Sarene paused. “I don’t think they’re dangerous, Lord Eondel. I’ve looked in on the city and its people. There is nothing frightening about Elantris—well, nothing besides the way its people are treated. I don’t believe the tales about monsters or Elantrian cannibalism. I just see a collection of men and women who have been mistreated and misjudged.”
Eondel didn’t look convinced, and neither did the others.
“Look, I’ll go in first and test it,” Sarene said. “I want you lords to join me after the first few days.”
“Why us?” Edan said with a groan.
“Because I need to start somewhere,” Sarene explained. “If you lords brave the city, then others will feel foolish if they object. Aristocrats have a group mentality; if I can build some momentum, then I can probably get most of them to come in with me at least once. Then they’ll see that there is nothing horrible about Elantris—that its people are just poor wretches who want to eat. We can defeat Hrathen with simple truth. It is hard to demonize a man after you have seen tears in his eyes as he thanks you for feeding him.”
“This is all pointless anyway,” Edan said, his hand twitching at the thought of entering Elantris. “The king will never let her in.”
“And if he does?” Sarene asked quickly. “Then will you go, Edan?”
The baron blinked in surprise, realizing he had been caught. She waited for him to respond, but he stubbornly refused to answer the question.
“I will,” Shuden declared.
Sarene smiled at the Jindo. This was the second time he had been the first to offer her support.
“If Shuden’s going to do it, then I doubt the rest of us will have the humility to say no,” Roial said. “Get your permission, Sarene, then we will discuss this further.”
“Maybe I was a little too optimistic,” Sarene admitted, standing outside the doors to Iadon’s study. A pair of guards stood a short distance away, watching her suspiciously.
“Do you know what you are going to do, my lady?” Ashe asked. The Seon had
spent the meeting floating just outside the chapel walls—well within his range of hearing—making certain that no one else was eavesdropping on their meeting.
Sarene shook her head. She had displayed bravado when confronted by Ahan and the others, but now she realized how misplaced that sentiment had been. She had no idea how she was going to get Iadon to let her into Elantris—let alone get him to accept their help.
“Did you speak with Father?” she asked.
“I did, my lady,” Ashe replied. “He said he would give you whatever financial help you required.”
“All right,” Sarene said. “Let’s go.” She took a deep breath and strode toward the soldiers. “I would speak with my father,” she announced.
The guards glanced at each other. “Um, we were told not to …”
“That doesn’t apply to family, soldier,” Sarene said insistently. “If the queen came to speak with her husband would you turn her away?”
The guards frowned in confusion; Eshen probably didn’t come to visit. Sarene had noticed that the bubbly queen tended to keep her distance from Iadon. Even silly women resent being described that way to their faces.
“Just open the door, soldier,” Sarene said. “If the king doesn’t want to talk to me, he’ll throw me out, and next time you will know not to let me in.”
The guards hesitated, and Sarene simply pushed her way between them and opened the door herself. The guards, obviously unused to dealing with forceful women—especially in the royal family—simply let her pass.
Iadon looked up from his desk, a pair of spectacles she had never seen him wear before balanced on the end of his nose. He quickly pulled them off and stood, slamming his hands against the desktop in annoyance, disturbing several invoice stacks in the process.
“You aren’t content to annoy me in public, so you have to follow me to my study as well?” he demanded. “If I’d known what a foolish, spindly girl you were, I would never have signed that treaty. Be gone, woman, and leave me to work!”
“I tell you what, Father,” Sarene said with frankness. “I’ll pretend to be an intelligent human being capable of a semilucid conversation, and you pretend the same thing.”
Iadon’s eyes grew wide at the comment, and his face turned a bright red. “Rag Domi!” he swore, using a curse so vile Sarene had only heard it twice. “You tricked me, woman. I could have you beheaded for making me look the fool.”
“Start decapitating your children, Father, and people will begin to ask questions.” She watched his reaction carefully, hoping to glean something about Raoden’s disappearance, but she was disappointed. Iadon brushed off the comment with only passing attention.
“I should ship you back to Eventeo right now,” he said.
“Fine, I’d be happy to go,” she lied. “However, realize that if I go, you lose
your trade treaty with Teod. That could be a problem, considering the luck you’ve had peddling your silks in Fjorden lately.”
