Elantris (69 page)

“Telrii is king then?” Spirit asked.

“Soon,” Sarene said. “He might have been crowned already.”

Spirit shook his head. “What about Duke Roial? He’s both richer and more respected. He should have taken the throne.”

“He’s not richer anymore,” Sarene said. “Fjorden has supplemented Telrii’s income. He’s a Derethi sympathizer, which, I’m afraid, has increased his social standing.”

Spirit’s brow furled. “Being a Derethi sympathizer makes one popular? I’ve missed a lot, haven’t I?”

“How long have you been in here?”

“A year,” Spirit answered offhandedly. That matched what some of the other New Elantrians had told her. No one knew for certain how long Spirit had been in the city, but they all guessed at least a year. He had seized control of the rival gangs in recent weeks, but that wasn’t the sort of thing a person accomplished without a great deal of planning and work.

“I guess that answers how Telrii got the Guard to back him,” Spirit mumbled. “They’ve always been far too eager to support whoever seemed most popular at the moment.”

Sarene nodded. “They relocated to the duke’s mansion shortly before I was thrown in here.”

“All right,” Spirit said. “You’re going to have to start at the beginning—I need as much information as you can give me.”

So, she explained. She began with the fall of the Duladen Republic and Fjorden’s increasing threat. She told him of her engagement to Prince Raoden, and of the Derethi incursions into Arelon. As she spoke, she realized that Spirit understood the political climate of Arelon more soundly than she would have thought possible. He quickly grasped the implications of Iadon’s posthumous declaration. He knew a lot about Fjorden, though he didn’t have a working knowledge of how dangerous its priests could be; he was more worried about Wyrn-controlled soldiers.

Most impressive was his understanding of the various lords and nobles of Arelon. Sarene didn’t need to explain their personalities and temperaments; Spirit already knew them. In fact, he seemed to understand them better than Sarene herself. When she questioned him on the matter, he simply explained that in Arelon it was vital to know of each noble with a rank of baron or higher. Many times a lesser nobleman’s only means of advancement was to make deals and take contracts with the more powerful aristocrats, for they controlled the markets.

Only one thing beyond the king’s death shocked him.

“You were going to
marry
Roial?” he asked incredulously.

Sarene smiled. “I can’t believe it either—the plan developed rather quickly.”

“Roial?” Spirit asked again. “The old rascal! He must have thoroughly enjoyed suggesting
that
idea.”

“I found the duke to be an unquestionable gentleman,” Sarene said.

Spirit eyed her with a look that said “And I thought you were a better judge of character.”

“Besides,” she continued, “he didn’t suggest it. Shuden did.”

“Shuden?” Spirit said. Then, after a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Yes, that does sound like a connection he would make, though I can’t see him even mentioning the word ‘marriage.’ The very concept of matrimony frightens him.”

“Not anymore,” Sarene said. “He and Ahan’s daughter are growing very close.”

“Shuden and Torena?” Spirit asked, even more dumbfounded. Then, he
regarded Sarene with narrowed eyes. “Wait a moment—how were you going to marry Roial? I thought you were already married.”

“To a dead man,” Sarene huffed.

“But your wedding contract said you could never marry again.”

“How did you know that?” Sarene asked with narrowed eyes.

“You explained it just a few minutes ago.”

“I did not.”

“Sure you did—didn’t she, Galladon?”

The large Dula, who was flipping through Sarene’s political book, didn’t even look up. “Don’t look at me, sule. I’m not getting involved.”

“Anyway,” Spirit said, turning away from his friend. “How is it that you were going to marry Roial?”

“Why not?” Sarene asked. “I never knew this Raoden. Everyone says he was a fine prince, but what do I owe him? My contract with Arelon dissolved when Iadon died; the only reason I made the treaty in the first place was to provide a link between Arelon and my homeland. Why would I honor a contract with a dead man when I could form a more promising one with the future king of Arelon?”

