Brandon Sanderson - Elantris

PROLOGUE
ELANTRIS was beautiful, once. It was called the city of the gods: a place of
power. radiance, and magic. Visitors say that the very stones glowed with an
inner light, and that the city contained wondrous arcane marvels. At night,
Elantris shone like a great silvery fire, visible even from a great distance.
Yet, as magnificent as Elantris was, its inhabitants were more so. Their hair
a brilliant white, their skin an almost metallic silver. the Elantrians seemed
to shine like the city itself. Legends claim that they were immortal, or at
least nearly so. Their bodies healed quickly, and they were blessed with great
strength, insight, and speed. They could perform magics with a bare wave of
the hand: men visited Elantris from all across Opelon to receive Elantrian
healings, food. or wisdom. They were divinities.
And anyone could become one.
The Shaod, it was called. The Transformation. It struck randomly—usually at
night, during the mysterious hours when life slowed to rest. The Shaod could
take beggar, craftsman, nobleman, or warrior. When it came, the fortunate
person's life ended and began anew; he would discard his old, mundane
existence, and move to Elantris. Elantris, where he could live in bliss, rule
in wisdom, and be worshipped for eternity.
Eternity ended ten years ago.

CHAPTER 1
PRINCE Raoden of Arelon awoke early that morning, completely unaware
 that he had been damned for all eternity. Still drowsy, Raoden sat up,
blinking in the soft morning light. Just outside his open balcony windows he
could see the enormous city of Elantris in the distance, its stark walls
casting a
deep shadow over the smaller city of Kae, where Raoden lived. Elantris's walls
were incredibly high, but Raoden could see the tops of black towers rising
behind them, their broken spires a clue to the fallen majesty hidden within.
The abandoned city seemed darker than usual. Raoden stared at it for a moment,
then glanced away. The huge Elantrian walls were impossible to ignore, but
people of Kae tried very hard to do just that. It was painful to remember the
city's beauty, to wonder how ten years ago the blessing of the Shaod had
become a curse instead....
Raoden shook his head, climbing out of bed. It was unusually warm for such an
early hour; he didn't feel even a bit chilly as he threw on his robe, then
pulled the servant's cord beside his bed, indicating that he wanted breakfast.
That was another odd thing. He was hungry—very hungry. Almost ravenous. He had
never liked large breakfasts, but this morning he found himself waiting
impatiently for his meal to arrive. Finally, he decided to send someone to see
what was taking so long.
Ien?" he called in the unlit chambers.
There was no response. Raoden frowned slightly at the Seon's absence. Where
could Ien be?
Raoden stood, and as he did, his eyes fell on Elantris again. Resting in the
great city's shadow, Kae seemed like an insignificant village by comparison.
Elantris. An enormous, ebony block—not really a city anymore, just the corpse
of one. Raoden shivered slightly.
A knock came at his door.
"Finally." Raoden said, walking over to pull open the door. Old Elao stood
outside with a tray of fruit and warm bread.
The tray dropped to the ground with a crash, slipping from the stunned maid's
fingers even as Raoden reached out to accept it. Raoden froze, the tray's
metallic ring echoing through the silent morning hallway.

"Merciful Domi!" Elao whispered, her eyes horrified and her hand trembling as
she reached up to grab the Korathi pendant at her neck.
Raoden reached out, but the maid took a quivering step away. stumbling on a
small melon in her haste to escape.
"What?" Raoden asked. Then he saw his hand. What had been hidden in the
shadows of his darkened room was now illuminated by the hallway's flickering
lantern.
Raoden turned, throwing furniture out of his way as he stumbled to the taIl
mirror at the side of his chambers. The dawn's light had grown just strong
enough for him to see the reflection that stared back at him. A stranger's
reflection.
His blue eyes were the same, though they were wide with terror. His hair,
however, had changed from sandy brown to limp gray. The skin was the worst.
The mirrored face was covered with sickly black patches, like dark bruises.
The splotches could mean only one thing.
The Shaod had come upon him.
THE Elantris city gate boomed shut behind him with a shocking sound of
finality. Raoden slumped against it, thoughts numbed by the day's events.
It was as if his memories belonged to another person. His father, King Iadon,
hadn't met Raoden's gaze as he ordered the priests to prepare his son and
throw him into Elantris. It had been done swiftly and quietly: Iadon couldn't
afford to let it be known that the crown prince was an Elantrian. Ten years
ago, the Shaod would have made Raoden a god. Now, instead of making people
into silver-skinned deities. it changed them into sickly monstrosities.
Raoden shook his head in disbelief. The Shaod was a thing that happened to
other people—distant people. People who deserved to be cursed. Not the crown
prince of Arelon. Not Raoden.
The city of Elantris stretched out before him. Its high walls were lined with
guardhouses and soldiers—men intended not to keep enemies out of the city, but
to keep its inhabitants from escaping. Since the Reod, every person taken by
the Shaod had been thrown into Elantris to rot: the fallen city had become an
expansive tomb for those whose bodies had forgotten how to die.
Raoden could remember standing on those walls, looking down on Elantris's
dread inhabitants, just as the guards now looked down on him. The city had
seemed far away then, even though he had been standing just outside of it. He
had wondered. philosophically, what it wouId be like to walk those blackened
streets.
Now he was going to find out.
Raoden pushed against the gate for a moment. as if to force his body through,
to cleanse his flesh of its taint. He lowered his head, releasing a quiet
moan. He felt like curling into a ball on the grimy stones and waiting until
he woke from this

dream. Except. he knew he would never awaken. The priests said that this
nightmare would never end.
But, somewhere, something within urged him forward. He knew he had to keep
moving—for if he stopped, he feared he'd simply give up. The Shaod had taken
his body. He couldn't let it take his mind as well.
So, using his pride like a shield against despair, dejection, and-most
important—self-pity, Raoden raised his head to stare damnation in the eyes.
BEFORE, when Raoden had stood on the walls of Elantris to look down—both
literally and figuratively-on its inhabitants, he had seen the filth that
covered the city. Now he stood in it.
Every surface—from the walls of the buildings to the numerous cracks in the
cobblestones—was coated with a patina of grime. The slick, oily substance had
an equalizing effect on Elantris's colors, blending them all into a single,
depressing hue—a color that mixed the pessimism of black with the polluted
greens and browns of sewage.
Before, Raoden had been able to see a few of the city's inhabitants. Now he
could hear them as well. A dozen or so Elantrians lay scattered across the
courtyard's fetid cobblestones. Many sat uncaringly, or unknowingly, in pools
of dark water, the remains of the night's rainstorm. And they were moaning.
Most of them were quiet about it, mumbling to themselves or whimpering with
some unseen pain. One woman at the far end of the courtyard, however, screamed
with a sound of raw anguish. She fell silent after a moment, her breath or her
strength giving out.
Most of them wore what looked like rags—dark, loose-fitting garments that were
as soiled as the streets. Looking closely, however, Raoden recognized the
clothing. He glanced down at his own white burial cloths. They were long and
flowing, like ribbons sewn together into a loose robe. The linen on his arms
and legs was already stained with grime from brushing up against the city gate
and stone pillars. Raoden suspected they would soon be indistinguishable from
the other Elantrians' garb.
This is what I will become, Raoden thought. It has already begun. In a few
weeks I will be nothing more than a dejected body, a corpse whimpering in the
corner.
A slight motion on the other side of the courtyard brought Raoden out of his
self-pity. Some Elantrians were crouching in a shadowed doorway across from
him. He couldn't make out much from their silhouetted forms. but they seemed
to be waiting for something. He could feel their eyes on him.
Raoden raised an arm to shade his eyes. and only then did he remember the
small thatch basket in his hands. It held the ritual Korathi sacrifice sent
with the dead into the next life—or, in this case. into Elantris. The basket
contained a loaf

of bread, a few thin vegetables, a handful of grain, and a small flask of
wine. Normal death sacrifices were far more extensive, but even a victim of
the Shaod had to be given something.
Raoden glanced back at the figures in the doorway, his mind flashing to rumors
he'd heard on the outside—stories of Elantrian brutality. The shadowed figures
had yet to move, but their study of him was unnerving.
Taking a deep breath, Raoden took a step to the side, moving along the city
wall toward the east side of the courtyard. The forms still seemed to be
watching him, but they didn't follow. In a moment, he could no longer see
through the doorway, and a second later he had safely passed into one of the
side streets.
Raoden released his breath, feeling that he had escaped something, though he
didn't know what. After a few moments, he was certain that no one followed,
and he began to feel foolish for his alarm. So far, he had yet to see anything
that corroborated the rumors about Elantris. Raoden shook his head and
continued moving.
The stench was almost overwhelming. The omnipresent sludge had a musty, rotten
scent, like that of dying fungus. Raoden was so bothered by the smell that he
nearly stepped directly on the gnarled form of an old man huddled next to a
building's wall. The man moaned piteously, reaching up with a thin arm. Raoden
looked down, and felt a sudden chill. The "old man' was no more than sixteen
years old. The creature's soot-covered skin was dark and spotted, but his face
was that of a child, not a man. Raoden took an involuntary step backward.
The boy, as if realizing that his chance would soon pass, stretched his arm
forward with the sudden strength of desperation. "Food?" he mumbled through a
mouth only half full of teeth. "Please?"
Then the arm fell. its endurance expended, and the body slumped back against
the cold stone wall. His eyes, however, continued to watch Raoden. Sorrowful,
pained eyes. Raoden had seen beggars before in the Outer Cities, and he had
probably been fooled by charlatans a number of times. This boy, however, was
not faking.
Raoden reached up and pulled the loaf of bread from his sacrificial offerings,
then handed it to the boy. The look of disbelief that ran across the boy's
face was somehow more disturbing than the despair it had replaced. This
creature had given up hope long ago; he probably begged out of habit rather
than expectation.
Raoden left the boy behind, turning to continue down the small street. He had
hoped that the city would grow less gruesome as he left the main
courtyard—thinking, perhaps, that the dirt was a result of the area's
relatively frequent use. He had been wrong; the alley was covered with just as
much filth as the courtyard, if not more.
A muffled thump sounded from behind. Raoden turned with surprise. A group of
dark forms stood near the mouth of the side street, huddled around an

object on the ground. The beggar. Raoden watched with a shiver as five men
devoured his loaf of bread. fighting among themselves and ignoring the boy's
despairing cries. Eventually, one of the newcomers—obviously annoyed—brought a
makeshift club down on the boy's head with a crunch that resounded through the
small alley.
The men finished the bread. then turned to regard Raoden. He took an
apprehensive step backward; it appeared that he had been hasty in assuming he
hadn't been followed. The five men slowly stalked forward, and Raoden spun.
taking off at a run.
Sounds of pursuit came from behind. Raoden scrambled away in fear—something
that, as a prince, he had never needed to do before. He ran madly. expecting
his breath to run short and a pain to stab him in the side, as usually
happened when he overextended himself. Neither occurred. Instead, he simply
began to feel horribly tired, weak to the point that he knew he would soon
collapse. It was a harrowing feeling, as if his life were slowly seeping away.
Desperate, Raoden tossed the sacrificial basket over his head. The awkward
motion threw him off balance, and an unseen schism in the cobblestones sent
him into a maladroit skip that didn't end until he collided with a rotting
mass of wood. The wood-which might once have been a pile of crates—squished,
breaking his fall.
Raoden sat up quickly, the motion tossing shreds of wood pulp across the damp
alleyway. His assailants, however, were no longer concerned with him. The five
men crouched in the street's muck. picking scattered vegetables and grain off
the cobblestones and out of the dark pools. Raoden felt his stomach churn as
one of the men slid his finger down a crack. scraped up a dark handful that
was more sludge than corn. then rammed the entire mass between eager lips.
Brackish spittle dribbled down the man's chin, dropping from a mouth that
resembled a mud-filled pot boiling on the stove.
One man saw Raoden watching. The creature growled, reaching down to grab the
almost-forgotten cudgel at his side. Raoden searched frantically for a weapon,
finding a length of wood that was slightly less rotten than the rest. He held
the weapon in uncertain hands. trying to project an air of danger.
The thug paused. A second later, a cry of joy from behind drew his attention:
one of the others had located the tiny skin of wine. The struggle that ensued
apparently drove all thoughts of Raoden From the men's minds, and the five
were soon gone—four chasing after the one who had been fortunate, or foolish,
enough to escape with the precious liquor.
Raoden sat in the debris, overwhelmed. This is what you will become. . . .
"Looks like they forgot about you, sule," a voice observed.
Raoden jumped, looking toward the sound of the voice. A man, his smooth bald
head reflecting the morning light, reclined lazily on a set of steps a short

distance away. He was definitely an Elantrian, but before the transformation
he must have been of a different race—not from Arelon, like Raoden. The man's
skin bore the telltale black splotches of the Shaod, but the unaffected
patches weren't pale, they were a deep brown instead.
Raoden tensed against possible danger, but this man showed no signs of the
primal wildness or the decrepit weakness Raoden had seen in the others. Tall
and firm-framed, the man had wide hands and keen eyes set in a dark-skinned
face. He studied Raoden with a thoughtful attitude.
Raoden breathed a sigh of relief. "Whoever you are. I'm glad to see you. I was
beginning to think everyone in here was either dying or insane."
"We can't be dying," the man responded with a snort. "We're already dead.
Kolo?"
"Kolo." The foreign word was vaguely familiar, as was the man's strong accent.
"You're not from Arelon?"
The man shook his head. "I'm Galladon, from the sovereign realm of Duladel.
I'm most recently from Elantris, land of sludge, insanity, and eternal
perdition. Nice to meet you."
"Duladel?" Raoden said. "But the Shaod only affects people from Arelon." He
picked himself up, brushing away pieces of wood in various stages of
decomposition, grimacing at the pain in his stubbed toe. He was covered with
slime, and the raw stench of Elantris now rose from him as well.
"Duladel is of mixed blood, sule. Arelish, Fjordell, Teoish—you'll find them
all. I-"
Raoden cursed quietly, interrupting the man.
Galladon raised an eyebrow. "What is it, stile? Get a splinter in the wrong
place? There aren't many right places for that, I suppose.'
"It's my toe!" Raoden said, limping across the slippery cobblestones. "There's
something wrong with it—I stubbed it when I fell, but the pain isn't going
away."
Galladon shook his head ruefully. "Welcome to Elantris. sule. You're dead—your
body won't repair itself like it should."
"What?" Raoden flopped to the ground next to Galladon's steps. His toe
continued to hurt with a pain as sharp as the moment he stubbed it.
"Every pain, sule," Galladon whispered. "Every cut, every nick. every bruise,
and every ache—they will stay with you until you go mad from the suffering. As
I said, welcome to Elantris."
"How do you stand it?" Raoden asked, massaging his toe. an action that didn't
help. It was such a silly little injury, but he had to fight to keep the
pained tears from his eyes.
"We don't. We're either very careful, or we end up like those rulos you saw in
the courtyard."
"In the courtyard.... [dos Domi!" Raoden pulled himself to his feet and

hobbled toward the courtyard. He found the beggar boy in the same location,
near the mouth of the alley. He was still alive ... in a way.
The boy's eyes stared blankly into the air, the pupils quivering. His lips
worked silently, no sound escaping. The boy's neck had been completely
crushed, and there was a massive gash in its side, exposing the vertebrae and
throat. The boy tried without success to breathe through the mess.
Suddenly Raoden's toe didn't seem so bad. "Idos Domi ." Raoden whispered,
turning his head as his stomach lurched. He reached out and grabbed the side
of a buiIding to steady himself. his head bowed, as he tried to keep from
adding to the sludge on the cobblestones.
"There isn't much left for this one," Galladon said with a matter-of-fact
tone. crouching down next to the beggar.
"How ?" Raoden began, then stopped as his stomach threatened him again. He sat
down in the slime with a plop and. after a few deep breaths, continued. "How
long will he live like that?"
"You still don't understand, sule." Galladon said, his accented voice
sorrowful. "He isn't alive—none of us are. That's why we're here. Kolo? The
boy will stay like this forever. That is, after all, the typical length of
eternal damnation."
"Is there nothing we can do?"
Galladon shrugged. "We could try burning him, assuming we could make a fire.
Elantrian bodies seem to burn better than those of regular people, and some
think that's a fitting death for our kind."
"And ..." Raoden said, still unable to look at the boy. "And if we do that,
what happens to him—his soul?"
"He doesn't have a soul," Galladon said. "Or so the priests tell us. Korathi,
Derethi, Jesker—they all say the same thing. We're damned."
"That doesn't answer my question. Will the pain stop if he is burned?"
Galladon looked down at the boy. Eventually, he just shrugged. "Some say that
if you burn us, or cut off our head, or do anything that completely destroys
the body. we'll just stop existing. Others, they say the pain goes on-that we
become pain. They think we'd float thoughtlessly, unable to feel anything but
agony. I don't like either option. so I just try to keep myself in one piece.
Kolo?"
"Yes," Raoden whispered. "I kolo." He turned, finally getting the courage to
look back at the wounded boy. The enormous gash stared back at him. Blood
seeped slowly from the wound—as if the liquid were just sitting in the veins,
like stagnant water in a pool.
With a sudden chill Raoden reached up and felt his chest. "I don't have a
heartbeat," he realized for the first time.
Galladon looked at Raoden as if he had made an utterly idiotic statement.
"Stile, you're dead. Kolo?"

THEY didn't burn the boy. Not only did they lack the proper implements to make
fire, but Galladon forbade it. "We can't make a decision like that. What if he
reaIly has no soul? What if he stopped existing when we burned his body? To
many, an existence of agony is better than no existence at all."
So, they left the boy where he had fallen—Galladon doing so without a second
thought, Raoden following because he couldn't think of anything else to do,
though he felt the pain of guilt more sharply than even the pain in his toe.
Galladon obviously didn't care whether Raoden followed him, went in another
direction, or stood staring at an interesting spot of grime on the wall. The
large, dark-skinned man walked back the way they had come, passing the
occasional moaning body in a gutter, his back turned toward Raoden with a
posture of complete indifference.
Watching the Dula go, Raoden tried to gather his thoughts. He had been trained
for a life in politics; years of preparation had conditioned him to make quick
decisions. He made one just then. He decided to trust Galladon.
There was something innately likable about the Dula. something Raoden found
indefinably appealing, even if it was covered by a grime of pessimism as thick
as the slime on the ground. It was more than Galladon's lucidity, more than
just his leisurely attitude. Raoden had seen the man's eyes when he regarded
the suffering child. Galladon claimed to accept the inevitable, but he felt
sad that he had to do so.
The Dula found his former perch on the steps and settled back down. Taking a
determined breath, Raoden walked over and stood expectantly in front of the
man.
Galladon glanced up. "What?"
"I need your help, Galladon," Raoden said, squatting on the ground in front of
the steps.
Galladon snorted. "This is Elantris, sule. There's no such thing as help.
Pain, insanity, and a whole lot of slime are the only things you'll find
here." "You almost sound like you believe that."
"You are asking in the wrong place, sule."
"You're the only noncomatose person I've met in here who hasn't attacked me,"
Raoden said. "Your actions speak much more convincingly than your words."
"Perhaps I simply haven't tried to hurt you because I know you don't have
anything to take."
"I don't believe that."
Galladon shrugged an "I don't care what you believe" shrug and turned away,
leaning back against the side of the building and closing his eyes.
"Are you hungry, Galladon?" Raoden asked quietly.
The man's eyes snapped open.
"I used to wonder when King Iadon fed the Elantrians," Raoden mused. "I

never heard of any supplies entering the city, but I always assumed that they
were sent. After all, I thought, the Elantrians stay alive. I never
understood. If the people of this city can exist without heartbeats, then they
can probably exist without food. Of course, that doesn't mean the hunger goes
away. I was ravenous when I awoke this morning, and I still am. From the looks
in the eyes of those men who attacked me, I'd guess the hunger only gets
worse."
Raoden reached under his grime-stained sacrificial robe, pulling out a thin
object and holding it up for Galladon to see. A piece of dried meat.
Galladon's eyes opened all the way, his face changing from bored to
interested. There was a glint in his eyes—a bit of the same wildness that
Raoden had seen in the savage men earlier. It was more controlled, but it was
there. For the first time, Raoden realized just how much he was gambling on
his first impression of the Dula.
"Where did that come from?" Galladon asked slowly.
"It fell out of my basket when the priests were leading me here, so I stuffed
it under my sash. Do you want it or not?"
Galladon didn't answer for a moment. "What makes you think I won't simply
attack you and take it?" The words were not hypothetical: Raoden could tell
that a part of Galladon was actually considering such an action. How large a
part was still indeterminable.
"You called me 'sule,' Galladon. How could you kill one you've dubbed a
friend?"
Galladon sat, transfixed by the tiny piece of meat. A thin drop of spittle ran
unnoticed from the side of his mouth. He looked up at Raoden, who was growing
increasingly anxious. When their eyes met, something sparked in Galladon, and
the tension snapped. The Dula suddenly bellowed a deep, resounding laugh. "You
speak Duladen, sule?"
"Only a few words." Raoden said modestly.
"An educated man? Rich offerings for Elantris today! All right, you conniving
rulo, what do you want?"
"Thirty days," Raoden said. "For thirty days you will show me around and tell
me what you know."
"Thirty days? Sule, you're kayana."
"The way I see it," Raoden said. moving to tuck the meat back in his sash,
"the only food that ever enters this place arrives with the newcomers. One
must get pretty hungry with so few offerings and so many mouths to feed. One
would think the hunger would be almost maddening."
"Twenty days," Galladon said, a hint of his former intensity showing again.
"Thirty, Galladon. If you won't help me, someone else will."
Galladon ground his teeth for a moment. "Rulo," he muttered. then held out his
hand. "Thirty days. Fortunately, I wasn't planning any extended trips during
the next month."

Raoden tossed him the meat with a laugh.
Galladon snatched the meat. Then. though his hand jerked reflexively toward
his mouth, he stopped. With a careful motion he tucked the meat into a pocket
and stood up. "So. what should I call you?"
Raoden paused. Probably best if people don't know I'm royalty, for now. "
works just fine for me."
Galladon chuckled. "The private type, I see. Well, let's go then. It's time
for you to get the grand tour."
CHAPTER 2
SARENE stepped off of the ship to discover that she was a widow. It was
shocking news, of course, but not as devastating as it could have been. After
all, she had never met her husband. In fact, when Sarene had left her
homeland, she and Raoden had only been engaged. She had assumed that the
kingdom of Arelon would wait to hold the wedding until she actually arrived.
Where she came from, at least. it was expected that both partners would be
present when they were married.
"I never liked that clause in the wedding contract. my lady." said Sarene's
companion—a melon-sized ball of light hovering at her side.
Sarene tapped her foot in annoyance as she watched the packmen load her
luggage onto a carriage. The wedding contract had been a fifty-page beast of a
document, and one of its many stipulations made her betrothal legally binding
if either she or her fiancé died before the actual wedding ceremony.
"It's a fairly common clause, Ashe," she said. "That way, the treaty of a
politieal marriage isn't voided if something happens to one of the
participants. I've never seen it invoked."
"Until today," the ball of light replied, its voice deep and its words well
enunciated.
"Until today," Sarene admitted. "How was I to know Prince Raoden wouldn't last
the five days it took us to cross the Sea of Fjorden?" She paused, frowning in

thought. -Quote the clause to me, Ashe. I need to know exactly what it says.'
" 'If it happens that one member of the aforementioned couple is called home
to Merciful Domi before the prearranged wedding time." Ashe said, "'then the
engagement will be considered equivalent to marriage in all legal and social
re- spects. "
"Not much room for argument, is there?"
"Afraid not, my lady."
Sarene frowned distractedly, foIding her arms and tapping her cheek with her
index finger, watching the packmen. A tall, gaunt man directed the work with
bored eyes and a resigned expression. The man, an Arelish court attendant
named Ketol, was the only reception King Iadon had seen fit to send her. Ketol
had been the one to "regretfully inform her" that her fiance had "died of an
unexpected disease" during her journey. He had made the declaration with the
same dull, uninterested tone that he used to command the packmen.
"So," Sarene clarified. "as far as the law is concerned, I'm now a princess of
Arelon."
"That is correct, my lady."
"And the widowed bride of a man I never met."
"Again, correct."
Sarene shook her head. "Father is going to laugh himself sick when he hears
about this. I'll never live it down."
Ashe pulsed slightly in annoyance. "My lady, the king would never take such a
solemn event with levity. The death of Prince Raoden has undoubtedly brought
great grief to the sovereign family of Arelon."
"Yes. So much grief, in fact, that they couldn't even spare the effort it
would take to come meet their new daughter."
"Perhaps King Iadon would have come himself if he'd had more warning of

our arrival....,
Sarene frowned, but the Seon had a point. Her early arrival, several days
ahead of the main wedding party, had been intended as a prewedding surprise
for Prince Raoden. She'd wanted a few days, at least, to spend time with him
privately and in person. Her secrecy, however, had worked against her.
"Tell me, Ashe," she said. "How long do Arelish people customarily wait
between a person's death and their burial?"
"I'm not sure, my lady," Ashe confessed. "I left Arelon long ago, and I lived
here for such a short time that I can't remember many specifics. However, my
studies tell me that Arelish customs are generally similar to those of your
homeland."
Sarene nodded, then waved over King Iadon's attendant.
"Yes, my lady?" Ketol asked in a lazy tone.
"Is a funeral wake being held for the prince?" Sarene asked.

"Yes, my lady," the attendant replied. "Outside the Korathi chapel. The burial
will happen this evening."
"I want to go see the casket."
Ketol paused. "Uh ... His Majesry asked that you be brought to him
immediately... .
"Then I won't spend long at the funeral tent," Sarene said, walking toward her
carriage.
SARENE surveyed the busy funeral tent with a critical eye, waiting as Ketol
and a few of the packmen cleared a way for her to approach the casket. She had
to admit, everything was irreproachable—the flowers, the offerings, the
praying Korathi priests. The only oddity about the event was how crowded the
tent was.
"There certainly are a lot of people here," she noted to Ashe.
"The prince was very well liked, my lady," the Seon replied, floating beside
her. "According to our reports, he was the most popular public figure in the
country."
Sarene nodded, walking down the passageway Ketol had made for her. Prince
Raoden's casket sat at the very center of the tent, guarded by a ring of
soldiers who let the masses approach only so far. As she walked, she sensed
true grief in the faces of those in attendance.
So it is true, she thought. The people did love him.
The soldiers made way for her, and she approached the casket. It was carved
with Aons—most of them symbols of hope and peace—after the Korathi way. The
entire wooden casket was surrounded by a ring of lavish foods—an offering made
on behalf of the deceased.
"Can I see him?" she asked, turning toward one of the Korathi priests—a small,
kindly-looking man.
"I'm sorry, child," the priest said. "But the prince's disease was
unpleasantly disfiguring. The king has asked that the prince be allowed
dignity in death."
Sarene nodded, turning back to the casket. She wasn't sure what she had
expected to feel, standing before the dead man she would have married. She was
oddly ... angry.
She pushed that emotion away for the moment, instead turning to look around
the tent. It almost seemed too formal. Though the visiting people were
obviously grieved, the tent, the offerings, and the decorations seemed
sterile.
A man of Raoden's age and supposed vigor, she thought. Dead of the coughing
shivers. It could happen—but it certainly doesn't seem likely.
"My ... lady?" Ashe said quietly. "Is something wrong?"
Sarene waved to the Seon and walked back toward their carriage. "I don't
know," she said quietly. "Something just doesn't feel right here, Ashe."

"You have a suspicious nature, my lady,' Ashe pointed out.
"Why isn't Iadon having a vigil for his son? Ketol said he was holding court.
as if his own son's death didn't even bother him." Sarene shook her head. 'I
spoke with Raoden just before I left Teod, and he seemed fine. Something is
wrong, Ashe. and I want to know what it is."
`Oh, dear . . Ashe said. "You know, my lady, your father did ask me to try and
keep you out of trouble."
Sarene smiled. "Now, there's an impossible task. Come on, we need to go meet
my new father."
SARENE leaned against the carriage window, watching the city pass as she rode
toward the palace. She sat in silence for the moment, a single thought
crowding everything else out of her mind.
What am I doing here?
Her words to Ashe had been confident, but she had always been good at hiding
her worries. True, she was curious about the prince's death, but Sarene knew
herself very well. A large part of that curiosity was an attempt to take her
mind off of her feelings of inferiority and awkwardness-anything to keep from
acknowledging what she was: a lanky, brusque woman who was almost past her
prime. She was twenty-five years old; she should have been married years ago.
Raoden had been her last chance.
How dare you die on me, prince of Arelon! Sarene thought indignantly. Yet, the
irony did not escape her. It was fitting that this man, one she had thought
she might actually grow to like, would die before she even got to meet him.
Now she was alone in an unfamiliar country, politically bound to a king she
did not trust. It was a daunting, lonely feeling.
You've been lonely before, Sarene, she reminded herself. You'll get through
it. Just find something to occupy your mind. You have an entire new court to
explore. Enjoy it.
With a sigh, Sarene turned her attention back to the city. Despite
considerable experience serving in her father's diplomatic corps, she had
never visited Arelon. Ever since the fall of Elantris, Arelon had been
unofficially quarantined by most other kingdoms. No one knew why the mystical
city had been cursed, and everyone worried that the Elantrian disease might
spread.
Sarene was surprised, however, by the lushness she saw in Kae. The city
thoroughfares were wide and well maintained. The people on the street were
well dressed, and she didn't see a single beggar. To one side, a group of
blue-robed Korathi priests walked quietly through the crowd, leading an odd,
white-robed person. She watched the procession, wondering what it could be,
until the group disappeared around a corner.
From her vantage, Kae reflected none of the economic hardship Arelon was

supposed to be suffering. The carriage passed dozens of fenced-in mansions,
each one built in a different style of architecture. Some were expansive, with
large wings and pointed roofs, following Duladen construction. Others were
more like castles, their stone walls looking as if they had been directly
transported from the militaristic countryside of Fjorden. The mansions all
shared one thing. however: wealth. The people of this country might be
starving, but Kae-seat of Arelon's aristocracy-didn't appear to have noticed.
Of course. one disturbing shadow still hung over the city. The enormous wall
of Elantris rose in the distance, and Sarene shivered as she glanced at its
stark. imposing stones. She had heard stories about Elantris for most of her
adult life, tales of the magics it had once produced and the monstrosities
that now inhabited its dark streets. No matter how gaudy the houses, no matter
how wealthy the streets, this one monument stood as a testament that all was
not well in Arelon.
"Why do they even live here. I wonder?" Sarene asked.
"My lady?" Ashe asked.
"Why did King Iadon build his palace in Kae? Why choose a city that is so
close to Elantris?"
"I suspect the reasons are primarily economic, my lady." Ashe said. "There are
only a couple of viable ports on the northern Arelish coast, and this is the
finest."
Sarene nodded. The bay formed by the merging of the Aredel River with the
ocean made for an enviable harbor. But even still ...
"Perhaps the reasons are political." Sarene mused. "Iadon took power during
turbulent times-maybe he thinks that remaining close to the old capital will
lend him authority."
"Perhaps. my lady," Ashe said.
It's not like it really matters that much, she thought. Apparently. proximity
to Elantris—or Elantrians—didn't actually increase one's chances of being
taken by the Shaod.
She turned away from the window. looking over at Ashe. who hovered above the
seat beside her. She had yet to see a Seon in the streets of Kae, though the
creatures—said to be the ancient creations of Elantris magic-were supposed to
be even more common in Arelon than in her homeland. If she squinted, she could
barely make out the glowing Aon at the center of Ashe's light.
"At least the treaty is safe," Sarene finally said.
"Assuming you remain in Arelon, my lady," Ashe said in his deep voice. "At
least, that is what the wedding contract says. As long as you stay here, and
'remain faithful to your husband,' King Iadon must honor his alliance with
Teod."
"Remain faithful to a dead man," Sarene mumbled with a sigh. "Well, that means
I have to stay. husband or no husband."
"If you say so, my lady."
"We need this treaty, Ashe," Sarene said. "Fjorden is expanding its influence
at

an incredible rate. Five years ago I would have said we didn't need to worry,
that Fjorden's priests would never be a power in Arelon. But now . . ." Sarene
shook her head. The collapse of the DuIaden Republic had changed so much.
"We shouldn't have kept ourselves so removed from Arelon these last ten years,
Ashe." she said. "I probably wouldn't be in this predicament if we had forged
strong ties with the new Arelish government ten years ago."
"Your father was afraid their political turmoil would infect Teod," Ashe said.
'Not to mention the Reod—no one was certain that whatever struck the
Elantrians wouIdn't affect normal people as well."
The carriage slowed, and Sarene sighed, letting the topic drop. Her father
knew that Fjorden was a danger. and he understood that old allegiances needed
to be reforged: that was why she was in Arelon. Ahead of them, the palace
gates swung open. Friendless or not, she had arrived, and Teod was depending
on her. She had to prepare Arelon for the war that was coming—a war that had
become inevitable the moment Elantris fell.
SARENE'S new father. King Iadon of Arelon, was a thin man with a shrewd face.
He was conferring with several of his administrators when Sarene entered the
throne room, and she stood unnoticed for nearly fifteen minutes before he even
nodded to her. Personally, she didn't mind the wait—it gave her a chance to
observe the man she was now sworn to obey—but her dignity couldn't help being
a little offended by the treatment. Her station as a princess of Teod alone
should have earned her a reception that was, if not grand, at least punctual.
As she waited, one thing struck her immediately. Iadon did not look like a man
mourning the passing of his son and heir. There was no sign of grief in his
eyes, none of the haggard fatigue that generally accompanied the passing of a
loved one. In fact, the air of the court itself seemed remarkably free of
mourning signs.
Is Iadon a heartless man, then? Sarene wondered curiously. Or is he simply one
who knows how to control his emotions?
Years spent in her father's court had taught Sarene to be a connoisseur of
noble character. Though she couldn't hear what Iadon was saying—she had been
told to stay near the back of the room and wait for permission to approach—the
king's actions and mannerisms gave her an idea of his character. Iadon spoke
firmly, giving direct instruction, occasionally pausing to stab his table map
with a thin finger. He was a man with a strong personality, she decided—one
with a definite idea of how he wanted things done. It wasn't a bad sign.
Tentatively, Sarene decided that this was a man with whom she might be able to
work.
She was to revise that opinion shortly.
King Iadon waved her over. She carefully hid her annoyance at the wait, and

approached him with the proper air of noble submission. He interrupted her
halfway through her curtsy.
"No one told me you would be so tall," he declared.
"My lord?" she said, looking up.
"Well, I guess the only one who would have cared about that isn't around to
see it. Eshen!" he snapped, causing an almost unseen woman near the far side
of the room to jump in compliance.
"Take this one to her rooms and see that she has plenty of things to keep her
occupied. Embroidery or whatever else it is that entertains you women." With
that, the king turned to his next appointment-a group of merchants.
Sarene stood in midcurtsy, stunned at Iadon's complete lack of courtesy. Only
years of courtly training kept her jaw from dropping. Quick but unassertive,
the woman Iadon had ordered-Queen Eshen, the king's wife—scuttled over and
took Sarene's arm. Eshen was short and slight of frame, her brownish blond
Aonic hair only beginning to streak with gray.
"Come, child," Eshen said in a high-pitched voice. "We mustn't waste the
king's time."
Sarene allowed herself to be pulled through one of the room's side doors.
"Merciful Domi," she muttered to herself. "What have I gotten myself into?"
... AN D you'll love it when the roses come in. I have the gardeners plant
them so you can smell them without even leaning out the window. I wish they
weren't so big. though."
Sarene frowned in confusion. "The roses?"
"No, dear," the queen continued, barely pausing. "the windows. You can't
believe how bright the sun is when it shines through them in the morning. I
asked them—the gardeners, that is-to find me some orange ones, because I so
adore orange, but so far all they found were some ghastly yellow ones. 'If I
wanted yellow,' I said to them, 'I would have had you plant aberteens.' You
should have seen them apologize-I'm sure we'll have some orange ones by the
end of next year. Don't you think that would be lovely. dear? Of course, the
windows will still be too big. Maybe I can have a couple of them bricked off."
Sarene nodded, fascinated-not by the conversation, but by the queen. Sarene
had assumed that the lecturers at her father's academy had been skilled at
saying nothing with lots of words, but Eshen put them all to shame. The queen
flitted from one topic to the next like a butterfly looking for a place to
land, but never finding one suitable enough for an extended stay. Any one of
the topics would have been potential fuel for an interesting conversation, but
the queen never let Sarene grab hold of one long enough to do it justice.
Sarene took a calming breath, telling herself to be patient. She couldn't
blame

the queen for being the way she was; Domi taught that aIl people's
personalities were gifts to be enjoyed. The queen was charming, in her own
meandering way. Unfortunately, after meeting both king and queen, Sarene was
beginning to suspect that she would have trouble finding political allies in
Arelon.
Something else bothered Sarene—something odd about the way Eshen acted. No one
could possibly talk as much as the queen did; she never Iet a silent moment
pass. It was almost like the woman was uncomfortable around Sarene. Then, in a
moment of realization, Sarene understood what it was. Eshen spoke on every
imaginable topic except for the one most important: the departed prince.
Sarene narrowed her eyes with suspicion. She couldn't be certain—Eshen was,
after all, a very flighty person—but it seemed that the queen was acting far
too cheerful for a woman who had just lost her son.
"Here is your room, dear. We unpacked your things, and added some as well. You
have clothing in every color, even yellow, though I can't imagine why you
would want to wear it. Horrid color. Not that your hair is horrid, of course.
Blond isn't the same as yellow, no. No more than a horse is a vegetable. We
don't have a horse for you yet, but you are welcome to use any in the king's
stables. We have lots of fine animals, you see, Duladel is beautiful this time
of year."
"Of course," Sarene said, looking over the room. It was small, but suited her
tastes. Too much space could be as daunting as too little could be cramped.
"Now, you'll be needing these, dear, Eshen said, pointing a small hand at a
pile of clothing that wasn't hanging like the rest—as if it had been delivered
more recently. All of the dresses in the pile shared a singIe attribute.
"Black?" Sarene asked.
"Of course. You're ... you're in . . ." Eshen fumbled with the words.
"I'm in mourning," Sarene realized. She tapped her foot with
dissatisfaction—black was not one of her favorite colors.
Eshen nodded. "You can wear one of those to the funeral this evening. It
should be a nice service—I did the arrangements." She began talking about her
favorite flowers again, and the monologue soon degenerated into a discourse on
how much she hated Fjordell cooking. Gently but firmly, Sarene led the woman
to the door, nodding pleasantly. As soon as they reached the hallway. Sarene
pled fatigue from her travels, and plugged the queen's verbal torrent by
closing the door.
"That's going to get old very quickly," Sarene said to herself.
"The queen does have a robust gift for conversation, my lady." a deep voice
agreed.
"What did you find out?" Sarene asked, walking over to pick through the pile
of dark clothing as Ashe floated in through the open window.
"I didn't find as many Seons as I had expected. I seem to recall that this
city was once overflowing with us."

"I noticed that too." Sarene said, holding up a dress in front of the mirror.
then discarding it with a shake of her head. "1 guess things are different
now."
"They are indeed. As per your instructions, I asked the other Seons what they
knew of the prince's untimely death. Unfortunately. my lady, they were
hesitant to discuss the event—they consider it extremely ill omened for the
prince to die so soon before he was to be married."
"Especially for him," Sarene mumbled, pulling off her clothing to try on the
dress. "Ashe, something strange is going on. I think maybe someone killed the
prince.
"Killed, my lady?" Ashe's deep voice was disapproving, and he pulsed slightly
at the comment. "Who would do such a thing?"
"I don't know, but ... something feels odd. This doesn't seem like a court
that is in mourning. Take the queen, for instance. She didn't appear
distraught when she spoke to me—you'd think she would be at least a little
bothered by the fact that her son died yesterday."
"There is a simple explanation for that, my lady. Queen Eshen is not Prince
Raoden's mother. Raoden was born of Iadon's first wife, who died over twelve
years ago."
"When did he remarry?"
"Right after the Reod," Ashe said, "Just a few months after he took the
throne."
Sarene frowned. "I'm still suspicious." she decided, reaching around awkwardly
to button the back of her dress. Then she regarded herself in the mirror,
looking at the dress critically. "Well, at least it fits—even if it does make
me look pale. I was half afraid it would cut off at my knees. These Arelish
women are all so unnaturally short."
"If you say so, my lady," Ashe replied. He knew as well as she did that
Arelish women weren't that short; even in Teod, Sarene had been a head taller
than most of the other women. Her father had called her Leky Stick as a
child-borrowing the name of the tall thin post that marked the goal line in
his favorite sport. Even after filling out during adolescence, Sarene was
still undeniably lanky.
"My lady," Ashe said, interrupting her contemplations.
"Yes, Ashe?"
"Your father is desperate to talk to you. I think you have some news he
deserves to hear."
Sarene nodded, holding in a sigh. and Ashe began to pulse brightly. A moment
later the ball of light that formed his essence melted into a bustlike glowing
head. King Eventeo of Teod.
" 'Ene?" her father asked, the glowing head's lips moving. He was a robust
man. with a large oval face and a thick chin.
"Yes, Father. I'm here." Her father would be standing beside a similar

Seon—probably Dio—who would have changed to resemble a glowing approximation
of Sarene's head.
"Are you nervous for the wedding?" Eventeo asked anxiously.
"Well, about that wedding ..." she said slowly. "You'll probably want to
cancel your plans to come next week. There won't be much for you to see."
"What?"
Ashe had been right—her father didn't laugh when he heard that Raoden was
dead. Instead, his voice turned to one of sharp concern, the glowing face
worried. His worry increased when Sarene explained how the death was as
binding as an actual wedding.
"Oh, 'Ene, I'm sorry," her father said. "I know how much you were expecting
from this marriage."
"Nonsense, Father." Eventeo knew her far too well. "I hadn't even met the
man-how could I have had any expectations?"
"You hadn't met him, but you had spoken with him through Seon, and you had
written all those letters. I know you, 'Ene—you're a romantic. You would never
have decided to go through with this if you hadn't thoroughly convinced
yourself that you could love Raoden."
The words rang true, and suddenly Sarene's loneliness returned. She had spent
the trip across the Sea of Fjorden in a state of disbelieving nervousness,
both excited and apprehensive at the prospect of meeting the man who was to
become her husband. More excited. however, than apprehensive.
She had been away from Teod many times, but she had always gone with others
from her homeland. This time she had come by herself, traveling ahead of the
rest of the wedding party to surprise Raoden. She had read and reread the
prince's letters so many times that she had begun to feel that she knew him.
and the person she'd constructed from those sheets of paper was a complex,
compassionate man whom she had been very anxious to meet.
And now she never would. She felt more than alone, she felt rejected—again.
Unwanted. She had waited all these years. suffered by a patient father who
didn't know how the men of her homeland avoided her, how they were frightened
by her forward, even arrogant, personality. Finally, she had found a man who
was willing to have her, and Domi had snatched him away at the last moment.
Sarene finally began to let herself feel some of the emotions she had been
keeping in a tight noose since stepping off the ship. She was glad the Seon
transferred only her features, for she would have been mortified if her father
had seen the tear rolling down her cheek.
"That's silly, Father," she said. "This was a simple political marriage, and
we alI knew it. Now our countries have more in common than just language—our
royal lines are related."
"Oh, honey ..." her father whispered. "My little Sarene. I had so hoped this

would work out-you don't know how your mother and I prayed that you would find
happiness there. Idos Domi! We shouldn't have gone through with this."
"I would have made you, Father." Sarene said. "We need the treaty with Arelon
far too badly. Our armada won't keep Fjorden off our shores for much
longer—the entire Svordish navy is under Wyrn's command."
"Little Sarene, all grown up now," her father said through the Seon link.
"All grown up and fully capable of marrying herself off to a corpse." Sarene
laughed weakly. "It's probably for the best. I don't think Prince Raoden would
have turned out as I had imagined—you should meet his father."
"I've heard stories. I hoped they weren't true."
"Oh, they are," Sarene said, letting her dissatisfaction with the Arelish
monarch burn away her sorrow. "King Iadon has to be just about the most
disagreeable man I have ever met. He barely even acknowledged me before
sending me off to, as he put it. 'go knit, and whatever else you women do.' If
Raoden was anything like his father. then I'm better off this way."
There was a momentary pause before her father responded. "Sarene, do you want
to come home? I can void the contract if I want, no matter what the laws say."
The offer was tempting—more tempting than she would ever admit. She paused.
"No, Father," she finally said with an unconscious shake of her head. "I have
to stay. This was my idea, and Raoden's death doesn't change the fact that we
need this alliance. Besides, returning home would break tradition—we both know
that Iadon is my father now. It would be unseemly for you to take me back into
your household."
"I will always be your father, 'Ene. Domi curse the customs—Teod will always
be open for you."
'Thank you. Father," Sarene said quietly. "I needed to hear that. But I still
think I should stay. For now, at least. Besides, it could be interesting. I
have an entirely new court full of people to play with."
"'Ene ." her father said apprehensively. "I know that tone. What are you
planning?"
"Nothing," she said. "There's just a few things I want to poke my nose into
before I give up completely on this marriage."
There was a pause. and then her father chuckled. "Domi protect them-they don't
know what we've shipped over there. Go easy on them, Leky Stick. I don't want
to get a note from Minister Naolen in a month telling me that King Iadon has
run off to join a Korathi monastery and the Arelish people have named you
monarch instead."
"All right," Sarene said with a wan smile. "I'll wait at least two months
then."
Her father burst into another round of his characteristic laughter—a sound
that did her more good than any of his consolations or counsels. "Wait for a

minute, 'Ene," he said after his laughter subsided. "Let me get your
mother—she'll want to speak with you." Then, after a moment, he chuckled,
continuing, "She's going to faint dead away when I teII her you've already
killed off poor Raoden."
"Father!" Sarene said—but he was already gone.
CHAPTER 3
ONE of Arelon's people greeted their savior when he arrived. It was an
affront, of course, but not an unexpected one. The people of Arelone------
especially those living near the infamous city of Elantris—were known for
their godless, even heretical, ways. Hrathen had come to change that. He had
three months to convert the entire kingdom of Arelon; otherwise Holy
Jaddeth—lord of all creation-would destroy it. The time had finally come for
Arelon to accept the truths of the Derethi religion.
Hrathen strode down the gangplank. Beyond the docks, with their continuous
bustle of loading and unloading, stretched the city of Kae. A short distance
beyond Kae, Hrathen could see a towering stone wall-the old city of Elantris.
On the other side of Kae. to Hrathen's left, the land sloped steeply, rising
to a tall hill—a foothill of what would become the Dathreki Mountains. Behind
him was the ocean.
Overall, Hrathen was not impressed. In ages past, four small cities had
surrounded Elantris, but only Kae-the new capital of Arelon-was still
inhabited. Kae was too unorganized, too spread out, to be defensible, and its
only fortification appeared to be a small, five-foot-high wall of stones—more
a border than anything else.
Retreat into Elantris would be difficult, and only marginally effective. Kae's
buildings would provide wonderful cover for an invading force, and a few of
Kae's more peripheral structures looked like they were built almost against
Elantris's wall. This was not a nation accustomed to war. Yet, of all the
kingdoms on the Syclan continent-the land named Opelon by the Arelish
people-only Arelon itself had avoided domination by the Fjordell Empire. Of
course, that too was something Hrathen would soon change.

Hrathen marched away from the ship, his presence causing quite a stir among
the people. Workers halted their labors as he passed. staring at him with
impressed amazement. Conversations died when eyes Fell upon him. Hrathen
didn't slow for anyone, but that didn't matter, for people moved quickly from
his path. It could have been his eyes, but more likely it was his armor.
Bloodred and glittering in the sunlight, the plate armor of a Derethi imperial
high priest was an imposing sight even when one was accustomed to it.
He was beginning to think he would have to find his own way to the city's
Derethi chapel when he made out a spot of red weaving its way through the
crowd. The speck soon resolved into a stumpy. balding figure clad in red
Derethi robes. "My lord Hrathen!" the man called.
Hrathen stopped. allowing Fjon—Kae's Derethi head arteth—to approach. Fjon
puffed and wiped his brow with a silken handkerchief. "I'm terribly sorry,
Your Grace. The register had you scheduled to come in on a different ship. I
didn't find out you weren't on board until they were halfway done unloading.
I'm afraid I had to leave the carriage behind; I couldn't get it through the
crowd."
Hrathen narrowed his eyes with displeasure, but he said nothing. Fjon
continued to blather for a moment before finally deciding to lead Hrathen to
the Derethi chapel, apologizing again for the lack of transportation. Hrathen
followed his pudgy guide with a measured stride, dissatisfied. Fjon trotted
along with a smile on his lips, occasionally waving to passers on the streets,
shouting pleasantries. The people responded in kind—at least, until they saw
Hrathen, his blood cloak billowing behind him and his exaggerated armor cut
with sharp angles and harsh lines. Then they fell silent, greetings withering,
their eyes following Hrathen until he passed. Such was as it should be.
The chapel was a tall stone structure. complete with bright red tapestries and
towering spires. Here, at least, Hrathen found some of the majesty he was
accustomed to. Within, however, he was confronted by a disturbing sight-a
crowd of people involved in some kind of social activity. People milled
around, ignoring the holy structure in which they stood. laughing and joking.
It was too much. Hrathen had heard. and believed, the reports. Now he had
confirmation.
"Arteth Fjon, assemble your priests." Hrathen said—the first words he had
spoken since his arrival on Arelish soil.
The arteth jumped, as if surprised to finally hear sounds coming from his
distinguished guest. "Yes, my lord." he said, motioning for the gathering to
end.
It took a frustratingly long time, but Hrathen endured the process with a flat
expression. When the people had left, he approached the priests, his armored
feet clicking against the chapel's stone floor. When he finally spoke, his
words were directed at Fjon.
"Arteth." he said, using the man's Derethi title, "the ship that brought me
here will leave for Fjorden in one hour. You are to be on board."

Fjon's jaw dropped in alarm. "Wha—"
"Speak Fjordell. man!" Hrathen snapped. "Surely ten years amongst the Arelish
heathens hasn't corrupted you to the point that you have forgotten your native
tongue?"
"No, no, Your Grace," Fjon replied, switching from Aonic to Fjordell. "But I-"
"Enough," Hrathen interrupted again. "I have orders from Wyrn himself. You
have spent far too long in the Arelish culture—you have forgotten your holy
calling. and are unable to see to the progress of Jaddeth's empire. These
people don't need a friend: they need a priest. A Derethi priest. One would
think you were Korathi, watching you fraternize. We're not here to love the
people: we are here to help them. You will go."
Fjon slumped back against one of the room's pillars, his eyes widening and his
limbs losing their strength. "But who will be head arteth of the chapel in my
absence, my lord? The other arteths are so inexperienced."
"These are pivotal times, Arteth," Hrathen said. "I'll be remaining in Arelon
to personally direct the work here. May Jaddeth grant me success."
HE had hoped for an office with a better view, but the chapel. majestic as it
was, held no second floor. Fortunately, the grounds were well kept. and his
office—Fjon's old room—overlooked nicely trimmed hedges and carefully arranged
flower beds.
Now that he had cleared the walls of paintings—agrarian nature scenes, for the
most part-and thrown out Fjon's numerous personal effects, the chamber was
approaching a level of dignified orderliness appropriate for a Derethi gyorn.
All it needed was a few tapestries and maybe a shield or two.
Nodding to himself, Hrathen turned his attention back to the scroll on his
desk. His orders. He barely dared hold them in his profane hands. He read the
words over and over again in his mind. imprinting both their physical form and
their theological meaning on his soul.
"My lord ... Your Grace?" a quiet voice asked in Fjordell.
Hrathen looked up. Fjon entered the room, then crouched in a subservient
huddle on the floor, his forehead rubbing the ground. Hrathen allowed himself
to smile, knowing that the penitent arteth couldn't see his face. Perhaps
there was hope for Fjon yet.
"Speak." Hrathen said.
"I have done wrong, my lord. I have acted contrary to the plans of our lord
Jaddeth."
"Your sin was complacency, Arteth. Contentment has destroyed more nations than
any army, and it has claimed the souls of more men than even Elantris's
heresies."

"Yes. my lord."
"You still must leave, Arteth," Hrathen said.
The man's shoulders slumped slightly. "Is there no hope for me then. my lord?"
"That is Arelish foolishness speaking, Arteth, not Fjordell pride." Hrathen
reached down, grasping the man's shoulder. "Rise, my brother!" he commanded.
Fjon looked up, hope returning to his eyes.
"Your mind may have become tainted with Arelish thoughts. but your soul is
still Fjordell. You are of Jaddeth's chosen people-all of the Fjordell have a
place of service in His empire. Return to our homeland, join a monastery to
reacquaint yourself with those things you have forgotten, and you will be
given another way to serve the empire."
"Yes, my lord."
Hrathen's grip grew hard. "Understand this before you leave, Arteth. My
arrival is more of a blessing than you can possibly understand. All of
Jaddeth's workings are not open to you; do not think to second-guess our God."
He paused. debating his next move. After a moment he decided: This man still
had worth. Hrathen had a unique chance to reverse much of Arelon's perversion
of Fjon's soul in a single stroke. "Look there on the table, Arteth. Read that
scroll."
Fjon looked toward the desk, eyes finding the scroll resting thereon. Hrathen
released the man's shoulder, allowing him to walk around the desk and read.
"This is the official seal of Wyrn himself!" Fjon said. picking up the scroll.
"Not just the seal, Arteth." Hrathen said. "That is his signature as well. The
document you hold was penned by His Holiness himself. That isn't just a
letter—it is scripture."
Fjon's eyes opened wide. and his fingers began to quiver. "Wyrn himself?"
Then, realizing in full what he was holding in his unworthy hand, he dropped
the parchment to the desk with a quiet yelp. His eyes didn't turn away from
the letter, however. They were transfixed—reading the words as voraciously as
a starving man devoured a joint of beef. Few people actually had an
opportunity to read words written by the hand of Jaddeth's prophet and Holy
Emperor.
Hrathen gave the priest time to read the scroll, then reread it. and then read
it again. When Fjon finally looked up, there was understanding-and
gratitude—in his face. The man was intelligent enough. He knew what the orders
would have required of him, had he remained in charge of Kae.
"Thank you," Fjon mumbled.
Hrathen nodded graciously. "Could you have done it? Could you have followed
Wyrn's commands?"
Fjon shook his head, eyes darting back to the parchment. "No, Your Grace. I
could not have . I couldn't have functioned—couldn't have even thought—with
that on my conscience. I do not envy your place, my lord. Not anymore."

"Return to Fjorden with my blessing, brother," Hrathen said, taking a small
envelope from a bag on the table. 'Give this to the priests there. It is a
letter from me telling them you accepted your reassignment with the grace
befitting a servant of Jaddeth. They will see that you are assigned to a
monastery. Perhaps someday you will be allowed to Iead a chapeI again—one well
within Fjorden's borders."
"Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord."
Fjon withdrew, closing the door behind him. Hrathen walked to his desk and
slid another envelope-identical to the one he had given Fjon—from his letter
bag. He held it for a few moments, then turned it to one of the desk's
candles. The words it held—condemning Arteth Fjon as a traitor and an
apostate-would never be read, and the poor, pleasant arteth would never know
just how much danger he had been in.
"WITH your leave, my lord gyorn," said the bowing priest. a minor dorven who
had served under Fjon for over a decade. Hrathen waved his hand. bidding the
man to leave. The door shut silently as the priest backed from the room.
Fjon had done some serious damage to his underlings. Even a small weakness
would build enormous flaws over two decades' time. and Fjon's problems were
anything but small. The man had been lenient to the point of flagrancy. He had
run a chapel without order. bowing before Arelish culture rather than bringing
the people strength and discipline. Half of the priests serving in Kae were
hopelessly corrupted—including men as new to the city as six months. Within
the next few weeks, Hrathen would be sending a veritable fleet of priests back
to Fjorden. He'd have to pick a new head arteth from those who remained, few
though they would be.
A knock came at the door. "Come,' Hrathen said. He had been seeing the priests
one at a time, feeling our the extent of their contamination. So far. he had
not often been impressed.
"Arteth Dilaf," the priest said, introducing himself as he entered.
Hrathen looked up. The name and words were Fjordell. but the accent was
slightly off. It sounded almost ... "You're Arelish?" Hrathen said with
surprise.
The priest bowed with the proper amount of subservience; his eyes, however,
were defiant.
"How did you become a priest of Derethi?" Hrathen asked.
"I wanted to serve the empire,- the man replied, his voice quietly intense.
"Jaddeth provided a way."
No, Hrathen realized. It isn't defiance in this man's eyes—it's religious
fervor. One did not often find zealots in the Derethi religion: such people
were more often drawn to the frenzied lawlessness of the Jeskeri Mysteries
than to the militaristic organization of Shu-Dereth. This man's face, however,
burned with fanatical

Empire is eternal, my patience will soon end. Not much longer will I slumber
within a tomb of rock. The Day of Empire is at hand, and my glory will soon
shine forth, a second sun blazing forth from Fjorden.
The pagan nations of Arelon and Teod have been blackened scars upon my land
for long enough. Three hundred years have my priests served amongst those
tainted by Elantris, and few have harkened to their call. Know this, High
Priest: My faithful warriors are prepared and they wait only the word of my
Wyrn. You have three months to prophesy to the people of Arelon. At the end of
that time, the holy soldiers of Fjorden will descend on the nation like
hunting predators, rending and tearing the unworthy life from those who heed
not my words. Only three months will pass before the destruction of all who
oppose my Empire.
The time for my ascension nears, my son. Be stalwart, and be diligent.
Words of Jaddeth, Lord of all Creation, through his servant Wyrn Wulf-den the
Fourth, Emperor of Fjorden, Prophet of Shu-Dereth, Ruler of Jaddeth's Holy
Kingdom, and Regent of all Creation.
The time had finally come. Only two nations resisted. Fjorden had regained its
former glory, glory lost hundreds of years ago when the First Empire
collapsed. Once again, Arelon and Teod were the only two kingdoms who resisted
Fjordell rule. This time. with the might of Jaddeth's holy calling behind it.
Fjorden would prevail. Then, with all mankind united under Wyrn's rule,
Jaddeth could rise from His throne beneath the earth and reign in glorious
majesty.
And Hrarhen would be the one responsible for it. The conversion of Arelon and
Teod was his urgent duty. He had three months to change the religious
temperament of an entire culture: it was a monumental task, but it was viral
that he succeed. If he did not, Fjorden's armies would destroy every living
being in Arelon, and Teod would soon follow; the two nations, though separated
by water, were the same in race, religion, and obstinance.
The people might not yet know it, but Hrathen was the only thing standing
between them and utter annihilation. They had resisted Jaddeth and His people
in arrogant defiance for far too long. Hrathen was their last chance.
Someday they would call him their savior.

CHAPTER 4
THE woman screamed until she grew too tired. calling for help, for mercy. for
Domi. She clawed at the broad gate, her fingernails leaving marks in the film
of slime. Eventually, she slumped to the ground in a quiet heap, shaking from
occasional sobs. Seeing her agony reminded Raoden of his own pain—the sharp
twinge of his toe. the loss of his life outside.
"They won't wait much longer," Galladon whispered, his hand firmly on
Rao-den's arm, holding the prince back.
The woman finally stumbled to her feet, looking dazed, as if she had forgotten
where she was. She took a single, uncertain step to her left, her palm resting
on the wall. as if it were a comfort-a connection to the outside world, rather
than the barrier separating her from it.
"It's done," Galladon said.
"Just like that?" Raoden asked.
Galladon nodded. "She picked well—or, as well as one could. Watch."
Shadows stirred in an alleyway directly across the courtyard: Raoden and
Galladon watched from inside a ramshackle stone building, one of many that
lined Elantris's entry courtyard. The shadows resolved into a group of men,
and they approached the woman with determined, controlled steps, surrounding
her. One reached out and took her basket of offerings. The woman didn't have
the strength left to resist; she simply collapsed again. Raoden felt
Galladon's fingers dig into his shoulder as he involuntarily pulled forward,
wanting to dash our to confront the thieves.
"Not a good idea. Kolo?" Galladon whispered. "Save your courage for yourself.
If stubbing your toe nearly knocked you out. think how it would feel to have
one of those cudgels cracking across your brave little head."
Raoden nodded, relaxing. The woman had been robbed, but it didn't look like
she was in further danger. It hurt, however, to watch her. She wasn't a young
maiden; she bore the stout figure of a woman accustomed to childbirth and the
running of a household. A mother, not a damsel. The strong lines of the
woman's face bespoke hard-won wisdom and courage, and somehow that made
watching her more difficult. If such a woman could be defeated by Elantris,
what hope was there for Raoden?

"I told you she chose well," Galladon continued. "She might be a few pounds of
food lighter, but she doesn't have any wounds. Now, if she had turned
right—like you did. sule—she would have been at the dubious mercy of Shaor's
men. If she had gone forward. then Aanden would have had the right to her
offerings. The left turn is definitely best—Karata's men take your food, but
they rarely hurt you. Better to be hungry than spend the next few years with a
broken arm."
"Next few years?" Raoden asked, turning away from the courtyard to regard his
tall. dark-skinned companion. "I thought you said our wounds would last us an
eternity."
"We only assume they will, sule. Show me an Elantrian who has managed to keep
his wits until eternity ends, and maybe he'll be able to prove the theory."
"How long do people usually last in here?"
"A year, maybe two," Galladon said.
"What?"
"Thought we were immortal, did you? Just because we don't age, we'll last
forever?"
"I don't know." Raoden said. "I though you said we couldn't die."
"We can't," Galladon said. "But the cuts. the bruises. the stubbed toes ...
they pile up. One can only take so much."
"They kill themselves?" Raoden asked quietly.
"That's not an option. No, most of them lie around mumbling or screaming. Poor
rulos."
"How long have you been here, then?"
"A few months."
The realization was another shock to pile on the already teetering stack.
Rao-den had assumed that Galladon had been an Elantrian for at least a few
years. The Dula spoke of life in Elantris as if it had been his home for
decades, and he was impressively adept at navigating the enormous city.
Raoden looked back at the courtyard, but the woman had already gone. She could
have been a maid in his father's palace, a wealthy merchant's lady, or a
simple housewife. The Shaod respected no classes; it took from all equally.
She was gone now, having entered the gaping pit that was Elantris. He should
have been able to help her.
"All that for a single loaf of bread and a few flaccid vegetables." Raoden
muttered.
"It may not seem like much now, but just wait a few days. The only food that
enters this place comes clutched in the arms of its new arrivals. You wait,
sule. You will feel the desire as well. It takes a strong man to resist when
the hunger calls."
"You do it," Raoden said.
"Not very well-and I've only been here a few months. There's no telling what
the hunger will drive me to do a year from now."

Raoden snorted. "Just wait until my thirty days are done before you become a
primordial beast, if you please. I'd hate to feel that I hadn't got my beef's
worth
out of you."
Galladon paused for a moment, then laughed. "Does nothing frighten you, sule?"
"Actually, pretty much everything here does—I'm just good at ignoring the fact
that I'm terrified. If I ever realize how scared I am, you'll probably find me
trying to hide under those cobblestones over there. Now, tell me more about
these gangs."
Galladon shrugged, walking away from the broken door and pulling a chair away
from the wall. He turned a critical eye on its legs, then carefully settled
down. He moved just quickly enough to stand again as the legs cracked. He
tossed the chair away with disgust, and settled on the floor.
"There are three sections of Elantris, sule, and three gangs. The market
section is ruled by Shaor; you met a few members of his court yesterday.
though they were too busy licking the slime off your offerings to introduce
themselves. In the palace section you'll find Karata—she's the one who so very
politely relieved that woman of her food today. Last is Aanden. He spends most
of his time in the university section."
"A learned man?"
"No, an opportunist. He was the first one who realized that many of the
library's older texts were written on vellum. Yesterday's classics have become
tomorrow's lunch. Kolo?"
"Idos Domi!" Raoden swore. "That's atrocious! The old scrolls of Elantris are
supposed to hold countless original works. They're priceless!"
Galladon turned him a suffering eye. -Sule, do I need to repeat my speech
about hunger? What good is literature when your stomach hurts so much your
eyes water?"
"That's a terrible argument. Two-century-old lambskin scrolls can't possibly
taste very good."
Galladon shrugged. "Better than slime. Anyway, Aanden supposedly ran out of
scrolls a few months back. They tried boiling books, but that didn't work very
well."
"I'm surprised they haven't tried boiling one another."
"Oh, it's been tried," Galladon said. "Fortunately. something happens to us
during the Shaod-apparently the flesh of a dead man doesn't taste too good.
Kolo? In fact, it's so violently bitter that no one can keep it down."
"It's nice to see that cannibalism has been so logically ruled out as an
option," Raoden said dryly.
"I told you, sule. The hunger makes men do strange things."
"And that makes it all right?"

Wisely, GaIIadon didn't answer.
Raoden continued. "You taIk about hunger and pain as if they are forces which
can't be resisted. Anything is acceptable, as long as the hunger made you do
it—remove our comforts, and we become animals."
Galladon shook his head. "I'm sorry, sule, but that's just the way things
work."
"It doesn't have to be."
TEN years wasn't long enough. Even in Arelon's thick humidity, it should have
taken longer for the city to deteriorate so much. Elantris looked as if it had
been abandoned for centuries. Its wood was decaying. its plaster and bricks
were disintegrating—even stone buildings were beginning to crumble. And
coating everything was the omnipresent film of brown sludge.
Raoden was finally getting used to walking on the slippery, uneven
cobblestones. He tried to keep himself clean of the slime, but the task proved
impossible. Every wall he brushed and every ledge he grasped left its mark on
him.
The two men walked slowly down a broad street; the thoroughfare was far larger
than any of its kind back in Kae. Elantris had been built on a massive scale,
and while the size had seemed daunting from without, Raoden was only now
beginning to grasp just how enormous the city was. He and Galladon had been
walking for hours. and Galladon said they were still a moderate distance from
their destination.
The two did not rush, however. That was one of the first things Galladon had
taught: In Elantris, one took one's time. Everything the Dula did was
performed with an air of utter precision, his movements relaxed and careful.
The slightest scratch. no matter how negligible, added to an Elantrian's pain.
The more careful one was, the longer one would stay sane. So, Raoden followed,
trying to mimic Galladon's attentive gait. Every time Raoden began to feel
that the caution was excessive, all he had to do was look at one of the
numerous forms that lay huddled in gutters and on street corners, and his
determination would return.
The Hoed. Galladon called them: those Elantrians who had succumbed to the
pain. Their minds lost, their lives were filled with continual, unrelenting
torture. They rarely moved, though some had enough feral instinct to remain
crouched in the shadows. Most of them were quiet, though few were completely
silent. As he passed, Raoden could hear their mumbles, sobs, and whines. Most
seemed to be repeating words and phrases to themselves, a mantra to accompany
their suffering.
"Domi, Domi, Domi . ."
"So beautiful, once so very beautiful .. .
"Stop, stop, stop. Make it stop. . ."

Raoden forced himself to close his ears to the words. His chest was beginning
to constrict, as if he were suffering with the poor, faceless wretches. If he
paid too much attention. he would go mad long before the pain took him.
However, if he let his mind wander, it invariably turned to his outside life.
Would his friends continue their clandestine meetings? Would Kiin and Roial be
able to hold the group together? And what of his best friend. Lukel? Raoden
had barely gotten to know Lukel's new wife; now he would never get to see
their first child.
Even worse were the thoughts of his own marriage. He had never met the woman
he was to have married, though he had spoken to her via Seon on many
occasions. Was she really as witty and interesting as she had seemed? He would
never know. Iadon had probably covered up Raoden's transformation. pretending
that his son was dead. Sarene would never come to Arelon now: once she heard
the news, she would stay in Teod and seek another husband.
If only I had been able to meet her, if just once. But. such thoughts were
useless. He was an Elantrian now.
Instead. he focused on the city itself. It was difficult to believe that
Elantris had once been the most beautiful city in Opelon, probably in the
world. The slime was what he saw—the rot and the erosion. However, beneath the
filth were the remnants of Elantris's former greatness. A spire, the remains
of a delicately carved wall relief, grand chapels and vast mansions, pillars
and arches. Ten years ago this city had shone with its own mystical
brightness. a city of pure white and gold.
No one knew what had caused the Reod. There were those who theorized—most of
them Derethi priests-that the fall of Elantris had been caused by God. The
pre-Reod Elantrians had lived as gods, allowing other religions in Arelon, but
suffering them the same way a master lets his dog lick fallen food off the
floor. The beauty of Elantris, the powers its inhabitants wielded, had kept
the general population from converting to Shu-Keseg. Why seek an unseen deity
when you had gods living before you?
It had come with a tempest—that much even Raoden remembered. The earth itself
had shattered, an enormous chasm appearing in the south, all of Arelon
quaking. With the destruction, Elantris had lost its glory. The Elantrians had
changed from brilliant white-haired beings to creatures with splotchy skin and
bald scalps—like sufferers of some horrible disease in the advanced stages of
decay. Elantris had stopped glowing, instead growing dark.
And it had happened only ten years ago. Ten years was not enough. Stone should
not crumble after just a decade of neglect. The filth should not have piled up
so quickly—not with so few inhabitants, most of whom were incapacitated. It
was as if Elantris were intent on dying, a city committing suicide.

"THE market section of Elantris," Galladon said. "This place used to be one of
the most magnificent marketplaces in the world—merchants came from across
Opelon to sell their exotic goods to the Elantrians. A man could also come
here to buy the more luxurious Elantrian magics. They didn't give everything
away for free. Kolo?"
They stood atop a flat-roofed building; apparently, some Elantrians had
preferred flat roofs as opposed to peaks or domes, for the flat sections
allowed for rooftop gardens. Before them lay a section of city that looked
pretty much the same as the rest of Elantris—dark and falling apart. Raoden
could imagine that its streets had once been decorated with the colorful
canvas awnings of street vendors, but the only remains of such was the
occasional filth-covered rag.
"Can we get any closer?" Raoden asked. leaning over the ledge to look down on
the market section.
"You can if you want, stile," Galladon said speculatively. "But I'm staying
here. Shaor's men are fond of chasing people; it's probably one of the few
pleasures they have left."
"Tell me about Shaor himself, then."
Galladon shrugged. "In a place like this. many look for leaders—someone to
ward off a bit of the chaos. Like any society, those who are strongest often
end up in command. Shaor is one who finds pleasure in controlling others, and
for some reason the most wild and morally corrupt Elantrians find their way to
him."
"And he gets to take the offerings of one-third of the newcomers?" Raoden
asked.
"Well, Shaor himself rarely bothers with such things—but yes, his followers
get first call on one-third of the offerings."
"Why the compromise?" Raoden asked. "If Shaor's men are as uncontrollable you
imply, then what convinced them to hold to such an arbitrary agreement?"
"The other gangs are just as big as Shaor's. sule," Galladon explained. "On
the outside, people tend to be convinced of their own immortality. We are more
realistic. One rarely wins a battle without at least a few wounds, and here
even a couple of slight cuts can be more devastating. and more agonizing, than
a swift decapitation. Shaor's men are wild. but they are not complete idiots.
They won't fight unless they have incredible odds or a promising reward. You
think it was your physique that kept that man from attacking you yesterday?"
"I wasn't sure," Raoden admitted.
"Even the slightest hint that you might fight back is enough to scare these
men off, stile," Galladon said. "The pleasure of torturing you just isn't
worth the gamble that you might get in a lucky blow."
Raoden shivered at the thought. "Show me where the other gangs live."

'The university and the palace bordered one another. According to Galladon,
Karata and Aanden had a very uneasy truce. and guards were usually posted on
both sides to keep watch. Once again, Raoden's companion led him to a
flat-roofed building, an untrustworthy set of stairs leading to the top.
However, after climbing the stairs—and nearly falling when one of the steps
cracked beneath him—Raoden had to admit that the view was worth the effort.
Elantris's palace was large enough to be magnificent despite the inevitable
decay. Five domes topped five wings, each with a majestic spire. Only one of
the spires—the one in the middle-was still intact, but it rose high into the
air, by far the tallest structure Raoden had ever seen.
"That's said to be the exact center of Elantris," Galladon said, nodding to
the spire. "Once you could climb the steps winding around it and look out over
the entire city. Nowadays. I wouldn't trust it. Kolo?"
The university was large, bur less magnificent. It consisted of five or six
long, Hat buildings and a lot of open space—ground that had probably once held
grass or gardens, both things that would have been eaten to their roots long
ago by Elantris's starving inhabitants.
"Karata is both the harshest and most lenient of the gang leaders." Galladon
said, gazing down on the university. There was something odd in his eyes. as
if he were seeing things Raoden couldn't. His description continued in its
characteristic rambling tone, as if his mouth wasn't aware that his mind was
focused elsewhere.
"She doesn't often let new members into her gang, and she is extremely
territorial. Shaor's men might chase you for a while if you wander onto his
turf, but only if they feel like it. Karata suffers no intruders. However, if
you leave Karata alone, she leaves you alone, and she rarely harms newcomers
when she takes their food. You saw her earlier today—she always takes the food
personally. Maybe she doesn't trust her underlings enough to handle it."
"Perhaps." Raoden said. "What else do you know about her?"
"Not much-leaders of violent thieving gangs don't tend to be the type to spend
their afternoons chatting."
"Now who's taking things lightly?" Raoden said with a smile.
"You're a bad influence, sule. Dead people aren't supposed to be cheerful.
Anyway. the only thing I can tell you about Karata is that she doesn't like
being in Elantris very much."
Raoden frowned. "Who does?"
"We all hate it, sule, but few of us have the courage to try and escape.
Karata has been caught in Kae three times now-always in the vicinity of the
king's palace. One more time and the priests will have her burned."
"What does she want at the palace?"
"She hasn't been kind enough to explain it to me," Galladon replied. "Most
people think she intends to assassinate King Iadon."

"The king?" Raoden said. "What would that accomplish?"
"Revenge, discord, bloodlust. All very good reasons when you're already
damned. Kolo?"
Raoden frowned. Perhaps living with his father—who was absolutely paranoid
about the prospect of getting killed by an assassin-had desensitized him, but
murdering the king just didn't seem like a likely goal to him. "What about the
other gang leader?"
"Aanden?" Galladon asked. looking back over the city. "He claims he was some
kind of noble before he was thrown in here—a baron, I think. He's tried to
establish himself as monarch of Elantris, and he is incredibly annoyed that
Karata has control of the palace. He holds court. claims he will feed those
who join him-though all they've gotten so far are a few boiled books-and makes
plans for attacking Kae."
"What?" Raoden asked with surprise. "Attacking?"
"He isn't serious," Galladon said. "But he is good at propaganda. He claims to
have a plan to free Elantris. and it's gained him a large following. However,
he's also brutal. Karata only harms people who try to sneak into the
palace—Aanden is notorious for dispensing judgments at a whim. Personally.
sule, I don't think he's completely sane."
Raoden frowned. If this Aanden really had been a baron, then Raoden would have
known him. However, he didn't recognize the name. Either Aanden had lied about
his background, or he had chosen a new name after entering Elantris.
Raoden studied the area in between the university and the palace. A certain
object had caught his attention. Something so mundane he wouldn't have given
it a second look, had it not been the first of its kind he had seen in all of
Elantris.
"Is that a well?" he asked uncertainly.
Galladon nodded. "The only one in the city."
"How is that possible?"
"Indoor plumbing, sule, courtesy of AonDor magic. Wells weren't necessary."
"Then why build that one?"
"I think it was used in religious ceremonies. Several Elantrian worship
services required water that had been freshly gathered from a moving river."
"Then the Aredel river does run under the city," Raoden said.
"Of course. Where else would it go. Kolo?"
Raoden narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, but he didn't volunteer any
information. As he stood, watching the city, he noticed a small ball of light
floating through one of the streets below. The Seon meandered with an aimless
air, occasionally floating in circles. It was far too distant for him to make
out the Aon at its center.
Galladon noticed Raoden's scrutiny. "A Seon," the Dula noted. "Not uncommon in
the city."

"It's true, then?" Raoden asked.
Galladon nodded. "When a Seon's master gets taken by the Shaod, the Seon
itself is driven mad. There's a number of them floating through the city. They
don't talk, they just hover about, mindless."
Raoden glanced away. Since being thrown into Elantris, he'd avoided thinking
about his own Seon. Ien. Raoden had heard what happened to Seons when their
masters became Elantrians.
Galladon glanced up at the sky. "It will rain soon."
Raoden raised an eyebrow at the cloudless sky. "If you say so."
"Trust me. We should get inside, unless you want to spend the next few days in
damp clothing. Fires are hard to make in Elantris! the wood is all too wet or
too rotten to burn."
"Where should we go?"
Galladon shrugged. "Pick a house, sule. Chances are it won't be inhabited."
They had spent the previous night sleeping in an abandoned house—but now,
something occurred to Raoden. "Where do you live, Galladon?"
Duladel," Galladon immediately answered.
"I mean nowadays."
Galladon thought for a moment, eyeing Raoden uncertainly. Then, with a shrug,
he waved Raoden to follow him down the unstable stairs. "Come."
"BOOKS ! " Raoden said with excitement.
"Should never have brought you here," Galladon muttered. "Now I'll never get
rid of you."
Galladon had led Raoden into what had seemed to be a deserted wine cellar, but
had turned out to be something quite different indeed. The air was drier
here-even though it was below ground—and much cooler as well. As if to revoke
his earlier cautions about fire, Galladon had pulled a lantern from a hidden
alcove and lit it with a bit of flint and steel. What the light had revealed
was surprising indeed.
It looked like a learned man's study. There were Aons—the mystical ancient
characters behind the Aonic language-painted all over the walls, and there
were several shelves of books.
"How did you ever find this place?" Raoden asked eagerly.
"I stumbled upon it." Galladon said with a shrug.
"All these books," Raoden said, picking one up off its shelf. It was a bit
moldy, but still legible. "Maybe these could teach us the secret behind the
Aons, Galladon! Did you ever think of that?"
"The Aons?"
"The magic of Elantris," Raoden said. "They say that before the Reod.
Elantrians could create powerful magics just by drawing Aons."

"Oh, you mean like this?" the large dark-skinned man asked, raising his hand.
He traced a symbol in the air, Aon Deo, and his finger left a glowing white
line behind it.
Raoden's eyes opened wide, and the book dropped from his stunned fingers. The
Aons. Historically, only the Elantrians had been able to call upon the power
locked within them. That power was supposed to be gone: it was said to have
failed when Elantris fell.
Galladon smiled at him through the glowing symbol that hovered in the air
between them.
CHAPTER 5
M MERCIFUL Domi," Sarene asked with surprise, "where did he come from?" The
gyorn strode into the king's throne room with the arrogance characteristic of
his kind. He wore the shining bloodred armor of a Derethi high priest, an
extravagant crimson cloak billowing out behind him, though he bore no weapon.
It was a costume meant to impress—and, despite what Sarene thought of the
gyorns themselves, she had to admit that their clothing was effective. Of
course, it was mostly for show: even in Fjorden's martial society, few people
could walk as easily as this gyorn while wearing full plate armor. The metal
was probably so thin and light that it would be useless in battle.
The gyorn marched past her without a seeond glance, his eyes focused directly
on the king. He was young for a gyorn, probably in his forties, and his short,
well-styled black hair had only a trace of gray in it.
"You knew there was a Derethi presence in Elantris, my lady," Ashe said,
floating beside her as usual, one of only two Seons in the room. "Why should
you be surprised to see a Fjordell priest?"
"That is a full gyorn, Ashe. There are only twenty of them in the entire
Fjordell Empire. There may be some Derethi believers in Kae, but not enough to
warrant a visit from a high priest. Gyorns are extremely miserly with their
time."

Sarene watched the Fjordell man stride through the room. cutting through
groups of people like a bird tearing through a cloud of gnats. "Come on," she
whispered to Ashe, making her way through the peripheral crowd toward the
front of the room. She didn't want to miss what the gyorn said.
She needn't have worried. When the man spoke, his firm voice boomed through
the throne room. "King Iadon." he said, with only the slightest nod of his
head in place of a bow. "I, Gyorn Hrathen, bring you a message from Wyrn
Wulf-den the Fourth. He thinks that it is time our two nations shared more
than a common border." He spoke with the thick, melodic accent of a native
FjordeIl.
Iadon looked up from his ledgers with a barely masked scowI. "What more does
Wyrn want? We already have a trade treaty with Fjorden."
"His Holiness fears for the souls of your people. Your Majesty," Hrathen said.
"Well, then, let him convert them. I have always allowed your priests complete
freedom to preach in Arelon."
"The people respond too slowly, Your Majesty. They require a push-a sign, if
you will. Wyrn thinks it is time you yourself converted to Shu-Dereth."
This time Iadon didn't even bother masking the annoyance in his tone. "I
already believe in Shu-Korath. priest. We serve the same God."
"Derethi is the only true form of Shu-Keseg," Hrathen said darkly.
Iadon waved a dismissive hand. "I care nothing for the squabbles between the
two sects, priest. Go convert someone who doesn't believe-there are still
plenty of Arelenes who hold to the old religion."
"You should not dismiss the offering of Wyrn so casually," the gyorn warned.
'Honestly. priest, do we need to go through this? Your threats hold no
weight—Fjorden hasn't held any real influence for two centuries. Do you
seriously think to intimidate me with how powerful you used to be?"
Hrathen's eyes grew dangerous. "Fjorden is more powerful now than it ever was
before."
"Really?" Iadon asked. "Where is your vast empire? Where are your armies? How
many countries have you conquered in the last century? Maybe someday you
people will realize that your empire collapsed three hundred years ago."
Hrathen paused for a moment: then he repeated his introductory nod and spun
around, his cloak billowing dramatically as he stalked toward the door.
Sarene's prayers were not answered, however—he didn't step on it and trip
himself. Just before Hrathen left, he turned to shoot one final, disappointed
look at the throne room. His gaze however. found Sarene instead of the king.
Their eyes locked for a moment, and she could see a slight hint of confusion
as he studied her unusual height and blond Teoish hair. Then he was gone, and
the room burst into a hundred prattling conversations.
King Iadon snorted and turned back to his ledgers.
"He doesn't see," Sarene whispered. "He doesn't understand."

"Understand what, my lady?" Ashe asked.
"How dangerous that gyorn is."
"His Majesty is a merchant, my lady. not a true politician. He doesn't see
things the same way you do."
"Even so," Sarene said, speaking quietly enough that only Ashe could hear.
"King Iadon should be experienced enough to recognize that what Hrathen
said-at least about Fjorden—was completely true. The Wyrns are more powerful
now than they were centuries ago, even at the height of the Old Empire's
power."
"It is hard to look past military might, especially when one is a relatively
new monarch," Ashe said. 'King Iadon cannot fathom how Fjorden's army of
priests could be more influential than its warriors ever were."
Sarene tapped her cheek for a moment in thought. "Well. Ashe, at least now you
don't have to worry about my causing too much unrest amongst Kae's nobility."
"I seriously doubt that. my lady. How else would you spend your time?"
"Oh, Ashe," she said sweetly. "Why would I bother with a bunch of incompetent
would-be nobles when I can match wits with a full gyorn?" Then, more
seriously, she continued. "Wyrn picks his high priests well. If Iadon doesn't
watch that man-and it doesn't seem like he will—then Hrathen will convert this
city out from under him. What good will my sacrificial marriage do for Teod if
Arelon gives itself to our enemies?"
"You may be overreacting. my lady," Ashe said with a pulse. The words were
familiar-it seemed that Ashe often felt a need to say them to her.
Sarene shook her head. "Not this time. Today was a test, Ashe. Now Hrathen
will feel justified in taking action against the king—he has convinced himself
that Arelon is indeed ruled by a blasphemer. He'll try to find a way to
overthrow Iadon's throne, and Arelon's government will collapse for the second
time in ten years. This time it won't be the merchant class that fills the
void of leadership—it will be the Derethi priesthood."
"So you are going to help Iadon?" Ashe said with an amused tone. "He is my
sovereign king."
"Despite your opinion that he is insufferable?"
"Anything is better than Fjordell rule. Besides, maybe I was wrong about
Iadon." Things hadn't gone too poorly between the two of them since that first
embarrassing meeting. Iadon had practically ignored her at Raoden's funeral,
which had suited Sarene just fine; she'd been too busy watching for
discrepancies in the ceremony. Unfortunately, the event had occurred with a
disappointing level of orthodoxy. and no predominant noblemen had given
themselves away by failing to show up or by looking too guilty during the
proceedings.
"Yes . . ." she said. "Perhaps Iadon and I can get along by just ignoring each
other."

"What in the name of Burning Domi are you doing back in my court, girl!" the
king swore from behind her.
Sarene raised her eyes to the sky in a look of resignation, and Ashe pulsed a
quiet laugh as she turned to face King Iadon.
"What?" she asked. trying her best to sound innocent.
"You!" Iadon barked, pointing at her. He was understandably in a bad mood—of
course. from what she heard, Iadon was rarely in a good mood. "Don't you
understand that women aren't to come to my court unless they're invited?"
Sarene blinked her eyes in confusion. "No one told me that. Your Majesty." she
said, intentionally trying to sound as if she didn't have a wit in her head.
Iadon grumbled something about foolish women. shaking his head at her obvious
lack of intelligence.
"I just wanted to see the paintings," Sarene said, putting a quaver in her
voice. as if she were on the brink of crying.
Iadon held his hand palm-forward in the air to forestall any more of her
drivel, turning back to his ledgers. Sarene barely kept herself from smiling
as she wiped her eyes and pretended to study the painting behind her.
"That was unexpected," Ashe said quietly.
"I'll deal with Iadon later," Sarene mumbled. "I have someone more important
to worry about now."
"I just never thought I'd see the day when you. of all women. gave into the
feminine stereotype—even if it was just an act."
"What?" Sarene asked, fluttering her eyes. "Me, act?"
Ashe snorted.
"You. know, I've never been able to figure out how you Seons manage sounds
like that." Sarene said. "You don't have noses-how can you snort?"
`Years of practice, my lady," Ashe replied. "Am I truly going to have to
suffer your whimpering every time you speak with the king?"
Sarene shrugged. "He expects women to be foolish, so I'll be foolish. It's
much easier to manipulate people when they assume you can't gather enough wits
to remember your own name."
'Ene?" a sudden voice bellowed. "Is that you?" The deep, scratchy voice was
oddly familiar. It was as if the speaker had a sore throat, though she had
never heard someone with a sore throat yell so loudly.
Sarene turned hesitantly. An enormous man—taller, broader, pudgier, and more
muscled than seemed possible-shoved his way through the crowd in her
direction. He was dressed in a broad blue silken doublet—she shuddered to
think of how many worms had toiled to make it-and wore the ruffle-cuffed
trousers of an Arelish courtier.
"It is you!" the man exclaimed. "We thought you weren't coming for another
week!"

"Ashe," Sarene mumbled, "who is this lunatic and what does he want with me?"
"He looks familiar, my lady. I'm sorry, my memory isn't what it used to be."
"Ha!" the enormous man said, scooping her up into a bear hug. It was an odd
feeling—her bottom half squished into his oversized gut while her face was
crushed by his hard, well-muscled chest. She resisted the urge to whimper,
waiting and hoping the man would drop her before she passed out. Ashe would
probably go for help if her face started to change colors.
Fortunately, the man let go long before she asphyxiated, instead holding her
by her shoulders at arms length. "You've changed. When I last saw you, you
were only knee high." Then he looked over her tall figure. "Well ... I doubt
you were ever knee high, but you were certainly no taller than a waist. Your
mother always said you'd be a lanky one!"
Sarene shook her head. The voice was slightly familiar, but she couldn't place
his features. She usually had such a good memory for faces. . .. Unless. ...
"Hunkey Kay?" she asked hesitantly. "Gracious Domi! What happened to your
beard?"
"Arelish nobles don't wear beards, little one. I haven't had one in years."
It was him. The voice was different, the beardless face unfamiliar, but the
eyes were the same. She remembered looking up at those wide brown eyes, always
full of laughter. "Hunkey Kay," she mumbled distractedly. "Where's my
present?"
Her uncle Kiin laughed. his odd scratchy voice making it sound more like a
wheeze than a chortle. Those had always been the first words out of her mouth
when he came to visit: her uncle brought the most exotic of gifts, delights
chat were extravagant enough to be unique even to the daughter of a king.
"I'm afraid I forgot the present this time, little one."
Sarene blushed. However, before she could squeak out an apology. Hunkey Kay
wrapped a large arm around her shoulder and began towing her out of the throne
room.
"Come, you have to meet my wife."
"Wife?"Sarene asked with a shocked voice. It had been over a decade since she
had seen Kiin. but she remembered one fact quite clearly. Her uncle had been a
sworn bachelor and a confirmed rascal. "Hunkey Kay is married?"
"You aren't the only one who has grown over the last ten years," Kiin rasped.
'Oh, and as cute as it is to hear you call me -Hunkey Kay,' you'll probably
want to call me Uncle Kiin now."
Sarene blushed again. 'Hunkey Kay- had been the creation of a child unable to
pronounce her uncle's name.
"So, how's your father doing?" the large man asked. "Acting properly regal. I
assume."
"He's doing fine, Uncle," she replied. "Though I'm sure he would be surprised
to find you living in the court of AreIon.

"He knows."
"No. he thinks you left on one of your voyages and settled on one of the far
islands."
"Sarene, if you're as quick-witted a woman as you were a girl, then you should
have learned by now to separate the truth from the stories."
The statement came like a bucketful of icy water. She vaguely remembered
watching her uncle's ship sail away one day and asking her father when Hunkey
Kay was going to return. Eventeo's face had been morose when he replied that
this time Hunkey Kay would be taking a long, Iong voyage.
"But why?" she asked. "All this time you were living just a few days' trip
from home. and you never came to visit?"
"Stories for another day, little one," Kiin said with a shake of his head.
"Right now, you need to meet the monster of a woman who finally managed to
capture your uncle."
K I I N 'S wife was hardly a monster. In fact, she was one of the most
beautiful mature women Sarene had ever seen. Daora had a strong face with
sharp, statuesque features and a well-styled head of auburn hair. She was not
what Sarene would ever have placed with her uncle—of course, her most recent
memories of Kiin were over a decade old.
Kiin's large, castle-like mansion was not a surprise. She remembered that her
uncle had been a merchant of some sort. and her memories were highlighted by
expensive gifts and Kiin's exotic clothing. He had not only been the younger
son of a king, but he had also been an extremely successful businessman.
Something he still was, appartently. He'd been out of the city on business
until that morning, which was why she hadn't seen him at the funeral.
The greatest shock was the children. Despite the fact that Sarene knew he was
married. she just couldn't reconcile her recollections of the unruly Hunkey
Kay with the concept of fatherhood. Her preconceptions were neatly shattered
the moment Kiin and Daora opened the door to the mansion's dining hall.
"Father's home!" called the voice of a young girl.
"Yes, Father's home," Kiin said with a suffering voice. "And no, I didn't
bring you anything. I've only been gone a few minutes."
"I don't care what you did or didn't bring me. I just want to eat." The
speaker. a young girl about ten years old. had a very serious, adult-sounding
voice. She wore a pink dress tied with white ribbon, and had a bob of stark
blond hair on her head.
"When do you not want to eat, Kaise?" a little boy, who looked almost
identical to the girl, asked with a sour look.
"Children, don't squabble," Daora said firmly. "We have a guest."

"Sarene," Kiin declared, "meet your cousins. Kaise and Damn. The two biggest
headaches in your poor uncle's life."
"Now, Father. you know you would have gone mad from boredom long ago without
them," a man said from the far doorway. The newcomer was of average Arelish
height, which meant he was an inch or two shorter than Sarene, with a lean
build and a strikingly handsome, hawkish face. His hair had been parted down
the center and flopped down on either side of his face. A woman with black
hair stood at his side, her lips sIightly pursed as she studied Sarene.
The man bowed slightly to Sarene. "Your Highness." he said with only a hint of
a smile on his lips.
"My son Luke!," Kiin explained.
"Your son?" Sarene asked with surprise. Young children she could accept, but
Lukel was a few years older than she was. That meant .
"No," Kiin said with a shake of his head. "Lukel is from Daora's previous
marriage."
"Not that that makes me any less his son," Lukel said with a broad smile. "You
can't escape responsibility for me that easily."
"Domi himself wouldn't dare take responsibility for you," Kiin said. "Anyway,
that's Jalla next to him."
"Your daughter?" Sarene asked as Jalla curtsied.
"Daughter-in-law," the dark-haired woman explained, her speech thick with an
accent.
"You're Fjordell?" Sarene asked. The hair had been a clue, but the name and
accent were giveaways.
"Svordish," Jalla corrected-not that it was much different. The small kingdom
of Svorden was all but a Fjordell province.
"Jalla and I studied together at the Svordish university," Lukel explained.
"We were married last month."
"Congratulations." Sarene said. "It's nice to know I'm not the only newlywed
in the room." Sarene meant the comment lightly, but was unable to keep the
bitterness out of her voice. She felt Kiin's large hand grip her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, 'Ene," he said softly. "I wasn't going to bring it up, but ... You
deserved better than this: you were always such a happy child."
"No loss to me," Sarene said with an indifference she didn't feel. "It isn't
like I knew him, Uncle."
"Even still," Daora said. "it must have been a shock."
"You could say that," Sarene agreed.
"If it helps," Kiin said, "Prince Raoden was a good man. One of the best I
have ever known. If you knew a little more about Arelish politics, then you
would understand that I don't use those words lightly when referring to a
member of Iadon's court."

