Elantris (79 page)

“There probably isn’t much time left.”

“Time enough to make sure they learn an Aon or two,” Raoden said. “They deserve to know the secret to their power.”

Sarene smiled. “I always knew you would find the answer. Domi doesn’t let your kind of dedication go wasted.”

Raoden smiled. The night before, she had made him draw several dozen Aons to prove that they actually worked. Of course, they hadn’t been enough to save Roial.

A rock of guilt burned in Raoden’s chest. If he had known the proper modifiers, he might have been able to save Roial. A gut wound took a long time to kill a man; Raoden could have healed each organ separately, then sealed the skin. Instead, he had been able only to draw a general Aon that affected Roial’s entire body. The Aon’s power, already weak, had been diluted so much by the broad target that it did no good.

Raoden had stayed up late memorizing modifiers. AonDor healing was a complex, difficult art, but he was determined to make certain no one else died because of his inability. It would take months of memorizing, but he would learn the modifier for every organ, muscle, and bone.

Sarene turned back to her contemplation of the city. She retained a strong grip on Raoden’s waist—Sarene did
not
like heights, especially if she didn’t have
something to hold on to. Looking over at the top of her head, Raoden suddenly remembered something from the night’s studies.

Reaching out, he pulled off her wig. It resisted as the glue held, then fell away, revealing the stubble underneath. Sarene turned with questioning, annoyed eyes, but Raoden was already drawing.

It wasn’t a complex Aon; it required him only to stipulate a target, how the target was to be affected, and a length of time. When he finished, her hair began to grow. It went lethargically, sliding out of her head like a breath slowly exhaled. In a few minutes, however, it was finished—her long golden hair once again reaching to the middle of her back.

Sarene ran disbelieving fingers through the hair. Then she looked up at Raoden with teary eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, pulling him close. “You have no idea what that means.”

After a moment, she pulled back, staring at him with intent, silvery gray eyes. “Show yourself to me.”

“My face?” Raoden asked.

Sarene nodded.

“You’ve seen it before,” he said hesitantly.

“I know, but I’m getting too used to this one. I want to see the real you.”

The determination in her eyes stopped him from arguing further. With a sigh, he reached up, tapping the collar of his undershirt with his index finger. To him, nothing changed, but he could feel Sarene stiffen as the illusion fell away. He felt suddenly ashamed, and hurriedly began to draw the Aon again, but she stopped him.

“It isn’t as horrid as you think, Raoden,” she said, running her fingers across his face. “They say your bodies are like corpses, but that isn’t true. Your skin may be discolored and a little wrinkled, but there is still flesh underneath.”

Her finger found the cut on his cheek, and she gasped slightly. “I did this, didn’t I?”

Raoden nodded. “As I said—I had no idea how good of a fencer you are.”

Sarene ran her finger down the wound. “It confused me terribly when I couldn’t find the wound. Why does the illusion show your expressions, but not a cut?”

“It’s complicated,” Raoden said. “You have to link each muscle in the face with its companion in the illusion. I could never have figured it out myself—the equations are all in one of my books.”

“But you altered the illusion so quickly last night, changing from Kaloo to Raoden.”

He smiled. “That’s because I had
two
illusions on, one connected to my undershirt and the other to my coat. As soon as I dissolved the one on the top, the one underneath showed. I’m just glad it looks enough like me that the others
recognized it. There weren’t, of course, any equations describing how to create my own face—I had to figure that out on my own.”

“You did a good job.”

“I extrapolated from my Elantrian face, telling the illusion to use it as a base.” He smiled. “You’re a lucky woman, having a man who can change faces at any time. You’ll never get bored.”

Sarene snorted. “I like this one just fine. This is the face that loved me when it thought I was an Elantrian, all rank and title abandoned.”

“You think you can get used to this?” Raoden asked.

“Raoden, I was going to marry Roial last week. He was a dear old man, but he was so incredibly homely that rocks looked handsome when he stood next to them.”

