SARENE had about as much talent for needlepoint as she did for painting. Not that she let it stop her from trying—no matter how much she worked to become a part of what were traditionally considered masculine activities, Sarene felt an intense need to prove that she could be as feminine and ladylike as anyone else. It wasn’t her fault that she just wasn’t any good at it.
She held up her embroidering hoop. It was supposed to depict a crimson sisterling sitting on a branch, its beak open in song. Unfortunately, she had drawn the pattern herself—which meant it hadn’t been all that good in the first place. That, coupled with her startling inability to follow the lines, had produced something that resembled a squashed tomato more than it did a bird.
“Very nice, dear,” Eshen said. Only the incurably bubbly queen could deliver such a compliment without sarcasm.
Sarene sighed, dropping her hoop to her lap and grabbing some brown thread for the branch.
“Don’t worry, Sarene,” Daora said. “Domi gives everyone different levels of talent, but He always rewards diligence. Continue to practice and you will improve.”
You say that with such ease, Sarene thought with a mental scowl. Daora’s own hoop was filled with a detailed masterpiece of embroidered perfection. She had entire flocks of birds, each one tiny yet intricate, hovering and spinning through the branches of a statuesque oak. Kiin’s wife was the embodiment of aristocratic virtue.
Daora didn’t walk, she glided, and her every action was smooth and graceful. Her makeup was striking—her lips bright red and her eyes mysterious—but it had been applied with masterful subtlety. She was old enough to be stately, yet young enough to be known for her remarkable beauty. In short, she was the type of woman Sarene would normally hate—if she weren’t also the kindest, most intelligent woman in the court.
After a few moments of quiet, Eshen began to talk, as usual. The queen seemed frightened of silence, and was constantly speaking or prompting others to do so. The other women in the group were content to let her lead—not that anyone would have wanted to try wrestling control of a conversation from Eshen.
The queen’s embroidery group consisted of about ten women. At first Sarene had avoided their meetings, instead focusing her attention on the political court. However, she had soon realized that the women were as important as any civil matter; gossip and idle chatting spread news that couldn’t be discussed in a formal setting. Sarene couldn’t afford to be out of the chain; she just wished she didn’t have to reveal her ineptitude to take part.
“I heard that Lord Waren, son of the baron of Kie Plantation, has had quite the religious experience,” Eshen said. “I knew his mother—she was a very decent woman. Quite proficient at knitting. Next year, when sweaters come back in, I’m going to force Iadon to wear one—it isn’t seemly for a king to appear unconscious of fashion. His hair is quite too long.”
Daora pulled a stitch tight. “I have heard the rumors about young Waren. It seems odd to me that now, after years of being a devout Korathi, he would suddenly convert to Shu-Dereth.”
“They’re all but the same religion anyway,” Atara said offhandedly. Duke Telrii’s wife was a small woman—even for an Arelene—with shoulder-length auburn curls. Her clothing and jewelry was by far the richest in the room, a complement to her husband’s extravagance, and her stitching patterns were always conservative and unimaginative.
“Don’t say such things around the priests,” warned Seaden, Count Ahan’s wife. The largest woman in the room, her girth nearly matched that of her husband. “They act as if your soul depends on whether you call God Domi or Jaddeth.”
“The two do have some very striking differences,” Sarene said, trying to shield her mangled embroidering from the eyes of her companions.
“Maybe if you’re a priest,” Atara said with a quiet twitter of a laugh. “But those things hardly make any difference to us.”
“Of course,” Sarene said. “We are, after all, only women.” She looked up from her needlepoint discreetly, smiling at the reaction her statement sparked. Perhaps the women of Arelon weren’t quite as subservient as their men assumed.
The quiet continued for only a few moments before Eshen spoke again. “Sarene, what do women do in Teod to pass the time?”
Sarene glanced at her in surprise; she had never heard the queen ask such a straightforward question. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“What do they do?” Eshen repeated. “I’ve heard things, you understand—as I have about Fjorden, where they say it gets so cold in the winter that trees sometimes freeze and explode. An easy way to make wood chips, I suppose. I wonder if they can make it happen on command.”
Sarene smiled. “We find things to do, Your Majesty. Some women like to embroider, though others of us find different pursuits.”
“Like what?” asked Torena, the unmarried daughter of Lord Ahan—though Sarene still found it hard to believe that a person so slight of frame could have come from a pair as bulbous as Ahan and Seaden. Torena was normally quiet during these gatherings, her wide brown eyes watching the proceedings with a spark that hinted at a buried intelligence.
