Sarene paused. “So you don’t think the Elantrians—what’s left of them—are devils?”
“Svrakiss, as the Fjordells call them?” Omin asked with amusement. “No, though I hear that is what this new gyorn teaches. I fear his pronouncements will only bring hatred.”
Sarene tapped her cheek in thought. “That may be what he wants.”
“What purpose could that accomplish?”
“I don’t know,” Sarene admitted.
Omin shook his head again. “I cannot believe any follower of God, even a gyorn, would do such a thing.” He took on an abstracted look as he considered the prospect, a slight frown on his face.
“Father?” Sarene asked. “Father?”
At the second prod Omin shook his head, as if startled to realize she was still there. “I’m sorry, child. What were we discussing?”
“You never finished telling me what a Widow’s Trial was,” she reminded. Tangents were all too frequent when one was speaking with the diminutive priest.
“Ah, yes. The Widow’s Trial. Put simply, child, you are expected to do some favor for the country—the more you loved your husband, and the more lofty your station, the more extravagant your Trial is supposed to be. Most women give food or clothing to the peasantry. The more personal your involvement, the better the impression you give. The Trial is a method of service—a means of bringing humility to the exalted.”
“But where will I get the money?” She hadn’t decided just how to go about asking her new father for a stipend.
“Money?” Omin asked with surprise. “Why, you’re one of the richest people in Arelon. Didn’t you know that?”
“What?”
“You inherited Prince Raoden’s estate, child,” Omin explained. “He was a very wealthy man—his father made sure of that. Under King Iadon’s government, it would not be good for the crown prince to be any less rich than a duke. By the same token, it would be a source of extreme embarrassment to him if his daughter-in-law weren’t fabulously wealthy. All you need to do is speak to the royal treasurer, and I’m certain he will take care of you.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sarene said, giving the little man a fond hug. “I have work to do.”
“Your visit was welcome, child,” Omin said, looking back at the city with contemplative eyes. “That is what I am here for.” However, she could tell that soon after making the comment, he had already forgotten her presence, traveling, once again, the long roads within his mind.
Ashe waited for her outside, hovering beside the door with characteristic patience.
“I don’t see why you’re so worried,” Sarene said to him. “Omin liked Elantris; he wouldn’t have anything against your entering his chapel.”
Ashe pulsed slightly. He hadn’t entered a Korathi chapel since the day many years ago when Seinalan, the patriarch of Shu-Korath, had thrown him out of one.
“It is all right, my lady,” Ashe said. “I have a feeling that no matter what the priests may say, both of us will be happier if we stay out of one another’s sight.”
“I disagree,” Sarene said, “but I don’t want to argue it. Did you hear anything of our conversation?”
“Seons have very good ears, my lady.”
“You don’t have ears at all,” she pointed out. “What did you think?”
“It sounds like a good way for my lady to gain some notoriety in the city.”
“My thought exactly.”
“One other thing, my lady. You two spoke of the Derethi gyorn and Elantris. The other night, when I was inspecting the city, I noticed the Gyorn Hrathen walking the city wall of Elantris. I have gone back several nights now, and have found him there on a couple of occasions. He appears quite friendly with the captain of the Elantris City Guard.”
“What is he trying to do with that city?” Sarene said, frustrated.
“It baffles me as well, my lady.”
Sarene frowned, trying to piece together what she knew of the gyorn’s actions and Elantris. She could make no connections. However, as she thought, something else occurred to her. Perhaps she could solve one of her other problems and inconvenience the gyorn at the same time.
“Maybe I don’t need to know what he is doing to block him,” she said.
“It would certainly help, my lady.”
“I don’t have that luxury. But, we do know this: If the gyorn wants the people to hate the Elantrians, then it is my job to see the opposite happen.”
Ashe paused. “What are you planning, my lady?”
“You’ll see,” she said with a smile. “First, let’s get back to my rooms. I’ve wanted to speak with Father for some time now.”
“‘Ene? I’m glad you called. I’ve been worried about you.” Eventeo’s glowing head hovered before her.
“You could have sent for me at any time, Father,” Sarene said.
“I didn’t want to intrude, honey. I know how you value your independence.”
“Independence is second to duty right now, Father,” Sarene said. “Nations are falling—we don’t have time to worry about one another’s feelings.”
“I stand corrected,” her father said with a chuckle.
“What is happening in Teod, Father?”
“It isn’t good,” Eventeo warned, his voice growing uncharacteristically somber. “These are dangerous times. I just had to put down another Jeskeri Mystery cult. They always seem to spring up when an eclipse is near.”
Sarene shivered. The Mystery cultists were an odd bunch, one her father didn’t like to deal with. There was reservation in his voice, however—something else was bothering him. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid there is, ’Ene,” her father admitted. “Something worse.”
“What?”
“You know Ashgress, the Fjordell ambassador?”
“Yes,” Sarene said with a frown. “What has he done? Denounced you in public?”
