as well as physical,” Sarene said speculatively.
“Apparently, my lady. The guards also spoke of several despotic lords that rule the city. Food is so valuable that the Elantrians vigorously attack anyone bearing it.”
Sarene frowned. “How are the Elantrians fed?”
“They aren’t, as far as I can tell.”
“Then how do they live?” Sarene asked.
“I do not know, my lady. It is possible that the city exists in a feral state, with the mighty living upon the weak.”
“No society could survive like that.”
“I don’t believe they have a society, my lady,” Ashe said. “They are a group of miserable, cursed individuals that your God appears to have forgotten—and the rest of the country is trying very hard to follow His example.”
Sarene nodded thoughtfully. Then, determined, she pulled off her black dress and rifled through the clothing at the back of her closet. She presented herself for Ashe’s appraisal a few minutes later.
“What do you think?” she asked, twirling. The dress was crafted of a thick, golden material that was almost metallic in its shine. It was overlaid with black lace, and had a high, open collar, like a man’s. The collar was constructed from a stiff material, which was matched in the cuffs. The sleeves were very wide, as was the body of the dress, which billowed outward and continued all the way to the floor, hiding her feet. It was the kind of dress that made one feel regal. Even a princess needed reminders once in a while.
“It isn’t black, my lady,” Ashe pointed out.
“This part is,” Sarene objected, pointing to the long cape at the back. The cape was actually part of the dress, woven into the neck and shoulders so carefully that it seemed to grow from the lace.
“I don’t think that the cape is enough to make it a widow’s dress, my lady.”
“It will have to do,” Sarene said, studying herself in the mirror. “If I wear one more of those dresses Eshen gave me, then you’ll have to throw me into Elantris for going insane.”
“Are you certain the front is … appropriate?”
“What?” Sarene said.
“It’s rather low-cut, my lady,”
“I’ve seen much worse, even here in Arelon.”
“Yes, my lady, but those were all unmarried women.”
Sarene smiled. Ashe was always so sensitive—especially in regards to her. “I have to at least wear it once—I’ve never had the chance. I got it in from Duladel the week before I left Teod.”
“If you say so, my lady,” Ashe said, pulsing slightly. “Is there anything else you would like me to try and find out?”
“Did you visit the dungeons?”
“I did,” Ashe said. “I’m sorry, my lady—I found no secret alcoves hiding half-starved princes. If Iadon locked his son away, then he wasn’t foolish enough to do it in his own palace.”
“Well, it was worth a look,” Sarene said with a sigh. “I didn’t think you would find anything—we should probably be searching for the assassin who wielded the knife instead.”
“True,” Ashe said. “Perhaps you might try prompting the queen for information? If the prince really was killed by an intruder, she might know something.”
“I’ve tried, but Eshen is … well, it’s not hard to get information out of her. Getting her to stay on topic, however … Honestly, how a woman like that ended up married to Iadon is beyond me.”
“I suspect, my lady,” Ashe said, “that the arrangement was more financial than it was social. Much of Iadon’s original governmental funds came from Eshen’s father.”
“That makes sense,” Sarene said, smiling slightly and wondering what Iadon thought of the bargain now. He’d gotten his money, true, but he’d also ended up spending several decades listening to Eshen’s prattle. Perhaps that was why he seemed so frustrated by women in general.
“Regardless,” Sarene said, “I don’t think the queen knows anything about Raoden—but I’ll keep trying.”
Ashe bobbed. “And, what shall I do?”
Sarene paused. “Well, I’ve been thinking about Uncle Kiin lately. Fath
er never mentions him anymore. I was wondering—do you know if Kiin was ever officially disinherited?”
“I don’t know, my lady,” Ashe said. “Dio might know; he works much more closely with your father.”
“See if you can dig anything up—there might be some rumors here in Arelon about what happened. Kiin is, after all, one of the most influential people in Kae.”
“Yes, my lady. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Sarene decided with a wrinkle of her nose. “Find someone to take those black dresses away—I’ve decided I won’t be needing them anymore.”
“Of course, my lady,” Ashe said with a suffering tone.
Sarene glanced out the carriage window as it approached Duke Telrii’s mansion. Reports said that Telrii had been very free with ball invitations, and the number of carriages on the road this evening seemed to confirm the information. Torches lined the pathway, and the mansion grounds were brilliantly lit with a combination of lanterns, torches, and strange colorful flames.
“The duke has spared no expense,” Shuden noted.
“What are they, Lord Shuden?” Sarene asked, nodding toward one of the bright flames, which burned atop a tall metal pole.
“Special rocks imported from the south.”
“Rocks that burn? Like coal?”
“They burn much more quickly than coal,” the young Jindoeese lord explained. “And they are extremely expensive. It must have cost Telrii a fortune to light this pathway.” Shuden frowned. “This seems extravagant, even for him.”
“Lukel mentioned that the duke is somewhat wasteful,” Sarene said, remembering her conversation in Iadon’s throne room.
Shuden nodded. “But he’s far more clever than most will credit. The duke is easy with his money, but there is usually a purpose behind his frivolity.” Sarene could see the young baron’s mind working as the coach pulled to a stop, as if trying to discern the exact nature of the aforementioned “purpose.”
The mansion itself was bursting with people. Women in bright dresses accompanied men in the straight-coated suits that were the current masculine fashion. The guests only slightly outnumbered the white-clothed servants who bustled through the crowd, carrying food and drink or changing lanterns. Shuden helped Sarene from the carriage, then led her into the main ballroom with a gait that was practiced at navigating crowds.
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