Iadon gritted his teeth at the comment.
“Careful, my lady,” Ashe whispered. “Do not unsettle him too much. Men often place pride before reason.”
Sarene nodded. “I can give you a way out, Father. I have come to offer you a deal.”
“What reason do I have to accept any offers from you, woman?” he snapped. “You have been here nearly a month, and now I find that you have been deceiving me the whole time.”
“You will trust me, Father, because you have lost seventy-five percent of your fleet to pirates. In a few short months you could lose your throne unless you listen to me.”
Iadon betrayed surprise at her knowledge. “How do you know these things?”
“Everyone knows, Father,” Sarene said lightly. “It’s all over the court—they expect you to fall at the next taxing period.”
“I knew it!” Iadon said, his eyes widening with rage. He began to sweat and curse at the courtiers, railing at their determination to see him off the throne.
Sarene blinked in surprise. She had made the comment passingly to keep Iadon off balance, but hadn’t expected such a strong reaction.
He’s paranoid!
she realized.
Why hasn’t anyone noticed this before?
However, the speed with which Iadon recovered gave her a clue—he was paranoid, but he kept it well hidden. The way she was jerking his emotions must have weakened his control.
“You propose a deal?” the king demanded.
“I do,” Sarene said. “Silk is going for a premium in Teod right now, Father. One could make quite a profit selling it to the king. And, considering certain familial relationships, you might be able to talk Eventeo into giving you sole mercantile rights in his country.”
Iadon grew suspicious, his rage cooling as he sensed a bargain. However, the merchant in him immediately began to sniff for problems. Sarene gritted her teeth in frustration: It was as the others had told her. Iadon would never accept her offer; it stank too much of deceit.
“An interesting proposal,” he admitted. “But I’m afraid that I—”
“I would, of course, require something in return,” Sarene interrupted, thinking quickly. “Call it a fee for setting up the deal between Eventeo and yourself.”
Iadon paused. “What kind of fee are we talking about?” he asked warily. An exchange was different from a gift—it could be weighed, measured, and, to an extent, trusted.
“I want to go inside Elantris,” Sarene declared.
“What?”
“I have to perform a Widow’s Trial,” Sarene said. “So, I am going to bring food to the Elantrians.”
“What possible motivation could you have for doing that, woman?”
“Religious reasons, Father,” Sarene explained. “Shu-Korath teaches us to help those most lowly, and I challenge you to find anyone more lowly than the Elantrians.”
“It’s out of the question,” Iadon said. “Entry into Elantris is forbidden by law.”
“A law you made, Father,” Sarene said pointedly. “And, therefore, you can make exceptions. Think carefully—your fortune, and your throne, could balance on your answer.”
Iadon ground his teeth audibly as he considered the trade. “You want to enter Elantris with food? For how long?”
“Until I am convinced my duty as Prince Raoden’s wife has been fulfilled,” Sarene said.
“You would go alone?”
“I would take any who were willing to accompany me.”
Iadon snorted. “You’ll have trouble finding anyone to fill that requirement.”
“My problem, not yours.”
“First that Fjordell devil starts whipping my people into mobs, now you would do the same,” the king mumbled.
“No, Father,” Sarene corrected. “I want quite the opposite—chaos would only benefit Wyrn. Believe as you wish, but it is my sole concern to see stability in Arelon.”
Iadon continued to think for a moment. “No more than ten at a time, excluding guards,” he finally said. “I don’t want mass pilgrimages going into Elantris. You will enter an hour before noon and you will be gone by an hour after noon. No exceptions.”
“Done,” Sarene agreed. “You may use my Seon to call King Eventeo to work out the details of the deal.”
“I must admit, my lady, that was rather clever.” Ashe bobbed along beside her in the hallway on the way to her room.
Sarene had stayed as Iadon spoke with Eventeo, mediating as the two worked out the deal. Her father’s voice had contained a hearty measure of “I hope you know what you’re doing, ’Ene” in it. Eventeo was a kind and good king, but he was an absolutely horrible businessman; he kept a fleet of accountants to manage the royal finances. Once Iadon had sensed her father’s inability, he struck with the enthusiasm of a raging predator, and only Sarene’s presence had kept Iadon from leaking away Teod’s entire tax revenue in a rampage of trading fervor. As it was, Iadon had managed to talk them into buying his silks for four times as much
as they were worth. The king had been beaming so widely as Sarene left that he almost appeared to have forgiven her for her charade.
