“Your men would have to fight their way into the king’s quarters,” Shuden said. “Your new government would be born out of the blood of the old, as Iadon’s rule was birthed from the death of Elantris. You would set the cycle again for another fall, Lord Eondel. As soon as one revolution achieves its goal, another will begin to scheme. Blood, death, and coups will only lead to further chaos. There must be a way to persuade Iadon without resorting to anarchy.”
“There is,” Sarene said. Annoyed eyes turned her direction. They still assumed she was simply there to listen. They should have known better.
“I agree,” Roial said, turning away from Sarene, “and that way is to wait.”
“No, my lord,” Sarene countered. “I am sorry, but that is not the answer. I have seen the people of Arelon, and while there is still hope in their eyes, it is growing weak. Give Iadon time, and he will create the despondent peasants he desires.”
Roial’s mouth turned downward. He had probably intended to be in control, now that Raoden was gone. Sarene hid her smile of satisfaction: Roial had been the first to allow her in, and therefore he would have to let her speak. Refusing to listen now would show that he had been wrong to grant her his support.
“Speak, Princess,” the old man said with reservation.
“My lords,” Sarene said in a frank voice, “you have been trying to find a way to overthrow Iadon’s system of rule, a system that equates wealth with ability to lead. You claim it is unwieldy and unfair—that its foolishness is a torture to the Arelish people.”
“Yes,” Roial said curtly. “And?”
“Well, if Iadon’s system is so bad, why worry about overthrowing it? Why not let the system overthrow itself?”
“What do you mean, Lady Sarene?” Eondel asked with interest.
“Turn Iadon’s own creation against him, and force him to acknowledge its faults. Then, hopefully, you can work out one that is more stable and satisfactory.”
“Interesting, but impossible,” Ahan said with a shake of his many-jowled face. “Perhaps Raoden could have done it, but we are too few.”
“No, you’re perfect,” Sarene said, rising from her chair and strolling around the table. “What we want to do, my lords, is make the other aristocrats jealous. That won’t work if we have too many on our side.”
“Speak on,” Eondel said.
“What is the biggest problem with Iadon’s system?” Sarene asked.
“It encourages the lords to treat their people brutally,” Eondel said. “King Iadon threatens the noblemen, taking away the titles of those who do not produce. So, in turn, the lords grow desperate, and they beat extra effort out of their people.”
“It is an unconscionable arrangement,” Shuden agreed, “one based on greed and fear rather than loyalty.”
Sarene continued to stroll around the table. “Have any of you looked at Arelon’s production charts over the last ten years?”
“Is there such a thing?” Ahan asked.
Sarene nodded. “We keep them in Teod. Would you be surprised to find, my lords, that Arelon’s level of production has plummeted since Iadon took control?”
“Not at all,” Ahan said. “We’ve had quite the decade of misfortune.”
“Kings make their own misfortune, Lord Ahan,” Sarene said with a cutting motion of her hand. “The saddest thing about Iadon’s system is not what it does to the people, nor is it the fact that it destroys the morality of the country. No, most pitiful is the fact that it does both of these things without making the noblemen any richer.
“We have no slaves in Teod, my lords, and we get along just fine. In fact, not even Fjorden uses a serf-based system anymore. They found something better—they discovered that a man will work much more productively when he works for himself.”
Sarene let the words hang in the air for a moment. The lords sat thoughtfully. “Continue,” Roial finally said.
“The planting season is upon us, my lords,” Sarene sad. “I want you to divide your land amongst your peasants. Give them each a section of field, and tell them they can keep ten percent of whatever that land produces. Tell them that you will even let them buy their homes and the land they occupy.”
“That would be a very difficult thing to do, young princess,” Roial said.
“I’m not done yet,” Sarene said. “I want you to feed your people well, my lords. Give them clothing and supplies.”
“We are not beasts, Sarene,” Ahan warned. “Some lords treat their peasants poorly, but we would never accept such into our fellowship. The people on our lands have food to eat and clothing to keep them warm.”
“That may be true, my lord,” Sarene continued, “but the people must feel that you love them. Do not trade them to other nobles or squabble over them. Let the peasants know that you care, and they will give you their hearts and their sweat. Prosperity need not be limited to a small percentage of the population.”