Sarene nodded slightly. Part of her was happy to hear she hadn't misjudged
Raoden by his letters: the other half thought it would have been easier to
continue thinking that he was like his father.
"Enough talk about dead princes!" a small but insistent voice decided from the
table. "If we don't eat soon, Father will have to stop complaining about me
because I'll be dead."
"Yes, Kiin," Daora agreed, "you should probably go to the kitchen and make
sure your feast isn't burning."
Kiin snorted. "I have each dish cooking on a precise schedule. It would be
impossible for one to . . ." The large man trailed off, sniffing the air. Then
he swore and barreled out of the room.
"Uncle Kiin is cooking dinner?" Sarene asked with amazement.
"Your uncle is one of the best chefs in this town, dear," Daora said. "Uncle
Kiin?" Sarene repeated. "Cook?"
Daora nodded, as if it were an everyday occurrence. "Kiin has traveled more
places in this world than anyone in Arelon, and he brought back recipes from
each one. I believe tonight he's fixing something he learned in Jindo."
"Does this mean we're going to eat?" Kaise asked pointedly.
"I hate Jindoeese food," Daorn complained, his voice almost indistinguishable
from that of his sister. "It's too spicy."
"You don't like anything unless it has a handful of sugar mixed in," Lukel
teased, mussing his half brother's hair.
"Daorn, go run and get Adien."
"Another one?" Sarene asked.
Daora nodded. "The last. Lukel's full brother."
"He's probably sleeping," Kaise said. "Adien's always sleeping. I think it's
because his mind is only half awake."
"Kaise, little girls who say such things about their brothers often end up in
bed without supper." Daora informed. "Daorn, get moving."
"YOU don't look like a princess," Kaise said. The girl sat primly on her chair
beside Sarene. The dining room had a homey. studylike feel, filled with dark
wood paneling and relics from Kiin's traveling days.
"What do you mean?" Sarene asked. trying to figure out how to use the odd
Jindoeese dining utensils. There were two of them, one with a sharp pointed
end and the other with a flat shoveled end. Everyone else was eating with them
as if it were second nature, and Sarene was determined not to say anything.
She would figure them out on her own or she wouldn't get much to eat. The
latter was looking much more likely.
"Well, for one thing you're way too tall," Kaise said.
"Kaise." her mother warned in a threatening tone.

"Well it's true. All of the books say princesses are petite. I'm not exactly
sure what petite means, but I don't think she's it."
"I'm Teoish," Sarene said, successfully spearing something that looked like a
marinated piece of shrimp. "We're all this tall."
"Father's Teoish too, Kaise," Daorn said. "And you know how tall he is."
"But father's fat," Kaise pointed out. "Why aren't you fat too, Sarene?"
Kiin, who had just appeared out of the kitchen doors, absently rapped his
daughter on the head with the bottom of a serving tray as he passed. "Just as
I thought," he mumbled, listening to the ringing sound created by the metal
pan. "your head is completely hollow. I guess that explains a lot."
Kaise rubbed her head petulantly before turning back to her meal. muttering,
"I still think princesses should be smaller. Besides. princesses are supposed
to have good table manners; cousin Sarene's dropped about half of her meal on
the floor. Who ever heard of a princess that didn't know how to use MaiPon
sticks?"
Sarene blushed, looking down at the foreign utensils.
"Don't listen to her, 'Ene," Kiin laughed, setting another suceulent-smelling
dish on the table. "This is Jindoeese food—it's made with so much grease that
if half of it doesn't end up on the floor, then something's wrong. You'll get
the hang of those sticks eventually."
"You can use a spoon, if you want,' Daorn said helpfully. "Adien always does."
Sarene's eyes were immediately drawn to the fourth child. Adien was a
thin-faced boy in his late teens. He had a pale white complexion and a
strange. discomforting cast to his face. He are awkwardly. his motions stiff
and uncontrolled. As he ate, he mumbled to himself—repeating numbers. as far
as Sarene could tell. Sarene had met people like him before, children whose
minds weren't completely whole.
"Father, the meal is delicious," Lukel said, drawing the attention away from
his brother. "I don't believe you've ever fixed this shrimp dish before."
"It's called HaiKo." Kiin said in his raspy voice. "I learned it off a
traveling merchant while you were studying in Svorden last year."
"Sixteen million four hundred thousand seven hundred and seventy-two," Adien
mumbled. "That's how many steps it is to Svorden."
Sarene paused slightly at Adien's addition, but the rest of the family paid
him no heed, so she did likewise. "It truly is wonderful. Uncle," Sarene said.
"I would never have figured you for a chef."
"I've always enjoyed it," Kiin explained, sitting down in his chair. "I would
have fixed you some things back when I visited Teod, but your mother's head
cook had this inane idea that royalty didn't belong in the kitchen. I tried to
explain to her that. in a way, I partially owned the kitchens, but she still
would never let me set foot inside to prepare a meal."
"Well, she did us all a disservice," Sarene said. "You don't do all of the
cooking, do you?"

Kiin shook his head. "Fortunately. no. Daora is quite the cook herself."
Sarene blinked in surprise. "You mean you don't have a cook to fix your meals
for you?"
Kiin and Daora shook their heads in unison.
"Father is our cook," Kaise said.
"No servers or butlers either?" Sarene asked. She had assumed the lack of
servants was due to an odd desire on Kiin's part to keep this particular meal
personal. "None at all," Kiin said.
"But why?"
Kiin looked at his wife, then back at Sarene. "Sarene, do you know what
happened here ten years ago?"
"The Reod?" Sarene asked. "The Punishment?"
"Yes, but do you know what that means?"
Sarene thought for a moment, then shrugged slightly. "The end of the
Elantrians."
Kiin nodded. "You probably never met an Elantrian—you were still young when
the Reod hit. It is hard to explain how much this country changed when the
disaster struck. Elantris used to be the most beautiful city in the
worId-trust me, I've been everywhere else. It was a monument of glowing stone
and lustrous metal, and its inhabitants looked like they were chiseled from
the same materials. Then... they fell."
"Yes, I've studied this before," Sarene said with a nod. "Their skin turned
dark with black spots, and their hair began to fall from their skulls.-
"You can say that with the knowledge of books," Kiin said, "but you weren't
here when it happened. You can't know the horror that comes from seeing gods
turn wretched and foul. Their fall destroyed the Arelish government, throwing
the country into total chaos."
He paused for a moment, then continued. "It was the servants who started the
revolution, Sarene. The very day their masters fell, the servants turned on
them. Some—mostly the country's current nobility—say it was because the lower
class in Elantris was treated too well, that their pampered natures inspired
them to cast down their former rulers at the first sign of weakness. I think
it was simply fear—ignorant fear that the Elantrians had a vile disease, mixed
with the terror that comes from seeing someone you had worshipped stricken
down before you.
"Either way, the servants are the ones who did the most damage. First in small
groups, then in an incredibly destructive riot, killing any Elantrian they
could find. The most powerful Elantrians went first, but the killings spread
to the weaker ones as well.
"It didn't stop with the Elantrians either—the people attacked families,
friends, and even those who had been appointed to positions by the Elantrians.
Daora and I watched it all, horrified and thankful that there were no
Elantrians in

the family. Because of that night, we haven't ever been able to convince
ourselves to hire servants."
"Not that we really need them," Daora said. "You'd be surprised at how much
you can get done on your own."
"Especially when you have a couple of children to do the dirty jobs," Kiin
said with a sly smile.
"Is that all we're good for, Father?" Lukel said with a laugh. "Scrubbing
floors?"
"It's the only reason I've ever found for having kids," Kiin said. "Your
mother and I only had Daorn because we decided we needed another couple of
hands to wash chamber pots."
"Father, please," Kaise said. "I'm trying to eat."
"Merciful Domi help the man who interrupts Kaise's supper," Lukel said with a
chuckle.
"Princess Kaise," the little girl corrected.
"Oh, so my little girl's a princess now?" Kiin asked with amusement.
"If Sarene can be one, then so can I. After all, you're her uncle, and that
should make you a prince. Right, Father?"
"Technically yes." Kiin said. "Though I don't think I officially have a title
anymore."
"They probably kicked you out because you spoke of chamber pots during
supper," Kaise said. "Princes can't do that sort of thing. you know. It's
horrible table manners."
"Of course," Kiin said with a fond smile. "I wonder why I never realized that
before."
"So," Kaise continued. "If you are a prince, then your daughter is a
princess." "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way, Kaise," Lukel said. "Father's
not king, so his kids would be barons or counts, not princes."
"Is that true?" Kaise asked with a disappointed tone.
"I'm afraid so," Kiin said. "However, trust me. Anyone who claims you're not a
princess, Kaise, hasn't ever listened to you complain at bedtime."
The little girl thought for a moment and, apparently unsure how to take the
comment. simply turned back to her dinner. Sarene wasn't paying much
attention: her mind had frozen at the part where her uncle had said "I don't
think I officially have a title anymore." It smelled of politics. Sarene
thought she knew every important event that had happened in Teod's court
during the last fifty years, and she knew nothing of Kiin being officially
stripped of his title.
Before she could ponder any more on the incongruity, Ashe floated in through a
window. In the excitement of the dinner. Sarene had almost forgotten that
she'd sent him to follow the Gyorn Hrathen.

The ball of light stopped hesitantly in the air near the window. "My lady, am
I interrupting?"
"No, Ashe, come in and meet my family."
"You have a Seon!" Daorn exclaimed with amazement. For once his sister seemed
too stunned to speak.
"This is Ashe," Sarene explained. "He's been serving my house for over two
centuries, and he's the wisest Seon I've ever known."
"My lady. you exaggerate," Ashe said modestly, yet at the same time she
noticed he was glowing a bit brighter.
Seon . . ." Kaise said with quiet wonder, her dinner forgotten. "They've
always been rare." Kiin said, 'now more than ever."
"Where did you get him?" Kaise asked.
"From my mother." Sarene said. "She Passed Ashe to me when I was born." The
Passing of a Seon—it was one of the finest gifts a person could receive.
Someday, Sarene would have to Pass Ashe, selecting a new ward for him to watch
over and care for. She had planned it to be one of her children, or perhaps
grandchildren. The possibility of either ever existing, however, was looking
increasingly unlikely....
"A Seon." Kaise said with wonder. She turned to Sarene, eyes alight with
excitement. "Can I play with him after supper?"
"Play with me?" Ashe asked uncertainly.
"Can I please, Cousin Sarene?" Kaise begged.
"I don't know," Sarene said with a smile. "I seem to recall a few comments
about my height."
The little girl's look of disappointed chagrin was a source of great amusement
to all. It was at that moment, among their laughter. that Sarene began to feel
her tension ease for the first time since leaving her homeland a week before.

CHAPTER 6
THERE is no hope for the king. I'm afraid." Hrathen folded his arms across his
breastplate thoughtfully as he looked back at the throne room. "Your Grace?"
Dilaf asked. "King Iadon," Hrathen explained. "I had hoped to save him-though
I never really expected the nobility to follow me without a fight. They're too
entrenched in their ways. Perhaps if we had gotten to them right after the
Reod. Of course, we weren't sure that whatever disease had taken the
Elantrians wouldn't affect us as well."
"Jaddeth struck down the Elantrians," Dilaf said fervently.
"Yes," Hrathen said, nor bothering to look down at the shorter man. "But
oft-times Jaddeth uses natural processes to bring about His will. A plague
will kill Fjordell as well as Arelene."
"Jaddeth would protect his chosen."
"Of course," Hrathen said distractedly, shooting one more dissatisfied glance
down the hallway toward the throne room. He had made the offer out of duty,
knowing that the easiest way to save Arelon would be to convert its ruler, but
he hadn't expected Iadon to respond favorably. If only the king knew how much
suffering he could forestall with a simple profession of faith.
It was too late now; Iadon had formally rejected Jaddeth. He would have to
become an example. However, Hrathen would have to be careful. Memories of the
Duladen revolution were still stark in Hrathen's mind-the death, blood, and
chaos. Such a cataclysm had to be avoided. Hrathen was a stern man, and a
determined one, but he was no lover of carnage.
Of course. with only three months' time, he might not have a choice. If he was
going to succeed, he might have to incite a revolt. More death and more
chaos-horrible things to throw upon a nation that had still hadn't recovered
from its last violent revolution. However, Jaddeth's empire would not sit
still and wait because a few ignorant nobles refused to accept the truth.
"I suppose I expected too much of them," Hrathen mumbled. "They are, after
all, only Arelenes."
Dilaf made no response to the comment.
"I noticed someone odd in the throne room, Arteth," Hrathen said as they

turned and walked out of the palace, passing both sculpture and servant
without so mueh as a glance. "Perhaps you can help me identify her. She was
Aonic, but she was taller than most Arelenes, and her hair was much lighter
than the average Arelish brown. She looked out of place."
"What was she wearing, Your Holiness?" Dilaf asked.
'Black. All black with a yellow sash."
"The new princess, Your Grace," Dilaf hissed, his voice suddenly hateful. "New
princess?"
"She arrived yesterday, the same as yourself. She was to be married to Iadon's
son Raoden."
Hrathen nodded. He hadn't attended the prince's funeral, but he had heard of
the event. He hadn't known, however, of the impending marriage. The betrothal
must have occurred recently. "She's still here," he asked. "even though the
prince died?"
Dilaf nodded. "Unfortunately for her. the royal engagement contract made her
his wife the moment he died."
"Ah," Hrathen said. "Where is she from?"
"Teod, Your Grace." Dilaf said.
Hrathen nodded, understanding the hatred in Dilaf 's voice. Arelon, despite
the blasphemous city of Elantris, at least showed some possibility for
redemption. Teod, however, was the homeland of Shu-Korath—a degenerate sect of
ShuKeseg, the parent religion of Shu-Dereth. The day Teod fell beneath
Fjorden's glory would be a joyous day indeed.
"A Teoish princess could be a problem," Hrathen mused.
"Nothing can hinder Jaddeth's empire."
"If nothing could hinder it, Arteth, then it would already encompass the
entire planet. Jaddeth takes pleasure in allowing His servants to serve Him,
and grants us glory in bending the foolish before our will. And of all the
fools in the world. Teoish fools are the most dangerous."
"How could one woman be a danger to you. Your Holiness?"
"Well, for one thing, her marriage means that Teod and Arelon have a formal
blood bond. If we aren't careful. we'll have to fight them both at once. A man
is more likely to think himself a hero when he has an ally to support him."
"I understand. Your Grace."
Hrathen nodded, sweeping out into the sunlight. "Pay attention, Arteth, and I
will teach you a very important lesson-one that few people know, and even
fewer can properly use."
"What lesson is that?" Dilaf asked, following close behind.
Hrathen smiled slightly. "I will show you the way to destroy a nation—the
means by which the man of Jaddeth can topple kingdoms and seize control of the
people's souls."

am . . . eager to learn, Your Grace."
"Good," Hrathen said, looking across Kae at the enormous wall of Elantris. It
rose above the city like a mountain. "Take me up there. I wish to view the
fallen lords of Arelon."
WHEN Hrathen had first arrived at the Outer City of Kae, he had noted how
indefensible it was. Now, standing atop the wall of Elantris, Hrathen could
see that he had actually underestimated how pathetic Kae's fortifications
were. Beautiful. terraced steps ran up the outside of Elantris's wall,
providing outside access to the top. They were firm. stone constructions; it
would be impossible to destroy them in an emergency. If Kae's inhabitants
retreated into Elam-is, they would be trapped, not protected.
There were no archers. The Elantris City Guard members carried large, unwieldy
spears that looked like they were far too heavy to be thrown. They held
themselves with a proud air, wearing unarmored yellow-and-brown uniforms, and
they obviously considered themselves far above the regular city militia. From
what Hrathen had heard, however, the Guard wasn't even really necessary to
keep the Elantrians in. The creatures rarely tried to escape. and the city
wall was far too large for the Guard to patrol extensively. The force was more
of a public-relations operation than a true military; the people of Kae felt
much more comfortable living beside Elantris when they knew a troop of
soldiers watched the city. However, Hrathen suspected that in a war, the Guard
members would be hard-pressed to defend themselves, let alone protect Kae's
population.
Arelon was a ripe jewel waiting to be pillaged. Hrathen had heard of the days
of chaos directly following Elantris's fall, and of the incalculable treasures
that had been plundered from the magnificent city. Those valuables were now
concentrated in Kae, where the new nobility lived practically unguarded. He
had also heard that, despite the thievery, a large percentage of Elantris's
wealth—pieces of art too large to move easily, or smaller items that hadn't
been plundered before Iadon began enforcing the city's isolation—remained
locked within Elantris's forbidden walls.
Only superstition and inaccessibility kept Elantris and Kae from being raped
by invaders. The smaller thieving bands were still too frightened of
Elantris's reputation. The larger bands were either under Fjordell control-and
therefore wouldn't attack unless instructed to do so-or had been bribed to
stay away by Kae's nobles. Both situations were extremely temporary in nature.
And that was the basic reason Hrathen felt justified in taking extreme action
to bring Arelon under Fjorden control—and protection. The nation was an egg
balanced on the peak of a mountain, just waiting for the first breeze to
plunge it to the hard ground below. If Fjorden didn't conquer Arelon soon,
then the kingdom would certainly collapse beneath the weight of a dozen
different problems. Beyond inept

leadership, Arelon suffered from an overtaxed working class, religious
uncertainty, and dwindling resources. All of these factors competed to deIiver
the final blow.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of harsh breathing behind him.
Dilaf stood on the other side of the wall walk, looking our over Elantris. His
eyes were wide. like those of a man who had been punched in the stomach, and
his teeth were clenched. Hrathen half expected him to start frothing at the
mouth.
"I hate them," Dilaf whispered in a harsh, almost unintelligible voice.
Hrathen crossed the wall walk to stand beside Dilaf. Since the wall had not
been constructed for military purposes. there were no battlements. but both
sides had raised parapets for safety. Hrathen rested against one of these,
looking out to study Elantris.
There wasn't much to see; he'd been in slums more promising than Elantris. The
buildings were so decayed that it was a miracle any of them still had roofs,
and the stench was revolting. At first he doubted anything could possibly be
alive inside the city, but then he saw some forms running furtively along the
side of a building. They were crouched with their hands outstretched, as if
prepared to fall on all fours. One paused. looking up, and Hrathen saw his
first Elantrian.
It was bald, and at first Hrathen thought its skin was dark, like that of a
member of the Jindo noble caste. However, he could see splotches of light gray
on the creature's skin as well-great uneven pale masses, like lichen on a
stone. He squinted, leaning forward against the parapet. He couldn't make out
the Elantrian's eyes, but somehow Hrathen knew they would be wild and feral.
darting around like those of an anxious animal.
The creature took off with its companions—its pack. So this is what the Reod
did, Hrathen mused to himself. It made beasts out of gods. Jaddeth had simply
taken what was in their hearts and showed it for the world to see. According
to Derethi philosophy, the only thing that separated men from the animals was
religion. Men could serve Jaddeth's empire: beasts could serve only their
lusts. The Elantrians represented the ultimate flaw of human arrogance: they
had set themselves up as gods. Their hubris had earned their fate. In another
situation, Hrathen would have been content in leaving them to their
punishment.
However, he happened to need them.
Hrathen turned to Dilaf. "The first step in taking control of a nation.
Arteth. is the simplest. You find someone to hate."
"TELL me of them, Arteth," Hrathen requested, entering his room inside the
chapel. "I want to know everything you know."
"They are foul, loathsome creatures," Dilaf hissed, entering behind Hrathen.
"Thinking of them makes my heart grow sick and my mind feel tainted. I pray
every day for their destruction.

Hrathen closed the door to his chambers, dissatisfied. It was possible for a
man to be too passionate. "Arteth. I understand you have strong feelings,"
Hrathen said sternly, "but if you are to be my odiv you will need to see
through your prejudices. Jaddeth has placed these Elantrians before us with a
purpose in mind, and I cannot discover that purpose if you refuse to tell me
anything useful."
Dilaf blinked, taken aback. Then, for the first time since their visit to
Elantris, a level of sanity returned to his eyes. "Yes, Your Grace."
Hrathen nodded. "Did you see Elantris before its fall?"
"Yes."
"Was it as beautiful as people say?"
Dilaf nodded sullenly. "Pristine, kept white by the hands of slaves."
"Slaves?"
"All of Arelon's people were slaves to the Elantrians, Your Grace. They were
false gods, giving promises of salvation in exchange for sweat and labor."
"And their legendary powers?"
"Lies, like their supposed divinity. A carefully crafted hoax to earn them
respect and fear."
"Following the Reod, there was chaos. correct?"
"Chaos. killing, riots, and panic, Your Grace. Then the merchants seized
power."
"And the Elantrians?" Hrathen asked, walking over to take a seat at his desk.
"There were few left," Dilaf said. "Most had been killed in the riots. Those
remaining were confined to Elantris, as were all men that the Shaod took from
that day forward. They looked much as you just saw them, wretched and
subhuman. Their skin was patched with black scars, like someone had pulled
away the flesh and revealed the darkness underneath."
"And the transformations? Did they abate at all after the Reod?" Hrathen
asked.
"They continue, Your Grace. They happen all across Arelon."
"Why do you hate them so, Arteth?"
The question came suddenly, and Dilaf paused. "Because they are unholy."
"And?"
"They lied to us, Your Grace. They made promises of eternity, bur they
couldn't even maintain their own divinity. We listened to them for centuries,
and were rewarded with a group of impotent, vile cripples."
"You hate them because they disappointed you," Hrathen said.
"Not me. my people. I was a follower of Derethi years before the Reod."
Hrathen frowned. "Then you are convinced that there is nothing supernatural
about the Elantrians other than the fact that Jaddeth has cursed them?"
"Yes, Your Grace. As 1 said, the Elantrians created many falsehoods to rein-
force their divinity."

Hrathen shook his head, then stood and began to remove his armor. Dilaf moved
to help. but Hrathen waved the arteth away. "How, then, do you explain the
sudden transformation of ordinary people into Elantrians, Arteth?"
Dilaf didn't have a response.
"Hate has weakened your ability to see, Arteth," Hrathen said. hanging his
breastplate on the wall beside his desk and smiling. He had just experienced a
flash of brilliance: a portion of his plan suddenly fit into place. "You
assume because Jaddeth did not give them powers, they did not have any."
Dilaf's face grew pale. "What you say is-"
"Not bIasphemy, Arteth. Doctrine. There is another supernatural force besides
our God."
"The Svrakiss," Dilaf said quietly.
"Yes." Svrakiss. The souls of the dead men who hated Jaddeth, the opponents to
all that was holy. According to Shu-Dereth, there was nothing more bitter than
a soul who had had its chance and thrown it away.
"You think the Elantrians are Svrakiss?" Dilaf asked.
"It is accepted doctrine that the Svrakiss can control the bodies of the
evil," Hrathen said, unbuckling his greaves. "Is it so hard to believe that
all this time they have been controlling bodies of the Elantrians, making them
appear as gods to fool the simpleminded and unspiritual?
There was a light in Dilaf's eyes: the concept was not new to the arteth.
Hrathen realized. Suddenly his flash of inspiration didn't seem quite so
brilliant.
Dilaf regarded Hrathen for a moment, then spoke. "You don't really believe it.
do you?" he asked, his voice uncomfortably accusatory for one speaking to his
hroden.
Hrathen was careful not to let discomfort show. "It doesn't matter. Arteth.
The connection is logical; people will follow it. Right now all they see are
the abject remnants of what were once aristocrats—men do not loathe such, they
pity them. Demons, however, are something everyone can hate. If we denounce
the Elantrians as devils, then we will have success. You already hate the
Elantrians: that is fine. To make others join you, however, you'll have to
give them more of a reason than 'they disappointed us.' "
"Yes, Your Grace."
"We are religious men, Arteth, and we must have religious enemies. The
Elantrians are our Svrakiss, no matter if they possess the souls of evil men
long dead or evil men now living."
"Of course, Your Holiness. We will destroy them then?" There was eagerness in
Dilaf's face.
"Eventually. Right now, we will use them. You will find that hate can unify
people more quickly and more fervently than devotion ever could."

CHAPTER 7
RAODEN stabbed the air with his finger. The air bled light. His fingertip left
a glowing white trail behind it as he moved his arm, as if he were writing
with paint on a wall—except without the paint. and without the wall. He moved
cautiously, careful not to let his finger waver. He drew a line about a
handspan long from left to right, then pulled his finger down at a slight
slant, drawing a curved line downward at the corner. Next he lifted his finger
from the unseen canvas and replaced it to draw a dot in the center. Those
three marks—two lines and a dot—were the starting point of every Aon.
He continued, drawing the same three-line pattern at different angles, then
added several diagonal lines. The finished drawing looked something like an
hourglass, or perhaps two boxes placed on top of each other, pulling in just
slightly near the middles. This was Aon Ashe, the ancient symbol for light.
The character brightened momentarily, seeming to pulse with life; then it
flashed weakly like a man heaving his last breath. The Aon disappeared. its
light fading from brightness. to dimness. to nothing.
"You're much better at that than I am, sale," Galladon said. "I usually make
one line a little too big, or slant it a bit too much. and the whole thing
fades away before I'm done."
"It's not supposed to be like this," Raoden complained. It had been a day
since Galladon had shown him how to draw Aons, and he had spent nearly every
moment since then practicing. Every Aon he had finished properly had acted the
same way, disappearing without producing any visible effect. His first
acquaintance with the legendary magic of the Elantrians had been decidedly
anticlimactic.
The most surprising thing was how easy it was. In ignorance he had assumed
that AonDor, the magic of the Aons, would require some sort of incantation or
ritual. A decade without AonDor had spawned hordes of rumors; some people.
mostly Derethi priests, claimed the magic had been a hoax, while others, also
mostly Derethi priests, had denounced the art as blasphemous rites involving
the power of evil. The truth was that no one, not even the Derethi priests,
knew just what AonDor had been. Every one of its practitioners had fallen to
the Reod.
ELANTRIS    71
Yet Galladon claimed AonDor required nothing more than a steady hand and an
intimate knowledge of the Aons. Since only Elantrians could draw the
characters in light, only they could practice AonDor, and no one outside
Elantris had been allowed to know just how simple it was. No incantations, no
sacrifices, no special potions or ingredients; anyone who was taken by the
Shaod could perform AonDor, assuming. of course, they knew the characters.
Except. it didn't work. The Aons were supposed to do something—at least.
something more than flash weakly and disappear. Raoden could remember images
of Elantris as a chiId—visions of men flying through the air, incredible feats
of power, and merciful healings. He had broken his leg once, and although his
father had objected, his mother had taken him to Elantris for healing. A
bright-haired figure had reknit Raoden's bones with barely a wave of her hand.
She had drawn an Aon, just as he was doing, but the rune had released a
powerful burst of arcane magic.
"They're supposed to do something," Raoden said again, this time out loud.
"They did once, sule. but not since the Reod. Whatever took the life from
Elantris also stole AonDor's power. Now all we can do is paint pretty
characters in the air."
Raoden nodded. drawing his own Aon, Aon Rao. Four circles with one large
square in the center. all five connected by lines. The Aon reacted as all of
the others had, building as if for some release of power, then dying with a
whimper.
"Disappointing. Kolo?"
"Very," Raoden admitted, pulling over a chair and sitting down. They were
still in Galladon's small underground study. "I'll be honest with you.
Galladon. When I saw that first Aon hovering in the air in front of you, I
forgot about everything-the filth, the depression, even my toe."
Galladon smiled. "If AonDor worked, the Elantrians would still rule in
Arelon—Reod or no Reod."
"I know. I just wonder what happened. What changed?"
"The world wonders with you, sule," Galladon said with a shrug.
"They must be related," Raoden mused. "The change in Elantris. the way the
Shaod started making people demons rather than gods, the ineffectiveness of
AonDor. . .."
"You aren't the first person to notice that. Not by far. However, no one is
likely to find the answer—the powerful in Arelon are much too comfortable with
Elantris the way it is."
"Trust me, I know," Raoden said. "If the secret is to be found, it will have
to come from us." Raoden looked over the small laboratory. Remarkably clean
and free from the grime that coated the rest of Elantris, the room had an
almost homey feeling—like the den or study in a large mansion.

"Maybe the answer is in here, Galladon," Raoden said. "In those books.
somewhere."
"Perhaps," Galladon said noncommittally.
"Why were you so reluctant to bring me here?"
"Because it's special, sule-surely you can see that? Let the secret out, and I
won't be able to leave for fear it will be pillaged while I am gone."
Raoden stood, nodding as he walked around the room. "Then why bring me?"
Galladon shrugged, as if not completely sure himself. Eventually he answered.
"You aren't the first to think the answer might be in those books. Two men can
read more quickly than one."
"Twice as quickly, I'd guess." Raoden agreed with a smile. "Why do you keep it
so dark in here?"
"We are in Elantris, sule. We can't just go to the lamplighter's store every
time we run out of oil."
"I know, but surely there's enough. Elantris must have had stores of oil
before the Reod."
"Ah, sule," Galladon said with a shake of his head. "You still don't
understand. do you? This is Elantris, city of the gods. What need have gods of
such mundane things as lamps and oil? Look at the wall beside you."
Raoden turned. There was a metal plate hanging on the wall beside him. Though
it was tarnished with time, Raoden could still make out the shape etched into
its surface—Aon Ashe, the character he had drawn just a few moments ago.
"Those plates used to glow more brightly and steadily than any lamp, sule,"
Galladon explained. "The Elantrians could shut them off with a bare brush of
their fingers. Elantris didn't need oil—it had a far more reliable source of
light. For the same reason, you won't find coal—or even furnaces—in Elantris,
nor are there many wells, for water flowed from pipes like rivers trapped
within the walls. Without AonDor, this city is barely fit to be inhabited."
Raoden rubbed his finger against the plate, feeling the lines of Aon Ashe.
Something catastrophic must have happened—an event lost in just ten brief
years time. Something so terrible it caused the land to shatter and gods to
stumble. However, without an understanding of how AonDor had worked, he
couldn't even begin to imagine what had caused it to fail. He turned from the
plate and considered the two squat bookcases. It was unlikely that any of the
books contained direct explanations of AonDor. However, if they had been
written by Elantrians, then maybe they would have references to the magic.
References that could lead the careful reader to an understanding of how
AonDor worked. Maybe.
His thoughts were interrupted by a pain from his stomach. It wasn't like
hunger he had experienced on the outside. His stomach didn't rumble. Yet, the
pain was there—somehow even more demanding. He had gone three days now

without food, and the hunger was beginning to grow insistent. He was only just
beginning to see why it. and the other pains, were enough to reduce men to the
beasts that had attacked him on his first day.
"Come." he said to Galladon. "There is something we need to do."
T H E square was much as it had been the day before: grime, moaning
unfortunates, tall unforgiving gates. The sun was almost three-quarters
finished with its trek through the sky. It was time for new inductees to be
cast into Elantris.
Raoden studied the square, watching from atop a building beside Galladon. As
he looked, he realized that something was different. There was a small crowd
gathered on top of the wall.
"Who's that?" Raoden asked with interest, pointing to a tall figure standing
high on the wall above Elantris's gates. The man's arms were outstretched. and
his bloodred cloak was flapping in the wind. His words were hardly audible
from such a distance, but it was obvious that he was yelling.
Galladon grunted in surprise. "A Derethi gyorn. I didn't know there was one
here in Arelon."
"A gyorn? As in high priest?" Raoden squinted, trying to make out the details
of the figure far above them.
"I'm surprised one would come this far east," Galladon said. "They hated
Arelon even before the Reod."
"Because of the Elantrians?"
Galladon nodded. "Though not so much because of Elantrian worship, no matter
what they claim. The Derethi have a particular loathing for your country
because their armies never figured a way to get through those mountains to
attack you."
"What do you suppose he's doing up there?" Raoden asked.
"Preaching. What else would a priest do? He's probably decided to denounce
Elantris as some sort of judgment from his god. I'm surprised it took them so
long."
"People have been whispering it for years," Raoden said. "but no one had the
courage to actually teach such things. They're secretly afraid that the
Elantrians are just testing them-that they will return to their former glory
someday and punish all the unbelievers."
"Still?" Galladon asked. "I would have thought such beliefs would be gone
after ten years."
Raoden shook his head. "Even yet there are many who pray for, or fear, the
Elantrians' return. The city was strong, Galladon. You can't know how
beautiful it once was."
"I know, stile," Galladon said. -I didn't spend all of my life in Duladel."

The priest's voice rose to a crescendo, and he delivered one final wave of
screams before spinning around and disappearing from view. Even from a
distance, Raoden could hear the hate and anger in the gyorn's voice. Galladon
was right: This man's words had been no blessing.
Raoden shook his head, looking from the wall to the gates. "Galladon," he
asked, "what are the chances of someone being thrown in here today?"
Galladon shrugged. "Hard to say. sule. Sometimes weeks go without a new
Elantrian, but I have seen as many as five cast in at once. You came two days
ago, that woman yesterday-who knows, maybe Elantris will have new flesh for
the third day in a row. Kolo?"
Raoden nodded. watching the gate expectantly.
"Sule, what do you intend to do?" Galladon asked uncomfortably. "I intend to
wait."
THE newcomer was an older man, perhaps in his late forties, with a gaunt face
and nervous eyes. As the gate slammed shut, Raoden climbed down from the
rooftop, pausing just inside the courtyard. Galladon followed, a worried look
on his face. He obviously thought Raoden might do something foolish.
He was right.
The unfortunate newcomer just stared morosely at the gate. Raoden waited for
him to take a step, to make the unwitting decision that would determine who
got the privilege of robbing him. The man stood where he was, watching the
courtyard with nervous eyes, his thin frame pulled up inside his robes like he
was trying to hide within them. After a few minutes of waiting, he finally
took his first hesitant step—to the right, the same way Raoden had chosen.
"Come on," Raoden declared, striding out of the alleyway. Galladon groaned,
mumbling something in Duladen.
"Teoren?" Raoden called, choosing a common Aonic name.
The spindly newcomer looked up with surprise, then glanced over his shoulder
with confusion.
"Teoren, it is you!" Raoden said, wrapping his hand around the man's shoulder.
Then, in a lower voice, he continued. "Right now you have two choices, friend.
Either you do what I tell you. or you let those men in the shadows over there
chase you down and beat you senseless."
The man turned around to search the shadows with apprehensive eyes.
Fortunately. at that moment, Shaor's men decided to move, their shadowed forms
emerging into the light, their carnal eyes staring at the new man with hunger.
It was all the encouragement the newcomer needed.
"What do I do?" the man asked with a quavering voice.
"Run!" Raoden ordered, then took off toward one of the alleys at a dash.

The man didn't need to be told twice: he bolted so quickly that Raoden was
afraid he would go careering down a side alley and get lost. There was a
muffled yell of surprise from behind as Galladon realized what Raoden was
doing. The large Duladen man obviously wouldn't have any problems keeping up;
even considering his time in Elantris, Galladon was in much better shape than
Raoden.
"What in the name of Doloken do you think you are doing, you idiot?" Galladon
swore.
"I'll tell you in a moment," Raoden said, conserving strength as he ran.
Again, he noticed that he didn't get out of breath, though his body did begin
to grow tired. A dull feeling of fatigue began to grow within him, and of the
three of them. Raoden was soon proven the slowest runner. However. he was the
only one who knew where they were going.
"Right!" he yelled to Galladon and the new man, then took off down a side
alley. The two men followed, as did the group of thugs, who were gaining
quickly. Fortunately, Raoden's destination wasn't far away.
"Rulo." Galladon cursed, realizing where they were going. It was one of the
houses he had shown Raoden the day before, the one with the unstable
staircase. Raoden sprinted through the door and up the stairs, nearly falling
twice as steps gave out beneath him. Once on the roof, he used the last of his
strength to push over a stack of bricks—the remnants of what had once been a
planter—toppling the entire pile of crumbling clay into the stairwell just as
Galladon and the newcomer reached the top. The weakened steps didn't even
begin to hold the weight, collapsing to the ground with a furious crash.
Galladon walked over and looked through the hole with a critical eye. Shaor's
men gathered around the fallen steps below, their feral intensity dulled a bit
by realization.
Galladon raised an eyebrow. "Now what, genius?"
Raoden walked over to the newcomer, who had collapsed after stumbling up the
stairs. Raoden carefully removed each of the man's food offerings and, after
tucking a certain one into his belt, he dumped the rest to the houndlike men
waiting below. The sounds of battle came from below as they fought over the
food.
Raoden stepped back from the hole. "Let's just hope they realize that they're
not going to get anything more out of us, and decide to leave."
"And if they don't?" Galladon asked pointedly.
Raoden shrugged. "We can live forever without food or water, right?"
"Yes. but I'd rather not spend the rest of eternity on the top of this
building." Then, shooting a look at the new man, Galladon pulled Raoden to the
side and demanded in a low voice, "Sule. what was the point of that? You could
have just thrown them the food back in the courtyard. In fact, why 'save' him?
For all we know, Shaor's men might not have even hurt him."
"We don't know that. Besides, this way he thinks he owes me his life."

Galladon snorted. "So now you have another follower-at the cheap price of the
hatred of an entire third of Elantris's criminal element."
"And this is only the beginning," Raoden said with a smile. However, despite
the brave words, he wasn't quite so certain of himself. He was still amazed at
how much his toe hurt, and he had scraped his hands while pushing the bricks.
While not as painful as the toe, the scrapes also continued to hurt,
threatening to draw his attention away from his plans.
I have to keep moving, Raoden repeated to himself. Keep working. Don't let the
pain take control.
"I'M a jeweler," the man explained. "Mareshe is my name."
"A jeweler." Raoden said with dissatisfaction, his arms folded as he regarded
Mareshe. "That won't be of much use. What else can you do?"
Mareshe looked at him indignantly, as if having forgotten that he had. just a
few moments ago. been cowering in fear. "Jewelry making is an extremely useful
skill, sir."
"Not in Elantris, Galladon said, peeking through the hole to see if the thugs
had decided to leave. Apparently they hadn't, for he gave Raoden a withering
look.
Pointedly ignoring the Dula, Raoden turned back to Mareshe. "What else can you
do?"
"Anything."
"That's quite broad, friend," Raoden said. "Could you be a bit more specific?"
Mareshe brought his hand up beside his head with a dramatic gesture. "I . am a
craftsman. An artisan. I can make anything. for Domi himself has granted me
the soul of an artist."
Galladon snorted from his seat beside the stairwell.
"How about shoes?" Raoden asked.
"Shoes?" Mareshe replied with a slightly offended tone.
"Yes, shoes."
"I suppose I could," Mareshe said, "though such hardly demands the skill of a
man who is a full artisan."
"And a full id—" Galladon began before Raoden hushed him.
"Artisan Mareshe," Raoden continued in his most diplomatic of tones.
"Elantrians are cast into the city wearing only an Arelish burial shroud. A
man who could make shoes would be very valuable indeed."
"What kind of shoes?" Mareshe asked.
"Leather ones,' Raoden said. "It won't be an easy calling, Mareshe. You see,
Elantrians don't have the luxury of trial and error—if the first pair of shoes
do not fit. then they will cause blisters. Blisters that will never leave."

"What do you mean, never leave?" Mareshe asked uncomfortably.
"We are Elantrians now, Mareshe," Raoden explained. "Our wounds no longer
heal.'
"No longer heal ... ?"
"Would you care for an example, artisan?" Galladon asked helpfully. "I can
arrange one quite easily. Kolo?"
Mareshe's face turned pale, and he looked back at Raoden. "He doesn't seem to
like me very much," he said quietly.
"Nonsense." Raoden said, putting his arm around Mareshe's shoulder and turning
him away from Galladon's grinning face. "That's how he shows affection." "If
you say so, Master .. ."
Raoden paused. "Just call me Spirit," he decided, using the translation of Aon
Rao.
"Master Spirit." Then Mareshe's eyes narrowed. "You look familiar for some
reason.
"You've never seen me before in your life. Now, about those shoes ...
"They have to fit perfectly, without a bit of scraping or rubbing?" Mareshe
asked.
"I know it sounds difficult. If it's beyond your ability . ."
"Nothing is beyond my ability," Mareshe said. "I'll do it, Master Spirit."
"Excellent."
"They're not leaving," Galladon said from behind them.
Raoden turned to regard the large Dula. "What does it matter? It's not like we
have anything pressing to do. It's actually quite pleasant up here—you should
just sit back and enjoy it."
An ominous crash came from the clouds above them, and Raoden felt a wet drop
splat against his head.
"Fantastic," Galladon grumbled. "I'm enjoying myself already."

CHAPTER 8
 Sarene decided not to accept her uncle's offer to stay with him. As tempting
as it was to move in with his family, she was afraid of losing her foothold in
the palace. The court was a lifeline of information. and the Arelish nobility
were a fountain of gossip and intrigue. If she was going to do battle with
Hrathen, she would need to stay up to date.
So it was that the day after her meeting with Kiin, Sarene procured herself an
easel and paints, and set them up directly in the middle of Iadon's throne
room.
"What in the name of Domi are you doing, girl!" the king exclaimed as he
entered the room that morning, a group of apprehensive attendants at his side.
Sarene looked up from her canvas with imitation surprise. "I'm painting,
Father," she said, helpfully holding up her brush—an action that sprayed
droplets of red paint across the chancellor of defense's face.
Iadon sighed. "I can see that you're painting. I meant why are you doing it
here?" "Oh." Sarene said innocently. "I'm painting your paintings, Father. I
do like them so."
"You're painting my . . . ?" Iadon asked with a dumbfounded expression. "But .
. ."
Sarene turned her canvas with a proud smile, showing the king a painting that
only remotely resembled a picture of some flowers.
"Oh for Domi's sake!" Iadon bellowed. "Paint if you must, girl. Just don't do
it in the middle of my throne room!"
Sarene opened her eyes wide, blinked a few times, then pulled her easel and
chair over to the side of the room near one of the pillars, sat down, and
continued to paint.
Iadon groaned. "I meant ... Bah, Domi curse it! You're not worth the effort."
With that, the king turned and stalked over to his throne and ordered his
secretary to announce the first item of' business-a squabble between two minor
nobles over some possessions.
Ashe hovered down next to Sarene's canvas, speaking to her softly. "I thought
he was going to expel you for good, my lady."
Sarene shook her head, a self-congratulatory smile on her lips. "Iadon has a

quick temper, and grows frustrated with ease. The more I convince him of my
brainlessness, the fewer orders he's going to give me. He knows I'll just
misunderstand him, and he'll just end up aggravated."
"I am beginning to wonder how one such as he obtained the throne in the first
place," Ashe noted.
"A good point," Sarene admitted, tapping her cheek in thought. "Though,
perhaps we aren't giving him enough credit. He might not make a very good
king, but he was apparently a very good businessman. To him. I'm an expended
resource—he has his treaty. I'm just of no further concern."
"I'm not convinced, my lady," Ashe noted. "He seems too shortsighted to remain
king for long."
"Which is why he's probably going to lose his throne," Sarene said. "I suspect
that is why the gyorn is here."
"A good point, my lady." Ashe noted in his deep voice. He floated in front of
her painting for a moment, studying its irregular blotches and semistraight
lines. "You're getting better, my lady."
"Don't patronize me."
"No, really, Your Highness. When you started painting five years ago, I could
never tell what it was you were trying to depict."
"And this is a painting of . ."
Ashe paused. "A bowl of fruit?" he asked hopefully.
Sarene sighed in frustration. She was usually good at everything she tried,
but the secrets of painting completely eluded her. At first, she had been
astounded at her lack of talent, and she had pressed on with a determination
to prove herself. Artistic technique, however, had totally refused to bow
beneath her royal will. She was a master of politics, an unquestionable
leader, and could grasp even Jindoeese mathematics with ease. She was also a
horrible painter. Not that she let it stop her—she was also undeniably
stubborn.
"One of these days, Ashe, something will click, and I'll figure out how to
make the images in my head appear on canvas."
"Of course, my lady."
Sarene smiled. "Until then, let's just pretend I was trained by someone from
some Svordish school of extreme abstractionism."
"Ah yes. The school of creative misdirection. Very good, my lady."
Two men entered the throne room to present their case to the king. There was
little to distinguish them: both wore fashionable vests over colorful filled
shirts and loose. wide-cuffed trousers. Much more interesting to Sarene was a
third man. one who was brought into the room by a palace guard. He was a
nondescript. light-haired man of Aonic blood dressed in a simple brown smock.
It was obvious that he was horribly underfed, and there was a look of
despairing hopelessness in his eyes that Sarene found haunting.

The dispute regarded the peasant. Apparently, he had escaped from one of the
noblemen about three years ago, but had been captured by the second. Instead
of returning the man, the second noble had kept him and put him to work. The
argument wasn't over the peasant himself, however, but his children. He had
married about two years ago, and had fathered two children during his stay
with the second noble. Both nobles claimed ownership of the babies.
"I thought slavery was illegal in Arelon," Sarene said quietly.
"It is, my Iady," Ashe said with a confused voice. "I don't understand."
"They speak of figurative ownership, Cousin," a voice said from in front of
her. Sarene peeked around the side of her canvas with surprise. Lukel. Kiin's
oldest son, stood smiling beside her easel.
"Lukel! What are you doing here?"
"I'm one of the most successful merchants in the city, Cousin," he explained,
walking around the canvas to regard the painting with a raised eyebrow. "I
have an open invitation to the court. I'm surprised you didn't see me when you
came in."
"You were there?"
Lukel nodded. "I was near the back, reacquainting myself with some old
contacts. I've been out of town for some time."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was too interested in what you were doing," he said with a smile. "I don't
think anyone has ever decided to requisition the middle of Iadon's throne room
to use as an art studio."
Sarene felt herself blushing. "It worked, didn't it?"
"Beautifully—which is more than I can say for the painting." He paused for a
moment. "It's a horse, right?"
Sarene scowled.
"A house?" he asked.
"It is not a bowl of fruit either, my lord," Ashe said. "I already tried
that." "Well, she said it was one of the paintings in this room," Lukel said.
"All we have to do is keep guessing until we find the right one."
"Brilliant deduction, Master Lukel.-. Ashe said.
"That's enough, you two," Sarene growled. "It's the one across from us. The
one I was facing while I painted."
"That one?" Lukel asked. "But that's a picture of flowers."
"And?"
"What's that dark spot in the middle of your painting?"
"Flowers." Sarene said defensively.
"Oh." Lukel looked once more at Sarene's painting, then looked up at her model
again. "Whatever you say. Cousin."
"Maybe you could explain Iadon's legal case before I turn violent, Cousin,"
Sarene said with threatening sweetness.

"Right. What do you want to know?"
"Our studies tell us slavery is illegal in Arelon. but those men keep
referring to the peasant as their possession."
Lukel frowned, turning eyes on the two contesting nobles. "Slavery is illegal,
but it probably won't be for long. Ten years ago there weren't any nobles or
peasants in Arelon—just Elantrians and everyone else. Over the past decade,
commoners have changed from families that owned their own land, to peasants
beneath feudal lords, to indentured servants, to something more resembling
ancient FjordelI serfs. It won't be much longer before they're nothing more
than property."
Sarene frowned. The mere fact that the king would hear a case such as
this—that he would even consider taking a man's children away from him to save
some nobleman's honor—was atrocious. Society was supposed to have progressed
beyond that point. The peasant watched the proceedings with dull eyes. eyes
that had systematically and deliberately had the light beaten out of them.
"This is worse than I had feared." Sarene said.
Lukel nodded at her side. "The first thing Iadon did when he took the throne
was eliminate individual landholding rights. Arelon had no army to speak of,
but Iadon could afford to hire mercenaries, forcing the people into
compliance. He declared that all land belonged to the Crown. and then he
rewarded those merchants who had supported his ascension with titles and
holdings. Only a few men, such as my father, had enough land and money that
Iadon didn't dare try to take their property."
Sarene felt her disgust for her new father rise. Once Arelon had boasted the
happiest, most advanced society in the world. Iadon had crushed that society,
transforming it into a system not even Fjordell used anymore.
Sarene glanced at Iadon, then turned to Lukel. "Come." she said. pulling her
cousin to the side of the room, where they could speak a little more openly.
They were close enough to keep an eye on Iadon, but far enough away from other
groups of people that a quiet conversation wouldn't be overheard.
"Ashe and I were discussing this earlier," she said. "How did that man ever
manage to get the throne?"
Lukel shrugged. "Iadon is ... a complex man. Cousin. He's remarkably
shortsighted in some areas, but he can be extremely crafty when dealing with
people—that's part of what makes him a good merchant. He was head of the local
merchants' guild before the Reod—which probably made him the most powerful man
in the area who wasn't directly connected to the Elantrians.
"The merchants' guild was an autonomous organization—and many of its members
didn't get along too well with the Elantrians. You see. Elantris provided free
food for everyone in the area, something that made for a happy populace, but
was terrible for the merchants."

"Why didn't they just import other things?" Sarene asked. "Something besides
food?"
"The Elantrians could make almost anything, Cousin," Lukel said. 'And while
they didn't give it all away for free, they could provide many materials at
far cheaper prices than the merchants could—especially if you consider
shipping costs. Eventually, the merchants' guild struck a deal with Elantris.
getting the Elantrians to promise that they would only provide 'basic' items
to the populace for free. That left the merchants' guild to import the more
expensive luxury items, catering to the more wealthy crowd in the area—which,
ironically, tended to be other members of the merchants' guild."
"And then the Reod struck," Sarene said, beginning to understand.
Lukel nodded. "Elantris fell, and the merchants' guild—of which Iadon was
chairman—was the largest. most powerful organization in the four Outer Cities.
Its members were wealthy, and they were intimately familiar with the other
wealthy people in the area. The fact that the guild had a history of
disagreement with Elantris only strengthened its reputation in the eyes of the
people. Iadon was a natural fit for king. That doesn't mean that he's a
particularly good monarch, though."
Sarene nodded. Sitting on his throne. Iadon finally made his decision
regarding the case. He declared with a loud voice that the runaway peasant did
indeed belong to the first noble, but his children would remain with the
second. "For," Iadon pointed out, "the children have been fed all this time by
their current master."
The peasant didn't cry out at the decision, he simply looked down at his feet,
and Sarene felt a stab of sorrow. When the man looked up. however, there was
something in his eyes—something beneath the enforced subservience. Hate. There
was still enough spirit left in him for that ever-powerful emotion.
"This won't go on much longer," she said quietly. "The people won't stand for
it."
"The working class lived for centuries under the Fjordell feudal system,"
Lukel pointed out. "And they were treated worse than farm animals."
"Yes, but they were raised to it," Sarene said. "People in ancient Fjorden
didn't know better-to them, the feudal system was the only system. These
people are different. Ten years really isn't all that long—the Arelish
peasantry can remember a time when the men they now call masters were simple
shopkeepers and tradesmen. They know that there is a better life. More
importantly, they know a government can collapse. making those who were once
servants into masters. Iadon has put too much on them too quickly."
Lukel smiled. "You sound like Prince Raoden."
Sarene paused. "Did you know him well?"
"He was my best friend." Lukel said with a sorrowful nod. "The greatest man I
have ever known."
"Tell me about him, Luke!," she requested, her voice soft.

Lukel thought for a moment, then spoke with a reminiscent voice. "Raoden made
people happy. Your day could have been as sour as winter, and the prince and
his optimism would arrive, and with a few gentle words he would make you
realize just how silly you were being. He was brilliant as well; he knew every
Aon. and couId draw them with perfection, and he was always coming up with
some weird new philosophy that no one but Father could understand. Even with
my training at the university in Svorden, I still couldn't follow half of his
theories."
"He sounds like he was flawless."
Lukel smiIed. "In everything but cards. He always lost when we played
tooledoo, even if he did talk me into paying for dinner afterward. He would
have made a horrible merchant-he didn't really care about money. He would lose
a game of tooledoo just because he knew I got a thrill from the victory. I
never saw him sad. or angry—except when he was at one of the outer
plantations, visiting the people. He did that often; then he would come back
to the court and speak his thoughts on the matter quite directly."
"I'll bet the king didn't think much of that," Sarene said with a slight
smile.
"He hated it," Lukel said. "Iadon tried everything short of banishing Raoden
to keep him quiet, but nothing worked. The prince would find a way to work his
opinion into any and every royal ruling. He was the crown prince, and so court
laws—written by Iadon himself—gave Raoden a chance to speak his mind in every
matter brought before the king. And let me tell you, Princess, you don't know
what a scolding is until you've had one from Raoden. The man could be so stern
at times that even the stone walls would shrivel beneath his tongue."
Sarene sat back, enjoying the image of Iadon being denounced by his own son
before the entire court.
"I miss him," Lukel said quietly. "This country needed Raoden. He was
beginning to make some real differences; he had gathered quite a following
amongst the nobles. Now the group is fragmenting without his leadership.
Father and I are trying to hold them together. but I've been gone so long that
I'm out of touch. And. of course, few of them trust Father."
"What? Why not:"
"He has something of a reputation for being a scoundrel. Besides, he doesn't
have a title. He's refused every one the king tried to give him."
Sarene's brow furled. "Wait a moment—I thought Uncle Kiin opposed the king.
Why would Iadon try to give him a title?"
Lukel smiled. "Iadon can't help it. The king's entire government is built on
the idea that monetary success is justification for rule. Father is extremely
successful, and the law says that money equals nobility. You see, the king was
foolish enough to think that everyone rich would think the same way he does,
and so he wouldn't have any opposition as long as he gave titles to everyone
affluent. Father's refusal to accept a title is really a way of undermining
Iadon's sovereignty, and the
king knows it. As long as there's even one rich man who isn't technically a
nobleman, the Arelish aristocratic system is flawed. Old Iadon nearly has a
fit every time Father appears in court."
"He should come by more often then." Sarene said wickedly.
"Father finds plenty of opportunities to show his face. He and Raoden met
nearly every afternoon here in the court to play a game of ShinDa. It was an
unending source of discomfort to Iadon that they chose to do this in his own
throne room. but again, his own laws proclaimed that the court was open to
everyone his son invited, so he couldn't throw them out."
-It sounds like the prince had a talent for using the king's own laws against
him."
"It was one of his more endearing traits," Lukel said with a smile. "Somehow
Raoden would twist every one of Iadon's new decrees until they turned around
and slapped the king in the face. Iadon spent nearly every moment of the last
five years trying to find a way to disinherit Raoden. It turns out Domi solved
that problem for him in the end."
Either Domi, Sarene thought with growing suspicion, or one of Iadon's own
assassins. . . . "Who inherits now?" she asked.
"That's not exactly certain," Lukel said. "Iadon probably plans to have
another son—Eshen is young enough. One of the more powerful dukes would
probably be next in line. Lord Telrii or Lord Roial."
"Are they here?" Sarene asked, scanning the crowd.
"Roial isn't," Lukel said, "but that's Duke Telrii over there." Lukel nodded
toward a pompous-looking man standing near the far wall. Lean and
strong-postured, he might have been handsome had he not displayed signs of
gross indulgence. His clothing sparkled with sewn-in gemstones, and his
fingers glittered gold and silver. As he turned, Sarene could see that the
left side of his face was marred by a massive, purplish birthmark.
"Let us hope the throne never falls to him," Lukel said. "Iadon is
disagreeable, but at least he's fiscally responsible. Iadon is a miser.
Telrii, however, is a spender. He likes money, and he likes those who give it
to him. He'd probably be the richest man in Arelon if he weren't so lavish—as
it is. he's a poor third, behind the king and Duke Roial."
Sarene frowned. "The king would have disinherited Raoden, leaving the country
with no visible heir? Doesn't he know anything about succession wars?"
Lukel shrugged. "Apparently, he'd rather have no heir than risk leaving
Rao-den in charge."
"He couldn't have things like freedom and compassion ruining his perfect
little monarchy," Sarene said.
"Exactly."
"These nobles who followed Raoden. Do they ever meet?"
"No," Lukel said with a frown. "They're too afraid to continue without the
prince's protection. We've convinced a few of the more dedicated ones to
gather one last time tomorrow, but I doubt anything will come of it."
"1 want to be there," Sarene said.
"These men don't like newcomers. Cousin," Lukel warned. "They've grown very
jumpy-they know their meetings could be considered treasonous.-
"It's the last time they plan to meet anyway. What are they going to do if I
show up? Refuse to come anymore?"
Lukel paused, then smiled. "All right, I'll teII Father, and he'll find a way
to get you in."
"We can both tell him over lunch," Sarene said. taking one last dissatisfied
look at her canvas, then walking over to pack up her paints.
"So you're coming to lunch after all?"
"Well, Uncle Kiin did promise he'd fix Fjordell revertiss. Besides. after what
I've learned today. I don't think I can sit here and listen to Iadon's
judgments much longer. I'm liable to start throwing paints if he makes me much
more angry."

Lukel laughed. "That probably wouldn't be a good idea, princess or not. Come
on. Kaise is going to be ecstatic that you're coming. Father always fixes
better food when we have company."
LUKEL was right.
"She's here!" Kaise declared with an enthusiastic squeal as she saw Sarene
walk in. "Father, you have to fix lunch!"
Jalla appeared from a nearby doorway to meet her husband with a hug and a
brief kiss. The Svordish woman whispered something to Luke] in Fjordell, and
he smiled, rubbing her shoulder affectionately. Sarene watched with envy, then
steeled herself with gritted teeth. She was a royal Teoish princess: it wasn't
her place to complain about the necessities of state marriages. If Domi had
taken her husband before she even met him, then He obviously wanted to leave
her mind clear for other coneerns.
Uncle Kiln emerged from the kitchen, stuffed a book in his apron, then gave
Sarene one of his crushing hugs. "So you couldn't stay away after all. The
lure of Kiin's magical kitchen was too much for you, eh?"
"No, Papa, she's just hungry," Kaise announced.
"Oh. is that all. Well, sit down. Sarene. I'll have lunch out in a few
moments."
The meal proceeded in much the same way as dinner had the night before,
Kaise complaining about the slowness, Daorn trying to act more mature than his
sister, and Lukel teasing them both mercilessly-as was the solemn duty of any
elder brother. Adien made his appearance late, looking distracted as he
mumbled

some numbers softly to himself. Kiin brought out several steaming platters of
food. apologizing for his wife's absence because of a prior engagement.
The meal was delightful—the food good, the conversation enjoyable. Until, that
was, Lukel took it upon himself to inform the family of Sarene's painting
talents.
"She was engaged in some sort of new-abstractionism." her cousin proclaimed
with a completely serious voice.
"Is that so?" Kiin asked.
"Yes," Lukel said. "Though I can't quite say what kind of statement she was
trying to make by representing a flower patch with a brown smudge that only
vaguely resembles a horse."
Sarene blushed as the table laughed. However, it wasn't over—Ashe chose that
moment to betray her as well.
"She calls it the school of creative misdirection." the Seon explained
solemnly in his deep. stately voice. "I believe the princess feels empowered
by crafting art that completely baffles one's ability to distinguish what the
subject could be."
This was too much for Kiin. who nearly collapsed from laughter. Sarene's
torment was soon over, however, as the topic of conversation met with a slight
change—the source of which was of some interest to the princess.
"There's no such thing as a school of creative misdirection," Kaise informed
them.
"There isn't?" her father asked.
"No. There's the impressionist school. the neorepresentational school, the
abstract derivational school, and the revivationist school. That's it."
"Oh, is that so?" Lukel asked with amusement.
"Yes." Kaise pronounced. "There was the realist movement, but that's the same
as the neorepresentational school. They just changed names to sound more
important."
"Stop trying to show off for the princess." Daorn mumbled.
"I'm not showing off," Kaise huffed. "I'm being educated."
"You are too showing off," Daorn said. "Besides, the realist school is not the
same as the neorepresentational school."
"Daorn, stop grumbling at your sister." Kiin ordered. "Kaise, stop showing
off."
Kaise scowled, then sat back with a sullen look on her face and began mumbling
incoherently.
"What's she doing?" Sarene asked with confusion.
"Oh, she's cursing at us in Jindoeese," Daorn said offhandedly. "She always
does that when she loses an argument,"
"She thinks she can save face by speaking in other languages," Lukel said. "As
if that proves that she's actually more intelligent than the rest of the
world."

With that, the torrent of words from the small blond girl's mouth changed
directions. With a start, Sarene realized Kaise was now muttering in Fjordell.
Kaise wasn't done, however: she topped of the tirade with a brief, but biting,
accusation in what sounded like Duladen.
"How many languages does she speak?" Sarene asked in amazement.
"Oh, four or five, unless she's learned a new one while I wasn't looking,"
Lukel said. "Though she's going to have to stop soon. Svordish scientists
claim that the human mind can only maintain six languages before it starts to
jumble them."
"It's one of Iittle Kaise's life quests to prove them wrong," Kiin explained
in his deep, scratchy voice. "That. and to eat every morsel of food to be
found in all of Arelon."
Kaise stuck out her chin at her father with a dismissive sniff, then turned
back to her meal.
"They're both so . . . well informed," Sarene said with surprise.
"Don't be too impressed," Lukel said. "Their tutors have been covering art
history lately, and the two of them have been working hard to prove they can
outdo one another."
"Even so." Sarene said.
Kaise, still displeased at her loss, mumbled something over her meal. "What
was that?" Kiin asked with a firm tone.
"I said, 'If the prince were here. he would have listened to me.' He always
took my side."
"He just sounded like he was agreeing with you." Daorn said. "That is called
sarcasm, Kaise."
Kaise stuck out her tongue at her brother. "He thought I was beautiful, and he
loved me. He was waiting for me to grow up so he could marry me. Then I would
be queen, and I'd throw you all in the dungeon until you admitted that I was
right."
"He wouldn't have married you, stupid," Daorn said with a scowl. "He married
Sarene."
Kiin must have noticed the way Sarene's face fell when the prince's name came
up, for he quickly hushed the two children with hard looks. However, the
damage had been done. The more she learned of him, the more Sarene remembered
the prince's soft, encouraging voice traveling hundreds of miles through the
Seon to speak with her. She thought of the rambling way his letters told her
of life in Arelon. explaining how he was preparing a place for her. She had
been so excited to meet him that she had decided to leave Teod a week early.
Not early enough, apparently.
Perhaps she should have listened to her father. He had been hesitant to agree
to the marriage, even though he knew Teod needed a solid alliance with the new
Arelish government. Though the two countries were descendants of the same

racial and cultural heritage, there had been little contact between Teod and
AreIon during the last decade. The uprisings after the Reod threatened anyone
associated with the Elantrians—and that certainly included the Teoish royalty.
But with Fjorden pushing the boundaries of its influence again—this time
instigating the collapse of the Duladen Republic—it became obvious that Teod
needed to either reacquaint itself with its ancient ally, or face Wyrn's
hordes alone.
And so Sarene had suggested the marriage. Her father had objected at first,
but then had bowed beneath its utter practicality. There was no stronger bond
than that of blood, especially when the marriage involved a crown prince.
Never mind that a royal marriage contract forbade Sarene to ever marry again:
Raoden was young and strong. They all assumed he would live for decades.
Kiin was talking to her. "What was that, Uncle?" she asked.
"I just wanted to know if there was anything you wanted to see in Kae. You've
been here a couple of days; it's probably time someone gave you a tour. I'm
sure Lukel would be happy to show you the sights."
The thin man raised his hands. "Sorry, Father. I'd love to show our beautiful
eousin around the town. but Jalla and I have to go discuss the purchase of
some silk for shipment to Teod."
"Both of you?" Sarene asked with surprise.
"Of course," Lukel said, dropping his napkin to the table and rising. "Jalla's
a fierce bargainer."
"That be the only reason he married me," the Svorden woman confessed with her
thick accent and a slight smile. "Lukel is a merchant. Profit in everything,
even marriage."
"That's right," Lukel said with a laugh, taking his wife's hand as she rose.
"The fact that she's brilliant and beautiful didn't even enter into it. Thanks
for the meal, Father. It was delicious. Good day, all."
With that the couple left, staring into each other's eyes as they walked.
Their exit was followed by a series of gagging sounds from Daorn. "Ugh.
Father, you should speak to them. They're so dopey-eyed they make it hard to
eat."
"Our dear brother's mind has turned to mush," Kaise agreed.
"Be patient, children," Kiin said. "Lukel has only been married for a month
now. Give him a while longer, and he'll turn back to normal."
"I hope so," Kaise said. "He's making me sick." Of course, she didn't look
very sick to Sarene; she was still packing down the food with a vengeance.
Beside Sarene, Adien continued to mumble in his way. He didn't seem to say
much, except to quote numbers—that, and the occasional word that sounded a lot
like "Elantris."
"I would like to see the town, UncIe," Sarene said, the boy's comments
reminding her of something. "Especially Elantris—I want to know what all of
the furor is about."

Kiin rubbed his chin. "WeIl." he said, "I suppose the twins can show you. They
know how to get to Elantris, and it will keep them out of my hair for a little
while."
"Twins?"
Kiin smiled. "It's Lukel's nickname for them."
"One we hate," Daorn said. "We aren't twins—we don't even look alike." Sarene
studied the two children, with their similar bobs of blond hair and their
identical determined expressions, and smiled. "Not at all," she agreed.
THE wall of Elantris stood over Kae like a disapproving sentry. Walking at its
base, Sarene finally realized how truly formidable it was. She had once
visited Fjordell, and had been impressed by many of that nation's fortified
cities—but even they couldn't compete with Elantris. The wall was so high, its
sides so smooth. that it obviously hadn't been crafted by normal human hands.
There were enormous. intricate Aons carved into its sides—many of which Sarene
didn't recognize, and she liked to consider herself well educated.
The children led her to a massive set of stone stairs that ran up the side of
the outer wall. Magnificently carved, with archways and frequent viewing
platforms, the stairs themselves were sculpted with a certain regality. There
was also a sense of ... arrogance about the tiered stairway. It was obviously
part of the original Elantris city design, and proved that the massive walls
had been constructed not as a means of defense, but as a means of separation.
Only people supremely confident in themselves would craft such an amazing
fortification, then place a wide set of stairs on the outside, leading up to
the top.
That confidence had been proven unjustified, for Elantris had fallen. Yet,
Sarene reminded herself, it hadn't been invaders who had claimed the city. but
something else. Something not yet understood. The Reod.
Sarene paused along a stone railing about halfway up to the top of the wall,
looking out over the city of Kae. The smaller city stood like a little brother
to the grand Elantris—it tried so hard to prove its significance. but next to
the massive city it couldn't help but seem inferior. Its buildings might have
been impressive somewhere else, but they seemed tiny—petty, even when compared
with the majesty of Elantris.
Petty or not, Sarene told herself, Kae will have to be my focus. Elantris 's
day has passed.
Several little bubbles of light floated along the outside of the wall—some of
the first Seons Sarene had seen in the area. She was excited at first, but
then remembered the stories. Once, Seons had been unaffected by the Shoad—but
that had changed with the fall of Elantris. When a person was taken by the
Shaod now, their Seon—if they had one—gained a kind of madness. The Seons by
the wall

floated aimlessly, like lost children. She knew without asking that the city
was where such maddened Seons gathered, once their masters had fallen.
She looked away from the Seons. nodded to the children, and continued her trek
up the enormous set of stairs. Kae would be her focus. true, but she still
wanted to see Elantris. There was something about it—its size. its Aons, its
reputation—that she had to experience for herself.
As she walked, she was able to reach out and rub her hand across the groove of
a carved Aon sculpted into the side of the city wall. The line was as wide as
her hand. There were no gaps where stone met stone. It was as she had read:
the entire wall was one seamless piece of rock.
Except, it was no longer flawless. Pieces of the enormous monolith were
crumbling and cracking, especially near the top. As they neared the end of
their climb there were places where great chunks of the wall had torn away.
leaving jagged wounds in the stone reminiscent of bite marks. Still, the wall
was impressive, especially when one was standing on top of it, looking down at
the ground below.
"Oh my," Sarene said, feeling herself grow dizzy.
Daorn pulled against the back of her dress urgently. "Don't get too close,
Sarene."
"I'm all right," she said with a dazed voice. She did, however, let him pull
her hack.
Ashe hovered next to her, glowing with concern. "Perhaps this wasn't a good
idea, my lady. You know how you are with heights."
"Nonsense," Sarene said, recovering. Then she noticed for the first time the
large gathering on the wall's top a short distance away. There was a piercing
voice rising over the group—one she couldn't quite make out. "What's that?"
The twins exchanged mutual shrugs of confusion. "I don't know," Daorn said.
"This place is usually empty, except for the guards." Kaise added.
"Let's have a look," Sarene said. She wasn't sure, but she thought she
recognized the voice's accent. As they approached the back of the crowd,
Sarene confirmed her suspicion.
"It's the gyorn!" Kaise said excitedly. "I wanted to see him." And she was
gone. shooting in to the crowd. Sarene could hear muffled cries of surprise
and annoyance as the little girl pushed her way to the front of the group.
Daorn shot his sister a longing look and took a step forward, but then looked
back at Sarene and instead decided to remain beside her like a dutiful guide.
Daorn needn't have worried about seeing the gyorn, however. Sarene was a bit
more reserved than her young cousin, hut she was just as determined to get
close enough to hear Hrathen. So, her small guard at her side, Sarene
politely—but resolutely—made her way through the crowd until she was standing
at the front.
Hrathen stood on a small overlook built into the Elantris wall. His back was
to the crowd, but he was angled in such a way as to let his words reach them.
His speech was obviously intended for their ears, and not those down below.
Sarene spared barely a gIance for Elantris itself—she would study it later.
"Look at them!" Hrathen commanded, gesturing toward Elantris. "They have lost
their right to be men. They are animals, having no will or desire to serve
Lord Jaddeth. They know no God, and can follow only after their lusts."
Sarene frowned. Shu-Dereth taught that the only difference between men and
animals was mankind's ability to worship God, or "Jaddeth" in Fjordell. The
doctrine was not new to Sarene; her father had made sure to include an
extensive knowledge of Shu-Dereth in her education. What she couldn't figure
out was why a full gyorn would waste his time with the Elantrians. What could
he possibly gain from denouncing a group that had already been beaten down so
soundly?
One thing was clear, however. If the gyorn saw reason to preach against
Elantris, then it was her duty to defend it. It was possible to block her
enemy's schemes before she fully understood them.
". . . as all know. animals are far beneath men in the eyes of Lord Jaddeth."
Hrathen was saying, his speech rising toward its conclusion.
Sarene saw her chance and took it. She opened her eyes wide, assumed a dull
look of confusion, and—with her most high-pitched innocent voice—asked a
single word.
"Why?"
Hrathen stopped. She had timed the question so it fell directly in the awkward
space between two of his sentences. The gyorn stumbled at the piercing
inquiry. obviously trying to regain his momentum. However, Sarene's placement
had been too skillful, and the moment was gone. He turned around with harsh
eyes to search out the one who had so foolishly interrupted him. All he found
was a demure, perplexed Sarene.
"Why what?" Hrathen demanded.
"Why are animals beneath humans in Mr. Jaddeth's eyes?" she asked.
The gyorn gritted his teeth at her use of the term "Mr. Jaddeth." "Because,
unlike men, they can do nothing but follow their own lusts."
The standard follow-up question to such a statement would have been "But men
follow their lusts as well," which would have given Hrathen an opportunity to
explain the difference between a man of God and a carnal, sinful man. Sarene
didn't oblige.
"But I heard that Mr. Jaddeth rewarded arrogance." Sarene said with confusion.
The gyorn's eyes grew suspicious. The question was just a bit too well placed
to have come from one as simple as Sarene was pretending to be. He knew, or at
least suspected, that she was toying with him. However, he still had to answer
the question—if not for her, then for the rest of the crowd.

"Lord Jaddeth rewards ambition, not arrogance," he said carefully.
"I don't understand," Sarene said. "Isn't ambition serving our own lusts? Why
does Mr. Jaddeth reward that?"
Hrathen was losing his audience, and he knew it. Sarene's question was a
century-old theological argument against Shu-Dereth, but the crowd knew
nothing of ancient disputes or scholarly refutations. All they knew was that
someone was asking questions Hrathen couldn't answer quickly enough, or
interestingly enough, to hold their attention.
"Arrogance is different from carnality," Hrathen declared in a snappish voice.
making use of his commanding position to take control of the conversation.
"People's service in Jaddeth's empire is quickly rewarded both here and in the
afterlife."
It was a masterful attempt: he managed not only to switch the topic, but to
draw the crowd's attention to another idea. Everyone found rewards
fascinating. Unfortunately for him, Sarene wasn't done yet.
"So if we serve Jaddeth, our lusts are fulfilled?"
"No one serves Jaddeth but Wyrn," Hrathen said offhandedly as he considered
how to best answer her objections.
Sarene smiled; she had been hoping he would make that mistake. It was a basic
tenet of Shu-Dereth that only one man could serve Jaddeth directly; the
religion was very regimented, and its structure was reminiscent of the feudal
government that had once ruled in Fjorden. One served those above him. who
served those above him, and so on until it reached Wyrn, who served Jaddeth
directly. Everyone served Jaddeth's empire. but only one man was holy enough
to serve God directly. There was much confusion about the distinction, and it
was eommon for the Derethi priesthood to correct it as Hrathen just had.
Unfortunately, he had also just given Sarene another opportunity.
"No one can serve Jaddeth?" she asked with confusion. "Not even you?"
It was a silly argument—a misinterpretation of Hrathen's point, not a true
attack on Shu-Dereth. In a debate of pure religious merit. Sarene would never
have been able to stand against a fully-trained gyorn. However, Sarene wasn't
looking to disprove Hrathen's teachings, just ruin his speech.
Hrathen looked up at her comment. immediately realizing his mistake. All of
his former thinking and planning was now useless—and the crowd was wondering
at this new question.
Nobly, the gyorn tried to cover for his mistake. attempting to bring the
conversation back to more familiar grounds, but Sarene had the crowd now, and
she held on to them with the viselike grip only a woman on the verge of
hysterics could manage.
"What will we do?" she asked with a shake of her head. "I fear these things of
priests are beyond common people such as myself."
And it was over. The people began talking among themselves and wandering

away. Most of them were laughing at the eccentricities of priests, and the
abstruseness of theological reasonings. Sarene noticed that most of them were
nobles; it must have taken a great deal of effort for the gyorn to lead them
all up to Elantris's wall. She found herself smiling wickedly at all of his
wasted planning and coaxing.
Hrathen watched his carefully arranged gathering dribble away. He didn't try
speaking again; he probably knew that if he yelled or fumed, he would only do
more damage than good.
Surprisingly, the gyorn turned away from the scattering people and nodded
appreciatively at Sarene. It wasn't a bow, but it was the most respectful
gesture she had ever received from a Derethi priest. It was an acknowledgment
of a battle well won, a concession given to a worthy opponent.
"You play a dangerous game, Princess," he said softly in his slightly accented
voice.
"You'll find I am very good at games. Gyorn," she replied.
"Until the next round, then," he said, waving for a shorter, light-haired
priest to follow him as he climbed down from the wall. In this other man's
eyes there was no hint of respect or even tolerance. They burned with hatred,
and Sarene shivered as he focused them on her. The man's teeth were clenched
tightly. and Sarene got the feeling that there wasn't much holding the man
back from grabbing her by the neck and hurling her off the side of the wall.
She grew dizzy just thinking about it.
"That one worries me." Ashe observed by her side. "I have seen such men
before, and my experience has not been favorable. A dam so poorly constructed
must eventually collapse."
Sarene nodded. "He was Aonic—not a Fjordell. He looks like a page or attendant
of Hrathen's."
"Well, let us hope that the gyorn can keep his pet under control, my lady."
She nodded, but her response was cut off by a sudden peal of laughter from
beside her. She looked down to find Kaise rolling on the ground with mirth;
apparently. she had managed to hold her outburst until the gyorn was out of
sight.
"Sarene," she said between gasps of breath. "that was wonderful! You were so
stupid! And his face ... he got even redder than Papa after he finds out I've
eaten all of his sweets. His face almost matched his armor!"
"I didn't like him at all," Daorn said solemnly from beside Sarene. He stood
near an open part of the parapet, looking down toward Hrathen as the man
descended the enormous flight of stairs to the city. "He was too ... hard.
Didn't he know you were only acting stupid?"
"Probably," Sarene said. motioning for Kaise to stand up and then brushing off
the girl's pink dress. "But there was no way for him to prove it, so he had to
pretend that I was serious."
"Father says the gyorn is here to convert us all to Shu-Dereth," Daorn said.

"Does he now?" Sarene asked.
Daorn nodded. "He also says lie's afraid Hrathen will be successful. He says
the crops didn't do well last year. and a lot of the people are without food.
If the planting this month doesn't go well, next winter will be even harder,
and hard times make people willing to accept a man who preaehes change."
"Your father is a wise man, Daorn," Sarene said. Her confrontation with
Hrathen had been little more than sport; people's minds were fickle, and they
would quickly forget this day's debate. Whatever Hrathen had been doing was
only part of something much larger—something to do with Elantris—and Sarene
needed to discover what his intentions were. Finally remembering her original
reason for visiting the wall, Sarene took her first good look at the city
below.
It had once been beautiful. The feel of the city, how the buildings worked
together, the way the roads crossed—the entire mass was ... intentional. Art
on a grand scale. Most of the arches had collapsed, many of the domed roofs
had fallen, and even some of the walls looked as if they had little time left.
Still, she could tell one thing. Elantris had been beautiful, once.
"They're so sad," Kaise said next to her, on her tiptoes so she could see over
the side of the stone safety wall.
"Who?"
"Them," Kaise said, pointing to the streets below.
There were people down there—huddled forms that barely moved. They were
camouflaged against the dark streets. Sarene couldn't hear their groans, but
she could feel them.
"No one takes care of them." Kaise said.
"How do they eat?" Sarene asked. "Someone must feed them." She couldn't make
out many details about the people below-only that they were human. Or, at
least, they had the forms of humans; she had read many confusing things about
the Elantrians.
"No one," Daorn said from her other side. "No one feeds them. They should all
be dead—there's nothing for them to eat."
"They must get it somewhere," Sarene argued.
Kaise shook her head. "They're dead. Sarene. They don't need to eat."
"They may not move much," Sarene said dismissively, "but they obviously aren't
dead. Look, those ones over there are standing."
"No, Sarene. They're dead too. They don't need to eat, they don't need to
sleep, and they don't age. They're all dead." Kaise's voice was
uncharacteristically solemn.
`How do you know so much about it?" Sarene said, trying to dismiss the words
as productions of a child's imagination. Unfortunately, these children had
proven themselves remarkably well informed.

"I just do," Kaise said. "Trust me. They're dead."
Sarene felt the hair on her arms rising, and she sternly told herself not to
give in to the mysticism. The Elantrians were odd, true, but they were not
dead. There had to be another explanation.
She scanned the city once more, trying to put Kaise's disturbing comments out
of her mind. As she did, her eyes fell on a particular pair of figures—ones
who didn't appear to be as pitiful as the rest. She squinted at the figures.
They were Elantrian, but one seemed to have darker skin than the other. They
crouched on the top of a buiIding, and they looked mobile, unlike most of the
other Elantrians she had seen. There was something ... different about these
two.
"My lady?" Ashe's concerned voice sounded in her ear, and she realized that
she had begun to lean out over the stone parapet.
With a start, she looked down, realizing just how high up they were. Her eyes
unfocused, and she began to lose her balance, transfixed by the undulating
ground below....
"My lady!" Ashe's voice came again, shocking her out of her stupor.
Sarene stumbled back from the wall, squatting down and wrapping her arms
around her knees. She breathed deeply for a moment. "I'll be all right, Ashe."
"We're leaving this place as soon as you regain your balance," the Seon or-
dered, his voice firm.
Sarene nodded distractedly.
Kaise snorted. "You know, considering how tall she is, you'd think she'd get
used to heights."

CHAPTER 9
IF Dilaf had been a dog. he would have been growling. Probably frothing at the
mouth as well, Hrathen decided. The arteth was even worse than he usually was
after visiting Elantris's wall. Hrathen turned to look back at the city. They
had nearly reached their chapel,

but the enormous wall surrounding Elantris was still visible behind them. Atop
it somewhere was the infuriating young woman who had somehow gotten the best
of him this day.
"She was magnificent," Hrathen said in spite of himself. Like any of his kind,
he had an unquestioned prejudice when it came to the Teoish people. Teod had
banished Derethi ministers from the country fifty years ago following a small
misunderstanding, and had never consented to let them back in. The Teoish king
had come quite near to banishing the Fjordell ambassadors as well. There
wasn't a single known Teoish member of Shu-Dereth, and the Teoish royal house
was infamous for its biting denunciations of all things Derethi.
Still, it was invigorating to meet a person who could so easily foil one of
his sermons. Hrathen had preached Shu-Dereth so long, had made such an art of
manipulating the public mind, that he hardly found challenge in it any longer.
His success in Duladel a half year ago had proven that one could even cause
nations to crumble, if one were capable enough.
Unfortunately, in Duladel there had been little opposition. The Dulas
themselves were too open, too accepting. to present a true challenge. In the
end, with the shambles of a government dead at his feet. Hrathen had found
himself disappointed. It had been almost too easy.
"Yes, she is impressive," he said.
"She is accursed above all others," Dilaf hissed. "A member of the only race
hated by Lord Jaddeth."
So that was what was bothering him. Many Fjordells assumed that there was no
hope for the Teos. It was foolishness, of course—a simple justification that
infused Fjorden's historical enemies with theological hatred. Still, many
people believed it-and apparently Dilaf was among them.
"Jaddeth hates no one but those who hare Him," Hrathen said.
"They do hate Him."
"Most of them have never even heard His name preached, Arteth," Hrathen said.
"Their king, yes; he is most likely cursed for his injunction against Derethi
priests. However, the people haven't even been given a chance. Once Arelon
falls to Lord Jaddeth, then we can worry about penetrating Teod. The country
won't last long with the rest of the civilized world pitted against it."
"It will be destroyed," Dilaf prophesied with angry eyes. "Jaddeth will not
wait while our arteths preach His name against the unyielding walls of Teoish
hearts."
"Lord Jaddeth can only come when all men are united beneath Fjordell rule,
Arteth," Hrathen said, turning away from his contemplation of Elantris and
moving to enter the chapel. "That includes the ones in Teod."
Dilaf's response was softly spoken, but every word sounded powerfully in
Hrathen's ears. "Perhaps," the Arelish priest whispered. "But there is another
way.

Lord Jaddeth will rise when every living soul is united—the Teoish will be no
obstacle if we destroy them. When the final Teo heaves his last sigh, when the
Elan-trims have been burned from the face of Sycla, then all men will follow
Wyrn. Then Jaddeth will come."
The words were disturbing. Hrathen had come to save Arelon. not to burn it. It
might be necessary to undermine the monarchy, and perhaps he would have to
spill some noble blood, but the end result would be the redemption of an
entire nation. To Hrathen. uniting all mankind meant converting them to
Derethi, not murdering those who didn't believe.
Except, perhaps his way was wrong. Wyrn's patience seemed only slightly
greater than Dilaf's—the three-month rime limit proved that much. Suddenly
Hrathen felt an extreme sense of urgency. Wyrn meant his words: Unless Hrathen
converted Arelon, the country would be destroyed.
'Great Jaddeth Below ..." Hrathen whispered. invoking his deity's name—an
action he reserved for only the most sacred of times. Right or wrong. he
didn't want the blood of an entire kingdom—even a heretical one—on his hands.
He must succeed.
FORTUNATELY. his loss to the Teoish girl hadn't been as complete as she
probably assumed. When Hrathen arrived at the meeting place—a large suite in
one of Kae's finest inns-many of the nobles he had invited were waiting for
him. The speech on Elantris's wall had been only one part of his plan to
convert these men.
"Greetings, Lords," Hrathen said with a nod of his head.
"Don't pretend everything is fine between us, priest," said Idan, one of the
younger, more vocal nobles. "You promised your words would bring power. It
appears powerful confusion was the only thing they produced."
Hrathen waved his hand dismissively. "My speech baffled one simpleminded girl.
It is said the fair princess has trouble remembering which is her right hand
and which is her left. I wouldn't have expected her to understand my
speech—don't tell me that you, Lord Idan, were similarly lost."
Idan blushed. "Of course not. my lord. It's just that .     I failed to see
how conversion could grant us power."
"The power. my lord, comes in the perception of your enemy." Hrathen strolled
through the room, the ever-present Dilaf at his side, and chose a seat. Some
gyorns preferred to use a standing posture as a form of intimidation, but
Hrathen found it more useful to sit. More often than not, sitting made his
listeners—especially those who were standing—uncomfortable. One appeared more
in control when one could captivate an audience without towering over them.
Sure enough. Idan and the others soon found their seats as well. Hrathen

rested his elbows on the armrests, then clasped his hands and regarded his
audience in silence. His brow furled slightly as his eyes fell on one face
near the back of the room. The man was older, perhaps in his late forties, and
wore rich clothing. The most telling part of the man's appearance was the
large purplish birthmark on the left side of his neck and face.
Hrathen hadn't invited Duke Telrii to the meeting. The duke was one of the
most powerful men in AreIon, and Hrathen had kept his invitations to the
younger nobles. He had assumed that he had little chance in convincing
powerful men to follow him; young men impatient to move up the aristocratic
ladder were usually easier to manipulate. Hrathen would have to speak
carefully this night-a powerful alliance could be his reward.
"Well?" Idan finally asked. fidgeting beneath Hrathen's stare. "Who are they
then? Who do you perceive as our enemy?"
"The Elantrians," Hrathen said simply. He could feel Dilaf tense by his side
as he mentioned the word.
Idan's discomfort left as he chuckled. shooting looks at several of his
companions. "The Elantrians have been dead for a decade, Fjordell. They are
hardly a threat."
"No. my young lord," Hrathen said. "They live on."
"If you can call it that."
"I don't mean those pitiful mongrels inside the city," Hrathen said. "I mean
the Elantrians that live in the people's minds. Tell me, Idan. Have you ever
met a man who thought the Elantrians would return someday?"
Idan's chuckles faded away as he considered the question.
"Iadon's rule is far from absolute," Hrathen said. "He is more of a regent
than a king. The people don't really expect him to be monarch for long—they're
waiting for their blessed Elantrians to return. Many call the Reod false, a
kind of 'test' to see who will remain true to the old pagan religion. You have
all heard how people speak of Elantris in whispers."
Hrathen's words held weight. He had been in Kae for only a few days, but he
had listened and researched well during that time. He was exaggerating the
opinion, but he knew it existed.
"Iadon doesn't see the danger," Hrathen continued softly. "He doesn't see that
his leadership is suffered, rather than accepted. As long as the people have a
physical reminder of Elantris's might, they will fear-and as long as they fear
something more than they fear their king, none of you will have power. Your
titles came from the king; your power is connected to him. If he is impotent,
then you are as well."
They were listening now. At the heart of every nobleman was an incurable
insecurity. Hrathen hadn't met an aristocrat yet who wasn't at least in part
convinced that the peasants laughed at him behind his back.

"Shu-Korath doesn't recognize the danger," Hrathen continued. "The Korathi do
nothing to denounce the Elantrians, and therefore perpetuate the public's
hope. Irrational though it may be, the people want to believe Elantris will be
restored. They imagine how grand it used to be, their memories enhanced by a
decade of stories—it is human nature to believe that other places and ocher
times are better than the here and now. If you ever want to hold true
domination over Arelon, my dear noble friends, then you must abolish your
people's foolish hopes. You must find a way to free them from Elantris's
grip."
Young Idan nodded enthusiastically. Hrathen pursed his lips with
dissatisfaction: The boy noble had been too easily swayed. As was often the
case, the most outspoken man was the least discerning. Ignoring Idan. Hrathen
judged the expressions of the others. They were thoughtful, but not convinced.
The more mature Telrii sat quietly at the back, rubbing the large ruby on one
of his rings, watching Hrathen with a musing expression.
Their uncertainty was good. Men as fickle-minded as Idan were of no use to
him; those so easily won would be lost just as quickly. "Tell me, men of
Arelon," Hrathen said. changing his argument subtly, "have you traveled the
countries of the East?"
There were several nods. During the last few years. the East had seen a flood
of visitors from Arelon touring through the old Fjordell Empire. Hrathen
strongly suspected that the new aristocracy of Arelon, even more insecure than
most nobles, felt a desire to prove its level of cultured refinement by
associating with kingdoms such as Svorden, the cultural epicenter of the East.
"If you have visited the powerful countries of the East, my friends, then you
know of the influence available to those who align themselves with the Derethi
priesthood." "Influence" was, perhaps, an understatement. No king ruled east
of the Dathreki Mountains unless he professed allegiance to Shu-Dereth. and
the most desirable and lucrative governmental positions always fell to those
who were diligent in their worship of Jaddeth.
There was a promise implicit in Hrathen's words and—no matter what else they
might discuss this night, no matter what other arguments Hrathen put
forth—this was what would win their support. It was no secret that Derethi
priests took a keen interest in politics; and most people knew that gaining
the endorsement of the church was usually enough to insure political victory.
This was the promise the noblemen had come expecting to hear, and this was why
the Teoish girl's complaints hadn't affected them. Theological disputes were
far from these men's minds: Shu-Dereth or Shu-Korath. it mattered little to
them. All they needed was an assurance that a sudden outpouring of piety on
their parts would in turn be rewarded with temporal blessings—very tangible
and spendable ones.
"Enough wordplay, priest," said Ramear, one of the younger nobles. He was a
hawk-faced second son of an unimportant baron, a man with a sharp Aonic nose

and a reputation for straightforwardness—a reputation he apparentIy deserved.
"I want promises. Are you saying that if we convert to Derethi, you will grant
us greater holdings?"
"Jaddeth rewards his followers," Hrathen said noncommittally.
'And how will he reward us?" Ramear demanded. "Shu-Dereth holds no power in
this kingdom, priest."
"Lord Jaddeth holds power everywhere, friend," Hrathen said. Then, to
forestall further demands, he continued. "It is true that as of yet He has few
followers in Arelon. The world. however, is dynamic, and few things can stand
against Jaddeth's empire. Remember Duladel, my friends. Arelon has remained
untouched for so long because we haven't bothered to spare the effort it would
take to convert her." A lie, but only a modest one. "The first problem is
Elantris. Remove it from the people's minds, and they will gravitate toward
Shu-Dereth—Shu-Korath is too tranquil, too indolent. Jaddeth will grow in the
people's awareness, and as He does, they will look for role models within the
ranks of the aristocracy—men who hold to the same ideals as themselves."
"And then we will be rewarded?" Ramear asked pointedly.
"The people will never suffer rulers who don't believe as they do. As recent
history has shown, my friends. kings and monarchies are hardly eternal."
Ramear sat back to contemplate the priest's words. Hrathen had to be careful
yet; it was quite possible that only a few of these men would end up
supporting him, and he didn't want to give the others evidence against him.
Lenient as he may be with regards to religion, King Iadon wouldn't suffer
Hrathen's preaching long if he found it treasonous.
Later, after Hrathen sensed firm conviction in his fledgling nobles, he would
give them more concrete promises. And. no matter what his opponents might say,
Hrathen's promises were trustworthy: as little as he liked working with men
whose allegiance could be bought. it was a firm tenet of Shu-Dereth that
ambition should be rewarded. Besides, it was beneficial to have a reputation
for honesty, if only so that one could lie at crucial moments.
"It will take time to unseat an entire religion and set up a new one in its
place," mused Waren, a thin man with a head of nearly white blond hair. Waren
was known for his strict piety; Hrathen had been rather surprised when he
accompanied his cousin Idan to the meeting. It appeared that Waren's renowned
faith was less a matter of religious fervor than it was one of political
advantage. Winning him. and his reputation, would be a great help to Hrathen's
cause.
"You would be surprised. young Lord Waren," Hrathen said. "Until very
recently, Duladel was the seat of one of the world's oldest religions. Now, as
far as Fjordell recorders can tell, that religion has been completely wiped
out—at least in its pure form."
"Yes," Waren said, "but the collapse of the Jesker religion and the Duladen

Republic are events that had been building for years, perhaps even centuries.'
"But you cannot deny that when that change in power occurred, it came
swiftly," Hrathen said.
Waren paused. "True."
"The fall of the Elantrians was likewise swift," Hrathen said. "Change can
come with blinding speed, Lord Waren—but those who are prepared can profit
quite substantially from it. You say that the fall of Jesker was building for
years ... well, I suggest to you that the Korathi religion has been in decline
for a similar amount of time. It used to hold much sway in the East. Now, its
influence has been relegated to only Teod and Arelon."
Waren paused thoughtfully. He appeared to be a man of intelligence and
shrewdness. and seemed swayed by Hrathen's logic. It was possible that Hrathen
had misjudged the Arelish nobility. Most of them were as hopeless as their
king, but a surprising number showed promise. Perhaps they realized just how
precarious their positions were—their people starving, their aristocracy
inexperienced, and the full attention of the Fjordell Empire turned upon them.
When the storm hit. most of Arelon would be surprised like rodents stunned by
a bright light. These few lords. however, might just be worth saving.
"My lords. I hope you will review my offers with more wisdom than your king,"
Hrathen said. "These are difficult times, and those who don't have the
Church's support will find life harsh in the coming months. Remember who and
what I represent."
"Remember Elantris," a voice, Dilaf's, hissed from beside Hrathen. "Do not
forget the well of desecration that pollutes our land. They sleep, and they
wait, clever as always. They wait to capture you-all of you—and drag you into
their embrace. You must cleanse the world of them before they cleanse it of
you."
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence. Finally—the arteth's sudden
exclamation having spoiled his rhythm—Hrathen leaned back in his chair,
crossing his fingers before him to show that the meeting was at an end. The
nobles left, their troubled faces showing that they understood the difficult
decision Hrathen had placed before them. Hrathen studied them. deciding which
ones it would be safe to contact again. Idan was his, and with him would
inevitably come several of his followers. Hrathen probably had Ramear as well,
assuming he met privately with the man and offered him a solid promise of
backing. There were a couple of others like Ramear, and then there was Waren,
whose eyes were tinged with what looked like respect. Yes, he could do grand
things with that one.
They were a politically weak, relatively unimportant lot. but they were a
beginning. As Shu-Dereth gained followers, increasingly important nobles would
throw their weight behind Hrathen. Then, when the country finally collapsed
beneath the weight of political unrest, economic uncertainty. and martial
threats, Hrathen would reward his followers with positions in the new
government.

