EONDEL and Shuden both insisted on going with her. Eondel kept one hand on his sword—he usually wore the weapon no matter what Arelene propriety said about them—and he watched both their guide and their complement of Elantris City Guards with equal amounts of suspicion. To their credit, the guards did a fair job of looking nonchalant, as if coming into Elantris were an everyday occurrence. Sarene could sense their anxiety, however.
Everyone had objected at first. It was unthinkable that she let herself be lured into the bowels of Elantris to meet with despots. Sarene, however, was determined to prove that the city was harmless. She couldn’t very well balk at a short trip inside if she wanted to persuade the other nobles to enter the gates.
“We’re nearly there,” the guide said. He was a taller man, about the same height as Sarene in heels. The grey parts of his skin were a little lighter than those on the other Elantrians she had seen, though she didn’t know if that meant he had been pale-skinned before, or if he had simply been in Elantris a shorter time than the rest. He had an oval face that might have been handsome before the Shaod destroyed it. He wasn’t a servant; he walked with too proud a gait. Sarene guessed that even though he was acting as a simple messenger, he was one of the trusted minions of an Elantris gang leader.
“What is your name?” she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. He belonged to one of three groups who, according to Ashe’s sources, ruled the city like warlords and enslaved those who were newly cast inside.
The man didn’t respond immediately. “They call me Spirit,” he eventually said.
A fitting name, Sarene thought, for this man who is so much a ghost of what he once must have been.
They approached a large building that the man, Spirit, informed her used to be Elantris’s university. Sarene regarded the building with a critical eye. It was covered in the same odd, brownish green sludge that coated the rest of the city, and while the structure might have once been great, now it was just another ruin. Sarene hesitated as their guide walked into the building. In Sarene’s estimation, the upper floor was seriously considering a collapse.
She shot Eondel a look. The older man was apprehensive, rubbing his chin in thought. Then he shrugged, giving Sarene a nod. We’ve come this far.… he seemed to be saying.
So, trying not to think about the sagging ceiling, Sarene led her band of friends and soldiers into the structure. Fortunately they didn’t have to go far. A group of Elantrians stood near the back of the first room, their dark-skinned faces barely visible in the dim light. Two stood on what appeared to be the rubble of a fallen table, raising their heads a few feet above the others.
“Aanden?” Sarene asked.
“And Karata,” replied the second form—apparently a woman, though her bald head and wrinkled face were nearly indistinguishable from those of a man. “What do you want of us?”
“I was led to believe you two were enemies,” Sarene said suspiciously.
“We recently realized the benefits of an alliance,” Aanden said. He was a short man with cautious eyes, his small face shriveled like that of a rodent. His pompous, self-important attitude was about what Sarene had expected.
“And the man known as Shaor?” Sarene asked.
Karata smiled. “One of the aforementioned benefits.”
“Dead?”
Aanden nodded. “We rule Elantris now, Princess. What do you want?”
Sarene didn’t answer immediately. She had been planning to play the three different gang leaders against each other. She would have to present herself differently to a unified enemy. “I want to bribe you,” she said straightforwardly.
The woman raised an eyebrow with interest, but the small man huffed. “What need have we of your bribes, woman?”
Sarene had played this game far too often; Aanden used the uninterested front of a man unaccustomed to serious politics. She had met men like him dozens of times while serving in her father’s diplomatic corps—and she was very tired of them.
“Look,” Sarene said, “let’s be frank—you’re obviously not very good at this, and so extended negotiations would be a waste of time. I want to bring food to the people of Elantris, and you’re going to resist me because you think it will weaken your hold on them. Right now you’re probably trying to figure out how to control who benefits from my offerings and who doesn’t.”
The man squirmed uncomfortably, and Sarene smiled. “That is why I am going to bribe you. What will it take for you to let the people come and get food freely?”
Aanden balked, obviously uncertain how to proceed. The woman, however, spoke firmly. “You have a scribe to write down our demands?”
“I do,” Sarene said, gesturing for Shuden to pull out his paper and charcoal pencil.
The list was extensive—even larger than Sarene had expected—and it included many odd items. She had assumed they would request weapons, perhaps even gold. Karata’s demands, however, began with cloth, moved through various grains, some worked-metal sheets, lengths of wood, straw, and ended with oil. The message was clear: Rule of Elantris depended not on force or wealth, but on controlling basic necessities.
