“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. Father 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.
“You have no idea how happy I am you offered to come with me,” Shuden confided as they entered the room. A large band played at one end of the hallway, and couples either spun through the center of the room in dance or stood around the wide periphery in conversation. The room was bright with colored lights, the rocks they had seen outside burning intensely from placements atop banisters or poles. There were even chains of tiny candles wrapped around several of the pillars—contraptions that probably had to be refilled every half hour.
“Why is that, my lord?” Sarene asked, gazing at the colorful scene. Even living as a princess, she had never seen such beauty and opulence. Light, sound, and color mixed intoxicatingly.
Shuden followed her gaze, not really hearing her question. “One would never know this country is dancing on the lip of destruction,” he muttered.
The statement struck like a solemn death knell. There was a reason Sarene had never seen such lavishness—wondrous as it was, it was also incredibly wasteful. Her father was a prudent ruler; he would never allow such profligacy.
“That is always how it is, though, isn’t it?” Shuden asked. “Those who can least afford extravagance seem to be the ones most determined to spend what they have left.”
“You are a wise man, Lord Shuden,” Sarene said.
“No, just a man who tries to see to the heart of things,” he said, leading her to a side gallery where they could find drinks.
“What was that you were saying before?”
“What?” Shuden asked. “Oh, I was explaining how you are going to save me quite a bit of distress this evening.”
“Why is that?” she asked as he handed her a cup of wine.
Shuden smiled slightly, taking a sip of his own drink. “There are some who, for one reason or another, consider me quite … eligible. Many of them won’t realize who you are, and will stay away, trying to judge their new competitor. I might actually have some time to enjoy myself tonight.”
Sarene raised an eyebrow. “Is it really that bad?”
“I usually have to beat them away with a stick,” Shuden replied, holding out his arm to her.
“One would almost think you never intended to marry, my lord,” Sarene said with a smile, accepting his proffered arm.
Shuden laughed. “No, it is nothing like that, my lady. Let me assure you, I am quite interested in the concept—or, at least, the theory behind it. However, finding a woman in this court whose twittering foolishness doesn’t cause my stomach to turn, that is another thing entirely. Come, if I am right, then we should be able to find a place much more interesting than the main ballroom.”
Shuden led her through the masses of ballgoers. Despite his earlier comments, he was very civil—even pleasant—to the women who appeared from the crowd to welcome him. Shuden knew every one by name—a feat of diplomacy, or good breeding, in itself.
Sarene’s respect for Shuden grew as she watched the reactions of those he met. No faces turned dark as he approached, and few gave him the haughty looks that were common in so-called genteel societies. Shuden was well liked, though he was far from the most lively of men. She sensed that his popularity came not from his ability to entertain, but from his refreshing honesty. When Shuden spoke, he was always polite and considerate, but completely frank. His exotic origin gave him the license to say things that others could not.
Eventually they arrived at a small room at the top of a flight of stairs. “Here we are,” Shuden said with satisfaction, leading her through the doorway. Inside they found a smaller, but more skilled, band playing stringed instruments. The decorations in this room were more subdued, but the servants were holding plates of food that seemed even more exotic than those down below. Sarene recognized many of the faces from court, including the one most important.
“The king,” she said, noticing Iadon standing near the far corner. Eshen was at his side in a slim green dress.
Shuden nodded. “Iadon wouldn’t miss a party like this, even if it is being held by Lord Telrii.”
“They don’t get along?”
“They get along fine. They’re just in the same business. Iadon runs a merchant fleet—his ships travel the sea of Fjorden, as do those of Telrii. That makes them rivals.”
“I think it’s odd that he’s here either way,” Sarene said. “My father never goes to these kinds of things.”
“That is because he has grown up, Lady Sarene. Iadon is still infatuated with his power, and takes every opportunity to enjoy it.” Shuden looked around with keen eyes. “Take this room, for example.”
“This room?”
Shuden nodded. “Whenever Iadon comes to a party, he chooses a room aside from the main one and lets the important people gravitate toward him. The nobles are used to it. The man throwing the ball usually hires a second band, and knows to start a second, more exclusive party apart from the main ball. Iadon has made it known that he doesn’t want to associate with people who are too far beneath him—this gathering is only for dukes and well-placed counts.”