The key to reaching that success was still sitting at the back of the meeting,
watching quietIy. Duke Telrii's air was stateIy, his face calm, but his
reputation for extravagance spoke of great potential.
"My lord Telrii, a moment please,- Hrathen requested, rising. "I have a
special proposal that might be of interest to you."

CHAPTER 10
SULE, I don't think this is a good idea." Galladon's whisper was
unenthusiastic as he crouched next to Raoden.
"Hush," Raoden ordered, peeking around the corner toward the courtyard. The
gangs had heard about Raoden's recruitment of Mareshe, and were convinced that
he intended to start his own rival gang. When Raoden and Galladon had arrived
the day before to look for newcomers, they had found a group of Aanden's men
waiting for them. The reception hadn't been pleasant. Fortunately, they had
escaped without any broken bones or stubbed toes, but this time Raoden
intended to be a little more subtle.
"What if they're waiting for us again?" Galladon asked.
"They probably are," Raoden said. "Which is why you should keep your voice
down. Come on."
Raoden slipped around the corner and into an alleyway. His toe pained him as
he walked, as did his scraped hands and a bruise he had picked up on his arm.
In addition, the hunger called to him, a phantom passion from within.
Galladon sighed. "I'm not so bored with death that I want to abandon it in
favor of an existence of pure pain. Kolo?"
Raoden turned back with tolerant eyes. "Galladon, someday you're going to get
over this determined pessimism of yours, and all of Elantris will collapse
from the shock."
"Pessimism?" Galladon demanded as Raoden crept down the alleyway. "Pessimism?
Me? Dulas are the most lighthearted, easygoing people in Opelon! We look at
each day with— Sule? Don't you dare leave when I'm defending myself!"

Raoden ignored the large Dula. He also tried to ignore his pains, sharp though
they were. His new leather shoes helped immensely: despite Galladon's
reservations, Mareshe had created a product to match his considerable ego. The
shoes were sturdy, with a strong, protective sole, but the soft leather—from
the covers of Galladon's books-fit perfectly and didn't rub.
Peeking carefully around the corner, Raoden studied the courtyard. Shaor's men
weren't visible, but they were probably hiding nearby. Raoden perked up as he
saw the city gate swinging open. The day had brought a new arrival. However,
he was shocked when the Elantris City Guard pushed not one. but three separate
white-clothed forms through the gate.
"Three?"Raoden said.
"The Shaod is unpredictable, sule," Galladon said, creeping up behind him.
"This changes everything," Raoden said with annoyance.
"Good. Let's go—the others can have today's offering. Kolo?"
"What? And miss such a grand opportunity? Galladon. I'm disappointed in you."
The Dula grumbled something Raoden couldn't catch. and Raoden reached back to
clap the big man reassuringly on the shoulder. "Don't worry—I have a plan."
"Already?"
"We have to move quickly—any minute now one of those three is going to take a
step, and then our opening will be gone."
"Doloken," Galladon muttered. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing. You, however, are going to have a nice stroll out there in the
courtyard."
What?" Galladon asked. "Sule, you've gone kayana again. If I go out there, the
gangs are going to see me!'
"Exactly." Raoden said with a smile. "Just make sure you run very quickly. my
friend. We wouldn't want them to catch you."
"You're serious," Galladon said with growing apprehension.
"Unfortunately. Now get moving-lead them off to the left, and I'll do the
rest. We'll meet back where we left Mareshe."
Galladon huffed something about "not being worth all the dried meat in the
world." but he let Raoden push him into the courtyard. A moment later a series
of startled growls came from the building where Shaor's men usually hid. The
feral men burst out, forgetting the three newcomers in their hatred of the man
who had wronged them just a few days earlier.
Galladon shot one final withering look in Raoden's direction. then took off at
a dash, choosing a street at random and leading Shaor's men away. Raoden gave
him a moment, then ran out into the middle of the courtyard, making a great
show of breathing deeply, as if from exhaustion.

"Which way did he go?" he demanded sharply of the three confused newcomers.
"Who?" one of them finally ventured.
"The large Dula! Quickly, man, which way did he go? He has the cure!" "The
cure?" the man asked with surprise.
"Of course. It's very rare, but there should be enough for all of us, if you
tell me which way he went. Don't you want to get out of here?"
The newcomer raised a wavering hand and pointed at the path Galladon had
taken.
"Come on!" Raoden urged. "Unless we move quickly we'll lose him forever!" With
that, he started running.
The three newcomers stood for a moment: then, Raoden's sense of urgency too
much for them, they followed. All three of their first steps, therefore, were
to the north-the direction that would have made them the property of Shaor's
men. The other two gangs could only watch with frustration as all three dashed
away.
"WHAT can you do?" Raoden asked.
The woman shrugged. "Maare is my name, my lord. I was a simple housewife. I
have no special skills to speak of."
Raoden snorted. "If you're like any other housewife, then you're probably more
skilled than anyone here. Can you weave?"
"Of course, my lord."
Raoden nodded thoughtfully. "And you?" he asked of the next man.
"Rill, a workman, my lord. I spent most of my time building on my master's
plantation."
"Hauling bricks?"
"At first, my lord," the man said. He had the wide hands and ingenuous face of
a worker, but his eyes were keen and intelligent. "I spent years learning with
the journeymen. I hoped that my master would send me to apprentice."
"You're very old to be an apprentice," Raoden noted.
"I know, my lord, but it was a hope. Not many of the peasantry have room for
hopes anymore, even ones so simple."
Raoden nodded again. The man didn't speak like a peasant, but few people in
Arelon did. Ten years ago, Arelon had been a land of opportunity, and most of
its people had been at least slightly educated. Many of the men in his
father's court complained that learning had ruined the peasantry for good
work, selectively forgetting that they themselves had been members of the same
"peasantry" a decade earlier.
"All right, how about you?" Raoden asked the next man.
The third newcomer, a well-muscled man with a nose that appeared to have

been broken at least a dozen times, regarded Raoden with hesitant eyes.
"Before I answer, I want to know just why I should listen to you."
"Because I just saved your life." Raoden said.
"I don't understand. What happened to that other man?"
"He should show up in a few minutes."
"But—"
"We weren't really chasing him," Raoden said. "We were getting you three out
of danger. Mareshe, please explain."
The artisan jumped at the chance. With wild gestures he explained his narrow
escape two days earlier, making it appear that he had been on the verge of
death before Raoden appeared and helped him to safety. Raoden smiled; Mareshe
had a melodramatic soul. The artist's voice rose and fell like a well-written
symphony. Listening to the man's narrative, even Raoden nearly believed he had
done something incredibly noble.
Mareshe finished with a proclamation that Raoden was trustworthy, and
encouraged them all to listen to him. At the end, even the burly. hook-nosed
man was attentive.
"My name is Saolin, Lord Spirit," the man said, "and I was a soldier in Count
Eondel's personal legion."
"I know Eondel," Raoden said with a nod. "He's a good man-a soldier himself
before he was granted a title. You were probably trained well."
"We are the best soldiers in the country, sir," Saolin said proudly.
Raoden smiled. "It isn't hard to best most of the soldiers in our poor
country, Saolin. However, I'd match Eondel's legion against soldiers from any
nation-1 always found them to be men of honor, discipline, and skill. Much
like their leader. Giving Eondel a title is one of the few intelligent things
Iadon has done recently."
"As I understand it, my lord, the king didn't have much choice," Saolin said
with a smile, showing a mouth that was missing a couple of teeth. "Eondel has
amassed quite a large fortune by hiring out his personal forces to the Crown."
"That's the truth," Raoden said with a laugh. "Well, Saolin, I am glad to have
you. A professional soldier of your skill will certainly make us all feel a
lot safer around here."
"Whatever Your Lordship needs," Saolin said, his face growing serious. "I
pledge you my sword. I know little about religion besides saying my prayers,
and I don't really understand what's going on here, but a man who speaks well
of Lord Eondel is a good man in my estimation."
Raoden clasped Saolin on the shoulder, ignoring the fact that the grizzled
soldier didn't have a sword to pledge anymore. "I appreciate and accept your
protection, friend. But I warn you, this is no easy burden you take upon
yourself. I'm quickly amassing enemies in here, and it is going to require a
great deal of vigilance to make sure we aren't surprised by an attack."

"I understand, my lord." Saolin said fervently. "But, by Domi. I won't Iet you
down!"
"And what of us, my lord?" asked Riil the builder.
"I have a grand project in store for you two as well," Raoden said. "Look up
and tell me what you see."
Riil raised his eyes to the sky, his eyes confused. "I see nothing, my lord.
Should I?"
Raoden laughed. "Not a thing, Riil. That's the problem—the roof to this
building must have fallen in years ago. Despite that, it's one of the largest
and least-degenerate buildings I've found. I don't suppose your training
included some experience in roof building?"
Riil smiIed. "It certainly did, my lord. You have materials?"
"That's going to be the tricky part. Riil. All of the wood in Elantris is
either broken or rotted."
"That is a problem," Riil acknowledged. "Perhaps if we dried out the wood,
then mixed it with clay. .
"It isn't an easy task, Riil. Maare," Raoden said.
"We'll give it our best try, my lord," Maare assured him.
"Good," Raoden said with an approving nod. His bearing, coupled with their
insecurity, made them quick to listen. It wasn't loyalty, not yet. Hopefully.
time would gain him their trust as well as their words.
"Now. Mareshe," Raoden continued, "please explain to our new friends about
what it means to be an Elantrian. I don't want Riil falling off the top of a
building before he realizes breaking his neck won't necessarily mean an end to
the pain."
"Yes. my lord," Mareshe said, eyeing the newcomers' food, which was sitting on
a relatively clean section of the floor. The hunger was affecting him already.
Raoden carefully chose a few items from offerings, then nodded to the rest.
"Divide this up amongst yourselves and eat it. Saving it won't do any good-the
hunger is going to start immediately. and you might as well get this down
before it has time to make you greedy."
The four nodded, and Mareshe began to explain the limitations of life in
Elantris as he divided the food. Raoden watched for a moment, then turned away
to think.
"Sule, my hama would love you. She always complained that I don't get enough
exercise." Raoden looked up as Galladon strode into the room. "Welcome back,
my friend," Raoden said with a smile. "I was beginning to
worry.
Galladon snorted. "I didn't see you worrying when you shoved me out into that
courtyard. Seen worms on hooks treated more kindly. Kolo?"
"Ah, but you made such fantastic bait," Raoden said. "Besides, it worked. We
got the newcomers, and you appear remarkably bruise-free."

"A state of being that is most likely a source of grand displeasure to Shaor's
dogs."
"How did you escape them?" Raoden asked, handing Galladon the loaf of bread he
had grabbed for the Dula. Galladon regarded it, then ripped it in half and
offered one part to Raoden, who held up his hand forestallingly.
Galladon shrugged an 'okay, starve if it suits you" shrug, and began to gnaw
on the loaf. "Ran into a building with a collapsed set of stairs, then went
out the back door," he explained between mouthfuls. "I threw some rocks up
onto the roof when Shaor's men entered. After what you did to them the other
day. they just assumed I was up there. They're probably stiIl sitting there
waiting for me."
"Smooth," Raoden said.
"Somebody didn't leave me much choice."
Galladon continued to eat in quiet. listening to the newcomers discuss their
various "important duties." "You going to tell all of them that?" he asked in
a quiet voice.
"What's that?"
"The newcomers, sule. You made them all think they are of vital importance.
just like Mareshe. Shoes are nice, but not a matter of life and death."
Raoden shrugged. "People do a better job when they assume they're important."
Galladon was quiet for another short moment before speaking again. "They're
right."
'Who?"
"The other gangs. You are starting your own gang."
Raoden shook his head. "Galladon, that is just a tiny part of it. No one
accomplishes anything in Elantris-they're all either too busy squabbling over
food or contemplating their misery. The city needs a sense of purpose."
"We're dead. sule," Galladon said. "What purpose can we have besides
suffering?"
"That's exactly the problem. Everyone's convinced that their lives are over
just because their hearts stopped beating."
"That's usually a pretty good indication, sule." Galladon said dryly.
"Not in our case, my friend. We need to convince ourselves that we can go on.
The Shaod isn't causing all the pain here—I've seen people on the outside lose
hope too, and their souls end up just as emaciated as those poor wretches in
the square. If we can restore even a tiny bit of hope to these people, then
their lives will improve drastically." He emphasized the word "lives." looking
Galladon right in the eyes.
"The other gangs aren't just going to sit around and watch you steal all their
offerings, sule," Galladon said. "They're going to get tired of you very
quickly." "Then I'll just have to be ready for them." Raoden nodded toward the
large

building around them. "This will make a rather good base of operations,
wouldn't you say? It has this open room in the middle, with all of those
smaller ones at the back."
Galladon squinted upward. "You could have picked a building with a roof."
"Yes, I know," Raoden replied. "But this one suits my purpose. I wonder what
it used to be."
"A church," Galladon said. "Korathi."
"How do you know?" Raoden asked with surprise.
"Has the feel, sule."
"Why would there be a Korathi church in Elantris?" Raoden argued. "The
Elantrians were their own gods."
"But they were very lenient gods. There was supposed to be a grand Korathi
chapel here in Elantris, the most beautiful of its kind. It was built as an
offering of friendship to the people of Teod."
"That seems so odd," Raoden said with a shake of his head. "Gods of one
religion building a monument to Domi."
"Like I said. The Elantrians were very lax gods. They didn't really care if
the people worshipped them-they were secure in their divinity. Until the Reod
came along. Kolo?"
"You seem to know quite a bit, Galladon," Raoden noted.
"And since when has that been a sin?" Galladon said with a huff. "You've lived
in Kae all your life, sule. Maybe instead of asking why I know these things,
you should wonder why you don't."
"Point taken," Raoden said, glancing to the side. Mareshe was still deeply
involved in his explanation of an Elantrian's danger-fraught life. -Iie's not
going to be done anytime soon. Come on, there's something I want to do."
"Does it involve running?" Galladon asked in a pained voice.
"Only if they spot us."
RAODEN recognized Aanden. It was difficult to see—the Shaod brought profound
changes-but Raoden had a knack for faces. The so-called Baron of Elantris was
a short man with a sizable paunch and a long drooping mustache that was
obviously fake. Aanden did not look noble—of course, few noblemen Raoden knew
looked very aristocratic.
Regardless, Aanden was no baron. The man before Raoden, seated on a throne of
gold and presiding over a court of sickly-looking Elantrians, had been called
Taan. He had been one of Kae's finest sculptors before the Shaod took him, but
he had not been of noble blood. Of course, Raoden's own father had been
nothing more than a simple trader until chance had made him king. In Elantris,
Taan had apparently taken advantage of a similar opportunity.

The years in Elantris had not been kind to Taan. The man was blubbering
incoherently to his court of rejects.
"He's mad?" Raoden asked, crouched outside the window they were using to spy
on Aanden's court.
"We each have our own way of dealing with death, sule," Galladon whispered.
"The rumors say Aanden's insanity was a conscious decision. They say that
after being thrown into Elantris he looked around and said, 'There's no way I
can face this sane.' After that, he declared himself Baron Aanden of Elantris
and began giving orders."
"And people follow him?"
"Some do," Galladon whispered with a shrug. "He may be mad, bur so is the rest
of the world—at least, to the eyes of one who's been thrown in here. Kolo?
Aanden is a source of authority. Besides, maybe he was a baron on the
outside."
"He wasn't. He was a sculptor."
"You knew him?"
"I met him once," Raoden said with a nod. Then he looked back at Galladon with
inquisitive eyes. "Where did you hear the rumors about him?"
"Can we move back first, sule?" Galladon requested. "I'd rather not end up a
participant in one of Aanden's mock trials and executions."
"Mock?"
"Everything's mock but the axe."
"Ah. Good idea—I've seen all I needed to."
The two men moved back, and as soon as they were a few streets away from the
university, Galladon answered Raoden's question. "I talk to people. sule;
that's where I get my information. Granted, the great majority of the city's
people are Hoed, but there're enough conscious ones around to talk with. Of
course, my mouth is what got me in trouble with you. Maybe if I'd kept it shut
I'd still be sitting on those steps enjoying myself, rather than spying on one
of the most dangerous men in the city."
"Perhaps," Raoden said. "But you wouldn't be having half as much fun. You'd be
chained to your boredom."
"I'm so glad you liberated me, sule."
"Anytime."
Raoden thought as they walked, crying to decide on a plan of action should
Aanden ever come looking for him. It hadn't taken Raoden long to adjust to
walking on Elantris's uneven, slime-covered streets; his still painful toe was
a wonderful motivator. He was actually beginning to regard the dun-colored
walls and grime as normal, which bothered him much more than the city's
dirtiness ever had.
"Sule," Galladon eventually asked. "Why did you want to see Aanden? You
couldn't have known you'd recognize him."
Raoden shook his head. "If Aanden had been a baron from the outside, I would
have known him almost immediately."

"You're certain?"
Raoden nodded absentIy.
Galladon was silent for a few more streets, then spoke with sudden
understanding. "Now, sule, I'm not very good with these Aons you Arelenes hold
in such esteem, but unless I'm completely wrong, the Aon for 'spirit' is Rao."
"Yes," Raoden said hesitantly.
"And doesn't the king of Arelon have a son named Raoden?"
"He did."
"And here you are, sule, claiming to know all the barons in Arelon. You're
obviously a man with a good education, and you give commands easily." "You
could say that." Raoden said.
"Then, to top it all off, you call yourself 'Spirit.' Pretty suspicious.
Kolo?" Raoden sighed. "I should have picked a different name. eh?"
"By Doloken, boy! You're telling me you're the crown prince of Arelon?"
"I was the crown prince of Arelon, Galladon," Raoden corrected. "I lost the
title when I died."
"No wonder you're so frustrating. I've spent my entire life trying to avoid
royalty. and here I end up with you. Burning Doloken!"
"Oh quiet down." Raoden said. "It's not like I'm really royalty—it's been in
the family for less than a generation."
"That's long enough,    Galladon said sullenly.
"If it helps, my father didn't think I was fit to rule. He tried everything to
keep me from the throne."
Galladon snorted. "I'd be scared to see the man Iadon found fit to rule. Your
father's an idiot—no offense intended."
"None taken," Raoden replied. "And I trust you'll keep my identity secret."
Galladon sighed. "If you wish."
"I do. If I'm going to do any good in Elantris, I need to win followers
because they like what I'm doing. not because they feel a patriotic
obligation." Galladon nodded. "You could have at least told me, sule."
"You said we shouldn't talk about our pasts."
"True."
Raoden paused. "Of course, you know what this means."
Galladon eyed him suspiciously. "What?"
"Now that you know who I was, you have to tell me who you were. It's only
fair."
Galladon's response was long in coming. They had almost arrived at the church
before he spoke. Raoden slowed his walk, not wanting to break off his friend's
narration by arriving at their destination. He needn't have worried-----
Galladon's declaration was brief and pointed.
"I was a farmer," he said curtly.

"A farmer?" Raoden had been expecting something more.
"And an orchard-keeper. I sold my fields and bought an apple farm because I
figured it would be easier—you don't have to replant trees every year." "Was
it?" Raoden asked. "Easier, I mean?"
Galladon shrugged. "I thought it was, though I know a couple of wheat farmers
that would argue with me until the sun set. Kolo?" The larger man looked at
Raoden with an insightful eye. "You don't think I'm telling the truth about my
past. do you?"
Raoden smiled, spreading his hands before him. "I'm sorry, Galladon, but you
just don't seem like a farmer to me. You have the build for it, but you seem
too .. ."
"Intelligent?" Galladon asked. "Stile, I've seen some farmers with minds so
sharp you could have used their heads to scythe grain."
"I don't doubt that you have," Raoden said. "But, intelligent or not, those
types still tend to be uneducated. You are a learned man. Galladon."
"Books. stile, are a wonderful thing. A wise farmer has time to study,
assuming he lives in a country such as Duladen, where men are free."
Raoden raised an eyebrow. "So, you're going to hold to this farmer story?"
"It's the truth, stile," Galladon said. "Before I became an Elantrian, I was a
farmer."
Raoden shrugged. Perhaps. Galladon had been able to predict the rain, as well
as do a number of other eminently practical things. Still, it seemed like
there was something more, something he wasn't ready to share yet.
"All right." Raoden said appreciatively. "I believe you."
Galladon nodded curtly, his expression saying he was very glad the matter was
settled. Whatever he was hiding, it wouldn't come out this day. So. instead,
Rao-den took the opportunity to ask a question that had been bothering him
since the first day he came into Elantris.
"Galladon," he asked, "where are the children?"
"Children, sule?"
"Yes, if the Shaod strikes randomly, then it should strike children as well as
adults."
Galladon nodded. "It does. I've seen babes barely old enough to walk get
thrown in those gates."
"Then where are they? I only see adults."
"Elantris is a harsh place, sule," Galladon said quietly as they strode
through the doors to Raoden's broken-down church. "Children don't last very
long here."
"Yes. but-- Raoden cur himself off as he saw something flicker in the corner
of his eye. He turned with surprise.
"A Seon," Galladon said, noticing the glowing ball.
"Yes," Raoden said, watching the Seon float slowly through the open ceiling

and spin in a lazy circle around the two men. "It's so sad how they just drift
around the city like this. I ..." he trailed off, squinting slightly, trying
to make out which Aon glowed at the center of the strange, silent Seon.
"Stile?" Galladon asked.
"Idos Domi," Raoden whispered. "It's Ien."
"The Seon? You recognize it?"
Raoden nodded, holding out his hand with the palm up. The Seon floated over
and alighted on his proffered palm for a moment; then it began to float away,
flitting around the room like a careless butterfly.
"Ien was my Seon." Raoden said. "Before I was thrown in here." He could see
the Aon at Ien's center now. The character looked . . . weak, somehow. It
glowed unevenly, sections of the character very dim. like .. .
Like the blotches on an Elantrian c skin, Raoden realized, watching Ien float
away. The Seon headed for the wall of the church, continuing on until he
bounced against it. The small ball of light hovered for a moment,
contemplating the wall, then spun away to float in a different direction.
There was an awkwardness to the Seon's motion—as if Ien could barely keep
himself upright in the air. He jerked occasionally, and constantly moved in
slow, dizzy loops.
Raoden's stomach turned as he regarded what was left of his friend. He'd
avoided thinking about Ien too much during his days in Elantris; he knew what
happened to Seons when their masters were taken by the Shaod. He'd
assumed—perhaps hoped-that Ien had been destroyed by the Shaod, as sometimes
happened.
Raoden shook his head. "Ien used to be so wise. I never knew a creature, Seon
or man. more thoughtful than he."
... sorry, stile," Galladon said solemnly.
Raoden held out his hand again, and the Seon approached dutifully, as it had
once done for the young boy Raoden—a boy who hadn't yet learned that Seons
were more valuable as friends than as servants.
Does he recognize me? Raoden wondered, watching the Seon lurch slightly in the
air before him. Or is it just the familiar gesture that he recognizes?
Raoden would probably never know. After hovering above the palm for a second.
the Seon lost interest and floated away again.
"Oh, my dear friend." Raoden whispered. "And I thought the Shaod had been
harsh to me."

CHAPTER 11
 ONLY five men responded to Kiin's request. Lukel scowled at the meager
turnout. "Raoden had as many as thirty men at his meetings before he died,"
the handsome merchant explained. "I didn't expect them all to come running,
but five? That's barely even worth our time."
"It's enough, son," Kiin said thoughtfully, peeking through the kitchen door.
"They may be few in number, bur we got the best of the lot. Those are five of
the most powerful men in the nation, not to mention five of the most
intelligent. Rao-den had a way of attracting clever men to his side."
"Kiin, you old bear,' one of the men called from the dining room. He was a
stately man with graying lines of silver hair who wore a sharp martial
uniform. "Are you going to feed us or not? Domi knows I only came because I
heard you were going to fix some of your roast ketathum."
"The pig is turning as we speak, Eondel." Kiin called back. "And I made sure
to prepare a double portion for you. Keep your stomach in check for a little
while longer."
The man laughed heartily, patting his belly—which, as far as Sarene could
tell, was as flat and hard as that of a man many years younger. "Who is he?"
she asked.
"The Count of Eon Plantation," Kiin said. "Lukel, go check on the pork while
your cousin and I gossip about our guests."
"Yes, Father," Lukel said, accepting the poker and moving to the firepit room
at the back of the kitchen.
"Eondel is the only man besides Raoden that I've ever seen openly oppose the
king and get away with it." Kiin explained. "He's a military genius, and owns
a small personal army. There are only a couple hundred men in it, bur they're
extremely well trained."
Next Kiin pointed through the slightly open door toward a man with dark brown
skin and delicate features. "Thar man beside Eondel is Baron Shuden."
"Jindoeese?" Sarene asked.
Her uncle nodded. "His family took up residence in Arelon about a century ago,
and they've amassed a fortune directing the Jindoeese trade routes through

the country. When Iadon came to power, he offered them a barony to keep their
caravans running. Shuden's father passed away about five years ago, and the
son is much more traditional than the father ever was. He thinks Iadon's
method of rule contradicts the heart of Shu-Keseg, which is why he's willing
to meet with
US.
Sarene tapped her cheek in thought, studying Shuden. 'If his heart is as
Jindoeese as his skin. Uncle. then he could be a powerful ally indeed."
"That's what your husband thought," Kiin said.
Sarene pursed her lips. "Why do you keep referring to Raoden as 'your
husband'? I know I'm married. No need to keep pointing it out."
"You know it," Kiin said in his deep-throated rasp, "but you don't believe it
yet."
Either Kiin didn't see the question in her face. or he simply ignored it, for
he continued with his explanations as if he hadn't just made an infuriatingly
unfair judgment.
'Beside Shuden is the Duke Roial of Ial Plantation," Kiin said, nodding to the
oldest man in the room. 'His holdings include the port of Iald—a city that is
second only to Kae in wealth. He's the most powerful man in the room, and
probably the wisest as well. He's been loath to take action against the king,
however. Roial and Iadon have been friends since before the Reod."
Sarene raised an eyebrow. "Why does he come, then?"
-Roial is a good man," Kiin explained. "Friendship or not. he knows that
Iadon's rule has been horrible for this nation. That, and I suspect he also
comes because of boredom."
"He engages in traitorous conferences simply because he's bored?" Sarene asked
incredulously.
Her uncle shrugged. "When you've been around as long as Roial, you have
trouble finding things to keep you interested. Politics is so ingrained in the
duke that he probably can't sleep at night unless he's involved in at least
five different wild schemes—he was governor of Iaid before the Reod, and was
the only Elantris-appointed official to remain in power after the uprising.
He's fabulously wealthy-the only way Iadon keeps ahead is by including
national tax revenues in his own earnings."
Sarene studied the duke as the group of men laughed at one of Roial's
comments. He seemed different from other elderly statesmen she had met: Roial
was boisterous instead of reserved. almost more mischievous than
distinguished. Despite the duke's diminutive frame, he dominated the
conversation. his thin locks of powder-white hair bouncing as he laughed. One
man, however. didn't seem captivated by the duke's company.
"Who is that sitting next to Duke Roial?"
"The portly man?"

"Portly?" Sarene said with a raised eyebrow. The man was so overweight his
stomach bulged over the sides of his chair.
"That's how we fat men describe one another," Kiin said with a smile.
"But Uncle," Sarene said with a sweet grin. "You're not fat. You're . . .
robust."
Kiin laughed a scratchy-throated chuckle. "All right, then. The 'robust'
gentleman next to Roial is Count Ahan. You wouldn't know it by watching them,
but he and the duke are very good friends. Either that or they're very old
enemies. I can never remember which it is."
"There's a bit of a distinction there, Uncle," Sarene pointed out.
"Not really. The two of them have been squabbIing and sparring for so Iong
that neither one would know what to do without the other. You should have seen
their faces when they realized they were both on the same side of this
particular argument—Raoden laughed for days after that first meeting.
Apparently, he'd gone to them each separately and gained their support, and
they both came to that first meeting with the belief they were outdoing the
other."
"So why do they keep coming?"
"Well, they both seem to agree with our point of view—not to mention the fact
that they really do enjoy one another's company. That or they just want to
keep an eye on each other." Kiin shrugged. "Either way they help us, so we
don't complain."
"And the last man?" Sarene asked. studying the table's final occupant. He was
lean, with a balding head and a pair of very fidgety eyes. The others didn't
let nervousness show; they laughed and spoke together as if they were meeting
to discuss bird-watching rather than treason. This last man, however, wiggled
in his seat uncomfortably, his eyes in constant motion—as if he were trying to
determine the easiest way to escape.
"Edan," Kiin said, his lips turning downward. "Baron of Tii Plantation to the
south. I've never liked him, but he's probably one of our strongest
supporters." "Why is he so nervous?"
"Iadon's system of government lends itself well to greed—the better a noble
does financially, the more likely he is to be granted a better title. So, the
minor nobles squabble like children, each one trying to find new ways to milk
their subjects and increase their holdings.
"The system also encourages financial gambling. Edan's fortune was never very
impressive—his holdings border the Chasm, and the lands nearby just aren't
very fertile. In an attempt to gain a bit more status. Edan made some risky
investments-but lost them. Now he doesn't have the wealth to back his
nobility."
"He might lose his title?"
"Not 'might'—he's going to lose it as soon as the next tax period comes around
and Iadon realizes just how poor the baron's become. Edan has about three
months to either discover a gold mine in his backyard or overthrow Iadon's

system of allocating noble titles." Kiin scratched his face. as if looking for
whiskers to pulI in thought. Sarene smiled-ten years might have passed since
the burly man's face had held a beard, but old habits were more diffieult to
shave away.
"Edan is desperate," Kiin continued, "and desperate people do things
completely out of character. I don't trust him, but of all the men in that
room, he's probably the most anxious for us to succeed."
"Which wouId mean?" Sarene asked. "What exactly do these men expect to
accomplish?"
Kiin shrugged. "They'll do about anything to get rid of this silly system that
requires them to prove their wealth. Noblemen will be nobleman. 'Ene—they're
worried about maintaining their place in society."
Further discussion was halted as a voice called from the dining room. "Kiin,"
Duke Roial noted pointedly. "we could have raised our own hogs and had them
slaughtered in the rime this is taking you.'
"Good meals take time, Roial," Kiin huffed, sticking his head out the kitchen
door. "If you think you can do better, you're welcome to come cook your own."
The duke assured him that wouldn't be necessary. Fortunately, he didn't have
to wait much longer. Kiin soon proclaimed the pig cooked to perfection, and
ordered Lukel to begin cutting it. The rest of the meal quickly followed—a
feast so large it would even have satisfied Kaise, if her father hadn't
ordered her and the other children to visit their aunt's house for the
evening.
"You're still determined to join us?" Kiin asked Sarene as he reentered the
kitchen to grab the final dish.
"Yes." Sarene said firmly.
"This isn't Teod. Sarene." Kiin said. "The men here are a lot more ... tradi-
tional. They don't feel it's proper for a woman to be involved in politics."
"This from a man who's doing the evening's cooking?" Sarene asked.
Kiin smiled. "Good point." he noted in his scratchy voice. Someday, she
would have to find out what had happened to his throat.
"I can handle myself. Uncle," Sarene said. "Roial isn't the only one who likes
a good challenge."
"All right, then," Kiin said, picking up a large steaming bean dish. "Let's
go." Kiin led the way through the kitchen doors and then, after setting down
the plate, gestured to Sarene. "Everyone. I'm sure you've all met my niece,
Sarene. princess of our realm."
Sarene curtsied to Duke Roial, then nodded to the others, before taking her
seat.
"I was wondering who that extra seat was for.' mumbled the aged Roial. "Niece.
Kiin? You have connections to the Teoish throne?"
"Oh come now!" The overweight Ahan laughed merrily. "Don't tell me you

don't know Kiin is old Eventeo's brother? My spies told me that years ago."
"I was being polite, Ahan," Roial said. "It's bad form to spoil a man's
surprise just because your spies are efficient."
"Well, it's also bad form to bring an outsider to a meeting of this nature,"
Ahan pointed out. His voice was still happy. but his eyes were quite serious.
All faces turned toward Kiin, but it was Sarene who answered. "One would think
that after such a drastic reduction in your numbers, my lord, you would
appreciate additional support—no matter how unfamiliar, or how feminine, it
may
be.
The table went silent at her words, ten eyes studying her through the steam
rising from Kiin's several masterpieces. Sarene felt herself grow tense
beneath their unaccepting gaze. These men knew just how quickly a single error
could bring destruction upon their houses. One did nor dabble lightly with
treason in a country where civil upheaval was a fresh memory.
Finally, Duke Roial laughed, the chuckle echoing lightly from his slight
frame. "I knew it!" he proclaimed. "My dear, no person could possibly be as
stupid as you made yourself out to be—not even the queen herself is that
empty-headed."
Sarene pasted a smile over her nervousness. "I believe you're wrong about
Queen Eshen, Your Grace. She's simply ... energetic."
Ahan snorted. "If that's what you want to call it." Then, as it appeared no
one else was going to begin, he shrugged and began helping himself to the
food. Roial, however, did not follow his rival's lead; mirth had not erased
his concerns. He folded his hands in front of himself and regarded Sarene with
a very practiced gaze.
"You may be a fine actress, my dear," the duke said as Ahan reached in front
of him to grab a basket of rolls, "but I see no reason why you should attend
this dinner. Through no fault of your own. you are young and inexperienced.
The things we say tonight will be very dangerous to hear and even more
dangerous to remember. An unnecessary set of ears—no matter how pretty the
head to which they are attached—will not help."
Sarene narrowed her eyes, trying to decide whether the duke was attempting to
provoke her or not. Roial was as hard a man to read as any she had ever met.
"You'll find that I am hardly inexperienced, my lord. In Teod we don't shelter
our women behind a curtain of weaving and embroidering. I have spent years
serving as a diplomat."
"True." Roial said, "but you are hardly familiar with the delicate political
situations here in Arelon."
Sarene raised an eyebrow. "1 have often found. my lord, that a fresh, unbiased
opinion is an invaluable tool in any discussion."
"Don't be silly, girl," spat the still nervous Edan as he filled his plate.
"I'm not going to risk my safety simply because you want to assert your
liberated nature."

A dozen snide retorts snapped to Sarene's lips. However, even as she was
deciding which was the most witty, a new voice entered the debate.
"I beseech you, my lords," said the young Jindo, Shuden. His words were very
soft, but still distinct. "Answer me a question. Is `girl' the proper title
for one who, had things turned out a bit differently, might have been our
queen?"
Forks stopped on the way to mouths. and once again Sarene found herself the
focus of the room's attention. This time, however, the looks were slightly
more appreciative. Kiin nodded, and Lukel shot her an encouraging smile.
"I warn you, my lords," Shuden continued, "forbid her or accept her as you
will, but do not treat her with disrespect. Her Arelish title is no stronger
and no more flimsy than our own. Where we ignore one, we must ignore all
others."
Sarene blushed furiously on the inside, chastising herself. She had overlooked
her most valuable asset—her marriage to Raoden. She had been a Teoish princess
all her life: the position formed the cornerstone of who she was.
Unfortunately, that self-concept was outdated. She was no longer just Sarene,
daughter of Teod: she was also Sarene, wife to the crown prince of Arelon.
"I applaud your caution, my lords," she said. "You have good reason to be
careful—you have lost your patron, the only man who could have given you a
measure of protection. Remember, however, that I am his wife. I am no
substitute for the prince, but I am still a connection to the throne. Not just
this throne, but others as well."
"That's well and good, Sarene," Roial said, "but 'connections' and promises
will do us little good in the face of the king's wrath."
'little good is not the same as no good, my lord," Sarene replied. Then, in a
softer, less argumentative tone, she continued. "My lord duke. I will never
know the man that I now call my husband. You all respected and, if I am to
believe my uncle. loved Raoden—but I. who should have come to love him best,
can never even meet him. This work in which you are involved was his passion.
I want to be a part of it. If I cannot know Raoden, at least let me share his
dreams."
Roial watched her for a second. and she knew that he was measuring her
sincerity. The duke was not a man to be fooled by mock sentimentality.
Eventually, he nodded and began cutting himself a piece of pork. "1 have no
problem with her staying."
"Neither do 1," Shuden said.
Sarene looked at the others. Lukel was smiling openly at her speech. and the
stately mercenary Lord Eondel was nearly in tears. "I give my assent to the
lady."
"Well, if Roial wants her here, then I have to object out of principle," Ahan
said with a laugh. "But, happily, it looks as if I'm outvoted." He winked at
her with a broad smile. "I get tired of looking at the same crusty old faces
anyway."
"Then she stays?" Edan asked with surprise.
"She stays," Kiin said. Her uncle still hadn't touched his meal. He wasn't the

only one-neither Shuden nor Eondel had begun to eat either. As soon as the
debate ended, Shuden bowed his head in a short prayer, then turned to eating.
Eon-del, however, waited until Kiin had taken his first bite—a fact Sarene
noticed with interest. Despite Roial's higher rank, the meeting was at Kiin's
home. According to the older traditions, it should have been his privilege to
eat first. Only Eondel, however, had waited. The others were probably so
accustomed to being the most important person at their respective tables that
they gave no thought to when they should eat.
After the intensity of the debate surrounding Sarene's place, or lack thereof,
the lords were quick to turn their minds to a topic less controversial.
"Kiin," Roial declared, "this is by far the best meal I have eaten in
decades." "You humble me, Roial," Kiin said. He apparently avoided calling the
others
by their titles—but, oddly, none of them seemed to mind.
"I agree with Lord Roial, Kiin," Eondel said. "No chef in this country can
outdo you."
"Arelon is a large place. Eondel," Kiin said. "Be careful not to encourage me
too much, lest you find someone better and disappoint me."
"Nonsense," Eondel said.
"I can't believe that you make all of it by yourself," Ahan said with a shake
of his large round head. "I'm absolutely certain that you have a fleet of
Jaadorian chefs hiding underneath one of those counters back there."
Roial snorted. "Just because it keeps an army of men to keep you fed. Ahan.
doesn't mean that a single cook isn't satisfactory for the rest of us." Then,
to Kiin, he continued. "Still, Kiin, it is very odd of you to insist on doing
this all yourself. Couldn't you at least hire an assistant?"
"I enjoy it. Roial. Why would I let someone else steal my pleasure?"
"Besides, my lord," Lukel added. "it gives the king chest pains every time he
hears that a man as wealthy as my father does something as mundane as cook."
"Quite clever," Ahan agreed. "Dissidence through subservience."
Kiin held up his hands innocently. "All I know, my lords, is that a man can
take care of himself and his family quite easily without any assistance, no
matter
how wealthy he supposedly is."
"Supposedly. my friend?" Eondel laughed. "The little bit you let us see is
enough to earn you a barony at least. Who knows, maybe if you told everyone
how much you're really worth we wouldn't have to worry about Iadon—you'd be
king."
"Your assumptions are a bit inflated. Eondel," Kiin said. 'I'm just a simple
man who likes to cook."
Roial smiled. "A simple man who likes to cook—and whose brother is king of
Teod, whose niece is now the daughter of two kings, and whose wife is a ranked
noblewoman in our own court."

"I can't help that I'm related to important people," Kiin said. "Merciful Domi
gives us each different trials."
"Speaking of trials," Eondel said, turning eyes on Sarene. "Has Your Ladyship
decided what to do for her Trial yet?"
Sarene furled her brow in confusion. "Trial, my lord?"
"Yes. uh. your .. ." The dignified man looked to the side, a bit embarrassed.
"He's talking about your Widow's Trial," Roial explained.
Kiin shook his head. "Don't tell me you expect her to perform one of those,
Roial? She never even met Raoden—it's preposterous to expect her to go through
mourning, let alone a Trial."
Sarene felt herself grow annoyed. No matter how much she claimed she enjoyed
surprises, she didn't like the way this conversation was going. "Would one of
you please explain exactly what this Trial is?" she requested in a firm voice.
"When an Arelish noblewoman is widowed, my lady." Shuden explained, "she is
expected to perform a Trial."
"So what am I supposed to do?" Sarene asked, frowning. She did not like
unfulfilled duties hanging over her.
"Oh. hand out some food or blankets to the poor," Ahan said with a dismissive
wave of his hand. "No one expects you to take any real interest in the
process. it's just one of the traditions that Iadon decided to hold over from
the old days—the Elantrians used to do something similar whenever one of their
kind died. I never liked the custom myself. It seems to me we shouldn't
encourage the people to look forward to our deaths: it doesn't bode well for
an aristocrat's popularity to be at its greatest just after he dies."
"I think it's a fine tradition, Lord Ahan," Eondel said.
Ahan chuckled. "You would. Eondel. You're so conservative that even your socks
are more traditional than the rest of us."
"I can't believe no one's told me about it," Sarene said, still annoyed.
"Well," Ahan said, "perhaps somebody would have mentioned it to you if you
didn't spend all of your time holed up in the palace or in Kiin's house."
"What else am I supposed to do?"
"Arelon has a fine court, Princess," Eondel said. "1 believe there have been
two balls since you arrived, and there is another happening as we speak."
"Well, why didn't anyone invite me?" she asked.
"Because you're in mourning," Roial explained. "Besides, the invitations only
go out to men. who in turn bring their sisters and wives."
Sarene frowned. "You people are so backward."
"Not backward, Your Highness." Ahan said. "Just traditional. If you like. we
could arrange to have some men invite you."
"Wouldn't that look bad?" Sarene asked. "Me. nor even a week widowed,
accompanying some young bachelor to a party?"

"She has a point,' Kiin noted.
"Why don't you all take me?" Sarene asked.
"Us?" Roial asked.
"Yes, you," Sarene said. "Your Lordships are old enough that people won't talk
too much—you'll just be introducing a young friend to the joys of court life."
"Many of these men are married. Your Highness," Shuden said.
Sarene smiled. "What a coincidence. So am I."
"Don't worry about our honor, Shuden," Roial said. "I'll make the princess's
intentions known, and as long as she doesn't go with any one of us too often.
no one will infer much from it."
"Then it's settled." Sarene decided with a smile. "I'll be expecting to hear
from each of you, my lords. It's essential that I get to these parties—if I am
ever going to fit into Arelon, then I'll need to get to know the aristocracy."
There was general agreement, and the conversation turned to other topics, such
as the upcoming lunar eclipse. As they spoke, Sarene realized that her
question about the mysterious "Trial" hadn't yielded much information. She
would have to corner Kiin later.
Only one man wasn't enjoying the conversation or, apparently, the meal. Lord
Edan had filled his plate, but had barely taken a few bites. Instead, he poked
at his food with dissatisfaction, mixing the different dishes into an
adulterated mush only vaguely resembling the delicacies Kiin had prepared.
"I thought we had decided not to meet anymore." Edan finally blurted out. the
comment forcing its way into the conversation like an elk wandering into the
middle of a pack of wolves. The others paused, turning toward Edan.
"We had decided not to meet for a while, Lord Edan." Eondel said. "We never
intended to stop meeting completely."
"You should be happy, Edan,' Ahan said, waving a fork topped with a chunk of
pork. "You, of all people, should be eager to keep these meetings going. How
long is it before the next taxing period arrives?"
"I believe it is on the first day of Eostek, Lord Ahan,' Eondel said
helpfully. "Which would put it just under three months away."
Ahan smiled. "Thank you, Eondel—you're such a useful man to have around.
Always knowing things that are proper and such. Anyway ... three months. Edan.
How are the coffers doing? You know how picky the king's auditors are...."
Edan squirmed even more beneath the count's brutal mockery. It appeared that
he was quite aware of his time constraints—yet, at the same time. he seemed to
be trying to forget his troubles in the hope that they would disappear. The
conflict was visible in his face, and Ahan seemed to take great pleasure in
watching.
"Gentlemen," Kiin said, "we are not here to squabble. Remember that we all
have much to gain from reform-including stability for our country and freedom
for our people."

"The good baron does bring up a valid concern, however," Duke Roial said,
sitting back in his chair. "Despite this young lady's promise of aid. we are
completely exposed without Raoden. The people loved the prince-even if Iadon
had discovered our meetings, he could never have taken action against Raoden."
Ahan nodded. "We don't have the power to oppose the king anymore. We were
gaining strength before—it probably wouldn't have been long before we had
enough of the nobility to go public. Now, however, we have nothing."
"You stilI have a dream, my lord," Sarene said quietly. "That is hardly
nothing."
"A dream?" Ahan said with a laugh. "The dream was Raoden's, my lady. We were
just along to see where he took us."
"I can't believe that, Lord Ahan," Sarene said with a frown.
"Perhaps Her Highness would tell us what that dream is?" Shuden requested. his
voice inquisitive but not argumentative.
"You are intelligent men, dear lords," Sarene replied. "You have the brains
and the experience to know that a country cannot withstand the stress that
Iadon is placing on it. Arelon is not a business to be run with a grip of
steel—it is much more than its production minus its costs. The dream, my
lords, is an Arelon whose people work with her king, instead of against him."
"A fine observation, Princess," Roial said. His tone, however, was dismissive.
He turned to the others. and they continued talking—every one of them politely
ignoring Sarene. They had allowed her into the meeting, but they obviously
didn't intend to let her join the discussion. She sat back with annoyance.
"... having a goal is not the same thing as having the means to accomplish
it." Roial was saying. "I believe that we should wait—to let my old friend run
himself into a corner before we move in to help."
"But Iadon will destroy Arelon in the process, Your Grace," Lukel objected.
"The more time we give him. the harder it will be to recover."
"I do not see another option." Roial said with raised hands. "We cannot
continue to move against the king in the way we were."
Edan jumped slightly at the proclamation, sweat forming on his brow. He was
finally beginning to realize that, dangerous or not. continuing to meet was a
much better choice than waiting for Iadon to strip him of rank.
"You have a point, Roial." Ahan grudgingly admitted. "The prince's original
plan will never work now. We won't be able to pressure the king unless we have
at least half of the nobility—and their fortunes—on our side."
"There is another way. my lords," Eondel said with a hesitant voice. "What is
that, Eondel?" the duke asked.
"It would take me less than two weeks to gather the legion from their watch-
points along the nation's highways. Monetary might isn't the only kind of
power."
"Your mercenaries could never stand against Arelon's armies," Ahan scoffed.

"Iadon's military might be small compared to those of some kingdoms, but it's
far larger than your few hundred men—especially if the king calls in the
Elantris City Guard."
"Yes, Lord Ahan. you are correct," Eondel agreed. "However, if we strike
quickly-while Iadon is still ignorant of our intentions-we could get my legion
into the palace and take the king hostage."
"Your men would have to fight their way into the king's quarters," Shuden
said. "Your new government would be born out of the blood of the old, as
Iadon's rule was birthed from the death of Elantris. You would set the cycle
again for another fall, Lord Eondel. As soon as one revolution achieves its
goal, another will begin to scheme. Blood, death, and coups will only lead to
further chaos. There must be a way to persuade Iadon without resorting to
anarchy."
"There is." Sarene said. Annoyed eyes turned her direction. They still assumed
she was simply there to listen. They should have known better.
"I agree." Roial said, turning away from Sarene, "and that way is to wait."
"No, my lord." Sarene countered. "I am sorry, but that is not the answer. I
have seen the people of Arelon, and while there is still hope in their eyes.
it is growing weak. Give Iadon time, and he will create the despondent
peasants he desires."
Roial's mouth turned downward. He had probably intended to be in control, now
that Raoden was gone. Sarene hid her smile of satisfaction: Roial had been the
first to allow her in, and therefore he would have to let her speak. Refusing
to listen now would show that he had been wrong to grant her his support.
"Speak, Princess." the old man said with reservation.
"My lords," Sarene said in a frank voice, "you have been trying to find a way
to overthrow Iadon's system of rule, a system that equates wealth with ability
to lead. You claim it is unwieldy and unfair—that its foolishness is a torture
to the Arelish people."
"Yes." Roial said curtly. "And?"
"Well, if Iadon's system is so bad, why worry about overthrowing it? Why not
let the system overthrow itself?"
"What do you mean. Lady Sarene?" Eondel asked with interest.
"Turn Iadon's own creation against him, and force him to acknowledge its
faults. Then, hopefully, you can work out one that is more stable and
satisfactory."
"Interesting, but impossible." Ahan said with a shake of his many-jowled face.
"Perhaps Raoden could have done it, but we are too few."
"No, you're perfect," Sarene said. rising from her chair and strolling around
the table. "What we want to do, my lords, is make the other aristocrats
jealous. That won't work if we have too many on our side."
"Speak on," Eondel said.
"What is the biggest problem with Iadon's system?" Sarene asked.

"It encourages the lords to treat their people brutally," Eondel said. "King
Iadon threatens the noblemen, taking away the titles of those who do not
produce. So, in turn, the lords grow desperate, and they beat extra effort out
of their people."
"It is an unconscionable arrangement," Shuden agreed. "one based on greed and
fear rather than loyalty."
Sarene continued to stroll around the table. "Have any of you looked at
Arelon's production charts over the last ten years?"
"Is there such a thing?" Ahan asked.
Sarene nodded. "We keep them in Teod. Would you be surprised to find, my
lords, that Arelon's level of production has plummeted since Iadon took
control?"
"Not at all." Ahan said. "We've had quite the decade of misfortune."
"Kings make their own misfortune, Lord Ahan," Sarene said with a cutting
motion of her hand. "The saddest thing about Iadon's system is not what it
does to the people, nor is it the fact that it destroys the morality of the
country. No, most pitiful is the fact that it does both of these things
without making the noblemen any richer.
"We have no slaves in Teod, my lords, and we get along just fine. In fact. not
even Fjorden uses a serf-based system anymore. They found something
better-they discovered that a man will work much more productively when he
works for himself."
Sarene let the words hang in the air for a moment. The lords sat thoughtfully.
"Continue," Roial finally said.
"The planting season is upon us, my lords," Sarene sad. "I want you to divide
your land amongst your peasants. Give them each a section of field. and tell
them they can keep ten percent of whatever that land produces. Tell them that
you will even let them buy their homes and the land they occupy."
"That would be a very difficult thing to do, young princess." Roial said.
"I'm not done yet," Sarene said. "I want you to feed your people well, my
lords. Give them clothing and supplies."
"We are not beasts, Sarene." Ahan warned. "Some lords treat their peasants
poorly, but we would never accept such into our fellowship. The people on our
lands have food to eat and clothing to keep them warm."
"That may be true, my lord," Sarene continued, "but the people must feel that
you love them. Do not trade them to other nobles or squabble over them. Let
the peasants know that you care, and they will give you their hearts and their
sweat. Prosperity need not be limited to a small percentage of the
population."
Sarene reached her seat and stood behind it. The lords were thinking—that was
good—but they were scared as well.
"It will be risky." Shuden ventured.
"As risky as attacking Iadon with Lord Eondel's army?" Sarene asked. "If this

doesn't work, you lose a bit of money and some pride. If the honorable
general's plan doesn't work, you lose your heads."
"She has a point," Ahan agreed.
"A good one," Eondel said. There was relief in his eyes: soldier or not, he
didn't want to attack his countrymen. "I will do it."
"That's easy for you to say, Eondel." Edan said, wiggling in his seat. "You
can always just order your legion to work on the farms when the peasants turn
lazy."
"My men are policing our country's highways, Lord Edan." Eondel huffed. "Their
service there is invaluable.'
"And you are handsomely rewarded for it," Edan spar. "I have no income but
that of my farms—and while my lands look big, I've got that blasted crack
running right through the center of them. I don't have any room for laziness.
If my potatoes don't get planted, weeded, and harvested, then I will lose my
title."
"You'll probably lose it anyway," Ahan said with a helpful smile.
"Enough, Ahan," Roial ordered. "Edan has a point. How can we be certain the
peasants will produce more if we give them so much liberty?"
Edan nodded. "I have found the Arelish peasantry to be a lazy, unproductive
lot. The only way I can get enough work out of them is by force."
"They aren't lazy, my lord," Sarene said. "They are angry. Ten years is not so
long a time, and these people can remember what it is to be their own masters.
Give them the promise of autonomy, and they will work hard to achieve it. You
will be surprised how much more profitable an independent man is than a slave
who thinks of nothing more than his next meal. After all, which situation
would make you more likely to be productive?"
The nobles mused over her words.
"Much of what you say makes sense," Shuden noted.
"But, Lady Sarene's evidence is vague," Roial said. "Times were different
before the Reod. The Elantrians provided food, and the land could survive
without a peasant class. We no longer have that luxury."
"Then help me find evidence, my lord," Sarene said. "Give me a few months and
we will create our own proof."
"We will ... consider your words." Roial said.
"No, Lord Roial, you will make a decision," Sarene said. "Beneath everything
else, I believe that you are a patriot. You know what is right, and this is
it. Don't tell me you've never felt any guilt for what you have done to this
country."
Sarene regarded Roial anxiously. The elderly duke had impressed her, but there
was no way for her to be sure he felt ashamed for Arelon. She had to depend on
her impression that his heart was good, and that in his long life he had seen
and understood how far his country had fallen. The collapse of Elantris had
been a catalyst, but the greed of the nobility had been the true destroyer of
this once grand nation.

"We have all been blinded at one rime or another by Iadon's promises of
weaIth," Shuden said with his soft, wise voice. "I will do as Her Highness
asks." Then the brown-skinned man turned his eyes on Roial and nodded. His
acceptance had given the duke an opportunity to agree without losing too much
face.
"All right," the elderly duke said with a sigh. "You are a wise man, Lord
Shuden. If you find merit in this plan, then I will follow it as well."
"I suppose we have no choice," Edan said.
"It's better than waiting, Lord EdIan." Eondel noted.
"True. I agree as well."
"That leaves me," Ahan said with a sudden realization. "Oh, my. What shall I
do?"
"Lord Roial agreed only grudgingly, my lord," Sarene said. "Don't tell me you
are going to do the same?"
Ahan bellowed a laugh, his entire frame shaking. "What a delightful girl you
are! Well, then, I guess I have to accept wholeheartedly. with the admonition
chat I knew she was right all along. Now, Kiin, please tell me you haven't
forgotten dessert. I've heard such lovely things about your confections."
"Forget dessert?" her uncle rasped. "Ahan, you wound me." He smiled as he rose
from his chair and moved toward the kitchen.
"SHE is good at this, Kiin-perhaps better than I am." It was Duke Roial's
voice. Sarene froze: she had gone looking for the washroom after bidding
everyone farewell, and had expected them to be gone by now.
"She is a very special young woman," Kiin agreed. Their voices were coming
from the kitchen. Silently. Sarene slipped forward and listened outside the
door.
"She neatly slipped control away from me, and I still don't know where I went
wrong. You should have warned me."
"And let you escape, Roial?" Kiin said with a laugh. "It's been a long time
since anyone, including Ahan, got the better of you. It does a man good to
realize he can still be taken by surprise once in a while.'
"She nearly lost it near the end there, though," Roial said. "I don't like
being backed into corners, Kiin."
"It was a calculated risk, my lord," Sarene said, pushing open the door and
strolling in.
Her appearance didn't give the duke even a moment's pause. "You all but
threatened me. Sarene. That is no way to make an ally—especially of a
crotchety old man such as myself." The duke and Kiin were sharing a bottle of
Fjordell wine at the kitchen table. and their manner was even more relaxed
than the dinner had been. "A few days wouldn't have hurt our position, and I
certainly would have

given you my support. I've found that thoughtful, well-considered commitment
is much more productive than spurious professions."
Sarene nodded. slipping a glass from one of Kiin's shelves and pouring herself
some wine before sitting. "I understand. Roial." If he could drop formalities,
then so could she. "But the others look to you. They trust your judgment. I
needed more than your support-which, by the way, I know you would have given—I
needed your open support. The others had to see you accept the plan before
they would agree. It wouldn't have had the same impact a few days later."
"Perhaps," Roial said. "One thing is certain. Sarene—you give us hope again.
Raoden was our unity before: now you will take his place. Kiin or I couldn't
do it. Kiin has refused nobility for too long—no matter what they say, the
people still want a leader with a title. And me ... they all know that I
helped Iadon start this monstrosity that has slowly killed our country."
"That was long ago. Roial," Kiin said clasping the elderly duke on the
shoulder.
"No," Roial said with a shake of his head. "As the fair princess said. ten
years isn't long in the life span of nations. I am guilty of a grave mistake."
"We will make it right, Roial," Kiin said. "This plan is a good one-perhaps
even better than Raoden's."
Roial smiled. "She would have made him a fine wife. Kiin."
Kiin nodded. "Fine indeed-and an even better queen. Domi moves in ways that
are sometimes strange to our mortal minds."
"I'm not convinced it was Domi's will that took him from us, Uncle," Sarene
said over her wine. "Have either of you ever wondered if. perhaps, someone
might have been behind the prince's death?"
"The answer to that question borders on treason, Sarene," Kiin warned. "Any
more than the other things we have said tonight?"
"We were only accusing the king of greed, Sarene," Roial said. "The murder of
his own son is another matter entirely."
"Think about it, though," Sarene said, waving her hand in a wide gesture. and
nearly spilling her wine. "The prince took a contrary stance on everything his
father did—he ridiculed Iadon in court, he planned behind the king's back, and
he had the love of the people. Most importantly. everything he said about
Iadon was true. Is that the kind of person a monarch can afford to have
running free?"
"Yes. but his own son?" Roial said with a disbelieving shake of his head.
"It wouldn't be the first time such a thing has happened," Kiin said.
"True," Roial said. "But, I don't know if the prince was as much of a problem
to Iadon as you assume. Raoden wasn't so much rebellious as he was critical.
He never said that Iadon shouldn't be king, he simply claimed that Arelon's
government was in trouble—which it is."

'Weren't either of you even a little suspicious when you heard the prince was
dead?" Sarene asked, contemplatively sipping her wine. "It came at such a
convenient time. Iadon has the benefit of an alliance with Teod, but now he
doesn't have to worry about Raoden producing any heirs."
Roial looked at Kiin, who shrugged. "I think we have to at least consider the
possibility, Roial."
Roial nodded regretfully. "So what do we do? Try and find proof that Iadon
executed his son?"
"Knowledge will bring strength." Sarene said simply.
"Agreed," Kiin said. "You, however, are the only one of us with free access to
the palace."
"I'll poke around and see what I can uncover."
"Is it possible he isn't dead?" Roial asked. 'It would have been easy enough
to find a look-alike for the casket—the coughing shivers is a very disfiguring
disease." "It's possible," Sarene said doubtfully.
"But you don't believe it."
Sarene shook her head. "When a monarch decides to destroy a rival, he usually
makes sure to do so in a permanent way. There are too many stories about lost
heirs that reappear after twenty years in the wilderness to claim their
rightful throne."
"Still, perhaps Iadon isn't as brutal as you assume," Roial said. "He was a
better man, once—never what I would call a good man, but not a bad one either.
Just greedy. Something's happened to him over the last few years, something
that has ... changed him. Still, I think there remains enough compassion in
Iadon to keep him from murdering his own son."
"All right," Sarene said. "I'll send Ashe to search through the royal
dungeons. He's so meticulous he'll know the name of every rat in the place
before he's satisfied." "Your Seon?" Roial realized. "Where is he?"
"I sent him to Elantris."
"Elantris?" Kiin asked.
"That Fjordell gyorn is interested in Elantris for some reason." Sarene ex-
plained. "And I make it my business never to ignore what a gyorn finds
interesting." "You seem to be rather preoccupied with a single priest, 'Ene,"
Kiin said. "Not a priest, Uncle." Sarene corrected. "A full gyorn."
"Still only one man. How much damage can he do?"
"Ask the Duladen Republic," Sarene said. "I think this is the same gyorn who
was involved in that disaster."
"There's no sure evidence that Fjorden was behind the collapse," Roial noted.
"There is in Teod, but no one else would believe it. Just believe me when I
tell you that this single gyorn could be more dangerous than Iadon."
The comment struck a lull in the conversation. Time passed silently, the three

nobles drinking their wine in thought until Lukel entered, having traveled to
retrieve his mother and siblings. He nodded to Sarene and bowed to the duke
before pouring himself a cup of wine.
"Look at you," Lukel said to Sarene as he took a seat. "A confident member of
the boys' club."
"Leader of it. more truthfully." Roial noted.
"Your mother?" Kiin asked.
"Is on her way," Lukel said. "They weren't finished, and you know how Mother
is. Everything must be done in its proper order; no rushing allowed."
Kiin nodded. downing the last of his wine. "Then you and I should get to
cleaning before she returns. We wouldn't want her to see what a mess our
collected noble friends have made of the dining room."
Lukel sighed. giving Sarene a look that suggested he sometimes wished he lived
in a traditional household—one with servants, or at least women, to do such
things. Kiln was already moving, however, and his son had no choice but to
follow.
"Interesting family," Roial said, watching them go.
"Yes. A little odd even by Teoish standards."
"Kiin had a long life on his own." the duke observed. "It accustomed him to
doing things by himself. He once hired a cook, I hear, but grew frustrated
with the woman's methods. I seem to recall that she quit before he had the
heart to fire her-she claimed she couldn't work in such a demanding
environment."
Sarene laughed. "That sounds appropriate."
Roial smiled, but continued in a more serious tone. "Sarene, we are indeed
fortunate. You might very well be our last chance for saving Arelon." "Thank
you, Your Grace," Sarene said, flushing despite herself.
"This country will not last much longer. A few months, maybe, a half a year if
we are lucky."
Sarene's brow furled. "But, I thought you wanted to wait. At least, that's
what you told the others."
Roial made a dismissive gesture. "I'd convinced myself that little could be
gained by their aid—Edan and Ahan are too contrary, and Shuden and Eondel are
both too inexperienced. I wanted to mollify them while Kiin and I decided what
to do. I fear our plans may have centered around more ... dangerous methods.
"Now, however, there is another chance. If your plan works-though I'm still
not convinced that it will-we might be able to forestall collapse for a little
longer. I'm not sure: ten years of Iadon's rule has built momentum. It will be
difficult to change it in only a few months' time."
"I think we can do it. Roial," Sarene said.
"Just make sure you don't get ahead of yourself, young lady." Roial said,
eyeing her. "Do not dash if you only have the strength to walk, and do not
waste your time pushing on walls that will not give. More importantly, don't
shove where a

pat would be sufficient. You backed me into a corner today. I'm still a
prideful old man. If Shuden hadn't saved me, I honestly can't say if I would
have been humble enough to acknowledge fault in front of all those men."
"I'm sorry," Sarene said, now blushing for another reason. There was something
about this powerful, yet grandfatherly, old duke that made her suddenly
desperate to have his respect.
"Just be careful," Roial said. "If this gyorn is as dangerous as you claim,
then there are some very powerful forces moving through Kae. Do not let Arelon
get crushed between them."
Sarene nodded, and the duke leaned back. pouring the last of the wine into his
cup.

CHAPTER 12
 EARLY in his career, Hrathen had found it difficult to accept other
languages. Fjordell was Jaddeth's own chosen tongue-it was holy, while other
languages were profane. How, then. did one convert those who didn't speak
Fjordell? Did one speak to them in their own Ianguage. or did one force all
true supplicants to study Fjordell first? It seemed foolish to require an
entire nation to learn a new language before allowing them to hear of
Jaddeth's empire.
So, when forced to make the decision between profanity and infinite delay,
Hrathen chose profanity. He had learned to speak Aonic and Duladen, and had
even picked up a little Jindoeese. When he taught. he taught the people in
their own tongue—though, admittedly, it still bothered him to do so. What if
they never learned? What if his actions made people think that they didn't
need Fjordell, since they could learn of Jaddeth in their mother language?
These thoughts, and many like them, passed through Hrathen's mind as he
preached to the people of Kae. It wasn't that he lacked focus or dedication;
he had simply given the same speeches so many times that they had become rote.
He spoke almost unconsciously, raising and lowering his voice to the rhythm of
the sermon, performing the ancient art that was a hybrid offspring of prayer
and theater.

When he urged. they responded with cheers. When he condemned, they looked at
one another with shame. When he raised his voice. they focused their
at-tendon, and when he lowered it to a bare whisper, they were even more
captivated. It was as if he controlled the ocean waves themselves, emotion
surging through the crowd like froth-covered tides.
He finished with a stunning admonition to serve in Jaddeth's kingdom, to swear
themselves as odiv or krondet to one of the priests in Kae, thereby becoming
part of the chain that linked them directly to Lord Jaddeth. The common people
served the arteths and dorven, the arteths and dorven served the gradors, the
gradors served the ragnats, the ragnats served the gyorns, the gyorns served
Wyrn, and Wyrn served Jaddeth. Only the gragdets—leaders of the
monasteries—weren't directly in the line. It was a superbly organized system.
Everyone knew whom he or she had to serve: most didn't need to worry about the
commands of Jaddeth, which were often above their understanding. All they had
to do was follow their arteth, serve him as best they could, and Jaddeth would
be pleased with them.
Hrathen stepped down from the podium, satisfied. He had only been preaching in
Kae for a few days. but the chapel was already so packed that people had to
line up at the back once the seats were full. Only a few of the newcomers were
actually interested in converting; most came because Hrathen himself was a
novelty. However. they would return. They could tell themselves that they were
only curious—that their interest had nothing to do with religion-but they
would return.
As Shu-Dereth grew more popular in Kae, the people at these first meetings
would find themselves important by association. They would brag that they had
discovered Shu-Dereth long before their neighbors. and as a consequence they
would have to continue attending. Their pride, mixed with Hrathen's powerful
sermons. would override doubts. and soon they would find themselves swearing
servitude to one of the arteths.
Hrathen would have to call a new head arteth soon. He'd put off the decision
for a time, waiting to see how the priests remaining in the chapel dealt with
their tasks. Time was growing slim, however, and soon the local membership
would be too great for Hrathen to track and organize by himself. especially
considering all of the planning and preaching he had to do.
The people at the back were beginning to file out of the chapel. However, a
sudden sound stopped them. Hrathen looked up at the podium with surprise. The
meeting was to have ended after his sermon, but someone thought differently.
Dilaf had decided to speak.
The short Arelish man screamed his words with fiery energy. In barely a few
seconds, the crowd grew hushed, most of the people sliding back into their
seats. They had seen Dilaf following Hrathen, and most of them probably knew
he was an arteth. but Dilaf had never addressed them before. Now, however, he
made himself impossible to ignore.

He disobeyed all of the rules of public speaking. He didn't vary the loudness
of his voice, nor did he look members of the audience in the eyes. He didn't
maintain a stately, upright posture to appear in control: instead he hopped
across the podium energetically, gesturing wildly. His face was covered with
sweat: his eyes were wide and haunting.
And they listened.
They listened more acutely than they had to Hrathen. They followed Dilaf's
insane jumps with their eyes, transfixed by his every unorthodox motion.
Dilaf's speech had a single theme: hatred of Elantris. Hrathen could feel the
audience's zeal growing. Dilaf's passion worked like a catalyst, like a mold
that spread uncontrollably once it found a dank place to grow. Soon the entire
audience shared in his loathing, and they screamed along with his
denunciations.
Hrathen watched with concern and, admittedly, jealousy. Unlike Hrathen, Dilaf
hadn't been trained in the greatest schools of the East. However. the short
priest had something Hrathen lacked. Passion.
Hrathen had always been a calculating man. He was organized, careful, and
attentive to detail. Similar things in Shu-Dereth—its standardized, orderly
method of governing along with its logical philosophy—were what had first
attracted him to the priesthood. He had never doubted the church. Something so
perfectly organized couldn't help but be right.
Despite chat loyalty, Hrathen had never felt what Dilaf now expressed. Hrathen
had no hatreds so severe that he wept, no loves so profound that he would risk
everything in their name. He had always believed that he was the perfect
follower of Jaddeth; that his Lord needed levelheadedness more than He needed
unbridled ardor. Now. however. he wondered.
Dilaf had more power over this audience than Hrathen ever had. Dilaf's hatred
of Elantris wasn't logical-it was irrational and feral-but they didn't care.
Hrathen could spend years explaining to them the benefits of Shu-Dereth and
never get the reaction they now expressed. Part of him scoffed, trying to
convinee himself that the power of Dilaf's words wouldn't last, that the
passion of the moment would be lost in the mundanity of life—but another. more
truthful part of him was simply envious. What was wrong with Hrathen that. in
thirty years of serving Jaddeth's kingdom, he had never once felt as Dilaf
seemed to at every moment?
Eventually, the arteth fell silent. The room remained completely quiet for a
long moment after Dilaf's speech. Then they burst into discussion, excited,
speaking as they began to trail from the chapel. Dilaf stumbled off the podium
and collapsed onto one of the pews near the front of the room.
"That was well done," a voice noted from beside Hrathen. Duke Telrii watched
the sermons from a private booth at the side of the chapel. "Having the short
man speak after yourself was a wonderful move, Hrathen. I was worried
when I saw people growing bored. The young priest refocused everyone's
attention."



Hrathen hid his annoyance at Telrii's use of his name rather than his title;
there would be rime to change such disrespect at a later date. He also
restrained himself from making a comment about the audience's supposed boredom
during his sermon.
"Dilaf is a rare young man." Hrathen said instead. "There are two sides to
every argument, Lord Telrii: the logical and the passionate. We have to make
our attack from both directions if we are to be victorious."
Telrii nodded.
"So, my lord, have you considered my proposal?"
Telrii hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. "It is tempting. Hrathen.
Very tempting. I don't think there is any man in Arelon who could refuse it,
let alone myself."
"Good. I will contact Fjorden. We should be able to begin within the week."
Telrii nodded, the birthmark on his neck looking like a large bruise in the
shadows. Then, gesturing to his numerous attendants, the duke made his way out
the side door to the chapel, disappearing into the twilight. Hrathen watched
the door shut, then walked over to Dilaf, who was still sprawled on the pew.
"That was unexpected. Arteth," he said. "You should have spoken with me
first."
"It was not planned, my lord, Dilaf explained. "I suddenly felt the need to
speak. It was only done in your service, my hroden."
"Of course," Hrathen said, dissatisfied. Telrii was right: Dilaf's addition
had been valuable. As much as Hrathen wanted to reproach the arteth, he could
not. He would be negligent in his service to Wyrn if he didn't use every tool
at his command to convert the people of Arelon, and Dilaf had proven himself a
very useful tool. Hrathen would need the arteth to speak at later meetings.
Once again, Dilaf had left him without many choices.
"Well, it is done," Hrathen said with calculated dismissiveness. "And they
appear to have liked it. Perhaps I will have you speak again sometime.
However. you must remember your place, Arteth. You are my odiv; you do not act
unless I specifically tell you. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, my lord Hrathen."
H RAT HEN quietly shut the door to his personal chambers. Dilaf was not there;
Hrathen would never let him see what was about to take place. In this Hrathen
could still feel superior to the young Arelish priest. Dilaf would never rise
to the highest ranks of the priesthood, for he could never do what Hrathen was
about to do—something known only to the gyorns and Wyrn.
Hrathen sat in his chair quietly, preparing himself. Only after a half hour of
meditation did he feel controlled enough to act. Taking a measured breath,
Hrathen rose from his seat and moved to the large trunk in the corner of his
room. It was topped with a stack of folded tapestries, carefully draped to
obscure. Hrathen moved the tapestries reverently, then reached beneath his
shirt to pull forth the gold chain that encircled his neck. At the end of the
chain was a small key. With this he opened the trunk, revealing the contents—a
small metal box.
The box was about the size of four stacked books, and its weight rested
heavily in Hrathen's hands as he lifted it from the trunk. Its sides had been
constructed of the best steel, and on its front was a small dial and several
delicate levers. The mechanism had been designed by Svorden's finest
locksmiths. Only Hrathen and Wyrn knew the proper method of turning and
twisting that would open the box.
Hrathen spun the dial and turned the levers in a pattern he had memorized soon
after being appointed to the position of gyorn. The combination had never been
written down. It would be a source of extreme embarrassment to Shu-Dereth if
anyone outside the inner priesthood discovered what was inside this box.
The lock clicked, and Hrathen pulled the top open with a firm hand. A small
glowing ball sat patiently inside.
"You need me, my lord?" the Seon asked in a soft, feminine voice. "Be quiet!"
Hrathen ordered. "You know you are not to speak."
The ball of light bobbed submissively. It had been months since Hrathen had
last opened the box, but the Seon showed no signs of rebelliousness. The
creatures—or whatever they were—seemed to be unfailingly obedient.
The Seons had been Hrathen's greatest shock upon his appointment to the rank
of gyorn. Not that he had been surprised to find that the creatures were
real—though many in the East dismissed Seons as Aonic myths, Hrathen had, by
that time, been taught that there were ... things in the world that were not
understood by normal people. The memories of his early years in Dakhor still
caused him to shiver in fear.
No. Hrathen's surprise had come in discovering that Wyrn would consent to
using heathen magics to further Jaddeth's empire. Wyrn himself had explained
the necessity of using Seons, but it had taken years for Hrathen to accept the
idea. In the end, logic had swayed him. Just as it was sometimes necessary to
speak in heathen languages to preach Jaddeth's empire. there were instances
where the enemy's arts proved valuable.
Of course, only those with the most self-control and holiness could use the
Seons without being tainted. Gyorns used them to contact Wyrn when in a far
country, and they did so infrequently. Instantaneous communication across such
distances was a resource worth the price.
"Get me Wyrn," Hrathen ordered. The Seon complied, hovering up a bit, questing
with its abilities to seek out Wyrn's own hidden Seon—one attended

at all times by a mute servant, whose only sacred duty was to watch over the
creature.
Hrathen eyed the Seon as he waited. The Seon hovered patiently. It always
appeared obedient; indeed. the other gyorns didn't even seem to question the
loyalty of the creatures. They claimed it was part of the Seons' magic to be
faithful to their masters, even if those masters detested them.
Hrathen wasn't quite as certain. Seons could contact others of their kind, and
they apparently didn't need half as much sleep as men. What did the Seons do,
while their masters slept? What secrets did they discuss? At one point, most
of the nobility in DuIadel, Arelon, Teod, and even Jindo had kept Seons.
During those days, how many state secrets had been witnessed. and perhaps
gossiped about, by the unobtrusive floating balls?
He shook his head. It was a good thing those days were past. Out of favor
because of their association with fallen Elantris, prevented from any further
reproduction by the loss of Elantrian magics, the Seons were growing more and
more rare. Once Fjorden conquered the West, Hrathen doubted one would ever see
Seons floating around freely again.
His Seon began to drip like water, and then it formed into Wyrn's proud face.
Noble. squareish features regarded Hrathen.
"I am here, my son." Wyrn's voice floated through the Seon.
"0 great lord and master, Jaddeth's anointed, and emperor in the light of His
favor." Hrathen said, bowing his head.
"Speak on, my odiv."
"I have a proposal involving one of the lords of Arelon, great one...."

CHAPTER 13
"THIS is it" Raoden exclaimed. "Galladon, get over here!" The large Dula set
down his own book with raised eyebrows, then stood with his characteristic
relaxed style and wandered over to Raoden. "What have you found, rule?"

Raoden pointed to the coverless book in front of him. He sat in the former
Korathi ehurch that had become their center of operations. Galladon, still
determined to keep his small book-filled study a secret, had insisted that
they lug the necessary volumes up to the chapel rather than let anyone else
into his sanctuary.
"Sule. I can't read that," Galladon protested, looking down at the book. "It's
written completely in Aons."
"That's what made me suspicious," Raoden said.
"Can you read it?" Galladon asked.
"No," Raoden said with a smile. "But I do have this." He reached down and
pulled out a similar coverless volume, its cover pages stained with Elantris
grime. "A dictionary of the Aons."
Galladon studied the first book with a critical eye. "Stile. I don't even
recognize a tenth of the Aons on this page. Do you have any idea how long it's
going to take you to translate it?"
Raoden shrugged. "It's better than searching for clues in those other books.
Galladon. if I have to read one more word about the landscape of Fjorden, I am
going to be sick."
Galladon grunted his agreement. Whoever had owned the books before the Reod
must have been a geography scholar. for at least half of the volumes dealt
with the topic.
`You're sure this is the one we want?" Galladon asked.
"I've had a little training in reading pure Aon texts, my friend," Raoden
said, pointing at an Aon on a page near the beginning of the book. "This says
AonDor."
Galladon nodded. "All right, rule. I don't envy you the task, however. Life
would be much simpler if it hadn't taken your people so long to invent an
alphabet. Kolo?"
"The Aons were an alphabet," Raoden said. "Just an incredibly complex one.
This won't take as long as you think—my schooling should start to come back to
me after a little while."
"Sule, sometimes you're so optimistic it's sickening. I suppose then we should
cart these other books back to where we got them?" There was a measure of
anxiety in Galladon's voice. The books were precious to him; it had taken
Raoden a good hour of arguing to convince the Dula to let him take off their
covers, and he could see how much it bothered the larger man to have the books
exposed to the slime and dirt of Elantris.
"That should be all right," Raoden said. None of the other books were about
AonDor, and while some of them were journals or other records that could hold
clues, Raoden suspected that none of them would be as useful as the one in
front of him. Assuming he could translate it successfully.
Galladon nodded and began gathering up the books; then he looked upward
apprehensively as he heard a scraping sound from the roof. Galladon was
convinced

that sooner or later the entire assemblage would collapse and. inevitably,
fall on his shiny dark head.
"Don't worry so much, Galladon," Raoden said. "Maare and Riil know what
they're doing."
Galladon frowned. "No they don't. sule. I seem to recall that neither of them
had any idea what to do before you pressed them into it."
'I meant that they're eompetent." Raoden looked up with satisfaction. Six days
of working had completed a large portion of the roof. Mareshe had devised a
claylike combination of wood scraps. soiI, and the ever-prevalent Elantris
sludge. This mixture, when added to the fallen support beams and some
less-rotted sections of cloth, had provided materials to make a ceiling that
was, if nor superior, at least adequate.
Raoden smiled. The pain and hunger were always there, but things were going so
well that he could almost forget the pain of his half-dozen bumps and cuts.
Through the window to his right he could see the newest member of his band,
Loren. The man worked in the large area beside the church that had probably
once been a garden. According to Raoden's orders, and equipped with a newly
fashioned pair of leather gloves, Loren moved rocks and cleared away refuse,
revealing the soft dirt underneath.
"What good is that going to do?" Galladon asked, following Raoden's gaze out
the window.
"You'll see," Raoden said with a secretive smile.
Galladon huffed as he picked up an armload of books and left the chapel. The
Dula had been right about one thing: They could not count on new Elantrians
being thrown into the city as fast as Raoden had first anticipated. Before
Loren's arrival the day before, five solid days had passed without even a
quiver from the city gates. Raoden had been very fortunate to find Mareshe and
the others in such a short period of time.
`Lord Spirit?" a hesitant voice asked.
Raoden looked up at the chapel's doorway to find an unfamiliar man waiting to
be acknowledged. He was thin. with a stooped-over form and an air of practiced
subservience. Raoden couldn't tell his age for certain: the Shaod tended to
make everyone look much older than they really were. However, he had the
feeling that this man's age was no illusion. If his head had held any hair.
then it would have been white, and his skin had been long wrinkled before the
Shaod took him.
"Yes?" Raoden asked with interest. "What can I do for you?"
"My lord ..." the man began.
"Go on," Raoden prodded.
"Well, Your Lordship, I've just heard some things, and I was wondering if I
could join with you."
Raoden smiled. rising and walking over to the man. "Certainly, you may join
us. What have you heard?"

"Well . . ." The aged Elantrian fidgeted nervously. "Some people on the
streets say that those who follow you aren't as hungry. They say you have a
secret that makes the pain go away. I've been in EIantris for nearly a year
now, my lord, and my injuries are almost too much. I figured I could either
give you a chance, or go find myseIf a gutter and join the Hoed."
Raoden nodded, clasping the man on the shoulder. He could still feel his toe
burning-he was growing used to the pain, but it was still there. It was
accompanied by a gnawing from his stomach. "I'm glad you came. What is your
name?"
"Kahar, my lord."
"All right then. Kahar, what did you do before the Shaod took you?"
Kahar's eyes grew unfocused. as if his mind were traveling back to a time long
ago. "I was a cleaner of some sort, my lord. I think I washed streets."
"Perfect! I've been waiting for one of your particular skill. Mareshe, are you
back there?"
"Yes, my lord." the spindly artisan called from one of the rooms in the back.
His head poked out a moment later.
"By chance. did those traps you set up catch any of last night's rainfall?"
"Of course, my lord," Mareshe said indignantly.
"Good. Show Kahar here where the water is."
"Certainly." Mareshe motioned for Kahar to follow.
"What am I to do with water, my lord?" Kahar asked.
"It is time that we stopped living in filth, Kahar," Raoden said. "This slime
that covers Elantris can be cleaned off: I've seen a place where it was done.
Take your time and don't strain yourself, bur clean this building inside and
out. Scrape away every bit of slime and wash off every hint of dirt."
"Then you will show me the secret?" Kahar asked hopefully.
"Trust me."
Kahar nodded, following Mareshe from the room. Raoden's smile faded as the man
left. He was finding that the most difficult part of leadership here in
Elantris was maintaining the attitude of optimism that Galladon teased him
about. These people, even the newcomers, were dangerously close to losing
hope. They thought that they were damned. and assumed that nothing could save
their souls from rotting away like Elantris itself. Raoden had to overcome
years of conditioning teamed with the ever-present forces of pain and hunger.
He had never considered himself an overly cheerful person. Here in Elantris,
however, Raoden found himself reacting to the air of despair with defiant
optimism. The worse things got, the more determined he was to take it on
without complaint. But the forced cheerfulness took its toll. He could feel
the others, even Galladon. relying on him. Of all the people in Elantris, only
Raoden couldn't let his pain show. The hunger gnawed at his chest like a horde
of insects trying to

escape from within, and the pain of several injuries beat at his resolve with
merciless determination.
He wasn't sure how long he would last. After barely a week and a half in
Elantris, he was already in so much pain it was sometimes difficult to focus.
How long would it be before he couldn't function at all? Or, how long before
he was reduced to the subhuman level of Shaor's men? One question was more
frightening than them all. When he fell, how many people would fall with him?
And yet. he had to bear the weight. If he didn't accept the responsibility, no
one else would—and these people would become slaves either to their own agony
or to the buIlies on the streets. Elantris needed him. If it used him up, then
so be it.
"Lord Spirit!" called a frantic voice.
Raoden looked as a worried Saolin rushed into the room. The hook-nosed
mercenary had fashioned a spear from a piece of only half-rotten wood and a
sharp stone, and had taken to patrolling the area around the chapel. The man's
scarred Elantrian face was wrinkled with concern.
"What is it, Saolin?" Raoden asked, alarmed. The man was an experienced
warrior, and was not easily unsettled.
"A group of armed men coming this way, my lord. I counted twelve of them, and
they are carrying steel weapons."
"Steel?" Raoden said. "In Elantris? I wasn't aware that there was any to be
found."
"They're coming quickly. my lord." Saolin said. "What do we do—they're almost
here."
"They are here," Raoden said as a group of men forced their way through the
chapel's open doorway. Saolin was right several carried steel weapons, though
the blades were chipped and rusted. The group was a dark-eyed, unpleasant lot,
and at their lead was a familiar figure—or, at least. familiar from a
distance.
"Karata," Raoden said. Loren should have been hers the other day, but Rao-den
had stolen him. Apparently, she had come to make a complaint. It had only been
a matter of time.
Raoden glanced toward Saolin, who was inching forward as if anxious to try his
makeshift spear. "Stand your ground, Saolin," Raoden commanded.
Karata was completely bald. a gift from the Shaod, and she had been in the
city long enough that her skin was beginning to wrinkle. However, she held
herself with a proud face and determined eyes—the eyes of a person who hadn't
given in to the pain, and who wasn't going to do so any time soon. She wore a
dark outfit composed of torn leather-for Elantris, it was well made.
Karata turned her head around the chapel, studying the new ceiling, then the
members of Raoden's band. who had gathered outside the window to watch with

apprehension. Mareshe and Kahar stood immobile at the back of the room.
Finally, Karata turned her gaze on Raoden.
There was a tense pause. Eventually. Karata turned to one of her men. "Destroy
the building, chase them out, and break some bones." She turned to leave. "I
can get you into Iadon's palace." Raoden said quietly.
Karata froze.
"That is what you want, isn't it?" Raoden asked. "The Elantris City Guards
caught you in Kae. They won't suffer you forever—they burn Elantrians who
escape too often. If you really want to get into the palace, I can take you
there."
"We'll never get out of the city," Karata said. turning skeptical eyes back on
him. "They've doubled the guard recently; something to do with looking good
for a royal wedding. I haven't even been able to get out in a month."
"I can get you out of the city too," Raoden promised.
Karara's eyes narrowed with suspicion. There was no talk of price. They both
knew that Raoden could demand only one thing: to be left alone. "You're
desperate." she finally concluded.
"True. But I'm also an opportunist."
Karata nodded slowly. "I will return at nightfall. You will deliver as
promised, or my men will break the limbs of every person here and leave them
to rot in their agony."
"Understood."
"SULE , I—"
"Don't think this is a good idea," Raoden finished with a slight smile. "Yes,
Galladon, I know."
"Elantris is a big city," Galladon said. "There are plenty of places to hide
that not even Karata could find us. She can't spread herself too thin,
otherwise Shaor and Aanden will attack her. Kolo?"
`Yes, but what then?" Raoden asked, trying the strength of a rope Mareshe had
fashioned from some rags. It seemed like it would hold his weight. "Karata
wouldn't be able to find us, but neither would anyone else. People are finally
beginning to realize we're here. If we move now, we'll never grow."
Galladon looked pained. "Sule, do we have to grow? Do you have to start
another gang? Aren't three warlords enough?"
Raoden stopped, looking up at the large Dula with concern. "Galladon, is that
really what you think I am doing?"
"I don't know, sule."
"I have no wish for power Galladon," Raoden said flatly. "I am worried about
life. Not just survival, Galladon, life. These people are dead because they
have given up, not because their hearts no longer beat. I am going to change
that."


"Sule. it's impossible."
"So is getting Karata into Iadon's palace," Raoden said, pulling the rope into
a coil around his arm. "I'll see you when I get back."
"WHAT is this?" Karata asked suspiciously.
"It's the city well," Raoden explained, peering over the side of the stone
lip. The well went deep, but he could hear water moving in the darkness below.
"You expect us to swim out?"
"No," Raoden said, tying Mareshe's rope to a rusted iron rod jutting from the
well's side. "We'll just let the current take us along. More like floating
than swimming."
"That's insane—that river runs underground. We'll drown."
"We can't drown," Raoden said. "As my friend Galladon is fond of saying,
`Already dead. Kolo?' "
Karam didn't look convinced.
"The Aredel River runs directly underneath Elantris, then continues on to
Kae," Raoden explained. "It runs around the city and past the palace. All we
have to do is let it drag us. I've already tried holding my breath; I went an
entire half hour, and my lungs didn't even burn. Our blood doesn't flow
anymore. so the only reason we need air is to talk."
"This could destroy us both," Karata warned.
Raoden shrugged. "The hunger would just take us in a few months anyway." Karam
smiled slightly. "All right. Spirit. You go first."
"Gladly," Raoden said, not feeling glad about that particular fact at all.
Still, it was his idea. With a rueful shake of his head. Raoden swung over the
side of the lip and began to lower himself. The rope ran out before he touched
water and so, taking a deep but ineffectual breath, he let go.
He splashed into a shockingly cold river. The current threatened to pull him
away, but he quickly grabbed hold of a rock and held himself steady, waiting
for Karata. Her voice soon sounded in the darkness above.
"Spirit?"
"I'm here. You're about ten feet above the river—you'll have to drop the rest
of the way."
"And then?"
"Then the river continues underground—I can feel it sucking me down right now.
We'll just have to hope it's wide enough the entire distance. otherwise we'll
end up as eternal subterranean plugs."
"You could have mentioned that before I got down here," Karata said nervously.
However, a splash soon sounded, followed by a quiet groan that ended in a
gurgle as something large was sucked past Raoden in the current.

Muttering a prayer to Merciful Domi, Raoden released the rock and let the
river drag him beneath its unseen surface.
RAODEN did indeed have to swim. The trick was to keep himself in the middle of
the river, lest he be slammed against the rock tunnel's walls. He did his best
as he moved in the blackness, using outspread arms to position himself.
Fortunately, time had smoothed the rocks to the point that they bruised rather
than sliced.
An eternity passed in that silent underworld. It was as if he floated through
darkness itself, unable to speak, completely alone. Perhaps this was what
death would bring, his soul set adrift in an endless, lightless void.
The current changed, pulling him upward. He moved his arms to brace himself
against the stone roof, but they met no resistance. A short moment later his
head broke into open air, his wet face cold in the passing wind. He blinked
uncertainly as the world focused, starlight and the occasional street lantern
granting only dim illumination. It was enough to restore his orientation—and,
perhaps, his sanity.
He floated lethargically: the river grew wide after rising to the surface. and
the current slowed considerably. He felt a form approach in the water, and he
tried to speak, but his lungs were full. He only succeeded in vocalizing a
loud, uncontrollable fit of coughing.
A hand clamped around his mouth, cutting off his cough with a gurgle. "Quiet.
fool!" Karata hissed.
Raoden nodded, struggling to control his fit. Perhaps he should have
concentrated less on the theological metaphors of the trip, and more on
keeping his mouth closed.
Karata released his mouth, but continued to hold on to his shoulder, keeping
them together as they drifted past the city of Kae. Its shops were closed for
the night, but an occasional guard patrolled the streets. The two continued to
float in silence until they reached the northern edge of the city, where
Iadon's castle-like palace rose in the night. Then, still not speaking, they
swam to the shore beside the palace.
The palace was a dark, sullen edifice—a manifestation of Iadon's one
insecurity. Raoden's father was not often afraid; in fact, he was often
belligerent when he should have been intelligently apprehensive. The trait had
earned him wealth as a businessman trading with the Fjordell, but it had
brought him failure as a king. In one thing only was Iadon paranoid: sleeping.
The king was terrified that assassins would somehow sneak in and murder him as
he slumbered. Raoden remembered well his father's irrational muttering on the
subject each night before retiring. The worries of kingship had only made
Iadon worse, causing him to outfit his already fortresslike house with a
battalion of guards. The soldiers lived near Iadon's own quarters to
facilitate quick response.