“No, something worse.” Her father’s face looked troubled. “He left.”
“Left? The country? After all the trouble Fjorden went through to get representatives back in?”
“That’s right, ’Ene,” Eventeo said. “He took his entire entourage, made a last speech on the docks, and left us behind. There was a disturbing air of finality about the event.”
“This isn’t good,” Sarene agreed. Fjorden had been dogmatic about keeping a presence in Teod. If Ashgress had left, he had gone in response to a personal command from Wyrn. It smelled of their having given up on Teod for good.
“I’m scared, ’Ene.” The words chilled her like nothing else—her father was the strongest man she knew.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Only to you, ’Ene,” Eventeo said. “I want you to understand how serious the situation is.”
“I know,” Sarene said. “I understand. There’s a gyorn here in Kae.”
Her father muttered a few curses she had never heard him speak before.
“I think I can handle him, Father,” Sarene said quickly. “We’re keeping our eyes on one another.”
“Which one is it?”
“His name is Hrathen.”
Her father cursed again, this time even more vehemently. “Idos Domi, Sarene! Do you know who that is? Hrathen was the gyorn assigned to Duladen the six months before it collapsed.”
“I guessed that was who he was.”
“I want you out of there, Sarene,” Eventeo said. “That man is dangerous—do you know how many people died in the Duladen revolution? There were tens of thousands of casualties.”
“I know, Father.”
“I’m sending a ship for you—we’ll make our stand back here, where no gyorn is welcome.”
“I’m not leaving, Father,” Sarene said resolutely.
“Sarene, be logical.” Eventeo’s voice took on the quiet, prodding tone it did every time he wanted her to do something. He usually got his way; he was one of the few who knew how to sway her. “Everyone knows the Are
lish government is a mess. If this gyorn toppled Duladen, then he’ll have no trouble doing the same to Arelon. You can’t hope to stop him when the entire country is against you.”
“I have to stay, Father, regardless of the situation.”
“What loyalty do you owe them, Sarene?” Eventeo pled. “A husband you never knew? A people who are not your own?”
“I am the daughter of their king.”
“You are the daughter of a king here as well. What is the difference? Here the people know and respect you.”
“They know me, Father, but respect …” Sarene sat back, beginning to feel sick. The old feelings were returning—the feelings that had made her willing to leave her homeland in the first place, abandoning all she knew in favor of a foreign land.
“I don’t understand, ’Ene.” Her father’s voice was pained.
Sarene sighed, closing her eyes. “Oh, Father, you could never see it. To you I was a delight—your beautiful, intelligent daughter. No one would dare tell you what they really thought of me.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded, now speaking with the voice of a king.
“Father,” Sarene said, “I am twenty-five years old, and I am blunt, conniving, and ofttimes offensive. You must have noticed that no man ever sought my hand.”
Her father didn’t respond for a moment. “I thought about it,” he finally admitted.
“I was the king’s spinster daughter, a shrew no one wanted to touch,” Sarene said, trying—and failing—to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Men laughed at me behind my back. No one would dare approach me with romantic intentions, for it was well known that whoever did would be mocked by his peers.”
“I just thought you were independent—that you didn’t consider any of them worthy of your time.”
Sarene laughed wryly. “You love me, Father—no parent wants to admit that his daughter is unattractive. The truth of the matter is, no man wants an intelligent wife.”
“That isn’t true,” her father objected immediately. “Your mother is brilliant.”
“You are an exception, Father, which is why you can’t see it. A strong woman is not an asset in this world—not even in Teod, which I always claim is so much more advanced than the continent. It really isn’t all that different, Father. They say they give their women more freedom, but there’s still the impression that the freedom was theirs to ‘give’ in the first place.
“In Teod I an unmarried daughter. Here in Arelon, I am a widowed wife. That is an enormous distinction. As much as I love Teod, I would have to live with the constant knowledge that no one wants me. Here, at least, I can try to convince myself that someone was willing to have me—even if it was for political reasons.”
“We can find you someone else.”
“I don’t think so, Father,” Sarene said with a shake of her head, sitting back in her chair. “Now that Teorn has children, no husband of mine would end up on the throne—which is the only reason anyone in Teod would consider marrying me. No one under Derethi control will consider marriage with a Teo. That only leaves Arelon, where my betrothal contract forbids me from marrying again. No, there is no one for me now, Father. The best I can do is make use of my situation here. At least I can command a measure of respect in Arelon without having to worry about how my actions will affect my future marriageability.”
“I see,” her father said. She could hear the displeasure in his voice.
“Father, do I need to remind you not to worry about me?” she asked. “We have much larger problems to deal with.”
“I can’t help worrying about you, Leky Stick. You’re my only daughter.”
Sarene shook her head, determined to change the topic before she started crying. Suddenly very ashamed for destroying his idyllic vision of her, Sarene searched for anything she could say that would divert the conversation. “Uncle Kiin is here in Kae.”
