Elantris (68 page)

“And do you ever intend to inform her of that fact?”

“Maybe,” Raoden said lightly. “I wouldn’t want her to feel any obligation.”

“No, of course not.”

“Galladon, my friend,” Raoden said, completely unruffled by the Dula’s comments, “your people would be mortified to hear how unromantic you are.” Duladen was a notorious hotbed of melodramatic romances and forbidden love.

Galladon snorted his response, showing what he thought of the average Dula’s romantic inclinations. He turned, scanning the city of Kae. “So, sule, we’re up here. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Raoden confessed. “You’re the one who forced me to come.”

“Yes, but it was
your
idea to search for a stairwell in the first place.”

Raoden nodded, remembering back to their short conversation three days ago.
Has it really been that long?
he wondered. He’d barely noticed. Perhaps he had been spending a little too much time with Sarene. However, he didn’t feel a bit guilty.

“There,” Galladon said, squinting and pointing at the city.

“What?” Raoden said, following the Dula’s gesture.

“I see a flag,” Galladon said. “Our missing Guards.”

Raoden could barely pick out a hint of red in the distance—a banner. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Galladon said.

Raoden squinted, recognizing the building over which the banner flew. “That’s Duke Telrii’s mansion. What could the Elantris City Guard possibly have to do with him?”

“Perhaps he’s under arrest,” Galladon said.

“No,” Raoden said. “The Guard isn’t a policing force.”

“Why would they leave the walls, then?” Galladon asked.

Raoden shook his head. “I’m not sure. Something, however, is very wrong.”

Raoden and Galladon retreated back down the stairwell, deep in thought.

There was one way to find out what was going on with the Guard. Sarene was the only Elantrian to be thrown into the city since the disappearance of the Guard. Only she could explain the current political climate of the city.

Sarene, however, still resisted talking about the outside. Something about the last few days before her exile had been extremely painful. Sensing her hurt, Raoden had avoided prying; he didn’t want to risk alienating her. The truth was, he really did enjoy his time with Sarene. Her wry wit made him smile, her intelligence intrigued him, and her personality encouraged him. After ten years of dealing with women whose only apparent thought was how good they looked in their dress—a state of forced obtuseness led by his own weak-willed stepmother—Raoden was ready for a woman who wouldn’t cower at the first sign of conflict. A woman such as he remembered his mother being, before she died.

However, that same unyielding personality was the very thing that had kept him from learning about the outside. No amount of subtle persuasion—or even direct manipulation—could pry a single unwilling fact out of Sarene’s mouth. He couldn’t afford to be delicate any longer, however. The Guard’s strange actions were troubling—any shift in power could be extremely dangerous to Elantris.

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and moved on toward the center of the city. The walk was a relatively long one, but it passed quickly as Raoden considered what they had seen. Despite the fall of Elantris, Arelon had spent the last ten years in relative peace—at least, on a national level. With an ally to the south, Teod’s armada patrolling the northern ocean, and the mountains to their east, even a weakened Arelon had faced little external danger. Internally, Iadon had kept a strong grip on military might, encouraging the nobility toward political squabbling as opposed to militaristic posings.

Raoden knew that peace couldn’t last long, even if his father refused to see that fact. Raoden’s decision to marry Sarene had been influenced greatly by the chance to
enter a formal treaty with Teod—giving Arelon at least partial access to the Teoish armada. Arelenes weren’t accustomed to battle; they had been bred for pacifism by centuries of Elantrian protection. The current Wyrn would have to be a fool not to strike soon. All he needed was an opening.

Internal strife would provide that opening. If the Guard had decided to betray the king, civil conflict would throw Arelon into chaos once again, and the Fjordells were infamous for capitalizing on such events. Raoden had to find out what was happening beyond those walls.

Eventually, he and Galladon reached their destination. Not New Elantris, but the squat, unassuming building that was the passage to the holy place. Galladon hadn’t said a word when he’d found out that Raoden had taken Sarene to the library; the Dula had actually looked as if he’d expected such a development.

A few moments later, Raoden and Galladon strode into the underground library. Only a few of the wall lamps burned—an effort to save fuel—but Raoden could easily make out Sarene’s form sitting in one of the cubicles at the back, leaned over a book just where he had left her.

As they approached, her face became more distinct, and Raoden wasn’t able to keep himself from remarking again at her beauty. The dark-splotched skin of an Elantrian was prosaic to him now; he didn’t really notice it anymore. Actually, Sarene’s body seemed to be adapting remarkably well to the Shaod. Further signs of degeneration were usually visible after just a few days—wrinkles and creases appearing in the skin, the body’s remaining flesh color dulling to a pallid white. Sarene showed none of this—her skin was as smooth and vibrant as the day she had entered Elantris.

She claimed that her injuries didn’t continue hurting the way they should—though Raoden was certain that that was just because she had never lived outside of New Elantris. Many of the more recent newcomers never experienced the worst of Elantrian pain, the work and positive atmosphere keeping them from focusing on their injuries. The hunger hadn’t come upon her either—but, again, she had the fortune of coming at a time when everyone had the opportunity to eat at least once a day. Their supplies wouldn’t last more than a month, but there was no reason to stockpile. Starvation was not deadly to Elantrians, just uncomfortable.

Most beautiful were her eyes—the way she studied everything with keen interest. Sarene didn’t just look, she examined. When she spoke, there was thought behind her words. That intelligence was what Raoden found most attractive about his Teoish princess.

She looked up as they approached, an excited smile on her face. “Spirit! You are
never
going to guess what I found.”

“You’re right,” Raoden confessed with a smile—unsure how to approach the topic of information about the outside. “Therefore, you might as well just tell me.”