Sarene reached her seat and stood behind it. The lords were thinking—that was good—but they were scared as well.
“It will be risky,” Shuden ventured.
“As risky as attacking Iadon with Lord Eondel’s army?” Sarene asked. “If this
doesn’t work, you lose a bit of money and some pride. If the honorable general’s plan doesn’t work, you lose your heads.”
“She has a point,” Ahan agreed.
“A good one,” Eondel said. There was relief in his eyes: soldier or not, he didn’t want to attack his countrymen. “I will do it.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Eondel,” Edan said, wiggling in his seat. “You can always just order your legion to work on the farms when the peasants turn lazy.”
“My men are policing our country’s highways, Lord Edan,” Eondel huffed. “Their service there is invaluable.”
“And you are handsomely rewarded for it,” Edan spat. “I have no income but that of my farms—and while my lands
look
big, I’ve got that blasted crack running right through the center of them. I don’t have any room for laziness. If my potatoes don’t get planted, weeded, and harvested, then I will lose my title.”
“You’ll probably lose it anyway,” Ahan said with a helpful smile.
“Enough, Ahan,” Roial ordered. “Edan has a point. How can we be certain the peasants will produce more if we give them so much liberty?”
Edan nodded. “I have found the Arelish peasantry to be a lazy, unproductive lot. The only way I can get enough work out of them is by force.”
“They aren’t lazy, my lord,” Sarene said. “They are angry. Ten years is not so long a time, and these people can remember what it is to be their own masters. Give them the promise of autonomy, and they will work hard to achieve it. You will be surprised how much more profitable an independent man is than a slave who thinks of nothing more than his next meal. After all, which situation would make
you
more likely to be productive?”
The nobles mused over her words.
“Much of what you say makes sense,” Shuden noted.
“But, Lady Sarene’s evidence is vague,” Roial said. “Times were different before the Reod. The Elantrians provided food, and the land could survive without a peasant class. We no longer have that luxury.”
“Then help me
find
evidence, my lord,” Sarene said. “Give me a few months and we will create our own proof.”
“We will … consider your words,” Roial said.
“No, Lord Roial, you will make a decision,” Sarene said. “Beneath everything else, I believe that you are a patriot. You know what is right, and this is it. Don’t tell me you’ve never felt any guilt for what you have done to this country.”
Sarene regarded Roial anxiously. The elderly duke had impressed her, but there was no way for her to be sure he felt ashamed for Arelon. She had to depend on her impression that his heart was good, and that in his long life he had seen and understood how far his country had fallen. The collapse of Elantris had been a catalyst, but the greed of the nobility had been the true destroyer of this once grand nation.
“We have all been blinded at one time or another by Iadon’s promises of wealth,” Shuden said with his soft, wise voice. “I will do as Her Highness asks.” Then the brown-skinned man turned his eyes on Roial and nodded. His acceptance had given the duke an opportunity to agree without losing too much face.
“All right,” the elderly duke said with a sigh. “You are a wise man, Lord Shuden. If you find merit in this plan, then I will follow it as well.”
“I suppose we have no choice,” Edan said.
“It’s better than waiting, Lord Edan,” Eondel noted.
“True. I agree as well.”
“That leaves me,” Ahan said with a sudden realization. “Oh, my. What shall I do?”
“Lord Roial agreed only grudgingly, my lord,” Sarene said. “Don’t tell me you are going to do the same?”
Ahan bellowed a laugh, his entire frame shaking. “What a delightful girl you are! Well, then, I guess I have to accept wholeheartedly, with the admonition that I knew she was right all along. Now, Kiin, please tell me you haven’t forgotten dessert. I’ve heard such lovely things about your confections.”
“Forget dessert?” her uncle rasped. “Ahan, you wound me.” He smiled as he rose from his chair and moved toward the kitchen.
“She is good at this, Kiin—perhaps better than I am.” It was Duke Roial’s voice. Sarene froze; she had gone looking for the washroom after bidding everyone farewell, and had expected them to be gone by now.
“She is a very special young woman,” Kiin agreed. Their voices were coming from the kitchen. Silently, Sarene slipped forward and listened outside the door.
“She neatly slipped control away from me, and I still don’t know where I went wrong. You should have warned me.”