That did it. She heard an intake of breath from the other side of the Seon bond. “Do not mention his name to me, ’Ene.”
“But—”
“No.”
Sarene sighed. “All right, then, tell me about Fjorden instead. What do you think Wyrn is planning?”
“This time I really have no idea,” Eventeo said, allowing himself to be diverted. “It must be something massive. Borders are closing to Teoish merchants north and south, and our ambassadors are beginning to disappear. I am very close to calling them home.”
“And your spies?”
“Are vanishing almost as quickly,” her father said. “I haven’t been able to get anyone into the Velding in over a month, and Domi only knows what Wyrn and the gyorns are scheming in there. Sending spies to Fjorden these days is almost the same as sending them to die.”
“But you do it anyway,” Sarene said quietly, understanding the source of the pain in her father’s voice.
“I have to. What we find could end up saving thousands, though that doesn’t make it any easier. I just wish I could get someone into Dakhor.”
“The monastery?”
“Yes,” Eventeo said. “We know what the other monasteries do—Rathbore trains assassins, Fjeldor spies, and most of the others simple warriors. Dakhor, however, worries me. I’ve heard some horrible stories about that monastery—and I can’t fathom why anyone, even the Derethi, would do such things.”
“Does it look like Fjorden’s massing for war?”
“I can’t tell—it doesn’t appear so, but who knows. Wyrn could send a multination army in our direction at almost a moment’s notice. One small consolation is I don’t think he knows we understand that fact. Unfortunately, the knowledge does put me in a difficult position.”
“What do you mean?”
Her father’s voice was hesitant. “If Wyrn declares holy war on us, then it will mean the end of Teod. We can’t stand against the united might of the Eastern countries, ’Ene. I will not sit back and watch my people be slaughtered.”
“You would consider surrendering?” Sarene asked with outrage.
“A king’s duty is to protect his people. When faced with the choice of conversion or letting my people be destroyed, I think I would have to choose conversion.”
“You would be as spineless as the Jindoeese,” Sarene said.
“The Jindoeese are a wise people, Sarene,” her father said, his voice growing firm. “They did what they needed to survive.”
“But that would mean giving up!”
“It would mean doing what we have to do,” her father said. “I won’t do anything yet. As long as there are two nations left, we have hope. However, if Arelon falls, I will be forced to surrender. We cannot fight the entire world, ’Ene, no more than one grain of sand can fight an entire ocean.”
“But …” Sarene’s voice trailed off. She could see her father’s predicament. Fighting Fjorden on the battlefield would be an exercise in complete futility. Convert or die—both options were sickening, but conversion was obviously the more logical choice. However, a quiet voice inside her argued that it was worth dying, if death would prove that truth was more powerful than physical strength.
She had to make sure her father was never given that choice. If she could stop Hrathen, then she might be able to stop Wyrn. For a time, at least.
“I’m definitely staying, Father,” she declared.
“I know, ’Ene. It will be dangerous.”
“I understand. However, if Arelon does fall, then I would probably rather be dead than watch what happens in Teod.”
“Be careful, and keep an eye on that gyorn. Oh, by the way—if you find out why Wyrn is sinking Iadon’s ships, tell me.”
“What?” Sarene asked with shock.
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” Sarene demanded.
“King Iadon has lost nearly his entire merchant fleet. The official reports claim that the sinkings are the work of pirates, some remnant of Dreok Crushthroat’s navy. However, my sources link the sinkings with Fjorden.”
&nbs
p; “So that’s what it was!” Sarene said.
“What?”
“Four days ago I was at a party,” Sarene explained. “A servant delivered a message to the king, and whatever it was unsettled the king a great deal.”
“That would be about the right time frame,” her father said. “I found out two days ago myself.”
“Why would Wyrn sink innocent merchant vessels?” Sarene wondered. “Unless … Idos Domi! If the king loses his income, then he would be in danger of losing his throne!”
“Is all that nonsense about rank being tied to money true?”
“Insanely true,” Sarene said. “Iadon takes away a family’s title if they can’t maintain their income. If he lost his own source of wealth, it would destroy the foundation of his rule. Hrathen could replace him with someone else—a man more willing to accept Shu-Dereth—without even bothering to start a revolution.”
“It sounds feasible. Iadon asked for such a situation by concocting such an unstable basis for rule.”
“It’s probably Telrii,” Sarene said. “That’s why he spent so much money on that ball—the duke wants to show that he is financially sound. I would be very surprised if there wasn’t a mountain of Fjordell gold behind his expenditures.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Stop him,” Sarene said. “Even though it hurts. I really don’t like Iadon, Father.”
“Unfortunately, it looks like Hrathen has chosen our allies for us.”
Sarene nodded. “He has placed me with Elantris and Iadon—not a very enviable position.”
“We all do the best with what Domi has given us.”
“You sound like a priest.”
“I have found reason to become very religious lately.”
Elantris Page 27