Elantris (27 page)

Karata paused, affectionately rubbing a small Elantrian child on the head.
“The children unite us, keep us from giving in to the pain. The food we gather is for them. Somehow, we can endure the hunger a little better if we know it has come, in part, because we gave what we had to the children.”

“I wouldn’t have thought …” Raoden began quietly, watching a pair of young girls playing a clapping game together.

“That they would be happy?” Karata finished. She motioned for Raoden to follow her and they moved back, out of the children’s hearing range. “We don’t understand it either, my prince. They seem better at dealing with the hunger than the rest of us.”

“A child’s mind is a surprisingly resilient thing,” Raoden said.

“They seem to be able to endure a certain amount of pain as well,” Karata continued, “bumps and bruises and the like. However, they eventually snap, just like everyone else. One moment a child is happy and playful. Then he falls down or cuts himself one to many times, and his mind gives up. I have another room, kept far away from these little ones, filled with dozens of children who do nothing but whimper all day.”

Raoden nodded. Then, after a moment, he asked, “Why are you showing me this?”

Karata paused. “Because I want to join with you. I once served your father, despite what I thought of him. Now I will serve his son
because
of what I think of him. Will you accept my loyalty?”

“With honor, Karata.”

She nodded, turning back to the children with a sigh. “I don’t have much left in me, Lord Raoden,” she whispered. “I’ve worried what would happen to my children when I am lost. This dream you have, this crazy idea of an Elantris where we grow food and we ignore our pain … I want to see you try to create it. I don’t think you can, but I think you will make something better of us in the process.”

“Thank you,” Raoden said, realizing that he had just accepted a monumental responsibility. Karata had lived for over a year under the burden he was just beginning to feel. She was tired; he could see it in her eyes. Now, if the time came, she could rest. She had passed her weight on to him.

“Thank you,” Karata said, looking at the children.

“Tell me, Karata,” Raoden said after a moment of thought. “Would you really have broken my people’s limbs?”

Karata didn’t respond at first. “You tell me, my prince. What would you have done if I’d tried to kill your father tonight?”

“Questions both better left unanswered.”

Karata nodded, her tired eyes bearing a calm wisdom.

_______

Raoden smiled as he recognized the large figure standing outside of the chapel, waiting for him to return. Galladon’s concerned face was illuminated by the tiny flame of his lantern.

“A light to guide me home, my friend?” Raoden asked from the darkness as he approached.

“Sule!” Galladon cried. “By Doloken, you’re not dead?”

“Of course I am,” Raoden said with a laugh, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “We all are—at least, that’s what you seem to be fond of telling me.”

Galladon grinned. “Where’s the woman?”

“I walked her home, as any gentleman would,” Raoden said, entering the chapel. Inside, Mareshe and the others were rousing.

“Lord Spirit has returned!” Saolin said with enthusiasm.

“Here, Saolin, a gift,” Raoden said, pulling the sword out from under his rags and tossing it to the soldier.

“What is this, my lord?” Saolin asked.

“That spear is amazing considering what you had to work with,” Raoden said, “but I think you ought to have something a little more sturdy if you intend to do any real fighting.”

Saolin pulled the blade free of its scabbard. The sword, nothing special on the outside, was a wondrous work of beauty within the confines of Elantris. “Not a spot of rust on her,” Saolin said with amazement. “And it is engraved with the symbol of Iadon’s own personal guard!”

“Then the king is dead?” Mareshe asked eagerly.

“Nothing of the sort,” Raoden said dismissively. “Our mission was of a personal nature, Mareshe, and it did not involve killing—though the guard who owned that sword is probably fairly angry.”

“I’ll bet,” Galladon said with a snort. “Then we don’t have to worry about Karata anymore?”

“No,” Raoden said with a smile. “As a matter of fact, her gang will be joining with us.”

There were a few mutters of surprise at the announcement, and Raoden paused before continuing. “Tomorrow we’re going to visit the palace sector. Karata has something there I want you all to see—something everyone in Elantris should see.”

“What is that, sule?” Galladon asked.

“Proof that the hunger can be defeated.”

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 Shuden,” 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.