Sarene agreed to the demands curtly. If she had been dealing with Aanden only, she would have argued for less, but this Karata was a straightforward, unwavering woman—the type who didn’t have much patience for haggling.
“Is that everything?” Sarene asked as Shuden scribbled down the final request.
“That will do for the first few days,” Karata said.
Sarene narrowed her eyes. “Fine. But I have one rule you have to follow. You can’t forbid anyone from coming to the courtyard. Rule as despots if you wish, but at least let the people suffer with full stomachs.”
“You have my word,” Karata said. “I will keep no one back.”
Sarene nodded, motioning that the meeting was finished. Karata assigned a guide to lead them back to the gate—not Spirit, this time. He stayed behind, approaching the city’s two tyrants as Sarene left the building.
* * *
“WAS THAT GOOD enough, my lord?” Mareshe asked eagerly.
“Mareshe, that was perfect,” Raoden replied, watching the retreating princess with satisfaction.
Mareshe smiled modestly. “Well, my lord, I do my best. I haven’t much experience with acting, but I do think I played a properly decisive and intimidating leader.”
Raoden caught Karata’s eye. The gruff woman was trying very hard not to laugh. The pompous artisan had been perfect—neither decisive nor intimidating. People outside Elantris saw the city as a lawless realm lorded over by harsh, thieving despots. Together Mareshe and Karata had portrayed exactly what the princess and her companions had expected to see.
“She suspected something, sule,” Galladon noted, walking out of the shadows at the side of the room.
“Yes, but she doesn’t know what,” Raoden said. “Let her suspect that ‘Aanden’ and Karata are playing tricks on her; it will do no harm.”
Galladon shook his head, his bald scalp shining in the dim light. “What’s the point? Why not bring her to the chapel; let her see what we really are?”
“I’d like to, Galladon,” Raoden said. “But we can’t afford to let out our secret. The people of Arelon tolerate Elantris because the Elantrians are so pitiful. If they discover we’re establishing a civilized society, their fears will surface. A mass of moaning wretches is one thing, a legion of unkillable monstrosities is another.”
Karata nodded, saying nothing. Galladon, the eternal skeptic, simply shook his head—as if unsure what to think.
“Well, she certainly is determined. Kolo?” he finally asked, referring to Sarene.
“Determined indeed,” Raoden agreed. Then, amused, he continued, “And I don’t think she likes me very much.”
“She thinks you’re the lackey of a tyrant,” Karata pointed out. “Is she supposed to like you?”
“True,” Raoden said. “However, I think we should add a clause to our agreement that says I can attend all of her distributions. I want to keep an eye on our benevolent princess—she doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything without several motives, and I wonder just what made her decide to do her Trial here in Elantris.”
* * *
“THAT WENT WELL,” Eondel said, watching their guide disappear back into Elantris.
“You got away easily,” Shuden agreed. “The things they demanded can be obtained without much expenditure.”
Sarene nodded, rubbing her fingers along the cart’s wooden side. “I just hate to deal with people like that.”
“Perhaps you judge them too harshly,” Shuden said. “They seemed less like tyrants and more like people trying to make the best of a very difficult life.”
Sarene shook her head. “You should hear some of the stories Ashe told me, Shuden. The guards say that when new Elantrians are thrown into the city, the gangs descend on them like sharks. What few resources enter this city go to the gang leaders, and they keep the rest of the people in a state of near starvation.”
Shuden raised an eyebrow, looking over at the Elantris City Guards, the source of Sarene’s information. The group leaned lazily on their spears, watching with uninterested eyes as the noblemen began unloading the cart.
“All right,” Sarene admitted, climbing into the cart and handing Shuden a box of vegetables. “Perhaps they aren’t the most reliable source, but we have proof in front of us.” She swept her arm toward the emaciated forms that clustered in side streets. “Look at their hollow eyes and apprehensive steps. These are a people who live in fear, Shuden. I’ve seen it before in Fjorden, Hrovell, and a half-dozen other places. I know what an oppressed people looks like.”
“True,” Shuden admitted, accepting the box from Sarene, “but the ‘leaders’ didn’t look much better to me. Perhaps they aren’t oppressive, just equally oppressed.”
“Perhaps,” Sarene said.
“My lady,” Eondel protested as Sarene lifted another box and handed it to Shuden, “I wish you would step back and let us move those. It just isn’t proper.”