Raoden laughed. Despite everything—Telrii, Hrathen, and poor Roial’s demise—his heart was jubilant.

“What
are
they doing?” Sarene said, looking back at the palace.

Raoden turned to follow her view—an action that bumped Sarene forward slightly. She reacted by locking a deathlike grip on Raoden’s shoulder, her fingers biting into his flesh. “Don’t do that!”

“Oops,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “I forgot about your fear of heights.”

“I am
not
afraid of heights,” Sarene said, still holding on to his arm. “I just get dizzy.”

“Of course,” Raoden said, squinting at the palace. He could barely make out a group of soldiers doing something in the grounds before the building. They were laying out blankets or sheets of some sort.

“It’s too far,” Sarene said. “Where is Ashe?”

Raoden reached up and sketched Aon Nae—a large circular character—in the air before them. When he was finished, the air inside Aon Nae’s circle rippled like water, then cleared to show a magnified view of the city. Placing his palm in the center of the circle, Raoden maneuvered the Aon until it was pointing at the palace. The view unblurred itself, and they were able to see the soldiers with such detail that they could read their rank insignias.

“That’s useful,” Sarene noted as Raoden raised the Aon slightly. The soldiers were indeed laying out sheets—sheets with what appeared to be bodies on them. Raoden grew cold as he moved the disk along the line of corpses. The last two corpses in the row were familiar.

Sarene gasped in horror as Eondel’s and Telrii’s dead faces came into focus.

CHAPTER 56

“He attacked late last night, my lady,” Ashe explained.

The remaining members of their group—Kiin, Lukel, and Shuden—were gathered atop the house, watching as Raoden focused his Aon spyglass on the funeral pyres being built in the palace courtyard.

Baron Shuden sat morosely on the stone roof, shaking his head in disbelief. Sarene held the young Jindo’s hand in an attempt to provide comfort, painfully aware of how difficult the last few days must have been for him. His future father-in-law had turned out to be a traitor, Torena had reportedly disappeared, and now his best friend was dead.

“He was a brave man,” Kiin said, standing beside Raoden.

“That was never in question,” Raoden said. “His actions were foolish nonetheless.”

“He did it for honor, Raoden,” Sarene said, looking up from the despondent Shuden. “Telrii murdered a great man last night—Eondel acted to avenge the duke.”

Raoden shook his head. “Revenge is always a foolish motivation, Sarene. Now we have lost not only Roial, but Eondel as well. The people are left with their second dead king in the space of a few weeks.”

Sarene let the matter drop. Raoden spoke as a ruler, not as a friend. He couldn’t afford to give Eondel leeway, even in death, because of the situation the count had created.

The soldiers did not wait on ceremony to immolate the fallen men. They simply lit the pyre, then saluted en masse as the bodies burned away. Whatever else could be said about the Guard, they performed this one duty with solemnity and honor.

“There,” Raoden said, pointing his Aon at a detachment of about fifty soldiers who left the pyre and galloped toward Kiin’s house. All wore the brown capes that marked them as officers in the Elantris City Guard.

“This could be bad,” Kiin said.

“Or it could be good,” Raoden said.

Kiin shook his head. “We should collapse the entryway. Let them try to break down my door with a ton of stone behind it.”

“No,” Raoden said. “Trapping us inside won’t do any good. I want to meet with them.”

“There are other ways out of the building,” Kiin said.

“Still, wait for my command to collapse your entryway, Kiin,” Raoden said. “That is an order.”

Kiin ground his teeth for a moment, then nodded. “All right, Raoden, but not because you order it—but because I trust you. My son may call you king, but I accept the rule of no man.”

Sarene regarded her uncle with a look of shocked surprise. She had never seen him speak in such a manner; he was usually so jovial, like a happy circus bear. Now his face was flat and grim, covered with whiskers he had allowed to start growing the moment Iadon was found dead. Gone was the brusque but compliant chef, and in his place was a man who seemed more like a grizzled admiral from her father’s navy.