“Clever?” Sarene asked innocently in response to Ashe’s comment. “Me?”
The Seon bobbed, chuckling softly. “Is there anyone you can’t manipulate, my lady?”
“Father,” Sarene said. “You know he gets the better of me three times out of five.”
“He says the same thing about you, my lady,” Ashe noted.
Sarene smiled, pushing open the door to her room to prepare for bed. “It really wasn’t that clever, Ashe. We should have realized that our problems were really solutions to one another—one an offer with no catch, the other a request with no sweetener.”
Ashe made noises of displeasure as he floated around the room, “tisking,” offended at its messy state.
“What?” Sarene asked, unwrapping the black ribbon tied around her upper arm—the only remaining sign of her mourning.
“The room has not been cleaned again, my lady,” Ashe explained.
“Well, it’s not like I left it that messy in the first place,” Sarene said with a huff.
“No, Your Highness is a very tidy woman,” Ashe agreed. “However, the palace maids have been lax in their duties. A princess deserves proper esteem—if you allow them to neglect their work, it won’t be long before they stop respecting you.”
“I think you’re reading too much into it, Ashe,” Sarene said with a shake of her head, pulling off her dress and preparing her nightgown. “I’m supposed to be the suspicious one, remember?”
“This is a matter of servants, not lords, my lady,” Ashe said. “You are a brilliant woman and a fine politician, but you betray a common weakness of your class—you ignore the opinions of servants.”
“Ashe!” Sarene objected. “I always treated my father’s servants with respect and kindness.”
“Perhaps I should rephrase, my lady,” Ashe said. “Yes, you lack unkind prejudices. However, you don’t pay attention to what the servants think of you—not in the same way you are always aware of what the aristocracy thinks.”
Sarene pulled her nightgown over her head, refusing to show even a hint of petulance. “I’ve always tried to be fair.”
“Yes, my lady, but you are a child of nobility, raised to ignore those who work around you. I only suggest you remember that if the maids disrespect you, it could be as detrimental as if the lords did so.”
“All right,” Sarene said with a sigh. “Point taken. Fetch Meala for me; I’ll ask her if she knows what happened.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Ashe floated toward the window. However, before he left, Sarene made one last comment.
“Ashe?” she asked. “The people loved Raoden, didn’t they?”
“By all accounts, my lady. He was known for paying very personal heed to their opinions and needs.”
“He was a better prince than I am a princess, wasn’t he?” she asked, her voice falling.
“I wouldn’t say that, my lady,” Ashe said. “You are a very kindhearted woman, and you always treat your maids well. Do not compare yourself to Raoden—it is important to remember that you weren’t preparing to run a country, and your popularity with the people wasn’t an issue. Prince Raoden was the heir to the throne, and it was vital that he understand his subjects’ feelings.”
“They say he gave the people hope,” Sarene said musingly. “That the peasants endured Iadon’s outrageous burdens because they knew Raoden would eventually take the throne. The country would have collapsed years ago if the prince hadn’t gone amongst them, encouraging them and reviving their spirits.”
“And now he’s gone,” Ashe said quietly.
“Yes, he’s gone,” Sarene agreed, her voice detached. “We have to hurry, Ashe. I keep feeling that I’m not doing any good—that the country is heading for disaster no matter what I do. It’s like I’m at the bottom of a hill watching an enormous boulder crash down toward me, and I’m throwing pebbles up to try and deflect it.”
“Be strong, my lady,” Ashe said in his deep, stately voice. “Your God will not sit and watch as Arelon and Teod crumble beneath Wyrn’s heel.”
“I hope the prince is watching as well,” Sarene said. “Would he be proud of me, Ashe?”
“Very proud my lady.”
“I just want them to accept me,” she explained, realizing how silly she must sound. She had spent nearly three decades loving a country without ever feeling it loved her back. Teod had respected her, but she was tired of respect. She wanted something different from Arelon.
“They will, Sarene,” Ashe promised. “Give them time. They will.”