"All right," Karata whispered, watching uncertainly as guards crossed on the
battlements, "you got us out. Now get us in."
Raoden nodded, trying to drain his sodden lungs as silently as possible—an act
not accomplished without a fair bit of muffled retching.
"Try not to cough so much," Karata advised. "You'll irritate your throat and
make your chest sore, and then you'll spend eternity feeling like you have a
cold."
Raoden groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "We need to get to the west
side," he said, his voice a croak.
Karata nodded. She walked silently and quickly-much more so than Raoden could
manage—like a person well acquainted with danger. Several times she put back
her hand in warning, halting their progress just before a squad of guards
appeared out of the darkness. Her aptitude gained them the western side of
Iadon's palace without mishap, despite Raoden's lack of skill.
"Now what?" she asked quietly.
Raoden paused. A question now confronted him. Why did Karata want access to
the palace? From what Raoden had heard of her, she didn't seem like the type
to exact revenge. She was brutal, but not vindictive. But, what if he were
wrong? What if she did want Iadon's blood?
"Well?" Karata asked.
I won't let her kill my father, he decided. No matter how poor a king he is, I
won't let her do that. "You have to answer something for me first."
"Now?" she asked with annoyance.
Raoden nodded. "I need to know why you want into the palace."
She frowned in the darkness. "You aren't in any position to make demands."
"Nor are you in any position to refuse them," Raoden said. "All I have to do
is
raise an alarm. and we'll both be taken by the guards."
Karata waited quietly in the darkness, obviously debating whether or not he
would do it.
"Look," Raoden said. "Just tell me one thing. Do you intend to harm the king?"
Karata met his eyes, then shook her head. "My quibble is not with him." Do I
believe her, or not? Raoden thought. Do I have a choice?
He reached over, pulling hack a patch of bushes that abutted the wall: then he
threw his weight against one of the stones. The stone sank into the wall with
a quiet grinding noise. and a section of ground fell away before them.
Karata raised her eyebrows. "A secret passage? How quaint."
"Iadon is a paranoid sleeper," Raoden explained, crawling through the small
space between ground and wall. "He had this passage installed to give him one
last means of escape should someone attack his palace."
Karata snorted as she followed him through the hole. "I thought things like
this only existed in children's tales."

"Iadon likes those tales quite a bit," Raoden said.
The passage widened after a dozen feet. and Raoden felt along the wall until
he found a lantern, complete with flint and steel. He kept the shieId mostly
closed, releasing only a sliver of light. but it was enough to reveal the
narrow, dust-filled passage.
"You seem to have quite an extensive knowledge of the palace," Karata
observed.
Raoden didn't answer, unable to think of a response that wasn't too revealing.
His father had shown the passage to Raoden when he had barely been into his
teenage years. and Raoden and his friends had found it an instant and
irresistible attraction. Ignoring cautions that the passage was only for
emergencies, Raoden and Lukel had spent hours playing inside of it.
The passage seemed smaller now, of course. There was barely enough room for
Raoden and Karata to maneuver. "Come," he said. holding the lantern aloft and
inching sideways through the passageway. The trip to Iadon's rooms took less
time than he remembered; it really wasn't much of a passage, despite what his
imagination had claimed. It slanted upward to the second floor at a steep
angle, heading straight to Iadon's room.
"This is it." Raoden said as they reached the end. "Iadon should be in bed by
now. and—despite his paranoia—he is a deep sleeper. Perhaps the one causes the
other." He slid open the door, which was hidden behind a tapestry in the royal
sleeping chamber. Iadon's massive bed was dark and quiet, though the open
window provided enough starlight to see that the king was, in fact, present.
Raoden grew tense, eyeing Karata. The woman, however, held to her word: she
barely gave the slumbering king a passing glance as she moved through the room
and into the outer hallway. Raoden sighed in quiet relief, following her with
a less practiced gait of stealth.
The darkened outer hallway connected Iadon's rooms with those of his guards.
The right path led toward the guard barracks; the left led to a guard post,
then the rest of the palace. Karata turned away from this option, continuing
down the right hallway to the barrack annex, her bare feet making no sound on
the stone floor.
Raoden followed her into the barracks, his nervousness returning. She had
decided not to kill his father, but now she was sneaking into the most
dangerous part of the palace. A single misplaced sound would wake dozens of
soldiers.
Fortunately. sneaking down a stone hallway didn't require much skill. Karata
quietly opened any doors in their path, leaving them open enough that Raoden
didn't even have to move them to slip through.
The dark hallway joined with another, this one lined with doors—the quarters
of the lesser officers, as well as those guards allowed room to raise a
family. Karata picked a door. Inside was the single room allotted to a married
guard's family; starlight illuminated a bed by one wall and a dresser beside
the other.

Raoden fidgeted anxiously, wondering if all this had been so Karata could
procure herself a sleeping guard's weapons. If so, she was insane. Of course,
sneaking into a paranoid king's palace wasn't exactly a sign of mental
stability.
As Karata moved into the room, Raoden realized that she couldn't have come to
steal the guard's accouterments—he wasn't there. The bed was empty, its sheets
wrinkled with a slept-in look. Karata stooped beside something that Raoden
hadn't noticed at first: a mattress on the floor, occupied by a small lump
that could only have been a sleeping child, its features and sex lost to
Raoden in the darkness. Karata knelt beside the child for a quiet moment.
Then she was done, motioning Raoden out of the room and closing the door
behind her. Raoden raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Karam nodded. They
were ready to go.
The escape was accomplished in the reverse order of the incursion. Raoden went
first, sliding through the still open doors, and Karata followed, pulling them
closed behind her. In all, Raoden was relieved at how easily the night was
going—or, at least, he was relieved right up to the moment when he slipped
through the door to that final hallway outside Iadon's chamber.
A man stood on the other side of the door, his hand frozen in the act of
reaching for the doorknob. He regarded them with a startled expression.
Karata pushed past Raoden. She wrapped her arm around the man's neck, clamping
his mouth closed in a smooth motion, then grabbed his wrist as he reached for
the sword at his side. The man, however, was larger and stronger than Karata's
weakened Elantrian form, and he broke her grip, blocking her leg with his own
as she tried to trip him.
"Stop!" Raoden snapped quietly, his hand held before him menacingly.
Both of their eyes flickered at him in annoyance, but then they stopped
struggling as they saw what he was doing.
Raoden's finger moved through the air, an illuminated line appearing behind
it. Raoden continued to write, curving and tracing until he had finished a
single character. Aon Sheo, the symbol for death.
"If you move," Raoden said quietly, "you will die."
The guard's eyes widened in horror. The Aon sat glowing above his chest,
casting harsh light on the otherwise caliginous room, throwing shadows across
the walls. The character flashed as they always did, then disappeared.
However, the light had been enough to illuminate Raoden's black-spotted
Elantrian face.
"You know what we are."
"Merciful Domi ." the man whispered.
"That Aon will remain for the next hour," Raoden lied. "It will hang where I
drew it, unseen, waiting for you to so much as quiver. If you do, it will
destroy you. Do you understand?"
The man didn't move, sweat beading on his terrified face.

Raoden reached down and undid the man's sword belt, then tied the weapon
around his own waist.
"Come," Raoden said to Karata.
The woman still squatted next to the wall where the guard had pushed her,
regarding Raoden with an indecipherable look.
"Come," Raoden repeated, a bit more urgently.
Karata nodded, regaining her composure. She pulled open the king's door. and
the two of them vanished the way they had come.
"HE didn't recognize me," Karata said to herself, her voice amused yet
sorrowful.
"Who?" Raoden asked. The two of them squatted in the doorway of a shop near
the middle of Kae, resting for a moment before continuing their trek back to
Elantris.
"That guard. He was my husband, during another life."
"Your husband?"
Karata nodded. "We lived together for twelve years, and now he's forgotten
me.''
Raoden did some quick connecting of events. "Thar means the room we entered .
.."
"That was my daughter." Karata said. "I doubt anyone ever told her what
happened to me. I just ... wanted her to know."
"You left her a note?"
"A note and a keepsake," Karam explained with a sad voice, though no tears
could fall from her Elantrian eyes. "My necklace. I managed to sneak it past
the priests a year ago. I wanted her to have it—I always intended to give it
to her. They took me so quickly.... I never said goodbye."
"I know," Raoden said putting his arm around the woman comfortingly. "I know."
"It takes them all from us. It takes everything. and leaves us with nothing."
Her voice was laced with vehemence.
"As Domi wills."
"How can you say that?" she demanded harshly. "How can you invoke His name
after all that He has done to us?"
"I don't know," Raoden confessed, feeling inadequate. "I just know we need to
keep going, as everyone does. At least you got to see her again."
"Yes," Karata said. "Thank you. You have done me a great service this night,
my prince."
Raoden froze.
"Yes, I know you. I lived in the palace for years, with my husband, protecting
your father and your family. I watched you from your childhood, Prince
Raoden."

"You knew all this time?"
"Not the entire time," Karata said. "But for enough of it. Once I figured it
out. I couldn't decide whether to hate you for being related to Iadon, or to
be satisfied that justice took you as well."
"And your decision?"
"Doesn't matter," Karata said, wiping her dry eyes by reflex. "You fulfilled
your bargain admirably. My people will leave you alone."
"That's not enough, Karata," Raoden said, standing up.
"You would demand more beyond our bargain?"
"I demand nothing, Karata," Raoden said, offering his hand to help her to her
feet. "But you know who I am, and you can guess what I am trying to do."
"You're like Aanden," Karata said. "You think to lord over Elantris as your
father rules the rest of this cursed land."
"People certainly are quick to judge me today," Raoden said with a wry smile.
"No, Karata. I don't want to 'lord over' Elantris. But I do want to help it. I
see a city full of people feeling sorry for themselves, a people resigned to
seeing themselves as the rest of the world sees them. Elantris doesn't have to
be the pit that it is."
"How can you change that?" Karata demanded. "As long as food is scarce, the
people will fight and destroy to sate their hunger."
"Then we'll just have to fill them." Raoden said.
Ka rata snorted.
Raoden reached inside a pocket he had formed in his ragged clothing. "Do you
recognize this, Karata?" he asked, showing her a small cloth pouch. It was
empty, but he kept it as a reminder of his purpose.
Karata's eyes blazed with desire. "It held food."
"What kind?"
"It's one of the pouches of corn that is part of the sacrifice that comes with
a new Elantrian," Karata said.
"Not just corn. Karata," Raoden said holding up a finger. "Seed corn. Parr of
the ceremony requires that a grain offering be plantable."
"Seed corn?" Karata whispered.
"I've been collecting it from the newcomers," Raoden explained. "The rest of
the offerings don't interest me—only the corn. We can plant it, Karata. There
aren't that many people in Elantris: it wouldn't be hard to feed them all.
Goodness knows we have enough free time to work a garden or two."
Karata's eyes were wide with shock. "No one's ever tried that before," she
said, dumbfounded.
"I figured as much. It requires foresight, and the people of Elantris are too
focused on their immediate hunger to worry about tomorrow. I intend to change
that."
Karata looked up from the small pouch to Raoden's face. "Amazing." she
mumbled.

"Come on," Raoden said, tucking the pouch away, then   hiding the stolen sword
beneath his rags. "We're almost to the gate."
"How do you intend to get us back in?"
"Just watch."
As they walked, Karata paused beside a dark home.
"What?" Raoden asked.
Karata pointed. On the window, inside the glass, sat   a loaf of bread.
Suddenly, Raoden felt his own hunger stab sharply at   his insides. He couldn't
blame her—even in the palace, he'd been watching for   something to swipe. "We
can't take that chance. Karata." Raoden said.
Karata sighed. "I know. It's just that ... we're so close."
"All the shops are closed, all the houses locked," Raoden said. "We'll never
find any."
Karata nodded, lethargically moving again. They turned a corner and approached
the broad gate to Elantris. A squat building sat beside it, light pouring from
the windows. Several guards lounged inside, their brown-and-yellow Elantris
City Guard uniforms bright in the lamplight. Raoden approached the building
and tapped on a window with the back of his fist.
"Excuse me," he said politely, "but would you mind opening the gates please?"
The guards. who had been playing a game of cards, threw back their chairs in
alarm, shouting and cursing as they recognized his Elantrian features. "Be
quick about it," Raoden said airily. "I'm getting tired."
"What are you doing out?" one of the guards—an officer by appearances—demanded
as his men piled out of the building. Several of them pointed their wicked
spears at Raoden's chest.
"Trying to get back in," Raoden said impatiently.
One of the guards raised his spear.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Raoden said. "Not unless you want to
explain how you managed to kill an Elantrian outside of the gates. You are
supposed to keep us in—it would be quite an embarrassment if the people found
out that we were escaping beneath your noses."
"How did you escape?" the officer asked.
"I'll tell you later," Raoden said. "Right now, you should probably put us
back in the eity before we wake the entire neighborhood and start a panic. Oh.
and I wouldn't get too close to me. The Shaod is, after all, highly
contagious.-
The guards backed away at his words. Watching Elantris was one thing: being
confronted by a talking corpse was another. The officer, uncertain what else
to do, ordered the gates opened.
"Thank you, my good man," Raoden said with a smile. "You're doing a wonderful
job. We'll have to see if we can get you a raise." With that, Raoden held out
side.

his arm to Karata and strolled through the gates to Elantris as if the
soldiers were his personal butlers, rather than prison guards.
Karata couldn't help snickering as the gate closed behind them. "You made it
sound as if we wanted to be in here. Like it was a privilege."
"And that is exactly the way we should feel. After all, if we're going to be
confined to Elantris, we might as well act as if it were the grandest place in
the entire world."
Karata smiled. "You have a measure of defiance in you, my prince. I like
that."
"Nobility is in one's bearing as much as it is in one's breeding. If we act
like living here is a blessing, then maybe we'll start to forget how pathetic
we think we are. Now, Karata, I want you to do some things for me."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Don't tell anyone who I am. I want loyalty in Elantris based on respect, not
based on my title."
"All right."
"Second. don't tell anyone about the passage into town through the river."
"Why not?"
"It's too dangerous." Raoden said. "I know my father. If the guards start
finding too many Elantrians in the city, he'll come and destroy us. The only
way Elantris is going to progress is if it becomes self-sufficient. We can't
risk sneaking into the city to support ourselves."
Karata listened, then nodded in the affirmative. "All right." Then she paused
in thought for a moment. "Prince Raoden, there's something I want to show
you."
THE children were happy. Though most slept. a few were awake, and they giggled
and played with one another. They were all bald, of course, and they bore the
marks of the Shaod. They didn't seem to mind.
"So this is where they all go." Raoden said with interest.
Karata led him farther into the room, which was buried deep within the palace
of Elantris. Once, this building had housed the leaders elected by the
Elantrian elders. Now it hid a playroom for babes.
Several men stood watchful guard over the children, eyeing Raoden with
suspicion. Karata turned toward him. "When I first came to Elantris, I saw the
children huddled in the shadows, frightened of everything that passed. and I
thought of my own little Opais. Something within my heart healed when I began
to help them-I gathered them, showed them a little bit of love, and they clung
to me. Every one of the men and women you see here left a little child back on
the out-
Karata paused, affectionately rubbing a small Elantrian child on the head.

"The children unite us. keep us from giving in to the pain. The food we gather
is for them. Somehow, we can endure the hunger a little better if we know it
has come, in part, because we gave what we had to the children."
I wouldn't have thought Raoden began quietly, watching a pair of young girls
playing a clapping game together.
"That they would be happy?" Karata finished. She motioned for Raoden to follow
her and they moved back, out of the children's hearing range. "We don't
understand it either, my prince. They seem better at dealing with the hunger
than the rest of us."
"A child's mind is a surprisingly resilient thing," Raoden said.
"They seem to be able to endure a certain amount of pain as well," Karata
continued, "bumps and bruises and the like. However, they eventually snap,
just like everyone else. One moment a child is happy and playful. Then he
falls down or cuts himself one to many times, and his mind gives up. I have
another room, kept far away from these little ones, filled with dozens of
children who do nothing but whimper all day."
Raoden nodded. Then, after a moment, he asked. "Why are you showing me this?"
Karata paused. 'Because I want to join with you. I once served your father,
despite what I thought of him. Now I will serve his son because of what I
think of him. Will you accept my loyalty?"
"With honor, Karata."
She nodded, turning back to the children with a sigh. "I don't have much left
in me, Lord Raoden," she whispered. "I've worried what would happen to my
children when I am lost. This dream you have, this crazy idea of an Elantris
where we grow food and we ignore our pain . I want to see you try to create
it. I don't think you can, but I think you will make something better of us in
the process."
"Thank you," Raoden said, realizing that he had just accepted a monumental
responsibility. Karata had lived for over a year under the burden he was just
beginning to feel. She was tired; he could see it in her eyes. Now, if the
time came, she could rest. She had passed her weight on to him.
"Thank you," Karam said, looking at the children.
"Tell me, Karata," Raoden said after a moment of thought. "Would you really
have broken my people's limbs?"
Karata didn't respond at first. "You tell me, my prince. What would you have
done if I'd tried to kill your father tonight?"
"Questions both better left unanswered."
Karata nodded, her tired eyes bearing a calm wisdom.

RAODEN smiled as he recognized the large figure standing outside of the
chapel, waiting for him to return. Galladon's concerned face was illuminated
by the tiny flame of his lantern.
"A light to guide me home, my friend?" Raoden asked from the darkness as he
approached.
"Sule!" Galladon cried. "By Doloken, you're not dead?"
"Of course I am," Raoden said with a laugh. clapping his friend on the
shoulder. "We all are—at least, that's what you seem to be fond of telling
me." Galladon grinned. "Where's the woman?"
"I walked her home, as any gentleman wouId," Raoden said, entering the chapel.
Inside, Mareshe and the others were rousing.
"Lord Spirit has returned!" Saolin said with enthusiasm.
"Here, Saolin. a gift." Raoden said, pulling the sword out from under his rags
and tossing it to the soldier.
"What is this, my lord?" Saolin asked.
"That spear is amazing considering what you had to work with." Raoden said,
"but I think you ought to have something a little more sturdy if you intend to
do any real fighting."
Saolin pulled the blade free of its scabbard. The sword, nothing special on
the outside, was a wondrous work of beauty within the confines of Elantris.
"Not a spot of rust on her," Saolin said with amazement. "And it is engraved
with the symbol of Iadon's own personal guard!"
"Then the king is dead?" Mareshe asked eagerly.
"Nothing of the sort," Raoden said dismissively. "Our mission was of a
personal nature, Mareshe, and it did not involve killing-though the guard who
owned that sword is probably fairly angry."
"I'll bet," Galladon said with a snort. "Then we don't have to worry about
Karata anymore?"
"No." Raoden said with a smile. "As a matter of fact, her gang will be joining
with us."
There were a few mutters of surprise at the announcement, and Raoden paused
before continuing. "Tomorrow we're going to visit the palace sector. Karata
has something there I want you all to see-something everyone in Elantris
should see."
"What is that. sule?" Galladon asked.
"Proof that the hunger can be defeated."

CHAPTER 14
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
compliment 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 quiet 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 raised an eyebrow 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 eommand."
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 with excitement.
"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 raised an eyebrow. "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?" little Torena breathed with amazement. "You do use swords."
"Some of us." Sarene said. "I rather enjoyed it, actually. 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.
"Of course," 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 peasant's

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 with amazement.
"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 explained. "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.
"AS HE, 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 1 could carry it to them. Eventually, 1
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
eards 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 rifled 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 that
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 live?" 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 survive 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
bIack 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 actually part of the dress, woven into the neck and shoulders so
carefuIIy 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 said with a sigh. "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 several decades 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?"
Sarene paused. "Well, I've been thinking about Uncle Kiin lately. Father never
mentions him anymore. I was wondering—do you know if Kiin was ever officiaIly
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 decided with a wrinkle of 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 Jindoeese 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 lip 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 where they could 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 slightly, 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 said
with a smile. accepting 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 eivil-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 with satisfaction, 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 parry, 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
Arelish 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 be offensive."
Sarene paused. Shuden spoke Aonic as a native and lived in Arelon. so she had
assumed him to be Korathi. She had misjudged. Shuden was still Jindoeese—his
family would have believed in Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of both Korath
and Dereth. "But," she said, thinking out loud, "Jindo is Derethi now."
Shuden's face darkened slightly, 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."
Shuden paused. "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 stopped, looking 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 religiousness to be an exhibition. He is an
opportunist, and his extreme piety 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 slightly 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 with a curtsy.
"I can imagine," Roial said with a smile. Then he turned back to Shuden. "I
had hoped that you wouldn't realize 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 said with a snort. "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
Derethi."
"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 with a sparkle in his eyes.
Sarene acknowledged the queen's gesture, approaching the royal couple and
curtsying politely. Shuden and Roial foIIowed more discreetly, placing
themseIves 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. "But you could just eat less."
"But, I do so like to exercise, Your Majesty."
Iadon took a deep, suffering breath. 'But surely there is 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 explained.
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 slightIy 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 what 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 slightly, 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 facade
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—the 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," he said with a smooth, almost uncaring, voice. "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 IeveI of . . .
nonchalanee about him. While few noblemen actually cared 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 be cursed 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 explained, "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.

CHAPTER 15
A T night, when all melted into a uniform blackness, Hrathen could almost see
Elantris's grandeur. Silhouetted against the star-filled sky. the fallen
buildings cast off their mantle of despair and became memories; memories of a
city crafted with skill and care, a city where every stone was a piece of
functional art; memories of towers that stretched to the sky—fingers tickling
the stars—and of domes that spread like venerable hills.
And it had all been an illusion. Beneath the greatness had been wreckage, a
filthy sore now exposed. How easy it was to look past heresies gilded with
gold. How simple it had been to assume that outward strength bespoke inward
righteousness.
"Dream on, Elantris." Hrathen whispered, turning to stroll along the top of
the great wall that enclosed the city. "Remember what you used to be and try
to hide your sins beneath the blanket of darkness. Tomorrow the sun will rise,
and all will be revealed once again."
"My lord? Did you say something?'
Hrathen turned. He had barely noticed the guard passing him on the wall, the
man's heavy spear resting over his shoulder and his wan torch nearly dead.
"No. I was only whispering to myself."
The guard nodded, continuing his rounds. They were growing accustomed to
Hrathen, who had visited Elantris nearly every night this week, pacing its
walls in thought. Though he had an additional purpose behind his visit this
particular time, most nights he simply came to be alone and think. He wasn't
sure what drew him to the city. Part of it was curiosity. He had never beheld
Elantris in its power, and couldn't understand how anything-even a city so
grand—had repeatedly withstood the might of Fjorden, first militarily, then
theologically.
He also felt a responsibility toward the people—or whatever they were—that
lived in Elantris. He was using them, holding them up as an enemy to unite his
followers. He felt guilty: the Elantrians he had seen were not devils, but
wretches afflicted as if by a terrible disease. They deserved pity, not
condemnation. Still. his devils they would become, for he knew that it was the
easiest, and most harmless, way to unify Arelon. If he turned the people
against their government, as he

had done in Duladel, there would be death. This way would lead to bloodshed as
well, but he hoped much less.
Oh, what burdens we must accept in the service of Your empire, Lord Jaddeth,
Hrathen thought to himself. It didn't matter that he had acted in the name of
the Church, or that he had saved thousands upon thousands of souls. The
destruction Hrathen had caused in Duladel ground against his soul like a
millstone. People who had trusted him were dead, and an entire society had
been cast into chaos.
But, Jaddeth required sacrifices. What was one man's conscience when compared
with the glory of His rule? What was a little guilt when a nation was now
unified beneath Jaddeth's careful eye? Hrathen would ever bear the scars of
what he had done. but it was better that one man suffer than an entire nation
continue in heresy.
Hrathen turned away from Elantris, looking instead toward the twinkling lights
of Kae. Jaddeth had given him another opportunity. This time he would do
things differently. There would be no dangerous revolution, no bloodbath
caused by one class turning against another. Hrathen would apply pressure
carefully until Iadon folded, and another, more agreeable man took his place.
The nobility of Arelon would convert easily, then. The only ones who would
truly suffer. the scapegoats in his strategy, were the Elantrians.
It was a good plan. He was certain he could crush this Arelish monarchy
without much effort it was already cracked and weak. The people of Arelon were
so oppressed that he could institute a new government swiftly, before they
even received word of Iadon's fall. No revolution. Everything would be clean.
Unless he made a mistake. He had visited the farms and cities around Kae; he
knew that the people were stressed beyond their ability to bend. If he gave
them too much of a chance, they would rise up and slaughter the entire noble
class. The possibility made him nervous—mostly because he knew that if it
happened, he would make use of it. The logical gyorn within him would ride the
destruction as if it were a fine stallion, using it to make Derethi followers
out of an entire nation.
Hrathen sighed. turning and continuing his stroll. The wall walk here was kept
clean by the guard, but if he strayed too far, he would reach a place covered
with a dark, oily grime. He wasn't certain what had caused it. but it seemed
to completely coat the wall, once one got away from the central gate area.
Before he reached the grime, however, he spotted the group of men standing
along the wall walk. They were dressed in cloaks, though the night wasn't cold
enough to require it. Perhaps they thought the garments made them more
nondescript. However, if that was the intention, then perhaps Duke Telrii
should have chosen to wear something other than a rich lavender cloak set with
silver embroidery.
Hrathen shook his head at the materialism. The men we must work with to
accomplish Jaddeth's goals. . . .
Duke Telrii did not lower his hood, nor did he bow properly. as Hrathen
approached—though. of course. Hrathen hadn't really expected him to do either.

The duke did, however, nod to his guards. who withdrew to allow them privacy.
Hrathen strolled over to stand beside Duke Telrii. resting against the wall's
parapet and staring out over the city of Kae. Lights twinkled; so many people
in the city were rich that lamp oil and candles were plentiful. Hrathen had
visited some large cities that grew as dark as Elantris when night fell.
"Aren't you going to ask why I wanted to meet with you?' Telrii asked.
"You're having second thoughts about our plan," Hrathen said simply.
Telrii paused, apparently surprised that Hrathen understood him so readily.
"Yes, well. If you know that already, then perhaps you are having second
thoughts as well."
"Not at all," Hrathen said. "Your mannerism-the furtive way you wanted to
meet—was what gave you away."
Telrii frowned. This was a man accustomed to being dominant in any
conversation. Was that why he was wavering? Had Hrathen offended him? No,
studying Telrii's eyes. Hrathen could tell that wasn't it. Telrii had been
eager, at first. to enter into the bargain with Fjorden, and he had certainly
seemed to enjoy throwing his party this evening. 'What had changed?
I can't afford to let this opportunity pass, Hrathen thought. If only he had
more time. Fewer than eighty days remained of his three-month deadline. If he
had been given even a year, he could have worked with more delicacy and
precision. Unfortunately, he had no such luxury, and a blunt attack using
Telrii was his best bet for a smooth change in leadership.
"Why don't you tell me what is bothering you?" Hrathen said.
"Yes. well," Telrii said carefully. "I'm just not sure that I want to work
with Fjorden."
Hrathen raised an eyebrow. "You didn't have that uncertainty before."
Telrii eyed Hrathen from beneath his hood. In the dark moonlight. it looked
like his birthmark was simply a continuation of the shadows, and it gave his
features an ominous cast—or, at least, it would have, had his extravagant
costume not ruined the effect.
Telrii simply frowned. "I heard some interesting things at the party tonight,
Gyorn. Are you really the one who was assigned to Duladel before its
collapse?" Ah, so that's it. Hrathen thought. "I was there."
"And now you're here," Telrii said. "You wonder why a nobleman is made
uncomfortable by that news? The entire Republican class-the rulers of
Duladelwere slaughtered in that revolution! And my sources claim that you had
a great deal to do with that."
Perhaps the man wasn't as foolish as Hrathen thought. Telrii's concern was a
valid one; Hrathen would have to speak with delicacy. He nodded toward
Telrii's guards, who stood a short distance down the wall walk. "Where did you
get those soldiers. my lord?"

Telrii paused. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Humor me," Hrathen said.
Telrii turned, glancing at the soldiers. "I recruited them away from the
Elantris City Guard. I hired them to be my bodyguards."
Hrathen nodded. "And, how many such guards do you employ?" "Fifteen," Telrii
said.
"How would you judge their skill?"
Telrii shrugged. "Good enough, I suppose. I've never actually seen them
fight."
"That's probably because they never have fought." Hrathen said. "None of the
soldiers here in Arelon have ever seen combat."
"What is your point, Gyorn?" Telrii asked testily.
Hrathen turned, nodding toward the Elantris City Guard post, lit in the
distance by torches at the base of the wall. "The Guard is what, five hundred
strong? Perhaps seven hundred? If you include local policing forces and
personal guards, such as your own, there are perhaps a thousand soldiers in
the city of Kae. Added to Lord Eondel's legion, you still have well below
fifteen hundred professional soldiers in the vicinity."
"And?' Telrii asked.
Hrathen turned. "Do you really think that Wyrn needs a revolution to take
control of Arelon?"
"Wyrn doesn't have an army," Telrii said. "Fjorden only has a basic defense
force."
"I didn't speak of Fjorden," Hrathen said. "I spoke of Wyrn, Regent of all
Creation, leader of Shu-Dereth. Come now, Lord Telrii. Let us be frank. How
many soldiers are there in HroveII? In Jaador? In Svorden? In the other
nations of the East? These are people who have sworn themselves Derethi. You
don't think they would rise up at Wyrn's command?"
Telrii paused.
Hrathen nodded as he saw understanding growing in the duke's eyes. The man
didn't understand the half of it. The truth was, Wyrn didn't even need an army
of foreigners to conquer Arelon. Few outside the high priesthood understood
the second, more powerful force Wyrn had at his call: the monasteries. For
centuries. the Derethi priesthood had been training its monks in war,
assassination, and ... other arts. Arelon's defenses were so weak that a
single monastery's personnel could probably conquer the country.
Hrathen shivered at the thought of the ... monks trained inside of Dakhor
Monastery gaining access to defenseless Arelon. He glanced down at his arm.
the place where—beneath his plate armor—he bore the marks of his time there.
These were not things that could be explained to Telrii, however.
"My lord." Hrathen said frankly. "I am here in Arelon because Wyrn wants to

give the people a chance for peaceful conversion. If he wanted to crush the
country, he could. Instead, he sent me. My only intention is to find a way to
convert the people of AreIon."
Telrii nodded slowly.
"The first step in converting this country." Hrathen said, "is making certain
that the government is favorable to the Derethi cause. This would require a
change in leadership—it would require putting a new king on the throne."
I have your word, then?" Telrii said.
"You will have the throne," Hrathen said.
Telrii nodded-this was obviously what he had been waiting for. Hrathen's
promises before had been vague, but he could no longer afford to be
uncommitted. His promises gave Telrii verbal proof that Hrathen was trying to
undermine the throne—a calculated risk, but Hrathen was very good at such
calculations.
"There will be those who oppose you." Telrii warned.
"Such as?"
"The woman, Sarene," Telrii said. 'Her supposed idiocy is an obvious act. My
informants say that she's taken an unhealthy interest in your activities, and
she was asking about you at my party this evening."
Telrii's astuteness surprised Hrathen. The man seemed so pretentious, so
flagrant—yet there was obviously a measure of competence to him. That could be
an advantage or a disadvantage.
"Do not worry about the girl." Hrathen said. "Just take the money we have
provided and wait. Your opportunity will come soon. You heard of the news the
king received tonight?"
Telrii paused, then nodded.
"Things are moving along as promised," Hrathen said. "Now we just have to be
patient."
"Very well," Telrii said. He still had his reservations, but Hrathen's
logic—mixed with the outright promise of the throne—had obviously been enough
to sway him. The duke nodded with uncustomary respect to Hrathen. Then he
waved to his guards, moving to walk away.
"Duke Telrii," Hrathen said, a thought occurring to him.
Telrii paused, turning back.
"Do your soldiers still have friends in the Elantris City Guard?" Hrathen
asked.
Telrii shrugged. "I assume so."
"Double your men's pay," Hrathen said, too quietly for Telrii's bodyguards to
hear. "Speak well of the Elantris City Guard to them, and give them time off
to spend with their former comrades. It might be ... beneficial to your future
to have it known amongst the Guard that you are a man who rewards those that
give him allegiance."

"You'll provide the funds to pay my men extra?" Telrii asked carefully.
Hrathen rolled his eyes. "Very well."
Telrii nodded, then walked off to join his guards.
Hrathen turned, leaning against the wall, looking back out over Kae. He would
have to wait for a short period before returning to the steps and descending.
Telrii was still worried about proclaiming Derethi allegiance, and hadn't
wanted to be seen openly meeting with Hrathen. The man was overly worried, but
perhaps it was better for him to appear religiously conservative for the
moment.
It disturbed Hrathen that Telrii had mentioned Sarene. For some reason. the
pert Teoish princess had decided to oppose Hrathen. though he had given her no
overt reason to do so. It was ironic. in a way; she didn't know it. but
Hrathen was her greatest ally, not her dire enemy. Her people would convert
one way or another. Either they would respond to Hrathen's humane urgings, or
they would be crushed by the Fjordell armies.
Hrathen doubted he would ever he able to convince her of that truth. He saw
the mistrust in her eyes—she would immediately assume that whatever he said
was a lie. She loathed him with the irrational hatred of one who
subconsciously knew that her own faith was inferior. Korathi teachings had
withered in every major nation to the East, just as they would in Arelon and
Teod. Shu-Korath was too weak: it lacked virility. Shu-Dereth was strong and
powerful. Like two plants competing for the same ground, Shu-Dereth would
strangle Shu-Korath.
Hrathen shook his head. waited for a safe period of time, then finally turned
to walk back along the wall toward the steps that ran down into Kae. As he
arrived, he heard an echoing thump from below, and he paused in surprise. It
sounded like the city gates had just been closed.
"What was that?" Hrathen asked, approaching several guards who stood in a ring
of glittering torchlight.
The guards shrugged, though one pointed at two forms walking through the
darkened courtyard below. "They must have caught someone trying to escape."
Hrathen wrinkled his brow. "Does that happen often?"
The guard shook his head. "Most of them are too mindless to try escaping.
Every once in a while, one tries to scurry away. but we always catch 'em."
"Thank you," Hrathen said, leaving the guards behind as he began the long
descent to the city below. At the foot of the stairs he found the main
guardhouse. The captain was inside, his eyes drowsy as if he had just
awakened.
"Trouble. Captain?" Hrathen asked.
The captain turned with surprise. "Oh, it's you, Gyorn. No, no trouble. Just
one of my lieutenants doing something he shouldn't have."
"Letting some Elantrians back into the city?" Hrathen asked.
The captain frowned, but nodded. Hrathen had met the man several times,

and at each encounter he had fostered the captain's greed with a few coins.
This man was nearly his.
"Next time, Captain," Hrathen said, reaching onto his belt and pulling out a
pouch. "I can offer you a different option."
The captain's eyes shone as Hrathen began to pull gold wyrnings—stamped with
Wyrn Wulfden's head—out of the pouch.
"I have been wanting to study one of these Elantrians up close, for
theological reasons," Hrathen explained, setting a pile of coins on the table.
"I would be appreciative if the next captured Elantrian found his way to my
chapel before being thrown back into the city."
"That can probably be arranged, my Iord," the captain said, slipping the coins
off the table with an eager hand.
"No one would have to know about it, of course," Hrathen said. "Of course. my
lord."

CHAPTER 16
RAODEN had once tried to set Ien free. He had been a young boy then, simple of
mind but pure of intention. He had been learning about slavery from one of his
tutors, and had somehow gotten it into his mind that the Seons were being held
against their will. He had gone to Ien tearfully that day, demanding that the
Seon accept his freedom.
"But I am free. young master," Ten had replied to the crying boy.
"No you're nod" Raoden had argued. "You're a slave—you do whatever people tell
you."
"I do it because I want to. Raoden."
"Why? Don't you want to be free?"
"I want to serve. young master," Ten explained, pulsing reassuringly. "My
freedom is to be here, with you."
`I don't understand."
"You look at things as a human, young master," Ten said with his wise,
indulgent

voice. "You see rank and distinction; you try to order the world so that
everything has a place either above you or beneath you. To a Seon, there is no
above or beneath. there are only those we love. And we serve those we love."
"But you don't even get paid!" had been Raoden's indignant response.
"But I do, young master. My payment is that of a father's pride and a mother's
love. My wages come from the satisfaction of seeing you grow."
It had been many years before Raoden understood those words, but they had
always remained in his mind. As he had grown and learned, listening to
countless Korathi sermons on the unifying power of love, Raoden had come to
see Seons in a new way. Not as servants, or even as friends. but as something
much more deep and more powerful. It was as if the Seons were an expression of
Domi himself, reflections of God's love for his people. Through their service,
they were much closer to heaven than their supposed masters could ever really
understand.
"You're finally free, my friend," Raoden said with a wan smile as he watched
Ien float and bob. He still hadn't been able to get even a flicker of
recognition from the Seon, though Ien did seem to stay in Raoden's general
vicinity. Whatever the Shaod had done to Ien, it had taken away more than just
his voice. It had broken his mind.
"I think I know what's wrong with him," Raoden said to Galladon, who sat in
the shade a short distance away. They were on a rooftop a Few buildings down
from the chapel, ejected from their habitual place of study by an apologetic
Kahar. The old man had been cleaning furiously in the days since his arrival,
and the time had finally come for the final polishing. Early in the morning he
had contritely, but insistently, thrown them all out so he could finish.
Galladon looked up from his book. "Who? The Seon?"
Raoden nodded, lying on his stomach near the edge of what was once a garden
wall, still watching Ien. "His Aon isn't complete."
Ien." Galladon said thoughtfully. "That's healing. Kolo?"
"That's right. Except his Aon isn't complete anymore-there are tiny breaks in
its lines, and patches of weakness in its color."
Galladon grunted, but didn't offer anything more; he wasn't as interested in
Aons or Seons as Raoden was. Raoden watched Ien for a few more moments before
turning back to his study of the AonDor book. He didn't get far, however.
before Galladon brought up a topic of his own.
"What do you miss most, sule?" the Dula asked contemplatively. "Miss most?
About the outside?"
"Kolo," Galladon said. "What one thing would you bring here to Elantris if you
could?"
"I don't know," Raoden said. "I'd have to think about it. What about you?" "My
house," Galladon said with a reminiscent tone. "I built it myself, sule.

Felled every tree, worked every board, and pounded every nail. It was
beautiful—no mansion or palace can compete with the work of one's own hands."
Raoden nodded. imagining the cabin in his mind. What had he owned that he
missed the most strongly? He had been the son of a king, and had therefore had
many possessions. The answer he came up with, however, surprised him.
"Letters," he said. -I'd bring a stack of letters."
"Letters, sale?" It obviously hadn't been the response he had been expecting.
"From whom?"
"A girl."
Galladon laughed. "A woman, sale? I never figured you for the romantic type."
"just because I don't mope around dramatically like a character from one of
your Duladen romances doesn't mean I don't think about such things."
Galladon held up his hands defensively. "Don't get DeluseDoo on me, sule.
I'm just surprised. Who was this girl?"
"I was going to marry her," Raoden explained.
"Must have been some woman."
"Must have been," Raoden agreed. "I wish I could have met her." "You never met
her?"
Raoden shook his head. "Hence the letters, my friend. She lived in Teod—she
was the king's daughter, as a matter of fact. She started sending me letters
about a year ago. She was a beautiful writer, her words were laced with such
wit that couldn't help but respond. We continued to write for the better part
of five months; then she proposed."
"She proposed to you?" Galladon asked.
"Unabashedly," Raoden said with a smile. "It was. of course, politically
motivated. Sarene wanted a firm union between Teod and Arelon."
"And you accepted?"
"It was a good opportunity," Raoden explained. "Ever since the Reod. Teod has
kept its distance from Arelon. Besides. those letters were intoxicating. This
last year has been ... difficult. My father seems determined to run Arelon to
its ruin, and he is not a man who suffers dissent with patience. But, whenever
it seemed that my burdens were too great, I would get a letter from Sarene.
She had a Seon too, and after the engagement was formalized we began to speak
regularly. She would call in the evenings, her voice drifting from Ien to
captivate me. We left the link open for hours sometimes."
"What was that you said about not moping around like a character from a
romance?" Galladon said with a smile.
Raoden snorted, turning back to his book. "So, there you have it. If I could
have anything, I'd want those letters. I was actually excited about the
marriage. even if the union was just a reaction to the Derethi invasion of
Duladel."

There was silence.
"What was that you just said, Raoden?" Galladon finally asked in a quiet
voice.
"What? Oh, about the letters?"
"No. About Duladel."
Raoden paused. Galladon had claimed to have entered Elantris a "few months"
ago, but Dulas were known for understatement. The Duladen Republic had fallen
just over six months previously....
"I assumed you knew," Raoden said.
"What, sule?" Galladon demanded. "Assumed I knew what?"
"I'm sorry, Galladon." Raoden said with compassion, turning around and sitting
up. "The Duladen Republic collapsed."
"No," Galladon breathed, his eyes wide.
Raoden nodded. "There was a revolution. like the one in Arelon ten years ago,
but even more violent. The republican class was completely destroyed, and a
monarchy was instituted."
"Impossible.... The republic was strong—we all believed in it so much."
"Things change. my friend," Raoden said, standing and walking over to place a
hand on Galladon's shoulder.
"Not the republic, sule," Galladon said. his eyes unfocused. "We all got to
choose who ruled, stile. Why rise up against that?"
Raoden shook his head. "I don't know—not much information escaped. It was a
chaotic time in Duladel, which is why the Fjordell priests were able to step
in and seize power."
Galladon looked up. "That means Arelon is in trouble. We were always there to
keep the Derethi away from your borders."
"I realize that."
"What happened to Jesker?" he asked. "My religion, what happened to it?"
Raoden simply shook his head.
"You have to know something!"
"Shu-Dereth is the state religion in Duladel now." Raoden said quietly. "I'm
sorry."
Galladon's eyes fell. "It's gone then."
"There are still the Mysteries." Raoden offered weakly.
Galladon frowned, his eyes hard. "The Mysteries are not the same thing as
Jesker, sule. They are a mockery of things sacred. A perversion. Only
outsiders—those without any sort of true understanding of the Dor—practice the
Mysteries."
Raoden left his hand on the grieving man's shoulder, unsure how to comfort
him. "I thought you knew," he said again. feeling helpless.
Galladon simply groaned, staring absently with morose eyes.

RAoDEN left Galladon on the rooftop: the large Dula wanted to be alone with
his grief. Unsure what else to do, Raoden returned to the chapel, distracted
by his thoughts. He didn't remain distracted for long.
"Kahar, it's beautiful!" Raoden exclaimed, looking around with wonder.
The old man looked up from the corner he had been cleaning. There was a deep
look of pride on his face. The chapel was empty of sludge; all that remained
was clean, whitish gray marble. Sunlight flooded through the western windows,
reflecting off the shiny floor and illuminating the entire ehapel with an
almost divine brilliance. Shallow reliefs covered nearly every surface. Only
half an inch deep, the detailed sculptures had been lost in the sludge. Raoden
ran his fingers across one of the tiny masterpieces. the expressions on the
people's faces so detailed as to be lifelike.
"They're amazing," he whispered.
"I didn't even know they were there, my lord," Kahar said, hobbling over to
stand next to Raoden. "I didn't see them until I started cleaning, and then
they were lost in the shadows until I finished the floor. The marble is so
smooth it could be a mirror, and the windows are placed just right to catch
the light."
"And the reliefs run all around the room?"
"Yes, my lord. Actually, this isn't the only building that has them. You'll
occasionally run across a wall or a piece of furniture with carvings on it.
They were probably common in Elantris before the Reod."
Raoden nodded. "It was the city of the gods, Kahar."
The old man smiled. His hands were black with grime, and a half-dozen ragged
cleaning cloths hung from his sash. But he was happy.
"What next, my lord?" he asked eagerly.
Raoden paused, thinking quickly. Kahar had attacked the chapel's grime with
the same holy indignation a priest used to destroy sin. For the first time in
months, perhaps years, Kahar had been needed.
"Our people have started living in the nearby buildings, Kahar," Raoden said.
"What good will all your cleaning here do if they track slime in every time we
meet?"
Kahar nodded thoughtfully. "The cobblestones are a problem," he mumbled. "This
is a big project, my lord." His eyes, however, were not daunted.
"I know." Raoden agreed. "But it is a desperate one. A people who live in
filth will feel like filth—if we are ever going to rise above our opinions of
ourselves, we are going to need to be clean. Can you do it?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Good. I'll assign you some workers to speed the process." Raoden's band had
grown enormously over the last few days as the people of Elantris had heard of
Karata's merger with him. Many of the random, ghostlike Elantrians who
wandered the streets alone had begun to make their way to Raoden's band.
seeking fellowship as a final, desperate attempt to avoid madness.

Kahar turned to go, his wrinkled face turning around the chapel one last time,
admiring it with satisfaction.
"Kahar," Raoden called.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Do you know what it is? The secret. I mean?"
Kahar smiled. "I haven't been hungry in days, my lord. It is the most amazing
feeling in the world—I don't even notice the pain anymore."
Raoden nodded, and Kahar left. The man had come looking for a magical soIution
to his woes, but he had found an answer much more simple. Pain lost its power
when other things became more important. Kahar didn't need a potion or an Aon
to save him-he just needed something to do.
Raoden strolled through the glowing room, admiring the different sculptures.
He paused, however, when he reached the end of a particular relief. The stone
was blank for a short section, its white surface polished by Kahar's careful
hand. It was so clean, in fact, that Raoden could see his reflection.
He was stunned. The face that stared out of the marble was unknown to him. He
had wondered why so few people recognized him; he had been prince of AreIon.
his face known even in many of the outer plantations. He had assumed that the
Elantrians simply didn't expect to find a prince in Elantris. so they didn't
think to associate "Spirit" with Raoden. However, now that he saw the changes
in his face, he realized that there was another reason people didn't recognize
him.
There were hints in his features, clues to what had been. The changes,
however, were drastic. Only two weeks had passed, but his hair had already
fallen out. He had the usual Elantris blotches on his skin, but even the parts
that had been flesh-toned a few weeks ago had turned a flat gray. His skin was
wrinkling slightly, especially around the lips, and his eyes were beginning to
take on a sunken look.
Once, before his own transformation, he had envisioned the Elantrians as
living corpses, their flesh rotting and torn. That wasn't the case; Elantrians
retained their flesh and most of their figure, though their skin wrinkled and
darkened. They were more withering husks than they were decaying corpses. Yet.
even though the transformation wasn't as drastic as he had once assumed. it
was still a shock to see it in himself.
"We are a sorry people. are we not?" Galladon asked from the doorway. Raoden
looked up, smiling encouragingly. "Not as bad as we could be. my friend. I can
get used to the changes."
Galladon grunted, stepping into the chapel. "Your cleaning man does good work,
sule. This place looks almost free from the Reod."
"The most beautiful thing, my friend. is the way it freed its cleanser in the
process."
Galladon nodded, joining Raoden beside the wall, looking out at the large

crew of people who were clearing the chapel's garden area. "They've been
coming in droves, haven't they. sule?"
"They hear that we offer something more than life in an alley. We don't even
have to wateh the gates anymore—Karata brings us everyone she can rescue."
"How do you intend to keep them all busy?" Galladon asked. "That garden is
big, and it's nearly completely cleared."
"Elantris is a very large city. my friend. We'll find things to keep them
occupied."
Galladon watched the people work, his eyes unreadable. He appeared to have
overcome his grief, for the moment.
"Speaking of jobs." Raoden began. 'I have something I need you to do."
'Something to keep my mind off the pain, sule?"
"You could think that. However, this project is a little more important than
cleaning sludge." Raoden waved Galladon to follow as he walked to the back
corner of the room and pried a loose stone from the wall. He reached inside
and pulled out a dozen small bags of corn. "As a farmer, how would you judge
the grade of this seed?"
Galladon picked up a kernel with interest, turning it over in his hand a few
times, testing its color and its hardness. "Not bad," he said. "Not the best
I've seen. but not bad."
"The planting season is almost here, isn't it?"
"Considering how warm it's been lately, I'd say that it's here already."
"Good," Raoden said. 'This corn won't last long in this hole, and I don't
trust leaving it out in the open."
Galladon shook his head. "It won't work, sule. Farming takes time before it
brings rewards—those people will pull up and ear the first little sprouts they
see."
"I don't think so." Raoden said. pushing a few kernels of corn around in his
palm. "Their minds are changing, Galladon. They can see that they don't have
to live as animals anymore."
"There isn't enough room for a decent crop," Galladon argued. "It will be
little more than a garden."
"There's enough space to plant this little amount. Next year we'll have more
corn, and then we can worry about room. I hear the palace gardens were rather
large—we could probably use those."
Galladon shook his head. "The problem in that statement, sule, is the part
about 'next year.' There won't be a 'next year.' Kolo? People in Elantris
don't last that long."
"Elantris will change," Raoden said. "If not, then those who come here after
us will plant the next season."
"I still doubt it will work."

"You'd doubt the sun's rising if you weren't proven wrong each day," Raoden
said with a smile. "Just give it a try."
"All right. sule," Galladon said with a sigh. "I suppose your thirty days
aren't up yet."
Raoden smiled, passing the corn to his friend and placing his hand on the
Dula's shoulder. "Remember. the past need not become our future as well."
Galladon nodded, putting the corn back in its hiding place. "We won't need
this for another few days—I'm going to have to figure out a way to plow that
garden."
"Lord Spirit!" Saolin's voice called faintly from above, where he had
constructed himself a makeshift watchtower. "Someone is coming."
Raoden stood, and Galladon hurriedly replaced the stone. A moment later one of
Karata's men burst into the room.
"My lord." the man said, "Lady Karata begs your presence immediately!"
"YOU are a fool, Dashe!" Karata snapped.
Dashe—the extremely large, well-muscled man who was her
second-incommand—simply continued to strap on his weapons.
Raoden and Galladon stood confused at the doorway to the palace. At least ten
of the men in the entryway—a full two-thirds of Karata's followers—looked as
if they were preparing for battle.
"You can continue to dream with your new friend. Karata," Dashe replied
gruffly. "but I will wait no longer—especially not as long as that man
threatens the children."
Raoden edged closer to the conversation, pausing beside a thin-limbed, anxious
man named Horen. Horen was the type who avoided conflict. and Raoden guessed
that he was neutral in this argument.
"What's happening?" Raoden asked quietly.
"One of Dashe's scouts overheard Aanden planning to attack our palace
tonight," Horen whispered. carefully watching his leaders argue. "Dashe has
wanted to strike at Aanden for months now, and this is just the excuse he
needed."
"You're leading these men into something far worse than death, Dashe," Karata
warned. "Aanden has more people than you do."
"He doesn't have weapons," Dashe replied, sliding a rusted sword into its
sheath with a click. "All that university held was books, and he already ate
those." "Think about what you are doing," Karata said.
Dashe turned, his boardlike face completely frank. "I have, Karata. Aanden is
a madman: we cannot rest while he shares our border. If we strike
unexpectedly, then we can stop him permanently. Only then will the children be
safe."
With that, Dashe turned to his grim band of would-be soldiers and nodded. The
group moved out the door with purposeful strides.

Karata turned to Raoden, her face a mixture of frustration and pained
betrayal. "This is worse than suicide, Spirit."
"I know," Raoden said. "We're so few we can't afford to lose a single man-not
even those who follow Aanden. We have to stop this."
"He's already gone." Karata said, leaning back against the wall. "I know Dashe
well. There's no stopping him now."
"I refuse to accept that, Karata."
"S U LE, if you don't mind my asking, what in Doloken are you planning?"
Raoden loped along beside Galladon and Karata, barely keeping up with the two.
"I have no idea," he confessed. "I'm still working on that part."
"I figured as much," Galladon muttered.
"Karata," Raoden asked, "what route will Dashe take?"
"There's a building that runs up against the university." she replied. "Its
far wall collapsed a while ago, and some of the stones knocked a hole in the
university wall it abuts. I'm sure Dashe will try to get in there-he assumes
Aanden doesn't know about the breach."
"Take us there," Raoden said. "But take a different route. I don't want to run
into Dashe."
Karata nodded, leading them down a side street. The building she'd mentioned
was a low, single-story structure. One of the walls had been built so close to
the university that Raoden was at a loss to guess what the architect had been
thinking. The building had not fared well over the years; although it still
had its roof—which was sagging horribly-the entire structure seemed on the
edge of collapse.
They approached apprehensively, poking their heads through a doorway. The
building was open on the inside. They stood near the center of the rectangular
structure, the collapsed wall a short distance to their left. another doorway
a short distance to their right.
Galladon cursed quietly. "I don't trust this."
"Neither do I." Raoden said.
"No, it's more than that. Look, sule." Galladon pointed to the building's
inner support beams. Looking closely, Raoden recognized the marks of fresh
cuts in the already weakened wood. "This entire place is rigged to fall."
Raoden nodded. "It appears as if Aanden is better informed than Dashe assumed.
Maybe Dashe will notice the danger and use a different entrance."
Karata shook her head immediately. "Dashe is a good man, but very
single-minded. He'll march right through this building without bothering to
look up."
Raoden cursed, kneeling beside the doorframe to think. He soon ran out of
time, however, as he heard voices approaching. A moment later Dashe appeared
in the doorway on the far side, to Raoden's right.

Raoden-halfway between Dashe and the fallen wall—rook a deep breath and called
out. "Dashe, stop! This is a trap—the building is rigged to collapse!"
Dashe halted, half of his men already in the building. There was a cry of
alarm from the university side of the room, and a group of men appeared behind
the rubble. One. bearing Aanden's familiar mustached face, held a worn fire
axe in his hands. Aanden jumped into the room with a cry of defiance. axe
raised toward the support pillar.
"Taan, stop!" Raoden yelled.
Aanden stopped his axe in midswing, shocked at the sound of his real name. One
half of his fake mustache drooped limply. threatening to fall off.
"Don't try to reason with him!" Dashe warned, pulling his men from the room.
"He's insane."
"No, I don't think he is," Raoden said, studying Aanden's eyes. "This man is
not insane-just confused."
Aanden blinked a few times. his hands growing tense on the axe handle. Rao-den
searched desperately for a solution, and his eyes fell on the remnants of a
large stone table near the center of the room. Gritting his teeth and
muttering a silent prayer to Domi. Raoden stood and walked into the building.
Karata gasped behind him, and Galladon cursed. The roof moaned ominously.
Raoden looked at Aanden, who stood with the axe prepared to swing. His eyes
followed Raoden into the center of the room.
"I'm right, am I not? You aren't mad. I heard you babbling insanely at your
court, but anyone can babble. An insane man doesn't think to boil parchment
for food, and a madman doesn't have the foresight to plan a trap."
"I am not Taan," Aanden finally said. "I am Aanden. Baron of Elantris!"
"If you wish," Raoden said, taking the remnants of his sleeve and wiping it
against the top of the fallen table. "Though I can't imagine why you would
rather be Aanden than Taan. This is, after all, Elantris."
"I know that!" Aanden snapped. No matter what Raoden had said, this man wasn't
completely stable. The axe could fall at any moment.
"Do you?" Raoden asked. "Do you really understand what it means to live in
Elantris, the city of the gods?" He turned toward the table, still wiping, his
back to Aanden. "Elantris, city of beauty, city of art . . . and city of
sculpture." He stepped back, revealing the now clean tabletop. It was covered
with intricate carvings, just like the walls of the chapel.
Aanden's eyes opened wide, the axe drooping in his hand.
"This city is a stonecarver's dream, Taan," Raoden said. "How many artists did
you hear on the outside complain about the lost beauty of Elantris? These
buildings are amazing monuments to the art of sculpture. I want to know who,
when faced with such opportunity, would choose to be Aanden the baron instead
of Taan the sculptor."

The axe clanged to the ground. Aanden's face was stunned.
"Look at the wall next to you, Taan." Raoden said quietly.
The man turned, his fingers brushing against a reIief hidden in slime. His
sleeve came up, his arm quivering as he buffed away the slime. "Merciful
Domi," he whispered. "It's beautiful."
"Think of the opportunity, Taan," Raoden said. "Only you, out of all the
sculptors in the world, can see Elantris. Only you can experience its beauty
and learn from its masters. You are the luckiest man in Opelon."
A trembling hand ripped the mustache away. "And I would have destroyed it," he
mumbled. "I would have knocked it down...."
With that. Aanden bowed his head and collapsed in a crying heap. Raoden
exhaled thankfully—then noticed that the danger wasn't over. Aanden's squad of
men was armed with stones and steel rods. Dashe and his people entered the
room again, convinced that it wasn't going to collapse on them any time soon.
Raoden stood directly between the two groups. "Stop!" he commanded, raising an
arm at each one. They halted, but warily.
"What are you people doing?" Raoden demanded. "Hasn't Taan's realization
taught you anything?"
"Step aside, Spirit,- Dashe warned, hefting his sword.
"I will not!" Raoden said. "I asked you a question—did you learn nothing from
what just happened?"
"We aren't sculptors," Dashe said.
"That doesn't matter," Raoden replied. "Don't you understand the opportunity
you have living in Elantris? We have a chance here that no one outside can
ever achieve—we are free."
"Free?" scoffed someone from Aanden's group.
"Yes, free." Raoden said. "For eternity man has struggled just to fill his
mouth. Food is life's one desperate pursuit. the first and the last thought of
carnal minds. Before a person can dream, he must eat. and before he can love,
he must fill his stomach. But we are different. At the price of a little
hunger, we can be loosed from the bonds that have held every living thing
since time began."
Weapons lowered slightly, though Raoden couldn't be certain if they were
considering his words, or just confused by them.
"Why fight?" Raoden asked. "Why worry about killing? Outside they fight for
wealth—wealth that is ultimately used to buy food. They fight for land-land to
raise food. Eating is the source of all struggle. But, we have no needs. Our
bodies are cold-we barely need clothing or shelter to warm us-and they
continue on even when we don't eat. It's amazing!"
The groups still eyed each other warily. Philosophic debate wasn't a match for
the sight of their enemies.
"Those weapons in your hands," Raoden said. "Those belong to the outside

world. They have no purpose in Elantris. Titles and class, those are ideas for
another place.
"Listen to me! There are so few of us that we can't afford to lose a single
one of you. Is it really worth it? An eternity of pain in exchange for a few
moments of released hatred?"
Raoden's words echoed through the silent room. Finally, a voice broke the
tension.
"I will join you," Taan said, rising to his feet. His voice wavered slightly,
but his face was resolute. "I thought I had to be mad to live in Elantris, but
madness was what kept me from seeing the beauty. Put down your weapons. men."
They balked at the order.
"I said put them down." Taan's voice grew firm, his short, large-bellied form
suddenly commanding. "I still lead here."
"Baron Aanden ruled us," one of the men said.
"Aanden was a fool," Taan said with a sigh, "and so was anyone who followed
him. Listen to this man-there is more royalty in his argument than there ever
was in my pretend court."
"Give up your anger," Raoden pled. "And let me give you hope instead."
A clank sounded behind him—Dashe's sword falling to the stones. "I cannot kill
today," he decided, turning to leave. His men regarded Aanden's group for a
moment. then joined their leader. The sword sat abandoned in the center of the
room.
Aanden—Taan—smiled at Raoden. "Whoever you are, thank you."
"Come with me, Taan." Raoden said. "There is a building you should see."

Chapter 17
 SARENE strode into the palace dance hall. a long black bag on her shoulder.
There were several gasps from the women inside. "What?" she asked. "It's your
clothing, dear," Daora finally answered. "These women aren't accustomed to
such things."

"It looks like men's clothing!" Seaden exclaimed, her double chin jiggling
indignantly.
Sarene looked down at her gray jumpsuit with surprise, then back at the
collected women. "Well, you didn't really expect us to fight in dresses. did
you?" However, after studying the women's faces. she realized that that was
exactly what they had expected.
"You have a long way to go here. Cousin," Lukel warned quietly, entering
behind her and taking a seat on the far side of the room.
"Lukel'?" Sarene asked. "What are you doing here?"
"I fully expect this to be the most entertaining experience of the week," he
said, reclining in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. "I
wouldn't miss it for all the gold in Wyrn's coffers."
"Me too." Kaise's voice declared. The small girl pushed her way past Sarene
and scuttled toward the chairs. Daorn. however, darted in from the side and
hopped into Kaise's chosen seat. Kaise stamped her foot with pique, then,
realizing that every chair along the wall was exactly the same, chose another.
"I'm sorry." Lukel said with an embarrassed shrug. "I was stuck with them."
"Be nice to your siblings, dear," Daora chided.
"Yes, Mother," Lukel responded immediately.
Slightly put off by the sudden audience, Sarene turned to her prospective
students. Every woman from the embroidery circle had come—even the stately
Daora and the equally scatterbrained Queen Eshen. Sarene's clothing and
actions might have mortified them. but their hunger for independence was
greater than their indignation.
Sarene allowed the bag to slide off her shoulder and into her hands. One side
opened with some snaps. and she reached inside to whip out one of her practice
swords. The long, thin blade made a slight metallic scrape as she pulled it
free, and the collected women shied away.
"This is a syre." Sarene said. making a few slices in the air. "It's also
called a kmeer or a jedaver, depending on which country you're in. The swords
were first crafted in Jaador as light weapons for scouts, but they fell into
disuse after only a few decades. Then, however. the swords were adopted by
Jaadorian nobility, who favored them for their grace and delicacy. Duels are
common in Jaador, and the quick, neat style of syre fencing requires a great
deal of skill."
She punctuated her sentences with a few thrusts and swipes-mostly moves she
would never use in a real fight. but ones that looked good nonetheless. The
women were captivated.
"The Dulas were the first ones to turn fencing into a sport, rather than a
means of killing the man who had decided to woo the same woman as yourself,"
Sarene continued. "They placed this little knob on the tip and dulled the
blade's edge. The sport soon became quite popular amongst the republicans—Dula
neutrality usually

kept the country out of war, and so a form of fighting that didn't have
martial applications appealed to them. Along with the dulled edge and tip,
they added rules that forbid the striking of certain body pans.
"Fencing skipped Arelon, where the Elantrians frowned upon anything resembling
combat. but was very well received in Teod—with one notable change. It became
a woman's sport. The Teoish men prefer more physical contests. such as
jousting or broadsword fencing. For a woman, however, the syre is perfect. The
light blade allows us to make full use of our dexterity and." she added.
eyeing Lukel with a smile, "allows us to capitalize on our superior
intelligence."
With that, Sarene whipped out her second blade and tossed it to the young
Torena, who stood at the front of the group. The reddish-gold-haired girl
caught the sword with a confused look.
"Defend yourself." Sarene warned, raising her blade and falling into an attack
stance.
Torena brought up the syre clumsily, trying to imitate Sarene's posture. As
soon as Sarene attacked. Torena abandoned the stance with a yelp of surprise.
swinging her syre in wild two-handed sweeps. Sarene easily batted the girl's
sword away and placed a thrust directly between her breasts.
"You're dead," Sarene informed her. "Fencing does not depend on strength; it
requires skill and precision. Only use one hand—you'll have better control and
reach that way. Turn your body a little to the side. It allows for a greater
lunging distance and makes you more difficult to hit."
As she spoke, Sarene brought out a bundle of thin sticks she'd had made
earlier. They were, of course, poor substitutes for a real sword. but they
would do until the armorer finished the practice syres. After each woman
received a weapon. Sarene began to teach them how to lunge.
It was difficult work-much more difficult than Sarene had expected. She
considered herself a decent fencer. but it had never occurred to her that
having knowledge was entirely different from explaining that knowledge to
others. The women seemed to find ways to hold their weapons that Sarene would
have thought physically impossible. They thrust wildly. were frightened of
oncoming blades, and tripped over their dresses.
Eventually Sarene left them to practice their thrusts—she wouldn't trust them
to spar with one another until they had proper face masks and clothing—and
seated herself beside Lukel with a sigh.
"Exhausting work, Cousin?" he asked. obviously enjoying the sight of his
mother trying to wield a sword in a dress.
"You have no idea." Sarene said, wiping her brow. "Are you sure you don't want
to give it a try?"
Lukel raised his hands. "I may be flamboyant at times, Cousin, but I'm not
stupid. King Iadon would blacklist any man who took part in such a supposedly

demeaning activity. Being on the king's bad side is fine if you happen to be
Eon-del, but I'm just a simple merchant. I can't afford royal displeasure."
"I'm sure," Sarene said, watching the women trying to master their lunges. "I
don't think I taught them very well."
"Better than I could have done." Lukel said with a shrug.
"I could have done better," Kaise informed from her seat. The little girl was
obviously growing bored with the repetitious fighting.
"Oh really?" Lukel asked dryly.
"Of course. She didn't teach them about riposting or Proper Form, and she
didn't even bother with tournament rules."
Sarene raised an eyebrow. "You know about fencing?"
"I read a book on it," Kaise said airily. Then she reached over to slap away
Daorn's hand, which was poking her with a stick he had taken from Sarene's
pile.
`The sad thing is she probably did," Lukel said with a sigh. "Just so she
could try and impress you."
"I think Kaise must be the most intelligent little girl I've ever met," Sarene
confessed.
Lukel shrugged. "She's smart, but don't let her impress you too much-she's
still only a child. She may comprehend like a woman, but she still reacts like
a little girl."
"I still think she's astounding," Sarene said, watching as the two children
played.
"Oh, she's that," Lukel agreed. "It only takes Kaise a few hours to devour a
book. and her language-learning ability is unreal. I feel sorry for Daorn
sometimes. He tries his best, but I think he just feels inadequate—Kaise can
be domineering. if you haven't noticed. But, smart or not, they're still
children, and they're still a pain to take care of."
Sarene watched the children playing. Kaise, having stolen the stick from her
brother, was proceeding to chase him around the room, cutting and thrusting in
parodies of the methods Sarene had taught. As Sarene watched, her eyes fell on
the doorway. It was open, and two figures watched the women practice.
The ladies fell still as Lords Eondel and Shuden, realizing they had been
noticed, slipped into the room. The two men, though very different in age,
were reportedly becoming good friends. Both were something of outsiders in
Arelon---- Shuden, a foreigner with dark skin, and Eondel, a former soldier
whose very presence seemed to offend.
If Eondel's presence was distasteful to the women, however, Shuden's more than
made up for it. A serious wave of blushing ran through the fencers as they
realized that the handsome Jindoeese lord had been watching them. Several of
the younger girls clutched friends' arms for support, whispering excitedly.
Shuden himself flushed at the attention.

Eondel, however, ignored the women's reactions. He walked among the would-be
fencers, his eyes contemplative. Finally, he picked up a spare length of wood,
and stepped into a fencing posture and began a series of swipes and thrusts.
After testing the weapon. he nodded to himself, set it aside, then moved
toward one of the women.
"Hold the wood like so," he instructed, positioning her fingers. "You were
gripping it so tightly you lost flexibility. Now, place your thumb along the
top of the hilt to keep it pointed in the right direction, step back, and
thrust."
The woman, Atara, complied—flustered that Eondel had dared touch her wrist.
Her thrust, amazingly, was straight and well aimed-a fact that surprised no
one more than Atara herself.
Eondel moved through the group, carefully correcting posture, grip, and
stance. He took each woman in turn, giving advice to their several individual
problems. After just a few brief minutes of instruction, the women's attacks
were more focused and accurate than Sarene would have thought possible.
Eondel backed away from the women with a satisfied eye. "I hope you aren't
offended by my intrusion, Your Highness."
"Not at all, my lord," Sarene assured him—even though she did feel a stab of
jealousy. She had to be woman enough to recognize superior skill when she saw
it, she told herself.
"You are obviously talented," the older man said. "But you seem to have had
little experience in training others."
Sarene nodded. Eondel was a military commander—he had probably spent decades
instructing novices in the basics of fighting. "You know quite a bit about
fencing, my lord."
"It interests me," Eondel said, "and I have visited Duladel on numerous
occasions. The Dulas refuse to recognize a man's fighting ability unless he
can fence. no matter how many battles he has won."
Sarene stood. reaching over and pulling out her practice syres. "Care to spar
then, my lord?" she asked offhandedly. testing one of the blades in her hand.
Eondel looked surprised. "I ... I have never sparred with a woman before, Your
Highness. I don't think it would be proper."
"Nonsense." she said, tossing him a sword. "Defend yourself."
Then. without giving him another chance to object, she attacked. Eondel
stumbled at first, taken aback by her sudden offense. However, his warrior
training soon took control, and he began to parry Sarene's attack, with
amazing skill. From what he'd said, Sarene had assumed that his knowledge of
fencing would be cursory. She was mistaken.
Eondel threw himself into the bout with determination. His blade whipped
through the air so quickly it was impossible to follow, and only years of
training and drills told Sarene where to parry. The room rang with the sound
of metal

against metal, and the women paused to gawk as their two instructors moved
across the floor, engaged in intense battle.
Sarene wasn't used to sparring with someone as good as Eondel. Not only was he
as tall as she was-negating any advantage she had in reach—he had the reflexes
and training of a man who had spent his entire life fighting. The two of them
pushed through the crowd, using women. chairs, and other random objects as
foils for the other's attack. Their swords cracked and whipped. lunging out
and then snapping back to block.
Eondel was too good for her. She could hold him, but was so busy with defense
that she had no time to attack. With sweat streaming down her face, Sarene
became acutely aware that everyone in the room was watching her.
At that moment. something changed in Eondel. His stance weakened slightly, and
Sarene struck reflexively. Her round tipped blade slipped past his defenses
came up against his neck. Eondel smiled slightly.
"I have no choice but to yield, my lady," Eondel said.
Suddenly, Sarene felt very ashamed for putting Eondel in a situation where he
had obviously let her win, lest he make her look bad in front of the others.
Eondel bowed, and Sarene was left feeling silly.
They walked back to the side of the room, accepting cups from Lukel, who
complimented them on the performance. As Sarene drank, something struck her.
She had been treating her time here in Arelon like a contest, as she did with
most political endeavors-a complex. yet enjoyable, game.
Arelon was different. Eondel had let her win because he wanted to protect her
image. To him. it was no game. Arelon was his nation, his people. and he would
make any sacrifice in order to protect them.
This time is different, Sarene. If you fail you won't lose a trade contract or
building rights. You'll lose lives. The lives of real people. The thought was
sobering.
Eondel regarded his cup, eyebrows raised skeptically. "It's only water?" he
asked. turning to Sarene.
"Water is good for you, my lord."
"I'm not so sure about that," Eondel said. "Where did you get it?"
"I had it boiled and then poured between two buckets to restore its flavor,"
Sarene said. "I wasn't going to have the women falling over each other in
drunken stupors while they tried to practice."
"Arelish wine isn't that strong, Cousin," Lukel pointed out.
"It's strong enough." Sarene replied. "Drink up, Lord Eondel. We wouldn't want
you to get dehydrated."
Eondel complied, though he maintained his look of dissatisfaction.
Sarene turned back toward her students, intending to order them to their
practicing—however, their attention had been captured by something else. Lord
Shuden stood near the back of the room. His eyes were closed as he moved
slowly

through a delicate set of motions. His taut muscles rippled as his hands spun
in controlled loops, his body flowing in response. Even though his motions
were slow and precise, there was sweat glistening on his skin.
It was like a dance. Shuden rook long steps. legs rising high in the air, toes
pointed, before placing them on the floor. His arms were always moving, his
muscles stretched tightly, as if he were struggling against some unseen force.
Slowly, Shuden accelerated. As if building in tension, Shuden swept faster and
faster, his steps becoming leaps, his arms whipping.
The women watched in silence, their eyes wide, more than one jaw gaping open.
The only sounds came from the wind of Shuden's moves and the thumping of his
feet.
He stopped suddenly, landing in a final jump. feet pounding to the ground in
unison, arms outspread, hands flat. He folded his arms inward like two heavy
gates swinging shut. Then he bowed his head and exhaled deeply.
Sarene let the moment hang before mumbling. "Merciful Domi. Now I'll never get
them to focus."
Eondel chuckled quietly. "Shuden's an interesting lad. He complains repeatedly
about the way women chase him, but he can't resist the urge to show off.
Despite it all, he's still a man, and he's still rather young."
Sarene nodded as Shuden completed his ritual. then turned sheepishly as he
realized how much attention he had drawn. He quickly wove his way through the
women with downcast eyes, joining Sarene and Eondel.
"That was ... unexpected." Sarene said as Shuden accepted a cup of water from
Lukel.
"1 apologize, Lady Sarene." he replied between gulps. "Your sparring made me
want to exercise. I thought everyone would be so busy practicing that they
wouldn't notice me."
"Women always notice you. my friend." Eondel said with a shake of his
gray-streaked head. "Next time you complain about being mauled by adoring
women. I'll point out this little fiasco."
Shuden bowed his head in acquiescence. blushing again.
"What was that exercise?" Sarene asked curiously. "I've never seen anything
like it."
"We call it ChayShan," Shuden explained. "It's a kind of warm-up—a way to
focus your mind and body when preparing for a battle."
"It's impressive," Lukel said.
"I'm just an amateur," Shuden said with a modestly bowed head. lack speed and
focus—there are men in Jindo who can move so quickly you grow dizzy watching
them."
"All right, ladies," Sarene declared, turning to the women, most of whom were
still staring at Shuden. "Thank Lord Shuden for his exhibition later. Right

now. you have some lunges to practice-don't think I'm going to let you leave
after just a few minutes of work!"
There were several groans of complaint as Sarene took up her syre and began
the practice session anew.
"THEY' LL all be devilishly sore tomorrow," Sarene said with a smile.
"You say that with such passion, my lady, that one is inclined to think you're
enjoying the prospect." Ashe throbbed slightly as he spoke.
"It will be good for them," Sarene said. "Most of those women are so pampered
that they've never felt anything more serious than the prick of a stitching
needle.'
"I'm sorry I missed the practice," Ashe said. 'I haven't watched a ChayShan in
decades."
"You've seen one before?"
"I've seen many things, my lady," Ashe replied. "A Seon's life is very long."
Sarene nodded. They walked down a street in Kae, the enormous wall of Elantris
looming in the background. Dozens of street vendors offered their wares
eagerly as she passed, recognizing from her dress that she was a member of the
court. Kae existed to support the Arelish nobility, and it catered to very
pompous tastes. Gold-plated cups, exotic spices, and extravagant clothes all
vied for her attention-though most of it just made her feel sick to her
stomach.
From what she understood, these merchants were the only real middle class left
in Arelon. In Kae they competed for King Iadon's favor, and hopefully a
title—usually at the expense of their competitors, a few peasants, and their
dignity. Arelon was quickly becoming a nation of fervent, even terrified,
commercialism. Success no longer brought just wealth, and failure no longer
just poverty—income determined just how close one was to being sold into
virtual slavery.
Sarene waved off the merchants, though her efforts did little to discourage
them. She was relieved to finally turn a corner and see the Korathi chapel.
She resisted the urge to sprint the rest of the way, keeping her pace steady
until she reached the doors to the broad building and slipped in.
She dropped a few coins—nearly the last of the money she had brought with her
from Teod—into the donations box. then went looking for the priest. The chapel
felt comfortable to Sarene. Unlike Derethi chapels—which were austere and
formal, hung with shields, spears, and the occasional tapestry—Korathi chapels
were more relaxed. A few quilts hung on the walls—probably donations from
elderly patrons—and flowers and plants sat lined up beneath them, their buds
peeking out in the spring weather. The ceiling was low and unvaulted, but the
windows were broad and wide enough to keep the building from feeling cramped.

"Hello, child," a voice said from the side of the room. Omin, the priest, was
standing next to one of the far windows. looking out at the city.
"Hello, Father Omin," Sarene said with a curtsey. "Am I bothering you?" "Of
course not, child," Omin said, waving her over. "Come, how have you been? I
missed you at the sermon last night."
"I'm sorry, Father Omin," Sarene said with a slight flush. "There was a ball I
had to attend."
"Ah. Do not feel guilty, child. SociaIizing is not to be underestimated,
especially when one is new in town."
Sarene smiled, walking between a set of pews to join the short priest next to
the window. His small stature wasn't usually so noticeable; Omin had
constructed a podium at the front of the chapel to fit his size. and while he
gave sermons it was hard to distinguish his height. Standing next to the man,
however, Sarene couldn't help feeling that she was towering over him. He was
terribly short even for an Arelene, the top of his head barely reaching her
chest.
"You are troubled by something, child?" Omin asked. He was mostly bald, and
wore a loose-fitting robe tied at the waist with a white sash. Other than his
strikingly blue eyes. the only color on his body was a jade Korathi pendant at
his neck, carved in the shape of Aon Omi.
He was a good man—something Sarene couldn't say about everyone, even priests.
There were several back in Teod who absolutely infuriated her. Omin, however,
was thoughtful and fatherly—even if he did have an annoying habit of letting
his thoughts drift. He sometimes got so distracted that minutes would pass
without his realizing someone was waiting for him to speak.
"I wasn't sure who else to ask. Father." Sarene said. "I need to do a Widow's
Trial, but no one will explain what it is."
"Ah," Omin said with a nod of his shiny hairless head. "That would be
confusing for a newcomer."
"Why won't anyone explain it to me?"
"It is a semireligious ceremony left over from days when the Elantrians
ruled," Omin explained. "Anything involving the city is a taboo topic in
Arelon, especially for the Faithful."
"Well, then how am I going to learn what is expected of me?" Sarene asked with
exasperation.
"Do not get frustrated, child," Omin said soothingly. "It is taboo, but only
by custom, not by doctrine. I don't think Domi would have any objection to my
assuaging your curiosity."
"Thank you, Father," Sarene said with a sigh of relief.
"Since your husband died," Omin explained, "you are expected to show your
grief openly, otherwise the people won't think you loved him."
"But I didn't love him-not really. I didn't even know him."

"Nonetheless, it would he proper for you to do a Trial. The severity of a
Widow's Trial is an expression of how important she thought her union, and how
much she respected her husband. To go without one, even for an outsider, could
be a bad sign."
"But wasn't it a pagan ritual?"
"Not really," Omin said with a shake of his head. "The Elantrians started it,
but it had nothing to do with their religion. It was simply an act of kindness
that developed into a benevolent and worthy tradition."
Sarene raised her eyebrows. "Honestly, I am surprised to hear you speak that
way about the Elantrians, Father."
Omin's eyes sparkled. "Just because the Derethi arteths hated the Elantrians
doesn't mean that Domi did, child. I do not believe they were gods, and many
of them had inflated opinions of their own majesty, but I had a number of
friends in their ranks. The Shaod took men both good and bad, selfish and
selfless. Some of the most noble men I ever knew lived in that city—I was very
sorry to see what happened to them."
Sarene paused. "Was it Domi, Father? Did he curse them as they say?"
"Everything happens according to Domi's will, child," Omin answered. "However,
I do not think that 'curse' is the right word. At times, Domi sees fit to send
disasters upon the world: other times he will give the most innocent of
children a deadly disease. These are no more curses than what happened to
Elantris—they are simply the workings of the world. All things must progress,
and progression is not always a steady incline. Sometimes we must fall,
sometimes we will rise—some must be hurt while others have fortune, for that
is the only way we can learn to rely on one another. As one is blessed, it is
his privilege to help those whose lives are not as easy. Unity comes from
strife, child."
Sarene paused. "So you don't think the Elantrians—what's left of them—are
devils?"
"Svrakiss, as the Fjordells call them?" Omin asked with amusement. "No, though
I hear that is what this new gyorn teaches. I fear his pronouncements will
only bring hatred."
Sarene tapped her cheek in thought. "That may be what he wants." "What purpose
could that accomplish?"
"I don't know," Sarene admitted.
Omin shook his head again. "I cannot believe any follower of God, even a
gyorn, would do such a thing." He took on an abstracted look as he considered
the prospect, a slight frown on his face.
"Father?" Sarene asked. "Father?"
At the second prod Omin shook his head, as if startled to realize she was
still there. "I'm sorry, child. What were we discussing?"
"You never finished telling me what a Widow's Trial was," she reminded.

Tangents were all too frequent when one was speaking with the diminutive
priest.
"Ah, yes. The Widow's Trial. Put simply, child, you are expected to do some
favor for the country—the more you loved your husband, and the more lofty your
station, the more extravagant your Trial is supposed to be. Most women give
food or clothing to the peasantry. The more personal your involvement, the
better the impression you give. The Trial is a method of service-a means of
bringing humility to the exalted."
"But where will I get the money?" She hadn't decided just how to go about
asking her new father for a stipend.
"Money?" Omin asked with surprise. "Why, you're one of the richest people in
Arelon. Didn't you know that?"
"What?"
"You inherited Prince Raoden's estate. child." Omin explained. "He was a very
wealthy man-his father made sure of that. Under King Iadon's government, it
would not be good for the crown prince to be any less rich than a duke. By the
same token, it would be a source of extreme embarrassment to him if his
daughter-in-law weren't fabulously wealthy. All you need to do is speak to the
royal treasurer, and I'm certain he will take care of you."
"Thank you, Father," Sarene said, giving the little man a fond hug. "I have
work to do."
"Your visit was welcome, child," Omin said, looking back at the city with
contemplative eyes. "That is what I am here for." However, she could tell that
soon after making the comment, he had already forgotten her presence,
traveling, once again, the long roads within his mind.
ASH E waited for her outside, hovering beside the door with characteristic
patience.
"I don't see why you're so worried," Sarene said to him. "Omin liked Elantris:
he wouldn't have anything against your entering his chapel."
Ashe pulsed slightly. He hadn't entered a Korathi chapel since the day many
years ago when Seinalan, the patriarch of Shu-Korath, had thrown him out of
one.
"It is all right, my lady." Ashe said. "I have a feeling that no matter what
the priests may say, both of us will be happier if we stay out of one
another's sight."
"I disagree," Sarene said, "but I don't want to argue it. Did you hear
anything of our conversation?"
"Seons have very good ears. my lady."
"You don't have ears at all," she pointed out. "What did you think?"
"It sounds like a good way for my lady to gain some notoriety in the city."
"My thought exactly."
"One other thing, my lady. You two spoke of the Derethi gyorn and Elantris.

The other night, when I was inspecting the city, I noticed the Gyorn Hrathen
walking the city wall of Elantris. 1 have gone back several nights now, and
have found him there on a couple of occasions. He appears quite friendly with
the captain of the Elantris City Guard."
"What is he trying to do with that city?" Sarene said, frustrated. "It baffles
me as well, my lady."
Sarene frowned, trying to piece together what she knew of the gyorn's actions
and Elantris. She could make no connections. However, as she thought,
something else occurred to her. Perhaps she could solve one of her other
problems and inconvenience the gyorn at the same time.
"Maybe I don't need to know what he is doing to block him." she said. "It
would certainly help, my lady."
"I don't have that luxury. But, we do know this: If the gyorn wants the people
to hate the Elantrians, then it is my job to see the opposite happen." Ashe
paused. "What are you planning, my lady?"
"You'll see," she said with a smile. "First, let's get back to my rooms. I've
wanted to speak with Father for some time now."
" ' ENE? I'm glad you called. I've been worried about you." Eventeo's glowing
head hovered before her.
"You could have sent for me at any time, Father," Sarene said.
"I didn't want to intrude. honey. I know how you value your independence."
"Independence is second to duty right now. Father," Sarene said. "Nations are
falling—we don't have time to worry about one another's feelings."
"I stand corrected," her father said with a chuckle.
"What is happening in Teod. Father?"
"It isn't good," Eventeo warned, his voice growing uncharacteristically
somber. "These are dangerous times. I just had to put down another Jeskeri
Mystery cult. They always seem to spring up when an eclipse is near."
Sarene shivered. The Mystery cultists were an odd bunch. one her father didn't
like to deal with. There was reservation in his voice, however—something else
was bothering him. "There's more, isn't there?"
"I'm afraid there is, 'Ene," her father admitted. "Something worse." "What?"
"You know Ashgress, the Fjordell ambassador?"
"Yes," Sarene said with a frown. "What has he done? Denounced you in public?"
"No, something worse." Her father's face looked troubled. "He left."
"Left? The country? After all the trouble Fjorden went through to get
representatives back in?"

"That's right. 'Ene," Eventeo said. "He took his entire entourage, made a last
speech on the docks, and left us behind. There was a disturbing air of
finality about the event."
"This isn't good," Sarene agreed. Fjorden had been dogmatic about keeping a
presence in Teod. If Ashgress had left, he had gone in response to a personal
command from Wyrn. It smelled of their having given up on Teod for good.
"I'm scared, 'Ene." The words chilled her like nothing else—her father was the
strongest man she knew.
"You shouldn't say things like that."
"Only to you, 'Ene." Eventeo said. "I want you to understand how serious the
situation is."
know,' Sarene said. "I understand. There's a gyorn here in Kae."
Her father muttered a few curses she had never heard him speak before.
"I think I can handle him, Father," Sarene said quickly. "We're keeping our
eyes on one another."
"Which one is it?"
"His name is Hrathen."
Her father cursed again, this time even more vehemently. "Idos Domi, Sarene!
Do you know who that is? Hrathen was the gyorn assigned to Duladen the six
months before it collapsed."
"I guessed that was who he was."
"I want you out of there, Sarene," Eventeo said. "That man is dangerous—do you
know how many people died in the Duladen revolution? There were tens of
thousands of casualties."
"I know, Father."
"I'm sending a ship for you-we'll make our stand back here, where no gyorn is
welcome."
"I'm not leaving, Father," Sarene said resolutely.
"Sarene, be logical." Eventeo's voice took on the quiet, prodding tone it did
every time he wanted her to do something. He usually got his way; he was one
of the few who knew how to sway her. "Everyone knows the Arelish government is
a mess. If this gyorn toppled Duladen, then he'll have no trouble doing the
same to Arelon. You can't hope to stop him when the entire country is against
you."
"I have to stay, Father, regardless of the situation."
"What loyalty do you owe them, Sarene?" Eventeo pled. "A husband you never
knew? A people who are not your own?"
"I am the daughter of their king."
"You are the daughter of a king here as well. What is the difference? Here the
people know and respect you."
"They know me, Father, but respect .      Sarene sat back, beginning to feel
sick. The old feelings were returning—the feelings that had made her willing
to

leave her homeland in the first place, abandoning all she knew in favor of a
foreign land.
"I don't understand, 'Ene." Her father's voice was pained.
Sarene sighed, closing her eyes. "Oh, Father, you could never see it. To you I
was a delight—your beautiful, intelligent daughter. No one would dare tell you
what they really thought of me."
"What are you talking about?" he demanded. now speaking with the voice of a
king.
"Father.' Sarene said, "I am twenty-five years old, and I am blunt, conniving,
and ofttimes offensive. You must have noticed that no man ever sought my
hand."
Her father didn't respond for a moment. "I thought about it." he finally
admitted.
"I was the king's spinster daughter, a shrew no one wanted to touch,' Sarene
said. trying—and failing—to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Men laughed
at me behind my back. No one would dare approach me with romantic intentions,
for it was well known that whoever did would be mocked by his peers."
"I just thought you were independent-that you didn't consider any of them
worthy of your time."
Sarene laughed wryly. "You love me, Father-no parent wants to admit that his
daughter is unattractive. The truth of the matter is, no man wants an
intelligent wife."
"That isn't true." her father objected immediately. "Your mother is
brilliant."
"You are an exception, Father, which is why you can't see it. A strong woman
is not an asset in this world—not even in Teod, which I always claim is so
much more advanced than the continent. It really isn't all that different,
Father. They say they give their women more freedom, but there's still the
impression that the freedom was theirs to 'give' in the first place.
"In Teod I an unmarried daughter. Here in Arelon, I am a widowed wife. That is
an enormous distinetion. As much as I love Teod, I would have to live with the
constant knowledge that no one wants me. Here, at least, I can try to convince
myself that someone was willing to have me-even if it was for political
reasons."
"We can find you someone else."
"I don't think so, Father," Sarene said with a shake of her head, sitting back
in her chair. "Now that Teorn has children, no husband of mine would end up on
the throne-which is the only reason anyone in Teod would consider marrying me.
No one under Derethi control will consider marriage with a Teo. That only
leaves Arelon, where my betrothal contract forbids me from marrying again. No,
there is no one for me now, Father. The best I can do is make use of my
situation here. At least I can command a measure of respect in Arelon without
having to worry about how my actions will affect my future marriageability."
"I see," her father said. She could hear the displeasure in his voice.

"Father, do I need to remind you not to worry about me? ' she asked. "We have
much larger problems to deal with."
can't help worrying about you, Leky Stick. You're my only daughter."
Sarene shook her head, determined to change the topic before she started
crying. Suddenly very ashamed for destroying his idyllic vision of her. Sarene
searched for anything she could say that would divert the conversation. "Uncle
Kiin is here in Kae."
That did it. She heard an intake of breath from the other side of the Seon
bond. "Do not mention his name to me, 'Ene."
"But—"
"No.'
Sarene sighed. -All right, then, tell me about Fjorden instead. What do you
think Wyrn is planning?"
"This time I really have no idea," Eventeo said, allowing himself to be
diverted. "It must be something massive. Borders are closing to Teoish
merchants north and south, and our ambassadors are beginning to disappear. I
am very close to calling them home."
"And your spies?"
"Are vanishing almost as quickly," her father said. "I haven't been able to
get anyone into the Velding in over a month, and Domi only knows what Wyrn and
the gyorns are scheming in there. Sending spies to Fjorden these days is
almost the same as sending them to die."
"But you do it anyway," Sarene said quietly, understanding the source of the
pain in her father's voice.
"I have to. What we find could end up saving thousands, though that doesn't
make it any easier. I just wish I could get someone into Dakhor."
"The monastery?"
"Yes." Eventeo said. "We know what the other monasteries do—Rathbore trains
assassins, Fjeldor spies, and most of the others simple warriors. Dakhor,
however, worries me. I've heard some horrible stories about that monastery—and
I can't fathom why anyone, even the Derethi, would do such things."
"Does it look like Fjorden's massing for war?"
"I can't tell-it doesn't appear so, but who knows. Wyrn could send a
multi-nation army in our direction at almost a moment's notice. One small
consolation is I don't think he knows we understand that fact. Unfortunately,
the knowledge does put me in a difficult position."
"What do you mean?"
Her father's voice was hesitant. "If Wyrn declares holy war on us, then it
will mean the end of Teod. We can't stand against the united might of the
Eastern countries. 'Ene. I will not sit back and watch my people be
slaughtered."
"You would consider surrendering?" Sarene asked with outrage.