“I’ll be fine, Eondel,” Sarene said, handing him a box. “There’s a reason I didn’t bring any servants—I want us all to take part. That includes you, my lord,” Sarene added, nodding to Ahan, who had found a shaded spot near the gate to rest.
Ahan sighed, rising and waddling out into the sunlight. The day had turned remarkably hot for one so early in the spring, and the sun was blazing overhead—though even its heat hadn’t been able to dry out the omnipresent Elantris muck.
“I hope you appreciate my sacrifice, Sarene,” the overweight Ahan exclaimed. “This slime is absolutely ruining my cloak.”
“Serves you right,” Sarene said, handing the count a box of boiled potatoes. “I told you to wear something inexpensive.”
“I don’t have anything inexpensive, my dear,” Ahan said, accepting the box with a sullen look.
“You mean to tell me you actually paid money for that robe you wore to Neoden’s wedding?” Roial asked, approaching with a laugh. “I wasn’t even aware that shade of orange existed, Ahan.”
The count scowled, lugging his box to the front of the cart. Sarene didn’t hand Roial a box, nor did he move to receive one. It had been big news in the court a few days before when someone had noticed the duke walking with a limp. Rumors claimed he had fallen one morning while climbing out of bed. Roial’s spry attitude sometimes made it difficult to remember that he was, in fact, a very old man.
Sarene got into a rhythm, giving out boxes as hands appeared to take them—which was why she didn’t notice at first that a new figure had joined the others. Nearing the final few boxes, she happened to look up at the man accepting the load. She nearly dropped the box in shock as she recognized his face. “You!”
The Elantrian known as Spirit smiled, taking the box out of her stunned fingers. “I was wondering how long it would take you to realize I was here.”
“How long…”
“Oh, about ten minutes now,” he replied. “I arrived just after you began unloading.”
Spirit took the box away, stacking it with the others. Sarene stood in muted stupefaction on the back of the cart—she must have mistaken his dark hands for Shuden’s brown ones.
A throat cleared in front of her, and Sarene realized that Eondel was waiting for a box. She rushed to comply.
“Why is he here?” she wondered as she dropped the box into Eondel’s arms.
“He claims that his master ordered him to watch the distribution. Apparently Aanden trusts you about as much as you trust him.”
Sarene delivered the last two boxes, then hopped down from the back of the cart. She hit the ground at the wrong angle, however, and slipped in the muck. She tipped backward, waving her hands and yelping.
Fortunately, a pair of hands caught her and pulled her upright. “Be careful,” Spirit warned. “Walking in Elantris takes a little getting used to.”
Sarene pulled her arms out of his helpful grasp. “Thank you,” she muttered in a very unprincesslike voice.
Spirit raised an eyebrow, then moved to stand next to the Arelene lords. Sarene sighed, rubbing her elbow where Spirit had caught her. Something about his touch seemed oddly tender. She shook her head to dispel such imaginings. More important things demanded her attention. The Elantrians were not approaching.
There were more of them now, perhaps fifty, clustered hesitantly and birdlike in the shadows. Some were obviously children, but most were of the same indeterminable age; their wrinkled Elantrian skin made them all look as old as Roial. None approached the food.
“Why aren’t they coming?” Sarene asked, confused.
“They’re scared,” Spirit said. “And disbelieving. This much food must seem like an illusion—a devilish trick their minds have surely played on them hundreds of times.” He spoke softly, even compassionately. His words were not those of a despotic warlord.
Spirit reached down and selected a turnip from one of the carts. He held it lightly, staring at it as if he himself were unsure of its reality. There was a ravenousness in his eyes—the hunger of a man who hadn’t seen a good meal in weeks. Startled, Sarene realized that this man was as famished as the rest of them, despite his favored rank. And he had patiently helped unload dozens of boxes filled with food.
Spirit finally lifted the turnip and took a bite. The vegetable crunched in his mouth, and Sarene could imagine how it must taste: raw and bitter. Yet reflected in his eyes it seemed a feast.
Spirit’s acceptance of the food seemed to give approval to the others, for the mass of people surged forward. The Elantris City Guards finally perked up, and they quickly surrounded Sarene and the others, their long spears held out threateningly.
“Leave a space, here before the boxes,” Sarene ordered.