“Well, the king’s courts are open to all, for one thing,” Sarene said nonchalantly. Her heart sang, however: This was the kind of opportunity she had been anticipating.
“You would go listen to the cases?” Torena asked, her quiet, high-pitched voice growing increasingly interested.
“Often,” Sarene said. “Then I would talk about them with my friends.”
“Did you fight one another with swords?” asked the overweight Seaden, her face eager.
Sarene paused, a little taken aback. She looked up to find nearly every head in the room staring at her. “What makes you ask that?”
“That’s what they say about women from Teod, dear,” Daora said calmly, the only woman who was still working on her needlepoint.
“Yes,” Seaden said. “We’ve always heard it—they say that women in Teod kill one another for the sport of the men.”
Sarene’s eyebrow twitched. “We call it fencing, Lady Seaden. We do it for our own amusement, not that of our men—and we definitely do not kill one another. We use swords, but the tips have little knobs on them, and we wear thick clothing. I’ve never heard of anyone suffering an injury greater than a twisted ankle.”
“Then it’s true?” the diminutive Torena breathed with amazement. “You do use swords.”
“Some of us,” Sarene said. “I rather enjoyed it, personally. Fencing was my favorite sport.” The women’s eyes shone with an appalling level of bloodlust—like the eyes of hounds that had been locked in a very small room for far too long. Sarene had hoped to instill a measure of political interest in these women, to encourage them to take an active role in the management of the country, but apparently that was too subtle an approach. They needed something more direct.
“I could teach you, if you wanted,” Sarene offered.
“To fight?” Atara asked, astounded.
“That’s right,” Sarene said. “It’s not that difficult. And please, Lady Atara, we call it fencing. Even the most understanding of men gets a bit uncomfortable when he thinks of women ‘fighting.’”
“We couldn’t…” Eshen began.
“Why not?” Sarene asked.
“Swordplay is frowned upon by the king, dear,” Daora explained. “You’ve probably noticed that none of the noblemen here carry swords.”
Sarene frowned. “I was going to ask about that.”
“Iadon considers it too commonplace,” Eshen said. “He calls fighting peasants’ work. He’s studied them rather a lot—he’s a fine leader, you know, and a fine leader has to know a lot about a lot of things. Why, he can tell you what the weather is like in Svorden at any time of the year. His ships are the most sturdy, and fastest in the business.”
“So none of the men can fight?” Sarene asked, startled.
“None except for Lord Eondel and perhaps Lord Shuden,” Torena said, her face taking on a dreamy look as she mentioned Shuden’s name. The young, dark-skinned nobleman was a favorite among the women of court, his delicate features and impeccable manners capturing even the most steady of hearts.
“Don’t forget Prince Raoden,” Atara added. “I think he had Eondel teach him to fight just to spite his father. He was always doing things like that.”
“Well, all the better,” Sarene said. “If none of the men fight, then King Iadon can’t very well object to our learning.”
“What do you mean?” Torena asked.
“Well, he says it’s beneath him,” Sarene said. “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 sorted 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 who 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 survive?” 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 endure 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 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 sighed. “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 a decade 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?”
“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 wrinkled 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 JinDo 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 edge 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 to 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, 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 smiled and accepted 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, 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.”
“But you are a baron,” Sarene pointed out as the two of them drifted into the room.
Shuden smiled, sipping his wine. “I am a special case. My family forced Iadon to give us our title, where most of the others gained their ranks through wealth and begging. I can take certain liberties that no other baron would assume, for Iadon and I both know I once got the better of him. I can usually only spend a short time here in the inner room—an hour at most. Otherwise I stretch the king’s patience. Of course, that is all beside the point tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I have you,” Shuden said. “Do not forget, Lady Sarene. You outrank everyone in this room except for the royal couple themselves.”
Sarene nodded. While she was quite accustomed to the idea of being important—she was, after all, the daughter of a king—she wasn’t used to the Arelene penchant for pulling rank.
“Iadon’s presence changes things,” she said quietly as the king noticed her. His eyes passed over her dress, obviously noting its less than black state, and his face grew dark.
Maybe the dress wasn’t such a good idea, Sarene admitted to herself. However, something else quickly drew her attention. “What is he doing here?” she whispered as she noticed a bright form standing like a red scar in the midst of the ballgoers.