"A king's duty is to protect his people. When faced with the choice of
conversion or letting my people be destroyed. I think I would have to choose
conversion." "You would be as spineless as the Jindoeese," Sarene said.
"The Jindoeese are a wise people. Sarene," her father said, his voice growing
firm. "They did what they needed to survive."
"But that would mean giving up!"
"It would mean doing what we have to do," her father said. "I won't do
anything yet. As long as there are two nations left. we have hope. However, if
Arelon falls, I will be forced to surrender. We cannot fight the entire world,
'Ene, no more than one grain of sand can fight an entire ocean."
"But .. ." Sarene's voice trailed off. She could see her father's predicament.
Fighting Fjorden on the battlefield would be an exercise in complete futility.
Convert or die-both options were sickening, but conversion was obviously the
more logical choice. However, a quiet voice inside her argued that it was
worth dying, if death would prove that truth was more powerful than physical
strength.
She had to make sure her father was never given that choice. If she could stop
Hrathen. then she might be able to stop Wyrn. For a time, at least.
"I'm definitely staying, Father," she declared.
"I know, 'Ene. It will be dangerous."
"I understand. However, if Arelon does fall, then I would probably rather be
dead than watch what happens in Teod."
"Be careful, and keep an eye on that gyorn. Oh, by the way—if you find out why
Wyrn is sinking Iadon's ships, tell me."
"What?" Sarene asked with shock.
"You didn't know?"
"Know what?" Sarene demanded.
"King Iadon has lost nearly his entire merchant fleet. The official reports
claim that the sinkings are the work of pirates, some remnant of Dreok
Crushthroat's navy. However. my sources link the sinkings with Fjorden."
"So that's what it was!" Sarene said.
"What?"
"Four days ago I was at a party." Sarene explained. "A servant delivered a
message to the king, and whatever it was unsettled the king a great deal."
"That would be about the right time frame." her father said. "I found out two
days ago myself."
"Why would Wyrn sink innocent merchant vessels?" Sarene wondered. "Unless .
Idos Domi! If the king loses his income, then he would be in danger of losing
his throne!"
"Is all that nonsense about rank being tied to money true?"
"Insanely true," Sarene said. "Iadon takes away a family's title if they can't
maintain their income. If lie lost his own source of wealth, it would destroy
the

foundation of his rule. Hrathen could replace him with someone else—a man more
willing w accept Shu-Dereth—without even bothering to start a revolution."
"It sounds feasible. Iadon asked for such a situation by concocting such an
unstable basis for rule."
"It's probably Telrii," Sarene said. "That's why he spent so much money on
that ball—the duke wants to show that he is financially sound. I would be very
surprised if there wasn't a mountain of Fjordell gold behind his
expenditures."
"What are you going to do?"
"Stop him," Sarene said. "Even though it hurts. I really don't like Iadon,
Father."
"Unfortunately, it looks like Hrathen has chosen our allies for us."
Sarene nodded. "He has placed me with Elantris and Iadon-not a very enviable
position."
"We all do the best with what Domi has given us."
"You sound like a priest."
"I have found reason to become very religious lately."
Sarene thought for a moment before replying, tapping her cheek as she
considered his words. "A wise choice, Father. If Domi were ever going to help
us, it would be now. The end of Teod means the end of Shu-Korath."
"For a time, perhaps," her father said. "Truth can never be defeated, Sarene.
Even if people do forget about it occasionally."
SARENE was in bed, the lights down. Ashe hovered on the far side of the room,
his light dimmed so much that he was barely an outline of Aon Ashe against the
wall.
The conversation with her father had ended an hour ago, but its implications
would likely plague her mind for months. She had never considered surrender an
option, but now it looked almost inevitable. The prospect worried her. She
knew that it was unlikely that Wyrn would let her father continue to rule.
even if he did convert. She also knew that Eventeo would willingly give his
life if it would spare his people.
She also thought about her own life, and her mixed memories of Teod. The
kingdom contained the things she loved most—her father, brother, and mother.
The forests around the port city of Teoin, the capital, were another very fond
memory. She remembered the way the snow settled on the landscape. One morning
she had awoken to find everything outside coated in a beautiful film of ice:
the trees had looked like jewels sparkling in the winter daylight.
Yet, Teod also reminded her of pain and loneliness. It represented her
exclusion from society and her humiliation before men. She had established
early in life that she had a quick wit and an even quicker tongue. Both things
had set her apart

from the other women—not that some of them weren't intelligent: they just had
the wisdom to hide it until they were married.
Not all men wanted a stupid wife-but there also weren't a lot of men who felt
comfortable around a woman they assumed was their intellectual superior. By
the time Sarene had realized what she was doing to herself, she had found that
the few men who might have accepted her were already married. Desperate, she
had ferreted out the masculine opinion of her in court, and had been mortified
to learn just how much they mocked her. After that, it had only grown
worse—and she had only grown oIder. In a land where nearly every woman was at
least engaged by the age of eighteen, she was an old maid by twenty-five. A
very tall, gangly. argumentative old maid.
Her self-recrimination was interrupted by a noise. It didn't come from the
hallway or window, however, but from inside her room. She sat up with a start.
breath catching in her throat as she prepared to jump away. Only then did she
realize it wasn't actually coming from her room, but from the wall beside her
room. She frowned in confusion. There weren't any rooms on the other side; she
was at the very edge of the palace. She had a window looking out over the
city.
The noise was not repeated. and, determined to get some sleep despite her
anxieties, Sarene told herself it had simply been the building settling.

CHAPTER 18
 DILAF walked in the door, looking a bit distracted. Then he saw the Elantrian
sitting in the chair in front of Hrathen's desk. The shock nearly killed him.
Hrathen smiled, watching as Dilaf's breath audibly caught in his throat, his
eyes grew wide as shields, and his face turned a shade not unlike the color of
Hrathen's armor. "Hruggath Jar Dilaf yelped in surprise, the Fjordell curse
rising quickly to his lips.
Hrathen raised his eyebrows at the expletive—not so much because it offended
him, but because he was surprised that it should come so easily to

Dilaf. The arteth had submerged himself in Fjorden's culture deeply indeed.
"Say hello to Diren, Arteth," Hrathen said, gesturing to the
black-and-grayfaced Elantrian. "And kindly refrain from using Lord Jaddeth's
name as a curse. That is one Fjordell habit I would rather you hadn't
assumed."
"An Elantrian!"
"Yes," Hrathen said. "Very good, Arteth. And no, you may not set fire to him."
Hrathen leaned back slightly in his seat. smiling as Dilaf glared at the
EIantrian. Hrathen had summoned Dilaf to the room knowing full well the kind
of reaction he would get, and he felt a little petty at the move. That,
however, didn't stop him from enjoying the moment.
Finally. Dilaf shot Hrathen a hateful look-though he quickly masked it with
one of barely controlled submissiveness. "What is he doing here, my hroden?"
"I thought it would be good to know the face of our enemy, Arteth," Hrathen
said, rising and walking over to the frightened Elantrian. The two priests
were, of course, conversing in Fjordell. There was confusion in the
Elantrian's eyes, along with a feral sort of fear.
Hrathen squatted down beside the man, studying his demon. "Are they all bald,
Dilaf?" he asked with interest.
"Not at first." the arteth answered sullenly. "They usually have a full head
when the Korathi dogs prepare them for the city. Their skin is paler as well."
Hrathen reached our, feeling the man's cheek. The skin was tough and leathery.
The Elantrian watched him with frightened eyes. "These black spots—these are
what distinguish an Elantrian?"
"It is the first sign, my hroden," Dilaf said, subdued. Either he was getting
used to the Elantrian, or he had simply gotten over his initial burst of
hatred and had moved on to a more patient, smoldering form of disgust. "It
usually happens overnight. When the accursed one wakes up, he or she will have
dark blotches all over their body. The rest of their skin turns grayish brown,
like this one. over time."
"Like the skin of an embalmed corpse," Hrathen noted. He had visited the
university in Svorden on occasion, and knew of the bodies they kept there for
study.
"Very similar," Dilaf agreed quietly. "The skin isn't the only sign, my
hroden. Their insides are rotten as well."
"How can you tell?"
"Their hearts do not beat," Dilaf said. "And their minds do not work. There
are stories from the early days ten years ago, before they were all locked
away in that city. Within a few months they turn comatose, barely able to
move, except to bemoan their pain."
"Pain?"

"The pain of their soul being burned by Lord Jaddeth's fire," Dilaf explained.
"It builds within them until it consumes their consciousness. It is their
punishment."
Hrathen nodded, turning away from the Elantrian.
"You shouldn't have touched him, my hroden," Dilaf said.
"I thought you said that Lord Jaddeth would protect his faithful," Hrathen
said. "What need have I to fear?"
"You invited evil into the chapel, my hroden."
Hrathen snorted. "There is nothing sacred about this building, Dilaf, as you
know. No holy ground can be dedicated in a country that hasn't allied itself
with Shu-Dereth."
"Of course." Dilaf said. His eyes were growing eager for some reason.
The look in Dilaf 's eyes made Hrathen uncomfortable. Perhaps it would be best
to minimize the time the arteth spent in the same room as the Elantrian.
"I summoned you because I'm going to need you to make the preparations for the
evening sermon," Hrathen said. "I can't do them myself—I want to spend a bit
of time interrogating this Elantrian..
"As you command. my hroden," Dilaf said, still eyeing the Elantrian. "You are
dismissed. Arteth," Hrathen said firmly.
Dilaf growled quietly, then scuttled from the room, off to do Hrathen's
bidding.
Hrathen turned back to the Elantrian. The creature didn't seem "mindless." as
Dilaf had put it. The Guard captain who'd brought the Elantrian had even
mentioned the creature's name; that implied that it could speak.
"Can you understand me, Elantrian?" Hrathen asked in Aonic.
Diren paused, then nodded his head.
"Interesting." Hrathen said musingly.
"What do you want with me?" the Elantrian asked.
"Just to ask you some questions," Hrathen said, stepping back to his desk and
sitting down. He continued to study the creature with curiosity. Never in all
of his varied travels had he seen a disease such as this.
"Do you . . . have any food?" the Elantrian asked. There was a slight edge of
wildness to his eyes as he mentioned the word "food."
"If you answer my questions, I promise to send you back to Elantris with a
full basket of bread and cheese."
This got the creature's attention. He nodded vigorously.
So hungry, Hrathen thought with curiosity. And, what was it that Dilaf said?
No heartbeat? Perhaps the disease does something to the metabolism—makes the
heart beat so quickly that it's hard to detect, increases the appetite
somehow?
"What were you before you were thrown into the city, Diren?" Hrathen asked. "A
peasant, my lord. I worked the fields of Aor Plantation."

"And, how long have you been an Elantrian?"
"I was thrown in during the fall," Diren said. "Seven months? Eight? I lose
track. ..."
So Dilaf 's other assertion, that Elantrians fell "comatose" within a few
months. was incorrect. Hrathen sat thoughtfully, trying to decide what kind of
information this creature might have that could be of use to him.
"What is it like in Elantris?" Hrathen asked.
"It's . terrible, my lord," Diren said, looking down. "There's the gangs. If
you go the wrong place, they'll chase you, or hurt you. No one tells the
newcomers about things. so if you aren't careful, you'll walk into the
market.... That's not good. And, there's a new gang now—so say a few of the
Elantrians I know on the streets. A fourth gang. more powerful than the
others."
Gangs. That implied a basic level of society, at least. Hrathen frowned to
himself. If the gangs were as harsh as Diren implied, then perhaps he could
use them as an example of Svrakiss for his followers. However, speaking with
the complacent Diren, Hrathen was beginning to think that perhaps he should
continue making his condemnations from a distance. If any percentage of the
Elantrians were as harmless as this man, then the people of Kae would probably
be disappointed in the Elantrians as "demons."
As the interrogation proceeded, Hrathen realized that Diren didn't know much
more that was of use. The Elantrian couldn't explain what the Shaod was
like-it had happened to him while he was sleeping. He claimed that he was
"dead," whatever that meant, and that his wounds no longer healed. He even
showed Hrathen a cut in his skin. The wound wasn't bleeding, however. so
Hrathen just suspected that the pieces of skin hadn't sealed properly as they
healed.
Diren knew nothing of the Elantrian "magic." He claimed that he'd seen others
doing magical drawings in the air, but Diren himself didn't know how to do
likewise. He did know that he was hungry—very hungry. He reiterated this idea
several times, as well as mentioning twice more that he was frightened of the
gangs.
Satisfied that he knew what he'd wanted to find out—that Elantris was a brutal
place, but disappointingly human in its methods of brutality—Hrathen sent for
the Guard captain who had brought Diren.
The captain of the Elantris City Guard entered obsequiously. He wore thick
gloves, and he prodded the Elantrian out of its chair with a long stick. The
captain eagerly accepted a bag of coins from Hrathen, then nodded as Hrathen
made him promise to purchase Diren a basket of food. As the captain forced his
prisoner out of the room, Dilaf appeared at Hrathen's door. The arteth watched
his prey leave with a look of disappointment.
"Everything ready?" Hrathen asked.
"Yes, my hroden," Dilaf said. "People are already beginning to arrive for the
services."

"Good." Hrathen said, leaning back in his chair, Iacing his fingers
thoughtfully.
"Does something concern you. my hroden?"
Hrathen shook his head. "I was just planning for the evening speech. I believe
it is time for us to move on to the next step in our plans."
"The next step. my hroden?"
Hrathen nodded. "I think we have successfully established our stance against
Elantris. The masses are always quick to find devils around them. as long as
you give them proper motivation."
"Yes. my hroden."
"Do not forget. Arteth." Hrathen said, "that there is a point to our hatred."
"It unifies our followers—it gives them a common enemy."
"Correct," Hrathen said, resting his arms on his desk. "There is another
purpose, however. One just as important. Now that we have given the people
someone to hate, we need to create an association between Elantris and our
rivals."
"Shu-Korath," Dilaf said with a sinister smile.
"Again correct. The Korathi priests are the ones who prepare new Elantrians--
they are the motivation behind the mercy this country shows its fallen gods.
If we imply that Korathi tolerance makes its priests sympathizers, the
people's loathing of Elantris will shift to Shu-Korath instead. Their priests
will be faced with two options: Either they accept our incrimination, or they
side with us against Elantris. If they choose the former, then the people will
turn against them. If they choose the latter. then it puts them under our
theological control. After that, a few simple embarrassments will make them
appear impotent and irrelevant."
"It is perfect." Dilaf said. "But will it happen quickly enough? There is so
little time."
Hrathen started, looking over at the still smiling arteth. How had the man
known about his deadline? He couldn't-he must be guessing.
"It will work," Hrathen said. "With their monarchy unstable and their religion
wavering, the people will look for a new source of leadership. Shu-Dereth will
be like a rock amidst shifting sands."
"A fine analogy, my hroden."
Hrathen could never tell if Dilaf mocked him with such statements or not. "I
have a task for you. Arteth. I want you to make the connection in your sermon
tonight—turn the people against Shu-Korath."
"Will my hroden not do it himself?"
"I will speak second. and my speech will offer logic. You, however, are more
passionate—and their disgust for Shu-Korath must first come from their
hearts."
Dilaf nodded, bowing his head to show that he acceded to the command. Hrathen
waved his hand. indicating the conversation was over. and the arteth backed
away. closing the door behind him.

DILAF spoke with characteristic zeal. He stood outside the chapel, on a podium
Hrathen had commissioned once the crowds became too large to fit in the
building. The warm spring nights were conducive to such meetings. and the
half-light of sunset, combined with torches, gave the proper mixture of
visibility and shadow.
The people watched Dilaf with rapture, even though most of what he said was
repetitious. Hrathen spent hours preparing his sermons, careful to combine
both duplication for reinforcement and originality to provide excitement.
Dilaf just spoke. It didn't matter if he spouted the same denunciations of
Elantris and the same redundant praises to Jaddeth's empire; the people
listened anyway. After a week of hearing the arteth speak, Hrathen had learned
to ignore his own envy—to an extent, at least. He replaced it with pride.
As he listened. Hrathen congratulated himself on the arteth's effectiveness.
Dilaf did as Hrathen had ordered, beginning with his normal ravings about
Elantris. then moving boldly into a full accusation of Shu-Korath. The crowd
moved with him, allowing their emotions to be redirected. It was as Hrathen
had planned; there was no reason for him to be jealous of Dilaf. The man's
rage was like a river Hrathen himself had diverted toward the crowd. Dilaf
might have the raw talent, but Hrathen was the master behind it.
He told himself that right up to the moment Dilaf surprised him. The sermon
progressed well, Dilaf's fury investing the crowd with a loathing of
everything Korathi. But then the tide shifted as Dilaf turned his attention
back to Elantris. Hrathen thought nothing of it at first—Dilaf had an
incorrigible tendency to wander during his sermons.
"And now, behold!" Dilaf suddenly commanded. "Behold the Svrakiss! Look into
its eyes, and find form for your hate! Feed the outrage of Jaddeth that burns
within you all!"
Hrathen felt himself grow cold. Dilaf gestured to the side of the stage, where
a pair of torches suddenly burst into flame. Diren the Elantrian stood tied to
a post, his head bowed. There were cuts on his face that had not been there
before.
"Behold the enemy!" Dilaf screamed. "Look, see! He does not bleed! No blood
runs through his veins, and no heart beats in his chest. Did not the
philosopher Grondkest say that you can judge the equality of all men by their
common unity of blood? But what of one who has no blood? What shall we call
him?"
"Demon!" a member of the crowd yelled.
"Devil!"
"Svrakiss!" Dilaf screamed.
The crowd raged, each member yelling his own accusations at the wretched
target. The Elantrian himself screamed with wild, feral passion. Something had
changed within this man. When Hrathen had spoken with him, the Elantrian's

answers had been unenthusiastic. but lucid. Now there was nothing of sanity in
his eyes—only pain. The sound of the creature's voice reached Hrathen even
over the congregation's fury.
"Destroy me!" the Elantrian pled. "End the pain! Destroy me!"
The voice shocked Hrathen out of his stupor. He realized one thing
immediately: that Dilaf couldn't be allowed to murder this Elantrian in
public. Visions of Dilaf 's crowd becoming a mob flashed through Hrathen's
mind, of them burning the Elantrian in a fit of collective passion. It would
destroy everything: Iadon would never suffer something as violent as a public
execution, even if the victim was an Elantrian. It smelled too much of chaos a
decade old, chaos that had overthrown a government.
Hrathen stood at the side of the podium dais, amid a group of priests. There
was a pressing crowd bunched up against the front of the dais, and Dilaf stood
in front of the podium itself, hands outstretched as he spoke.
"They must be destroyed!" Dilaf screamed. "All of them! Cleansed by holy
fire!"
Hrathen leaped up onto the dais. 'And so they shall be!" he yelled, cutting
the arteth off.
Dilaf paused only briefly. He turned to the side, nodding toward a lesser
priest holding a lit torch. Dilaf probably assumed that there was nothing
Hrathen could do to stop the execution-at least, nothing he could do that
wouldn't undermine his own credibility with the crowd.
Not this time, Arteth, Hrathen thought. I won't let you do whatever you wish.
He couldn't contradict Dilaf, not without making it seem like there was a
division in the Derethi ranks.
He could, however, twist what Dilaf had said. That particular vocal feat was
one of Hrathen's specialties.
"But, what good would that do?" Hrathen yelled, struggling to speak over the
screaming crowd. They were surging forward in anticipation of the execution,
calling out curses at the Elantrian.
Hrathen gritted his teeth, pushing past Dilaf and grabbing the torch from the
passing priest's hand. Hrathen heard Dilaf hissing in annoyance, but he
ignored the arteth. If he didn't gain control of the crowd, they would simply
push forward and attack the Elantrian on their own.
Hrathen held aloft the torch, thrusting it upward repeatedly, causing the
crowd to yell with pleasure, building a kind of chanting rhythm.
And in between pulses of rhythm, there was silence.
"I ask you again, people!" Hrathen bellowed as the crowd fell silent,
preparing for another yell.
They paused.
"What good would killing this creature do?" Hrathen asked.

"It's a demon!" one of the men in the crowd yelled.
"Yes!" Hrathen said. "But it is already tormented. Jaddeth himself gave this
demon its curse. Listen to it pleading for death! Is that what we want to do?
Give the creature what it wants?"
Hrathen waited tensely. While some of the crowd's members screamed "Yes!" out
of habit, others paused. Confusion showed, and a bit of the tension deflated.
"The Svrakiss are our enemies," Hrathen said, speaking with more control now,
his voice firm rather than passionate. His words calmed the people further.
"However, they are not ours to punish. That is Jaddeth's pleasure! We have
another task.
"This creature, this demon, this is the thing that the Korathi priests would
have you pity! You wonder why Arelon is poor compared to the nations of the
East? It is because you suffer the Korathi foolishness. That is why you lack
the riches and blessings found in nations like Jindo and Svorden. The Korathi
are too lenient. It may not be our task to destroy these creatures, but
neither is it our task to care for them! We certainly shouldn't pity them or
suffer them to live in such a grand. rich city as Elantris."
Hrathen extinguished the torch, then waved for a priest to go and do the same
for the lights illuminating the poor Elantrian. As those torches winked out,
the Elantrian disappeared from view, and the crowd began to settle down.
"Remember," Hrathen said. "The Korathi are the ones who care for the
Elantrians. Even now, they still hedge when asked if the Elantrians are
demons. The Korathi are afraid that the city will return to its glory, but we
know better. We know that Jaddeth has pronounced His curse. There is no mercy
for the damned!
"Shu-Korath is the cause of your pains. It is the thing that supports and
protects Elantris. You will never be rid of the Elantrian curse as long as the
Korathi priests hold sway in Arelon. So. I say to you. go! Tell your friends
what you have learned, and urge them to shun Korathi heresies!"
There was silence. Then people began to call out in agreement. their
dissatisfaction successfully transferred. Hrathen watched them carefully as
they yelled approval, then finally began to disperse. Their vengeful hatred
had mostly dissipated. Hrathen sighed with relief-there would be no midnight
attacks on Korathi priests or temples. Dilaf's speech had been too fleeting,
too quick, to have done lasting damage. The disaster had been averted.
Hrathen turned, eyeing Dilaf. The arteth had left the stage after Hrathen had
seized control, and now he stood watching his crowd disappear with petulant
anger.
He would turn them all into zealous replicas of himself Hrathen thought.
Except, their passion would burn out quickly once the moment passed. They
needed more. They needed knowledge, not just hysteria.
"Arteth," Hrathen said sternly, catching Dilaf's attention. "We need to
speak."

The arreth contained a glare, then nodded. The Elantrian was still screaming
for death. Hrathen turned to another pair of arteths, waving toward the
Elantrian. "Collect the creature and meet me in the gardens."
Hrathen turned to Dilaf, nodding curtly toward the gate at the back of the
Derethi chapel. Dilaf did as ordered, moving toward the gardens. Hrathen
followed him, on the way passing the confused Elantris City Guard captain.
"My lord?" the man asked. "The young priest caught me before I got back to the
city. He said you wanted the creature back. Did I do wrong?"
"You are fine," Hrathen said curtly. "Go back to your post; we'll deal with
the Elantrian."
THE Elantrian seemed to welcome the flames, despite the terrible pain they
must have caused.
Dilaf huddled to the side, watching eagerly, though it had been Hrathen's
hand—not Dilaf's—that had dropped the torch onto the oil-soaked Elantrian.
Hrathen watched the poor creature as it burned, its cries of pain finally
silenced by the roaring fire. The creature's body seemed to burn easily—too
easily—within the licking flames.
Hrathen felt a stab of guilt for betraying Diren, though that emotion was
foolish: the Elantrian might not have been a true devil, but he was certainly
a creature that Jaddeth had cursed. Hrathen owed the Elantrian nothing.
Still, he regretted having to burn the creature. Unfortunately, Dilaf's cuts
had obviously maddened the Elantrian, and there was no sending him back to the
city in his current state. The flames had been the only option.
Hrathen watched the pitiful man's eyes until the flames consumed him
completely.
"And the burning fire of Jaddeth's displeasure shall cleanse them," Dilaf
whispered, quoting the Do-Dereth.
"Judgment belongs to Jaddeth alone, and it is executed by his only servant
Wyrn," Hrathen quoted, using a different passage from the same book. 'You
should not have forced me to kill this creature."
"It was inevitable," Dilaf said. "Eventually all things must bow before
Jaddeth's will—and it is his will that all of Elantris burn. I was simply
following fate."
"You nearly lost control of that crowd with your ravings, Arteth," Hrathen
snapped. "A riot must be very carefully planned and executed, otherwise it
will just as likely turn against its creators as their enemies."
"1 ... got carried away," Dilaf said. "But, killing one Elantrian would not
have made them riot."
"You don't know that. Besides, what of Iadon?"

"How could he object?" Dilaf said. "It is his own order that escaping
Elantrians can be burned. He would never take a stand in favor of Elantris."
"But he could rake a stand against us!" Hrathen said. "You were wrong to bring
this creature to the meeting."
"The people deserved to see what they are to hate."
"The people are not ready for that yet," Hrathen said harshly. "We want to
keep their hatred formless. If they start to tear up the city, Iadon will put
an end to our preaching.
Dilaf's eyes narrowed. "You sound as if you are trying to avoid the
inevitable, my hroden. You fostered this hatred—are you unwilling to accept
responsibility for the deaths it will cause? Hate and loathing cannot remain
'formless' for long—they will find an outlet."
"But that outlet will come when I decide it," Hrathen said coldly. "I am aware
of my responsibility. Arteth, though I question your understanding of it. You
just told me that killing this Elantrian was fated by Jaddeth—that you were
simply following Jaddeth's fate by forcing my hand. Which is it to be? Would
the deaths I cause in riot be my doing. or simply the will of God? How can you
be an innocent servant while I must accept full accountability for this city's
people?"
Dilaf exhaled sharply. He knew, however, when he had been defeated. He bowed
curtly, then turned and entered the chapel.
Hrathen watched the arreth go. fuming quietly. Dilaf's action this night had
been foolish and impulsive. Was he trying to undermine Hrathen's authority, or
was he simply acting on his zealous passions? If it was the second, the near
riot was Hrathen's own fault. He had. after all, been so proud of himself for
using Dilaf as an effective tool.
Hrathen shook his head, releasing a tense breath. He had defeated Dilaf this
evening, but the tension was growing between them. They couldn't afford to get
into visible arguments. Rumors of dissension in the Derethi ranks would erode
their credibility.
I will have to do something about the arteth, Hrathen decided with
resignation. Dilaf was becoming too much of a liability.
His decision made, Hrathen turned to leave. As he did, however, his eyes fell
again on the Elantrian's charred remains, and he shuddered despite himself.
The man's willful acceptance of immolation brought memories to Hrathen's
mind-memories he had long tried to banish. Images of pain, of sacrifice, and
of death.
Memories of Dakhor.
He turned his back on the charred bones, walking toward the chapel. He still
had one other task to complete this evening.

THE Seon floated free from its box, responding to Hrathen's command. Mentally,
Hrathen chided himself—this was the second time in one week he had used the
creature. Reliance on the Seon was something to be avoided. However. Hrathen
could think of no other way to accomplish his goal. Dilaf was right: Time was
very scarce. Fourteen days had already passed since his arrival in Arelon, and
he had spent a week traveling before that. Only seventy days remained of his
original allotment, and, despite the size of the night's congregation, Hrathen
had converted only a tiny fraction of Arelon.
Only one fact gave him hope: Arelon's nobility was concentrated in Kae. To be
away from Iadon's court was political suicide; the king granted and took away
titles willfully, and a high profile was necessary to assure a firm place in
the aristocracy. Wyrn didn't care if Hrathen converted the masses or not; as
long as the nobility bowed, the country was considered Derethi.
So, Hrathen had a chance, bur he still had much work to do. An important piece
of it lay in the man Hrathen was about to call. His contact was not a gyorn,
which made Hrathen's use of the Seon a little unorthodox. However, Wyrn had
never directly commanded him not to call other people with his Seon, so
Hrathen was able to rationalize the use.
The Seon responded promptly, and soon Forton's large-eared, mouselike face
appeared in its light.
"Who is it?" he asked in the harsh Fjordell dialect spoken in the country of
Hrovell.
"It is I, Forton."
"My lord Hrathen?" Forton asked with surprise. "My lord, it has been a long
time."
"I know, Forton. I trust you are well."
The man laughed happily, though the laugh quickly turned to a wheeze. For-ton
had a chronic cough-a condition caused. Hrathen was certain, by the various
substances the man was fond of smoking.
"Of course. my lord," Forton said through his coughing. "When am I not well?"
Forton was a man utterly contented with his life-a condition that was also
caused by the various substances he was fond of smoking. "What can I do for
you?"
"I have need of one of your elixirs, Forton." Hrathen said.
"Of course, of course. What must it do?"
Hrathen smiled. Forton was an unparalleled genius, which was why Hrathen
suffered his eccentricities. The man not only kept a Seon, but was a devout
follower of the Mysteries—a degenerate form of the Jesker religion common in
rural areas. Though Hrovell was officially a Derethi nation, most of it was a
primitive, sparsely populated countryside which was difficult to supervise.
Many of the

peasants attended their Derethi services with devotion, then took part in
their midnight Mystery ceremonies with equal devotion. Forton himself was
considered something of a mystic in his town. though he always put on a show
of Derethi orthodoxy when he spoke with Hrathen.
Hrathen explained what he wanted, and Forton repeated it back. Though For-ton
was often drugged, he was very accomplished at the mixing of potions, poisons,
and elixirs. Hrathen had met no man in Sycla who could match Forton's skill.
One of the eccentric man's concoctions had restored Hrathen to health after he
had been poisoned by a political enemy. The slow-acting substance was said to
have no antidote.
"This will be no problem, my lord," Forton promised Hrathen in his thick
dialect. Even after years of dealing with the Hroven, Hrathen had trouble
understanding them. He was certain that most of them didn't even know there
was a pure, correct form of their language back in Fjorden.
"Good." Hrathen said.
"Yes, all I'll need to do is combine two formulas I already have," Forton
said. "How much do you want?"
"At least two doses. I will pay you the standard price."
"My true payment is the knowledge I have served Lord Jaddeth," the man said
piously.
Hrathen resisted the urge to laugh. He knew how much of a hold the Mysteries
had on Hrovell's people. It was a distasteful form of worship, a syncretic
combination of a dozen different faiths, with some aberrations—such as ritual
sacrifice and fertility rites—added in to make it more alluring. Hrovell,
however, was a task for another day. The people did what Wyrn commanded, and
they were too politically insignificant to cause Fjorden distress. Of course.
their souls were in serious danger: Jaddeth was not known for his leniency
toward the ignorant.
Another day, Hrathen told himself. Another day.
"When will my lord be needing this potion?" the man asked.
"That is the thing. Forton. I need it immediately."
"Where are you?"
"In Arelon." Hrathen said.
"Ah, good," Forton said. "My lord has finally decided to convert those
heathens."
"Yes," Hrathen said with a slight smile. "We Derethi have been patient with
the Arelenes long enough."
"Well, Your Lordship couldn't have picked a place farther away," Forton said.
"Even if I finish the potion tonight and send it in the morning, it will take
at least two weeks to arrive."
Hrathen chafed at the delay, but there was no other option. "Then do so,
For-ton. I will compensate you for working on such short notice."
lord."

"A true follower of Jaddeth wilI do anything to bring about His Empire, my
Well, at least he knows his Derethi doctrine, Hrathen thought with a mental
shrug.
"Is there anything else, my lord?" Forton asked. coughing slightly. "No. Get
to work, and send the potions as quickly as possible."
"Yes, my lord. I'll get started immediately. Feel free to pray to me any time
you need to."
Hrathen frowned—he had forgotten about that Iittle inaccuracy. Perhaps
For-ton's mastery of Derethi doctrine wasn't all that sound after all. Forton
didn't know Hrathen had a Seon; he simply assumed that a gyorn could pray to
Jaddeth and that God would direct his words through the Seons. As if Lord
Jaddeth were a member of the post.
"Goodnight. Forton." Hrathen said, keeping the displeasure from his voice.
Forton was a drug addict, a heretic, and a hypocrite—but he was still an
invaluable resource. Hrathen had long ago decided that if Jaddeth would suffer
his gyorns to communicate using Seons, then He would certainly let Hrathen use
men such as Forton.
After all, Jaddeth had created all men-even the heretics.
CHAPTER 19
THE city of Elantris glowed brilliantly. The very stones shone, as if each
 one held a fire within. The shattered domes had been restored, their smooth,
egglike surfaces blossoming across the landscape. Thin spires stabbed the air
like streaks of light. The wall was no longer a barrier, for its gates were
left permanently open-it existed not to protect, but for cohesion. The wall
was part of the city somehow, an essential element of the whole, without which
Elantris would not be complete.
And amid the beauty and the glory were the Elantrians. Their bodies seemed to
shine with the same inner light as the city, their skin a luminous pale
silver. Not

metallic. just ... pure. Their hair was white, but not the worn-out dull gray
or yellow of the aged. It was the blazing white of steel heated to an extreme
temperature—a color free of impurities, a powerful, focused white.
Their bearings were equally striking. The Elantrians moved through their city
with an air of complete control. The men were handsome and tall—even the short
ones—and the women were undeniably beautiful—even the homely ones. They were
unhurried; they strolled rather than walked, and they were quick to greet
those they met. There was a power in them, however. It radiated from their
eyes and underlay their motions. It was easy to understand why these beings
were worshipped as gods.
Equally unmistakable were the Aons. The ancient glyphs covered the city: they
were etched into walls, painted on doors, and written on signs. Most of them
were inert—simple markings, rather than runes with an arcane purpose. Others,
however, obviously held energy. Throughout the city stood large metal plates
carved with Aon Tia, and occasionally an Elantrian would approach and place
his or her hand in the center of the character. The Elantrian's body would
flash, and then disappear in a circular burst of light, his body instantly
transported to another section of the city.
Amid the glory was a small family of Kae townspeople. Their clothing was rich
and fine, their words were educated, but their skin did not glow. There were
other regular people in the city—not as many as the Elantrians, but a fair
number nonetheless. This comforted the boy, giving him a familiar reference.
The father carried his young son tightly, looking around with distrust. Not
everyone adored the Elantrians; some were suspicious. The boy's mother gripped
her husband's arm with tense fingers. She had never been inside Elantris,
though she had lived in Kae for over a decade. Unlike the boy's father, she
was more nervous than distrustful. She was worried about her son's wound,
anxious as any mother whose child was near death.
Suddenly, the boy felt the pain in his leg. It was blinding and intense,
stemming from the festering wound and shattered bone in his thigh. He had
fallen from someplace high. and his leg had snapped so soundly the shattered
bone had torn through the skin to jut into the air.
His father had hired the best surgeons and doctors, but they had been unable
to stop the infection. The bone had been set as well as possible. considering
that it had fractured in at least a dozen places. Even without the infection,
the boy would walk with a limp the rest of his days. With the infection . . .
amputation seemed the only recourse. Secretly, the doctors feared it was too
late for even that solution; the wound had occurred high on the leg, and the
infection had probably spread to the torso. The father had demanded the truth.
He knew his son was dying. And so he had come to Elantris, despite his
lifelong distrust of its gods.
They took the boy to a domed building. He nearly forgot his pain as the door

opened on its own, sliding inward without a sound. His father stopped abruptly
before the door, as if reconsidering his actions, but his mother tugged
insistently on the man's arm. His father nodded. bowing his head and entering
the building.
Light shone from glowing Aons on the walls. A woman approached, her white hair
long and full, her silvery face smiling encouragingly. She ignored his
father's distrust, her eyes sympathetic as she took the boy from hesitant
arms. She laid him carefully on a soft mat, then brought her hand into the air
above him, her long, thin index finger pointing at nothing.
The Elantrian moved her hand slowIy, and the air began to glow. A trail of
light followed her finger. It was like a rupture in the air. a line that
radiated with deep intensity. It was as if a river of light were trying to
force its way through the small crack. The boy could feel the power, he could
sense it raging to be free, but only this little was allowed to escape. Even
that little was so bright that he could barely see for the light.
The woman traced carefully, completing Aon len—but it wasn't just Aon Ien, it
was more complex. The core was the familiar Aon of healing, but there were
dozens of lines and curves at the sides. The boy's brow wrinkled-he had been
taught the Aons by his tutors. and it seemed odd that the woman should change
this one so drastically.
The beautiful Elantrian made one final mark at the side of her complex
construction. and the Aon began to glow even more intensely. The boy felt a
burning in his leg. then a burning up through his torso. He began to yell, but
the light suddenly vanished. The boy opened his eyes with surprise; the
afterimage of Aon Ien still burned into his vision. He blinked, looking down.
The wound was gone. Not even a scar remained.
But he could still feel the pain. It burned him, cut him, caused his soul to
tremble. It should have been gone, but it was not.
"Rest now, little one," the Elantrian said in a warm voice, pushing him back.
His mother was weeping with joy, and even his father looked satisfied. The boy
wanted to yell at them, to scream that something was wrong. His leg hadn't
been healed. The pain still remained.
No! Something is wrong! He tried to say, but he couldn't. He couldn't speak. .
..
"NO!" Raoden yelled, sitting upright with a sudden motion. He blinked a few
times. disoriented in the darkness. Finally, he took a few deep breaths,
putting his hand to his head. The pain did remain; it was growing so strong
that it even corrupted his dreams. He had dozens of tiny wounds and bruises
now, even though he had been in Elantris for only three weeks. He could feel
each one distinctly, and together they formed a unified frontal assault on
sanity.

Raoden groaned, leaning forward and grabbing his legs as he fought the pain.
His body could no longer sweat, but he could feel it trembling. He clamped his
teeth shut, gritting them against the surge of agony. Slowly, laboriously, he
reasserted control. He rebuffed the pain, soothing his tortured body until,
finally, he released his legs and stood.
It was growing worse. He knew it shouldn't be so bad yet: he hadn't even been
in Elantris for a month. He also knew that the pain was supposed to be steady,
or so everyone said, but for him it seemed to come in waves. It was always
there—always ready to pounce on him in a moment of weakness.
Sighing, Raoden pushed open the door to his chambers. He still found it odd
that Elantrians should sleep. Their hearts no longer beat, they no longer
needed breath. Why did they need sleep? The others, however, could give him no
answers. The only true experts had died ten years previously.
So, Raoden slept, and with that sleep came dreams. He had been eight when he
broke his leg. His father had been loath to bring him into the city; even
before the Reod, Iadon had been suspicious of Elantris. Raoden's mother, dead
some twelve years now, had insisted.
The child Raoden hadn't understood how close he'd come to death. He had felt
the pain, however, and the beautiful peace of its removal. He remembered the
beauty of both the city and its occupants. Iadon had spoken harshly of
Elantris as they left, and Raoden had contradicted the words with vehemence.
It was the first time Raoden could remember taking a position against his
father. After that, there had been many others.
As Raoden entered the main chapel, Saolin left his attendant position beside
Raoden's chamber, falling into place beside him. Over the last week. the
soldier had gathered a group of willing men and formed them into a squad of
guards.
"You know I am flattered by your attentiveness, Saolin," Raoden said. "But is
it really necessary?"
"A lord requires an honor guard, Lord Spirit," Saolin explained. "It wouldn't
be proper for you to go about alone."
"I'm not a lord, Saolin." Raoden said. "I'm just a leader—there is to be no
nobility in Elantris."
"I understand. my lord." Saolin said with a nod, obviously not seeing the
paradox within his own words. "However, the city is still a dangerous place."
"As you wish, Saolin," Raoden said. "How goes the planting?"
"Galladon has finished his plowing," Saolin said. "He has already organized
the planting teams."
"I shouldn't have slept so long," Raoden said, looking out the chapel window
to notice how high the sun had risen. He left the building, Saolin close
behind, and walked around a neat cobblestone path to the gardens. Kahar and
his crew had

cleaned off the stones, and then Dahad—one of Taan's followers—had used his
skills with stoneworking to reset them.
The planting was aIready well under way. Galladon oversaw the work with a
carefuI eye, his gruff tongue quick to point out any errors. However, there
was a peace about the Dula. Some men were farmers because they had no other
choice, but Galladon seemed to find true enjoyment in the activity.
Raoden remembered clearly that first day, when he had tempted Galladon with
the bit of dried meat. His friend's pain had barely been under control back
then-Raoden had been scared of the Dula severaI times during those first days.
Now none of that remained. Raoden could see it in Galladon's eyes and in his
bearing: He had found the "secret," as Kahar had put it. Galladon was in
control again. Now the only one Raoden had to fear was himself.
His theories were working better than even he had expected—but only on
everyone else. He had brought peace and purpose to the dozens who followed
him, but he couldn't do the same for himself. The pain still burned him. It
threatened him every morning when he awoke and stayed with him every moment he
was conscious. He was more purposeful than any of the others, and was the most
determined to see Elantris succeed. He filled his days, leaving no empty
moments to contemplate his suffering. Nothing worked. The pain continued to
build.
"My lord, watch out!" Saolin yelled.
Raoden jumped, turning as a growling, bare-chested Elantrian charged from a
darkened hallway, running toward Raoden. Raoden barely had time to step
backward as the wildman lifted a rusted iron bar and swung it directly at
Raoden's face.
Bare steel flashed out of nowhere, and Saolin's blade parried the blow. The
bestial newcomer halted, reorienting himself to a new foe. He moved too
slowly. Saolin's practiced hand delivered a thrust directly through the
madman's abdomen. Then, knowing that such a blow wouldn't stop an Elantrian,
Saolin swung a mighty backhand, separating the madman's head from his body.
There was no blood.
The corpse tumbled to the ground, and Saolin saluted Raoden with his blade,
shooting him a gap-toothed smile of reassurance. Then he spun around to face a
group of wildmen charging down a nearby street toward them.
Stunned, Raoden stumbled backward. "Saolin. no! There are too many of them!"
Fortunately, Saolin's men had heard the commotion. Within seconds, there were
five of them—Saolin, Dashe, and three other soldiers—standing against the
attack. They fought in an efficient line, blocking their enemy's path to the
rest of the gardens, working with the coordination of trained soldiers.
Shaor's men were more numerous, but their rage was no match for martial
efficiency. They attacked solitarily, and their fervor made them stupid. In
moments the battle was over, the few remaining attackers dashing away in
retreat.

Saolin cleaned his blade efficiently, then turned with the others. They
saluted Raoden in coordination.
The entire battle had happened almost more quickly than Raoden could follow.
"Good work," he finally managed to say.
A grunt came from his side, where Galladon knelt beside the decapitated body
of the first attacker. "They must have heard we had corn in here." the Dula
mumbled. "Poor rulos."
Raoden nodded solemnly. regarding the faIIen madmen. Four of them lay on the
ground, clutching various wounds-all of which would have been fatal had they
not been Elantrians. As it was, they could only moan in torment. Raoden felt a
stab of familiarity. He knew what that pain felt like.
"This cannot continue," he said quietly.
"I don't see how you can stop it, sule," Galladon replied at his side. "These
are Shaor's men; not even he has much control over them."
Raoden shook his head. "I will not save the people of Elantris and leave them
to fight all the days of their lives. I will not build a society on death.
Shaor's followers might have forgotten that they are men, but I have not."
Galladon frowned. "Ka' rata and Aanden, they were possibilities-if distant
ones. Shaor is another story, sule. There isn't a smear of humanity left in
these men-you can't reason with them."
"Then I'll have to give them their reason back," Raoden said.
"And how. sule, do you intend to do that?"
"I will find a way."
Raoden knelt by the fallen madman. A tickle in the back of his mind warned him
that he recognized this man from recent experience. Raoden couldn't be
certain. bur he thought that the man had been one of Taan's followers, one of
the men Raoden had confronted during Dashe's attempted raid.
So, it's true, Raoden thought with a crimp in his stomach. Many of Taan's
followers had come to join Raoden, but the larger part had not. It was
whispered that many of these had found their way to the merchant sector of
Elantris, joining with Shaor's wildmen. It wasn't all that unlikely, Raoden
supposed—the men had been willing to follow the obviously unbalanced Aanden,
after all. Shaor's band was only a short step away from that.
"Lord Spirit?" Saolin asked hesitantly. "What should we do with them?" Raoden
turned pitying eyes on the fallen. "They are of no danger to us now, Saolin.
Let's put them with the others."
SOON after his success with Aanden's gang, and the subsequent swell in his
band's numbers, Raoden had done something he'd wanted to from the beginning.
He started gathering the fallen of Elantris.

He took them off the streets and out of the gutters, searched through
buildings both destroyed and standing, trying to find every man, woman, and
child in Elantris who had given in to their pain. The city was large, and
Raoden's manpower was limited, but so far they had collected hundreds of
people. He ordered them placed in the second building Kahar had cleaned, a
large open structure he had originally intended to use as a meeting place. The
Hoed would still suffer, but at least they could do it with a little decency.
And they wouldn't have to do it alone. Raoden had asked the people in his band
to visit the Hoed. There were usually a couple of Elantrians walking among
them, talking soothingly and trying to make them as comfortable as possible
considering the circumstances. It wasn't much-and no one could stomach much
time among the Hoed—but Raoden had convinced himself that it helped. He
followed his own counsel. visiting the Hall of the Fallen at least once a day.
and it seemed to him that they were improving. The Hoed still groaned,
mumbled, or stared blankly, but the more vocal ones seemed quieter. Where the
Hall had once been a place of fearful screams and echoes, it was now a subdued
realm of quiet mumblings and despair.
Raoden moved among them gravely, helping carry one of the fallen wildmen.
There were only four to deposit; he had ordered the fifth man, the one Saolin
had beheaded, buried. As far as anyone could tell, an Elantrian died when he
was completely beheaded—at least, their eyes didn't move, nor did their lips
try to speak, if the head was completely separated from the body.
As he walked through the Hoed, Raoden listened to their quiet murmurings.
"Beautiful, once so very beautiful...."
'Life, life, life, life, life. . ."
"Oh Domi, where are you? When will it end? Oh Domi...."
He usually had to block the words out after a time, lest they drive him
insane—or worse. reawaken the pain within his own body. ten was there,
floating around sightless heads and weaving between fallen bodies. The Seon
spent a lot of time in the room. It was strangely fitting.
They left the Hall a solemn group, quiet and content to keep to their own
thoughts. Raoden only spoke when he noticed the tear in Saolin's robes.
"You're wounded!" Raoden said with surprise.
"It is nothing, my lord," Saolin said indifferently.
"That kind of modesty is fine on the outside, Saolin, but not here. You must
accept my apology."
"My lord," Saolin said seriously. "Being an Elantrian only makes me more proud
to wear this wound. I received it protecting our people."
Raoden turned a tormented look back at the Hall. "It only brings you one step
closer ..."
"No, my lord, I don't think it does. Those people gave in to their pain
because
they couldn't find purpose—their torture was meaningless, and when you can't
find reason in life, you tend to give up on it. This wound will hurt, but each
stab of pain will remind me that I earned it with honor. That is not such a
bad thing. I think."
Raoden regarded the old soldier with a look of respect. On the outside he
probably would have been close to retirement. In Elantris, with the Shaod as
an equalizer, he looked about the same as anyone else. One couldn't tell age
by looks, but perhaps one could tell it through wisdom.
"You speak discerningly, my friend." Raoden said. "I accept your sacrifice
with humility."
The conversation was interrupted by the slap of feet against cobblestones. A
moment later Karata dashed into view, her feet coated with fresh sludge from
outside the chapel area. Kahar would be furious: she had forgotten to wipe
down her feet, and now she was tracking slime over his clean cobblestones.
Karata obviously didn't care about slime at the moment. She surveyed the group
quickly, making sure no one was missing. "I heard Shaor attacked. Were there
any casualties?"
"Five. All on their side." Raoden said.
"I should have been here," she said with a curse. During the last few days,
the determined woman had been overseeing the relocation of her people to the
chapel area: she agreed that a central, unified group would be more effective,
and the chapel area was cleaner. Oddly enough, the idea of cleaning the palace
had never occurred to her. To most Elantrians, the sludge was accepted as an
irrevocable part of life.
"You have important things to do," Raoden said. "You couldn't have anticipated
Shaor would attack."
Karata didn't like the answer, but she fell into line beside him without
further complaint.
"Look at him, sule," Galladon said. smiling slightly beside him. "I would
never have thought it possible."
Raoden looked up, following the Dula's gaze. Taan knelt beside the road,
inspecting the carvings on a short wall with childlike wonder. The
squat-bodied former baron had spent the entire week cataloguing each carving,
sculpture, or relief in the chapel area. He had already discovered, in his
words, "at least a dozen new techniques." The changes in Taan were remarkable.
as was his sudden lack of interest in leadership. Karata still maintained a
measure of influence in the group, accepting Raoden as the ultimate voice but
retaining most of her authority. Taan, however. didn't bother to give orders;
he was too busy with his studies.
His people-the ones who had decided to join with Raoden-didn't seem to mind.
Taan now estimated that about thirty percent of his "court" had found its way
to Raoden's band, trickling in as small groups. Raoden hoped that most of

the others had chosen solitude instead: he found the idea of seventy percent
of Taan's large band joining with Shaor very disturbing. Raoden had all of
Karata's people, but her gang had always been the smallest-if most
efficient—of the three. Shaor's had always been the largest: its members had
just lacked the cohesion and the motivation to attack the other gangs. The
occasional newcomers Shaor's men had been given had sated their bIoodlust.
No longer. Raoden would accept no quarter with the madmen, would not allow
them to torment innocent newcomers. Karata and Saolin now retrieved everyone
thrown into the city, bringing them safely to Raoden's band. So far. the
reaction from Shaor's men had not been good—and Raoden feared that it would
only grow worse.
I'II have to do something about them, he thought. That, however, was a problem
for another day. He had studies he needed to get to for the moment.
Once they reached the chapel, Galladon went back to his planting, Saolin's men
dispersed to their patrols, and Karata decided—despite her earlier
protests—that she should return to the palace. Soon only Raoden and Saolin
were left.
After the battle and sleeping so late, over half the day's light had already
been wasted, and Raoden attacked his studies with determination. While
Galladon planted and Karata evacuated the palace, it was Raoden's
self-appointed duty to decipher as much as he could about AonDor. He was
becoming increasingly convinced that the ancient magic of the characters held
the secret of Elantris's fall.
He reached through one of the chapel windows and pulled out the thick AonDor
tome sitting on a table inside. So far, it hadn't been as helpful as he had
hoped. It was not an instruction manual, but a series of case studies
explaining odd or interesting events surrounding AonDor. Unfortunately, it was
extremely advanced. Most of the book gave examples of what wasn't supposed to
happen, and so Raoden needed to use reverse reasoning to decipher the logic of
AonDor.
So far he had been able to determine very little. It was becoming obvious that
the Aons were only starting points—the most basic figures one could draw to
produce an effect. Just like the expanded healing Aon from his dream, advanced
AonDor consisted of drawing a base Aon in the center, then proceeding to draw
other figures-sometimes just dots and lines-around it. The dots and lines were
stipulations, narrowing or broadening the power's focus. With careful drawing,
for instance, a healer could specify which limb was to be healed, what exactly
was to be done to it, and how an infection was to be cleansed.
The more Raoden read, the less he was beginning to see Aons as mystical
symbols. They seemed more like mathematical computations. While most any
Elantrian could draw the Aons—all it required was a steady hand and a basic
knowledge of how to write the characters—the masters of AonDor were the ones
who could swiftly and accurately delineate dozens of smaller modifications
around the central Aon. Unfortunately, the book assumed that its reader had a
comprehensive

knowledge of AonDor, and passed over most of the basic principles. The few
illustrations included were so incredibly complex that Raoden usually couldn't
even tell which character was the base Aon without referring to the text.
"If only he would explain what it means to 'channel the Dor'!" Raoden
exclaimed, rereading a particularly annoying passage that kept using the
phrase.
"Dor, sule?" Galladon asked, turning away from his planting. "That sounds like
a Duladen term."
Raoden sat upright. The character used in the book to represent "Dor" was an
uncommon one-not really an Aon at all, but simply a phonetic representation.
As if the word had been transliterated from a different language.
"Galladon, you're right!" Raoden said. "It isn't Aonic at all."
"Of course not—it can't be an Aon, it only has one vowel in it." "That's a
simplistic way of putting it. my friend."
-But it's true. Kolo?"
"Yes. I suppose it is," Raoden said. "That doesn't matter right now-what
matters is Dor. Do you know what it means?"
"Well, if it's the same word, then it refers to something in Jesker."
"What do the Mysteries have to do with this?" Raoden asked suspiciously.
"Doloken, sule!" Galladon swore. "I've told you, Jesker and the Mysteries are
not the same thing! What Opelon calls the 'Jeskeri Mysteries' is no more
related to
Duladel's religion than it is to Shu-Keseg."
"Point taken." Raoden said. raising his hands. "Now, tell me about Dor."
"It's hard to explain, sule," Galladon said, leaning on a makeshift hoe he had
crafted out of a pole and some rocks. "Dor is the unseen power-it is in
everything, but cannot be touched. It affects nothing, yet it controls
everything. Why do rivers flow?"
"Because the water is pulled downwards, just like everything else. The ice
melts in the mountains, and it has to have a place to go."
"Correct," Galladon said. "Now, a different question. What makes the water
want to flow?"
"I wasn't aware that it needed to."
"It does, and the Dor is its motivation," Galladon said. "Jesker teaches that
only humans have the ability—or the curse-of being oblivious to the Dor. Did
you know that if you take a bird away from its parents and raise it in your
house, it will still learn to fly?"
Raoden shrugged.
"How did it learn, sule? Who taught it to fly?"
"The Dor?" Raoden asked hesitantly.
"That is correct."
Raoden smiled; the explanation sounded too religiously mysterious to be
useful. But then he thought of his dream. his memories of what had happened so

long ago. When the Elantrian healer had drawn her Aon, it appeared as if a
tear were appearing in the air behind her finger. Raoden could still feel the
chaotic power raging behind that tear, the massive force trying to press its
way through the Aon to get at him. It sought to overwhelm him. to break him
down until he became part of it. However. the healer's carefully constructed
Aon had funneled the power into a usable form, and it had healed Raoden's leg
instead of destroying him.
That force, whatever it had been, was real. It was there behind the Aons he
drew, weak though they were. "That must be it.... Galladon, that's why we are
still alive!"
"What are you babbling about, sule?" Galladon said, looking up from his work
with tolerance.
"That is why we live on, even though our bodies don't work anymore!" Rao-den
said with excitement. "Don't you see? We don't eat, yet we get the energy to
keep moving. There must be some link between Elantrians and the Dor—it feeds
our bodies, providing the energy we need to survive."
"Then why doesn't it give us enough to keep our hearts moving and our skin
from turning gray?" Galladon asked, unconvinced.
"Because it's barely enough," Raoden explained. "AonDor no longer works—the
power that once fueled the city has been reduced to a bare trickle. The
important thing is, it's not gone. We can still draw Aons, even if they are
weak and don't do anything. and our minds continue to live, even if our bodies
have given up. We just need to find a way to restore it to full power."
"Oh, is that all?" Galladon asked. "You mean we need to fix what is broken?"
"I guess so," Raoden said. "The important thing is realizing there's a link
between ourselves and the Dor. Galladon. Not only that—but there must be some
sort of link between this land and the Dor."
Galladon frowned. "Why do you say that?"
"Because AonDor was developed in Arelon and nowhere else," Raoden said. "The
text says that the farther one traveled from Elantris, the weaker the AonDor
powers became. Besides—only people from Arelon are taken by the Shaod. It can
take Teoish people, but only if they're living in Arelon at the time. Oh, and
it takes the occasional Dula as well."
"I hadn't noticed."
"There's some link between this land, the Arelish people, and the Dor,
Galladon," Raoden said. "I've never heard of a Fjordell getting taken by the
Shaod, no matter how long he lives in Arelon. Dulas are a mixed people—half
Jindo, half Aonic. Where was your farm in Duladen?"
Galladon frowned. "In the north, sule."
"The part that borders Arelon." Raoden said triumphantly. "It has something to
do with the land, and with our Aonic bloodlines."

Galladon shrugged. "It sounds like it makes sense, sule, but I'm just a simple
farmer—what know I of such things?"
Raoden snorted, not bothering to respond to the comment. "But why? What's the
connection? Maybe the Fjordell are right—maybe Arelon is cursed."
"Hypothesize away, stiIe," Galladon said, turning back to his work.     don't
see much empirical good to it, though."
"All right. Well, I'll stop theorizing as soon as you telI me where a simple
farmer learned the word 'empirical.' "
Galladon didn't respond. but Raoden thought he could hear the Dula chuckling
softly.
CHAPTER 20
L ET me see if I understand you, Princess dear," Ahan said, holding aloft a
chubby finger. "You want us to help Iadon? How foolish I am-I thought we
didn't like the fellow." "We don't." Sarene agreed. "Helping the king
financially doesn't have anything to do with our personal feelings."
"I'm afraid I have to agree with Ahan, Princess," Roial said with outspread
hands. "Why the sudden change? What good will it do to aid the king now?"
Sarene gritted her teeth in annoyance. Then, however, she caught a twinkle in
the elderly duke's eye. He knew. The duke reportedly had a spy network as
extensive as most kings'—he had figured out what Hrathen was trying to do. He
had asked the question not to provoke her, but to give her an opportunity to
explain. Sarene exhaled slowly, grateful for the duke's tact.
"Someone is sinking the king's ships." Sarene said. "Common sense confirms
what my father's spies say. Dreok Crushthroat's fleets couldn't be sinking the
boats-most of Dreok's ships were destroyed fifteen years ago when he tried to
take the throne of Teod, and any remnants have long since disappeared. Wyrn
must be behind the sinkings."
"All right, we accept that much," Ahan said.

"Fjorden is also giving financial support to Duke Telrii." Sarene continued.
"You don't have any proof of that, Your Highness," Eondel pointed out.
"No, I don't," Sarene admitted, pacing between the men's chairs, the ground
soft with new spring grass. They had eventually decided to hold this meeting
in the gardens of Kae's Korathi chapel. and so there was no tabIe for her to
circle. Sarene had managed to remain seated during the first parr of the
meeting, but had eventually stood. She found it easier to address others when
she was on her feet-something of a nervous habit, she realized, but she also
knew that her height lent her an air of authority.
"I do, however, have logical conjecture," she said. Eondel wouId respond well
to anything following the word "logical." "We all attended Telrii's party a
week ago. He must have spent more on that ball than most men make in a year."
"Extravagance isn't always a sign of wealth." Shuden pointed out. "I've seen
men poor as a peasant put on dazzling shows to maintain an illusion of
security in the face of collapse." Shuden's words rang true-a man at their own
meeting, Baron Edan. was doing just what Shuden described.
Sarene frowned. "I've done some checking around—I had a lot of free time this
last week, since none of you managed to get this meeting together, despite its
urgency." None of the noblemen would meet her eyes after that comment. She'd
finally gotten them together. But, unfortunately, Kiin and Lukel hadn't been
able to attend because of a prior engagement. "Anyway, rumors say that
Telrii's accounts have swelled drastically during the last two weeks, and his
shipments to Fjorden turn fantastic profits no matter what he chooses to send,
whether it be fine spices or cow dung."
"The fact remains that the duke has not aligned himself with Shu-Dereth."
Eondel pointed out. "He still attends his Korathi meetings piously."
Sarene folded her arms, tapping her cheek in thought. "If Telrii openly
aligned himself with Fjorden, his earnings would be suspicious. Hrathen is far
too crafty to be so transparent. It would be much smarter for Fjorden to
remain separate from the duke. allowing Telrii to appear a pious conservative.
Despite Hrathen's recent advances, it would be much easier for a traditional
Korathi to usurp the throne than it would be for a Derethi."
"He'll take the throne, then make good on his pact with Wyrn." Roial agreed.
"Which is why we have to make sure Iadon starts earning money again very
soon," Sarene said. "The nation is running dry—it is very possible that Telrii
will earn more in this next accounting period than Iadon, even including
taxes. I doubt the king would abdicate. However, if Telrii were to stage a
coup, the other nobles might go along with him."
"How do you like that. Edan?" Ahan asked, directing a hearty laugh at the
anxious baron. "You might not be the only one who loses his title in a few
months—old Iadon himself might join you."

"If you please, Count Ahan," Sarene said. "It's our duty to make sure that
doesn't happen."
"What do you want us to do?" Edan asked nervously. "Send gifts to the king? I
don't have any money to spare."
"None of us do. Edan," Ahan responded, hands resting on his ample belly. "If
it were 'spare' it wouldn't be valuable now, would it?"
"You know what he means, Ahan," Roial chided. "And I doubt gifts are what the
princess had in mind."
"Actually, I'm open for suggestions, gentlemen," Sarene said, spreading out
her hands. "I'm a politician, not a merchant. I'm a confessed amateur at
making money."
"Gifts wouldn't work," Shuden said, hands laced before his chin
contemplatively. "The king is a proud man who has earned his fortune through
sweat, work, and scheming. He would never take handouts, even to save his
throne. Besides. merchants are notoriously suspicious of gifts."
"We could go to him with the truth," Sarene suggested. "Maybe then he'd accept
our help."
"He wouldn't believe us," Roial said with a shake of his aged head. "The king
is a very literal man, Sarene—even more so than our dear Lord Eondel. Generals
have to think abstractly to outguess their opponents, but Iadon—I seriously
doubt he's had an abstract thought in his life. The king accepts things as
they appear to be, especially if they are the way he thinks they should be."
"Which is why Lady Sarene fooled His Majesty with her apparent lack of wits,"
Shuden agreed. "He expected her to be foolish, and when she appeared to fit
his expectations he dismissed her—even if her act was terribly overdone."
Sarene chose not to rebut that remark.
"Pirates are something Iadon understands," Roial said. "They make sense in the
world of shipping—in a way. every merchant considers himself a pirate.
However, governments are different. In the king's eyes, it wouldn't make sense
for a kingdom to sink ships filled with valuable merchandise. The king would
never attack merchants, no matter how tense the war. And as far as he knows,
Arelon and Fjorden are good friends. He was the first one to let Derethi
priests into Kae, and he has given that gyorn Hrathen every liberty of a
visiting nobleman. I seriously doubt we could convince him that Wyrn is trying
to depose him."
"We could try framing Fjorden." Eondel suggested. "Making it obvious that the
sinkings are Wyrn's work."
"It would take too long, Eondel," Ahan said, shaking his jowls. "Besides,
Iadon doesn't have many ships left—I doubt he'll risk them in those same
waters again."
Sarene nodded. "It would also be very difficult for us to establish a
connection to Wyrn. He's probably using Svordish warships for the task—Fjorden
itself doesn't have much of a navy."
"Was Dreok Crushthroat Svordish?" Eondel asked with a frown.

"I heard he was Fjordell," Ahan said.
"No," Roial said. "I think he was supposed to be Aonic, wasn't he?"
"Anyway," Sarene said impatiently, trying to keep the meeting on track as she
paced across the loamy garden floor. "Lord Ahan said he wouldn't risk his
ships in those waters again, but the king obviously has to keep them shipping
somewhere."
Ahan nodded in agreement. "He can't afford to stop now-spring is one of the
best buying seasons. People have been cooped up all winter with drab colors
and drabber relatives. As soon as the snows melt, they're ready to splurge a
little. This is the time when expensive colored siIks go for a premium, and
that is one of Iadon's best products.
"These sinkings are a disaster. Not only did Iadon lose the ships themselves,
he lost the profit he would have made off all those silks. not to mention the
other cargo. Many merchants nearly bankrupt themselves this time of year by
stockpiling goods that they know they can eventually sell."
"His Majesty got greedy," Shuden said. "He bought more and more ships, and
filled them with as much silk as he could afford."
'We're all greedy, Shuden," Ahan said. "Don't forget, your family earned its
fortune by organizing the spice route from Jindo. You didn't even ship
anything—you just built the roads and charged the merchants to use them."
"Let me rephrase. Lord Ahan," Shuden said. "The king let his greed make him
foolish. Disasters are something every good merchant should plan for. Never
ship what you can't afford to lose."
"Well put," Ahan agreed.
"Anyway." Sarene said, "if the king only has a couple of ships left, then they
have to deliver a solid profit."
" 'Solid' isn't the right word, my dear," Ahan said. "Try 'extraordinary.' It
is going to take a miracle for Iadon to recoup from this little
catastrophe—especially before Telrii humiliates him irreparably."
"What if he had an agreement with Teod?" Sarene asked. "An extremely lucrative
contract for silks?"
"Maybe," Ahan said with a shrug. "It's clever."
"But impossible." Duke Roial said.
"Why?" Sarene demanded. "Teod can afford it."
"Because," the duke explained, "Iadon would never accept such a contract. He's
too experienced a merchant to make a deal that appears too fabulous to be
realistic."
"Agreed," Shuden said with a nod. "The king wouldn't be against making a
horrible profit off of Teod, but only if he thought he was cheating you."
The others nodded at Shuden's statement. Although the Jindoeese man was the
youngest in the group, Shuden was quickly proving himself to be as shrewd as
Roial—perhaps more so. Thar capability, mixed with his deserved reputation for

honesty, earned him respect beyond his years. It was a powerful man indeed who
could mix integrity with savvy.
"We'll have to think on this some more," Roial said. "But not too long. We
must solve the problem by the accounting day, otherwise we'll be dealing with
Telrii instead of Iadon. As bad as my old friend is, I know we'd have less
luck with Telrii—especially if Fjorden is backing him."
"Is everyone doing as I asked with their planting?" Sarene asked as the nobles
prepared to leave.
"It wasn't easy," Ahan admitted. "My overseers and minor nobles all objected
to the idea."
"But you did it."
"I did," Ahan said.
"As did I," Roial said.
"I had no choice," Edan muttered.
Shuden and Eondel each gave her quiet nods.
"We started planting last week," Edan said. "How long before we see results?"
"Hopefully within the next three months, for your sake, my lord" Sarene said.
"That is usually long enough to get an estimate of how good a crop will do,"
Shuden said.
"I still don't see how it matters whether the people think they're free or
not," Ahan said. "The same seeds get planted, and so the same crop should come
up." "You'll be surprised, my lord," Sarene promised.
"May we go now?" Edan asked pointedly. He still chafed at the idea of Sarene
running these meetings.
"One more question, my lords. I've been considering my Widow's Trial, and
would like to hear what you think."
The men began to shift uncomfortably at the statement, looking at each other
uneasily.
"Oh, come now," Sarene said with a displeased frown, "you're grown men. Get
over your childish fear of Elantris."
"It is a very delicate topic in Arelon, Sarene," Shuden said.
"Well, it appears that Hrathen isn't worried about that," she said. "You all
know what he's begun to do."
"He's drawing a parallel between Shu-Korath and Elantris." Roial said with a
nod. "He's trying to turn the people against the Korathi priests."
"And he's going to be successful if we don't stop him," Sarene said, "which
requires you all to get over your squeamishness and stop pretending that
Elantris doesn't exist. The city is a major part of the gyorn's plans."
The men shot each other knowing looks in the dense Korathi garden. The men
thought she paid undue attention to the gyorn they saw Iadon's government

as a major problem, but religion didn't seem a tangible threat. They didn't
understand that in Fjorden. at least, religion and war were almost the same
thing.
"You're just going to have to trust me, my lords," Sarene said. "Hrathen's
schemes are important. You said the king sees things concretely—well, this
Hrathen is the opposite. He views everything by its potential, and his goal is
co make Arelon another Fjordell protectorate. If he is using Elantris against
us, we must respond."
"Just have that short Korathi priest agree with him," Ahan suggested. "Put
them on the same side, then no one can use the city against anyone else."
"Omin won't do that, my lord," Sarene said with a shake of her head. "He bears
the Elantrians no ill will, and he would never consent to labeling them
devils."
"Couldn't he just . . ." Ahan said.
"Merciful Domi. Ahan," Roial said. "Don't you ever attend his sermons? The man
would never do that."
"I go." Ahan said indignantly. "I just thought he might be willing to serve
his kingdom. We could compensate him."
"No, my lord," Sarene said insistently. "Omin is a man of the Church-a good
and sincere one, at that. To him, truth is not subject to debate—or sale. I'm
afraid we have no choice. We have to side with Elantris."
Several faces, including Eondel and Edan's, blanched at that statement.
"That might not be an easy proposition to carry out, Sarene." Roial warned.
"You may think us childish, but these four are among the most intelligent and
open-minded men in Arelon. If you find them nervous about Elantris, then you
will find the rest of Arelon more so."
"We have to change that sentiment, my lord," Sarene said. "And my Widow's
Trial is our opportunity. I am going to take food to the Elantrians."
This time she succeeded in getting a reaction even from Shuden and Roial. "Did
I hear your correctly, my dear?" Ahan asked with a shaky voice. "You're going
to go into Elantris?"
"Yes." Sarene said.
"I need something to drink," Ahan decided, unstoppering his wine flask. "The
king will never allow it," Edan said. "He doesn't even let the Elantris City
Guards go inside."
"He's right," Shuden agreed. "You will never get through those gates, Your
Highness."
"Let me deal with the king." Sarene said.
"Your subterfuge won't work this time, Sarene," Roial warned. "No amount of
stupidity will convince the king to let you into the city."
"I'll think of something," Sarene said, trying to sound more certain than she
was. "It's not your concern, my lord. I just want your word that you will help
me."

"Help you?" Ahan asked hesitantly.
"Help me distribute food in Elantris," Sarene said.
Ahan's eyes bugged out. "Help you?" he repeated. "In there?"
"My goal is to demystify the city," Sarene explained. "To do that, I'll need
to convince the nobility to go inside and see for themselves that there's
nothing horrifying about the Elantrians."
"I'm sorry to sound objectionable," Eondel began. "But, Lady Sarene, what if
there is? What if everything they say about Elantris is true?"
Sarene paused. "I don't think they're dangerous, Lord Eondel. I've looked in
on the city and its people. There is nothing frightening about Elantris—well,
nothing besides the way its people are treated. I don't believe the tales
about monsters or Elantrian cannibalism. I just see a collection of men and
women who have been mistreated and misjudged."
Eondel didn't look convinced, and neither did the others.
"Look, I'll go in first and test it," Sarene said. "I want you lords to join
me after the first few days."
"Why us?" Edan said with a groan.
"Because I need to start somewhere," Sarene explained. "If you lords brave the
city, then others will feel foolish if they object. Aristocrats have a group
mentality; if I can build some momentum, then I can probably get most of them
to come in with me at least once. Then they'll see that there is nothing
horrible about Elantris—that its people are just poor wretches who want to
eat. We can defeat Hrathen with simple truth. It is hard to demonize a man
after you have seen tears in his eyes as he thanks you for feeding him."
"This is all pointless anyway," Edan said, his hand twitching at the thought
of entering Elantris. "The king will never let her in."
"And if he does?" Sarene asked quickly. "Then will you go. Edan?"
The baron blinked in surprise, realizing he had been caught. She waited for
him to respond, but he stubbornly refused to answer the question.
"I will," Shuden declared.
Sarene smiled at the Jindo. This was the second time he had been the first to
offer her support.
"If Shuden's going to do it. then I doubt the rest of us will have the
humility to say no," Roial said. "Get your permission, Sarene. then we will
discuss this further."
"MAYBE I was a little too optimistic," Sarene admitted, standing outside the
doors to Iadon's study. A pair of guards stood a short distance away, watching
her suspiciously.
"Do you know what you are going to do, my lady?" Ashe asked. The Seon had

spent the meeting floating just outside the chapel walls—well within his range
of hearing-making certain that no one else was eavesdropping on their meeting.
Sarene shook her head. She had displayed bravado when confronted by Ahan and
the others, but now she realized how misplaced that sentiment had been. She
had no idea how she was going to get Iadon to let her into Elantris—let alone
get him to accept their help.
"Did you speak with Father?" she asked.
"I did, my lady." Ashe replied. "He said he would give you whatever financial
help you required."
"All right," Sarene said. "Let's go." She took a deep breath and strode toward
the soldiers. "I would speak with my father," she announced.
The guards glanced at each other. "Urn, we were told not to ..."
"That doesn't apply to family, soldier," Sarene said insistently. "If the
queen came to speak with her husband would you turn her away?"
The guards frowned in confusion; Eshen probably didn't come to visit. Sarene
had noticed that the bubbly queen tended to keep her distance from Iadon. Even
silly women resent being described that way to their faces.
"Just open the door, soldier," Sarene said. "If the king doesn't want to talk
to me. he'll throw me out. and next time you will know not to let me in."
The guards hesitated, and Sarene simply pushed her way between them and opened
the door herself. The guards, obviously unused to dealing with forceful
women—especially in the royal family-simply let her pass.
Iadon looked up from his desk, a pair of spectacles she had never seen him
wear before balanced on the end of his nose. He quickly pulled them off and
stood, slamming his hands against the desktop in annoyance. disturbing several
invoice stacks in the process.
"You aren't content to annoy me in public, so you have to follow me to my
study as well?" he demanded. "If I'd known what a foolish, spindly girl you
were, I would never have signed that treaty. Be gone, woman, and leave me to
work!"
"I tell you what, Father," Sarene said with frankness. "I'll pretend to be an
intelligent human being capable of a semilucid conversation, and you pretend
the same thing."
Iadon's eyes grew wide at the comment, and his face turned a bright red. "Rag
Domi!" he swore, using a curse so vile Sarene had only heard it twice. "You
tricked me, woman. I could have you beheaded for making me look the fool."
"Start decapitating your children, Father, and people will begin to ask
questions." She watched his reaction carefully, hoping to glean something
about Rao-den's disappearance, but she was disappointed. Iadon brushed off the
comment with only passing attention.
"I should ship you back to Eventeo right now," he said.
"Fine, I'd be happy to go," she lied. "However, realize that if I go, you lose

your trade treaty with Teod. That could be a problem, considering the luck
you've had peddling your silks in Fjorden lately."
Iadon gritted his teeth at the comment.
"Careful, my lady." Ashe whispered. "Do not unsettle him too much. Men often
place pride before reason."
Sarene nodded. "I can give you a way out, Father. I have come to offer you a
deal."
"What reason do I have to accept any offers from you, woman?" he snapped. "You
have been here nearly a month, and now I find that you have been deceiving me
the whole time."
"You will trust me. Father. because you have lost seventy-five percent of your
fleet to pirates. In a few short months you could lose your throne unless you
listen to me."
Iadon betrayed surprise at her knowledge. "How do you know these things?"
"Everyone knows, Father." Sarene said lightly. "It's all over the court—they
expect you to fall at the next taxing period."
"1 knew it!" Iadon said, his eyes widening with rage. He began to sweat and
curse at the courtiers, railing at their determination to see him off the
throne.
Sarene blinked in surprise. She had made the comment passingly to keep Iadon
off balance, but hadn't expected such a strong reaction. He's paranoid! she
realized. Why hasn't anyone noticed this before? However, the speed with which
Iadon recovered gave her a clue—he was paranoid. but he kept it well hidden.
The way she was jerking his emotions must have weakened his control.
"You propose a deal?" the king demanded.
"I do," Sarene said. "Silk is going for a premium in Teod right now, Father.
One could make quite a profit selling it to the king. And, considering certain
familial relationships. you might be able to talk Eventeo into giving you sole
mercantile rights in his country."
Iadon grew suspicious, his rage cooling as he sensed a bargain. However, the
merchant in him immediately began to sniff for problems. Sarene gritted her
teeth in frustration: It was as the others had told her. Iadon would never
accept her offer: it stank too much of deceit.
"An interesting proposal." he admitted. "But I'm afraid that I-"
"I would, of course, require something in return," Sarene interrupted.
thinking quickly. "Call it a fee for setting up the deal between Eventeo and
yourself."
Iadon paused. "What kind of fee are we talking about?" he asked warily. An
exchange was different from a gift—it could be weighed, measured, and. to an
extent, trusted.
"I want to go inside Elantris," Sarene declared.
"What?"

"I have to perform a Widow's Trial" Sarene said. "So, I am going to bring food
to the Elantrians."
"What possible motivation could you have for doing that, woman?"
"Religious reasons, Father," Sarene explained. "Shu-Korath teaches us to help
those most lowly, and I challenge you to find anyone more lowly than the
Elantrians."
"It's out of the question." Iadon said. "Entry into Elantris is forbidden by
law."
"A law you made, Father," Sarene said pointedly. "And, therefore, you can make
exceptions. Think carefuIly-your fortune, and your throne, couId baIance on
your answer."
Iadon ground his teeth audibly as he considered the trade. "You want to enter
Elantris with food? For how long?"
'Until I am eonvinced my duty as Prince Raoden's wife has been fulfilled,"
Sarene said.
"You would go alone?"
"I would take any who were willing to accompany me."
Iadon snorted. "You'll have trouble finding anyone to fill that requirement."
"My problem, not yours."
"First that Fjordell devil starts whipping my people into mobs, now you would
do the same," the king mumbled.
"No, Father," Sarene corrected. "I want quite the opposite—chaos would only
benefit Wyrn. Believe as you wish, but it is my sole concern to see stability
in Arelon."
Iadon continued to think for a moment. "No more than ten at a time, excluding
guards," he finally said. "I don't want mass pilgrimages going into Elantris.
You will enter an hour before noon and you will be gone by an hour after noon.
No exceptions."
"Done," Sarene agreed. "You may use my Seon to call King Eventeo to work out
the details of the deal."
"I must admit, my lady, that was rather clever." Ashe bobbed along beside her
in the hallway on the way to her room.
Sarene had stayed as Iadon spoke with Eventeo, mediating as the two worked out
the deal. Her father's voice had contained a hearty measure of "I hope you
know what you're doing, 'Erie" in it. Eventeo was a kind and good king, but he
was an absolutely horrible businessman; he kept a fleet of accountants to
manage the royal finances. Once Iadon had sensed her father's inability, he
struck with the enthusiasm of a raging predator, and only Sarene's presence
had kept Iadon from leaking away Teod's entire tax revenue in a rampage of
trading fervor. As it was, Iadon had managed to talk them into buying his
silks for four times as much

as they were worth. The king had been beaming so widely as Sarene left that he
almost appeared to have forgiven her for her charade.
"Clever?" Sarene asked innocently in response to Ashe's comment. "Me?" The
Seon bobbed, chuckling softly. "Is there anyone you can't manipulate, my
lady?"
"Father," Sarene said. "You know he gets the better of me three times out of
five."
"He says the same thing about you, my lady." Ashe noted.
Sarene smiled, pushing open the door to her room to prepare for bed. "It
really wasn't that clever, Ashe. We should have realized that our problems
were really solutions to one another—one an offer with no catch, the other a
request with no sweetener."
Ashe made noises of displeasure as he floated around the room, "tisking,"
offended at its messy state.
"What?" Sarene asked, unwrapping the black ribbon tied around her upper
arm-the only remaining sign of her mourning.
"The room has not been cleaned again, my lady," Ashe explained.
"Well, it's not like I left it that messy in the first place," Sarene said
with a huff.
"No, Your Highness is a very tidy woman," Ashe agreed. "However, the palace
maids have been lax in their duties. A princess deserves proper esteem—if you
allow them to neglect their work, it won't be long before they stop respecting
you."
"I think you're reading too much into it, Ashe," Sarene said with a shake of
her head, pulling off her dress and preparing her nightgown. "I'm supposed to
be the suspicious one. remember?"
"This is a matter of servants, not lords, my lady," Ashe said. "You are a
brilliant woman and a fine politician, but you betray a common weakness of
your class—you ignore the opinions of servants."
"Ashe!" Sarene objected. "I always treated my father's servants with respect
and kindness."
"Perhaps I should rephrase, my lady," Ashe said. "Yes, you lack unkind
prejudices. However, you don't pay attention to what the servants think of
you-not in the same way you are always aware of what the aristocracy thinks."
Sarene pulled her nightgown over her head, refusing to show even a hint of
petulance. "I've always tried to be fair."
"Yes. my lady, but you are a child of nobility, raised to ignore those who
work around you. I only suggest you remember that if the maids disrespect you,
it could be as detrimental as if the lords did so."
"All right," Sarene said with a sigh. "Point taken. Fetch Meala for me; I'll
ask her if she knows what happened."
"Yes, my lady."

Ashe floated toward the window. However, before he left. Sarene made one last
comment.
"Ashe?" she asked. "The people loved Raoden, didn't they?"
"By all accounts, my lady. He was known for paying very personal heed to their
opinions and needs."
"He was a better prince than I am a princess, wasn't he?" she asked, her voice
falling.
"I wouldn't say that. my lady," Ashe said. "You are a very kindhearted woman,
and you always treat your maids well. Do not compare yourself to Raoden—it is
important to remember that you weren't preparing to run a country, and your
popularity with the people wasn't an issue. Prince Raoden was the heir to the
throne, and it was vital that he understand his subjects' feelings."
"They say he gave the people hope." Sarene said musingly. "That the peasants
endured Iadon's outrageous burdens because they knew Raoden would eventually
take the throne. The country would have collapsed years ago if the prince
hadn't gone amongst them, encouraging them and reviving their spirits."
"And now he's gone," Ashe said quietly.
"Yes, he's gone," Sarene agreed, her voice detached. "We have to hurry. Ashe.
I keep feeling that I'm not doing any good—that the country is heading for
disaster no matter what I do. It's like I'm at the bottom of a hill watching
an enormous boulder crash down toward me, and I'm throwing pebbles up to try
and deflect it."
"Be strong, my lady," Ashe said in his deep. stately voice. "Your God will not
sit and watch as Arelon and Teod crumble beneath Wyrn's heel."
"I hope the prince is watching as well," Sarene said. "Would he be proud of
me, Ashe?"
"Very proud my lady."
"I just want them to accept me," she explained, realizing how silly she must
sound. She had spent nearly three decades loving a country without ever
feeling it loved her back. Teod had respected her. but she was tired of
respect. She wanted something different from Arelon.
"They will, Sarene," Ashe promised. "Give them time. They will."
"Thank you Ashe." Sarene said with a quiet sigh. "Thank you for enduring the
lamentations of a silly girl."
"We can be strong in the face of kings and priests, my lady," Ashe replied,
"but to live is to have worries and uncertainties. Keep them inside. and they
will destroy you for certain—leaving behind a person so callused that emotion
can find no root in his heart."
With that the Seon passed out the window, in seareh of the maid Meala.

BY the rime Meala arrived, Sarene had composed herself. There had been no
tears. just time spent in thought. Sometimes it was too much for her, and her
insecurity simply had to boil out. Ashe and her father had always been there
to support her during those times.
"Oh dear," Meala said, regarding the state of the room. She was thin and
rather young-definitely not what Sarene expected when she had first moved into
the palace. Meala more resembled one of her father's accountants than she did
a head maid.
"I'm sorry, my lady," Meala apologized, offering Sarene a wan smile. "I didn't
even think of this. We lost another girl this afternoon, and it didn't occur
to me that your room was on her list of duties."
"'Lost.' Meala?" Sarene asked with concern.
"A runaway, my lady," Meala explained. "They aren't supposed to leave—we're
indentured like the rest of the peasants. For some reason we have trouble
keeping maids in the palace, however. Dorni knows why it is—no servant in the
country is treated better than those here."
"How many have you lost?" Sarene asked with curiosity.
"She was the fourth this year," Meala said. "I'll send someone up immedi-
ately.„
"No, don't bother tonight. Just make sure it doesn't happen again.” "Of
course, my lady," Meala said with a curtsy.
"Thank you."
"THERE it is again!" Sarene said with excitement, jumping out of her bed. Ashe
instantly burst back to full illumination, hovering uncertainly by the wall.
"My lady?"
"Quiet," Sarene ordered, pressing her ear against the stone wall beneath her
window, listening to the scraping sound. "What do you think?"
"I am thinking that whatever my lady had for supper, it isn't agreeing with
her," Ashe informed curtly.
"There was definitely a noise there." Sarene said, ignoring the gibe. Though
Ashe was always awake in the mornings when she got up, he didn't like being
disturbed after he had fallen asleep.
She reached over to her nightstand and picked up a scrap of parchment. On it
she made a mark with a thin piece of charcoal, not wanting to bother with pen
and ink.
"Look," she declared. holding up the paper for Ashe to see. "The sounds always
come on the same days of the week: MaeDal and OpeDal."
Ashe floated over and looked at the paper, his glowing Aon the room's only
illumination besides starlight. "You've heard it twice on MaeDal and twice on

OpeDal, four times in total," he said skeptically. "That is hardly grounds for
a decision that they 'always come on the same days,' my lady."
"Oh, you think I'm hearing things anyway," Sarene said, dropping the parchment
back onto her table. "I thought Seons were supposed to have excellent auditory
senses."
"Not when we're sleeping, my lady," Ashe said, implying that that was exactly
what he should have been doing at the moment.
"There must be a passage here," Sarene decided. ineffectually tapping the
stone waIl.
"If you say so, my lady."
"I do," she said, rising and studying her window. "Look how thick the stone is
around this window, Ashe." She leaned against the wall and stuck her arm out
the window. The tips of her fingers could barely curl around the outside
ledge. "Does the wall really need to be so wide?"
"It offers much protection. my lady.'
"It also offers room for a passage."
"A very thin one," Ashe replied.
"True," Sarene mused, kneeling down to view the bottom edge of the window at
eye level. "It slopes upwards. The passage was constructed to angle up,
passing between the bottoms of the windows on this level and the first story."
"But the only thing in that direction is ...
"The king's rooms," Sarene finished. "Where else would a passage lead?"
"Are you suggesting that the king takes secret excursions twice a week in the
middle of the night, my lady?"
"At precisely eleven o'clock," Sarene said. eyeing the large grandfather clock
in the corner of her room. "It's always at the same time."
"What possible reason could he have for such a thing?"
"I don't know." Sarene said, tapping her cheek in contemplation.
"Oh dear," Ashe mumbled. "My lady is concocting something, isn't she?"
"Always," Sarene said sweetly. climbing back into bed. "Turn down your
light—some of us want to get some sleep."

CHAPTER 21
HRATHEN sat down in his chair, wearing a red Derethi robe instead of his
armor, as he often did when he was in his chambers. The knock that came at his
door was expected. "Come in," he said. Arteth Thered entered. A man of good
Fjordell stock, Thered had a strong, tall frame, dark hair, and squareish
features. He was still well muscled from his days training in the monastery.
"Your Grace," the man said, bowing and falling to his knees with a proper sign
of respect.
"Arteth," Hrathen said, lacing his fingers in front of himself. "During my
time here, I've been watching the local priests. I have been impressed with
your service in Jaddeth's kingdom, and I have decided to offer you the
position of head arteth of this chapel."
Thered looked up with surprise. "Your Grace?"
"I had thought that I would have to wait to appoint a new head arteth until a
new batch of priests arrived from Fjorden," Hrathen said. "But, as I said, you
have impressed me. I decided to offer you the position."
And of course, he added in his mind, I don't have time to wait. I need someone
to administrate the chapel now so that I can focus on other tasks.
"My lord ..." the arteth said, obviously overwhelmed. "I cannot accept this
position."
Hrathen froze. "What?"No Derethi priest would refuse a position of such power.
"I'm sorry, my lord," the man repeated, looking down.
"What reason have you for this decision. Arteth?" Hrathen demanded.
"I can give none, Your Grace. I just ... It just wouldn't be right for me to
take the position. May I withdraw?"
Hrathen waved his hand, disturbed. Ambition was such a cardinal Fjordell
attribute: how had a man such as Thered lost his pride so quickly? Had Fjon
really weakened the priests in Kae so soundly?
Or ... was something else behind this man's refusal? A nagging voice inside of
Hrathen whispered that the banished Fjon was not to blame. Dilaf—Dilaf had
something to do with Thered's refusal.

The thought was probably just paranoia, but it spurred Hrathen forward with
his next item of business. Dilaf had to be dealt with: despite his stunt with
the Elantrian, the arteth was growing increasingly influential with the other
priests. Hrathen reached into a desk drawer, pulling out a small envelope. He
had made a mistake with Dilaf. While it was possible to channel a zealot's
ardor, Hrathen currently had neither the time nor the energy to do so. The
future of an entire kingdom depended on Hrathen's ability to focus, and he
hadn't realized how much attention Dilaf would require.
It could not continue. Hrathen's world was one of control and predictability,
his religion a logical exercise. Dilaf was like a boiling pot of water poured
on Hrathen's ice. In the end, they would both just end up weakened and
dissipated. like puffs of steam in the wind. And after they were gone, Arelon
would die.
Hrathen put on his armor and left his room, entering the chapel. Several
supplicants knelt in prayerful silence, and priests moved about busily. The
chapel's vaulted ceilings and spirited architecture was familiar—this was
where he should be most comfortable. Too often, however, Hrathen found himself
fleeing up to the walls of Elantris. Though he told himself that he simply
went to the walls because their height gave him a vantage over Kae, he knew
that there was another reason. He went, in part, because he knew that Elantris
was a place that Dilaf would never voluntarily go.
Dilaf's chamber was a small alcove much like the one Hrathen himself had
occupied as an arteth many years ago. Dilaf looked up from his desk as Hrarhen
pushed open the room's simple wooden door.
"My hroden?" the arteth said, standing with surprise. Hrathen rarely visited
his chambers.
"I have an important task for you, Arteth," Hrathen said. "One I cannot trust
to anyone else."
"Of course, my hroden," Dilaf said submissively, bowing his head. However, his
eyes narrowed with suspicion. serve with devotion, knowing I am part of the
chain linked to Lord Jaddeth himself."
"Yes," Hrathen said dismissively. "Arteth. I need you to deliver a letter." "A
letter?" Dilaf looked up with confusion.
"Yes," Hrathen said flatly. "It is vital Wyrn know of our progress here. I
have written him a report, but the matters discussed therein are very
delicate. If it should be lost, irreparable damage could be done. I have
chosen you, my odiv, to deliver it in person."
"That will take weeks, my hroden!"
"I know. I will have to go without your service for a time, but 1 will be
comforted by the knowledge that you are engaged in a vital mission."
Dilaf lowered his eyes, his hands falling to rest lightly on the top of his
table. "I go as my hroden commands."

Hrathen paused, frowning slightly. It was impossible for Dilaf to escape; the
hroden-odiv relationship was irrevocably binding. When one's master commanded,
one obeyed. Even so, Hrathen had expected more from Dilaf. A ploy of some
kind. An attempt to wiggle out of the assignment.
Dilaf accepted the letter with apparent subservience. Maybe this was what he
wanted all along, Hrathen realized. A way into Fjorden. His position as odiv
to a gyorn would give him power and respect in the East. Perhaps Dilaf's only
purpose in antagonizing Hrathen had been to get out of Arelon.
Hrathen turned and walked back out into the chapel's hollow sermon hall. The
event had been even more painless than he had hoped. He held back a sigh of
relief, stepping with a bit more confidence as he walked toward his chambers.
A voice sounded from behind. Dilaf's voice. Speaking softly—yet with enough
projection to be heard. "Send out messengers." the arteth ordered to one of
the dorvens. "We leave for Fjorden in the morning."
Hrathen nearly kept walking. He almost didn't care what Dilaf was planning or
what he did, as long as he left. However, Hrathen had spent too long in
positions of leadership—too long as a political being—to let such a statement
pass. Especially from Dilaf.
Hrathen spun. "We? I ordered only you, Arteth."
"Yes, my lord," Dilaf said. "However, surely you don't expect me to leave my
odivs behind."
"Odivs?" Hrathen asked. As an official member of the Derethi priesthood, Dilaf
was able to swear odivs just as Hrathen had, continuing the chain that linked
all men to Jaddeth. Hrathen hadn't even considered, however, that the man
might call odivs of his own. When had he found the time?
"Who, Dilaf?" Hrathen asked sharply. "Whom did you make your odiv?" "Several
people, my hroden," Dilaf responded evasively.
"Names, Arteth."
And he began to name them. Most priests called one or two odivs, several of
the gyorns had as many as ten. Dilaf had over thirty. Hrathen grew
increasingly stunned as he listened. Stunned, and angry. Somehow. Dilaf made
odivs out of all Hrathen's most useful supporters-including Waren and many of
the other aristocrats.
Dilaf finished his list, turning traitorously humble eyes toward the floor.
"An interesting list," Hrathen said slowly. "And who do you intend to take
with you, Arteth?"
"Why, all of them, my lord," Dilaf said innocently. "If this letter is as
important as my lord implies, then I must give it proper protection.'
Hrathen closed his eyes. If Dilaf took all of the people he had mentioned.
then it would leave Hrathen stripped of supporters—assuming, that was, they
would go. The calling of odiv was very demanding; most normal Derethi
believers. even

many priests. were sworn to the less restrictive position of krondet. A
kronder listened to the counsel of his hroden, but was not morally bound to do
what he was told.
It was well within Dilaf's power to make his odivs accompany him to Fjorden.
Hrathen could have no control over what the arteth did with his sworn
followers: it would be a grave breach of protocol to order Dilaf to leave them
behind. However, if Dilaf did try to take them, it would undoubtedly be a
disaster. These men were new to Shu-Dereth: they didn't know how much power
they had given Dilaf. If the arteth tried to drag them to Fjorden, it was
unlikely they would follow.
And if that happened. Hrathen would be forced to excommunicate every single
one of them. Shu-Dereth would be ruined in Arelon.
Dalaf continued his preparations as if he hadn't noticed Hrathen's internal
battle. Not that it was much of a conflict—Hrathen knew what he had to do.
Dilaf was unstable. It was possible that he was bluffing. but equally likely
that he would destroy Hrathen's efforts in spiteful retribution.
Hrathen gritted his teeth until his jaw throbbed. Hrathen might have stopped
Dilaf's attempt to burn the Elantrian, but the arteth had obviously realized
what Hrathen's next move would be. No, Dilaf didn't want to go to Fjorden. He
might have been unstable, but he was also much better prepared than Hrathen
had assumed.
Hrathen ordered as Dilaf's messenger turned to leave. If that man left the
chapel, all would be ruined. "Arteth. I have changed my mind." "My hroden?"
Dilaf asked, poking his head out of his chamber.
"You will not go to Fjorden. Dilaf."
"But my lord ..."
"No, I cannot do without you." The lie made Hrathen's stomach clinch tightly.
"Find someone else to deliver the message."
With that, Hrathen spun and stalked toward his chambers.
"I am, as always. my hroden's humble servant," Dilaf whispered, the room's
acoustics carrying the words directly to Hrathen's ears.
HRATHEN fled again.
He needed to think, to clear his mind. He had spent several hours stewing in
his office, angry at both Dilaf and himself. Finally, he could stand it no
longer, and so he absconded to the night streets of Kae.
As usual, he directed his path toward Elantris's wall. He sought height, as if
rising above the dwellings of man could give him a better perspective on life.
"Spare some coins, sir?" pled a voice.
Hrathen stopped in surprise; he had been so distracted that he hadn't noticed
the rag-clothed beggar at his feet. The man was old and obviously had poor
sight,

for he was squinting up at Hrathen in the darkness. Hrathen frowned, realizing
for the first time that he had never seen a beggar in Kae.
A youth. dressed in clothing no better than that of the old man. hobbled
around the corner. The boy froze, blanching pale white. "Not him. you old
fool!" he hissed. Then, to Hrathen, he quickly said, "I'm sorry. my lord. My
father loses his wits sometimes and thinks he is a beggar. Please forgive us."
He moved to grab the old man's arm.
Hrathen held up his hand commandingly, and the youth stopped, growing another
shade paler. Hrathen knelt down beside the elderly man. who was smiling with a
half-senile daze. "Tell me, old man," Hrathen asked, "why do I see so few
beggars in the city?"
"The king forbids begging in his city, good sir." the man croaked. "It is a
poor sign of prosperity to have us on his streets. If he finds us, he sends us
back to the farms."
"You say too much," the youth warned, his frightened face indicating that he
was very close to abandoning the old man and bolting away.
The elderly beggar wasn't finished. "Yes, good sir. we mustn't let him catch
us. Hide outside the city. we do."
"Outside the city?" Hrathen pressed.
"Kae isn't the only town here. you know. There used to be four of them, all
surrounding Elantris. but the others dried up. Not enough food for so many
people in such a small area, they said. We hide in the ruins."
"Are there many of you?" Hrathen asked.
"No, not many. Only those who've the nerve to run away from the farms." The
old man's eyes took on a dreamy look. "I wasn't always a beggar, good sir.
Used to work in Elantris—I was a carpenter, one of the best. I didn't make a
very good farmer. though. The king was wrong there, good sir—he sent me to the
fields, but I was too old to work in them, so I ran away. Came here. The
merchants in the town, they give us money sometimes. But we can only beg after
night comes, and never from the high nobles. No, sir, they would tell the
king."
The old man squinted up at Hrathen—as if realizing for the first time why the
boy was so apprehensive. "You don't look much like a merchant, good sir." he
said hesitantly.
"I'm not," Hrathen responded, dropping a bag of coins in the man's hand. "That
is for you." Then he dropped a second bag beside the first. "That is for the
others. Good night, old man."
"Thank you, good sir!" the man cried.
"Thank Jaddeth," Hrathen said.
"Who is Jaddeth, good sir?"