“So you only agreed to marry the prince for politics.” His tone sounded hurt for some reason, as if her relationship with the crown prince of Arelon reflected directly on its aristocracy.

“Of course,” Sarene said. “I am a political creature, Spirit. I did what was best for Teod—and for the same reason I was going to marry Roial.”

He nodded, still looking a bit melancholy.

“So, I was in the throne room, ready to marry the duke,” Sarene continued, ignoring Spirit’s pique. What right did he have to question her motives? “And that was exactly when the Shaod took me.”

“Right then?” Spirit asked. “It happened at your wedding?”

Sarene nodded, suddenly feeling very insecure. It seemed that every time she was about to find acceptance, something disastrous alienated her once again.

Galladon snorted. “Well, now we know why she didn’t want to talk about it. Kolo?”

Spirit’s hand found her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s over now,” Sarene said with a shake of her head. “We need to worry about Telrii’s coronation. With Fjorden supporting him …”

“We can worry about Telrii, but I doubt there’s anything we can do. If only there were a way to contact the outside!”

Suddenly ashamed, Sarene’s eyes darted up to where Ashe hid in the room’s shadows, his Aon nearly invisible. “There might be a way,” she admitted.

Spirit looked up as Sarene waved to Ashe. Ashe started to glow, the Aon’s light expanding into a luminescent ball around him. As the Seon floated down to hover above her desk, Sarene shot Spirit an embarrassed look.

“A Seon?” he said appreciatively.

“You’re not angry at me for hiding him?” Sarene asked.

Spirit chuckled. “In all honesty, Sarene, I expected you to hold some things back from me. You seem like the type of person who needs secrets, if only for the sake of having them.”

Sarene blushed slightly at the astute comment. “Ashe, go check with Kiin and the others. I want to know the moment Telrii declares himself king.”

“Yes, my lady,” Ashe said, hovering away.

Spirit fell silent. He hadn’t commented on Ashe’s inexplicable lack of Shaod madness—but, of course, Spirit couldn’t know that Ashe had been Sarene’s own Seon.

They waited in silence, and Sarene didn’t interrupt Spirit’s thoughts. She had given him an overwhelming mass of information, and she could see his mind picking through it behind his eyes.

He was hiding things from her as well. Not that she mistrusted him. Whatever his secrets were, he probably felt he had a good reason for keeping them. She had been involved with politics far too long to take the holding of secrets as a personal offense.

That didn’t, of course, mean she wasn’t going to find out what she could. So far, Ashe hadn’t been able to discover anything about a second son of Ien Plantation’s ruler, but he was very restricted in his movements. She had allowed him to reveal himself only to Kiin and the others; she didn’t know why he had survived where other Seons did not, but she didn’t want to lose any potential edge his existence might give her.

Apparently realizing they weren’t going to go anywhere soon, the Dula Galladon shuffled over to one of the chairs and seated himself. Then he closed his eyes and appeared to fall asleep. He might be unstereotypically pessimistic, but he was still a Dula. It was said that his people were so relaxed that they could fall asleep in any position at any time.

Sarene eyed the large man. Galladon didn’t seem to like her. But, then, he was so determinedly grouchy that she couldn’t tell. He seemed a well of knowledge at times, but in other areas he was completely ignorant—and totally unconcerned by that fact. He seemed to take everything in stride, but he complained about it at the same time.

By the time Ashe came back, Sarene had returned her attention to the book on political cover-ups. The Seon had to make a throat-clearing sound before she even realized he was there. Spirit looked up as well, though the Dula continued snoring until his friend elbowed him in the stomach. Then all three sets of eyes turned to Ashe.

“Well?” Sarene asked.

“It is done, my lady,” Ashe informed them. “Telrii is king.”

CHAPTER 45

Hrathen stood in the moonlight atop the Elantris City wall, curiously studying the hole. One of the stairwell barricades was broken and scarred, the boards pulled free. The hole was strikingly similar to one that might have been made by rodents—Elantrian rodents, seeking to escape from their nest. This was one of the sections of the wall kept clean by the Guard, and some slime tracks from the stairwell gave ample proof that those below had been up the wall several times.