Shuden followed her eyes. “The gyorn? He’s been coming to the court balls since the day he got here. He showed up at the first one without an invitation, and held himself with such an air of self-importance that no one has dared neglect inviting him since.”
Hrathen spoke with a small group of men, his brilliant red breastplate and cape stark against the nobles’ lighter colors. The gyorn stood at least a head taller than anyone in the room, and his shoulder plates extended a foot on either side. All in all, he was very hard to miss.
Shuden smiled. “No matter what I think of the man, I am impressed with his confidence. He simply walked into the king’s private party that first night and began talking to one of the dukes—he barely even nodded to the king. Apparently Hrathen considers the title of gyorn equal to anything in this room.”
“Kings bow to gyorns in the East,” Sarene said. “They practically grovel when Wyrn visits.”
“And it all came from one elderly JinDo,” Shuden noted, pausing to replace their cups with wine from a passing servant. It was a much better vintage. “It always interests me to see what you people have done with Keseg’s teachings.”
“‘You people’?” Sarene asked. “I’m Korathi—don’t lump me together with the gyorn.”
Shuden held up a hand. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend.”
He spoke Aonic as a native and lived in Arelon, so Sarene had assumed him to be Korathi. She had misjudged. Shuden was still JinDo—his family would have believed in Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of both Korath and Dereth. “But,” she said, thinking out loud, “your people’s homeland is Derethi now.”
Shuden’s face darkened, eyeing the gyorn. “I wonder what the great master thought when his two students, Korath and Dereth, left to preach to the lands northward. Keseg taught of unity. But what did he mean? Unity of mind, as my people assume? Unity of love, as your priests claim? Or is it the unity of obedience, as the Derethi believe? In the end, I am left to ponder how mankind managed to complicate such a simple concept.”
He paused, then shook his head. “Anyway, yes, my lady, JinDo is Derethi now. My people allow Wyrn to assume that the JinDo have been converted because it is better than fighting. Many are now questioning that decision, however. The arteths are growing increasingly demanding.”
Sarene nodded. “I agree. Shu-Dereth must be stopped—it is a perversion of the truth.”
“I didn’t say that, Lady Sarene. The soul of Shu-Keseg is acceptance. There is room for all teachings. The Derethi think they are doing what is right.” Shuden looked over at Hrathen before continuing. “That one, however, is dangerous.”
“Why him and not others?”
“I visited one of Hrathen’s sermons,” Shuden said. “He doesn’t preach from his heart, Lady Sarene, he preaches from his mind. He looks for numbers in his conversions, paying no attention to the faith of his followers. This is dangerous.”
Shuden scanned Hrathen’s companions. “That one bothers me as well,” he said, pointing to a man whose hair was so blond it was almost white.
“Who is he?” Sarene asked with interest.
“Waren, first son of Baron Diolen,” Shuden said. “He shouldn’t be here in this room, but he is apparently using his close association with the gyorn as an invitation. Waren used to be a notably pious Korathi, but he claims to have seen a vision of Jaddeth commanding that he convert to Shu-Dereth.”
“The ladies were talking about this earlier,” Sarene said, eyeing Waren. “You don’t believe him?”
“I have always suspected Waren’s piety to be an exhibition. He is an opportunist, and his extreme devotion gained him notoriety.”
Sarene studied the white-haired man, worried. He was very young, but he carried himself as a man of accomplishment and control. His conversion was a dangerous sign. The more such people Hrathen gathered, the more difficult he would be to stop.
“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” she said.
“For what?”
“To come to these balls. Hrathen has a week’s edge on me.”
“You act as if it were a personal struggle between you two,” Shuden noted with a smile.
Sarene didn’t take the comment lightly. “A personal struggle with the fates of nations at stake.”
“Shuden!” a voice said. “I see that you are lacking your customary circle of admirers.”
“Good evening, Lord Roial,” Shuden said, bowing as the old man approached. “Yes, thanks to my companionship, I have been able to avoid most of that tonight.”
“Ah, the lovely Princess Sarene,” Roial said, kissing her hand. “Apparently your penchant for black has waned.”
“It was never that strong to begin with, my lord,” she said, curtsying.
“I can imagine,” Roial said, smiling. Then he turned back to Shuden. “I had hoped that you wouldn’t recognize your good fortune, Shuden. I might have stolen the princess and kept off a few of the leeches myself.”
Sarene regarded the elderly man with surprise.