Sarene held up the book, showing him the spine, which read
Seor’s Encyclopedia of Political Myths.
Though Raoden had shown Sarene the library in an effort to sate her interest in AonDor, she’d postponed that study as soon as she had realized that there was an entire shelf of books on political theory. Part of the reason for her shift in interest probably had to do with her annoyance at AonDor. She couldn’t draw Aons in the air; she couldn’t even get the lines to start appearing behind her fingers. Raoden had been perplexed at first, but Galladon had explained that such a thing wasn’t uncommon. Even before the Reod, it had taken some Elantrians years to learn AonDor; if one began even the first line with an improper slant, nothing would appear. Raoden’s own immediate success was nothing short of extraordinary.

Sarene, however, didn’t see it that way. She was the type who grew annoyed when it took her longer to learn than someone else. She claimed she was drawing the Aons perfectly—and, in truth, Raoden couldn’t see any flaws in her form. The characters just refused to appear—and no amount of princessly indignation could convince them to behave.

So Sarene had turned her interest to political works—though Raoden guessed she would have ended up there anyway. She was interested in AonDor, but she was fascinated by politics. Whenever Raoden came to the library to practice Aons or study, Sarene picked out a volume by some ancient historian or diplomatic genius and began to read in the corner.

“… it’s amazing. I have never read anything that so soundly debunks Fjorden’s rhetoric and manipulation.”

Raoden shook his head, realizing he had simply been staring at her, enjoying her features rather than paying attention to her words. She was saying something about the book—about how it exposed Fjordell political lies.

“Every government lies occasionally, Sarene,” he said as she paused.

“True,” she said, flipping through the book. “But not with such magnitude—for the last three hundred years, ever since Fjorden adopted the Derethi religion, the Wyrns have been blatantly altering their country’s own histories and literature to make it seem as if the empire has
always
been a manifestation of divine purpose. Look at this.” She held up the book again, this time showing him a page of verse.

“What is that?”

“Wyrn the King
—the entire three-thousand-line poem.”

“I’ve read it,” Raoden said.
Wyrn
was said to be the oldest recorded piece of literature—older, even, than the
Do-Kando
, the holy book that Shu-Keseg, and eventually Shu-Dereth and Shu-Korath, had come from.

“You may have read
a
version of
Wyrn the King,”
Sarene said, shaking her head. “But not this one. Modern versions of the poem make references to Jaddeth in an almost Derethi way. The version in this book shows that the priests rewrote the literature from the original to make it sound as if Wyrn were Derethi—even
though he lived long before Shu-Dereth was founded. Back then Jaddeth—or, at least, the god of the same name that Shu-Dereth adopted—was a relatively unimportant god who cared for the rocks under the earth.

“Now that Fjorden is religious, they can’t have it sounding like their greatest historical king was a pagan, so the priests went through and rewrote all of the poems. I don’t know where this man Seor got an original version of
Wyrn
, but if it got out, it would provide a major source of embarrassment to Fjorden.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

Raoden sighed, walking over and crouching down next to Sarene’s desk, putting her face at eye level. Any other time, he would have liked nothing more than to sit and listen to her talk. Unfortunately, he had more pressing things on his mind.

“All right,” she said, her eyes thinning as she put down the book. “What is it? Am I really that boring?”

“Not at all,” Raoden said. “This is just the wrong time. You see … Galladon and I just climbed to the top of the city wall.”

Her face grew perplexed. “And?”

“We found the Elantris City Guard surrounding Duke Telrii’s mansion,” Raoden said. “We were kind of hoping you could tell us why. I know you’re hesitant to talk about the outside, but I’m worried. I need to know what is happening.”

Sarene sat with one arm leaning on the desktop, hand raised and tapping her cheek with her index finger as she often did when she was thinking. “All right,” she finally said with a sigh. “I guess I haven’t been fair. I didn’t want to concern you with outside events.”

“Some of the other Elantrians may seem uninterested, Sarene,” Raoden said, “but that’s just because they know we can’t change what is going on in Kae. I’d prefer to know about things on the outside, however—even if you are a bit hesitant to talk about them.”

Sarene nodded. “It’s all right—I can talk about it now. I guess the important part began when I dethroned King Iadon—which, of course, is why he hanged himself.”

Raoden sat down with a thump, his eyes wide.

CHAPTER 44

Even as she spoke, Sarene worried about what Spirit had said. Without her, the others had no legitimate claim on the throne. Even Roial was stumped; they could only watch helplessly as Telrii solidified control over the nobility. She expected to receive news of Telrii’s coronation by the end of the day.

It took her a few moments to realize the look of stunned shock her comment had caused Spirit. He had fallen back into one of the room’s chairs, his eyes wide. She chastened herself for lack of tact; this was, after all, Spirit’s king she was talking about. So much had happened in court the last few weeks that she had grown desensitized.

“I’m sorry,” Sarene said. “That was a little blunt, wasn’t it?”

“Iadon is dead?” Spirit asked in a quiet voice.

Sarene nodded. “It turns out he was involved with the Jeskeri Mysteries. When that got out, he hanged himself rather than face the shame.” She didn’t expand on her role in the events; there was no need to complicate them further.

“Jeskeri?” Spirit repeated, then his face turned dark and he gritted his teeth. “I always though of him as a fool, but … How far did his … involvement go?”

“He was sacrificing his cooks and maids,” Sarene said, feeling sick. There was a reason she had avoided explaining these things.

Spirit apparently noticed her pallor. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Sarene said. However, she knew no matter what else happened, no matter where she went in her life, the shadowed vision of Iadon’s sacrifice would always lurk in her mind.