Hrathen bowed his head. "You'll know soon enough, old man. One way or another,
you'll know."
THE breeze was gusty and strong atop the wall of Elantris, and it whipped at
Hrathen's cape with glee. It was a cool ocean wind, bearing the briny scent of
saltwater and sea life. Hrathen stood between two burning torches, leaning
against the low parapet and looking out over Kae.
The city wasn't very large, not when compared with the sheer mass of Elantris,
but it could have been far better fortified. He felt his old dissatisfaction
returning. He hated being in a place that couldn't protect itself. Perhaps
that was part of the stress he was feeling with this assignment.
Lights sparked throughout Kae, most of them streetlamps, including a series
that ran along the short wall that marked the formal border of the city. The
wall ran in a perfect circle-so perfect, in fact, that Hrathen would have
remarked upon it had he been in any other city. Here it was just another
remnant of fallen Elantris's glory. Kae had spilled out beyond that inner
wall, but the old border remained—a ring of flame running around the center of
the city.
"It was so much nicer, once," a voice said behind him.
Hrathen turned with surprise. He had heard the footsteps approaching, but he
had simply assumed it was one of the guards making his rounds. Instead he
found a short, bald Arelene in a simple gray robe. Omin, head of the Korathi
religion in Kae.
Omin approached the edge, pausing beside Hrathen and studying the city. "Of
course, that was back then, when the Elantrians still ruled. The city's fall
was probably good for our souls. Still, I can't help recalling those days with
awe. Do you realize that no one in all of Arelon went without food? The
Elantrians could turn stone into corn and dirt into steak. Confronted by those
memories, I am left wondering. Could devils do that much good in this world?
Would they even want to?"
Hrathen didn't respond. He simply stood, leaning with his arms crossed on top
of the parapet. the wind churning his hair. Omin fell silent.
"How did you find me?" Hrathen finally asked.
"It is well known that you spend your nights up here," the squat priest
explained. He could barely rest his arms on the parapet. Hrathen considered
Dilaf short, but this man made the arteth look like a giant. "Your supporters
say you come here and plan how to defeat the vile Elantrians," Omin continued.
"and your opponents say you come because you feel guilty for condemning a
people who have already been cursed."
Hrathen turned, looking down into the little man's eyes. "And what do you
say?"
"I say nothing," Omin said. "It doesn't matter to me why you climb these

stairs. Hrathen. I do, however, wonder why you preach hatred of the Elantrians
when you yourself simpIy pity them."
Hrathen didn't respond immediately, tapping his gauntleted finger against the
stone parapet with a repetitious click. "It's not so hard, once you accustom
yourself to it," he finally said. ''A man can force himself to hare if he
wishes, especially if he convinces himself that it is for a higher good."
"The oppression of the few brings salvation to the many?" Omin asked, a slight
smile on his face, as if he found the concept ridiculous.
"You'd best not mock, Arelene," Hrathen warned. "You have few options. and we
both know the least painful one will require you to do as I do."
"To profess hatred where I have none? I will never do that. Hrathen." "Then
you will become irrelevant," Hrathen said simply.
"Is that the way it must be, then?"
"Shu-Korath is docile and unassuming. priest." Hrathen said. "Shu-Dereth is
vibrant and dynamic. It will sweep you away like a roaring flood rushing
through a stagnant pool."
Omin smiled again. "You act as if truth were something to be influenced by
persistence. Hrathen."
"I'm not speaking of truth or falsehood; I am simply referring to physical
inevitability. You cannot stand against Fjorden—and where Fjorden rules,
ShuDereth teaches."
"One cannot separate truth from actions, Hrathen." Omin said with a shake of
his bald head. "Physically inevitable or not, truth stands above all things.
It is independent of who has the best army, who can deliver the longest
sermons, or even who has the most priests. It can be pushed down. but it will
always surface. Truth is the one thing you can never intimidate."
"And if Shu-Dereth is the truth?" Hrathen demanded.
"Then it will prevail," Omin said. "But I didn't come to argue with you."
"Oh?" Hrathen said with raised eyebrows.
"No." Omin said. "I came to ask you a question."
"Then ask, priest, and leave me to my thoughts."
"I want to know what happened," Omin began speculatively. "What happened,
Hrathen? What happened to your faith?"
"My faith?" Hrathen asked with shock.
"Yes," Omin said. his words soft, almost meandering. "You must have believed
at one point, otherwise you wouldn't have pursued the priesthood long enough
to become a gyorn. You lost it somewhere, though. I have listened to your
sermons. I hear logic and complete understanding—not to mention determination.
I just don't hear any faith, and I wonder what happened to it."
Hrathen hissed inward slowly, drawing a deep breath between his teeth. "Go."
he finally ordered. not bothering to look down at the priest.

Omin didn't answer, and Hrathen turned. The Arelish man was already gone,
strolling down the wall with a casual step, as if he had forgotten Hrathen
were there.
Hrathen stood on the wall for a long time that night.

CHAPTER 22
RA0DEN inched forward, slowly peeking around the corner. He should have been
sweating—in fact, he kept reaching up to wipe his brow. though the motion did
nothing but spread black Elantris grime across his forehead. His knees
trembled slightly as he huddled against the decaying wooden fence, anxiously
searching the cross street for danger.
"Sule, behind you!"
Raoden turned with surprise at Galladon's warning, sliding on the slimy
cobblestones and slipping to the ground. The fall saved him. As he grappled
for purchase. Raoden felt something whoosh through the air above him. The
leaping madman howled in frustration as he missed and smashed through the
fence, rotten wood chips spraying through the air.
Raoden stumbled to his feet. The madman moved far more quickly. Bald and
nearly naked, the man howled as he ripped his way through the rest of the
fence, growling and tearing at the wood like a mad hound.
Galladon's board smacked the man directly in the face. Then. while the man was
stunned, Galladon grabbed a cobblestone and smashed it against the side of the
man's head. The madman collapsed and did not rise.
Galladon straightened. "They're getting stronger somehow, sule," he said.
dropping his cobblestone. "They seem almost oblivious to pain. Kole'
Raoden nodded, calming his nerves. "They haven't been able to capture a
newcomer in weeks. They're getting desperate, falling more and more into their
bestial state. I've heard of warriors who grow so enraged during combat that
they ignore even mortal wounds." Raoden paused as Galladon poked at the
attacker's body with a stick to make sure he wasn't feigning.
etly.

"Maybe they've found the final secret to stopping the pain," Raoden said qui-
"All they have to do is surrender their humanity," Galladon said, shaking his
head as they continued to sneak through what had been the Elantris market.
They passed piles of rusted metal and crushed ceramics etched with Aons. Once
these scraps had produced wondrous effects, their powerful magics demanding
unparalleled prices. Now they were little more than obstacles for Raoden to
avoid, lest they crunch noisily beneath his feet.
`We should have brought Saolin," Galladon said quietly.
Raoden shook his head. "Saolin is a wonderful soldier and a good man, but he's
completely lacking in stealth. Even I can hear him approaching. Besides, he
would have insisted on bringing a group of his guards. He refuses to believe I
can protect myself."
Galladon glanced at the fallen madman, then back at Raoden with sardonic eyes.
"'Whatever you say, sule."
Raoden smiled slightly. "All right," he admitted, "he might have been useful.
However, his men would have insisted on pampering me. Honestly, I thought I'd
left that sort of thing behind in my father's palace."
"Men protect things they find important." Galladon said with a shrug. "If you
object, you shouldn't have made yourself so irreplaceable. Kolo?"
"Point taken," Raoden said with a sigh. "Come on."
They fell quiet as they continued their infiltration. Galladon had protested
for hours when Raoden had explained his plan to sneak in and confront Shaor.
The Dula had called it foolhardy, pointless, dangerous, and just plain stupid.
He hadn't, however, been willing to let Raoden go alone.
Raoden knew the plan probably was foolhardy, pointless, and all the other
things Galladon said. Shaor's men would rip them apart without a second
thought—probably without even a first thought, considering their mental state.
However, during the last week. Shaor's men had tried to capture the garden
three more times. Saolin's guards were collecting more and more wounds while
Shaor's men seemed to be getting even more feral and wild.
Raoden shook his head. While his troop was growing. most of his followers were
physically weak. Shaor's men, however, were frighteningly strong—and every one
of them was a warrior. Their rage gave them strength, and Raoden's followers
couldn't stand against them for much longer.
Raoden had to find Shaor. If only he could speak with the man, he was sure
they could find a compromise. It was said that Shaor himself never went on the
raids. Everyone referred to the band as "Shaor's men," but no one could ever
remember seeing Shaor himself. It was entirely possible that he was just
another maniac, indistinguishable from the rest. It was also possible that the
man Shaor had joined the Hoed long ago, and the group continued without
leadership.

Still, something told him that Shaor was alive. Or. perhaps Raoden simply
wanted to believe so. He needed an adversary he could face; the madmen were
too scattered to be efficiently defeated, and they outnumbered Raoden's
soldiers by a significant number. Unless Shaor existed, unless Shaor could be
swayed, and unless Shaor could control his men, Raoden's band was in serious
trouble.
"We're close now," Galladon whispered as they approached one final street.
There was movement to one side, and they waited apprehensively until it
appeared to have passed on.
"The bank," Galladon said, nodding to a large structure across the street. It
was large and boxy. its walls dark beyond even what the slime normally
produced. "The Elantrians maintained the place for the local merchants to keep
their wealth. A bank inside Elantris was seen as far more secure than one in
Kae."
Raoden nodded. Some merchants, like his father, hadn't trusted the Elantrians.
Their insistence on storing their fortunes outside of the city had eventually
proven wise. "You think Shaor's in there?' he asked.
Galladon shrugged. "If I were going to choose a base, this would be it. Large,
defensible, imposing. Perfect for a warlord."
Raoden nodded. "Let's go, then."
The bank was definitely occupied. The slime around the front door was scuffed
by the frequent passing of feet, and they could hear voices coming from the
back of the structure. Galladon looked at Raoden inquiringly, and Raoden
nodded. They went in.
The inside was as drab as the outside—dull and stale, even for fallen
Elantris. The vault door—a large circle etched with a thick Aon Edo—was open,
and the voices came from inside. Raoden took a deep breath, ready to confront
the last of the gang leaders.
"Bring me food!" wailed a high-pitched voice.
Raoden froze. He craned his neck to the side, peeking into the vault, then
recoiled with surprise. At the back of the chamber, sitting on a pile of what
appeared to be gold bars, was a young girl in a pristine, unsoiled pink dress.
She had long Aonic blond hair, but her skin was black and gray like that of
any other Elantrian. Eight men in ragged clothing knelt before her. their arms
spread out in adoration.
"Bring me food!" the girl repeated in a demanding voice.
"Well. behead me and see me in Doloken," Galladon swore behind him. "What is
that?"
"Shaor." Raoden said with amazement. Then his eyes refocused, and he realized
that the girl was staring at him.
"Kill them!" Shaor screamed.
"Idos Domi!" Raoden yelped, spinning around and dashing toward the door.

"IF you weren't dead already, sule, I'd kill you," Galladon said.
Raoden nodded, leaning tiredly against a wall. He was getting weaker. Galladon
had warned him it would happen—an Elantrian's muscles atrophied the most near
the end of his first month. Exercise couldn't stop it. Even though the mind
still worked and the flesh did not decay, the body was convinced that it was
dead.
The old tricks worked the best—they had eventually lost Shaor's men by
climbing up the side of a broken wall and hiding on a rooftop. The madmen
might act like hounds, but they certainly hadn't acquired a dog's sense of
smell. They had passed by Raoden and Galladon's hiding place a half-dozen
times, and never thought to look up. The men were passionate, but they weren't
very intelligent.
"Shaor is a little girl," Raoden said, still shocked.
Galladon shrugged. "I don't understand either, stile."
"Oh, I understand it—I just can't believe it. Didn't you see them kneeling
before her? That girl, Shaor, is their god—a living idol. 'They've regressed
to a more primitive way of life, and have adopted a primitive religion as
well."
"Be careful, sule," Galladon warned, "many people called Jesker a 'primitive'
religion."
"All right." Raoden said, gesturing that they should begin moving again.
"Perhaps I should have said 'simplistic.' They found something extraordinary—a
child with long golden hair—and decided that it should be worshipped. They
placed it on an altar, and it makes demands of them. The girl wants food, so
they get it for her. Then, ostensibly, she blesses them."
"What about that hair?"
"It's a wig," Raoden said. "I recognized her. She was the daughter of one of
the most wealthy dukes in Arelon. She never grew hair, so her father had a wig
made for her. I guess the priests didn't think to take it off before throwing
her in here."
"When was she taken by the Shaod?"
"Over two years ago," Raoden said. "Her father, Duke Telrii, tried to keep the
matter quiet. He always claimed she had died of dionia, but there were a lot
of rumors.

"Apparently all true."
"Apparently," Raoden said with a shake of his head. "I only met her a few
times. I can't even recall her name—it was based on Aon Soi. Soine or
something like that—I only remember that she was the most spoiled,
insufferable child I'd ever met."
"Probably makes a perfect goddess then," Galladon said with a sarcastic
grimace.
"Well, you were right about one thing," Raoden said. "Speaking with Shaor
isn't going to work. She was unreasonable on the outside: she's probably ten
times
worse now. All she knows is that she's very hungry, and those men bring her
food."
"Good evening, my lord," a sentry said as they rounded a corner and approached

their section of Elantris—or New Elantris, as the people were starting to call
it. The sentry. a stout younger man named Dion, stood up tall as Raoden
approached, a makeshift spear held firmly at his side. "Captain Saolin was
quite disturbed by your disappearance."
Raoden nodded. "I'll be sure to apologize, Dion."
Raoden and Galladon pulled off their shoes and placed them along the wall next
to several other dirty pairs, then put on the clean ones they had left behind.
Also present was a bucket of water, which they used to wash off as much of the
slime as they could manage. Their clothing was still dirty, but there was
nothing else they could do: cloth was rare, despite the numerous scavenging
parties Raoden had organized.
It was amazing how much they found. True, most of it was rusted or rotting.
but Elantris was enormous. With a little organization—and some motivation—they
had discovered a great number of useful items, from metal spearheads to
furniture that could still hold weight.
With Saolin's help, Raoden had sectioned off a marginally defensible section
of town to be New Elantris. Only eleven streets led into the area, and there
was even a small wall—the original purpose of which baffled them—running along
about half of the perimeter. Raoden had placed sentries at the tip of every
road to watch for approaching marauders.
The system kept them from being overwhelmed. Fortunately, Shaor's men tended
to attack in small bands. As long as Raoden's guards could get enough warning,
they could gather and defeat any one group. If Shaor ever organized a larger,
multidirectional assault, however, the result would be disastrous. Raoden's
band of women, children, and weakened men just couldn't stand against the
feral creatures. Saolin had begun teaching simple combat techniques to those
capable. but he could use only the safest and most elementary training
methods. lest the combatants' sparring wounds prove more dangerous than
Shaor's attacks.
The people, however, never expected the fighting to go that far. Raoden heard
what they said about him. They assumed that "Lord Spirit" would somehow find a
way to bring Shaor to their side, just as he had with Aanden and Karata.
Raoden began to feel sick as they walked toward the chapel, the mounting pains
of his several dozen bruises and scrapes suddenly pressing against him with
suffocating pressure. It was as if his body were encased in a blazing fire—his
flesh, bones. and soul being consumed in the heat.
"I've failed them," he said quietly.
Galladon shook his head. "We can't always get what we want on the first try.
Kolo? You'll find a way—I would never have thought you'd get this far."
I was lucky. A lucky fool. Raoden thought as the pain pounded against him.
"Sule?" Galladon asked, suddenly looking at Raoden with concern. "Are you all
right?"

Must be strong. They need me to be strong. With an inner groan of defiance.
Raoden pushed through the haze of agony and managed a weak smile. "I'm fine."
"I've never seen you look like this, stile."
Raoden shook his head, leaning up against the stone wall of a nearby building.
be all right—I was just wondering what we're going to do about Shaor. We can't
reason with her. and we can't defeat her men by force...."
"You'll think of something." Galladon said, his normal pessimism overridden by
an obvious desire to encourage his friend.
Or we'll all die, Raoden thought. hands growing tense as they gripped the
stone corner of the wall. For good this time.
With a sigh. Raoden pushed away from the wall, the stone crumbling beneath his
fingers. He turned around and looked at the wall with surprise. Kahar had
recently cleaned it, and its white marble glistened in the sun—except where
Rao-den's fingers had crushed it.
"Stronger than you thought?" Galladon asked with a smirk.
Raoden raised his eyebrows. brushing at the broken stone. It crumbled away.
"This stone is as soft as pumice!"
"Elantris," Galladon said. "Things decay quickly here."
"Yes, but marble?"
"Everything. People too."
Raoden smacked the broken spot of stone with another rock; small flecks and
chips cascaded to the ground at the impact. "It's all connected somehow.
Galladon. The Dor is linked to Elantris, just as it's linked to Arelon
itself."
"But why would the Dor do this, stile?" Galladon asked with a shake of his
head. "Why destroy the city?"
"Maybe it's not the Dor," Raoden said. "Maybe it's the sudden absence of the
Dor. The magic—the Dor—was a part of this city. Every stone burned with its
own light. When that power was removed, the city was left hollow. Like the
discarded shell of a small rivercrawler that has grown too big for its skin.
The stones are empty."
"How can a stone be empty?" Galladon said skeptically.
Raoden cracked Off another piece of marble, crumbling it between his fingers.
"Like this, my friend. The rock spent so long infused by the Dor that it was
weakened irreparably by the Reod. This city really is a corpse—its spirit has
fled."
The discussion was interrupted by the approach of an exhausted Mareshe. "My
lord Spirit!" he said urgently as he approached.
"What is it?" Raoden asked apprehensively. "Another attack?"
Mareshe shook his head, confusion in his eyes. "No. Something different, my
lord. We don't know what to make of it. We're being invaded."
"By whom?"
Mareshe half smiled, then shrugged. "We think she's a princess."

RAODEN crouched on the rooftop. Galladon at his side. The building had been
transformed into an observation area to watch the gates for newcomers. From
its vantage, he could get a very good look at what was happening in the
courtyard.
A crowd had gathered atop the Elantris city wall. The gate stood open. That
fact was amazing enough: normally, after newcomers were cast in. the gate was
immediately pulled shut. as if the guards were frightened to let it rest open
for even a moment.
However. in front of the open gate sat a sight even more dumbfounding. A large
horse-drawn cart rested in the middle of the courtyard. a cluster of
well-dressed men huddled at its side. Only one person looked unafraid of what
she saw before her—a tall woman with long blond hair. She wore a smooth,
full-bodied brown dress with a black scarf tied around her right arm, and she
stood with her arm raised to one of the horses' necks, patting the nervous
beast. Her sharp face held a set of capable eyes, and she studied the dirty,
slime-splattered courtyard with a calculating expression.
Raoden exhaled. "I only saw her through Seon." he mumbled. "I didn't realize
she was so beautiful."
"You recognize her, sule?" Galladon asked in surprise.
... think I'm married to her. That could only be Sarene, the daughter of King
Eventeo of Teod."
"What is she doing here?" Galladon asked.
More importantly." Raoden said, "what is she doing here with a dozen of
Arelon's most influential nobles? The older man near the back is Duke Roial---
some say he's the second-most-powerful man in the kingdom."
Galladon nodded. "And I assume the young Jindo is Shuden. the Baron of Kaa
Plantation?"
Raoden smiled. "I thought you were a simple farmer."
"Shuden's caravan route runs directly through the center of Duladel, sule.
There isn't a Dula alive who doesn't know his name."
"Ah," Raoden said. "Counts Ahan and Eondel are there as well. What in Domi's
name is that woman planning?"
As if in response to Raoden's question, Princess Sarene finished her
contemplation of Elantris. She turned and walked to the back of the cart,
shooing away apprehensive nobles with an intolerant hand. Then she reached up
and whipped the cloth off the back of the cart. revealing its contents.
The cart was piled with food.
"Idos Domi!" Raoden cursed. "Galladon, we're in trouble."
Galladon regarded him with a frown. There was hunger in his eyes. "What in
Doloken are you blabbering about, sule? That's food, and my intuition tells me
she's going to give it to us. What could be wrong with that?"

"She must be doing her Widow's Trial." Raoden said. "Only a foreigner would
think to come into Elantris."
"Sule," Galladon said instantly, "tell me what you're thinking."
"The timing is wrong, Galladon," Raoden explained. "Our people are just
starting to get a sense of independence: they're beginning focus on the future
and forget their pain. If someone hands them food now, they'll forget
everything else. For a short time they'll be fed, but Widow's Trials only last
a few weeks. After that, it will be back to the pain, the hunger, and the
self-pity. My princess out there could destroy everything we've been working
for."
"You're right," Galladon realized. "I'd almost forgotten how hungry I was
until I saw that food."
Raoden groaned.
"What?"
"What happens when Shaor hears about this? Her men will attack that cart like
a pack of wolves. There's no telling what kind of damage it would do if one of
them killed a count or a baron. My father only suffers Elantris because he
doesn't have to think about it. If an Elantrian kills one of his nobles,
however, he could very well decide to exterminate the lot of us."
People were appearing in the alleys around the courtyard. None appeared to be
Shaor's men: they were the tired. wretched forms of those Elantrians who still
lived on their own, wandering through the city like shades. More and more of
them had been joining with Raoden—but now, with free food available, he would
never get the rest of them. They would continue without thought or purpose,
lost in their pain and damnation.
"Oh. my lovely princess," Raoden whispered. 'You probably mean well, but
handing these people food is the worst thing you could do to them."
MARES HE waited at the bottom of the stairs. "Did you see her?" he asked
anxiously.
"We did." Raoden said.
"What does she want?"
Before Raoden could reply, a firm, feminine voice called out of the courtyard.
"I would speak with the tyrants of this city—the ones who call themselves
Aanden. Karata, and Shaor. Present yourselves to me."
'Where ... ?" Raoden asked with surprise.
"Remarkably well informed, isn't she," Mareshe noted.
"A little outdated, though." Galladon added.
Raoden ground his teeth, thinking quickly. "Mareshe, send a runner for Karata.
Tell her to meet us at the university."
"Yes, my lord," the man said, waving over a messenger boy.

"Oh," Raoden said, "and have Saolin bring half of his soldiers and meet us
there. He's going to need to keep an eye on Shaor's men."
"I could go fetch them myself, if my lord wishes," offered Mareshe, ever
watchful for a chance to impress.
"No." Raoden said. "You have to practice being Aanden."
CHAPTER 23
ON DEL and Shuden both insisted on going with her. Eondel kept one
E hand on his sword-he usually wore the weapon no matter what Arelish
propriety said about them—and he watched both their guide and their complement
of Elantris City Guards with equal amounts of suspicion. For their parts,
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 gray 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 with 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 virtually 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 eontrol 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 baIked, obviousIy 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-pen.
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 or 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 slightly, his bald head 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, with amusement, 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 co 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 slightly, rubbing her fingers along the cart's wooden side. "1
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 is 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!" she said with amazement.
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 eart—she must have mistaken his dark hands for
Shuden's brown ones.

A throat cleared in front of her, and Sarene realized with a start 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 cobblestones 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 Arelish 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 with confusion.
"They're scared," Spirit said. "And disbelieving. 'rills 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. Hs 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. With a start, 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 with 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 with relief. 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 our 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 an
obvious connection between the two of them.
"The guide," Sarene explained 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.
"Actually, 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
shouId just let this man's subterfuge go unexpIored."
"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.
And, 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.

CHAPTER 24
HRATHEN was hot within his bloodred armor. exposed as he was to the bright
sunlight. He was consoled by how imposing he must look, standing atop the wall
with his armor shining in the light. Of course, no one was looking at him-they
were all watching the tall Teoish princess distribute her food.
Her decision to enter Elantris had shocked the town, and the king's subsequent
bestowal of permission had done so again. The walls of Elantris had filled
early. nobles and merchants packing themselves along the open, wall-top
walkway. They had come with faces like men watching a Svordish shark fight,
leaning over the wall to get the best view of what many projected would be a
thrilling disaster. It was commonly thought that the savages of Elantris would
rip the princess apart within the first few minutes of her entrance. then
proceed to devour her.
Hrathen watched with resignation as Elantris's monsters came placidly,
refusing to ingest even a single guard-let alone the princess. His demons
refused to perform, and he could see the disappointment in the crowd's faces.
The princess's move had been masterful, castrating Hrathen's devils with a
sweep of the brutal scythe known as truth. Now that Sarene's personal
aristocrats had proven their courage by entering Elantris, pride would force
the others to do so as well. Hatred of Elantris would evaporate, for people
couldn't fear that which they pitied.
As soon as it became obvious that no princesses would be devoured this day.
the people lost interest, returning down the wall's long flight of steps in a
steady. dissatisfied trickle. Hrathen joined them. climbing down the steps.
then turning toward the center of Kae and the Derethi chapel. As he walked,
however, a carriage pulled up alongside him. Hrathen recognized the Aon on its
side: Aon Rii.
The carriage pulled to a stop and the door opened. Hrathen paused for just a
moment, then climbed in, seating himself opposite Duke Telrii.
The duke was obviously not pleased. "I warned you about that woman. The people
will never hate Elantris now—and, if they don't hate Elantris, they won't hate
Shu-Korath either."
Hrathen waved his hand. "The girl's efforts are irrelevant."
"I don't see how that is the case."

"How long can she keep this up?" Hrathen asked. "A few weeks. a month at the
most? Right now, her excursions are a novelty, but that will wear off soon. I
doubt many of the nobility will be willing to accompany her in the future,
even if she does try and keep these feedings going."
"The damage is done," Telrii said insistently.
"Hardly," Hrathen said. "Lord Telrii, it has barely been a few weeks since I
arrived in Arelon. Yes, the woman has dealt us a setback, but it will prove a
minor inconvenience. You know, as I know, that the nobility are a fickle
group. How long do you think it will rake for them to forget their visits into
Elantris?"
Telrii didn't look convinced.
"Besides," Hrathen said, trying another tactic, "my work with Elantris was
only a small part of our plan. The instability of Iadon's throne—the
embarrassment he will sustain at the next taxing period-is what we should be
focusing on."
"The king recently found some new contracts in Teod," Telrii said.
"They won't be enough to recoup his losses," Hrathen said dismissively. "His
finances are crippled. The nobility will never stand for a king who insists
that they maintain their level of wealth, but who doesn't apply the same
standard to himself.
"Soon, we can begin spreading rumors as to the king's reduced circumstances.
Most of the high-ranking nobility are merchants themselves—they have means of
discovering how their competitors are doing. They'll find out just how much
Iadon is hurting, and they'll begin to complain."
"Complaints won't put me on the throne," Telrii said.
"You'd be surprised," Hrathen said. "Besides, at that same time we'll begin
implying that if you were to take the throne, you would bring Arelon a
lucrative trade treaty with the East. I can provide you with the proper
documents. There will be money enough for all—and that is something that Iadon
hasn't been able to provide. Your people know that this country is on the
verge of financial ruin. Fjorden can bring you out of it."
Telrii nodded slowly.
Yes, Telrii, Hrathen thought with an inward sigh, that's something you can
understand, isn't it? If we can't convert the nobility, we can always just buy
them.
The tactic wasn't as certain as Hrathen implied, but the explanation would do
for Telrii while Hrathen devised other plans. Once it was known that the king
was bankrupt and Telrii was rich, certain other . . . pressures placed on the
government would make for an easy—if abrupt—transfer in power.
The princess had countered the wrong scheme. Iadon's throne would collapse
even as she handed out food to the Elantrians, thinking herself clever for
having foiled Hrathen's plot.
"I warn you, Hrathen," Telrii said suddenly. "do not assume me a Derethi pawn.
I go along with your plans because you were able to produce the wealth that

you promised me. I won't just sit back and be pushed in any direction you
wish, however."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Your Lordship.- Hrathen said smoothly.
Telrii nodded, calling for the coachman to stop. They weren't even halfway to
the Derethi chapel.
"My mansion is that direction," Telrii said airily, pointing down a side
street. "You can walk the rest of the way to your chapel."
Hrathen clenched his jaw. Someday this man would have to learn proper respect
for Derethi officials. For now, however, Hrathen simpIy cIimbed out of the
carriage.
Considering the company, he preferred walking anyway.
"I'VE never seen this kind of response in Arelon," one priest noted.
"Agreed," said his companion. "I've been serving the empire in Kae for over a
decade, and we've never had more than a few conversions a year."
Hrathen passed the priests as he entered the Derethi chapel. They were minor
underpriests. of little concern to him; he noticed them only because of Dilaf.
"It has been a long while," Dilaf agreed. "Though I remember a time, just
after the pirate Dreok Crushthroat assaulted Teod, when there was a wave of
conversions in Arelon."
Hrathen frowned. Something about Dilaf's comment bothered him. He forced
himself to continue walking, but he shot a glance back at the arteth. Dreok
Crushthroat had attacked Teod fifteen years before. It was possible that Dilaf
would remember such a thing from his childhood, but how would he have known
about Arelon conversion rates?
The arteth had to be older than Hrathen had assumed. Much older. Hrathen's
eyes widened as he studied Dilaf's face in his mind. He had placed Dilaf as no
older than twenty-five, but he could now detect hints of age in the arteth's
face. Only hints. however-he was probably one of those rare individuals who
seemed many years younger than they really were. The "young" Arelish priest
feigned lack of experience, but his planning and scheming revealed an
otherwise hidden degree of maturity. Dilaf was far more seasoned than he led
people to assume.
But, what did that mean? Hrathen shook his head, pushing the door open and
walking into his rooms. Dilaf's power over the chapel was growing as Hrathen
struggled to find an appropriate, and willing, new head arteth. Three more men
had refused the position. That was more than just suspicious-Hrathen was
certain that Dilaf had something to do with the matter.
He's older than you assumed. Hrathen thought. He's also had influence over
Kae's priests for a very long time.
Dilaf claimed that many of the original Derethi followers in Kae had
originally

come from his personal chapel in southern Arelon. How long had it been since
he'd come to Kae? Fjon had been head arteth when Dilaf arrived, but Fjon's
leadership in the city had lasted a long time.
Dilaf had probably been in the city for years. He had probably been
associating with the other priests—learning to influence them, gaining
authority over them—that entire time. And. given Dilaf's ardor for Shu-Dereth,
he had undoubtedly chosen the most conservative and effective of Kae's arteths
to be his associates.
And those were exactly the men Hrathen had let remain in the city when he'd
first arrived. He'd sent away the less devoted men, and they would have been
the ones that would have been insulted or disturbed by Dilaf's extreme ardor.
Unwittingly. Hrathen had culled the chapel's numbers in Dilaf's favor.
Hrathen sat down at his desk, this new revelation disturbing him. No wonder he
was having trouble finding a new head arteth. Those who remained knew Dilaf
well: they were probably either afraid to take a position above him, or they
had been bribed by him to step aside.
He can't have that kind of influence over them all, Hrathen thought firmly.
I'll just have to keep looking. Eventually, one of the priests will take the
position.
Still, he was worried about Dilaf's startling effectiveness. The arteth held
two firm grips over Hrathen. First, Dilaf still had power over many of
Hrathen's strongest converts through his odiv oaths. Second, the arterh's
unofficial leadership of the chapel was growing more and more secure. Without
a head arteth, and with Hrathen spending much of his time giving sermons or
meeting with nobility, Dilaf had slowly been siphoning away power over the
day-to-day workings of the Derethi church in Arelon.
And, over it all, there was an even more disturbing problem—something Hrathen
didn't want to confront, something even more disarming than Sarene's Trial or
Dilaf's maneuverings. Hrathen could face external forces such as theirs, and
he could be victorious.
His internal wavering, however, was something entirely different.
He reached into his desk, seeking out a small book. He remembered unpacking it
into the drawer, as he had during countless other moves. He hadn't looked at
it in years, but he had very few possessions, and so he had never found
himself overburdened enough to discard the book.
Eventually, he located it. He flipped through the aging pages. selecting the
one he was looking for.
I have found purpose, the book read. Before, I lived, but I didn't know why. I
have direction now. It gives glory to all that I do. I serve in Lord Jaddeth's
empire, and my service is linked directly to Him. I am important.
Priests in the Derethi faith were trained to record spiritual experiences, but
Iira-then had never been diligent in this particular area. His personal record
contained

only a few entries—including this one, which he had written a few weeks after
his decision to join the priesthood many years before. Just before he entered
Dakhor monastery.
What happened to your faith, Hrathen?
Omin's questions plagued Hrathen's thoughts. He heard the Korathi priest
whispering in his mind, demanding to know what had happened to Hrathen's
beliefs, demanding to know the purpose behind his preaching. Had Hrathen
become cynical, performing his duties simply because they were familiar? Had
his preaching become a IogicaI challenge and not a spiritual quest?
He knew, in part, that it had. He enjoyed the planning, the confrontation, and
the thinking it took to convert an entire nation of heretics. Even with Dilaf
distracting him, Hrathen found the challenge of Arelon invigorating.
But what of the boy Hrathen? What of the faith, the almost unthinking passion
he had once felt? He could barely remember it. That part of his life had
passed quickly, his faith transforming from a burning flame into a comfortable
warmth.
Why did Hrathen want to succeed in Arelon? Was it for the notoriety? The man
who converted Arelon would be long remembered in the annals of the Derethi
church. Was it a desire to be obedient? He did, after all. have a direct order
from Wyrn. Was it because he seriously thought conversion would help the
people? He had determined to succeed in Arelon without a slaughter such as he
had instigated in Duladel. But, again, was it really because he wanted to save
lives? Or was it because he knew that a smooth conquest was more difficult.
and therefore more of a challenge?
His heart was as unclear to him as a room filled with smoke.
Dilaf was slowly seizing control. That in itself wasn't as Frightening as
Hrathen's own sense of foreboding. What if Dilaf was right to try and oust
Hrathen? What if Arelon would be better off with Dilaf in control? Dilaf
wouldn't have worried about the death caused by a bloody revolution; he would
have known that the people would eventually be better off with Shu-Dereth,
even if their initial conversion required a massacre.
Dilaf had faith. Dilaf believed in what he was doing. What did Hrathen have?
He wasn't certain anymore.

CHAPTER 25
I think, perhaps, that she needs this food as much as we do," Raoden said,
regarding the slight-framed Torena with a skeptical eye. Ahan's daughter had
pulled her reddish gold hair up under a protective scarf, and she wore a
simple blue dress—something she'd probably had to borrow from one of her
maids, considering the average Arelish noblewoman's extravagant wardrobe.
"Be nice to her," Sarene ordered, handing Raoden a box from the cart. "She's
the only woman brave enough to come-though she only agreed because I had
Shuden ask her. If you scare that girl away, none of the others will ever
come."
"Yes. Your Highness," Raoden said, bowing slightly. It seemed that a week's
worth of distributing food together had softened her hatred of him somewhat,
but she was still cold. She would respond to his comments, even converse with
him. but she would not let herself be his friend.
The week had been surrealy unnerving for Raoden. He'd spent his time in
Elantris accustoming himself to the strange and the new. This week, however,
he had been forced to reacquaint himself with the familiar. It was worse, in a
way. He could accept Elantris as a source of pain. It was entirely different
to see his friends the same way.
Even now, Shuden stood next to the girl Torena, his hand on her elbow as he
encouraged her to approach the line of food. Shuden had been one of Raoden's
best friends; the solemn Jindo and he had spent hours at a time discussing
their views on Arelon's civic problems. Now Shuden barely noticed him. It had
been the same with Eondel, Kiin, Roial, and even Lukel. They had been
companions to the handsome Prince Raoden, but never to the accursed creature
known as Spirit.
Yet, Raoden found it hard to be bitter. He couldn't blame them for not
recognizing him; he barely recognized himself anymore. with his wrinkled skin
and spindly body. Even his voice was different. In a way, his own subterfuge
hurt even more than his friends' ignorance. He couldn't tell them who he was,
for news of his survival could destroy Arelon. Raoden knew very well that his
own popularity exceeded that of his father-there would be some who would
follow him. Elantrian or not. Civil war would serve no one, and at the end of
it, Raoden would probably find himself beheaded.

No, he definiteIy had to remain hidden. Knowledge of his fate would only give
his friends pain and confusion. However, concealing his identity required
vigilance. His face and voice had changed, but his mannerisms had not. He made
a point of staying away from anyone who had known him too well, trying to be
cheerful and friendly, but not open.
Which was one reason why he found himself gravitating toward Sarene. She
hadn't known him before, and so he could discard his act around her. In a way,
it was kind of a test. He was curious to see how they would have gotten along
as husband and wife, without their separate political necessities getting in
the way.
His initial feelings seemed to have been correct. He liked her. Where the
letters had hinted, Sarene fulfilled. She wasn't like the women he had grown
accustomed to in the Arelish court. She was strong and determined. She didn't
avert her eyes downward whenever a man addressed her, no matter how noble his
rank. She gave orders easily and naturally, and never feigned weakness in
order to draw a man's attentiveness.
Yet, the lords followed her. Eondel, Shuden, even Duke Roial—they deferred to
her in judgment and responded to her commands as if she were king. There was
never a look of bitterness in their eyes, either. She gave her orders
courteously, and they responded naturally. Raoden could only smile in
amazement. It had taken him years to earn these men's trust. Sarene had done
it in a matter of weeks.
She was impressive in every attribute-intelligent, beautiful, and strong. Now,
if only he could convince her not to hate him.
Raoden sighed and turned back to the work. Except for Shuden, all of the day's
nobles were new to the process. Most were minor noblemen of little import, but
there were a couple of important additions. Duke Telrii, for instance, stood
to one side, watching the unloading process with lazy eyes. He didn't
participate himself, but had brought a manservant to fill his place. Telrii
obviously preferred to avoid any actual exertion.
Raoden shook his head. He had never cared much for the duke. He had once
approached the man, hoping that Telrii might be persuaded to join in Raoden's
opposition to the king. Telrii had simply yawned and asked how much Raoden was
willing to pay for his support, then had laughed as Raoden stalked away.
Rao-den had never been able to decide whether Telrii had asked the question
out of actual greed. or if he had simply known how Raoden would react to the
demand.
Raoden turned to the other noblemen. As usual, the newcomers stood in a small,
apprehensive cluster around the cart they had unloaded. Now it was Rao-den's
turn. He approached with a smile, introducing himself and shaking hands—mostly
against the owners' wills. However, their tension began to wane after just a
few minutes of mingling. They could see that there was at least one Elantrian
who wasn't going to eat them, and none of the other food distributors had
fallen to the Shaod, so they could dismiss their fears of infection.

The clot of people relaxed, falling to Raoden's affable proddings.
Acclimatizing the nobles was a task he had taken upon himself. It had been
obvious on the second day that Sarene had nowhere near as much influence with
most aristocrats as she did with Shuden and the others of Raoden's former
circle. If Raoden hadn't stepped in, that second group would probably still be
standing frozen around the cart. Sarene hadn't thanked him for his efforts,
but she had nodded in slight appreciation. Afterward, it had been assumed that
Raoden would help each new batch of nobles as he had that second one.
It was odd to him, participating in the event that was singularly destroying
everything he had worked to build in Elantris. However, beyond creating an
enormous incident, there was little he could do to stop Sarene. In addition,
Mareshe and Karata were receiving vital goods for their "cooperation." Raoden
would have to do a great deal of rebuilding after Sarene's Trial finished, but
the setbacks would be worth the effort. Assuming, of course. he survived long
enough.
The casual thought brought a sudden awareness of his pains. They were with him
as always, burning his flesh and eating at his resolve. He no longer counted
them, though each one had its own feeling-an unformed name, a sense of
individual agony. As far as he could tell, his pain was accelerating much more
quickly than anyone else's. A scrape on his arm felt like a gash running from
shoulder to fingers, and his once-stubbed toe blazed with a fire that ran all
the way to his knee. It was as if he had been in Elantris a year, and not a
single lonely month.
Or, maybe his pain wasn't stronger. Maybe he was just weaker than the others.
Either way, he wouldn't be able to endure much longer. A day would soon come.
in a month or maybe two, when he would not awaken from his pain, and they
would have to lay him in the Hall of the Fallen. There, he could finally give
full devotion to his jealous agony.
He pushed such thoughts away, forcing himself to start handing out food. He
tried to let the work distract him, and it helped a little. However, the pain
still lurked within, like a beast hiding in the shadows, its red eyes watching
with intense hunger.
Each Elantrian received a small sack filled with a variety of ready-to-eat
items. This day's portions were much like every other-though, surprisingly,
Sarene had found some Jindoeese sourmelons. The fist-sized red fruits
glistened in the crate beside Raoden, challenging the fact that they were
supposed to be out of season. He dropped one fruit in every bag, followed by
some steamed corn, various vegetables, and a small loaf of bread. The
Elantrians accepted the offerings thankfully but greedily. Most of them
scurried away from the cart as soon as they received their meal, off to eat it
in solitude. They still couldn't believe that no one was going to take it away
from them.
As Raoden worked, a familiar face appeared before him. Galladon wore his

Elantris rags, as well as a tattered cloak they had made from dirty Elantris
scavangings. The Dula held out his sack, and Raoden carefully switched it for
one filled with five times the regular allotment: it was so full it was hard
to lift with one weakened Elantrian hand. Galladon received the sack with an
extended arm, the side of his cloak obscuring it from casual eyes. Then he was
gone, disappearing through the crowd.
Saolin, Mareshe, and Karata would come as well. and each would receive a bag
like Galladon's. They would store what items they could, then give the rest to
the Hoed. Some of the faIlen were abIe to recognize food, and Raoden hoped
that regular eating would help restore their minds.
So far, it wasn't working.
THE gate thumped as it shut, the sound reminding Raoden of his first day in
Elantris. His pain then had only been emotional, and comparatively weak at
that. If he had truly understood what he was getting into, he probably would
have curled up and joined the Hoed right then and there.
He turned, putting his back to the gate. Mareshe and Galladon stood in the
center of the courtyard, looking down at several boxes Sarene had left
behind—fulfillment of Karata's most recent demands.
"Please tell me you've figured out a way to transport those," Raoden said,
joining his friends. The last few times, they had ended up carrying the boxes
back to New Elantris one at a time, their weakened Elantrian muscles straining
at the effort.
"Of course, I have." Mareshe said with a sniff. "At least, it should work."
The small man retrieved a slim metal sheet from behind a pile of rubble. All
four sides curved up slightly, and there were three ropes connected to the
front.
"A sled?" Galladon asked.
"Coated with grease on the bottom," Mareshe explained. "I couldn't find any
wheels in Elantris that weren't rusted or rotted. but this should work-the
slime on these streets will provide lubrication to keep it moving."
Galladon grunted, obviously biting off some sarcastic comment. No matter how
poorly Mareshe's sled worked, it couldn't be any worse than walking back and
forth between the gate and the chapel a dozen times.
In fact, the sled functioned fairly well. Eventually, the grease rubbed away
and the streets grew too narrow to avoid the patches of torn-up
cobblestones—and, of course, dragging it along the slime-free streets of New
Elantris was even more difficult. On the whole, however, even Galladon had to
admit that the sled saved them quite a bit of time.
"He finally did something useful," the Dula grunted after they had pulled up
in front of the chapel.

Mareshe snorted indifferently, but Raoden could see the pleasure in his eyes.
Galladon stubbornly refused to acknowledge the little man's ingenuity; the
Dula complained that he didn't want to further inflate Mareshe's ego.
something Rao-den figured was just about impossible.
"Let's see what the princess decided to send us this time," Raoden said,
prying open the first box.
"Watch our for snakes," Galladon warned.
Raoden chuckled. dropping the lid to the cobblestones. The box contained
several bales of cloth-all of which were a sickeningly bright orange.
Galladon scowled. "Sule, that has to be the most vile color I have ever seen
in my life."
"Agreed." Raoden said with a smile.
"You don't seem very disappointed."
"Oh, I'm thoroughly revolted," Raoden said. "1 just enjoy seeing the ways she
finds to spite us."
Galladon grunted, moving to the second box as Raoden held up an edge of the
cloth, studying it with a speculative eye. Galladon was right; it was a
particularly garish color. The exchange of demands and goods between Sarene
and the "gang leaders" had become something of a game: Mareshe and Karata
spent hours deciding how to word their demands, but Sarene always seemed to
find a way to turn the orders against them.
"Oh, you're going to love this," Galladon said, peering into the second box
with a shake of his head.
"What?"
"It's our steel," the Dula explained. Last time they had asked for twenty
sheets of steel. and Sarene had promptly delivered twenty plates of the metal
pounded so thin they almost floated when dropped. This time they had asked for
their steel by weight.
Galladon reached into the box and pulled out a handful of nails. Bent nails.
"There must be thousands of them in here."
Raoden laughed. "Well. I'm sure we can find something to do with them."
Fortunately, Eonic the blacksmith had been one of the few Elantrians to remain
true to Raoden.
Galladon dropped the nails back into their box with a skeptical shrug. The
rest of the supplies weren't quite as bad. The food was stale. but Karata had
stipulated that it had to be edible. The oil gave off a pungent smell when it
was burned—Raoden had no idea where the princess had found that particular
item—and the knives were sharp. bur they had no handles.
"At least she hasn't figured out why we demand wooden boxes." Raoden said.
inspecting the vessels themselves. The grain was good and strong. They would
be able to pry the boxes apart and use the wood for a multitude of purposes.

"I wouldn't be surprised if she left them unsanded just to give us splinters,"
Galladon said, sorting through a pile of rope, looking for an end to begin
unraveling the mess. "If that woman was your fate, stile, then your Domi
blessed you by sending you to this place."
"She's not that bad," Raoden said. standing as Mareshe began to catalogue the
acquisitions.
"I think it's odd, my lord," Mareshe said. "Why is she going to such lengths
to aggravate us? Isn't she afraid of spoiling our deal?"
"1 think she suspects how powerless we really are, Mareshe," Raoden said with
a shake of his head. "She fulfills our demands because she doesn't want to
back out of her promise. but she doesn't feel the need to keep us happy. She
knows we can't stop the people from accepting her food."
Mareshe nodded, turning back to his list.
"Come on, Galladon." Raoden said, picking up the bags of food for the Hoed.
"Let's find Karata."
NEW Elantris seemed hollow now. Once, right before Sarene's arrival, they had
collected over a hundred people. Now barely twenty remained, not counting
children and Hoed. Most of those who had stayed were newcomers to Elantris,
people like Saolin and Mareshe that Raoden had "rescued." They didn't know any
other life beyond New Elantris, and were hesitant to leave it behind. The
others—those who had wandered into New Elantris on their own—had felt only
faintly loyalty to Raoden's cause. They had left as soon as Sarene offered
them something "better": most now lined the streets surrounding the gate,
waiting for their next handout.
"Sad. Kolo?" Galladon regarded the now clean, but empty, houses.
"Yes." Raoden said. "It had potential, if only for a week."
"We'll get there again, sule." Galladon said.
"We worked so hard to help them become human again, and now they've abandoned
what they learned. They wait with open mouths—I wonder if Sarene realizes that
her three-meal bags usually last only a few minutes. The princess is trying to
stop hunger. but the people devour her food so fast that they end up feeling
sick for a few hours, then starve for the rest of the day. An Elantrian's body
doesn't work the same way as a regular person's."
"You were the one who said it, sule," Galladon said. "The hunger is
psychological. Our bodies don't need food; the Dor sustains us."
Raoden nodded. "Well, at least it doesn't make them explode." He had worried
that eating too much would cause the Elantrians' stomachs to burst.
Fortunately, once an Elantrian's belly was filled, the digestive system
started to work. Like Elantrian muscles, it still responded to stimulus.
They continued to walk, eventually passing Kollar scrubbing complacently at

a wall with a brush they had gotten him in the last shipment. His face was
peaceful and unperturbed; he hardly seemed to have noticed that his assistants
had left. He did, however, look up at Raoden and Galladon with critical eyes.
"Why hasn't my lord changed?" he asked pointedly.
Raoden looked down at his Elantris rags. "I haven't had time yet, Kahar."
"After all the work Mistress Maare went to sew you a proper outfit. my lord?"
Kahar asked critically.
"All right," Raoden said, smiling. "Have you seen Karata?"
"She's in the Hall of the Fallen, my lord, with the Hoed."
FOLLOWING the elderly cleaner's direction, Raoden and Galladon changed before
continuing on to find Karata. Raoden was instantly glad that they had done so.
He had nearly forgotten what it was like to put on fresh, clean clothing—cloth
that didn't smell of muck and refuse, and that wasn't coated in a layer of
brown slime. Of course. the colors left something to be desired—Sarene was
rather clever with her selections.
Raoden regarded himself in a small piece of polished steel. His shirt was
yellow dyed with blue stripes, his trousers were bright red, and his vest a
sickly green. Over all, he looked like some kind of confused tropical bird.
His only consolation was that as silly he looked, Galladon was much worse.
The large, dark-skinned Dula looked down at his pink and light green clothing
with a resigned expression.
"Don't look so sour, Galladon." Raoden said with a laugh. "Aren't you Dulas
supposed to be fond of garish clothing?“
"That's the aristocracy-the citizens and republicans. I'm a farmer; pink isn't
exactly what I consider a flattering color. Kolo?" Then he looked up at Raoden
with narrow eyes. "If you make even one comment about my resembling a kathari
fruit, I will take off this tunic and hang you with it."
Raoden chuckled. "Someday I'm going to find that scholar who told me all Dulas
were even-tempered, then force him to spend a week locked in a room with you,
my friend."
Galladon grunted, declining to respond.
"Come on," Raoden said, leading the way out of the chapel's back room. They
found Karata sitting outside of the Hall of the Fallen, a length of string and
a needle held in her hand. Saolin sat in front of her, his sleeve pulled back,
exposing a long, deep gash running along his entire arm. There was no flowing
blood. but the flesh was dark and slick. Karata was efficiently sewing the
gash back together.
"Saolin!" Raoden exclaimed. "What happened?"
The soldier looked down with embarrassment. He didn't seem pained, though

the cut was so deep a normal man would have fainted long before from pain and
blood loss. "I slipped, my lord, and one of them got to me."
Raoden regarded the wound with dissatisfaction. Saolin's soldiers had not
thinned as badly as the rest of Elantris; they were a stern group, not so
quick to abandon newfound responsibility. However, their numbers had never
been that great, and they barely had enough men to watch the streets leading
from Shaor's territory to the courtyard. Each day while the rest of Elantris
glutted themselves on Sarene's offerings, Saolin and his men fought a bitter
struggle to keep Shaor's beasts from overrunning the courtyard. Sometimes,
howling could be heard in the distance.
"1 am sorry, Saolin," Raoden said as Karata stitched.
"No mind, my lord." the soldier said bravely. However, this wound was
different from previous ones. It was on his sword arm.
"My lord . . ." he began, looking away from Raoden's eyes.
"What is it?"
"We lost another man today. We barely kept them back. Now. without me .. .
well. we'll have a very difficult time of it, my lord. My lads are good
fighters, and they are well equipped, but we won't be able to hold out for
much longer."
Raoden nodded. "I'll think of something." The man nodded hopefully. and
Raoden, feeling guilty, spoke on. "Saolin. how did you get a cut like that?
I've never seen Shaor's men wield anything other than sticks and rocks."
"They've changed, my lord," Saolin said. "Some of them have swords now, and
whenever one of my men falls they drag his weapons away from him." Raoden
raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"
"Yes. my lord. is that important?"
"Very. It means that Shaor's men aren't quite as bestial as they would have us
believe. There's room enough in their minds to adapt. Some of their wildness,
at least, is an act."
"Doloken of an act," Galladon said with a snort.
"Well, perhaps not an act," Raoden said. "They behave like they do because
it's easier than dealing with the pain. However, if we can give them another
option, they might take it."
"We could just let them though to the courtyard, my lord," Saolin suggested
hesitantly, grunting slightly as Karata finished her stitching. The woman was
proficient; she had met her husband while serving as a nurse for a small
mercenary group.
"No," Raoden said. "Even if they didn't kill some of the nobles, the Elantris
City Guards would slaughter them."
"Isn't that what we want, sule?" Galladon asked with an evil twinkle in his
eyes.
"Definitely not," Raoden said. "I think Princess Sarene has a secondary
purpose

behind this Trial of hers. She brings different nobles with her every day, as
if she wanted to acclimatize them to Elantris."
"What good would that do?" Karata asked, speaking for the first time as she
put away her sewing utensils.
"I don't know," Raoden said. "But it is important to her. If Shaor's men
attacked the nobility, it would destroy whatever the princess is trying to
accomplish. I've tried to warn her that not all Elantrians are as docile as
the ones she's seen, but I don't think she believes me. We'll just have to
keep Shaor's men away until Sarene is done."
"Which will be?" Galladon asked.
"Domi only knows," Raoden replied with a shake of his head. 'She won't tell
me—she gets suspicious every time I try to probe her for information."
"Well. sule," Galladon said, regarding Saolin's wounded arm. "you'd better
find a way to make her stop soon-either that, or prepare her to deal with
several dozen ravenous maniacs. Kolo?"
Raoden nodded.
A dot in the center, a line running a few inches above it, and another line
running along its right side—Aon Aon, the starting point of every other Aon.
Raoden continued to draw, his fingers moving delicately and quickly, leaving
luminescent trails behind them. He completed the box around the center dot,
then drew two larger circles around it. Aon Tia, the symbol for travel.
Raoden didn't stop here either. He drew two long lines extending from the
corners of the box—a proscription that the Aon was to affect only him—then
four smaller Aons down the side to delineate the exact distance it was to send
him. A series of lines crossing the top instructed the Aon to wait to take
effect until he tapped its center, indicating that he was ready.
He made each line or dot precisely: length and size was very important to the
calculations. It was still a relatively simple Aon. nothing like the
incredibly complex healing Aons that the book described. Still, Raoden was
proud of his increasing ability. It had taken him days to perfect the four-Aon
series that instructed Tia to transport him precisely ten body lengths away.
He watched the glowing pattern with a smile of satisfaction until it flashed
and disappeared, completely ineffective.
"You're getting better, stile," Galladon said, leaning on the windowsill,
peering into the chapel.
Raoden shook his head. "I have a long way to go, Galladon."
The Dula shrugged. Galladon had stopped trying to convince Raoden that
practicing AonDor was pointless. No matter what else happened, Raoden always
spent a few hours each day drawing his Aons. It comforted him—he felt the pain

less when he was drawing Aons, and he felt more at peace during those few
short hours than he had in a long time.
"How are the crops?" Raoden asked.
Galladon turned around, looking back at the garden. The cornstalks were still
short, barely more than sprouts. Raoden could see their stems beginning to
wilt. The last week had seen the disappearance of most of Galladon's workers,
and now only the Dula remained to labor on the diminutive farm. Every day he
made several treks to the well to bring water to his plants, but he couldn't
carry much, and the bucket Sarene had given them leaked.
"They'll live," Galladon said. "Remember to have Karata send for some
fertilizer in the next order."
Raoden shook his head. "We can't do that, my friend. The king mustn't find out
that we're raising our own food."
Galladon scowled. "Well, I suppose you could order some dung instead." "Too
obvious."
"Well, ask for some fish then," he said. "Claim you've gotten a sudden craving
for trike."
Raoden sighed, nodding. He should have thought a little more before he put the
garden behind his own home: the scent of rotting fish was not something he
looked forward to.
"You learned that Aon from the book?" Galladon asked, leaning through the
window with a leisurely posture. "What was it supposed to do?"
"Aon Tia?" Raoden asked. "It's a transportation Aon. Before the Reod, that Aon
could move a person from Elantris to the other side of the world. The book
mentions it because it was one of the most dangerous Aons."
"Dangerous?"
"You have to be very precise about the distance it is to send you. If you tell
it to transport you exactly ten feet. it will do so-no matter what happens to
be ten feet away. You could easily materialize in the middle of a stone wall."
"You're learning much from the book. then?"
Raoden shrugged. "Some things. Hints, mostly." He flipped back in the book to
a page he had marked. "Like this case. About ten years before the Reod, a man
brought his wife to Elantris to receive treatment for her palsy. However, the
Elantrian healer drew Aon Ien slightly wrong-and instead of just vanishing,
the character flashed and bathed the poor woman in a reddish light. She was
left with black splotches on her skin and limp hair that soon fell out. Sound
familiar?"
Galladon raised an eyebrow in interest.
"She died a short time later," Raoden said. "She threw herself off a building,
screaming that the pain was too much."
Galladon frowned. "What did the healer do wrong?"
"It wasn't an error so much as an omission," Raoden said. "He left out one of

the three basic lines. A foolish error, but it shouldn't have had such a
drastic effect." Raoden paused, studying the page thoughtfully. "It's almost
like . . ." "Like what, sule?"
"Well, the Aon wasn't completed, right?"
"Kolo."
"So, maybe the healing began, but couldn't finish because its instructions
weren't complete," Raoden said. "What if the mistake still created a viable
Aonone that could access the Dor, but couldn't provide enough energy to finish
what it started?"
"What are you implying, sule?"
Raoden's eyes opened wide. "Thar we aren't dead, my friend."
"No heartbeat. No breathing. No blood. I couldn't agree with you more."
"No, really," Raoden said, growing excited. "Don't you see—our bodies are
trapped in some kind of half transformation. The process began, but something
blocked it—just like in that woman's healing. The Dor is still within us,
waiting for the direction and the energy to finish what it started."
"I don't know that I follow you, sule." Galladon said hesitantly.
Raoden wasn't listening. "That's why our bodies never heal-it's like they're
trapped in the same moment in time. Frozen, like a fish in a block of ice. The
pain doesn't go away because our bodies think time isn't passing. They're
stuck, waiting for the end of their transformation. Our hair falls away and
nothing new grows to replace it. Our skin turns black in the spots where the
Shaod began. then halted as it ran out of strength."
"It seems like a leap to me, sule," Galladon said.
"It is," Raoden agreed. "But I'm sure it's true. Something is blocking the
Dor—I can sense it through my Aons. The energy is trying to get through, bur
there's something in the way—as if the Aon patterns are mismatched."
Raoden looked up at his friend. "We're not dead, Galladon, and we're not
damned. We're just unfinished."
"Great, sule." Galladon said. "Now you just have to find out why."
Raoden nodded. They understood a little more, but the true mystery—the reason
behind Elantris's fall-remained.
"But," the Dula continued, turning to tend to his plants again. "I'm glad the
book was of help."
Raoden cocked his head to the side as Galladon walked away. "Wait a minute,
Galladon."
The Dula turned with a quizzical look.
"You don't really care about my studies, do you?" Raoden asked. "You just
wanted to know if your book was useful."
"Why would I care about that?" Galladon scoffed.
"I don't know," Raoden said. "But you've always been so protective of your

study. You haven't shown it to anyone, and you never even go there yourself.
What is so sacred about that place and its books?"
"Nothing." the Dula said with a shrug. "I just don't want to see them ruined."
"How did you find that place anyway?" Raoden asked, walking over to the window
and leaning against the sill. "You say you've only been in Elantris a few
months, but you seem to know your way through every road and alley. You led me
straight to Shaor's bank. and the market's not exactly the kind of place you'd
have casually explored."
The Dula grew increasingIy uncomfortable as Raoden spoke. Finally he muttered,
"Can a man keep nothing to himself Raoden? Must you drag everything out of
me?"
Raoden leaned back, surprised by his friend's sudden intensity. "I'm sorry."
he stammered, realizing how accusatory his words had sounded. Galladon had
given him nothing but support since his arrival. Embarrassed. Raoden turned to
leave the Dula alone.
"My father was an Elantrian." Galladon said quietly.
Raoden paused. To the side, he could see his friend. The large Dula had taken
a seat on the freshly watered soil and was staring at a small cornstalk in
front of him.
"I lived with him until I was old enough to move away," Galladon said. "I
always thought it was wrong for a Dula to live in Arelon, away from his people
and his family. I guess that's why the Dor decided to give me the same curse.
"They always said that Elantris was the most blessed of cities, but my father
was never happy here. I guess even in paradise there are those who don't fit
in. He became a seholar-the study I showed you was his. However, Duladel never
left his mind—he studied farming and agriculture, though both were useless in
Elantris. Why farm when you can turn garbage into food?"
Galladon sighed, reaching out to pinch a piece of dirt between his fingers. He
rubbed them together for a moment, letting the soil fall back to the ground.
"He wished he had studied healing when he found my mother dying beside him in
bed one morning. Some diseases strike so quickly even Elantris can't stop
them. My father became the only depressed Elantrian I ever knew. That's when I
finally understood that they weren't gods, for a god could never feel such
agony. He couldn't return home—the Elantrians of old were as exiled as we are
today, no matter how beautiful they might have been. People don't want to live
with something so superior to themselves—they can't stand such a visible sign
of their own inferiority.
"He was happy when I returned to Duladen. He told me to be a farmer. I left
him a poor, lonely god in a divine city, wishing for nothing so much as the
freedom to be a simple man again. He died about a year after I left. Did you
know that Elantrians could die of simple things, such as heart-death? They
lived much longer

than regular people, but they could still die. Especially if they wanted to.
My father knew the signs of heart-death: he could have gone in to be healed,
but he chose to stay in his study and disappear. Just like those Aons you
spend so much time drawing."
"So you hate Elantris?" Raoden asked. slipping quietly through the open window
to approach his friend. He sat as well, looking across the small plant at
Galladon.
"Hate?" Galladon asked. "No, I don't hate—that isn't the Dula way. Of course,
growing up in Elantris with a bitter father made me a poor Dula. You've
realized that—I can't take things as lightly as my people would. I see a taint
on everything. Like the sludge of Elantris. My people avoided me because of my
demeanor, and I was almost glad when the Shaod took me—I didn't fit Duladel,
no matter how much I enjoyed my farming. I deserve this city, and it deserves
me. Kolo?"
Raoden wasn't certain how to respond. "I suppose an optimistic comment
wouldn't do much good right now."
Galladon smiled slightly. "Definitely not—you optimists just can't understand
that a depressed person doesn't want you to try and cheer them up. It makes us
sick.
"Then just let me say something true, my friend," Raoden said. "I appreciate
you. I don't know if you fit in here: I doubt any of us do. But I value your
help. If New Elantris succeeds. then it will be because you were there to keep
me from throwing myself off a building."
Galladon took a deep breath. His face was hardly joyful—yet, his gratitude was
plain. He nodded slightly. then stood and offered Raoden a hand to help him
up.
RAODEN turned fitfully. He didn't have much of a bed, just a collection of
blankets in the chapel's back room. However. discomfort wasn't what kept him
up. There was another problem—a worry in the back of his mind. He was missing
something important. He had been close to it earlier, and his subconscious
harried him, demanding that he make the connection.
But, what was it? What clue, barely registered, haunted him? After his
discussion with Galladon, Raoden had returned to his Aon practice. Then he had
gone for a short look around the city. All had been quiet—Shaor's men had
stopped attacking New Elantris, instead focusing on the more promising
potential presented by Sarene's visits.
It had to be related to his discussions with Galladon, he decided. Something
to do with the Aons, or perhaps Galladon's father. What would it have been
like to be an Elantrian back then? Could a man really have been depressed
within these

amazing walls? Who. capable of marvelous wonders, would be willing to trade
them for the simple life of a famer? It must have been beautiful back then, so
beautiful. . . .
"Merciful Dome Raoden yelled, snapping upright in his blankets.
A few seconds later, Saolin and Mareshe—who made their beds in the main room
of the chapeI—burst through the door. Galladon and Karata weren't far behind.
They found Raoden sitting in amazed stupefaction.
"Sule?" Galladon asked carefully.
Raoden stood and strode out of the room. A perpIexed entourage followed.
Raoden barely paused to light a lantern, and the pungent odor of Sarene's oil
didn't even faze him. He marched into the night. heading straight for the Hall
of the Fallen.
The man was there, still mumbling to himself as many of the Hoed did even at
night. He was small and wrinkled, his skin folded in so many places he
appeared a thousand years old. His voice whispered a quiet mantra.
"Beautiful," he rasped. "Once so very beautiful. . . ."
The hint hadn't come during his discussions with Galladon at all. It had come
during his short visit delivering food to the Hoed. Raoden had heard the man's
mumbling a dozen times, and never made the connection.
Raoden placed a hand on each of the man's shoulders. "What was so beautiful?"
"Beautiful . ." the man mumbled.
"Old man," Raoden pled. "If there is a soul left in that body of yours, even
the slightest bit of rational thought, please tell me. What are you talking
about?"
"Once so very beautiful .. ." the man continued, his eyes staring into the
air.
Raoden raised a hand and began to draw in front of the man's face. He had
barely completed Aon Rao before the man reached out. gasping as he put his
hand through the center of the character.
"We were so beautiful, once," the man whispered. 'My hair so bright, my skin
full of light. Aons fluttered from my fingers. They were so beautiful. ..."
Raoden heard several muttered exclamations of surprise from behind. "You
mean," Karata asked, approaching, 'all this time . . . ?"
"Ten years," Raoden said, still supporting the old man's slight body. "This
man was an Elantrian before the Reod."
"Impossible," Mareshe said. "It's been too long."
"Where else would they go?" Raoden asked. "We know some of the Elantrians
survived the fall of city and government. They were locked in Elantris. Some
might have burned themselves, a few others might have escaped, but the rest
would still be here. They would have become Hoed. losing their minds and their
strength after a few years . . . forgotten in the streets."
"Ten years," Galladon whispered. "Ten years of suffering."

Raoden looked the old man's eyes. They were lined with cracks and wrinkles,
and seemed dazed, as if by some great blow. The secrets of AonDor hid
somewhere in this man's mind.
The man's grip on Raoden's arm tightened almost imperceptibly, his entire body
quivering with effort. Three straining words hissed from his lips as his
agony-laden eyes focused on Raoden's face.
"Take. Me. Out."
"Where?" Raoden asked with confusion. "Out of the city?"
"The. Lake."
"I don't know what you mean, old one," Raoden whispered.
The man's eyes moved slightly, looking at the door.
"Karata, grab that light," Raoden ordered, picking up the old man. "Galladon,
come with us. Mareshe and Saolin, stay here. I don't want any of the others to
wake up and find us all gone."
"But .. ." Saolin began, but his words fell off. He recognized a direct order.
It was a bright night, moon hanging full in the sky, and the lantern almost
wasn't necessary. Raoden carried the old Elantrian carefully. It was obvious
that the man no longer had the strength to lift his arm and point, so Raoden
had to pause at every intersection, searching the old man's eyes for some sign
that they should turn.
It was a slow process, and it was nearly morning before they arrived at a
fallen building at the very edge of Elantris. The structure looked much like
any other, though its roof was mostly intact.
"Any idea what this was?" Raoden asked.
Galladon thought for a moment, digging through his memory. "Actually, I think
I do, sule. It was some sort of meetinghouse for the Elantrians. My father
came here occasionally, though I was never allowed to accompany him."
Karata gave Galladon a startled look at the explanation, but she held her
questions for another time. Raoden carried the old Elantrian into the hollow
building. It was empty and nondescript. Raoden studied the man's face. He was
looking at the floor.
Galladon knelt and brushed away debris as he searched the floor. "There's an
Aon here."
"Which one?"
"Rao, I think."
Raoden furled his brow. The meaning of Aon Rao was simple: It meant "spirit"
or "spiritual energy." However, the AonDor book had mentioned it infrequently,
and had never explained what magical effect the Aon was meant to produce.
"Push on it," Raoden suggested.

"I'm trying, sule," Galladon said with a grunt. "I don't think it's doing
any—" The Dula cut off as the section of floor began to fall away. He yelped
and scrambled back as the large stone block sank with a grinding noise. Karata
cleared her throat, pointing at an Aon she had pushed on the wall. Aon Tae—the
ancient symbol that meant "open."
"There are some steps here, sule." Galladon said, sticking his head into the
hole. He climbed down. and Karata followed with the lamp. After passing down
the old Hoed, Raoden joined them.
"Clever mechanism," Galladon noted, studying the series of gears that had
lowered the enormous stone block. "Mareshe would be going wild about now.
Kolo?"
"I'm more interested in these walls." Raoden said, staring at the beautiful
murals. The room was rectangular and squat. barely eight feet tall. but it was
brilliantly decorated with painted walls and a double row of sculpted columns.
"Hold the lantern up."
White-haired figures with silver skin coated the walls, their two-dimensional
forms engaged in various activities. Some knelt before enormous Aons; others
walked in rows, heads bowed. There was a sense of formality about the figures.
"This place is holy," Raoden said. "A shrine of some sort."
"Religion amongst the Elantrians?" Karata asked.
"They must have had something." Raoden said. "Perhaps they weren't as
convinced of their own divinity as the rest of Arelon." He shot an inquiring
look at Galladon.
'My father never spoke of religion." the Dula said. "But his people kept many
secrets, even from their families."
"Over there," Karata said. pointing at the far end of the rectangular room,
where the wall held only a single mural. It depicted a large mirrorlike blue
oval. An Elantrian stood facing the oval, his arms outstretched and his eyes
closed. He appeared to be flying toward the blue disk. The rest of the wall
was black, though there was a large white sphere on the other side of the
oval.
"Lake." The old Elantrian's voice was quiet but insistent.
"It's painted sideways," Karata realized. "See. he's falling into a lake."
Raoden nodded. The Elantrian in the picture wasn't flying, he was falling.
The oval was the surface of a lake, lines on its sides depicting a shore.
"It's like the water was considered a gate of some sort," Galladon said, head
cocked to the side.
"And he wants us to throw him in." Raoden realized. "Galladon, did you ever
see an Elantrian funeral?"
"Never," the Dula said with a shake of his head.
"Come on," Raoden said. looking down at the old man's eyes. They pointed
insistently at a side passage.

Beyond the doorway was a room even more amazing than the first. Karata held up
her lantern with a wavering hand.
"Books," Raoden whispered with excitement. Their light shone on rows and rows
of bookshelves, extending into the darkness. The three wandered into the
enormous room, feeling an incredible sense of age. Dust coated the shelves,
and their footsteps left tracks.
"Have you noticed something odd about this place. sule?" Galladon asked
softly.
"No slime," Karata realized.
"No slime," Galladon agreed.
"You're right," Raoden said with amazement. He had grown so used to New
Elantris's clean streets that he'd almost forgotten how much work it took to
make them that way.
"I haven't found a single place in this town that wasn't covered with that
slime, sule," Galladon said. "Even my father's study was coated with it before
I cleaned it."
"There's something else," Raoden said, looking back at the room's stone wall.
"Look up there."
"A lantern," Galladon said with surprise.
"They line the walls."
"But why not use Aons?" the Dula asked. "They did everywhere else."
"I don't know," Raoden said. "I wondered the same thing about the entrance. If
they could make Aons that transported them instantly around the city, then
they certainly could have made one that lowered a rock."
"You're right," Galladon said.
"AonDor must have been forbidden here for some reason," Karata guessed as they
reached the far side of the library.
`No Aons, no slime. Coincidence:" Galladon asked.
"Perhaps," Raoden said, checking the old man's eyes. He pointed insistently at
a small door in the wall. It was carved with a scene similar to the mural in
the first room.
Galladon pulled open the door, revealing a long, seemingly endless passage cut
into the stone. "Where in Doloken does this lead?"
"Out," Raoden said. "The man asked us to take him out of Elantris."
Karata walked into the passage, running her fingers along its smoothly carved
walls. Raoden and Galladon followed. The path quickly grew steep, and they
were forced to take frequent breaks to rest their weak Elantrian bodies. They
took turns carrying the old man as the slope turned to steps. It took over an
hour to reach the path's end—a simple wooden door, uncarved and unadorned.
Galladon pushed it open. and stepped out into the weak light of dawn. "We're
on the mountain," he exclaimed with surprise.

Raoden stepped out beside his friend, walking onto a short platform cut into
the mountainside. The slope beyond the platform was steep. but Raoden could
make out the hints of switchbacks leading down. Abutting the slope was the
city of Kae. and beyond that stood the enormous monolith that was Elantris.
He had never really realized just how big Elantris was. It made Kae look like
a village. Surrounding Elantris were the ghostly remains of the three other
Outer Cities-towns that. like Kae. had once squatted in the shadow of the
great city. All were now abandoned. Without Elantris's magics. there was no
way for Arelon to support such a concentration of people. The cities'
inhabitants had been forcibIy removed, becoming Iadon's workmen and farmers.
"Stile, I think our friend is getting impatient."
Raoden looked down at the Elantrian. The man's eyes twitched back and forth
insistently, pointing at a wide path leading up from the platform. "More
climbing," Raoden said with a sigh.
"Not much." Karata said from the top of the path. "It ends just up here."
Raoden nodded and hiked the short distance, joining Karata on the ridge above
the platform.
"Lake," the man whispered in exhausted satisfaction.
Raoden frowned. The "lake" was barely ten feet deep-more like a pool. Its
water was a crystalline blue, and Raoden could see no inlets or outlets. "What
now?" Galladon asked.
"We put him in," Raoden guessed, kneeling to lower the Elantrian into the
pool. The man floated for a moment in the deep sapphire water, then released a
blissful sigh. The sound opened a longing within Raoden, an intense desire to
be free of his pains both physical and mental. The old Elantrian's face seemed
to smooth slightly, his eyes alive again.
Those eyes held Raoden's for a moment, thanks shining therein. Then the man
dissolved.
"Doloken!" Galladon cursed as the old Elantrian melted away like sugar in a
cup of adolis tea. In barely a second, the man was gone, no sign remaining of
flesh, bone, or blood.
"I'd be careful if I were you, my prince." Karam suggested.
Raoden looked down, realizing how close he was to the pool's edge. The pain
screamed; his body shook. as if it knew how close it was to relief. All he had
to do was fall. ...
Raoden stood, stumbling slightly as he backed away from the beckoning pool. He
wasn't ready. He wouldn't be ready until the pain ruled him—as long as he had
will left, he would struggle.
He placed a hand on Galladon's shoulder. "When I am Hoed, bring me here. Don't
make me live in pain."
"You're young co Elantris yet, sule." Galladon said scoffingly. "You'll last
for years."
The pain raged in Raoden, making his knees tremble. "Just promise, my friend.
Swear to me you will bring me here."
"I swear, Raoden," Galladon said solemnly, his eyes worried.
Raoden nodded. "Come, we have a long trek back to the city."

CHAPTER 26
THE gate slammed shut as Sarene 's cart rolled back into Kae. "You're certain
he's the one in charge?" she asked.
Ashe bobbed slightly. "You were correct, my lady—my information about the gang
leaders was outdated. They call this newcomer Lord Spirit. His rise was a
recent event-most hadn't heard of him more than a month ago, though one man
claims that Lord Spirit and Shaor are the same person. The reports agree that
he defeated both Karata and Aanden. Apparently, the second confrontation
involved an enormous battle of some sort."
"Then the people I'm meeting with are impostors," Sarene said, tapping her
cheek as she rode in the back of the cart. It was hardly fitting
transportation for a princess. but none of the day's nobles had offered her a
ride in their coaches. She had intended to ask Shuden, but he had
disappeared—the young Torena had beat Sarene to him.
"Apparently they are. my lady. Are you angered?" Ashe asked the question
carefully. He had made it quite clear he still thought her preoccupation with
Spirit was an unnecessary distraction.
"No, not really. You have to expect a measure of subterfuge in any political
engagement." Or, so she said. Political necessity or not. she wanted Spirit to
be honest with her. She was actually beginning to trust him, and that worried
her.
He chose to confide in her for some reason. Around the others he was bright
and cheerful, but no man could be that one-sidedly optimistic. When he spoke

only to Sarene, he was more honest. She could see pain in his eyes.
unexplained sorrows and worries. This man, warlord or not, cared about
Elantris.
Like all Elantrians, he was more corpse than man: his skin wan and dry, his
scalp and eyebrows completely hairless. Her revulsion was decreasing every
day, however, as she grew accustomed to the city. She wasn't to the point
where she could see beauty in the Elantrians, but at least she wasn't
physically sickened by them any longer.
Still, she forced herself to remain aloof from Spirit's overtures of
friendship. She had spent too long in politics to let herself become
emotionally open with an opponent. And he was definitely an opponent—no matter
how affable. He played with her, presenting false gang leaders to distract,
while he himself supervised her distributions. She couldn't even be certain
that he was honoring their agreements. For all she knew, the only ones allowed
to receive food were Spirit's followers. Perhaps he seemed so optimistic
because she was inadvertently helping him reign supreme over the city.
The cart hit an especially large bump, and Sarene thumped against its wooden
floor. A couple of empty boxes toppled off the pile, nearly falling on top of
her.
"Next time we see Shuden," she mumbled sullenly, rubbing her posterior,
"remind me to kick him."
'Yes, my lady," Ashe said complacently.
SHE didn't have to wait long. Unfortunately, she also didn't have a chance to
do much kicking. She could probably have impaled Shuden if she had wished, but
that wouldn't have made her very popular with the court women. This happened
to be one of the days the women had chosen to practice their fencing, and
Shuden attended the meeting. as usual—though he rarely participated.
Thankfully, he also refrained from doing his ChayShan exercise. The women
moped over him enough as it was.
"They're actually improving," Eondel said appreciatively, watching the women
spar. Each had a steel practice sword, as well as a kind of uniform—a jumpsuit
much like the one Sarene wore, but with a short ring of cloth hanging down
from the waist, as if to imitate a skirt. The cloth loop was thin and useless,
but it made the women comfortable, so Sarene didn't say anything—no matter how
silly she thought it looked.
"You sound surprised. Eondel," Sarene said. "Were you that unimpressed with my
ability to teach?"
The stately warrior stiffened. "No, Your Highness, never—"
"She's teasing you, my lord," Lukel said, rapping Sarene on the head with a

rolled-up piece of paper as he approached. "You shouldn't let her get away
with things like that. It only encourages her."
"What's this?" Sarene said, snatching the paper from Lukel.
"Our dear king's income figures," Lukel explained as he removed a bright red
sourmelon from his pocket and took a bite. He still hadn't revealed how he'd
managed to get a shipment of the fruit an entire month before the season
began, a fact that was making the rest of the mercantile community rabid with
jealousy.
Sarene looked over the figures. 'Is he going to make it?"
"Barely." Lukel said with a smile. "But his earnings in Teod, coupled with his
tax income, should be respectable enough to keep him from embarrassment.
Congratulations. Cousin, you've saved the monarchy."
Sarene rerolled the paper. "Well, that's one less thing we have to worry
about." "Two," Lukel corrected, a bit of pink juice rolling down his cheek.
"Our dear friend Edan has fled the country."
"What?" Sarene asked.
"It's true, my lady," Eondel said. "I heard the news just this morning. Baron
Edan's lands border the Chasm down in southern Arelon, and recent rains caused
some mudslides involving his fields. Edan decided to cut his losses, and was
last seen heading for Duladel."
"Where he'll soon discover that the new monarchy is rather unimpressed with
Arelish titles," Lukel added. "I think Edan will make a nice farmer, don't
you'
"Wipe your mouth," Sarene said with a reproving look. "It's not kind to make
light of another's misfortune."
"Misfortune comes as Domi wills,- Lukel said.
"You never liked Edan in the first place," Sarene said.
"He was spineless, arrogant, and would have betrayed us if he'd ever found the
nerve. What wasn't there to like?" Lukel continued to munch on his fruit with
a self-satisfied smirk.
"Well, someone is certainly proud of himself this afternoon," Sarene noted.
"He is always like that after he makes a good business deal, Your Highness,"
Eondel said. "He'll be insufferable for another week at least."
"Ah, just wait for the Arelene Market," Lukel said. "I'll make a killing.
Anyway, Iadon is busy looking for someone rich enough to buy Edan's barony, so
you shouldn't have to worry about him bothering you for a little while."
"I wish I could say the same for you," Sarene replied, turning her attention
back to her still battling students. Eondel was right: They were improving.
Even the older ones seemed to be bursting with energy. Sarene held up her
hand, drawing their attention. and the sparring fell off.
"You're doing very well," Sarene said as the room fell silent. "I am
impressed-some of you are already better than many of the women I knew back in
Teod."

There was a general air of satisfaction about the women as they listened to
Sarene's praise.
"However, there is one thing that bothers me," Sarene said, beginning to pace.
"I thought you women intended to prove your strength, to show that you were
good for more than making the occasional embroidered pillowcase. However. so
far only one of you has truly shown me that she wants to change things in
Arelon. Torena, tell them what you did today."
The thin girl yelped slightly as Sarene said her name. then looked sheepishly
at her companions. "I went to Elantris with you?"
"Indeed," Sarene said. "I have invited each woman in this room several times,
but only Torena has had the courage to accompany me into Elantris."
Sarene stopped her pacing to regard the uncomfortable women. None of them
would look at her-not even Torena, who appeared to be feeling guilty by
association.
"Tomorrow I will go into Elantris again, and this rime, no men will accompany
me beyond the regular guards. If you really want to show this town that you
are as strong as your husbands, you will accompany me."
Sarene stood in her place, looking over the women. Heads raised hesitantly,
eyes focusing on her. They would come. They were frightened near to death. but
they would come. Sarene smiled.
The smile, however, was only half genuine. Standing as she was, before them
like a general before his troops. she realized something. It was happening
again.
It was just like Teod. She could see respect in their eyes; even the queen
herself looked to Sarene for advice now. However. respect her as they did.
they would never accept her. When Sarene entered a room, it fell silent; when
she left, conversations began again. It was as if they thought her above their
simple discussions. By serving as a model for what they wanted to become,
Sarene had alienated herself from them.
Sarene turned, leaving the women to their practicing. The men were the same.
Shuden and Eondel respected her—even considered her a friend—but they would
never think about her romantically. Despite his professed annoyance with
courtly games of matrimony. Shuden was reacting favorably to Torena's
advances—but he had never once looked at Sarene. Eondel was far older than
she, but Sarene could sense his feelings toward her. Respect, admiration, and
a willingness to serve. It was as if he didn't even realize she was a woman.
Sarene knew that she was married now. and shouldn't be thinking about such
things, but it was hard to regard herself as wedded. There had been no
ceremony, and she had known no husband. She craved something—a sign that at
least some of the men found her attractive. though she never would have
responded to any such advances. The point was irrelevant; the men of Arelon
feared her as much as they respected her.

She had grown up without affection outside of her family, and it appeared she
would continue that way. At least she had Kiin and his family. Still, if she
had come to Arelon searching for acceptance, then she had failed. She would
have to be content with respect.
A deep, scratchy voice sounded behind her, and Sarene turned to find that Kiin
had joined Lukel and Eondel.
"Uncle?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"
"I got home and found the house empty," Kiin said. "There's only one person
who would dare steal a man's entire family."
"She didn't steal us, Father," Lukel joked. "We just heard that you were going
to make Hraggish weed soup again."
Kiin regarded his jovial son for a moment. rubbing his chin where his beard
once grew. "He got a good sale, then?"
"A very lucrative one," Eondel said.
"Domi protect us," Kiin grumbled. settling his stout body into a nearby chair.
Sarene took a seat next to him.
"You heard about the king's projected earnings, 'Ene?" Kiin asked. "Yes,
Uncle."
Kiin nodded. "I never thought I'd see the day when I was encouraged by Iadon's
success. Your plan to save him worked, and from what I hear. Eondel and the
rest are expected to bring forth exemplary crops."
"Then why do you look so worried?" Sarene asked.
"I'm getting old, 'Ene, and old men tend to worry. Most recently I've been
concerned about your excursions into Elantris. Your father would never forgive
me if something happened to you in there."
"Not that he's going to forgive you anytime soon anyway," Sarene said
offhandedly.
Kiin grunted. "That's the truth." Then he stopped. turning suspicious eyes her
direction. "What do you know of that?"
"Nothing," Sarene admitted. "But I'm hoping you will rectify my ignorance."
Kiin shook his head. "Some things are better left unrectified. Your father and
I were both a whole lot more foolish when we were younger. Eventeo might be a
great king, but he's a pathetic brother. Of course. I won't soon win any
awards for my fraternal affection either."
"But what happened?"
"We had a ... disagreement."
"What kind of disagreement?"
Kiin laughed his bellowing, raspy laugh. "No, 'Ene. I'm not as easy to
manipulate as your larks over there. You just keep on wondering about this
one. And don't pout."
"I never pout." Sarene said, fighting hard to keep her voice from sounding

childish. When it became apparent that her uncle wasn't going to offer any
more information, Sarene finally changed the subject. "Uncle Kiin, are there
any secret passages in Iadon's palace?"
"I'd be surprised as the Three Virgins if there aren't," he replied. "Iadon is
just about the most paranoid man I've ever known. He must have at least a
dozen escape routes in that fortress he calls home."
Sarene resisted the urge to point out that Kiin's home was as much a fortress
as the king's. As their conversation lulled, Kiin turned to ask Eondel about
Lukel's sourmeIon deal. Eventually, Sarene stood and retrieved her syre. then
walked out onto the practice floor. She fell into form and began moving
through a solo pattern.
Her blade whipped and snapped, the well-practiced motions now routine. and her
mind soon began to wander. Was Ashe right? Was she allowing herself to become
distracted by Elantris and its enigmatic ruler? She couldn't lose track of her
greater tasks—Hrathen was planning something, and Telrii couldn't possibly be
as indifferent as he made himself out to be. She had a lot of things she
needed to watch, and she had enough experience with politics to realize how
easy it was to overextend oneself.
However, she was increasingly interested in Spirit. It was rare to find
someone politically skilled enough to hold her attention, but in Arelon she
had found two. In a way. Spirit was even more fascinating than the gyorn.
While Hrathen and she were very frank about their enmity, Spirit somehow
manipulated and foiled her while at the same time acting like an old friend.
Most alarmingly. she almost didn't care.
Instead of being outraged when she filled his demands with useless items. he
had seemed impressed. He had even complimented her on her frugality, noting
that the cloth she sent must have been bought at a discount, considering its
color. In all things he remained friendly, indifferent to her sarcasm.
And she felt herself responding. There, in the center of the cursed city, was
finally a person who seemed willing to accept her. She wished she could laugh
at his clever remarks, agree with his observations and share his concerns. The
more confrontational she tried to be, the less threatened he was. He actually
seemed to appreciate her defiance.
"Sarene, dear?" Daora's quiet voice broke through her contemplations. Sarene
made one final sweep of her sword, then stood up. dazed. Sweat streamed down
her face. running along the inside of her collar. She hadn't realized how
vigorous her training had become.
She relaxed, resting the tip of her syre on the floor. Daora's hair was pulled
into a neat bun, and her uniform was unstained by sweat. As usual. the woman
did all things with grace—even exercise.
"Do you want to talk about it, dear?" Daora asked with a coaxing tone. They

stood to the side of room. the thumping of feet and slapping of blades masking
the conversation from prying ears.
"About what?" Sarene asked with confusion.
"I've seen that look before, child," Daora said comfortingly. "He's not for
you. But, of course, you've realized that, haven't you?"
Sarene paled. How could she know? Could the woman read thoughts? Then,
however, Sarene followed her aunt's gaze. Daora was looking at Shuden and
Torena, who were laughing together as the young girl showed Shuden a few basic
thrusts.
"I know it must be hard, Sarene," Daora said, "being locked into a marriage
with no chance for affection ... never knowing your husband, or feeling the
comfort of his love. Perhaps in a few years, after your place here in Arelon
is more secure, you could allow yourself a relationship that is ... covert. It
is much too soon for that now. however."
Daora's eyes softened as she watched Shuden clumsily drop the sword. The
normally reserved Jindo was laughing uncontrollably at his mistake. "Besides,
child," Daora continued, "this one is meant for another."
"You think ... ?" Sarene began.
Daora placed a hand on Sarene's arm, squeezing it lightly and smiling. "I've
seen the look in your eyes these last few days, and I've also seen the
frustration. The two emotions go together more often than youthful hearts
expect."
Sarene shook her head and laughed slightly. "I assure you, Aunt," she said
affectionately. yet firmly, "I have no interest in Lord Shuden."
"Of course. dear," Daora said, patting her arm, then retreating.
Sarene shook her head, walking over to get a drink. What were these "signs"
Daora had claimed to see in her? The woman was usually so observant; what had
made her misjudge so grievously in this instance? Sarene liked Shuden, of
course. but not romantically. He was too quiet and, like Eondel, a bit too
rigid for her taste. Sarene was well aware that she would need a man who would
know when to give her space. but who also wouldn't let her bend him in any way
she chose.
With a shrug, Sarene put Daora's misguided assumptions from her mind. then sat
down to contemplate just how she was going to throw awry Spirit's latest, and
most detailed, list of demands.