“Thank you, Kiin,” Raoden said.

Her uncle nodded. The horsemen approached quickly, fanning out to surround Kiin’s hilltop fortress. Noticing Raoden on the roof, one of the soldiers urged his horse a few steps closer.

“We have heard rumors that Lord Raoden, crown prince of Arelon, still lives,” the man announced. “If there is truth to this, let him come forward. Our country has need of a king.”

Kiin untensed visibly, and Raoden let out a quiet sigh. The Guard officers stood in a row, still mounted, and even from the short distance, Raoden could see their faces. They were harried, confused, yet hopeful.

“We have to move quickly, before that gyorn can respond,” Raoden said to his friends. “Send messengers to the nobility—I plan to hold my coronation within the hour.”

Raoden strode into the palace throne room. Beside the throne dais stood Sarene and the young-looking patriarch of the Korathi religion. Raoden had only just met the man, but Sarene’s description of him had been accurate. Long golden hair, a smile that claimed to know things it didn’t, and a self-important air were his most striking features. However, Raoden needed him. The statement made by choosing the patriarch of Shu-Korath to crown him was an important precedent.

Sarene smiled encouragingly as Raoden approached. It amazed him how much she had to give, considering what she had been through recently. He joined her on the dais, then turned to regard the nobility of Arelon.

He recognized most of the faces. Many of them had supported him before his exile. Now most were simply confused. His appearance had been sudden, as had Telrii’s death. Rumors were widespread that Raoden had been behind the assassination, but most of the people didn’t seem to care. Their eyes were dull from the shock, and they were beginning to show the wearied signs of extended stress.

It will change now, Raoden promised them silently. No more questioning. No more uncertainty. We will put forth a united front, with Teod, and face Fjorden
.

“My lords and ladies,” Raoden said. “People of Arelon. Our poor kingdom has suffered too much over the last ten years. Let us set it at right once again. With this crown, I promise—”

He froze. He felt … a power. At first, he thought the Dor was attacking. However, he realized this was something else—something he had never experienced before. Something external.

Someone else was manipulating the Dor.

He searched through the crowd, masking his surprise. His eyes fell on a small red-robed form almost invisible among the noblemen. The power was coming from him.

A Derethi priest?
Raoden thought incredulously. The man was smiling, and his hair was blond beneath his hood.
What?

The mood of the congregation changed. Several people fainted immediately, but most simply stared. Dumbfounded. Shocked. Yet somehow unsurprised. They had been beaten down so much, they had expected something horrible to happen. Without checking, Raoden knew that his illusion had fallen.

The patriarch gasped, dropping the crown as he stumbled away. Raoden looked back to the crowd, his stomach sick. He had been so close….

A voice came at his side. “Look at him, nobles of Arelon!” Sarene declared. “Look at the man who would have been your king. Look at his dark skin and his Elantrian face! Then, tell me. Does it really matter?”

The crowd was quiet.

“Ten years you were ruled by a tyrant because you rejected Elantris,” Sarene said. “You were the privileged, the wealthy, but in a way you were the most oppressed, for you could never be secure. Were your titles worth your freedom?

“This is the man who loved you when all others sought to steal your pride. I ask you this: Can being an Elantrian make him any worse a king than Iadon or Telrii?”

She knelt before him. “I, for one, accept his rule.”

Raoden watched the crowd tensely. Then, one at a time, they began to kneel. It began with Shuden and Lukel, who stood near the front of the crowd, but it soon spread to the others. Like a wave, the forms knelt—some in a stupor, others with resignation. Some, however, dared to be happy.

Sarene reached down and snatched up the fallen crown. It was a simple
thing—no more than a hastily constructed gold band—but it represented so much. With Seinalan stunned, the princess of Teod took his duty upon herself and, reaching up, placed the crown on Raoden’s head.