“And let you escape, Roial?” Kiin said with a laugh. “It’s been a long time since anyone, including Ahan, got the better of you. It does a man good to realize he can still be taken by surprise once in a while.”
“She nearly lost it near the end there, though,” Roial said. “I don’t like being backed into corners, Kiin.”
“It was a calculated risk, my lord,” Sarene said, pushing open the door and strolling in.
Her appearance didn’t give the duke even a moment’s pause. “You all but threatened me, Sarene. That is no way to make an ally—especially of a crotchety old man such as myself.” The duke and Kiin were sharing a bottle of Fjordell wine at the kitchen table, and their manner was even more relaxed than the dinner had been. “A few days wouldn’t have hurt our position, and I certainly would have
given you my support. I’ve found that thoughtful, well-considered commitment is much more productive than spurious professions.”
Sarene nodded, slipping a glass from one of Kiin’s shelves and pouring herself some wine before sitting. “I understand, Roial.” If he could drop formalities, then so could she. “But the others look to you. They trust your judgment. I needed more than your support—which, by the way, I know you would have given—I needed your
open
support. The others had to see you accept the plan before they would agree. It wouldn’t have had the same impact a few days later.”
“Perhaps,” Roial said. “One thing is certain, Sarene—you give us hope again. Raoden was our unity before; now you will take his place. Kiin or I couldn’t do it. Kiin has refused nobility for too long—no matter what they say, the people still want a leader with a title. And me … they all know that I helped Iadon start this monstrosity that has slowly killed our country.”
“That was long ago, Roial,” Kiin said clasping the elderly duke on the shoulder.
“No,” Roial said with a shake of his head. “As the fair princess said, ten years isn’t long in the life span of nations. I am guilty of a grave mistake.”
“We will make it right, Roial,” Kiin said. “This plan is a good one—perhaps even better than Raoden’s.”
Roial smiled. “She would have made him a fine wife, Kiin.”
Kiin nodded. “Fine indeed—and an even better queen. Domi moves in ways that are sometimes strange to our mortal minds.”
“I’m not convinced it was Domi’s will that took him from us, Uncle,” Sarene said over her wine. “Have either of you ever wondered if, perhaps, someone might have been behind the prince’s death?”
“The answer to that question borders on treason, Sarene,” Kiin warned.
“Any more than the other things we have said tonight?”
“We were only accusing the king of greed, Sarene,” Roial said. “The murder of his own son is another matter entirely.”
“Think about it, though,” Sarene said, waving her hand in a wide gesture, and nearly spilling her wine. “The prince took a contrary stance on everything his father did—he ridiculed Iadon in court, he planned behind the king’s back, and he had the love of the people. Most importantly, everything he said about Iadon was true. Is that the kind of person a monarch can afford to have running free?”
“Yes, but his own son?” Roial said with a disbelieving shake of his head.
“It wouldn’t be the first time such a thing has happened,” Kiin said.
“True,” Roial said. “But, I don’t know if the prince was as much of a problem to Iadon as you assume. Raoden wasn’t so much rebellious as he was critical. He never said that Iadon shouldn’t be king, he simply claimed that Arelon’s government was in trouble—which it is.”
“Weren’t either of you even a little suspicious when you heard the prince was dead?” Sarene asked, contemplatively sipping her wine. “It came at such a convenient time. Iadon has the benefit of an alliance with Teod, but now he doesn’t have to worry about Raoden producing any heirs.”
Roial looked at Kiin, who shrugged. “I think we have to at least consider the possibility, Roial.”
Roial nodded regretfully. “So what do we do? Try and find proof that Iadon executed his son?”
“Knowledge will bring strength,” Sarene said simply.
“Agreed,” Kiin said. “You, however, are the only one of us with free access to the palace.”
“I’ll poke around and see what I can uncover.”
“Is it possible he isn’t dead?” Roial asked. “It would have been easy enough to find a look-alike for the casket—the coughing shivers is a very disfiguring disease.”
“It’s possible,” Sarene said doubtfully.
“But you don’t believe it.”
Sarene shook her head. “When a monarch decides to destroy a rival, he usually makes sure to do so in a permanent way. There are too many stories about lost heirs that reappear after twenty years in the wilderness to claim their rightful throne.”