CHAPTER 27
HRATHEN stared at the paper for a long, long period of time. It was an
accounting of King Iadon's finances, as calculated by Derethi spies. Somehow,
Iadon had recovered from his lost ships and cargo. Telrii would not be king.
Hrathen sat at his desk. still in the armor he'd been wearing when he entered
to find the note. The paper sat immobile in his stunned fingers. Perhaps if he
hadn't been faced by other worries, the news wouldn't have shocked him so
much—he had dealt with plenty of upset plans in his life. Beneath the paper,
however, sat his list of local arteths. He had offered every single one of
them the position of head arteth, and they had all refused. Only one man
remained who could take the position. Iadon's recovery was only one more
fallen brick in the collapsing wall of Hrathen's sense of control. Dilaf all
but ruled in the chapel; he didn't even inform Hrathen of half the meetings
and sermons he organized. There was a vengefulness to the way Dilaf was
wresting control away from Hrathen. Perhaps the arteth was still angered over
the incident with the Elantrian prisoner, or perhaps Dilaf was just
transferring his anger and frustration over Sarene's humanization of the
Elantrians against Hrathen instead.
Regardless, Dilaf was slowly seizing power. It was subtle, but it seemed
inevitable. The crafty arteth claimed that menial organizational items were
"beneath the time of my lord hroden"—a claim that was, to an extent. well
founded. Gyorns rarely had much to do with day-to-day chapel practices, and
Hrathen couldn't do everything himself. Dilaf stepped in to fill the gaps.
Even if Hrathen didn't break down and make the obvious move-appointing Dilaf
head arteththe eventual result would be the same.
Hrathen was losing his grip on Arelon. Nobles went to Dilaf now instead of
him, and while Derethi membership was still growing. it wasn't increasing
quickly enough. Sarene had somehow foiled the plot to put Telrii on the
throne—and after visiting the city, the people of Kae would no longer regard
Elantrians as demons. Hrathen was setting a poor precedent for his activities
in Arelon.
On top of it all stood Hrathen's wavering faith. This was not the time to call
his beliefs into question. Hrathen understood this. However, understanding—as

opposed to feeling—was the root of his problem. Now that the seed of
uncertainty had been given purchase in his heart. he couldn't easily uproot
it.
It was too much. Suddenly, it seemed as if his room were falling in on him.
The walls and ceiling shrunk closer and closer, as if to crush him beneath
their weight. Hrathen stumbled, trying to escape, and fell to the marble
floor. Nothing worked, nothing could help him.
He groaned. feeling the pain as his armor bit into his skin at odd angles. He
rolled to his knees, and began to pray.
As a priest of Shu-Dereth. Hrathen spent hours in prayer each week. However,
those prayers were different—more a form of meditation than a communication, a
means of organizing his thoughts. This time he begged.
For the first time in years he found himself pleading for aid. Hrathen reached
out to that God that he had served so long lie had almost forgotten Him. The
God he had shuffled away in a flurry of logic and understanding, a God he had
rendered impotent in his life, though he sought to further His influence.
For once, Hrathen felt unfit to perform on his own. For once he admitted a
need for help.
He didn't know how long he knelt, praying fervently for aid, compassion, and
mercy. Eventually. he was startled from his trancelike pleading by a knock at
his door.
"Come." he said distractedly.
"I apologize for disturbing my lord." said a minor underpriest, cracking open
the door. "But this just arrived for you." The priest pushed a small crate
into the room, then closed the door.
Hrathen rose on unstable feet. It was dark outside, though he had begun his
prayers before noon. Had he really spent that long in supplication? A lirtle
dazed, Hrathen picked up the box and placed it on his desk, prying loose the
lid with a dagger. Inside, packed with hay, was a rack containing four vials.
My Lord Hrathen, the note read. Here is the poison you requested. All of the
effects are exactly as you specified. The liquid must be ingested, and the
victim won't display any symptoms until about eight hours afterwards.
In all things, praise to Lord Jaddeth.
Forton, apothecary and loyal subject of Wyrn.
Hrathen picked up a vial, regarding its dark contents with wonder. He had
almost forgotten his late-night call to Forton. He vaguely remembered assuming
he would administer the poison to Dilaf. That plan wouldn't work anymore. He
needed something more spectacular.
Hrathen swished the poison around in its vial for a moment, then pulled off
the stopper and drank it down in a single gulp.

CHAPTER 28
 THE most difficult part was deciding where to begin reading. The bookshelves
extended out of sight. their information stretching as if to eternity. Raoden
was certain that the clues he needed were contained somewhere within the vast
sea of pages, but finding them seemed a daunting task indeed.
Karata was the one who made the discovery. She located a low bookshelf near
the side of the room opposite the entrance. A set of about thirty volumes
squatted on the shelf, waiting in their dust. They dictated a cataloguing
system, with numbers relating to the various columns and rows of the library.
From it, Raoden easily located the books on AonDor. He selected the least
complicated volume he could find, and set to work.
Raoden restricted knowledge of the library to himself, Galladon, and Karata.
Not only did he fear a repeat of Aanden's book boiling, but he sensed a
sacredness to the structure. It was not a place to be invaded by visitors,
misunderstanding fingers that would disorganize books and shatter the calm.
They kept the pool a secret as well, giving Mareshe and Saolin a simplified
explanation. Raoden's own longings warned him how dangerous the pool was.
There was a parr of him that wanted to seek out its deadly embrace, the
refreshment of destruction. If the people knew that there was an easy,
painless way to escape the suffering, many would take it without deliberation.
The city would be depopulated in a matter of months.
Letting them do so was an option, of course. What right had he to keep the
others from their peace? Still, Raoden felt that it was too soon to give up on
Elantris. In the weeks before Sarene began giving out food, he had seen that
Elantris could forget its pains and its hungers. The Elantrians could move
beyond their urges—there was an escape for them besides destruction.
But not for him. The pain swelled with each passing day. It drew strength from
the Dor, bringing him a little closer to submission with its every assault.
Fortunately, he had the books to distract him. He studied them with hypnotic
fascination, finally discovering the simple explanations he had sought for so
long.
He read how the complex Aon equations worked together. Drawing a line slightly
longer in proportion to the rest of an Aon could have drastic effects. Two

Aon equations could start the same, but-like two rocks rolled down a mountain
on slightIy different paths—they could end up doing completely different
things. All by changing the length of a few lines.
He began to grasp the theory of AonDor. The Dor was as Galladon had described
it: a powerful reservoir just beyond the normal senses. Its only desire was to
escape. The books explained that the Dor existed in a place that was full of
pressure, and so the energy pushed its way through any viable exit, moving
from an area of high concentration to one of low.
However, because of the Dor's nature, it could enter the physical world only
through gates of the proper size and shape. Elantrians could create rifts with
their drawings, providing a means for the Dor to escape. and those drawings
would determine what form the energy took when it appeared. However, if even
one line was of the wrong proportion, the Dor would be unable to enter-like a
square trying to force its way through a round hole. Some theorists described
the process using unfamiliar words like "frequency" and "pulse length." Raoden
was only beginning to understand how much scientific genius was held in the
library's musty pages.
Still, for all of his studies, he was disappointingly unable to find out what
had made AonDor stop working. He could only guess that the Dor had changed
somehow. Perhaps now, instead of a square. the Dor was a triangle—and, no
matter how many square-shaped Aons Raoden drew. the energy couldn't get
through. What could have led to the Dor's sudden shift was beyond him.
"How did that get in here?" Galladon asked, interrupting Raoden's thoughts.
The Dula pointed toward the Seon Ien, who floated along the top of a
bookshelf, his light casting shadows on the books.
"I don't know." Raoden said, watching ten loop a few times.
"I have to admit, sule. Your Seon is creepy."
Raoden shrugged. "All of the mad Seons are that way."
"Yes, but the others generally stay away from people." Galladon eyed Ten.
shivering slightly. The Seon, as usual. didn't pay any apparent attention to
Galladonthough Ien did seem to like staying near Raoden.
"Well, anyway," Galladon said, "Saolin's asking for you."
Raoden nodded, closing his book and rising from the small desk—one of many at
the back of the library. He joined Galladon at the doorway. The Dula shot one
last, uncomfortable look at Ien before closing the door, locking the Seon in
darkness.
"I don't know, Saolin," Raoden said hesitantly.
"My lord, we have little choice," the soldier said. "My men have too many
injuries. It would be pointless to stand against Shaor today-the wildmen would
barely pause to laugh as they pushed us out of the way."

Raoden nodded with a sigh. The soldier was right: They couldn't keep holding
Shaor's men away from Sarene. Though Saolin had grown quite proficient at
fighting with his left hand, there just weren't enough warriors left to
protect the courtyard. In addition, it seemed that Shaor's men were growing
more and more dangerous in their ferocity. They could obviousIy sense that
there was food in the courtyard. and the inability to reach it had driven them
to an even deeper level of insanity.
Raoden had tried leaving food out for them, but the distraction only worked
for a short time. They stuffed their faces, then rushed on, even more furious
than before. They were driven by a single-minded, obsessive goal: to reach the
carts of food in the courtyard.
If only we had more soldiers! Raoden thought with frustration. He'd lost many
of his people to Sarene's handouts, while Shaor's numbers were apparently
remaining strong. Raoden and Galladon had both offered to join Saolin's
fighters, but the grizzled captain would hear nothing of it.
"Leaders don't fight," the broken-nosed man had said simply. "You're too
valuable."
Raoden knew the man was right. Raoden and Galladon were not soldiers; they
wouldn't do much besides disorder Saolin's carefully trained troops. They had
few choices left, and it appeared Saolin's plan was the best of several bad
options.
"All right." Raoden said. "Do it."
"Very good, my lord," Saolin said with a slight bow. "I will begin the
preparations-we only have a few minutes until the princess arrives."
Raoden dismissed Saolin with a nod. The soldier's plan was a desperate
last-ditch attempt at a trap. Shaor's men tended to take that same path eaeh
day before splitting up to try and work their way into the courtyard, and
Saolin planned to ambush them as they approached. It was risky, but it was
probably their only chance. The soldiers could not continue fighting as they
were.
"I suppose we should go. then." Raoden said.
Galladon nodded. As they turned to walk toward the courtyard, Raoden couldn't
help feeling uncomfortable with the decision he'd made. If Saolin lost, then
the wildmen would break through. If Saolin won, it would mean the death or
incapacitation of dozens of Elantrians—men, on both sides, that Raoden should
have been able to protect.
Either way, I'm a failure, Raoden thought.
S ARE NE could tell something was wrong. but she wasn't sure what it could be.
Spirit was nervous, his friendly banter subdued. It wasn't her—it was
something else. Perhaps some burden of leadership.

She wanted to ask him what it was. She moved through the now familiar routine
of food distribution, Spirit's worry making her nervous. Each time he
approached to accept an item from the cart, she looked into his eyes and saw
his tension. She couldn't force herself to ask about the problem. She had gone
too long feigning coldness, too long rebuffing his attempts at friendship.
Just as in Teod, she had locked herself into a role. And, just as before, she
cursed herself, not quite knowing how to escape her self-imposed indifference.
Fortunately, Spirit didn't share her same inhibitions. As the noblemen
gathered to begin the handouts, Spirit pulled Sarene aside, walking just a
short distance from the main group.
She eyed him curiously. "What?"
Spirit glanced back at the collection of noblemen, and even a few noblewomen,
who were waiting for the Elantrians to approach and receive their food.
Finally, he turned to Sarene. "Something might happen today," he said.
"What?" she asked, frowning.
"Do you remember how I told you that not all Elantrians were as docile as the
ones here?"
"Yes," Sarene said slowly. What's your trick, Spirit? What game are you Aging?
He seemed so honest, so earnest. Yet, she couldn't help worrying that he was
just toying with her.
"Well, just Spirit said. "Just be ready. Keep your guards close."
Sarene frowned. She sensed a new emotion in his eyes—something she hadn't seen
in him before. Guilt.
As he turned back toward the food line, leaving his foreboding words ringing
in her mind. a part of Sarene was suddenly grateful that she had remained
aloof. He was hiding something from her-something big. Her political senses
warned her to be wary.
Whatever he had been expecting, however, it didn't come. By the time they had
begun handing out food, Spirit had relaxed somewhat. speaking cheerfully.
Sarene began to think that he had made a big show out of nothing.
Then the yelling began.
R AO DEN cursed, dropping his bag of food as he heard the howl. It was
close—far too close. A moment later he saw Saolin's beleaguered form appear at
the mouth of an alley. The soldier was swinging his sword wildly at four
separate opponents. One of the wildmen smashed a cudgel against Saolin's legs,
and the soldier fell.
Then Shaor's men were upon them.
They spilled out of every alleyway—nearly two dozen howling madmen. The
Elantris City Guards jumped up in surprise, startled from their leisurely
idling

near the gate. but they were too slow. Shaor's men leapt toward the group of
aristocrats and Elantrians. their mouths open savagely.
Then Eondel appeared. By some fortune of chance, he had chosen to accompany
Sarene on the days trip and, as always, he had worn his sword—defying
convention in favor of safety. In this instance, his caution was well placed.
Shaor's men weren't expecting resistance, and they stumbled over themselves
before the general's swinging bIade. Despite his accumulating years, Eondel
fought with spry dexterity, beheading two wildmen in one breath. Eondel's
weapon, powered by healthy muscles, easily cut through the Elantrian flesh.
His attack slowed the wildmen long enough for the Guards to join the battle,
and they formed a line beside him.
Finally realizing that they were in danger, the nobles began to scream.
Fortunately, they were only a few steps away from the gate. and they easily
fled the chaos. Soon only Raoden and Sarene remained, looking at each other
through the battle.
One of Shaor's followers fell at their feet, knocking over a carton of grain
mush. The creature's belly was sliced waist to neck. and his arms flailed
awkwardly, mixing the white mush paste with the slime of the cobblestones. His
lips trembled as he stared upward.
"Food. We only wanted a little food. Food . ." the madman said, beginning the
mantra of a Hoed.
Sarene looked down at the creature, then took a step back. When she looked
back up at Raoden. her eyes shone with the icy rage of betrayal.
"You held food back from them, didn't you?" she demanded.
Raoden nodded slowly, making no excuse. "I did."
"You tyrant!" she hissed. "You heartless despot!"
Raoden turned to look at Shaor's desperate men. In a way, she was right. "Yes.
I am."
Sarene took another step backward. However, she stumbled against something.
Raoden reached out to steady her, but then stopped as he realized what had
tripped her. It was a sack of food, one of the overstuffed bags Raoden had
prepared for the Hoed. Sarene looked down as well. realization dawning.
"I almost started trusting you," Sarene said bitterly. Then she was gone,
dashing toward the gate as the soldiers fell back. Shaor's men did not follow,
instead falling on the bounty that the nobles had abandoned.
Raoden stepped back from the food. Shaor's men didn't even seem to notice him
as they tore into the scattered supplies, stuffing their faces with dirty
hands. Raoden watched them with tired eyes. It was over. The nobles would not
enter Elantris again. At least none of them had been killed.
Then he remembered Saolin. Raoden dashed across the courtyard to kneel beside
his friend. The old soldier stared sightlessly into the sky, his head rocking

back and forth as he mumbled, "Failed my lord. Failed my lord Spirit. Failed.
failed, failed. .
Raoden moaned. bowing his head in despair. What have I done? he wondered,
helplessly cradling the newly made Hoed.
Raoden stayed there, lost in sorrow until long after Shaor's men had taken the
last of the food and run off. Eventually, an incongruous sound brought him out
of his grief.
The gates of Elantris were opening again.
CHAPTER 29
M Y lady, are you injured?" Ashe's deep voice was wrought with concern. Sarene
tried to wipe her eyes, but the tears kept coming. "No," she said through her
quiet sobs. "I'm fine."
Obviously unconvinced, the Seon floated around her in a slow semicircle,
searching for any outward signs of injury. Houses and shops passed quickly
beyond the carriage window as the vehicle sped them back to the palace.
Eondel. the carriage's owner, had stayed behind at the gate.
"My lady," Ashe said, his tone frank. "What is wrong?"
"I was right, Ashe." she said, trying to laugh at her stupidity through the
tears. "I should be happy; I was right about him all along."
"Spirit?"
Sarene nodded, then rested her head against the back of the seat, staring up
at the carriage's ceiling. "He was withholding food from the people. You
should have seen them. Ashe—their starvation had driven them mad. Spirit's
warriors kept them away from the courtyard, but they must have finally gotten
hungry enough to fight back. I can't imagine how they did it—they didn't have
armor or swords, just their hunger. He didn't even try to deny it. He just
stood there, watching his schemes fall apart, a stash of hoarded food at his
feet."
Sarene raised her hands to her face, holding her head in frustration. "Why am
I so stupid?"

Ashe pulsed with concern.
"I knew what he was doing. Why does it bother me to find out I was right?"
Sarene took a deep breath, but it caught in her throat. Ashe had been right:
She had allowed herself to get too caught up in Spirit and Elantris. She had
become too emotionally involved to act on her suspicions.
The result was a disaster. The nobility had responded to Elantrian pain and
wretchedness. Long-held prejudices had weakened, the Korathi teachings of
temperate understanding proving their influence. Now, however, the nobility
would only remember that they had been attacked. Sarene could only thank Domi
that none of them had been hurt.
Sarene's thinking was interrupted by the sounds of armor clinking outside of
her window. Recouping her composure the best she could, Sarene poked her head
out the window to see what was causing the ruckus. A double line of men in
chain and leather marched past her carriage, their livery black and red. It
was Iadon's personal guard, and they were heading for Elantris.
Sarene felt a chill as she watched the grim-faced warriors. "Idos Domi," she
whispered. There was hardness in these men's eyes—they were prepared to kill.
To slaughter.
AT first, the coachman resisted Sarene's commands that he drive more quickly,
but few men found it easy to resist a determined Teoish princess. They arrived
at the palace shortly, and Sarene hopped from the carriage without waiting for
the coachman to pull down the steps.
Her reputation with the palace staff was growing, and most knew to get out of
her way as she stalked through the hallways. The guards at Iadon's study were
also growing used to her. and they simply sighed resignedly as they pushed
open the doors for her.
The king's face fell visibly as she entered. "Whatever it is, it will wait. We
have a crisis-"
Sarene slammed her open palms down on Iadon's desk. shaking the wood and
knocking over the penstand. "What in the blessed name of Domi do you think
you're doing?"
Iadon reddened with frustrated anger, standing. "There has been an attack on
members of my court! It is my duty to respond."
"Don't preach to me about duty, Iadon." Sarene countered. "You've been looking
for an excuse to destroy Elantris for ten years now—only the people's
superstitions kept you back."
"Your point?" he asked coldly.
"I am nor going to be the one who gives you that excuse!" she said. "Withdraw
your men."

Iadon snorted. "You of all people should appreciate the quickness of my
response, Princess. It was your honor that was slighted by that attack."
"I'm perfectly capable of protecting my own honor, Iadon. Those troops move in
direct opposition to everything I've accomplished these last few weeks."
"It was a fool's project, anyway," Iadon declared, dropping a collection of
papers to the table. The top sheet ruffled from the motion, and Sarene could
read its scribbled commands. The words "Elantris's" and "extermination" stood
out, stark and foreboding.
"Go back to your room, Sarene," the king said. "This will all be over in a
matter of hours."
For the first time Sarene realized how she must look, her face red and mussed
from the tears, her simple monochrome dress stained with sweat and Elantris
grime, and her disheveled hair pulled back into an unraveling braid.
The moment of insecurity disappeared as she looked back at the king and saw
the satisfaction in his eyes. He would massacre the entire group of starving,
helpless people in Elantris. He would kill Spirit. All because of her.
"You listen to me, Iadon," Sarene said, her voice sharp and cold. She held the
king's eyes, drawing upon her nearly six-foot height to tower over the shorter
man. "You will withdraw your soldiers from Elantris. You wild leave those
people alone. Otherwise, I will begin to tell people what I know about you."
Iadon snorted.
"Defiance, Iadon?" she asked. "I think you'll feel differently when everyone
knows the truth. You know they already think you a fool. They pretend to obey
you, but you know—you know in that whispering part of your heart that they
mock you with their obedience. You think they didn't hear about your lost
ships? You think they weren't laughing to themselves at how their king would
soon be as poor as a baron? Oh they knew. How will you face them, Iadon, when
they learn how you really survived? When I show them how I rescued your
income, how I gave you the contracts in Teod, how I saved your crown."
As she spoke, she punctuated each remark by stabbing her finger at his chest.
Beads of sweat appeared on his brow as he began to crack beneath her
unyielding gaze.
"You are a fool, Iadon," she hissed. "I know it, your nobles know it, and the
world knows it. You have taken a great nation and squashed it in your greedy
hands. You have enslaved the people and you have defiled Arelon's honor. And,
despite it all, your country grows poorer. Even you. the king, are so
destitute that only a gift from Teod lets you keep your crown."
Iadon shied away unnerved. The king seemed to shrink, his arrogant act
withering before her anger.
"How will it look, Iadon?" she whispered. "How will it feel to have the entire
court know you are indebted to a woman? A foolish girl at that? You would be

revealed. Everyone would know what you are. Nothing more than an insecure.
trivial, incapable invalid."
Iadon plopped down into his seat. Sarene handed him a pen.
"Repeal it," she demanded.
His fingers shook as he scribbled a countermand at the bottom of the page,
then stamped it with his personal seal.
Sarene snatched up the paper, then stalked from the room. "Ashe, stop those
soldiers! Tell them new orders are coming.'
"Yes, my lady," the Seon replied, shooting down the corridor toward a window,
moving more quickly than even a galloping horse.
"You!" Sarene ordered, slapping the rolled-up sheet of paper against a guard's
breastplate. "Take this to Elantris."
The man accepted the paper uncertainly.
"Run!" Sarene ordered.
He did.
Sarene folded her arms, watching the man dash down the hallway. Then she
turned to regard the second guard. He began to twitch nervously beneath her
gaze.
"Urn, I'll make sure he gets there," the man stuttered, then took off behind
his companion.
Sarene stood for a moment, then turned back to the king's study, pulling the
doors closed. She was left with the sight of Iadon, slumped in his chair,
elbows on the desktop and head cradled in his hands. The king was sobbing
quietly to himself.
BY the time Sarene reached Elantris, the new orders had long since arrived.
Iadon's guard stood uncertainly before the gates. She told them to go home,
but their captain refused, claiming that he had received orders not to attack,
but he didn't have any orders to return. A short time later a courier arrived,
delivering commands to do just that. The captain shot her an irritable look,
then ordered his men back to the palace.
Sarene stayed a little longer, making the strenuous climb to the top of the
wall to gaze down at the courtyard. Her food cart stood abandoned in the
center of the square, overturned with broken boxes running in a jagged line
before it. There were bodies, too-fallen members of the attacking party, their
corpses rotting in the muck.
Sarene froze, her muscles stiffening. One of the corpses was still moving. She
leaned over the stone railing, staring down at the fallen man. The distance
was great, but she could still see the distinct lines of the man's legs—lying
a dozen feet from his chest. Some powerful blow had separated him at the
waist. There was no way he could have survived such a wound. Yet, insanely,
his arms waved in the air with hopeless randomness.

"Merciful Domi," Sarene whispered, her hand rising to her breast, her fingers
seeking out her small Korathi pendant. She scanned the courtyard with
disbelieving eyes. Some of the other bodies were moving as well, despite
horrible wounds.
They say that the Elantrians are dead, she realized. That they are the
deceased whose minds refuse to rest. Her eyes open for the first time, Sarene
realized how the Elantrians survived without food. They didn't need to eat.
But, why then did they?
Sarene shook her head, trying to clear her mind of both confusion and the
struggIing corpses below. As she did so, her eyes fell on another figure. It
knelt in the shadow of Elantris's wall, its posture somehow bespeaking
incredible sorrow. Sarene felt herself drawn along the walkway in the
direction of the form, her hand dragging along the stone railing. She stopped
when she stood above him.
Somehow she knew the figure belonged to Spirit. He was clutching a body in his
arms. rocking back and forth with his head bowed. The message was clear: Even
a tyrant could love those who followed him.
I saved you. Sarene thought. The king would have destroyed you, but I saved
your life. It wasn't for you, Spirit. It was for all those poor people that
you rule over. Spirit didn't notice her.
She tried to remain angry at him. However, looking down and sensing his agony.
she couldn't lie—even to herself. The day's events disturbed her for several
reasons. She was angry at having her plans disrupted. She regretted that she
would no longer be able to feed the struggling Elantrians. She was unhappy
with the way the aristocracy would see Elantris.
But she was also saddened that she would never be able to see him again.
Tyrant or not, he had seemed like a good man. Perhaps ... perhaps only a
tyrant could lead in a place like Elantris. Perhaps he was the best that the
people had.
Regardless, she would probably never see him again. She would never again look
into those eyes that, despite the emaciated form of his body, seemed so
vibrant and alive. There was a complexity in them that she would never be able
to unravel.
It was over.
SHE sought refuge in the only place in Kae she felt safe. Kiin let her in,
then held her as she fell into his arms. It was a perfectly humiliating end to
a very emotional day. However, the hug was worth it. She had decided as a
child that her uncle was very good at hugging, his broad arms and enormous
chest sufficient to envelope even a tall and gangly girl.
Sarene finally released him, wiping her eyes, disappointed in herself for
crying again. Kiin simply placed a large hand on her shoulder and led her into
the dining room, where the rest of the family sat around the table, even
Adien.

Lukel had been talking animatedly, but he cut off as he saw Sarene. "Speak the
name of the lion," he said, quoting a Jindoeese proverb, "and he will come to
feast."
Adien's haunted, slightly unfocused eyes found her face. "Six hundred and
seventy-two steps from here to Elantris," he whispered.
There was silence for a moment. Then Kaise jumped up onto her chair. "Sarene!
Did they really try and eat you?"
"No. Kaise," Sarene replied, finding a seat. "They just wanted some of our
food."
"Kaise, Ieave your cousin alone," Daora ordered firmly. "She has had a full
day." "And I missed it," Kaise said sullenly, plopping down in her seat. Then
she turned angry eyes on her brother. "Why did you have to get sick?"
"It wasn't my fault," Daorn protested, still a little wan. He didn't seem very
disappointed to have missed the battle.
"Hush, children," Daora repeated.
"Ifs all right," Sarene said. "I can talk about it."
"Well, then," Lukel said, "is it true?"
"Yes," Sarene said. "Some Elantrians attacked us, but no one got hurt-at
least, not on our side."
"No," Lukel said. "Not that-I meant about the king. Is it true that you yelled
him into submission?"
Sarene grew sick. "That got out?"
Lukel laughed. "They say your voice carried all the way to the main hall.
Iadon still hasn't left his study."
"I might have gotten a little carried away," Sarene said.
"You did the right thing. dear," Daora assured her. "Iadon is far too
accustomed to having the court jump when he so much as sneezes. He probably
didn't know what to do when someone actually stood up to him."
"It wasn't that hard," Sarene said with a shake of her head. "Beneath all the
bluster he's very insecure."
"Most men are, dear," Daora said.
Lukel chuckled. "Cousin, what did we ever do without you? Life was so boring
before you decided to sail over and mess it all up for us."
"I would rather it stayed a little less messed up," Sarene mumbled. "Iadon
isn't going to react too well when he recovers."
"If he gets out of line, you can always just yell at him again," Lukel said.
"No," Kiin said. his gruff voice solemn. "She's right. Monarchs can't afford
to be reprimanded in public. We might have a much harder time of things when
this is all through."
"Either that or he'll just give up and abdicate in favor of Sarene," Lukel
said with a laugh.

"Just as your father feared," Ashe's deep voice noted as he floated in the
window. "He always worried that Arelon wouldn't be able to deal with you, my
lady." Sarene smiled feebly. "Did they go back?"
"They did," the Seon said. She had sent him to follow Iadon's guards, in case
they decided to ignore their orders. "The captain immediately went to see the
king. He left when His Majesty refused to open his doors."
"It wouldn't do for a soldier to see his king bawling like a child," Lukel
noted. "Anyway," the Seon continued, "I—"
He was interrupted by an insistent knock at the door. Kiin disappeared. then
returned with an eager Lord Shuden.
"My lady," he said bowing slightly to Sarene. Then he turned to Lukel. "I just
heard some very interesting news."
"It's all true," Lukel said. "We asked Sarene."
Shuden shook his head. "It isn't about that."
Sarene looked up with concern. "What else could possibly happen today?"
Shuden's eyes twinkled. "You'll never guess who the Shaod took last night."
CHAPTER 30
H RATH EN didn't try to hide his transformation. He walked solemnly from his
chambers, exposing his damnation to the entire chapel. Dilaf was in the middle
of morning services. It was worth the loss of hair and skin color to see the
short Arelish priest stumble backward in horrified shock.
The Korathi priests came for Hrathen a short time later. They gave him a
large, enveloping white robe to hide his disfiguration, then led him from the
now empty chapel. Hrathen smiled to himself as he saw the confused Dilaf
watching from his alcove, his eyes openly hating Hrathen for the first time.
The Korathi priests took him to their chapel. stripped him, and washed his now
black-spotted body with water from the Aredel river. Then they wrapped him in
a white robe constructed of thick, raglike strips of cloth. After washing and
clothing him, the priests stepped back and allowed Omin to approach. The
short.

balding leader of Arelish Korathi blessed Hrathen quietly, tracing the symbol
of Aon Omi on his chest. The Arelish man's eyes betrayed just a hint of
satisfaction.
After that, they led Hrathen through the city streets, chanting. However, at
the city itself they found a large squadron of troops wearing Iadon's colors
blocking their path. The soldiers stood with hands on weapons, speaking in
hushed tones. Hrathen regarded them with surprise: he recognized men preparing
for battle. Omin argued with the captain of the Elantris City Guard for a rime
while the other priests pulled Hrathen into a squat building beside the
guardhouse—a holding place, carved with Aon Omi.
Hrathen watched through the room's small window as rwo winded guards galloped
up and presented Iadon's soldiers with a rolled-up sheet of paper. The captain
read it, frowning, then turned to argue with the messenger. After this Omin
returned, explaining that they would have to wait.
And wait they did—the better part of two hours.
Hrathen had heard that the priests would only throw people into Elantris
during a certain time of day. but apparently it was a window of time, and not
a specific moment. Eventually, the priests stuffed a small basket of food in
Hrathen's arms, offered one final prayer to their pitiful god, and pushed him
through the gates.
He stood in the city, his head bald, his skin tainted with large black
splotches. An Elantrian. The city was much the same at eye level as it had
been from the wall—filthy, rotting, and unholy. It held nothing for him. He
spun around, tossing aside the meager basket of food and dropping to his
knees.
"Oh, Jaddeth, Lord of all Creation," he began, his voice loud and firm. "Hear
now the petition of a servant in your empire. Lift this taint from my blood.
Restore me to life. I implore you with all the power of my position as a holy
gyorn."
There was no response. So, he repeated the prayer. Again. and again. and
again....

CHAPTER 31
SAOLIN didn't open his eyes as he sank into the pool, but he did stop
mumbling. He bobbed for a moment, then took a sharp breath, reaching his hands
toward the heavens. After that, he melted into the blue liquid. Raoden watched
the process solemnly. They had waited for three days, hoping against all that
the grizzled soldier would regain his wits. He had not. They had brought him
to the pool partially because his wound was so terrible, and partially because
Raoden knew that he could never enter the Hall of the Fallen with Saolin
inside. The mantra "I have failed my lord Spirit" would have been too much.
"Come, stile," Galladon said. "He's gone."
"Yes, he is." Raoden said. And it's my fault. For once, the burdens and
agonies of his body seemed insignificant compared with those of his soul.
THEY returned to him. First as a trickle, then as a flood. It took days for
them to realize, and believe, that Sarene wasn't going to return. No more
handouts—no more eating, waiting, and eating again. Then they came back, as if
suddenly awakened from a stupor, remembering that once-nor so long ago-there
had been purpose in their lives.
Raoden turned them back to their old jobs—cleaning, fanning, and building.
With proper tools and materials, the work became less an exercise in
intentional time wasting and more a productive means of rebuilding New
Elantris. Piecemeal roofs were replaced with more durable, functional
creations. Additional seed corn provided a chance for a second planting, one
much larger and ambitious than the first. The short wall around New Elantris
was reinforced and expanded—though, for the moment, Shaor's men remained
quiet. Raoden knew, however, that the food they had gathered from Sarene's
cart wouldn't last long. The wildmen would return.
The numbers that came to him after Sarene were much greater than those that
had followed him before. Raoden was forced to acknowledge that despite the
temporary setbacks they caused, Sarene's excursions into Elantris had
ultimately been beneficial. She had proven to the people that no matter how
much their

hunger hurt, simply feeding their bellies wasn't enough. Joy was more than
just an absence of discomfort.
So, when they came back to him. they no longer worked for food. They worked
because they feared what they would become if they did not.
"HE shouldn't be here. Galladon," Raoden said as he studied the Fjordell
priest from atop their garden-roof observation point.
"You're certain that's the gyorn?" Galladon asked.
"He says so in that prayer of his. Besides, he's definitely Fjordell. That
frame of his is too large to be Aonic."
"Fjordells don't get taken by the Shaod," Galladon said stubbornly. "Only
people from Arelon, Teod, and occasionally Duladel."
"I know," Raoden said. sitting back in frustration. "Perhaps it's just
percentages. There aren't many Fjordells in Arelon—perhaps that's why they
never ger taken."
Galladon shook his head. "Then why don't Jindos ever get taken? There's plenty
of them living along the spice route."
"I don't know," Raoden said.
"Listen to him pray. sule," Galladon said scoffingly. "As if the rest of us
hadn't tried that already."
-1 wonder how long he'll wait."
"Three days already," Galladon said. "Must be starting to get hungry. Kolo?"
Raoden nodded. Even after three days of almost continual prayer. the gyorn's
voice was firm. Everything else considered, Raoden had to respect the man's
determination.
"Well. when he finally realizes he's not getting anywhere, we'll invite him to
join us," Raoden said.
"Trouble, sule," Galladon warned. Raoden followed the Dula's gesture, picking
out a few huddled shapes in the shadows to the gyorn's left.
Raoden cursed, watching Shaor's men slink from the alleyway. Apparently. their
food had run out even more quickly than Raoden had assumed. They had probably
returned to the courtyard to look for scraps, but they found something much
more promising: the still full basket of food at the gyorn's feet.
"Come on." Raoden urged, turning to climb down from the roof. There was a time
when Shaor's men might have gone directly for the food. However, recent events
had changed the wild men. They had begun wounding indiscriminately-as if they
had realized that the fewer mouths opposed them. the more likely they were to
get food.
"Doloken burn me for helping a gyorn," Galladon muttered, following.
Unfortunately. he and Raoden moved too slowly. They were too late ... to save
Shaor's men.

Raoden rounded the side of the building as the first Wildman jumped at the
gyorn's back. The Fjordell leapt to his feet, spinning with near-inhuman speed
and catching Shaor's man by the head. There was a snap as the gyorn cracked
his opponent's neck, then threw him against the wooden gate. The other two
attacked in unison. One met with a powerful spinning kick that tossed him
across the courtyard like a pile of rags. The other received three successive
punches to the face, then a kick to the midsection. The madman's howl of rage
cut off with a whine as the gyorn placed another kick at the side of the man's
head.
Raoden stumbled to a halt, mouth half open.
Galladon snorted. "Should have realized. Derethi priests can take care of
themselves. Kolo?"
Raoden nodded slowly, watching the priest return smoothly to his knees and
resume his prayers. Raoden had heard that all Derethi priests were trained in
the infamous monasteries of Fjorden, where they were required to undergo
vigorous physical training. However, he hadn't realized that a middle-aged
gyorn would maintain his skills.
The two wildmen who could still move crawled away, while the other one lay
where the gyorn had tossed him, whimpering pitifully with his broken neck.
"It's a waste," Raoden whispered. "We could have used those men back in New
Elantris."
"I don't see what we can do about it." Galladon said with a shake of his head.
Raoden stood, turning toward the market section of Elantris. "I do." he said
with determination.
THEY penetrated Shaor's territory so quickly and directly that they got nearly
to the bank before they were noticed. Raoden didn't respond when Shaor's men
began to howl—he continued to walk, resolute, focused on his goal. Galladon,
Karata, and Dashe—Karata's former second was one of the few experienced
fighting men left in Raoden's camp—accompanied him. Each nervously carried a
medium-sized sack in his arms.
Shaor's men followed them, cutting off their escape. After the losses they had
received over the last few weeks, there could only be a couple of dozen men
left in Shaor's band, but those few seemed to multiply and shift in the
shadows.
Galladon shot Raoden an apprehensive look. Raoden could tell what he was
thinking. You'd better be sure as Doloken you know what you're doing, sule. .
..
Raoden set his jaw firmly. He had only a single hope—his belief in the
rational nature of the human soul.
Shaor was much the same as before. Though her men must have delivered some of
their spoils to her, one would never have known it from her screaming.

"Bring me food!" she wailed, her voice audible long before they entered the
bank. "I want food!"
Raoden led his smaII group into the bank. Shaor's remaining followers filed in
behind, approaching slowly. waiting for their goddess's inevitable command to
kill the intruders.
Raoden moved first. He nodded to the others, and each dropped their sacks.
Corn spilled across the uneven floor of the bank, mixing with the slime and
falling into cracks and crevices. Howls sounded behind them, and Raoden waved
his people to the side as Shaor's men descended upon the corn.
"Kill them!" Shaor yelled belatedly. but her followers were too busy stuffing
their mouths.
Raoden and the others left as simply as they had come.
THE first one approached New Elantris barely a few hours later. Raoden stood
beside the large fire they had kindled atop one of the taller buildings. The
blaze required many of their precious wood scraps, and Galladon had been
against it from the start. Raoden ignored the objections. Shaor's men needed
to see the fire to make the connection—the leap that would bring them back to
sensibility.
The first wild man appeared out of the evening's darkness. He moved furtively,
his stance nervous and bestial. He cradled a ripped sack. a couple of handfuls
of grain clutched within.
Raoden motioned for his warriors to move back. "What do you want?" he asked
the madman.
The man stared back dumbly.
"I know you understand me," Raoden said. "You can't have been in here long—six
months at the most. That's not enough to forget language, even if you want to
convince yourself that it is."
The man held up the sack, his hands glistening with slime.
"What?" Raoden insisted.
"Cook." the man finally said.
The grain they'd dropped had been seed corn, hardened over the winter to be
planted in spring. Though they had most certainly tried, Shaor's men wouldn't
have been able to chew or swallow it without great pain.
And so. Raoden had hoped that somewhere in the back of their abandoned minds,
these men would remember that they had once been human. Hoped that they would
recall civilization, and the ability to cook. Hoped they would confront their
humanity.
"I won't cook your food for you." Raoden said. "But I will let you do it
yourself."

CHAPTER 32
So, you've returned to wearing black, have you, my dear?" Duke Roial asked as
he helped her into the carriage.
Sarene looked down at her dress. It wasn't one that Eshen had sent her, but
something she'd asked Shuden to bring up on one of his caravans through
Duladel. Less full than most current trends in Arelish fashion, it hugged
rightly to her form. The soft velvet was embroidered with tiny silver
patterns. and rather than a cape it had a short mantle that covered her
shoulders and upper arms.
"It's actually blue, Your Grace," she said. "I never wear black."
"Ah." The older man was dressed in a white suit with a deep maroon undercoat.
The outfit worked well with his carefully styled head of white hair.
The coachman closed the door and climbed into his place. A short moment later
they were on their way to the ball.
Sarene stared out at the dark streets of Kae. her mood tolerant, but unhappy.
She couldn't, of course, refuse to attend the ball—Roial had agreed to throw
it at her suggestion. However, she had made those plans a week ago, before
events in Elantris. The last three days had been devoted to reflection; she
has spent them trying to work through her feelings and reorganize her plans.
She didn't want to bother with a night of frivolities, even if there was a
point behind it.
"You look at ill-ease, Your Highness," Roial said.
"I haven't quite recovered from what happened the other day, Your Grace," she
said, leaning back in her seat.
"The day was rather overwhelming," he agreed. Then, leaning his head out the
carriage's window. he checked the sky. "It is a beautiful night for our
purposes."
Sarene nodded absently. It no longer mattered to her whether the eclipse would
be visible or not. Ever since her tirade before Iadon, the entire court had
begun to step lightly around her. Instead of growing angry as Kiin had
predicted, Iadon simply avoided her. Whenever Sarene entered a room. heads
turned away and eyes looked down. It was as if she were a monster—a vengeful
Svrakiss sent to torment them.
The servants were no better. Where they had once been subservient, now they
ger.

cringed. Her dinner had come late, and though the cook insisted it was because
one of her serving women had suddenly run off, Sarene was certain it was
simply because no one wanted to face the fearful princess's wrath. The entire
situation was putting Sarene on edge. Why, in the blessed name of Domi, she
wondered, does everyone in this country feel so threatened by an assertive
woman?
Of course. this time she had to admit that woman or not, what she had done to
the king had been too forward. Sarene was just paying the price for her loss
of temper.
"AII right, Sarene," Roial decIared. "That is enough."
Sarene started, Iooking up at the elderly duke's stern face. "Excuse me, Your
Grace?"
"I said it's enough. By all reports, you've spent the last three days moping
in your room. I don't care how emotionally disturbing that attack in Elantris
was, you need to get over it—and quickly. We're almost to my mansion."
"Excuse me?" she said again, taken aback.
"Sarene," Roial continued. his voice softening, "we didn't ask for your
leadership. You wiggled your way in and seized control. Now that you've done
so. you can't just leave us because of injured feelings. When you accept
authority, you must be willing to take responsibility for it at all times—even
when you don't particularly feel like it."
Suddenly abashed by the duke's wisdom, Sarene lowered her eyes in shame. "I'm
sorry."
"Ah, Princess," Roial said. "we've come to rely on you so much in these last
few weeks. You crept into our hearts and did what no one else, even myself.
could have done—you unified us. Shuden and Eondel all but worship you, Lukel
and Kiin stand by your side like two unmoving stones, I can barely unravel
your delicate schemes, and even Ahan describes you as the most delightful
young woman he's ever met. Don't leave us now-we need you."
Flushing slightly, Sarene shook her head as the carriage pulled up Roial's
drive. "But what is left, Your Grace? Through no cleverness of my own, the
Derethi gyorn has been neutralized, and it appears that Iadon has been
quelled. It seems to me that the time of danger has passed."
Roial raised a bushy white eyebrow. "Perhaps. But Iadon is more clever than we
usually credit. The king has some overwhelming blind spots, but he was capable
enough to seize control ten years ago, and he has kept the aristocracy at one
an-other's throats all this time. And as for the gyorn ."
Roial looked out the carriage window, toward a vehicle pulling up next to
them. Inside was a short man dressed completely in red; Sarene recognized the
young Aonic priest who had served as Hrathen's assistant.
Roial frowned. "I think we may have traded Hrathen for a foe of equal dan-

"Him?" Sarene asked with surprise. She'd seen the young man with Hrathen, of
course—even remarked on his apparent fervor. However, he could hardly be as
dangerous as the calculating gyorn, could he?
"I've been watching that one," the duke said. "His name is Dilaf-he's Arelish.
which means he was probably raised Korathi. I've noticed that those who turn
away from a faith are often more hateful toward it than any outsider could
be."
"You might be right, Your Grace," Sarene admitted. "We'll have to change our
plans. We can't deal with this one the same way we did Hrathen."
Roial smiled. a slight twinkle in his eyes. "That's the girl I remember. Come;
it wouldn't do for me to be late to my own party."
Roial had decided to have the eclipse-observation party on the grounds behind
his house—an action necessitated by the relative modesty of his home. For the
third-richest man in Arelon, the duke was remarkably frugal.
"I've only been a duke for ten years. Sarene," Roial had explained when she
first visited his home. "but I've been a businessman all my life. You don't
make money by being wasteful. The house suits me-I fear I'd get lost in
anything larger."
The grounds surrounding the home. however, were extensive—a luxury Roial
admitted was a bit extravagant. The duke was a lover of gardens, and he spent
more time outside wandering his grounds than he did in his house.
Fortunately, the weather had decided to comply with the duke's plans,
providing a warm breeze from the south and a completely cloudless sky. Stars
splattered the sky like specks of paint on a black canvas, and Sarene found
her eyes tracing the constellations of the major Aons. Rao shone directly
overhead, a large square with four circles at its sides and a dot in the
center. Her own Aon, Ene, crouched barely visible on the horizon. The full
moon rose ponderously toward its zenith. In just a few hours it would vanish
completely-or, at least. that was what the astronomers claimed.
"So," Roial said, walking at her side, their arms linked, "are you going to
tell me what this is all about?"
"What what's all about?"
"The ball," Roial said. "You ean't claim that you had me organize it on a
whim. You were much too specific about the date and location. What are you
planning?"
Sarene smiled, rekindling the night's schemes. She had nearly forgotten about
the party, but the more she considered it. the more excited she became. Before
this night was over, she hoped to find the answer to a problem that had been
bothering her almost since she'd arrived in Arelon.
"Let's just say I wanted to view the eclipse with company." she said with a
sly smile.
"Ah, Sarene, ever dramatic. You've missed your calling in life, my dear-you
should have been an actress.-

"As a matter of fact. I considered it once," Sarene said reminiscently. "Of
course, I was eleven years old at the time. A troop of players came through
Teoin. After watching them, I informed my parents that I had decided not to
grow up to be a princess, but an actress instead."
Roial laughed. "1 would like to have seen old Eventeo's face when his prize
daughter told him she wanted to become a traveling performer."
"You know my father?"
"Really, Sarene," Roial said with indignation, "I haven't been old and senile
all my life. There was a time when I traveled, and every good merchant has a
few contacts in Teod. I've had two audiences with your father, and both times
he mocked my wardrobe."
Sarene chuckled. "He's merciless with visiting merchants."
Roial's grounds centered around a large courtyardlike patch of grass overlaid
by a wooden dancing pavilion. Hedge-walled pathways led away from the
pavilion, toward newly blooming flower beds, bridge-covered ponds, and
sculpture displays. Torches lined the pavilion, providing full illumination.
These would, of course, be doused prior to the eclipse. However, if things
went as Sarene planned, she wouldn't be there to see it.
"The king!" Sarene exclaimed. "Is he here?"
"Of course," Roial said. pointing toward an enclosed sculpture garden to one
side of the pavilion. Sarene could barely make out the form of Iadon inside,
Eshen at his side.
Sarene relaxed. Iadon was the whole point of the night's activities. Of
course, the king's pride wouldn't let him miss a ball thrown by one of his
dukes. If he had attended Telrii's party, he would certainly make it to
Roial's.
"What could the king have to do with little Sarene's schemes?" Roial mused to
himself. "Maybe she sent someone to peruse his chambers while he's away. Her
Seon, perhaps?"
However. at that moment Ashe floated into view a short distance away. Sarene
shot Roial a sly look.
"MI right, perhaps it wasn't the Seon," Roial said. "That would be too obvious
anyway."
-My lady," Ashe said, bobbing in greeting as he approached.
"What did you find out?" Sarene asked.
"The cook did indeed lose a serving woman this afternoon, my lady. They claim
she ran off to be with her brother, who was recently moved to one of the
king's provincial mansions. The man, however, swears he hasn't seen anything
of her."
Sarene frowned. Perhaps she had been too quick in judging the cook and her
minions. "MI right. Good work."
"What was that about?" Roial asked suspiciously.
"Nothing," Sarene said, this time completely honest.

Roial, however. nodded knowingly.
The problem with being clever, Sarene thought with a sigh, is that everyone
assumes you're always planning something.
"Ashe, I want you to keep an eye on the king," Sarene said, aware of Roial's
curious smile. "He'll probably spend most of his time in his exclusive portion
of the party. If he decides to move, tell me immediately."
"Yes, my lady," Ashe said, hovering away to take an unobtrusive place next to
one of the torches, where the flame's light masked his own.
Roial nodded again. He was obviously having a delightful time trying to
decipher Sarene's plans.
"So, do you feel like joining the king's private gathering?" Sarene asked,
trying to divert the duke's attention.
Roial shook his head. "No. As much good as it would do me to watch Iadon
squirm in your presence, I've never approved of the way he holds himself
aloof. I'm the host, thanks to you, and a host should mingle. Besides, being
around Iadon tonight will be intolerable—he's looking for someone to replace
Baron Edan, and every minor noble at the party will make a play for the
title."
"As you wish," Sarene said. allowing Roial to lead her toward the open-walled
pavilion where a group of musicians was playing and some couples were dancing.
though most stood talking at the perimeter.
Roial chuckled, and Sarene followed his gaze. Shuden and Torena spun near the
center of the dance floor, completely captivated by one another.
"What are you laughing about?" Sarene asked, watching the fire-haired girl and
the young Jindo.
"It is one of the great joys of my old age to see young men proven
hypocrites." Roial said with an evil smile. "After all those years swearing
that he would never let himself be caught-after endless balls spent
complaining when women fawned over him—his heart, and his mind, have turned to
mush as surely as any other man's."
"You're a mean old man, Your Grace."
"And that is the way it should be." Roial informed. "Mean young men are
trivial, and kindly old men boring. Here. let me ger us something to drink."
The duke wandered away, and Sarene was left watching the young couple dance.
The look in Shuden's eyes was so sickeningly dreamy that she had to turn away.
Perhaps Daora's words had been more accurate than Sarene had been willing to
admit. Sarene was jealous, though not because she had assumed any romantic
possibilities with Shuden. However, ever since her arrival in Arelon, Shuden
had been one of her most fervent supporters. It was hard to watch him giving
his attention to another woman, even for a completely different purpose.
There was another reason as well—a deeper, more honest reason. She was

jealous of that look in Shuden's eyes. She was envious of his opportunity to
court, to falI in love, and to be swept up in the stupefying joy of romance.
They were ideals Sarene had dreamed about since early adolescence. As she grew
older. Sarene realized such things would never be hers. She had rebelled at
first, cursing her offensive personality. She knew she intimidated the court's
men, and so, for a short while, she had forced herself to adopt a more
subservient, docile temperament. Her engagement, and near marriage, to a young
count named Graeo had been the result.
She still remembered the man-more a boy-with pity. Only Graeo had been wiIIing
to take a chance on the new, even-tempered Sarene—risking the mockery of his
peers. The union had not been one of love, bur she had liked Graeo despite his
weak will. There had been a kind of childish hesitancy about him; an overdone
compulsion to do what was right, to succeed in a world where most people
understood things much better than he.
In the end, she had broken off the engagement-not because she knew living with
the dull-minded Graeo would have driven her mad, but because she had realized
that she was being unfair. She had taken advantage of Graeo's simple
ingenuousness, knowing full well he was getting himself into something far
over his head. It was better he bear the scorn of being refused at the last
moment than live tlie rest of his life with a woman who would stifle him.
The decision had sealed her fate as an unmarried spinster. Rumors spread that
she had led Graeo on simply to make a fool out of him, and the embarrassed
young man had left the court, living the next three years holed up on his
lands like a hermit. After that, no man had dared court the king's daughter.
She'd fled Teod at that point, immersing herself in her father's diplomatic
corps. She served as an envoy in all the major cities of Opelon, from Fjorden
itself to the Svordish capital of Seraven. The prospect of going to Arelon had
intrigued her, of course, but her father had remained adamant about his
prohibition. He barely allowed spies into the country, let alone his only
daughter.
Still. Sarene thought with a sigh. she had made it eventually. It was worth
it, she decided; her engagement to Raoden had been a good idea, no matter how
horribly it had turned out. For a while, when they had been exchanging
letters, she had allowed herself to hope again. The promise had eventually
been crushed, but she still had the memory of that hope. It was more than she
had ever expected to obtain.
"You look as if your best friend just died," Roial noted, returning to hand
her a cup of blue Jaadorian wine.
"No, just my husband," Sarene said with a sigh.
"Ah," Roial said with an understanding nod. "Perhaps we should move somewhere
else—a place where we won't have such a clear view of our young baron's
rapture.

"A wonderful suggestion, Your Grace," Sarene said.
They moved along the pavilion's outer border. Roial nodding to those who
complimented him on the fine party. Sarene strolled along at the elderly man's
side, growing increasingly confused at the dark looks she occasionally got
from noblewomen they passed. It was a few minutes before she realized the
reason behind the hostility; she had completely forgotten Roial's status as
the most marriageable man in Arelon. Many of the women had come this night
expecting the duke to be unaccompanied. They had probabIy planned long and
hard on how to corner the old man, intent on currying his favor. Sarene had
ruined any chance of that.
Roial chuckled, studying her face. -You've figured it out then, haven't you?"
"This is why you never rhrow parties, isn't it?"
The duke nodded. "As difficult as it is to deal with them at another man's
ball, it is nearly impossible to be a good host with those vixens nipping at
my hide."
"Be careful, Your Grace," Sarene said. "Shuden complained about exactly the
same sort of thing the first time he took me to a ball, and look where he
ended up."
"Shuden went about it the wrong way." Roial said. "He just ran away—and
everyone knows that no matter how hard you run, there's always going to be
someone faster. I, on the other hand, don't run. I find far too much enjoyment
in playing with their greedy little minds."
Sarene's chastising reply was cut off by the approach of a familiar couple.
Lukel wore his customarily fashionable outfit, a blue, gold-embroidered vest
and tan trousers, while Jalla, his dark-haired wife, was in a simple lavender
dress—Jindoeese, by the look of its high-necked cut.
"Now, there's a mismatched couple if I've ever seen one." Lukel said with an
open smile as he bowed to the duke.
"What?" Roial asked. "A crusty old duke and his lovely young companion?" "I
was referring more to the height difference, Your Grace," Lukel said with a
laugh.
Roial glanced up with a raised eyebrow; Sarene stood a full head taller than
him. "At my age, you take what you can get."
"I think that's true no matter what your age. Your Grace." Lukel said, looking
down at his pretty, black-eyed wife. "We just have to accept whatever the
women decide to allot us, and count ourselves blessed for the offering."
Sarene felt sick-first Shuden, now Lukel. She was definitely not in the mood
to deal with happy couples this night.
Sensing her disposition, the duke bid Lukel farewell, pleading the need to
check on the food in other parts of the garden. Lukel and Jalla turned back to
their dancing as Roial led Sarene out of the lighted pavilion and back under
the darkened sky and flickering torchlight.
"You're going to need to get over that, Sarene," the duke said. "You can't go
running every time you meet someone with a stable relationship."

Sarene decided not to point out that young love was hardly stable. "I don't
always get this way, Your Grace. I've just had a difficult week. Give me a few
more days, and I'll be back to my regular, stone-hearted self.'
Sensing her bitterness, Roial wisely decided not to respond to that particular
remark. Instead, he glanced to the side, following the sound of a familiar
voice's laughter.
Duke Telrii had apparently decided not to join the king's private section of
the party. Quite the opposite. in fact. He stood entertaining a large group of
noblemen in a small hedged courtyard opposite the pavilion of Iadon's private
gathering. It was almost as if he were starting his own exclusive subparty.
"Not a good sign," Roial said quietly, voicing Sarene's own thoughts.
Agreed." Sarene said. She did a quick count of Telrii's fawners, trying to
distinguish rank, then glanced back toward Iadon's section of the party. Their
numbers were about equal. but Iadon seemed to command more important
nobility—for the moment.
"That's another unforeseen effect of your tirade before the king." Roial said.
'The more unstable Iadon becomes, the more tempting other options appear."
Sarene frowned as Telrii laughed again, his voice melodious and unconcerned.
He did not at all sound like a man whose most important supporter—Gyorn
Hrathen—had just fallen.
"What is he planning?" Sarene wondered. "How could he take the throne now?"
Roial just shook his head. After a moment more of contemplation, he looked up
and addressed open air. "Yes?"
Sarene turned as Ashe approached. Then, with astonishment, she realized it
wasn't Ashe. It was a different Seon.
"The gardeners report that one of your guests has fallen into the pond, my
lord," the Seon said, bobbing almost to the ground as he approached. His voice
was crisp and unemotional.
"Who?" Roial asked with a chuckle.
"Lord Redeem, Your Grace," the Seon explained. "It appears the wine proved too
much for him."
Sarene squinted, searching deep into the ball of light and trying to make out
the glowing Aon. She thought it was Opa.
Roial sighed. "He probably scared the fish right out of the pond. Thank you,
Opa. Make sure that Redeem is given some towels and a ride home, if he needs
it. Next time maybe he won't mix ponds with alcohol."
The Seon bobbed formally once more, then floated away to do his master's
bidding.
"You never told me you had a Seon. my lord," Sarene said.
"Many of the nobles do, Princess," Roial said, "but it is no longer
fashionable to bring them along with us wherever we go. Seons are reminders of
Elantris."

"So he just stays here at your house?"
Roial nodded. "Opa oversees the gardeners of my estate. I think it
fitting—after all. his name does mean 'flower.'
Sarene tapped her cheek, wondering about the stern formality in Opa's voice.
The Seons she knew back in Teod were much warmer with their masters, no matter
what their personality. Perhaps it was because here, in the presumed land of
their creation, Seons were now regarded with suspicion and dislike.
"Come," Roial said, taking her arm. "I was serious when I said I wanted to
check on the serving tables."
Sarene allowed herself to be led away.
"Roial, you old prune," a blustery voice called out as they approached the
serving tables, "I'm astounded. You actually know how to throw a party! I was
afraid you'd try and cram us all into that box you call a house."
"Ahan," Roial said, "I should have realized I would find you next to the
food."
The large count was draped in a yellow robe and clutched a plateful of
crackers and shellfish. His wife's plate. however, held only a few slices of
fruit. During the weeks Seaden had been attending Sarene's fencing lessons she
had lost considerable weight.
"Of course—best part of a party!" the count said with a laugh. Then, nodding
to Sarene, he continued, "Your Highness. I'd warn you not to let this old
scoundrel corrupt you. but I'm just as worried about you doing the same to
him."
"Me?" Sarene said with mock indignation. "What danger could I be?"
Ahan snorted. "Ask the king." he said, shoving a wafer into his mouth.
"Actually, you can ask me—just look what you're doing to my poor wife. She
refuses to eat!"
"I'm enjoying my fruit, Ahan," Seaden said. "I think you should try some of
it."
"Maybe I'll try a plate of it after I'm done here," Ahan huffed. "You see what
you're doing. Sarene? I would never have agreed to this 'fencing' thing if I
had known how it would ruin my wife's figure."
"Ruin?" Sarene asked with surprise.
"I'm from southern Arelon, Princess," Ahan said, reaching for some more clams.
"To us, round is beautiful. Not everyone wants their women to look like
starving schoolboys." Then, realizing that he might have said too much, Ahan
paused. "No offense intended, of course."
Sarene frowned. Ahan really was a delightful man. but he often spoke—and
acted-without thought. Unsure how to properly respond. Sarene hesitated.
The wonderful Duke Roial came to her rescue. "Well, Ahan, we have to keep
moving-I have a lot of guests to greet. Oh, by the way-you might want to tell
your caravan to hurry."
Ahan looked up as Roial began to lead Sarene oft "Caravan?" he asked, suddenly
very serious. "What caravan?"

"Why, the one you have carrying sourmelons from Duladel to Svorden, of
course," the duke said offhandedly. "I sent a shipment of them myself a week
ago. It should be arriving tomorrow morning. I'm afraid, my friend, that your
caravan will arrive to a saturated market—not to mention the fact that your
melons will be slightly overripe."
Ahan cursed, the plate going limp in his hand. shellfish tumbling unnoticed to
the grass below. "How in the name of Domi did you manage that?"
"Oh. didn't you know?" Roial asked. "I was half partner in young Lukel's
venture. I got all the unripened fruits from his shipment last week—they
should be ready by the time they hit Svorden."
Ahan shook his head, laughing in a low voice. "You got me again. Roial. But
just you watch-one of these days I'm finally going to get the better of you,
and you'll be so surprised that you won't be able to look at yourself for a
week!"
"I look forward to it," Roial said as they left the serving tables behind.
Sarene chuckled, the sound of Seaden scolding her husband rising behind. "You
really are as good a businessman as they say, aren't you?"
Roial spread his hands in humility. Then he said, "Yes. Every bit as good."
Sarene laughed.
"However." Roial continued, "that young cousin of yours puts me to shame. I
have no idea how he kept that sourmelon shipment a secret—my Duladen agents
are supposed to inform me of such things. I only got in on the deal because
Lukel came to me for capital."
"Then it's a good thing he didn't go to Ahan instead."
"A good thing indeed," Roial agreed. "I would never hear the end of it if he
had. Ahan's been trying to best me for two decades now-one of these days he's
going to realize I only act brilliant to keep him off-balance, and then life
isn't going to be half as entertaining."
They continued to walk, speaking with guests and enjoying Roial's excellent
gardens. The early-blooming flower beds were cleverly lit with torchlight,
lanterns, and even candles. Most impressive were the crosswood trees, whose
branches—leafed with pink and white blossoms—were lit from behind by lanterns
running up the trunks. Sarene was enjoying herself so much that she almost
lost track of time. Only Ashe's sudden appearance reminded her of the night's
true purpose.
"My lady!" Ashe exclaimed. "The king is leaving the party!"
"Are you certain?" she asked, her attention snapping away from the crosswood
flowers.
"Yes, my lady," Ashe said. "He left furtively, claiming he needed to use the
privy, but he called his carriage instead."
"Excuse me, Your Grace," Sarene curtly told Roial. "I must be going."
"Sarene?" Roial asked with surprise as Sarene walked back toward the house.
Then, more urgently, he called again. "Sarene! You can't go."

"I apologize, Your Grace, but this is important!"
He tried to follow her. but her legs were longer. In addition, the duke had a
party to attend. He couldn't just disappear in the middle of it.
Sarene rounded the side of Roial's house in time to see the king climbing into
his carriage. She cursed—why hadn't she thought to arrange transportation of
her own? She looked around frantically, searching for a vehicle to
requisition. She picked a likely candidate as the king's carriage pulled away.
hooves clopping against the cobblestones.
"My lady!" Ashe warned. "The king is not in that carriage."
Sarene froze. "What?"
"He slipped out the other side and disappeared into the shadows on the far
side of the driveway. The carriage is a ruse."
Sarene didn't bother to question the Seon-his senses were much more acute than
those of a human. "Let's go," she said, heading in the proper direction. "I'm
not dressed for sneaking: you'll have ro keep watch on him and tell me where
he goes."
"Yes, my lady," Ashe said, dimming his light to a nearly imperceptible level
and flying after the king. Sarene followed at a slower pace.
They continued in that manner, Ashe staying close to the king and Sarene
following at a less conspicuous distance. They covered the ground surrounding
Roial's mansion quickly, then moved into the city of Kae. Iadon moved strictly
through alleys. and Sarene realized for the first time that she might be
putting herself in danger. Women didn't travel alone after dark—even in Kae,
which was one of the safest cities in Opelon. She considered turning baek a
half-dozen times, once nearly dashing away in a panic as a drunk man moved in
the darkness next to her. However, she kept going. She was only going to get
one chance to find out what Iadon was up to, and her curiosity was stronger
than her fear ... for the moment at least.
Ashe, sensing the danger, advised that she let him follow the king alone, but
she pressed on with determination. The Seon, accustomed to Sarene's ways, gave
no further argument. He flitted back and forth between her and the king. doing
his best to keep watch over Sarene while at the same time following Iadon.
Eventually, the Seon slowed, returning to Sarene with an apprehensive bob. "He
just entered the sewers, my lady."
"The sewers?" Sarene asked incredulously.
"Yes, my lady. And he is not alone—he met two cloaked men just after he left
the party, and was joined by a half-dozen more at the mouth of the sewers."
"And you didn't follow them in?" she asked with disappointment. "We'll never
be able to tail them."
"That is unfortunate, my lady."
Sarene ground her teeth in frustration. "They'll leave tracks in the muck,"
she decided, stalking forward. "You should be able to follow them."

Ashe hesitated. `'My lady, I must insist that you return to the duke's party."
"Not a chance, Ashe."
"I have the solemn duty of your protection, my lady," Ashe said. "I can't
allow you to go climbing through refuse in the middle of the night—I was wrong
to let you go this far. It is my responsibility to stop this before it goes
any further."
"And how will you do that?" Sarene asked impatiently.
"I could call your father."
"Father lives in Teod, Ashe," Sarene pointed out. "What is he going to do?" "I
couId go get Lord EondeI or one of the others."
"And leave me to get lost in the sewers on my own?"
"You would never do something that foolish, my lady," Ashe declared. Then he
paused, hovering uncertainly in the air. his Aon so dim it was translucent.
"All right," he finally admitted. "You are indeed that foolish."
Sarene smiled. "Come on—the fresher those tracks are, the easier it will be
for you to follow them."
The Seon sullenly led the way down the street, which soon ended in a dirty,
fungus-lined arch. Sarene strode forward with determination, paying no heed to
the damage the sludge would do to her dress.
The moonlight lasted only as far as the first turnoff. Sarene stood for a
moment in the suffocating, dank blackness, realizing that even she would never
have been foolish enough to enter the directionless maze without guidance.
Fortunately, her bluff had convinced Ashe—though she wasn't sure whether or
not to be offended by the level of arrogant idiocy of which he thought her
capable.
Ashe increased his light slightly. The sewer was a hollow tube, a remnant of
the days when Elantris's magic provided running water for every house in Kae.
Now the sewers were used as a receptacle for trash and excrement. They were
flushed out by a periodic diversion of the Aredel—something which obviously
hadn't been done in a while, for the wet muck at the bottom of the corridor
came up to her ankles. She didn't want to consider what that sludge must be
composed of, but the pungent stink was an overpowering clue.
All of the tunnels looked the same to Sarene. One thing reassured her: the
Seon sense of direction. It was impossible to get lost when accompanied by
Ashe. The creatures always knew where they were, and could point the exact
direction to any place they had ever been.
Ashe led the way, floating close to the muck's surface. "My lady, may I be
allowed to know just how you knew the king would sneak away from Roial's
party?" "Surely you can figure it out, Ashe," she chided.
"Let me assure you, my lady, I have tried."
"Well, what day of the week is it?"
"MaeDal?" the Seon replied, leading her around a corner.
"Right. And what happens every week on MaeDal?"

Ashe didn't answer immediately. "Your father plays ShinDa with Lord Eoden?" he
asked, his voice laced with uncharacteristic frustration. The night's
activities—especially her belligerence-were wearing away even Ashe's
formidable patience.
"No," Sarene said. 'Every week on MaeDal at eleven o'clock I hear scrapings in
the passage that runs through my wall-the one that leads to the king's rooms."
The Seon made a slight "ah" of understanding.
"I heard noises in the passage some other nights as well," Sarene explained.
"But MaeDal was the only consistent day."
"So you had Roial throw a parry tonight, expecting that the king would keep to
his schedule," the Seon said.
"Right," Sarene said, trying not to slip in the muck. "And I had to make it a
late party so that people would stay at least until midnight—the eclipse
provided a convenient excuse. The king had to come to the party; his pride
wouldn't let him stay away. However, his weekly appointment must be important,
for he risked leaving early to attend it."
"My lady, I don't like this," Ashe said. "What good could the king be doing in
the sewers at midnight?"
"That is exactly what I intend to find out," Sarene said, brushing away a
spiderweb. One thought drove her through muck and darkness-a possibility she
was barely willing to acknowledge. Perhaps Prince Raoden lived. Maybe Iadon
hadn't confined him to the dungeons. but in the sewers. Sarene might not be a
widow after all.
A noise came from ahead. "Turn down your light, Ashe," she said. "I think I
hear voices."
He did so, becoming nearly invisible. There was an intersection just ahead,
and torchlight flickered from the rightmost tunnel. Sarene approached the
corner slowly, intending to peek around it. Unfortunately, she hadn't noticed
that the floor declined slightly just before the intersection, and her feet
slipped. She waved desperate arms, barely stabilizing herself as she slid a
few feet down the incline and came to a halt at the bottom.
The motion placed her directly in the middle of the intersection. Sarene
looked up slowly.
King Iadon stared back, looking as stunned as she felt.
"Merciful Domi," Sarene whispered. The king stood facing her behind an altar,
a red-streaked knife raised in his hand. He was completely naked except for
the blood smearing his chest. The remains of an eviscerated young woman lay
tied to the altar, her torso sliced open from neck to crotch.
The knife dropped from Iadon's hand, hitting the muck below with a muffled
plop. Only then did Sarene notice the dozen black-robed forms standing behind

him, Duladen runes sewn into their clothing. Each one carried a long dagger.
Several approached her with quick steps.
Sarene wavered between her body's urge to retch and her mind's insistence that
she scream.
The scream came out on top.
She stumbled backward. slipping and splashing down into the sIime. The figures
rushed for her, their cowled eyes intent. Sarene kicked and struggled in the
slime, still screaming as she tried to regain her feet. She almost missed the
sounds of footsteps from her right.
Then Eondel was there.
The aged general's sword flashed in the dim light, cleanly slicing off an arm
that was reaching for Sarene's ankle. Other figures moved through the corridor
as well, men in the livery of Eondel's legion. There was also a man in a red
robeDilaf, the Derethi priest. He didn't join the fighting, but stood to the
side with a fascinated look on his face.
Dumbfounded. Sarene tried to stand again, but only ended up slipping in the
sewage once more. A hand grabbed her arm, helping her up. Roial's wrinkled
face smiled in relief as he pulled Sarene to her feet.
"Maybe next time you'll tell me what you are planning, Princess." he
suggested.
"YOU told him," Sarene realized, shooting Ashe an accusatory look.
"Of course I told him, my lady," the Seon responded, pulsing slightly to
punctuate the remark. She sat in Roial's study with Ashe and Lukel. Sarene
wore a robe that the duke had borrowed from one of his maids. It was too
short, of course, but it was better than a sewage-covered velvet dress.
"When?" Sarene demanded, leaning back in Roial's deep plush couch and wrapping
herself in a blanket. The duke had ordered a bath drawn for her, and her hair
was still wet, chilled in the night air.
"He called Opa as soon as you left my drive," Roial explained, walking into
the room, carrying three steaming cups. He handed one to her and another to
Lukel before taking a seat.
"That soon?" Sarene asked with surprise.
"I knew you would never turn back, no matter what I said." Ashe said.
"You know me too well," she muttered, taking a sip of her drink. It was
Fjordell garha—which was good: she couldn't afford to fall asleep just yet.
will admit to that failing without argument, my lady," Ashe said.
"Then why did you try and stop me before leading me into the sewer?" she
asked.

was stalling, my lady," Ashe explained. "The duke insisted on coming himself,
and his group moved slowly."
"I might be slow, but I was not going to miss whatever you had planned,
Sarene," Roial said. 'They say age brings wisdom, but it only gave me a
torturous case of curiosity."
"Eondel's soldiers?" Sarene asked.
"Were already at the party," Lukel said. He had insisted on knowing what had
happened as soon as he saw Sarene sneaking into Roial's house, covered in
slime. "I saw some of them mingling with the guests."
"I invited Eondel's officers," Roial explained. "Or, at least, the half-dozen
of them that were in town."
"All right," Sarene said. "So after I ran off, Ashe called your Seon and told
you I was pursuing the king."
" The foolish girl is going off to get herself killed' were his exact words, I
believe," Roial said with a chuckle.
"Ashe!"
"I apologize, my lady." the Seon said, pulsing in embarrassment. "I was rather
out of sorts."
"Anyway." Sarene continued, "Ashe called Roial and he gathered Eondel and his
men from the parry. You all followed me to the sewers, where you had your Seon
guide you."
"Until Eondel heard you screaming," Roial finished. "You are a very lucky lady
to have that man's loyalty, Sarene."
"I know," Sarene said. "That's the second time this week his sword has proved
useful. Next time I see Iadon, remind me to kick him for convincing the
nobility that military training is beneath them."
Roial chuckled. "You might have to stand in line to do that kicking, Princess.
I doubt the city's priests—Derethi or Korathi—will let the king ger away with
taking part in the Jeskeri Mysteries."
"And sacrificing that poor woman," Ashe said quietly.
The tone of the conversation grew subdued as they remembered just what they
were discussing. Sarene shuddered at the image of the blood-covered altar and
its occupant. Ashe's right, she thought somberly. This is no time for joking.
"That's what it was, then?" Lukel asked.
Sarene nodded. "The Mysteries sometimes involve sacrifices. Iadon must have
wanted something very badly."
"Our Derethi friend claimed to have some knowledge on the subject," Roial
said. "He seemed to think the king was petitioning the Jesker spirits to
destroy someone for him."
"Me?" Sarene asked, growing cold despite her blanket.

Roial nodded. "Arteth Dilaf said the instructions were written on the altar in
that woman's blood."
Sarene shivered. "Well, at least now we know what happened to the maids and
cooks who disappeared from the palace."
Roial nodded. "I'd guess he's been involved with the Mysteries for a long
time—perhaps even since the Reod. He was obviously the leader of that
particular band."
"The others?" Sarene asked.
"Minor nobles," Roial said. "Iadon wouldn't have invoIved anyone who could
challenge him."
"Wait a moment." Sarene said, her brows furled. "Where did that Derethi priest
come from, anyway?"
Roial looked down at his cup uncomfortably. "That's my fault. He saw me
gathering Eondel's men—I was kind of in a hurry-and followed us. We didn't
have time to deal with him."
Sarene sipped at her drink petulantly. The night's events definitely hadn't
turned out as she had planned.
Suddenly Ahan waddled through the door. "Rag Domi, Sarene!" he declared.
"First you oppose the king, then you rescue him, and now you dethrone him.
Would you please make up your mind?"
Sarene pulled her knees up against her chest and dropped her head between them
with a groan. "There's no chance of keeping it under cover, then?"
"No," Roial said. "The Derethi priest saw to that—he's already announced it to
half of the city."
"Telrii will almost certainly seize power now," Ahan said with a shake of his
head.
"Where is Eondel?" Sarene asked, her voice muffled by the blankets. "Locking
the king in the jailhouse." Ahan said.
"And Shuden?"
"Still seeing that the women got home safely, I assume." Lukel said.
"All right," Sarene said. raising her head and brushing her hair out of her
eyes. "We'll have to proceed without them. Gentlemen. I'm afraid I just
destroyed our brief respite of peace. We have some heavy planning to do—and
most of it is going to be in the way of damage control."

CHAPTER 33
SOMETHING changed. Hrathen blinked, washing away the last remnants of his
waking dream. He wasn't sure how much time had passed—it was dark now,
hauntingly black save for a few lonely torches burning high above on
Elantris's wall. There wasn't even any moonlight.
He fell into the stupor more and more often lately, his mind fuzzing as he
knelt in the same penitent stance. Three days was a long time to spend in
prayer.
He was thirsty. Hungry as well. He had expected that: he had fasted before.
However, this time seemed different. His hunger seemed more urgent, as if his
body were trying to warn him of something. Elantris had much do with his
discomfort, he knew. There was a desperation about the town, a sense of
anxiety in every vile, cracking stone.
Suddenly, light appeared in the sky. Hrathen looked up with awe. blinking
tired eyes. The moon slowIy appeared from darkness. First a scythe-shaped
sliver. it grew even as Hrathen watched. He hadn't realized that there would
be a lunar eclipse this night-he had stopped paying attention to such things
since he left Duladel. That nation's now extinct pagan religion had ascribed
special importance to the heaven's movements, and the Mysteries often
practiced their rituals on such nights.
Squatting in the courtyard of Elantris, Hrathen finally understood what had
prodded the Jeskers to regard nature with religious wonder. There was
something beautiful about the pale-faced goddess of the heavens. a mysticism
to her eclipse. It was as if she really were disappearing for a time—traveling
to another place, as opposed to just falling into the planet's shadow. as
Svordish scientists now claimed. Hrathen could almost feel her magic.
Almost. He could understand how, perhaps, a primitive culture could worship
the moon—but he could not take part in that worship. Yet he wondered—was this
the awe he should feel for his God? Was his own belief flawed because he did
not regard Jaddeth with the same mixture of curious fear and wonder with which
the people of Jesker had regarded the moon?
He would never have such emotions: he was not capable of irrational
veneration. He understood. Even if he envied men who could gush praises to a
god without understanding his teachings, Hrathen eould not separate fact and
religion.

Jaddeth bestowed attributes on men as He saw fit, and Hrathen had been given a
logical intellect. He would never be content with simpleminded devotion.
It was not what Hrathen had been hoping for, but it was an answer, and he
found comfort and strength within it. He was not a zealot: he would never be a
man of extreme passion. In the end, he followed Derethi because it made sense.
That would have to be enough.
Hrathen licked his drying lips. He didn't know how long it would be until he
left Elantris: his exile could last days yet. He hadn't wanted to show signs
of physical dependence, but he knew that he would need some nourishment.
Reaching over, he retrieved his sacrificial basket. Caked with slime, the
offerings were growing stale and moldy. Hrathen ate them anyway. resolve
breaking as he finally made the decision to eat. He devoured it all-flaccid
vegetables, moldy bread, meat, even some of the corn, the hard grains softened
slightly by their extended bath in Elantris slime. At the end he downed the
entire flask of wine with one prolonged gulp.
He tossed the basket aside. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about
scavengers coming to steal his offerings, though he hadn't seen any more of
them since the earlier attack. He was thankful to Jaddeth for the respite. He
was becoming so weak and dehydrated that he might not have been able to fend
off another assault.
The moon was almost completely visible now. Hrathen stared up with renewed
resolve. He might lack passion, but he had an ample serving of determination.
Licking his now wetted lips. Hrathen restarted his prayer. He would continue
as he always had, doing his best to serve in Lord Jaddeth's empire.
There was nothing else God could expect of him.

CHAPTER 34
RAODEN was wrong about Shaor's men. A few of them came to him that night to
cook their food, the light of consciousness shining weakly in their eyes. The
rest-the majority of Shaor's followers—did not. They came to him for another
reason.

He watched several of them pull a large stone block on one of Mareshe's sleds.
Their minds were gone-their capacity for rational thought atrophied somehow by
their extended submersion in bestial madness. While several had recovered—if
only partially-the rest seemed beyond help. They never made the connection
between fires and cooking; they had simply stood howling over the grain,
outraged and confused by their inability to devour it.
No, these men had not fallen into his trap. But, they had come anyway—for
Raoden had dethroned their god.
He had entered Shaor's territory and had escaped unscathed. He had power over
food: he could make it inedible for one but succulent for another. His
soldiers had repeatedly defeated Shaor's band. To their simple, degenerate
minds there was only one thing to do when faced by a god more powerful than
their own: convert.
They came to him the morning after his attempt at restoring their
intelligence. He had been walking the perimeter of New Elantris's short
defensive wall, and seen them slinking down one of the citys main
thoroughfares. He had raised the call. thinking they had finally decided to
mount a coordinated attack.
But Shaor's men had not come to fight. That had come to give him a gift: the
head of their former god. Or, at least. her hair. The lead madman had tossed
the golden wig at Raoden's feet, its follicles stained with dark, stagnant
Elantrian blood.
Despite searching, his people never found Shaor's body.
Then, the fleece of their fallen goddess lying in the slime before them, the
wildmen had bowed their faces to the ground in supplication. They now did
exactly as Raoden said in all things. In turn. he had rewarded them with
morsels of food, just as one would a favored pet.
It disturbed him, using men like beasts. He made other efforts to restore
their rational minds, but even after just two days he knew that it was a
futile hope. These men had surrendered their intellect—and, regardless of
whether psychology or the Dor was to blame, it would never return.
They were remarkably well behaved—docile, even. The pain didn't seem to affect
them, and they performed any duty, no matter how menial or laborious. If
Raoden told them to push on a building until it fell over. he would return
days later to find them still standing against the same wall, their palms
pressed against the belligerent stone. Yet, despite their apparent obedience.
Raoden didn't trust them. They had murdered Saolin; they had even killed their
former master. They were calm only because their god currently demanded it.
"Kayana," Galladon declared, joining him.
"There's nor much left, is there?" Karata agreed.
The Kayana was Galladon's name for them. It meant the "Insane." "Poor souls,"
Raoden whispered.
Galladon nodded. 'You sent for us, sule?"
"Yes, I did. Come with me."

THE increased manpower of the Kayana had given Mareshe and his workers the
means to reconstruct some stone furniture, thereby conserving their already
dwindling wood resources. Raoden's new table inside the chapel was the same
one that he had used to make Taan remember his stonecarving days. A large
crack-patched with mortar—ran down the middle. but other than that it was
remarkably intact, the carvings worn but distinct.
The table held several books. The recent restoration of New Elantris required
Raoden's Ieadership, making it difficult for him to sneak away to the hidden
library, so he had brought our several volumes. The people were accustomed to
seeing him with books, and hadn't thought to question him-even though these
tomes still had leather covers on them.
He studied AonDor with increasing urgency. The pain had grown. Sometimes, it
struck with such ferocity that Raoden collapsed, struggling against the agony.
It was still manageable, if only barely, but it was growing worse. It had been
a month and a half since he entered Elantris, and he doubted he would see
another month come and go.
"I don't see why you insist on sharing every AonDor detail with us, sule,"
Galladon said, sighing as Raoden approached an open tome. "I barely understand
half of what you tell us."
"Galladon, you must force yourself to remember these things," Raoden said. "No
matter what you claim, I know you have the intellect for it."
"Perhaps," Galladon admitted, "but that doesn't mean I enjoy it. AonDor is
your hobby, not mine."
"Listen, my friend," Raoden said. know AonDor holds the secret to our curse.
In time, with study, we can find the clues we need. But," he continued,
holding up a finger, "if something should happen to me, then there has to be
someone to continue my work."
Galladon snorted. "You're about as close to becoming a Hoed as I am to being a
Fjordell."
I hide it well. "That doesn't matter." Raoden said. "It is foolish not to have
a backup. I'll write these things down. but I want you two to hear what I have
to say."
Galladon sighed. "All right, sule, what have you discovered? Another modifier
to increase the range of an Aon?"
Raoden smiled. "No, this is far more interesting. I know why Elantris is
covered with slime."
Karata and Galladon perked up. "Really?" Karata asked, looking down at the
open book. "Does it explain that here?"
"No, it's a combination of several things," Raoden said. "The key element,
however, is right here." He pointed to an illustration.

"Aon Ashe?" Galladon asked.
"Correct." Raoden said. "You know that Elantrian skin was so silvery that some
people claimed it glowed."
"It did," Galladon said. -Not brightly, but when my father walked into a dark
room, you could see his outline."
"Well, the Dor was behind it," Raoden explained. "Every Elantrian's body is
connected constantly to the Dor. The same link existed between Elantris itself
and the Dor, though the scholars don't know why. The Dor infused the entire
city, making stone and wood shine as if some quiet flame were burning within."
"It must have been difficult to sleep," Karata noted.
"You could cover it up," Raoden said. "But the effect of the lighted city was
so spectacular that many Elantrians just accepted it as natural, learning to
sleep even with the glow."
"Fascinating,- Galladon said indifferently. "So, what does this have to do
with slime?"
"There are fungi and molds that live on light. Galladon," Raoden explained.
"The Dot's illumination was different from regular light, however, and it
attracted a different kind of fungus. Apparently, a thin translucent film grew
on most things. The Elantrians didn't bother to clean it off—it was
practically imperceptible, and it actually enhanced the radiance. The mold was
tough, and it didn't make much mess. Until it died."
"The light faded .....Karata said.
"And the fungi rotted," Raoden said with a nod. "Since the mold once covered
the entire city, now the slime does as well."
"So, what's the point?" Galladon asked with a yawn.
"This is another string in the web." Raoden explained, "another clue as to
what happened when the Reod struck. We have to work backward, my friend. We
are only now starting to learn symptoms of an event that happened ten years
ago. Maybe after we understand everything the Reod did, we can begin to guess
what might have caused it."
"The slime explanation makes sense, my prince," Karata said. -I've always
known that there was something unnatural about that grime. I've stood outside
in the rain, watching waves of water pound against a stone wall without
cleaning it a speck."
"The slime is oily." Raoden said, "and repels water. Have you heard Kahar talk
about how difficult it is to scrub away?"
Karata nodded, leafing through the tome. "These books contain much
information."
"They do," Raoden said. "Though the scholars who wrote them could be
frustratingly obscure. It takes a great deal of studying to find answers to
specific questions."

"Such as?" Karata asked.
Raoden frowned. "Well, for one thing, I haven't found a single book that
mentions how to make Seons."
"None at all?" Karata asked with surprise.
Raoden shook his head. "I always assumed that Seons were created by AonDor,
but if so, the books don't explain how. A lot of them talk about the Passing
of famous Seons from one person to another, but that's about it."
"Passing?" Karata asked with a frown.
"Giving the Seon to another person," Raoden said. "If you have one, you can
give it to someone eIse—or you can tell it who it's supposed to go and serve
if you should die."
"So, a regular person could have a Seon?" she asked. "I thought it was only
noblemen."
Raoden shook his head. "It's all up to the previous owner."
"Though a nobleman's not likely to Pass his Seon to some random peasant,"
Galladon said. "Seons, like wealth, tend to say in the family. Kolo?"
Karata frowned. "So ... what happens if the owner dies, and hasn't told the
Seon who to move on to?"
Raoden paused, then shrugged, looking to Galladon.
"Don't look at me, sule," Galladon said. "I never had a Seon."
"1 don't know," Raoden admitted. "I guess it would just choose its next master
on its own."
"And if it didn't want to?" Karata asked.
"I don't think it would have a choice." Raoden said. "There's ... something
about Seons and their masters. They're bonded, somehow. Seons go mad when
their masters are taken by the Shaod. for instance. I think they were created
to serve—it's part of their magic."
Karata nodded.
"My lord Spirit!" called an approaching voice.
Raoden raised an eyebrow. closing the tome.
"My lord," Dashe said as he rushed through the door. The tall Elantrian looked
more confused than worried.
"What is it, Dashe?" Raoden asked.
"It's the gyorn, my lord," Dashe said with an excited look. "He's been
healed."

CHAPTER 35
A month and a half and you've already dethroned the king. Never let it be said
that you don't work quickly. 'Ene." Her father's words were jovial, though his
glowing face betrayed concern. He knew, as she did, that chaos in the wake of
an uprooted government could be dangerous for both peasant and noble.
"Well, it isn't as if I intended it," Sarene protested. "Merciful Domi, I
tried to save the fool. He shouldn't have gotten mixed up in the Mysteries."
Her father chuckled. "I should never have sent you over there. You were bad
enough when we let you visit our enemies."
"You didn't 'send' me here, Father," Sarene said. "This was my idea."
"I'm glad to know that my opinion counts for so much in my daughter's eyes."
Eventeo said.
Sarene felt herself soften. "I'm sorry. Father." she said with a sigh. "I've
been on edge ever since ... you don't know how horrible it was."
"Oh, I do—unfortunately. How in Domi's name could a monstrosity like the
Mysteries come from a religion as innocent as Jesker?"
"The same way Shu-Dereth and Shu-Korath could both come from the teachings of
one little Jindoeese man," Sarene replied with a shake of her head. Eventeo
sighed. "So, Iadon is dead?"
"You've heard?" Sarene asked with surprise.
"I sent a few new spies into Arelon recently. 'Ene," her father said. "I'm not
going to leave my daughter alone in a country on the edge of destruction
without at least keeping an eye on her."
"Who?" Sarene asked curiously.
"You don't need to know." her father said.
"They must have a Seon," Sarene mused. "Otherwise you wouldn't know about
Iadon—he only hanged himself last night."
"I'm not going to tell you, 'Ene," Eventeo said with an amused tone. "If you
knew who it was. you would inevitably decide to appropriate him for your own
purposes."
"Fine." Sarene said. "But when this is all over, you'd better tell me who it
was."

"You don't know him.-
"Fine." Sarene repeated, feigning indifference.
Her father laughed. -So, tell me about Iadon. How in Domi's name did he get a
rope?-
"Lord Eondel must have arranged it," Sarene guessed. resting her elbows on her
desk. "The count thinks like a warrior, and this was a very efficient
solution. We don't have to force an abdication, and suicide restored some
dignity to the monarchy."
"Bloodthirsty this afternoon, are we 'Ene?"
Sarene shivered. "You didn't see it, Father. The king didn't just murder that
girl, he . . . enjoyed doing it."
"Ah." Eventeo said. "My sources say Duke Telrii will probably take the
throne."
"Not if we can help it," Sarene said. "Telrii is even worse than Iadon. Even
if he weren't a Derethi sympathizer, he'd make a terrible king."
" 'Ene, a civil war will help no one."
"It won't come to that, Father," Sarene promised. "You don't understand how
unmilitaristically minded these people are. They lived for centuries under
Elantrian protection-they think the presence of a few overweight guards on the
city wall is enough to dissuade invaders. Their only real troops belong to
Lord Eondel's legion, which he's ordered to gather at Kae. We might just be
able to get Roial crowned before anyone's the wiser."
"You've united behind him, then?"
"He's the only one rich enough to challenge Telrii," Sarene explained. "I
didn't have enough time to stamp out Iadon's foolish monetary-title system.
That is what the people are accustomed to, and so we're going to have to use
it. for now."
A knock at the door was followed by a maid with a lunch tray. Sarene had
returned to live in the palace after spending only one night in Roial's manor,
despite her allies' concerns. The palace was a symbol, and she hoped it would
lend her authority. The maid put the tray on the table and departed.
"Was that lunch?" Her father seemed to have a sixth sense regarding food.
"Yes," Sarene said, cutting herself a piece of cornbread.
"Is it good?"
Sarene smiled. "You shouldn't ask, Father. You'll only upset yourself."
Eventeo sighed. "I know. Your mother has a new fascination—Hraggish weed soup.
"Is it good?" Sarene asked. Her mother was the daughter of a Teoish diplomat,
and had spent most of her growing years in Jindo. As a result, she had picked
up some very odd dietary preferences—ones she forced upon the entire palace
and its staff.

"It's horrible."
"Pity," Sarene said. 'Now, where did I put that butter?"
Her father groaned.
"Father," Sarene chided. "You know you need to lose weight." While the king
was nowhere as large-in either muscle or fat-as his brother Kiin, he was more
portly than he was stocky.
"I don't see why," Eventeo said. "Did you know that in Duladel they consider
fat people attractive? They don't care about Jindoeese notions of health, and
they're perfectly happy. Besides, where has it been proven that butter makes
you fat?"
"You now what the Jindos say, Father," Sarene said. "If it burns, it isn't
healthy."
Eventeo sighed. "I haven't had a cup of wine in ten years."
"I know, Father. I used to live with you, remember?"
"Yes, but she didn't make you stay away from alcohol."
"I'm not overweight." Sarene pointed out. "Alcohol burns."
"So does Hraggish weed soup," Eventeo replied, his voice turning slightly
impish. "At least, it does if you dry it out. I tried."
Sarene laughed. "I doubt Mother responded very well to that little
experiment."
"She just gave me one of her looks-you know how she is."
"Yes," Sarene said, recalling her mother's features. Sarene had spent far too
much time on diplomatic missions in the last few years to suffer from
homesickness now, but it would be nice to be back in Teod-especially
considering the seemingly endless series of surprises and disasters that had
filled the last few weeks.
"Well, 'Ene. I have to go hold court," her father finally said. "I'm glad you
occasionally take the time to call your poor old father—especially to let him
know when you've overthrown an entire nation. Oh, one more thing. As soon as
we found out about Iadon's suicide, Seinalan commandeered one of my fastest
ships and set sail for Arelon. He should be arriving within a few days."
"Seinalan?" Sarene asked with surprise. "What part does the patriarch have in
all this?"
"I don't know—he wouldn't tell me. But, I really have to go, 'Ene. I love
you." "I love you too. Father."
"I'VE never met the patriarch," Roial confessed from his seat in Kiin's dining
room. "Is he much like Father Omin?"
"No," Sarene said firmly. "Seinalan is a self-serving egotist with enough
pride to make a Derethi gyorn look humble."
"Princess!" Eondel said with indignation. "You're talking about the father of
our Church!"

"That doesn't mean I have to like him,' Sarene said.
Eondel's face whitened as he reached reflexively for the Aon Omi pendant
around his neck.
Sarene scowled. "You don't have to ward off evil, Eondel. I'm not going to
reject Domi just because He put a fool in charge of His Church: fools need to
have a chance to serve too."
Eondel's eyes turned down toward his hand: then he lowered it with an
embarrassed look. Roial, however. was laughing quietly to himself.
"What?" Sarene demanded.
"It's just that I was considering something, Sarene," the oId man said with a
smile. "I don't think I've ever met anyone. male or female. that's quite as
opinionated as you are."
"Then you've lived a sheltered life, my duke." Sarene informed. "And where is
Lukel, anyway?"
Kiin's table wasn't as comfortable as Roial's study. but for some reason they
all felt most at home in Kiln's dining room. While most people added personal
touches to their study or reception room, Kiin's love was his food, and the
dining room the place where he shared his talent. The room's
decorations—mementos from Kiin's travels including everything from dried
vegetables to a large, ornamental axe—were comfortingly familiar. There was
never any discussion about it; they all just naturally came to this room when
they met.
They had to wait a few more moments before Lukel finally decided to return.
Eventually, they heard the door open and close, then her cousin's amiable face
popped in the door. Ahan and Kiin were with him.
"Well?" Sarene asked.
"Telrii definitely intends to take the throne," Lukel said.
"Not with my legion backing Roial. he won't." Eondel said.
"Unfortunately, my dear general," Ahan said, settling his bulk into a chair,
"your legion isn't here. You have barely a dozen men at your disposal." "It's
more than Telrii has," Sarene pointed out.
"Not anymore, it isn't," Ahan said. "The Elantris City Guard left their posts
to set up camp outside Telrii's mansion."
Eondel snorted. "The Guard is hardly more than a club for second sons who want
to pretend they're important."
"True," Ahan said. "But there are over six hundred people in that club. At
fifty-to-one odds, even /would fight against your legion. I'm afraid the
balance of power has shifted in Telrii's favor."
"This is bad," Roial agreed. "Telrii's superior wealth was a great problem
before, but now ..."
"There's got to be a way," Lukel said.
"I don't see one," Roial confessed.