The guards parted, allowing Elantrians to approach a few at a time. Sarene and the lords stood behind the boxes, distributing food to the weary supplicants. Even Ahan stopped griping as he got into the work, doling out food in solemn silence. Sarene saw him give a bag to what must have been a little girl, though her head was bald and her lips creased by wrinkles. The girl smiled with an incongruous innocence, then scampered away. Ahan paused for a moment before continuing his labor.
It’s working, Sarene thought, relieved. If she could touch Ahan, then she might be able to do the same for the rest of the court.
As she worked, Sarene noticed the man Spirit standing near the back of the crowd. His hand was raised thoughtfully to his chin as he studied her. He seemed … worried. But why? What had he to be worried about? It was then, staring into his eyes, that Sarene knew the truth. This was no lackey. He was the leader, and for some reason he felt he needed to hide that fact from her.
So, Sarene did what she always did when she learned that someone was keeping things from her. She tried to find out what they were.
* * *
“THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT him, Ashe,” Sarene said, standing outside the palace and watching the empty food cart pull away. It was hard to believe that for all the afternoon’s work, they had distributed only three meals. It would all be gone by noon tomorrow—if it wasn’t gone already.
“Who, my lady?” Ashe asked. He had watched the food distribution from the top of the wall, near where Iadon had been standing. He had wanted to accompany her of course, but she had forbidden it. The seon was her main source of information about Elantris and its leaders, and she didn’t want to make the connection between the two of them too obvious.
“The guide,” Sarene said as she turned and strolled through the broad tapestry-lined entryway of the king’s palace. Iadon liked tapestries far too much for her taste.
“The man called Spirit?”
Sarene nodded. “He pretended to be following the others’ orders, but he was no servant. Aanden kept shooting glances at him during our negotiations, as if looking for reassurance. Do you think perhaps we got the names of the leaders wrong?”
“It’s possible, my lady,” Ashe admitted. “However, the Elantrians I spoke with seemed very certain. Karata, Aanden, and Shaor were the names I heard at least a dozen times. No one mentioned a man named Spirit.”
“Have you spoken with these people recently?” Sarene asked.
“Of late I have been focusing my efforts on the guards,” Ashe said, bobbing to the side as a courier rushed past him. People had a tendency to ignore seons with a level of indifference that would have been offensive to any human attendant. Ashe took it all without complaint, not even breaking his dialogue.
“The Elantrians were hesitant to give anything more than names, my lady—the guards, however, were very free with their opinions. They have little to do all day besides watch the city. I put their observations together with the names I gathered, and produced what I told you.”
Sarene paused for a moment, leaning against a marble pillar. “He’s hiding something.”
“Oh dear,” Ashe mumbled. “My lady, don’t you think you might be overextending yourself? You’ve decided to confront the gyorn, liberate the court women from masculine oppression, save Arelon’s economy, and feed Elantris. Perhaps you should just let this man’s subterfuge go unexplored.”
“You’re right,” Sarene said, “I am too busy to deal with Spirit. That’s why you are going to find out what he’s up to.”
Ashe sighed.
“Go back to the city,” Sarene said. “You shouldn’t have to go very far inside—a lot of Elantrians loiter near the gate. Ask them about Spirit and see if you can discover anything about the treaty between Karata and Aanden.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I wonder if maybe we misjudged Elantris,” Sarene said.
“I don’t know, my lady,” Ashe said. “It is a very barbarous place. I witnessed several atrocious acts myself, and saw the aftermath of many others. Everyone in that city bears wounds of some sort—and from the sounds of their moans, I would guess that many of the injuries are severe. Fighting must be common.”
Sarene nodded absently. However, she couldn’t help thinking of Spirit, and how strikingly unbarbaric he had been. He’d put the lords at ease, conversing with them affably, as if he weren’t damned and they the ones who had locked him away. She had found herself almost liking him by the end of the afternoon, though she worried that he was toying with her.
So she had remained indifferent, even cold, toward Spirit—reminding herself that many a murderer and tyrant could appear very friendly if he wanted to. Her heart, however, told her that this man was genuine. He was hiding things, as all men did, but he honestly wanted to help Elantris. For some reason, he seemed particularly concerned with Sarene’s opinion of him.
Walking out of the entryway toward her own rooms, Sarene had to try very hard before she convinced herself that she didn’t care what he thought of her.