Shuden chuckled. “Lord Roial is, perhaps, the only bachelor in Arelon whose affection is more sought-after than my own. Not that I am jealous. His Lordship diverts some of the attention from me.”
“You?” Sarene asked, looking at the spindly old man. “Women want to marry you?” Then, remembering her manners, she added a belated “my lord,” blushing furiously at the impropriety of her words.
Roial laughed. “Don’t worry about offending me, young Sarene. No man my age is much to look at. My dear Eoldess has been dead for twenty years, and I have no son. My fortune has to pass to someone, and every unmarried girl in the realm realizes that fact. She would only have to indulge me for a few years, bury me, then find a lusty young lover to help spend my money.”
“My lord is too cynical,” Shuden noted.
“My lord is too realistic.” Roial snorted. “Though I’ll admit, the idea of forcing one of those young puffs into my bed is tempting. I know they all think I’m too old to make them perform their duties as a wife, but they assume wrong. If I were going to let them steal my fortune, I’d at least make them work for it.”
Shuden blushed at the comment, but Sarene only laughed. “I knew it. You really are nothing but a dirty old man.”
“Self-professedly so,” Roial agreed with a smile. Then, looking over at Hrathen, he continued. “How’s our overly armored friend doing?”
“Bothering me by his mere noxious presence, my lord,” Sarene replied.
“Watch him, Sarene,” Roial said. “I hear that our dear lord Telrii’s sudden good fortune isn’t a matter of pure luck.”
Shuden’s eyes grew suspicious. “Duke Telrii has declared no allegiance to Shu-Dereth.”
“Not openly, no,” Roial agreed. “But my sources say that there is something between those two. One thing is certain: There has rarely been a party like this in Kae, and the duke is throwing it for no obvious reason. One begins to wonder just what Telrii is advertising, and why he wants us to know how wealthy he is.”
“An interesting thought, my lord,” Sarene said.
“Sarene?” Eshen’s voice called from the other side of the room. “Dear, would you come over here?”
“Oh no,” Sarene said, looking over at the queen, who was waving her to approach. “What do you suppose this is about?”
“I’m intrigued to find out,” Roial said, a sparkle in his eyes.
Sarene acknowledged the queen’s gesture, approaching the royal couple and curtsying politely. Shuden and Roial followed more discreetly, placing themselves within earshot.
Eshen smiled as Sarene approached. “Dear, I was just explaining to my husband about the idea we came up with this morning. You know, the one about exercising?” Eshen nodded her head toward the king enthusiastically.
“What is this nonsense, Sarene?” the king demanded. “Women playing with swords?”
“His Majesty wouldn’t want us to get fat, would he?” Sarene asked innocently.
“No, of course not,” the king said. “You could just eat less.”
“But I do so like to exercise, Your Majesty.”
Iadon took a deep, suffering breath. “There must be some other form of exercise you women could do.”
Sarene blinked, trying to hint that she might be close to tears. “But, Your Majesty, I’ve done this ever since I was a child. Surely the king can have nothing against a foolish womanly pastime.”
The king stopped, eyeing her. She might have overdone it that last time. Sarene assumed her best look of hopeless idiocy and smiled.
Finally he just shook his head. “Bah, do whatever you want, woman. I don’t want you spoiling my evening.”
“The king is very wise,” Sarene said, curtsying and backing away.
“I had forgotten about that,” Shuden whispered to her as she rejoined him. “The act must be quite the burden to maintain.”
“It is useful sometimes,” Sarene said. They were about to withdraw when Sarene noticed a courier approaching the king. She placed her hand on Shuden’s arm, indicating that she wanted to wait a moment where she could still hear Iadon.
The messenger whispered something in Iadon’s ear, and the king’s eyes grew wide with frustration. “What!”
The man moved to whisper again, and the king pushed him back. “Just say it, man. I can’t stand all that whispering.”
“It happened just this week, Your Majesty,” the man said.
Sarene edged closer.
“How odd.” A slightly accented voice suddenly drifted in their direction. Hrathen stood a short distance away. He wasn’t watching them, but somehow he was directing his voice at the king—as if he were intentionally allowing his words to be overheard. “I wouldn’t have thought the king would discuss important matters where the dull-minded can hear. Such people tend to be so confused by events that it is a disservice to allow them the opportunity.”
