HRATHEN sat in the palace waiting room with growing dissatisfaction. Around him, the signs of a changing government were already evident. It seemed remarkable that one man could own so many tapestries, rugs, and brocades. The palace sitting room was so draped with cloth plushness that Hrathen had been forced to shove a mountain of pillows out of the way before finding a stone ledge upon which to seat himself.
He sat near the stone hearth, jaw clenched as he regarded the assembled nobility. As could be expected, Telrii had quite suddenly become a very busy man. Every nobleman, landholder, and ambitious merchant in the city wanted to pay his “respects” to the new king. Dozens waited in the sitting room, many without firm appointments. They hid their impatience poorly, but not a one was brave enough to voice annoyance at the treatment.
Their inconvenience was unimportant. The intolerable factor was Hrathen’s inclusion in the group. The rabble of supposed nobility was a pandering, indolent lot. Hrathen, however, was backed by the power of Wyrn’s kingdom and Jaddeth’s empire—the very power that had given Telrii the wealth he needed to claim the throne.
And yet Hrathen was forced to wait. It was maddening, it was discourteous, and it was unbelievable. Yet Hrathen had no choice but to endure it. Backed by Wyrn’s power though he was, he had no troops, no might to force Telrii’s hand. He could not denounce the man openly—despite his frustration, Hrathen’s political instinct was too keen to let him do something like that. He had worked hard to get a potential sympathizer on the throne; only a fool would let his own pride ruin such an opportunity. Hrathen would wait, tolerating disrespect for a short time, to achieve the eventual prize.
An attendant entered the room, draped in fine silks—the exaggerated livery of Telrii’s personal heralds. The room’s occupants perked up, several men standing and straightening their clothing.
“Gyorn Hrathen,” the attendant announced.
The noblemen wilted, and Hrathen stood and brushed past them with a dismissive step. It was about time.
Telrii waited beyond. Hrathen paused just inside the door, regarding the chamber with displeasure. The room had once been Iadon’s study, and at that time it had been marked by a businessman’s efficiency. Everything had been well placed and orderly; the furniture had been comfortable without being lavish.
Telrii had changed that. Attendants stood at the sides of the room, and beside them sat carts heaped with exotic foods, purchased from the merchants of the Arelene Market. Telrii reclined in a massive pile of cushions and silks, a pleasant smile on his purple-birthmarked face. Rugs coated the floor, and tapestries overlapped one another on the walls.
The men I am forced to work with … Hrathen thought with an inward grimace. Iadon had at least been businesslike.
“Ah, Hrathen,” Telrii said, smiling. “Welcome.”
“Your Majesty,” Hrathen said, masking his disgust. “I was hoping we could speak in private.”
Telrii sighed. “Very well.” He waved his hand, dismissing the attendants. They left, pulling the outer doors closed.
“Now,” Telrii said, “why have you come? Are you interested in the tariffs on your merchants setting up for the Arelene Market?”
Hrathen frowned. “I have more important matters to consider, Your Majesty. As do you. I have come to collect on the promises of our alliance.”
“Promises, Hrathen?” Telrii asked idly. “I made no promises.”
And so the game began. “You are to join the Derethi religion,” Hrathen said. “That was the deal.”
“I made no such deal, Hrathen,” Telrii said. “You offered me funds; I accepted them. You have my gratitude for the support, as I said that you would.”
“I will not squabble with you, merchant,” Hrathen said, wondering how much money Telrii would demand to “remember” their agreement. “I am no sycophant to be baited. If you do not do as Jaddeth expects, then I will find someone else. Do not forget what happened to your predecessor.”
Telrii snorted. “Don’t take credit for something you had no hand in, priest. Iadon’s fall was, as I recall, caused by the Teo princess. You were in Elantris at the time. Now, if Fjorden wishes a Derethi on the throne of Arelon, that can probably be arranged. There will be, however, a price.”
Finally, Hrathen thought. He clenched his jaw, feigning anger, and waited a moment. Then he sighed. “Very well. How much—”
“However,” Telrii interrupted, “it is not a price you can pay.”
Hrathen froze. “Excuse me?”
“Yes,” Telrii said. “My price must be paid by someone with a little more … authority than yourself. You see, I’ve learned that Derethi priests cannot appoint men to their own position in the church hierarchy.”
Hrathen felt a chill grow within him as he connected the pieces of Telrii’s statements. “You can’t possibly be serious,” he whispered.
“I know more than you assume, Hrathen,” Telrii said. “You think me a fool, ignorant of the ways of the East? Kings bow to gyorns. What power will I hold if I let you make me into nothing more than a Derethi slave? No, that will not do for me. I don’t plan to bow anytime one of your priests comes to visit. I will convert to your religion, but I will do so only with the promise of an ecclesiastic rank to match my civil one. Not just King Telrii, but Gyorn Telrii.”
Hrathen shook his head in wonder. How easily this man claimed that he was not “ignorant” of the ways of the East, yet even Fjordell children knew enough doctrine to laugh at such a ridiculous suggestion. “My lord Telrii,” he said with amusement. “You have no idea—”
“I said, Hrathen,” Telrii interrupted, “that there is nothing you can do for me. I have sought to deal with a higher power.”
Hrathen’s apprehension returned. “What are you saying?”
“Wyrn.” Telrii smiled widely. “I sent him a messenger several days ago, informing him of my demand. You are no longer necessary, Hrathen. You may withdraw.”
Hrathen stood, stunned. The man had sent a letter to Wyrn himself … Telrii had made demands of the Regent of All Creation? “You are a foolish, foolish man,” Hrathen whispered, finally realizing the severity of his problems. When Wyrn received that message …
“Go!” Telrii repeated, pointing toward the door.
Dazed, Hrathen did as commanded.