Hrathen strolled away from the stairwell. He was probably the only one who knew about the hole; Elantris was now watched by only two or three Guards, and they rarely—if ever—patrolled the wall walk. For now, he wouldn’t tell the Guards about the hole. It didn’t matter to him if the Elantrians snuck out of their city. They wouldn’t be able to go anywhere; their appearance was too distinctive. Besides, he didn’t want to bother the people with worries about Elantris; he wanted them to remain focused on their new king, and the allegiances he would soon declare.

He walked, Elantris to his right, Kae to his left. A small concentration of lights shone in the evening’s darkness—the royal palace, now Telrii’s home. The Arelish nobility, eager to show devotion to their new king, were in near unanimous attendance at his coronation party—each man vying to prove his loyalty. The pompous former duke was obviously enjoying the attention.

Hrathen continued to stroll in the calm night, feet clinking against the stones. Telrii’s coronation had occurred with expected flair. The former duke, now king, was an easy man to understand, and men who could be understood could be manipulated. Let him enjoy his diversion for the moment. On the morrow, the time would come for payment of debts.

Telrii would undoubtedly demand more money from Hrathen before he joined Shu-Dereth. Telrii would think himself clever, and would assume that the crown gave him even greater leverage with Fjorden. Hrathen, of course, would feign indignation at the cash demands, all the while understanding what Telrii never could. Power was not in wealth, but in control—money was worthless before a man who refused to be bought. The king would never understand that the
wyrnings he demanded wouldn’t give him power, but would instead put him beneath the power of another. As he glutted himself on coins, Arelon would slip away from him.

Hrathen shook his head, feeling mildly guilty. He used Telrii because the king made himself such a wonderful tool. However, there would be no conversion in Telrii’s heart—no true acceptance of Jaddeth or His empire. Telrii’s promises would be as empty as the power of his throne. And yet, Hrathen would use him. It was logical, and as Hrathen had come to understand, the strength of his faith was in its logic. Telrii might not believe, but his children—raised Derethi—would. One man’s meaningless conversion would provide for the salvation of a kingdom.

As he walked, Hrathen found his eyes consistently drawn toward the darkened streets of Elantris. He tried to focus his thoughts on Telrii and the impending conquest of Arelon, but another matter tickled at his mind.

Grudgingly, Hrathen admitted to himself that he had wanted to walk the wall of Elantris this night for more than one reason. He was worried about the princess. The emotion bothered him, of course, but he didn’t deny that he felt it. Sarene had been a wonderful opponent, and he knew how dangerous Elantris could be. He had realized this when he gave the poisoning order, determining the risk to be worth the gain. After waiting three days, however, his resolve was beginning to waver. He needed her to live for more reason than one.

So, Hrathen watched the streets, foolishly hoping that he might see her below and console his conscience that she was unharmed. Of course, he hadn’t seen anything of the sort; in fact, there didn’t seem to be any Elantrians about this evening. Hrathen didn’t know if they had just moved to other parts of the city, or if the place had grown so violent that they had destroyed themselves. For the princess’s sake, he hoped the second was not true.

“You are the gyorn, Hrathen,” a sudden voice said.

Hrathen spun, eyes searching for the man who had approached him unseen and unheard. A Seon hovered behind him, glowing vibrantly in the darkness. Hrathen squinted, reading the Aon at its center. Dio.

“I am he,” Hrathen said cautiously.

“I come on behalf of my master, King Eventeo of Teod,” the Seon said with a melodious voice. “He wishes to speak with you.”

Hrathen smiled. He had been wondering how long it would take Eventeo to contact him. “I am anxious to hear what His Majesty has to say.”

The Seon pulsed as its light pulled inward, outlining the face of a man with an oval face and a full chin.