Most of the people around her didn’t even appear to have heard the gyorn’s comment. The king, however, had. Iadon regarded Sarene for a moment, then grabbed his messenger by the arm and strode quickly from the room, leaving a startled Eshen behind. As Sarene watched the king leave, Hrathen’s eyes caught her own, and he smiled slightly before turning back to his companions.
“Can you believe that?” Sarene said, fuming. “He did that on purpose!”
Shuden nodded. “Often, my lady, our deceptions turn on us.”
“The gyorn is good,” Roial said. “It’s always a masterful stroke when you can turn someone’s guise to your advantage.”
“I have often found that no matter the circumstance, it is most useful to be oneself,” Shuden said. “The more faces we try to wear, the more confused they become.”
Roial nodded, smiling. “True. Boring, perhaps, but true.”
Sarene was barely listening. She had assumed that she was the one doing the manipulating; she had never realized the disadvantage it gave her. “The façade is troubling,” she admitted. Then she sighed, turning back to Shuden. “But I am stuck with it, at least with the king. Honestly though, I doubt he would have regarded me any other way, no matter how I acted.”
“You’re probably right,” Shuden said. “The king is rather shortsighted when it comes to women.”
The king returned a few moments later, his face dark, his humor obviously ruined by whatever news he had received. The courier escaped with a look of relief, and as he left, Sarene caught sight of a new figure entering the room. Duke Telrii was customarily pompous in bright reds and golds, his fingers speckled with rings. Sarene watched him closely, but he didn’t join—or even acknowledge—Gyorn Hrathen. In fact, he seemed to doggedly ignore the priest, instead making the proper hostly overtures, visiting with each group of guests in turn.
“You’re right, Lord Roial,” Sarene finally said.
Roial looked up from his conversation with Shuden. “Hum?”
“Duke Telrii,” Sarene said, nodding to the man. “There’s something between him and the gyorn.”
“Telrii is a troublesome one,” Roial said. “I’ve never quite been able to figure out his motivations. At times, it seems he wants nothing more than coin to pad his coffers. At others…”
Roial trailed off as Telrii, as if noticing their study of him, turned toward Sarene’s group. He smiled and drifted in their direction, Atara at his side. “Lord Roial.” His voice was smooth, almost uncaring. “Welcome. And, Your Highness. I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”
Roial did the honors. Sarene curtsied as Telrii sipped at his wine and exchanged pleasantries with Roial. There was a startling level of nonchalance about him. While few noblemen cared much about the topics they discussed, most had the decency to at least sound interested. Telrii made no such concession. His tone was flippant, though not quite to the level of being insulting, and his manner uninterested. Beyond the initial address, he completely ignored Sarene, obviously satisfied that she was of no discernible significance.
Eventually the duke sauntered away, and Sarene watched him go with annoyance. If there was one thing she loathed, it was being ignored. Finally she sighed and turned to her companion. “All right, Lord Shuden, I want to mingle. Hrathen has a week’s lead, but Domi curse me if I’m going to let him stay ahead of me.”
* * *
IT WAS LATE. Shuden had wanted to leave hours ago, but Sarene had been determined to forge on, plowing through hundreds of people, making contacts like a madwoman. She made Shuden introduce her to everyone he knew, and the faces and names had quickly become a blur. However, repetition would bring familiarity.
Eventually she let Shuden bring her back to the palace, satisfied with the day’s events. Shuden let her off and wearily bid her goodnight, claiming he was glad that Ahan was next in line to take her to a ball. “Your company was delightful,” he said, “but I just can’t keep up with you!”
Sarene found it hard to keep up with herself sometimes. She practically stumbled her way into the palace, so drowsy with fatigue and wine that she could barely keep her eyes open.
Shouts echoed through the hallway.
Sarene frowned, turning a corner to find the king’s guard scrambling around, yelling at one another and generally making a rather large nuisance of themselves.
“What is going on?” she asked, holding her head.
“Someone broke into the palace tonight,” a guard explained. “Snuck right through the king’s bedchambers.”
“Is anyone hurt?” Sarene asked, suddenly coming alert. Iadon and Eshen had left the party hours before her and Shuden.
“Thank Domi, no,” the guard said. Then he turned to two soldiers. “Take the princess to her room and stand guard at the door,” he ordered. “Goodnight, Your Highness. Don’t worry—they’re gone now.”
Sarene sighed, noting the yelling and bustle of the guards, their armor and weapons clanking as they periodically ran through the hallways. She doubted that she would be able to have a good night with so much ruckus, no matter how tired she was.