The men frowned. deep in thought. However, they had all been pondering this
very problem for two days. Even if they'd had the military edge. the other
aristocrats would be hesitant to support Roial. who was the less wealthy man.
As Sarene studied each lord in turn, her eyes fell on Shuden. He seemed
hesitant rather than worried.
"What?" she asked quietly.
"I think I may have a way," he said tentatively.
"Speak on, man," Ahan said.
Sarene is still very wealthy,- Shuden explained. "Raoden left her at least
five hundred thousand deos."
"We discussed this. Shuden," Lukel said. "She has a lot of money, but still
less than Roial."
"True," Shuden agreed. "But together they would have far more than Telrii."
The room grew quiet.
"Your marriage contract is technically void, my lady." Ashe said from behind.
"It dissolved as soon as Iadon killed himself, thereby removing his line from
the throne. The moment someone else becomes king—be it Telrii or Roial-the
treaty will end, and you will cease to be an Arelish princess."
Shuden nodded. "If you unify your fortune with that of Lord Roial, it would
not only give you the money to stand against Telrii, it would also legitimize
the duke's claim. Don't assume that lineage doesn't matter in Arelon. The
nobles would much rather give their loyalty to one of Iadon's relatives."
Roial found her with eyes like those of a benevolent grandfather. "I must
admit that young Shuden has a point. The marriage would be strictly political.
Sarene."
Sarene took a breath. Things happened so quickly.     understand, my lord. We
will do what must be done."
And so. for the second time in only two months, Sarene was engaged to be
married.
"THAT wasn't very romantic, I'm afraid," Roial apologized. The meeting was
over, and Roial had discreetly offered to escort Sarene back to the palace.
The others, including Ashe, had realized that the two needed to talk alone.
"It's all right. my lord," Sarene said with a slight smile. "That is how
political marriages are supposed to be—dry, contrived, but extremely useful."
"You're very pragmatic."
"I have to be, my lord."
Roial frowned. "Must we return to the 'my lords,' Sarene? I thought we were
beyond that."

"I'm sorry, Roial," Sarene said. "It's just hard to separate my personal self
from my political self."
Roial nodded. '1 meant what I said, Sarene. This will be strictly a union of
convenience-do not fear yourself obligated in any other way."
Sarene rode quietly for a moment. listening to the horse's hooves clop in
front of them. "There will need to be heirs."
Roial laughed quietly. "No, Sarene. Thank you, but no. Even if such were
physically possible. I couldn't go through with it. I am an old man, and can't
possibly survive more than a few years. This time, your wedding contract won't
forbid you from remarrying after I die. When I'm gone, you can finally choose
a man of your own preference-by then we will have replaced Iadon's silly
system with something more stable, and your children with the third husband
will inherit the throne."
Third husband. Roial spoke as if he were already dead, herself a widow twice
over. "Well," she said. "if things do happen as you suggest, then at least I
wouldn't have trouble attracting a husband. The throne would be a tempting
prize. even if I were attached to it."
Roial's face hardened. "This is something I've been meaning to discuss with
you, Sarene."
"What?"
"You're far too harsh on yourself. I've heard the way you speak—you assume
that nobody wants you."
"They don't," Sarene said flatly. "Trust me."
Roial shook his head. "You're an excellent judge of character. Sarene-except
your own. Often, our own opinions of ourselves are the most unrealistic. You
may see yourself as an old maid, child, but you are young. and you are
beautiful. Just because you've had misfortune in your past doesn't mean you
have to give up on your future."
He looked into her eyes. For all his mischievous shows, this was a man of
sagely understanding. "You will find someone to love you, Sarene," Roial
promised. "You are a prize-a prize even greater than that throne you'll be
attached to."
Sarene blushed, looking down. Still ... his words were encouraging. Perhaps
she did have a hope. She would probably be in her mid-thirties, but she would
have at least one more chance to find the right man.
"Anyway," Roial said. "Our wedding will have to come soon if we are going to
beat Tel ri i."
"What do you suggest?"
"The day of Iadon's funeral." Roial said. "Technically, Iadon's reign doesn't
end until his burial."
Four days. It would be a short engagement indeed.

"I just worry at the necessity of putting you through all of this," Roial
said. "It can't be easy to consider marrying such a dusty old man."
Sarene laid her hand on that of the duke, smiling at the sweetness in his
tone. -All things considered, my lord, I think I'm rather fortunate. There are
very few men in this world I would actually consider it an honor to be forced
to marry."
Roial smiled a wrinkly smile, his eyes twinkling. "It's a shame Ahan's already
married. isn't it?"
Sarene removed her hand and swatted him on the shoulder. "I've had enough
emotional shocks for one week, Roial-I'll kindly thank you not to make me sick
to my stomach as well."
The duke laughed at length. When his merriment died down, however, another
sound replaced it—yelling. Sarene tensed. but the yells weren't ones of anger
or pain. They seemed joyful and excited. Confused, she looked out the carriage
window and saw a crowd of people surging through a cross street.
`What in the name of Domi is that?" Roial asked.
Their carriage drew closer. allowing Sarene to make out a tall form at the
center of the erowd.
Sarene grew numb. -But . but that's impossible!"
"What?" Roial asked. squinting.
"It's Hrathen," Sarene said with wide eyes, "He's left Elantris!" Then she
realized something else. The gyorn's face was unspotted. Flesh-colored.
"Merciful Domi—he's been healed!"
CHAPTER 36
HEN dawn signaled the fifth day of Hrathen's exile, he knew that he
W had made a mistake. He would die in Elantris. Five days was too long to go
without drink, and he knew there was no water to be had in the city of the
damned.
He didn't regret his actions—he had behaved in the most logical way. It had
been desperate logic. but rational nonetheless. Had he continued in Kae, he
would

have grown more impotent with each turning day. No, it was much better to die
of dehydration.
He grew increasingly delirious as the fifth day passed. At times, he saw Dilaf
laughing over him; at others the Teoish princess did the same. Once he even
thought he saw Jaddeth himseIf, His face burning red with the heat of Godly
disappointment as he looked down on Hrathen. The delusions soon changed,
however. He no longer saw faces, no longer felt humiliated and scorned. In
their place, he was confronted with something much more horrid.
Memories of Dakhor.
Once again, the dark, hollow cubicles of the monastery surrounded him. Screams
echoed through the black stone hallways, cries of bestial agony mixing with
solemn chanting. Chanting that had a strange power to it. The boy Hrathen
knelt obediently, waiting, crouched in a cubical no larger than a closet.
sweat streaming past terrified eyes. knowing that eventually they would come
for him.
Rathbore Monastery trained assassins, Fjeldor Monastery trained spies. Dakhor
Dakhor Monastery trained demons.
HIS delirium broke sometime in the early afternoon, releasing him for a
time—like a cat allowing its prey to run free one last time before striking a
deadly blow. Hrathen roused his weakened body from the hard stones, his matted
clothing sticking to the slimy surface. He didn't remember pulling into a
fetal position. With a sigh. Hrathen rubbed a hand over his dirty,
grime-stained scalp—a senseless but reflexive attempt to wipe away the dirt.
His fingers scraped against something rough and gristly. Stubble.
Hrathen sat upright. shock providing momentary strength. He reached with
trembling fingers, searching out the small flask that had contained his
sacrificial wine. He wiped the glass as best he could with a dirty sleeve,
then peered at his spectral reflection. It was distorted and unclear. but it
was enough. The spots were gone. His skin, though covered with dirt, was as
fresh and unblemished as it had been five days before.
Forton's potion had finally worn off.
He had begun to think that it never would. that Forton had forgotten to make
the effects temporary. It was amazing enough that the Hroven man could create
a potion that made one's body mimic the afflictions of an Elantrian. But
Hrathen had misjudged the apothecary: he had done as asked, even if the
effects had lasted a bit longer than expected.
Of course. if Hrathen didn't get himself out of Elantris quickly. he might
still die. Hrathen stood, gathering his remaining strength and bolstering it
with excited adrenaline. "Behold!" he screamed toward the guardhouse above.
"Witness the power and glory of Lord Jaddeth! I have been healed!"

There was no response. Perhaps it was too far for his voice to carry. Then,
looking along the walls, he noticed something. There were no Guards. No
patrols or watches marched their rounds. no telltale tips of spears marked
their presence. They had been there the day before ... or. had it been the day
before that? The last three days had become something of a blur in his
mind—one extended set of prayers, hallucinations, and the occasional exhausted
nap.
Where had the guards gone? They considered it their solemn duty to watch
Elantris, as if anything threatening couId ever come from the rotting city.
The Elantris City Guard performed a useless function, but that function gave
them notoriety. The Guards would never give up their posts.
Except they had. Hrathen began to scream again, feeling the strength leak from
his body. If the Guard wasn't there to open the gates, then he was doomed.
Irony tickled at his mind-the only Elantrian to ever be healed would die
because of a collection of incompetent. negligent guards.
The gate suddenly cracked open. Another hallucination? But then a head poked
through the gap—the avaricious captain that Hrathen had been nurturing.
"My lord ... ?" the guard asked hesitantly. Then, looking Hrathen up and down
with wide eyes, he inhaled sharply. "Gracious Domi! It's true-you've been
healed!"
"Lord Jaddeth had heard my pleas. Captain," Hrathen announced with what
strength he could manage. "The taint of Elantris has been removed from my
body."
The captain's head disappeared for a moment. Then, slowly, the gate opened all
the way, revealing a group of wary guards.
"Come, my lord."
Hrathen rose to his feet-he hadn't even noticed sinking to his knees-and
walked on shaky legs to the gate. He turned. resting his hand on the wood-one
side filthy and grime-stained. the other side bright and clean—and looked back
at Elantris. A few huddled shapes watched him from the top of a building.
"Enjoy your damnation, my friends." Hrathen whispered. then motioned for the
guards to shut the gate.
"I really shouldn't be doing this. you know," the captain said. "Once a man is
thrown into Elantris     ."
"Jaddeth rewards those who obey Him, Captain," Hrathen said. "Often at the
hands of His servants."
The captain's eyes brightened. and Hrathen was suddenly very grateful he had
begun bribing the man. "Where are the rest of your men, Captain?" "Protecting
the new king." the captain said proudly.
"New king?" Hrathen asked.
"You've missed a lot, my lord. Lord Telrii rules in Arelon now—or. at least.
he will as soon as Iadon's funeral is over."

Weakened as he was, Hrathen could only stand in shock. Iadon dead? Telrii
seizing control? How could five days bring about such drastic events?
"Come," Hrathen said firmly. "You can explain it to me on the way to the
chapel."
THE crowds gathered around him as he walked; the captain owned no carriage,
and Hrathen didn't want to bother waiting for one. For the moment. the
exhilaration of a pIan fulfilled was enough to keep him moving.
The crowds helped as well. As news spread, the peopIe-servants, merchants, and
nobles alike      came to stare at the recovered Elantrian. All parted before
him. regarding him with looks that ranged from stunned to worshipful, some
reaching out to touch his Elantrian robe in awe.
The trip was crowded, but uneventful-except for one moment when he looked down
a side street and recognized the Teoish princess's head poking out of a
carriage window. In that moment, Hrathen felt a sense of fulfillment that
rivaled the day he had become a full gyorn. His healing wasn't just
unexpected, it was unfathomable. There was no way Sarene could have planned
for it. For once, Hrathen had total and complete advantage.
When he reached the chapel, Hrathen turned to the mass of people with raised
hands. His clothing was still stained, but he held himself as if to make the
grime a badge of pride. The dirt signaled his suffering, proving that he had
traveled to the very pit of damnation and returned with his soul intact.
"People of Arelon!" he yelled. "Know ye this day who is Master! Let your
hearts and souls be guided by the religion which can offer evidence of divine
support. Lord Jaddeth is the only God in Sycla. If you need proof of this,
look at my hands that are clean from rot, my face that is pure and
unblemished. and my scalp rough with stubble. Lord Jaddeth tested me, and as I
relied on Him, He blessed me. I have been healed!"
He lowered his hands and the crowd roared their approval. Many had probably
doubted after Hrathen's apparent fall, but they would return with renewed
dedication. The converts he made now would be stronger than any that had come
before.
Hrathen entered the chapel, and the people remained outside. Hrathen walked
with increasing fatigue, the energy of the moment finally giving way to five
days' worth of strain. He flopped to his knees before the altar, bowing his
head in sincere prayer.
It didn't bother him that the miracle was an effect of Forton's potionHrathen
had found that most supposed miracles were either natural or the result of
human intervention. Jaddeth was behind them, as He was behind all things,
using natural phenomena to increase the faith of man.

Hrathen raised praises to God for giving him the capacity to think of the
plan, the means to execute it, and the climate to make it succeed. The
captain's arrival had certainly been a result of divine will. That the man
would leave Telrii's camp just when Hrathen needed him, and that he would hear
Hrathen yelling through the thick wood. was simply too much to be a
coincidence. Jaddeth might not have "cursed" Hrathen with the Shaod. but He
had certainly been behind the plan's success.
Drained, Hrathen finished his prayer and lurched to his feet. As he did so, he
heard a chapel door open behind him. When he turned, Dilaf stood behind him.
Hrathen sighed. This was a confrontation he had hoped to avoid until he'd had
some rest.
Dilaf, however, fell to his knees before Hrathen. "My hroden," he whispered.
Hrathen blinked in surprise. "Yes, Arteth?"
"I doubted you, my hroden," Dilaf confessed. "I thought Lord Jaddeth had
cursed you for incompetence. Now I see that your faith is much stronger than I
realized. I know why you were chosen to hold the position of gyorn."
"Your apology is accepted, Arteth, Hrathen said, trying to keep the fatigue
from his voice. "All men question in times of trial—the days following my
exile must have been difficult for you and the other priests."
"We should have had more faith."
"Learn from these events then, Arteth, and next time do not allow yourself to
doubt. You may go."
Dilaf moved to leave. As the man rose, Hrathen studied his eyes. There was
respect there, but not as much penitence as the arteth was trying to show. He
looked more confused than anything; he was amazed and unsettled, but he was
not pleased. The battle was not over yet.
Too tired to worry about Dilaf for the moment, Hrathen stumbled back to his
quarters and pulled open the door. His possessions were piled in one corner of
the room, as if waiting to be hauled away for disposal. Suddenly apprehensive,
Hrathen rushed to the pile. He found the Seon trunk beneath a pile of
clothing: its lock was broken. Hrathen opened the lid with anxious fingers and
pulled out the steel box inside. The front of the box was covered with
scrapes, scratches, and dents.
Hurriedly, Hrathen opened the box. Several of the levers were bent, and the
dial stuck. so he was extremely relieved when he heard the lock click open. He
lifted the lid with anxious hands. The Seon floated inside, unperturbed. The
three remaining vials of potion lay next to it: two had cracked. leaking their
contents into the bottom of the box.
"Did anyone open this box since I last spoke through you?" Hrathen asked. "No,
my lord," the Seon replied in her melancholy voice.
"Good," Hrathen said, snapping the lid closed. After that, he drank a careful
amount of wine from a flask he got from the pile, then collapsed on the bed
and fell asleep.

IT was dark when he awakened. His body was still tired, but he forced himself
to rise. A vital piece of his plans could not wait. He summoned a particular
priest, who arrived a short time later. The priest, Dothgen, was a tall man
with a powerful Fjordell build and muscles that even managed to bulge through
his red Derethi robes.
"Yes, my lord?" Dothgen asked.
"You were trained in Rathbore Monastery, were you not, Arteth?" Hrathen asked.
"I was. my lord," the man responded in a deep voice.
"Good," Hrathen said, holding up the last vial of potion. "I have need of your
special skills."
"Who is it for, my lord?" the priest asked. Like every graduate of Rathbore,
Dothgen was a trained assassin. He had received far more specialized training
than Hrathen had at Ghajan Monastery, the place Hrathen had gone after Dakhor
proved too much for him. Only a gyorn or a ragnat, however, could make use of
Rathbore-trained priests without Wyrn's permission.
Hrathen smiled.

CHAPTER 37
I T struck while Raoden was studying. He didn't hear himself gasp in agonized
shock, nor did he feel himself tumble from his seat in a spastic seizure. All
he felt was the pain—a sharp torment that dropped upon him suddenly and
vengefully. It was like a million tiny insects, each one latching on to his
body-inside and out—to eat him alive. Soon he felt as if he had no body—the
pain was his body. It was the only sense. the only input, and his screams were
the only product.
Then he felt it. It stood like an enormous slick surface, without crack or
pocket, at the back of his mind. It pressed demandingly, pounding the pain
into every nerve in his body, like a workman driving a spike into the ground.
It was vast. It made men, mountains, and worlds seem paltry. It was not evil,
or even

sentient. It didn't rage or churn. It was immobile, frozen by its own intense
pressure. It wanted to move—to go anywhere, to find any release from the
strain. But there was no outlet.
Raoden's vision cleared slowly as the force retreated. He lay on the cold
marble floor of the chapel. staring up at the bottom of his table. Two hazy
faces hovered above him.
"Stile?" an urgent voice asked, as if from far away. "Doloken! Raoden, can you
hear me?"
His view sharpened. Karata's usually stern features were concerned, while
Galladon was livid.
"I'm all right," Raoden croaked, shamed. They would realize how weak he was,
that he couldn't stand the pain of even a monthlong stay in Elantris.
The two helped him sit. He remained on the floor for a moment before
indicating that he wanted to move to the chair. His entire body was sore, as
if he had tried to lift a dozen different weights at the same time. He groaned
as he slid into the uncomfortable stone seat.
"Sule, what happened?" Galladon asked, retreating hesitantly to his own chair.
"It was the pain," Raoden said, holding his head in his hands and resting his
elbows on the table. "It was too much for me for a moment. I'm all right now;
it retreated."
Galladon frowned. "What are you talking about, sule?"
"The pain," Raoden said with exasperation. "The pain of my cuts and bruises,
the bane of life here in Elantris."
"Sule, the pain doesn't come in waves," Galladon said. "It just remains the
same."
"It comes in waves for me." Raoden said tiredly.
Galladon shook his head. "That can't be. Kolo? When you fall to the pain. you
snap and your mind is gone. That's the way it always is. Besides, there's no
way you could have acau-nulated enough cuts and bruises to go Hoed yet."
"You've said that before, Galladon, but this is how it works for me. It comes
all of a sudden, as if trying to destroy me. then moves away. Maybe I'm just
worse at dealing with it than everyone else."
"My prince," Karata said hesitantly, "you were glowing."
Raoden looked up at her with shock. "What?"
"It's true, sule," Galladon said. "After you collapsed you began glowing. Like
an Aon. Almost as if . . ."
Raoden's mouth fell open slightly in amazement. ". . . as if the Dor were
trying to come through me." The force had been searching for an opening, a way
out. It had tried to use him like an Aon. "Why me?"
"Some people are closer to the Dor than others. sule." Galladon said. "In

Elantris, some people could create Aons much more powerful than others, and
some seemed more . intimate with the power."
"Besides, my prince," Karata said, "are you not the one who knows the Aons
best? We see you practicing them every day."
Raoden nodded slowly, almost forgetting about his agony. "During the Reod,
they say the most powerful Elantrians were the first to fall. They didn't
fight when the mobs burned them."
'As if they were overwhelmed by something. Kolo?" Galladon asked.
Sudden and ironic relief soothed Raoden's mind. As much as the pain hurt, his
insecurity had worried him more. Still, he was not free. "The attacks are
getting worse. If they continue, they will take me, eventually. If that
happens . . ."
Galladon nodded solemnly. "You will join the Hoed."
"The Dor will destroy me," Raoden said, "ripping my soul apart in a futile
attempt to break free. It isn't alive—it's just a force, and the fact that I
am not a viable passage won't stop it from trying. When it does take me,
remember your vow.
Galladon and Karata nodded. They would take him to the pool in the mountains.
Knowing they would take care of him if he did fall was enough to keep him
going-and enough to make him wish, just a little, that the day of his failure
was not far away.
"That doesn't have to happen though, sule," Galladon said. "I mean, that gyorn
was healed. Maybe something's happening: maybe something has changed." Raoden
paused. "If he really was healed."
"What do you mean?" Karata asked.
"There was a lot of fuss pulling him from the city," Raoden said. "If I were
Wyrn, I wouldn't want a Derethi Elantrian hanging around to bring shame on my
religion. I'd send an envoy to pull him out, telling everyone he'd been
healed, then hide him back in Fjordell."
"We never did get a good look at the man after he was 'healed,' Karata
acknowledged.
Galladon looked a Iittle crestfallen at the line of conversation. He, like
others in Elantris, had received a measure of hope from Hrathen's healing.
Raoden hadn't said anything outright to discourage the people's optimism, but
inside he was more reserved. Since the gyorn's departure, nobody else had been
healed.
It was a hopeful sign, but somehow Raoden doubted it would mean much of a
change for the Elantrian people. They needed to work and improve their own
lives. not wait for some external miracle.
He turned back to his studies.

CHAPTER 38
S AREN F watched the gyorn with displeased eyes. Hrathen no longer gave his
sermons at the Derethi chapel; there were too many people. Instead he
organized meetings on the edge of the city, where he could stand on Kae's
five-foot border wall, his followers sitting at his feet to listen. The gyorn
preached with more vibrancy and enthusiasm than he had before. For now, he was
a saint. He had suffered the Shaod, and had proven himself superior to its
curse.
He was, Sarene had to admit, an impressive opponent. Outfitted in his red
armor. he stood like a bloodied metal statue above the crowd.
"It must have been some kind of trick," she noted.
"Of course it was. Cousin," Lukel said, standing beside her. "If we thought
otherwise, we might as well join Shu-Dereth. Personally, I look horrible in
red." "Your face is too pink," Sarene said offhandedly.
"If it was a trick, Sarene," Shuden said. "then I am at a loss to explain it."
The three of them stood at the periphery of the morning meeting. They had come
to see for themselves the amazing numbers Hrathen's meetings drew, even on the
very day of the king's funeral.
"It could have been makeup," Sarene said.
"That survived the ritual washing?" Shuden said.
"Maybe the priests were in on it," Lukel said.
"Have you ever tried to bribe a Korathi priest, Lukel?" Shuden asked
pointedly.
Lukel looked around uncomfortably. "I'd rather not answer that question, thank
you."
"You sound almost as if you believe his miracle. Shuden," Sarene said.
"I do not discount it," Shuden said. -Why wouldn't God bless one of his
devout? Religious exclusivism is a Korathi and Derethi addition to Shu-Keseg."
Sarene sighed. nodding for her friends to follow as she pushed her way through
the outlying crowds and walked toward their waiting carriage. Trick or not.
Hrathen had an uncomfortably strong hold on the people. If he managed to place
a sympathizer on the throne, it would all be over. Arelon would become a
Derethi nation, and only Teod would remain—though probably not for long.

Her companions were undoubtedly thinking along similar lines; both Lukel and
Shuden's faces bore disturbed, contemplative looks. They entered the coach in
silent thought, but finally Lukel turned to her, his hawkish features
troubled.
"What do you mean, my face is too pink?" he asked with a hurt tone.
THE ship's mast bore the royal crest of Teod-a gold Aon Teo on a blue
background. Long and thin, there was no faster vessel on the water than a
Teoish strightboat.
Sarene felt it her duty to give the patriarch a better reception than she
herself had received upon arriving at those same docks. She didn't like the
man, but that was no excuse for incivility, and so she had brought Shuden,
Lukel, Eondel, and several of the count's soldiers as an honor guard.
The thin ship came into dock smoothly, sailors throwing out a gangplank as
soon as the vessel was secured. A blue-robed form strode past the sailors and
down the gangplank with a firm step. Over a dozen attendants and lesser
priests followed; the patriarch liked to be well cared for. As Seinalan
approached. Sarene masked her face with controlled courtesy.
The patriarch was a tall man with delicate features. His golden hair was long,
like that of a woman, and it blended with the enormous gold cape that
fluttered behind him. The blue robe was embroidered with so much gold thread
it was difficult at times to see the material underneath. He smiled with the
benevolently tolerant face of one who wanted you to know he was patient with
your inferiority.
"Your Highness!" Seinalan said as he approached. "It has been too long since
my old eyes beheld your sweet features."
Sarene did her best to smile, curtsying before the patriarch and his "old"
eyes. Seinalan was no more than forty. though he tried to make himself seem
more aged and wise than he really was.
"Your Holiness," she said. "All of Arelon is blessed by your presence."
He nodded, as if to say that he understood just how fortunate they all were.
He turned toward Shuden and the others. "Who are your companions?"
"My cousin Lukel and Baron Shuden and Count Eondel of Arelon. Your Holiness."
Each man bowed as she made the introductions.
"Only barons and counts?" Seinalan asked with disappointment.
"Duke Roial sends his greetings, Your Grace." Sarene said. "He is busy
preparing for King Iadon's burial."
"Ah," Seinalan said, his luxurious hair-untouched by gray—waving in the sea
wind. Sarene had wished many times to have locks half as fine as those of the
patriarch. "I assume I am not too late to attend the funeral?"

"No, Your Holiness," Sarene said. "It will occur this afternoon." "Good."
Seinalan said. "Come, you may show me to my lodgings now."
"THAT was . . . disappointing," Lukel confessed as soon as they climbed back
in their carriage. The patriarch had been given his own vehicle, courtesy of
Roial, and the gift had cooled his dissatisfaction at the duke's absence.
"He's not exactly what you expect, is he?" Sarene said.
"That isn't what Lukel meant, Sarene," Shuden said.
Sarene glanced at Lukel. "What do you mean?"
"I was just hoping for something more entertaining,' Lukel said, twin flops of
hair bouncing against his cheeks as he shrugged.
"He has been looking forward to this ever since he heard you describe the
patriarch, Your Highness," Eondel explained with a dissatisfied look. "He
assumed you nvo would . . . argue more."
Sarene sighed, giving Lukel a withering look. "Just because I don't like the
man doesn't mean I'm going to make a scene, Cousin. Remember, I was one of my
father's chief diplomats."
Lukel nodded with resignation.
"I will admit, Sarene." Shuden said, "your analysis of the patriarch's
personality seems accurate. I am left wondering how such a man could be chosen
for such an important position.'
"By mistake," Sarene said curtly. -Seinalan gained the seat about fifteen
years ago, when he was barely your age. It was just after Wulfden became Wyrn,
and the leaders of Shu-Korath felt threatened by his vigor. For some reason,
they got it into their minds that they needed to elect a patriarch who was
just as young as Wulfden-if not younger. Seinalan was the result."
Shuden raised an eyebrow.
"I agree completely," Sarene said. "But, I have to give them a bit of credit.
Wulfden is said to be one of the most handsome men to ever take the Fjordell
throne, and the Korathi leaders wanted someone who would be equally
impressive."
Lukel snorted. "Handsome and pretty are two completely different things,
Cousin. Half the women who see that man will love him, the other half will
just be jealous."
Throughout the conversation, Lord Eondel grew progressively more pale.
Finally, he found voice for his indignation. "Remember, my lords and lady,
this is Domi's holy chosen vessel."
"And he couldn't have picked a vessel more lovely," Lukel quipped—earning him
an elbow in the ribs from Sarene.
"We will try to make our comments more respectful, Eondel," she apologized.
"The patriarch's looks are unimportant anyway—I'm more interested in why he
came."
"Isn't a king's funeral enough of a reason?" Shuden asked.
"Perhaps," Sarene said, unconvinced, as the carriage pulled to a halt outside
the Korathi chapel. "Come on, let's see His Holiness settled as soon as
possible-the funeral is in less than two hours, and after that it appears that
I'm getting married."
WITH no obvious heir, and with Eshen completely unhinged by her husband's
disgrace and subsequent death, Duke Roial took the burden of the funeral
arrangements upon himself.
"Pagan murderer or not, Iadon was once my friend," the duke had explained. "He
brought stability to this country in a time of need. For that much, he at
least deserves a decent burial."
Omin had requested that they not use the Korathi chapel for the services, so
Roial decided to use the king's throne room instead. The choice made Sarene a
little uneomfortable—the throne room was the same place they would hold the
wedding. However, Roial thought it symbolic that the same room would serve
both the passing of the old king and the ascension of the new.
The decorations were tasteful and subdued. Roial, characteristically frugal,
had planned arrangements and colors that would work for both a funeral and a
wedding. The room's pillars were wrapped with white ribbons, and there were
various arrangements of flowers—mostly white roses or aberteens.
Sarene entered the room, looking to the side with a smile. Near the front,
next to one of the pillars, was the place where she had first set up her
easel. It seemed like so long ago, though barely more than a month had passed.
Forgotten with shame were the days when she had been considered an
empty-headed girl-the nobility now regarded her with something akin to awe.
Here was the woman who had manipulated the king, then made a fool of him, and
finally toppled him from his throne. They would never love her as they had
loved Raoden, but she would accept their admiration as an inferior substitute.
To the side, Sarene saw Duke Telrii. The bald, overdressed man actually looked
displeased, rather than simply uncaring. Roial had announced his wedding to
Sarene only a few hours earlier, giving the pompous Telrii little time to
consider a response. Sarene met Telrii's eyes, and sensed ... frustration in
the man's bearing. She had expected something from him-some kind of attempt to
block their marriage—but he had made no move. What held him back?
Roial's arrival called the group to order, and the crowd fell silent. Roial

walked to the front of the room, where the king's casket lay sealed, and began
to speak.
It was a short offering. Roial spoke of how Iadon had forged a country from
the ashes of Elantris, and how he had given them all their titles. He warned
them against making the same mistake as the king, counseling them not to
forget Domi in their riches and comfort. He closed by advocating that they
refrain from speaking ill of the deceased, remembering that Domi would see to
Iadon's soul, and such was none of their concern.
With that, he motioned for several of Eondel's solders to pick up the casket.
However, another form stepped forward before they could go more than a few
steps.
"I have something to add." Seinalan announced.
Roial paused in surprise. Seinalan smiled, showing perfect teeth to the room.
He had already changed clothing, and was wearing a robe similar to the first,
except it had a wide golden band running up his back and down his chest
instead of the embroidery.
"Of course, Your Holiness," Roial said.
"What is this about?" Shuden whispered.
Sarene simply shook her head as Seinalan walked up to stand behind the casket.
He regarded the crowd with a self-important smile, melodramatically whipping a
scroll from the sleeve of his robe.
"Ten years ago, just after his ascension, King Iadon came to me and made this
statement," Seinalan said. "You can see his seal at the bottom, as well as my
own. He ordered that I present this to Arelon at his funeral, or fifteen years
from the date of its creation. whichever arrived first.'
Roial moved across the side of the room until he was standing next to Sarene
and Shuden. His eyes showed curiosity. and concern. At the front of the room,
Seinalan broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it.
"'My lords and ladies of Arelon,' " Seinalan read. holding the paper before
him as if it were a shining relic. " 'Let the will of your first king. Iadon
of Kae. be known. I swear solemnly before Dom'', my ancestors, and whatever
other gods may be watching that this proclamation is lawful. If it be that I
am dead or for some other reason unable to continue as your king, then let it
be understood that I made this decree of sound mind, and it is binding
according to the laws of our nation.
"'I order that all titles of noble rank are to be frozen as they stand, to be
handed down from generation to generation, father to son, as is commonly done
in other nations. Let wealth no longer be the measure of a man's
nobility—those who have held to their rank this long have proven themselves
worthy. The attached document is a codified list of inheritance laws patterned
after those in Teod. Let this document become the law of our country.

Seinalan lowered the paper to a stunned room. There was no sound, except for a
quiet exhale from beside Sarene. Finally, people began to speak in hushed.
excited tones.
"So that's what he was planning all along," Roial said softly. "He knew how
unstable his system was. He intended it that way. He let them go at each
other's throats just to see who would be strong enough, or treacherous enough,
to survive."
"A good plan, if an unconscionable one," Shuden said. "Perhaps we
underestimated Iadon's craftiness."
Seinalan still stood at the front of the room, eyeing the nobles with knowing
looks.
"Why him?" Shuden asked.
"Because he's absolute," Sarene said. "Not even Hrathen would dare question
the word of the patriarch—not yet, at least. If Seinalan says that order was
made ten years ago, then everyone in Arelon is bound to agree with him."
Shuden nodded. "Does this change our plans?"
"Not at all," Roial said, shooting a look toward Telrii, whose expression had
turned even darker than before. "It strengthens our claim—my union with
Iadon's house will be even more creditable."
"Telrii still bothers me," Sarene said as the patriarch added a few platitudes
about the wisdom of adopting the inheritance system. "His claim is definitely
weakened by this-but will he accept it?"
"He'll have to," Roial said with a smile. "None of the nobility would dare
follow him now. Iadon's proclamation grants the thing they have all been
wanting-stable titles. The nobility aren't going to risk crowning a man who
has no valid blood claim to the throne. The legality of Iadon's declaration
doesn't matter; everyone is going to act as if it were Church doctrine."
Eondel's soldiers were finally allowed to come forward and pick up the casket.
Faced with no precedent regarding the proper burial of an Arelish king, Roial
had turned to the culture most similar to his own: Teod. The Teos favored
large ceremonies, often burying their greatest kings with an entire shipload
of riches. if not the ship itself. While such was obviously unfit for Iadon,
Roial had adapted other ideas. A Teoish funeral procession was a long,
drawn-out exercise, often requiring the attendants to walk an hour or more to
reach the prepared site. Roial had included this tradition, with a slight
modification.
A line of carriages waited outside the palace. To Sarene, using vehicles
seemed disrespectful, but Shuden had made a good point.
"Roial is planning to make a bid for the crown this very afternoon." the Jindo
had explained. "He can't afford to offend the plush lords and ladies of Arelon
by requiring a forced march all the way out of the city."

Besides, Sarene had added to herself, why worry about disrespect? This is,
after alL only Iadon.
With the carriages, it took only about fifteen minutes to reach the burial
site. At first it looked like a large hole that had been excavated, but
careful inspection would have shown it to be a natural depression in the earth
that had been further deepened. Once again, Roial's frugality had been behind
the choice.
With little ceremony. Roial ordered the coffin lowered into the hole. A large
group of workers began to build the mound over it.
Sarene was surprised how many nobles stayed to watch. The weather had turned
cold lately. bringing a chill wind from the mountains. A drizzle hung in the
air, clouds obscuring the sun. She had expected most of the nobility to
trickle away after the first few shovels of dirt were thrown.
But they stayed, watching the work with silent eyes. Sarene, dressed for once
in black, pulled her shawl close to ward off the cold. There was something in
the eyes of those nobles. Iadon had been the first king of Arelon, his
rule—short though it had been—the beginning of a tradition. People would
recall Iadon's name for centuries, and children would be taught how he had
risen to power in a land whose gods were dead.
Was it any wonder he had turned to the Mysteries? With all he had seen-the
glory of pre-Reod Elantris, then the death of an era thought eternal—was it
any wonder he sought to control the chaos that seemed to reign in the land of
the gods? Sarene though she understood Iadon a little bit better, standing in
the chill dampness, watching the dirt slowly envelop his coffin.
Only when the last shovel of dirt was thrown, the last part of the mound
patted down, did the Arelish nobility finally turn to leave. Their going was a
quiet procession, and Sarene barely noticed. She stood for a while longer,
looking at the king's barrow in the rare afternoon fog. Iadon was gone; it was
time for new leadership in Arelon.
A hand fell lightly on her shoulder, and she turned to look into Roial's
comforting eyes. "We should get ready, Sarene."
Sarene nodded and allowed herself to be led away.
SARENE knelt before the altar in the familiar, low-ceilinged Korathi chapel.
She was alone; it was customary for a bride to have one last private communion
with Domi before taking her marriage vows.
She was draped head to foot in white. She wore the dress that she had brought
for her first wedding-a chaste, high-necked gown that her father had chosen.
She wore white silken gloves that reached all the way to her shoulders, and
her face was

swathed in a thick veil—which, by tradition, wouldn't be lifted until she
entered the hallway where her fiancé waited.
She wasn't certain what to pray about. Sarene considered herself religious,
though she was nowhere near as devout as Eondel. Still, her fight for Teod was
really a fight for the Karachi religion. She believed in Domi and regarded Him
with reverence. She was faithful to the tenets the priests taught her—even if
she was, perhaps, a little too headstrong.
Now it appeared that Domi had finally answered her prayers. He had delivered
her a husband though he was not at aII what she had expected. Perhaps, she
thought to herself. I should have been a little more specific.
There was no bitterness in the thought. however. She had known most of her
life that she was meant for a marriage of policy, not of love. Roial really
was one of the most decent men she had ever met—even if he was old enough to
be her father, or even her grandfather. Still, she had heard of state
marriages far more unbalanced; several Jindoeese kings were known to have
taken brides as young as twelve years old.
So, her prayer was one of thanks. She recognized a blessing when she saw one:
With Roial as her husband, she would be queen of Arelon. And, if Domi did
decide to take Roial from her in a few years. she knew the duke's promise was
true. She would have another opportunity.
Please, she added as a close to her simple prayer. just let us be happy.
Her lady attendants waited outside, most of them daughters of nobility. Kaise
was there, looking very solemn in her little white dress, as was Torena. They
held Sarene's long, cloaklike train as she walked the short distance to her
carriage, then again as she alighted and entered the palace.
The throne-room doors were open. and Roial stood in a white suit near the
front of the room. It was his intention to sit in the throne as soon as the
ceremony was finished. If the duke did not make his claim in a forceful,
unquestionable manner, then Telrii might still try to seize control.
The diminutive Father Omin stood beside the throne, clutching the large tome
of the Do-Korath. There was a dreamy look on his face; the little priest
obviously enjoyed weddings. Seinalan stood beside him, petulant that Sarene
hadn't asked him to officiate. She didn't really care. Living in Teod, she had
always assumed that the patriarch would wed her. Now that she had an
opportunity to use a priest she actually liked, she wasn't going to give in.
She stepped into the room, and all eves turned toward her. There were as many
people at the wedding as there had been at the funeral—if not more. Iadon's
funeral had been an important political event. but Roial's marriage was even
more vital. The nobility would see it as paramount that they begin Roial's
reign with the proper level of sycophantic flattery.

Even the gyorn Hrathen was there. It was odd, Sarene thought, that his face
appeared so calm. Her wedding to Roial was going to be a major obstacle to his
conversion plans. For the moment. however, Sarene put the Fjordell priest out
of her mind. She had been waiting for this day for a long time, and even if it
wasn't what she had once hoped for, she would make the best of it.
It was finally happening. After all the waiting, after two near misses, she
was actually going to get married. With that thought, both terrifying and
vindicating, she raised her veil.
The screaming started immediately.
Confused, mortified, and shocked, Sarene reached to pull off her veil,
thinking perhaps that there was something wrong with it. When it came off, her
hair went with it. Sarene stared down at the long tresses with stupefaction.
Her hands began to shake. She looked up. Roial was stunned, Seinalan outraged,
and even Omin clutched his Korathi pendant with shock.
Sarene turned frantically, her eyes finding one of the broad mirrors on either
side of the throne room. The face that stared back was not her own. It was a
repulsive thing covered with black spots, defects that stood out even more
markedIy against her white dress. Only a few fugitive strands of hair still
clung to her diseased scalp.
Inexplicable and mysterious, the Shaod had come upon her.

CHAPTER 39
HRATHEN watched several Korathi priests lead the stunned princess from
the quiet room. "Such are the judgments of Holy Jaddeth," he announced.
The duke. Roial, sat on the edge of the throne dais, head held between his
hands. The young Jindo baron looked as if he wanted to follow the priests and
demand Sarene's release. and the martial Count Eondel was weeping openly.
Hrathen was surprised to realize that he took no joy from their sorrow.
Princess Sarene's fall was necessary, but her friends were of no concern—or,
at least, they shouldn't be. Why was he bothered that no one had shed tears at
his own fall before the Shaod?

Hrathen had begun to think that the poison would take effect too late, that
the surprise marriage between Sarene and Roial would go forward unchallenged.
Of course, Sarene's fall would probably have been just as disastrous after the
marriage-unless Roial had intended to take the throne this very evening. It
was an uncomfortable possibility. One, fortunately. Hrathen would never have
the opportunity to see fulfilled.
Roial wouldn't crown himself now. Not only did he lack the legal right, but
his fortune was still less than chat of Telrii. Hrathen had checked the
wedding contract-this time a death was not the same as a marriage.
Hrathen pushed his way through the stunned crowd toward the exit. He had to
work quickly: Sarene's potion would wear off in five days. Duke Telrii met
Hrathen's eyes as he passed, nodding with a respectful smile. The man had
received Hrathen's message, and had not acted against the wedding. Now his
faith would be rewarded.
The conquest of Arelon was almost complete.

CHAPTER 40
THERE should be a way to get up there," Raoden said, shading his eyes as he
looked at the Elantris city wall. During the last few hours the sun had
        emerged, burning away the morning mists. It hadn't, however, brought
much warmth with it.
Galladon frowned. "I don't see how, stile. Those walls are rather high."
"You forget, my friend," Raoden said. "the walls weren't made to keep people
in, or even really to keep enemies out. The old Elantrians built stairs and
viewing platforms on the outside of the wall-there should be others in here."
Galladon grunted. Ever since the Guards had mysteriously disappeared from the
walls, Raoden had wanted to find a way up. The walls belonged to Elantris, not
the outside world. From them, perhaps they could find out what was happening
in Kae.
The Guard's inattentiveness bothered him. The disappearance was fortunate, in
a way; it lessened the possibility that someone would notice New Elantris.
However, Raoden could only think of a couple of reasons why the soldiers would
leave

their post on the walls, and the most likely one was also the most worrisome.
Could the East finally have invaded?
Raoden knew that an invasion was all too possible. Wyrn was too opportunistic
to let a gem like post-Reod Arelon go unmolested forever. Fjorden would attack
eventually. And. if Arelon fell before Wyrn's holy war, then Elantris would be
destroyed. The Derethi priests would see to that.
Raoden didn't voice his fears to the other Elantrians, but he did act on them.
If he could place men on the walls, then he would have prior warning of an
army's approach. Perhaps with advance notice, Raoden would have time to hide
his people. One of the three empty, ruined towns outside of Elantris was
probably their best hope. He would lead them there, if he had the chance.
Assuming he was in any condition to help. The Dor had come against him twice
in the last four days. Fortunately, while the pain was growing stronger. so
was his resolve. Now. at least. he understood.
"There," Galladon said, pointing to an outcropping.
Raoden nodded. There was a chance the stone column held a stairwell. "Let's
They were far from New Elantris, which was positioned in the center of the
city to hide it from prying wall-top eyes. Here, in old Elantris, the slime
still covered all. Raoden smiled: The dirt and grime was becoming repulsive to
him again. For a while he had almost forgotten how disgusting it was.
They didn't get very far. Soon after Galladon pointed out the stairwell, a
messenger from New Elantris appeared from a side street behind them. The man
approached on quick feet, waving toward Raoden.
"My lord Spirit," the man said.
"Yes, Tenrao?" Raoden asked, turning.
"A newcomer has been thrown into the city, my lord."
Raoden nodded. He preferred to greet each newcomer personally. "Shall we go?"
he asked Galladon.
"The walls will wait," the Dula agreed.
THE newcomer turned out to be a she. The woman sat with her back to the gate,
her knees pulled up against her chest, her head buried in her sacrificial
robes.
"She's a feisty one, my lord." said Dashe, who had been serving as watcher
when the newcomer arrived. "She screamed at the gate for a full ten minutes
after they tossed her in. Then she threw her offering basket against the wall
and sank down like she is now."
Raoden nodded. Most newcomers were too stunned to do much besides wander. This
one had strength.

Raoden gestured for the others to remain behind; he didn't want to make her
nervous by bringing a crowd. He strolled forward until he was directly in
front of her, then squatted down to regard her at eye level.
"Hello, there," he said affably. "I'm willing to guess you've had an awful
day."
The woman looked up. When he saw her face, Raoden nearly lost his balance in
surprise. Her skin was splotched and her hair was missing. but she had the
same thin face and round, mischievous eyes. Princess Sarene. His wife.
"You don't know the half of it, Spirit." she said. a small, ironic smile
coming to her lips.
"I'll bet I understand more than you think I do," Raoden said. "I'm here to
make things a little less dreary."
"What?" Sarene asked, her voice suddenly turning bitter. "Are you going to
steal the offering the priests gave me?"
"Well, I will if you really want me to." Raoden said. "Though I don't think we
need it. Someone was kind enough to deliver us several large batches of food a
few weeks back."
Sarene regarded him with hostile eyes. She hadn't forgotten his betrayal.
"Come with me," he urged, holding out his hand.
don't trust you anymore. Spirit."
"Did you ever?"
Sarene paused, then shook her head. "I wanted to, but I knew that I
shouldn't."
"Then you never really gave me a chance, did you?" He stretched his hand out a
little closer. "Come with me."
She regarded him for a moment, studying his eyes. Eventually she reached out
her fine, thin-fingered hand and placed it in his own for the first time.
allowing him to pull her to her feet.

CHAPTER 41
T H E sudden change was nothing less than stupefying. It was as if Sarene had
stepped from darkness into sunlight, burst from brackish water into warm air.
The dirt and grime of Elantris stopped in a crisp line, beyond which the
cobblestones were pure and white. Anywhere else the street's simple
cleanliness would have been noticeable, but not remarkable. Here, with the rot
of Elantris behind her, it seemed as if Sarene had stumbled into Domi's
Paradise.
She stopped before the stone gate, staring at the city-within-a-city, her eyes
wide and disbelieving. People talked and worked within, each bearing the
cursed skin of an Elantrian. but each wearing a pleasant smile as well. None
wore the rags she had assumed were the only available clothing in Elantris;
their outfits were simple skirts or trousers and a shirt. The doth was
strikingly colorful. With amazement Sarene realized that these were the colors
she had chosen. What she had seen as offensive, however, the people wore with
joy—the bright yellows, greens, and reds highlighting their cheerfulness.
These were not the people she had seen just a few weeks before, pathetic and
begging for food. They looked as if they belonged to some pastoral village of
lore—people who expressed a good-natured joviality Sarene had thought
unrealistic in the real world. Yet, they lived in the one place everyone knew
was even more horrible than the real world.
"What ... ?"
Spirit smiled broadly. still holding her hand as he pulled her through the
gateway into the village. "Welcome to New Elantris, Sarene. Everything you
assumed is no longer valid."
"I can see that."
A squat Elantrian woman approached, her dress a mixture of vibrant greens and
yellows. She eyed Sarene critically. "I doubt we've got anything in her size.
Lord Spirit."
Spirit laughed, taking in Sarene's height. ' Do your best, Maare," he said,
walking toward a low-ceilinged building at the side of the gate. The door was
open, and Sarene could see rows of clothing hanging on pegs inside.
Embarrassed,

she was suddenly aware of her own clothing. She had already stained the white
garment with slime and muck.
"Come, dearie," Maare said, leading her to a second building. "Let's see what
we can do."
The motherly woman eventually found a dress that fit Sarene reasonably
well—or, at least, a blue skirt that showed her legs only up to midcalf. along
with a bright red blouse. There were even undergarments. though they too were
constructed of bright materials. Sarene didn't complain—anything was better
than her filth-soiled robe.
After pulling on the clothing, Sarene regarded herself in the room's
full-length mirror. Half of her skin was still flesh-toned, but that only made
the dark splotches more striking. She assumed that her flesh tones would dim
with time, becoming gray like those of the other Elantrians.
"Wait," she asked hesitantly, "where did the mirror come from?"
"It isn't a mirror, dearie," Maare informed as she sifted through socks and
shoes. "It's a flat piece of stone-part of a table, 1 think—with thin sheets
of steel wrapped around it."
Looking closely, Sarene could see the folds where sheets of steel overlapped
one another. All things considered. it made a remarkable mirror. The stone
must have been extremely smooth.
"But where-" Sarene stopped. She knew exactly where they had gotten sheets of
steel that thin. Sarene herself had sent them, again thinking to get the
better of Spirit. who had demanded several sheets of metal as part of his
bribe.
Maare disappeared for a moment. then returned with socks and shoes for Sarene.
Both were different colors from either her shirt or her skirt. "Here we are,"
the woman said. "I had to go over and pilfer these from the men."
Sarene felt herself blush as she accepted the items.
'Don't mind, dearie," Maare said with a laugh. "It makes sense you'd have big
feet—Domi knows you need more on the bottom to support all that height! Oh,
and here's the last thing."
The woman held up a long scarflike piece of orange cloth. "For your head,"
Maare said, pointing at the similar cloth wrapped around her own head. "It
helps us forget about the hair."
Sarene nodded thankfully, accepting the scarf and tying it around her scalp.
Spirit waited for her outside, wearing a pair of red trousers and a yellow
shirt. He smiled as she approached.
"I feel like an insane rainbow," Sarene confessed, looking down at the
menagerie of colors.
Spirit laughed, holding out his hand and leading her deeper into the city.
Unconsciously, she found herself judging his height. He's tall enough for me,
she

thought almost offhandedly, if only barely. Then, realizing what she was
doing. she rolled her eyes. The entire world was toppling around her, and all
she could do was size up the man walking next to her.
‘`. .. get used to the idea that we all look like secabirds in the spring," he
was saying. "The colors don't bother you all that much once you wear them for
a while. Actually, after the dull monotones of old Elantris, I find them quire
refreshing."
As they walked. Spirit explained New Elantris to her. It wasn't very large,
perhaps fifty buiIdings in alI. but its compact nature made it feeI more
unified. Though there couldn't have been many people in the town-five or six
hundred at most-there always seemed to be motion around her. Men worked on
walls or roofs, women sewed or cleaned—even children ran in the streets. It
had never occurred to her that the Shaod would take children as well as
adults.
Everyone greeted Spirit as he passed, calling out with welcoming smiles. There
was true acceptance in their voices, displaying a level of loving respect
Sarene had rarely seen given to a leader; even her father, who was generally
well liked, had his dissenters. Of course, it was easier with such a small
population, but she was still impressed.
At one point they walked by a man of indecipherable age—it was hard to put
years with faces in Elantris—sitting on a stone block. He was short with a
large belly, and he didn't greet them. His inattention, however, was not a
sign of incivility—he was just focused on the small object in his hand.
Several children stood around the man, watching his bent-over work with eager
eyes. As Sarene and Spirit passed, the man held the object out to one of the
children; it was a beautifully carved stone horse. The girl clapped
ecstatically, accepting the piece with exuberant fingers. The children ran off
as the sculptor reached down to select another rock from the ground. He began
to scrape at the stone with a short tool; as Sarene peered closely at his
fingers, she realized what it was.
"One of my nails!" she said. "He's using one of the bent nails I sent you."
"Hmm?" Spirit asked. "Oh, yes. I have to tell you, Sarene, we had quite a time
figuring out what to do with that particular box. It would have taken far too
much fuel to melt them all down, even assuming we had the tools for smelting.
Those nails were one of your more clever adaptations."
Sarene flushed. These people were fighting to survive in a city deprived of
resources, and she had been so petty as to send them bent nails. "I'm sorry. I
was afraid you would make weapons out of the steel."
"You were right to be wary," Spirit said. "I did, after all, betray you in the
end."
"I'm sure you had a good reason," she said quickly.
"I did," he said with a nod. "But that didn't matter much at the time, did it?
You were right about me. I was—am-a tyrant. I kept food back from a part of
the population, I broke our agreement, and I caused the deaths of some fine
men."

Sarene shook her head, her voice growing firm. "You are not a tyrant. This
community proves that—the people love you, and there cannot be tyranny where
there is love."
He half smiled, his eyes unconvinced. Then, however, he regarded her with an
unreadable expression. "WeII, I suppose the time during your Trial wasn't a
complete loss. I gained something very important during those weeks."
"The supplies?" Sarene asked.
"That too."
Sarene paused, hoIding his eyes. Then she looked back at the scuIptor. "Who is
he?"
"His name is Taan. Spirit said. "Though you might know of him by the name
Aanden."
"The gang leader?" Sarene asked with surprise.
Spirit nodded. "Taan was one of the most accomplished sculptors in Arelon
before the Shaod took him. After coming to Elantris, he lost track of himself
for a while. He came around eventually."
They left the sculptor to his work, Spirit showing her through the last few
sections of the city. They passed a large building that he referred to as "the
Hall of the Fallen." and the sorrow in his voice kept her from asking about
it, though she did see several mindless Shaod Seons floating around above its
roof.
Sarene felt a sudden stab of grief. Ashe must be like that now, she thought,
remembering the mad Seons she had occasionally seen floating around Elantris.
Despite what she'd seen, she'd continued to hope through the night that Ashe
would find her. The Korathi priests had locked her in some sort of holding
cell to wait—apparently. new Elantrians were only thrown into the city once a
day—and she'd stood by the window. wishing he would arrive.
She'd waited in vain. With the confusion at the wedding, she couldn't even
remember the last time she'd seen him. Not wanting to enter the chapel, he'd
gone ahead to wait for her in the throne room. When she'd arrived, had she
seen him floating inside the room? Had she heard his voice, calling out amid
the other shocked members of the wedding party? Or, was she simply letting
hope cloud her memories?
Sarene shook her head. sighing as she let Spirit lead her away from the Hall
of the Fallen. She kept looking over her shoulder, glancing upward, expecting
Ashe to be there. He always had been before.
At least he isn't dead, she thought, forcing aside her grief. He's probably in
the city somewhere. I can find him . . . maybe help him, somehow.
They continued to walk, and Sarene intentionally let herself be distracted by
the scenery-she couldn't bear to think of Ashe anymore. Soon. Spirit led her
past several open areas that—looking closely—Sarene realized must be fields.
Tiny sprouts were appearing in careful rows piled in the dirt, and several men
walked among them. searching for weeds. There was a distinct smell in the air.

Sarene paused. "Fish?"
"Fertilizer," Spirit said with a chuckle. "That's one time we managed to get
the better of you. We asked for trike knowing full well you would find the
nearest barrel of rotten fish to include in the shipment."
"It seems like you got the better of me more times than not," Sarene said,
remembering with shame the time she had spent gloating over her sly
interpretations of the demands. It seemed no matter how twisted her attempt,
the New Elantrians had found uses for all of her useless gifts.
"We don't have much choice, Princess. Everything from pre-Reod Elantris is
rotten or befouled: even the srones are starting to crumble. No matter how
defective you may have thought those supplies, they were still far more useful
than anything left in the city."
"I was wrong," Sarene said morosely.
"Don't start that again," Spirit said. "If you begin feeling sorry for
yourself. I'll lock you in a room with Galladon for an hour so that you can
learn what true pessimism is."
"Galladon?"
"He was the large fellow you met briefly hack at the gates," Spirit explained.
"The Dula?" Sarene asked with surprise, recalling the large, broad-faced
Elantrian with the thick Duladen accent.
"That's him."
"A pessimistic Dula?" she repeated. "I've never heard of such a thing."
Spirit laughed again, leading her into a large, stately building. Sarene
gasped in wonder at its beauty. It was lined with delicate, spiraled arches,
and the floor was crafted of pale white marble. The wall reliefs were even
more intricate than those on the Korathi temple in Teoras.
"It's a chapel," she said, running her fingers over the intricate marble
patterns. "Yes, it is. How did you know that?"
"These scenes are straight out of the Do-Korath," she said, looking up with
chiding eyes. "Someone didn't pay much attention in chapel school." Spirit
coughed to himself. "Well
"Don't even try and convince me you didn't go," Sarene said, turning back to
the carvings. "You're obviously a nobleman. You would have gone to church to
keep up appearances, even if you weren't devout."
"My lady is very astute. I am, of course. Domi's humble servant—but I'll admit
that my mind sometimes wandered during the sermons."
"So, who were you?" Sarene asked conversationally, finally asking the question
that had bothered her ever since she first met Spirit weeks before.
He paused. "The second son of the Lord of Ien Plantation. A very minor holding
in the south of Arelon."
It could be the truth. She hadn't bothered memorizing the names of minor

lords; it had been difficult enough to keep track of the dukes, counts, and
barons. It could also be a lie. Spirit appeared to be at least a passable
statesman. and he would know how to tell a convincing falsehood. Whatever he
was. he had certainly learned some excellent leadership skills-attributes she
had found, for the most part, lacking in the Arelish aristocracy.
"How long—" she began. turning away from the wall. Then she froze, her breath
catching in her throat.
Spirit was glowing.
A spectral light grew from somewhere within; she could see the lines of his
bones silhouetted before some awesome power that burned within his chest. His
mouth opened in a voiceless scream; then he collapsed, quivering as the light
flared.
Sarene rushed to his side. then paused. unsure what to do. Gritting her teeth,
she grabbed him, lifting his head up to keep the spasms from pounding it
repeatedly against the cold marble floor. And she felt something.
It brought bumps to her arms and sent a frigid shiver through her body.
Something large. something impossibly immense, pressed against her. The air
itself seemed to warp away from Spirit's body. She could no longer see his
bones; there was too much light. It was as if he were dissolving into pure
whiteness: she would have thought him gone if she hadn't felt his weight in
her arms. His struggles jerked to a stop, and he fell limp.
Then he screamed.
A single note. cold and uniform. flew from his mouth in a defiant yell. The
light vanished almost immediately, and Sarene was left with her heart pounding
a rhythm in her breast. her arms bathed in anxious sweat, her breathing coming
deeply and rapidly.
Spirit's eyes fluttered open a few moments later. As comprehension slowly
returned, he smiled wanly and rested his head back against her arm. "When I
opened my eyes, I though that time I had died for certain."
"What happened?" she asked anxiously. "Should I go for help?"
"No, this is becoming a common occurrence."
"Common?" Sarene asked slowly. "For . . . all of us?"
Spirit laughed weakly. "No, just me. I'm the one the Dor is intent on destroy-
,. ing.
"The Dor?" she asked. "What does Jesker have to do with this?"
He smiled. "So, the fair princess is a religious scholar as well?"
"The fair princess knows a lot of things," Sarene said dismissively. "I want
to know why a 'humble servant of Domi' thinks the Jesker overspirit is trying
to destroy him."
Spirit moved to sit, and she helped. "It has to do with AonDor," he explained
with a tired voice.

"AonDor? That's a heathen legend." There wasn't much conviction to her
words-not after what she had just seen.
Spirit raised an eyebrow. "So, it's all right for us to be cursed with bodies
that won't die. but it's not possible for our ancient magic to work? Didn't I
see you with a Seon?"
"That's different...." Sarene trailed off weakly, her mind turning back to
Ashe.
Spirit, however, immediately drew her attention again. He raised his hand and
began drawing. Lines appeared in the air. following his finger's movement.
Korathi teaching of the last ten years had done its best to downplay
Elantris's magic. despite the Seons. Seons were familiar, almost like
benevolent spirits sent by Domi for protection and comfort. Sarene had been
taught, and had believed, that Elantris's magics had mostly been a sham.
Now, however, she was faced with a possibility. Perhaps the stories were true.
"Teach me," she whispered. "I want to know."
IT wasn't until later, after night had fallen, that Sarene finally allowed
herself to cry. Spirit had spent the better part of the day explaining all he
knew of AonDor. Apparently, he had done some extensive research on the
subject. Sarene had listened with enjoyment, because of both the company and
the distraction he provided. Before they had known it. dusk was falling
outside the chapel windows, and Spirit had found her lodgings.
Now she lay curled up, shivering in the cold. The room's two other women slept
soundly. neither one bothering with a blanket despite the frigid air. The
other Elantrians didn't seem to notice temperature variation as much as Sarene
did. Spirit claimed that their bodies were in a kind of stasis. that they had
stopped working as they waited for the Dor to finish transforming them. Still,
it seemed unpleasantly cold to Sarene.
The dismal atmosphere didn't do much for her mood. As she bunched up against
the hard stone wall. she remembered the looks. Those awful looks. Most other
Elantrians had been taken at night. and they would have been discovered
quietly. Sarene, however, had been exhibited before the entire aristocracy.
And at her own wedding, no less.
It was a mortifying embarrassment. Her only consolation was that she would
probably never see any of them again. It was a small comfort, for by the same
reasoning she would probably never see her father, mother, or brother again.
Kiin and his family were lost to her. So, where homesickness had never hit her
before, now it attacked with a lifetime's worth of repression.
Coupled with it was the knowledge of her failure. Spirit had asked her for
news from the outside, but the topic had proven too painful for her. She knew
that

Telrii was probably already king, and that meant Hrathen would easiIy convert
the rest of Arelon.
Her tears came silently. She cried for the wedding, for Arelon, for Ashe's
madness, and for the shame dear Roial must have felt. Thoughts of her father
were worst of all. The idea of never again feeling the love of his gentle
banter-never again sensing his overwhelming, unconditional approval—brought to
her heart an overpowering sense of dread.
"My lady?" whispered a deep. hesitant voice. "Is that you?"
Shocked, she looked up through her tears. Was she hearing things? She had to
be. She couldn't have heard ...
"Lady Sarene?"
It was Ashe's voice.
Then she saw him, hovering just inside the window, his Aon so dim it was
nearly invisible. "Ashe?" she asked with hesitant wonder.
"Oh, blessed Domi!" the Aon exclaimed, approaching quickly.
"Ashe!" she said, wiping her eyes with a quivering hand, numbed by shock. "You
never use the Lord's name!"
"If He has brought me to you, then He has His first Seon convert," Ashe said,
pulsing excitedly.
She could barely keep herself from reaching out and trying to hug the ball of
light. "Ashe, you're talking! You shouldn't be able to speak, you should be .
. ." "Mad," Ashe said. "Yes, my lady, I know. Yet, I feel no differently from
be-
fore.
"A miracle." Sarene said.
"A wonder, if nothing else," the Seon said. "Perhaps I should look into
converting to Shu-Korath."
Sarene laughed. "Seinalan would never hear of it. Of course, his disapproval
has never stopped us before, has it?"
"Not once, my lady."
Sarene rested back against the wall, content to simply enjoy the familiarity
of his voice.
"You have no idea how relieved I am to find you, my lady. I have been search-
ing for two days. I had begun to fear that something awful had happened to
you."
"It did, Ashe," Sarene said, though she smiled when she said the words.
"I mean something more horrible, my lady," the Seon said. "I have seen the
kind of atrocities this place can breed."
"It has changed, Ashe," Sarene said. I don't quite understand how he did it,
but Spirit brought order to Elantris."
"Whatever he did, if it kept you safe. I bless him for it."
Suddenly, something occurred to her. If Ashe lived ... Sarene had a link to
the outside world. She wasn't completely separated from Kiin and the others.

"Do you know how everyone is doing?" she asked.
"No, my Iady. After the wedding dismissed, I spent an hour demanding that the
patriarch let you free. I don't think he was disappointed by your fall. After
that. I realized that I had lost you. I went to Elantris's gates, but I was
apparently too late to see you get thrown into the city. However, when I asked
the guards where you had gone, they refused to tell me anything. They said it
was taboo to speak of those who had become Elantrians, and when I told them
that I was your Seon, they grew very uncomfortable and stopped speaking to me.
I had to venture into the city without information. and I've been searching
for you ever since."
Sarene smiled, picturing the solemn Seon-essentially, a pagan creation—arguing
with the head of the Korathi religion. "You didn't arrive too late to see me
get thrown into the city, Ashe. You arrived too early. Apparently, they only
throw people in before a certain time of day, and the marriage happened quite
late. I spent the night in the chapel, and they brought me to Elantris this
afternoon."
"Ah," the Seon said, bobbing with comprehension.
"In the future you can probably find me here, in the clean section of the
city." "This is an interesting place," Ashe said. "I had never been here
before—it is
well masked from the outside. Why is this area different from the others?"
"You'll see," she said. "Come back tomorrow."
"Come back, my lady?" Ashe asked indignantly. "I don't intend to leave you."
"Just briefly, my friend," Sarene said. "I need news from Kae, and you need to
let the others know I am all right."
"Yes, my lady."
Sarene paused for a moment. Spirit had gone through great efforts to make sure
no one on the outside knew of New Elantris; she couldn't betray his secret so
offhandedly, even if she did trust the people Ashe would tell. "Tell them you
found me, but don't tell them any of what you see in here."
"Yes, my lady," Ashe said, his voice confused. "Just a moment, my lady. Your
father wishes to speak with you." The Seon began to pulse, then his light
melted, dripping and reforming into Eventeo's large oval head.
" 'Ene?" Eventeo asked with frantic concern.
"I'm here, Father."
"Oh, thank Domi!" he said. "Sarene, are you unharmed?"
"I'm fine, Father," she assured him, strength returning. She suddenly knew
that she could do anything and go anywhere as long as she had the promise of
Eventeo's voice.
"Curse that Seinalan! He didn't even try to let you free. If I weren't so
devout, I'd behead him without a second thought."
"We must be fair. Father," Sarene said. "If a peasant's daughter can be cast
into Elantris, then a king's daughter shouldn't be exempt."
"If my reports are true, then no one should be thrown into that pit."

"It's not as bad as you think, Father," Sarene said. "I can't explain, but
things are more hopeful than anticipated."
"Hopeful or not, I'm getting you out of there."
"Father, no!" Sarene said. "If you bring soldiers to Arelon you'll not only
leave Teod undefended, but you'll alienate our only ally!"
"It won't be our ally for long, if my spy's predietions are accurate," Eventeo
said. "Duke Telrii is waiting a Few clays to consolidate power. but everyone
knows he'll soon take the throne—and he is on very friendly terms with that
Gyorn Hrathen. You tried, 'Ene. but Arelon is lost. I'm going to come get
you—I won't really need all that many men-and then I'm going to fall back and
prepare for an invasion. No matter how many men Wyrn raises, he'll never get
them past our armada. Teod has the finest ships on the sea."
"Father, you might have given up on Arelon. but I can't."
"Sarene," Eventeo said warningly. "do not start that again. You are no more
Arelish than I-"
"I mean it, Father," Sarene said firmly. "I will not leave Arelon."
"Idos Domi, Sarene, this is lunacy! I am your father and your king. I am going
to bring you back, whether you want to come or not."
Sarene calmed herself; force would never work with Eventeo. "Father," she
said, letting love and respect sound in her voice, "you taught me to be bold.
You made me into something stronger than the ordinary. At times I cursed you,
but mostly I blessed your encouragement. You gave me the liberty to become
myself. Would you deny that now by taking away my right to choose?"
Her father's white head hung silently in the dark room.
"Your lessons won't be complete until you let go, Father," Sarene said
quietly. "If you truly believe the ideals that you gave me, then you will
allow me to make this decision."
Finally he spoke. "You love them that much, 'Ene?"
"They have become my people, Father."
"It has been less than two months."
"Love is independent of time, Father. I need to stay with Arelon. If it is to
fall, I must fall with it—but I don't think it will. There has to be a way to
stop Telrii."
"But you're trapped in that city, Sarene," her father said. "What can you do
from there?"
"Ashe can act as messenger. I can no longer lead them, but I might be able to
help. Even if I cannot, I still must stay."
"I see," her father finally said, sighing deeply. "Your life is yours. Sarene.
I have always believed that—even if I forget it once in a while."
"You love me, Father. We protect what we love."
"And I do," Eventeo said. Never forget that, my daughter."
Sarene smiled. "I never have."

"Ashe," Eventeo ordered, calling the Seon's consciousness into the
conversadon.
"Yes, my king," Ashe's voice said, its deep tone deferential and reverent.
"You will watch and protect her. If she is injured, you will call me." "As I
ever have, and ever will, my king," Ashe responded.
"Sarene, I'm still going to set the armada in a defensive pattern. Let your
friends know that any ship approaching Teoish waters will be sunk without
question. The entire world has Turned against us. and I cannot risk the safety
of my people."
"I'll warn them, Father," Sarene promised.
"Goodnight then, 'Ene, and may Domi bless you."

HRATHEN was back in control. Like a hero from the old Svordish epics, he had
descended to the underworld—physically, mentally, and spiritually—and returned
a stronger man. Dilaf's hold was broken. Only now could Hrathen see that the
chains Dilaf had used to bind him had been forged from Hrathen's own envy and
insecurity. He had felt threatened by Dilaf's passion, for he had felt his own
faith inferior. Now, however, his resolve was firm—as it had been when he
first arrived in Arelon. He would be the savior of this people.
Dilaf backed down unhappily. The arteth grudgingly promised to hold no
meetings or sermons without Hrathen's overt permission. And, in exchange for
being officially named head arteth of the chapel, Dilaf also consented to
relieve his numerous odivs from their vows, instead swearing them to the less
binding position of krondet. The biggest change, however, wasn't in the
arteth's actions, but in Hrathen's confidence. As long as Hrathen knew that
his faith was as strong as Dilaf's, then the arteth would not be able to
manipulate him.
Dilaf would not. however, relent in his pursuit of Elantris's destruction.
"They are unholy!" the arteth insisted as they walked toward the chapel. This
night's sermon had been extremely successful; Hrathen could now claim over

three-fourths of the local Arelish nobility as Derethi members or
sympathizers. Telrii would crown himself within the week, and as soon as his
rule stabilized a bit, he would announce his conversion to Shu-Dereth. Arelon
was Hrathen's, and he still had a month left before Wyrn's deadline.
"The Elantrians have served their purpose, Arteth," Hrathen explained to Dilaf
as they walked. It was cold this night, though not cold enough for one's
breath to mist.
"Why do you forbid me to preach against them. my lord?" Dilaf's voice was
bitter—now that Hrathen forbade him to speak about Elantris, the arteth's
speeches seemed almost emasculated.
"Preaching against Elantris no longer has a point," Hrathen said, matching
Dilaf's anger with logic. "Do not forget that our hate had a purpose. Now that
I have proven Jaddeth's supreme power over Elantris, we have effectively shown
that our God is true, while Domi is false. The people understand that
subconsciously."
"But the Elantrians are still unholy."
`They are vile, they are blasphemous, and they are definitely unholy. But
right now they are also unimportant. We need to focus on the Derethi religion
itself, showing the people how to link themselves to Jaddeth by swearing
fealty to yourself or one of the other arteths. They sense our power. and it
is our duty to show them how to partake of it."
"And Elantris goes free?" Dilaf demanded.
"No, most certainly not," Hrathen said. "There will be time enough to deal
with it after this nation—and its monarch-is firmly in Jaddeth's grasp."
Hrathen smiled to himself, turning away from the scowling Dilaf.
It's over, he realized. I actually did it-I converted the people without a
bloody revolution. He wasn't finished yet, however. Arelon was his, but one
nation still remained.
Hrathen had plans for Teod.

CHAPTER 43
T HE door had been barred shut from the inside, but the wooden portal was part
of the original Elantris—subject to the same rot that infested the rest
       of the city. Galladon said the mess had fallen off its hinges
practically at a touch. A dark stairwell lay hidden inside. ten years of dust
coating its steps. Only a single set of footprints marked the
powder—footprints that could have been made only by feet as large as
Galladon's.
"And it goes alI the way to the top?" Raoden asked. stepping over the sodden
wreck of a door.
"Kolo," Galladon said. "And it's encased in stone the entire way, with only an
occasional slit for light. One wrong step will send you tumbling down a series
of stone steps as long-and as painful-as one of my hama's stories."
Raoden nodded and began climbing, the Dula following behind. Before the Reod,
the stair must have been lit by Elantrian magic-but now the darkness was
broken only by occasional thin spears of light from the scattered slits. The
stairs circled up against the outer wall of the structure. and the lower
curves were dimly visible when one peered down the center. There had been a
railing once, but it had long since decayed.
They had w stop often to rest. their Elantrian bodies unable to bear the
strain of vigorous exercise. Eventually, however, they reached the top. The
wooden door here was newer; the Guard had probably replaced it after the
original rotted away. There was no handle-it wasn't really a door. but a
barricade.
"This is as far as I got, sule," Galladon said. "Climbed all the way to the
top of the Doloken stairs, only to find out I needed an axe to go on."
"That's why we brought this," Raoden said. pulling out the very axe Taan had
almost used to topple a building down on Raoden. The two set to work, taking
turns hacking at the wood.
Even with the tool, cutting through the door was a difficult task. Raoden
tired after just a few swings, and each one barely seemed to nick the wood.
Eventually, however, they got one board loose and-spurred by the victory—they
finally managed to break open a hole large enough to squeeze through.
The view was worth the effort. Raoden had been atop the walls of Elantris

dozens of times, but never had the sight of Kae looked so sweet. The city was
quiet; it appeared as if his fears of invasion had been premature. Smiling.
Raoden enjoyed the sense of accomplishment. He felt as if he had cIimbed a
mountain. not a simple stairwell. The walls of Elantris were once again back
in the hands of those who had created them.
"We did it," Raoden said, resting against the parapet.
"Took us long enough." Galladon noted, stepping up beside him.
"Only a few hours," Raoden said lightly, the agony of the work forgotten in
the bIiss of victory.
"1 didn't mean cutting through the door. I've been trying to get you to come
up here for three days."
"I've been busy."
Galladon snorted, mumbling something under his breath.
"What was that?"
said, 'A two-headed Perrin would never leave its nest."
Raoden smiled; he knew the Jindoeese proverb. Ferrins were talkative birds,
and could often be heard screaming at one another across the Jindoeese
marshes. The saying was used in reference to a person who had found a new
hobby. Or a new romance.
"Oh. come now," Raoden said, eyeing Galladon. "I'm not that bad."
"Stile, the only time in the last three days I've seen you two apart is when
one of you had to go to the privy. She'd be here now if I hadn't snatched you
when no one was looking."
"Well," Raoden said defensively, "she is my wife."
"And do you ever intend to inform her of that fact?"
"Maybe," Raoden said lightly. "I wouldn't want her to feel any obligation."
"No, of course not."
"Galladon, my friend," Raoden said, completely unruffled by the Dula's
comments, "your people would be mortified to hear how unromantic you are."
Du-laden was a notorious hotbed of melodramatic romances and forbidden love.
Galladon snorted his response, showing what he thought of the average Dula's
romantic inclinations. He turned, scanning the city of Kae. "So, sule, we're
up here. What do we do now?"
"I don't know," Raoden confessed. "You're the one who forced me to come."
"Yes. but it was your idea to search for a stairwell in the first place."
Raoden nodded, remembering back to their short conversation three days ago.
Has it really been that long? he wondered. He'd barely noticed. Perhaps he had
been spending a little too much time with Sarene. However, he didn't feel a
bit guilty.
"There." Galladon said, squinting and pointing at the city.
"What?" Raoden said, following the Dula's gesture.
"I see a flag," Galladon said. "Our missing Guards."
Raoden could hardy pick out a hint of red in the distance-a banner. "Are you
sure?"
"Positive," Galladon said.
Raoden squinted, recognizing the building over which the banner flew "That's
Duke Telrii's mansion. What could the Elantris City Guard possibly have to do
with him?"
"Perhaps he's under arrest." Galladon said.
"No," Raoden said. "The Guard isn't a policing force."
"Why would they leave the walls, then?" Galladon asked.
Raoden shook his head. -I'm not sure. Something, however, is very wrong."
RAODEN and Galladon retreated back down the stairwell, deep in thought.
There was one way to find out what was going on with the Guard. Sarene was the
only Elantrian to be thrown into the city since the disappearance of the
Guard. Only she could explain the current political climate of the city.
Sarene, however, still resisted talking about the outside. Something about the
last few days before her exile had been extremely painful. Sensing her hurt,
Rao-den had avoided prying; he didn't want to risk alienating her. The truth
was, he really did enjoy his time with Sarene. Her wry wit made him smile. her
intelligence intrigued him, and her personality encouraged him. After ten
years of dealing with women whose only apparent thought was how good they
looked in their dress-a state of forced obtuseness led by his own weak-willed
stepmother-Raoden was ready for a woman who wouldn't cower at the first sign
of conflict. A woman such as he remembered his mother being, before she died.
However, that same unyielding personality was the very thing that had kept him
from learning about the outside. No amount of subtle persuasion-or even direct
manipulation—could pry a single unwilling fact out of Sarene's mouth. He
couldn't afford to be delicate any longer, however. The Guard's strange
actions were troubling—any shift in power could be extremely dangerous to
Elantris.
They reached the bottom of the stairwell and moved on toward the center of the
city. The walk was a relatively long one. but it passed quickly as Raoden
considered what they had seen. Despite the fall of Elantris. Arelon had spent
the last ten years in relative peace—at least, on a national level. With an
ally to the south, Teod's armada patrolling the northern ocean, and the
mountains to their east. even a weakened Arelon had faced little external
danger. Internally. Iadon had kept a strong grip on military might,
encouraging the nobility toward political squabbling as opposed to
militaristic posings.
Raoden knew that peace couldn't last long, even if his father refused to see
that fact. Raoden's decision to marry Sarene had been influenced greatly by
the chance to
me.

enter a formal treaty with Teod—giving Arelon at least partial access to the
Teoish armada. Arelenes weren't accustomed to battle: they had been bred for
pacifism by centuries of Elantrian protection. The current Wyrn would have to
be a fool not to strike soon. All he needed was an opening.
Internal strife would provide chat opening. If the Guard had decided to betray
the king, civil conflict would throw Arelon into chaos once again, and the
Fjordells were infamous for capitalizing on such events. Raoden had to find
out what was happening beyond those walls.
EventuaIly, he and GaIIadon reached their destination. Not New EIantris, but
the squat, unassuming building that was the passage to the holy place.
Galladon hadn't said a word when he'd found out that Raoden had taken Sarene
to the library: the Dula had actually looked as if he'd expected such a
development.
A few moments later, Raoden and Galladon strode into the underground library.
Only a few of the wall lamps burned-an effort to save fuel—but Raoden could
easily make out Sarene's form sitting in one of the cubicles at the back,
leaned over a book just where he had left her.
As they approached, her face became more distinct, and Raoden wasn't able to
keep himself from remarking again at her beauty. The dark-splotched skin of an
Elantrian was prosaic to him now: he didn't really notice it anymore.
Actually, Sarene's body seemed to be adapting remarkably well to the Shaod.
Further signs of degeneration were usually visible after just a few
days—wrinkles and creases appearing in the skin, the body's remaining flesh
color dulling to a pallid white. Sarene showed none of this—her skin was as
smooth and vibrant as the day she had entered Elantris.
She claimed that her injuries didn't continue hurting the way they
should—though Raoden was certain that that was just because she had never
lived outside of New Elantris. Many of the more recent newcomers never
experienced the worst of Elantrian pain, the work and positive atmosphere
keeping them from focusing on their injuries. The hunger hadn't come upon her
either—but, again, she had the fortune of coming at a time when everyone had
the opportunity to eat at least once a day. Their supplies wouldn't last more
than a month, but there was no reason to stockpile. Starvation was not deadly
to Elantrians, just uncomfortable.
Most beautiful were her eyes—the way she studied everything with keen
interest. Sarene didn't just look, she examined. When she spoke, there was
thought behind her words. That intelligence was what Raoden found most
attractive about his Teoish princess.
She looked up as they approached, an excited smile on her face. "Spirit! You
are never going to guess what I found."
"You're right," Raoden confessed with a smile—unsure how to approach the topic
of information about the outside. "Therefore, you might as well just tell

Sarene held up the book, showing him the spine, which read Seor's Encyclopedia
of Political Myths. Though Raoden had shown Sarene the library in an effort to
sate her interest in AonDor, she'd postponed that study as soon as she had
realized that there was an entire shelf of books on politicaI theory. Part of
the reason for her shift in interest probably had to do with her annoyance at
AonDor. She couldn't draw Aons in the air: she couldn't even get the lines to
start appearing behind her fingers. Raoden had been perplexed at first, but
Galladon had explained that such a thing wasn't uncommon. Even before the
Reod, it had taken some Elantrians years to learn AonDor: if one began even
the first line with an improper slant, nothing would appear. Raoden's own
immediate success was nothing short of extraordinary.
Sarene. however. didn't see it that way. She was the type who grew annoyed
when it took her longer to learn than someone else. She claimed she was
drawing the Aons perfectly—and, in truth, Raoden couldn't see any flaws in her
form. The characters just refused to appear-and no amount of princessly
indignation could convince them to behave.
So Sarene had turned her interest to political works—though Raoden guessed she
would have ended up there anyway. She was interested in AonDor. but she was
fascinated by politics. Whenever Raoden came to the library to practice Aons
or study. Sarene picked out a volume by some ancient historian or diplomatic
genius and began to read in the corner.
". . it's amazing. I have never read anything that so soundly debunks
Fjorden's rhetoric and manipulation."
Raoden shook his head, realizing he had simply been staring at her. enjoying
her features rather than paying attention to her words. She was saying
something about the book—about how it exposed Fjordell political lies.
"Every government lies occasionally. Sarene." he said as she paused.
"True." she said, flipping through the book. "But not with such magnitude-for
the last three hundred years. ever since Fjorden adopted the Derethi religion,
the Wyrns have been blatantly altering their country's own histories and
literature to make it seem as if the empire has always been a manifestation of
divine purpose. Look at this." She held up the book again. this time showing
him a page of verse.
"What is that?"
"Wyrn the King-the entire three-thousand-line poem."
"I've read it," Raoden said. Wyrn was said to be the oldest recorded piece of
literature-older. even. than the Do-Kando, the holy book that Shu-Keseg, and
eventually Shu-Dereth and Shu-Korath, had come from.
"You may have read a version of Wyrn the King," Sarene said, shaking her head.
"But not this one. Modern versions of the poem make references to Jaddeth in
an almost Derethi way. The version in this book shows that the priests rewrote
the literature from the original to make it sound as if Wyrn were Derethi-even

though he lived long before Shu-Dereth was founded. Back then Jaddeth—or, at
least. the god of the same name that Shu-Dereth adopted—was a relatively
unimportant god who cared for the rocks under the earth.
"Now that Fjorden is religious, they can't have it sounding Iike their
greatest historical king was a pagan, so the priests went through and rewrote
all of the poems. I don't know where this man Seor got an original version of
Wyrn, but if it got out, it would provide a major source of embarrassment to
Fjorden." Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
Raoden sighed, walking over and crouching down next to Sarene's desk. putting
her face at eye level. Any other time, he would have liked nothing more than
to sit and listen to her talk. Unfortunately, he had more pressing things on
his mind.
"All right," she said, her eyes thinning as she put down the book. "What is
it? Am I really that boring?"
"Not at all," Raoden said. "This is just the wrong time. You see ... Galladon
and I just climbed to the top of the city wall."
Her face grew perplexed. "And?"
"We found the Elantris City Guard surrounding Duke Telrii's mansion," Rao-den
said. "We were kind of hoping you could tell us why. I know you're hesitant to
talk about the outside, but I'm worried. I need to know what is happening."
Sarene sat with one arm leaning on the desktop, hand raised and tapping her
cheek with her index finger as she often did when she was thinking. "All
right," she finally said with a sigh. "I guess I haven't been fair. I didn't
want to concern you with outside events."
"Some of the other Elantrians may seem uninterested, Sarene," Raoden said,
"but that's just because they know we can't change what is going on in Kae.
I'd prefer to know about things on the outside. however—even if you are a bit
hesitant to talk about them."
Sarene nodded. "It's all right—I can talk about it now. I guess the important
part began when I dethroned King Iadon-which. of course, is why he hanged
himself."
Raoden sat down with a thump. his eyes wide.

CHAPTER 44
V EN as she spoke. Sarene worried about what Spirit had said. Without her,
E the others had no legitimate claim on the throne. Even Roial was stumped:
they could only watch helplessly as Telrii solidified control over the
nobility. She expected to receive news of Telrii's coronation by the end of
the day.
It took her a few moments to realize the look of stunned shock her comment had
caused Spirit. He had fallen back into one of the room's chairs, his eyes
wide. She chastened herself for lack of tact; this was, after all, Spirit's
king she was talking about. So much had happened in court the last few weeks
that she had grown desensitized.
"I'm sorry," Sarene said. "That was a little blunt, wasn't it?"
"Iadon is dead?" Spirit asked in a quiet voice.
Sarene nodded. "It turns out he was involved with the Jeskeri Mysteries. When
that got out, he hanged himself rather than face the shame." She didn't expand
on her role in the events: there was no need to complicate them further.
"Jeskeri?" Spirit repeated. then his face turned dark and he gritted his
teeth. "I always though of him as a fool, but ... How far did his ...
involvement go?"
"He was sacrificing his cooks and maids." Sarene said, feeling sick. There was
a reason she had avoided explaining these things.
Spirit apparently noticed her pallor. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right," Sarene said. However, she knew no matter what else happened.
no matter where she went in her life, the shadowed vision of Iadon's sacrifice
would always lurk in her mind.
"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 inexplicabIe 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 Ten
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
H R AT H EN 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.
"Your Majesty," Hrathen said with a slight nod. "How may I serve you?"
"No need for useless civility, Gyorn," Eventeo said flatly. "You know what I
want."
"Your daughter."

The king's head nodded. "I know that somehow you have power over this
sickness. What would it take for you to heal Sarene?"
"I have no power of myself," Hrathen said humbly. "It was Lord Jaddeth who
performed the healing."
The king paused. "Then, what would it take for your Jaddeth to heal my
daughter?"
"The Lord might be persuaded if you gave Him some form of encouragement,"
Hrathen said. "The faithless receive no miracles. Your Majesty."
King Eventeo slowly bowed his head—he had obviously known what Hrathen would
demand. He must love his daughter very much.
"It will be as you say, priest," Eventeo promised. "If my daughter returns
safely from that city, I will convert to Shu-Dereth. I knew it was coming
anyway."
Hrathen smiled broadly. "I will see if I can . . . encourage Lord Jaddeth to
return the princess, Your Majesty."
Eventeo nodded. His face was that of a man defeated. The Seon ended the
contact and floated away without a word.
Hrathen smiled. the final piece of his plan falling into place. Evenreo had
made a wise decision. This way, at least, he got to demand something in return
for his conversion-even if it was something he would have received anyway.
Hrathen looked down at Elantris, more anxious than ever that Sarene return to
him unharmed. It was beginning to appear that within the next few months he
would be able to hand Wyrn not one heathen nation, but two.
CHAPTER 46
T HERE had been times when Raoden had wished his father dead. Raoden had seen
the people's suffering, and knew his father was to blame. Iadon had proven
himself deceitful in his success and merciless in his determination to crush
others. He had delighted in watching his nobles squabble while his kingdom
collapsed. Arelon would be better off without King Iadon.
Yet, when news of his father's demise actually came, Raoden found his

emotions traitorously melancholy. His heart wanted to forget the Iadon of the
Iast five years, instead remembering the Iadon of Raoden's childhood. His
father had been the most successful merchant in all of Arelon-respected by his
countrymen and loved by his son. He had seemed a man of honor and of strength.
Part of Rao-den would always be that child who saw his father as the greatest
of heroes.
Two things helped him forget the pain of loss—Sarene and the Aons. When he
wasn't with one, he was with the other. New Elantris all but ran itself now;
the people found their own projects to keep them busy. and there were rarely
arguments that required his attention. So, he came to the library often,
drawing Aons while Sarene studied.
"There is surprisingly little information here about modern Fjorden," Sarene
said, poking through a tome so large she had nearly needed Raoden's help to
carry it.
"Maybe you just haven't found the right book yet," Raoden said as he traced
Aon Ehe. She sat at her customary desk, a pile of books next to her chair, and
he stood with his back to the wall, practicing a new batch of Aon modifiers.
"Perhaps," Sarene said, unconvinced. ' Everything in here seems to be about
the Old Empire; only that book on historical reconstruction even mentions the
Fjorden of the last hundred years. I assumed that the Elantrians would have
studied other religions with care—if only to know what they were up against."
"As I understand it, the Elantrians didn't really mind competition," Raoden
said. As he spoke his finger slipped slightly, breaking its line. The Aon held
for a moment in the air, then faded away, his mistake invalidating the entire
construction. He sighed before continuing his explanation. "The Elantrians
figured they were so obviously superior to anything else that they didn't need
to worry about other religions. Most of them didn't even care if they were
worshipped or not."
Sarene considered his comment, then looked back at her book, pushing aside the
empty plate that had held this afternoon's rations. Raoden didn't tell her
that he increased her portion of food—just as he did for every newcomer during
their first week. He had learned from experience that gradual reductions in
food intake helped a mind adjust to the hunger.
He started his drawing again, and a few moments later the library door opened.
"Is he still up there?" Raoden asked as Galladon entered.
"Kolo," the Dula replied. "Still screaming at his god."
"You mean 'praying.' -
Galladon shrugged, wandering over to take a seat next to Sarene. "You'd think
a god would be able to hear him no matter how softly he spoke."
Sarene looked up from her book. "Are you talking about the gyorn?"
Raoden nodded. "He's been standing on the wall above the gate since early this
morning. Apparently, he's been petitioning his god to heal us."
Sarene started. "Heal us?"

"Something like that," Raoden said. "We can't hear him very well." "Healing
Elantris? That's a switch." Her eyes were suspicious.
Raoden shrugged. continuing his drawing. Galladon selected a book on farming
and began searching through it. Over the last few days he had been trying to
devise a method of irrigation that would work under their particular
circumstances.
A few minutes later, when Raoden had nearly completed the Aon and its
modifiers, he realized that Sarene had put down her book and was watching him
with interested eyes. The scrutiny made him slip again, and the Aon faded away
before he even realized what he had done. She was still regarding him as he
raised his hand to begin Aon Ehe again.
"What?" he finally asked. His fingers instinctively drew the first three
strokes—the line across the top, line down the side. and dot in the middle
that were the beginning of every Aon.
"You've been drawing that same one for the last hour now," she noted. "I want
to get it right."
"But you have—at least a dozen times in a row."
Raoden shrugged. "It helps me think."
"About what?" she asked curiously, apparently bored of the Old Empire for the
time being.
"Lately, about AonDor itself. I understand most of the theory now, but I still
don't seem any closer to discovering what has blocked the Dor. I feel that the
Aons have changed, that the old patterns are slightly wrong, but I can't even
begin to guess why that would be."
"Maybe something's wrong with the land," Sarene said offhandedly, leaning back
in her chair so the front two legs rose off the ground.
"What do you mean?"
"Well." Sarene said speculatively, "you say that the Aons and the land are
linked-though even I could have told you that."
"Oh?" Raoden asked, smiling as he drew. "Did your training as a princess
include some secret lessons in Elantrian magic?"
"No," Sarene said with a dramatic toss of her head. "But it did include
training in the Aons. To begin every Aon, you draw a picture of Arelon. I
learned that as a little girl."
Raoden froze, his hand pausing in midline. "Say that again."
"Hum?" Sarene asked. "Oh. it's just a silly trick my teacher used to make me
pay attention. See? Every Aon starts the same way—with a line at the top to
represent the coast. a line down the side that looks like the Atad Mountains,
and a dot in the middle to be Lake Alonoe."
Galladon stood, wandering over to look at Raoden's still glowing Aon. "She's
right, stile. It does kind of look like Arelon. Didn't your books say anything
about that?"

"No," Raoden said with amazement. "Well, they claimed there was a connection
between the Aons and Arelon, but they never mentioned that the characters
actually represented the Iand. Perhaps the concept was just too elementary."
Galladon picked up his book, folding something out of its back—a map of
Arelon. "Keep drawing, sule. Otherwise that Aon's going to vanish away."
Raoden complied, forcing his finger back into motion. Galladon held up the map
and Sarene moved to stand at the Dula's side. They looked through the thin
paper at the glowing Aon.
"Doloken!" Galladon swore. "Sule, the proportions are exactIy the same. They
even slant the same way."
Raoden finished the Aon with one last stroke. He joined the other two,
regarding the map. then looked over at Sarene. "But, what's wrong, then? The
mountains are still there, as is the coast, and the lake."
Sarene shrugged. "Don't look at me. You're the expert-I can't even get the
first line right."
Raoden turned back to the Aon. A few seconds later it flashed briefly and
disappeared, its potential blocked for some inexplicable reason. If Sarene's
hypothesis was right, then the Aons were even more closely linked to Arelon
than he had assumed. Whatever had stopped AonDor must have affected the land
as well.
He turned. intending to praise Sarene for the clue. However, his words choked
in his mouth. Something was wrong. The dark splotches on the princess's skin
were the wrong color: they were a mixture of blues and purple. like bruises.
They seemed to fade before his eyes.
"Merciful Domi!" he exclaimed. "Galladon, look at her!"
The Dula turned with alarm, then his face changed from worried to awed.
"What?" the princess demanded, shooting them nervous looks.
"What did you do, sule?" Galladon asked.
"Nothing!" Raoden insisted, looking at the place where his Aon had been.
"Something else must be healing her."
Then he made the connection. Sarene had never been able to draw Aons. She had
complained of being cold, and she still insisted that her wounds didn't hurt.
Raoden reached out and felt Sarene's face. Her flesh was warm—too warm, even
for a new Elantrian whose body hadn't completely cooled yet. He pushed the
scarf off her head with trembling fingers, and felt the nearly invisible blond
stubble on her scalp.
"Idos Domi." he whispered. Then he grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the
library.
"SPIRIT, I don't understand," she protested as they entered the courtyard
before Elantris's gate.

"You were never an Elantrian, Sarene," he said. "It was a trick-the same one
that gyorn used to appear as if he were an Elantrian. Somehow Hrathen can make
it seem that you've been taken by the Shaod when you haven't."
"But-" she objected.
"Think, Sarene!" Raoden said, spinning her around to look him in the eyes. The
gyorn preached on the wall above them, his loud voice garbled by the distance.
"Your wedding to Roial would have put an opponent of Shu-Dereth on the throne.
Hrathen had to stop that wedding—and he did it in the most embarrassing way he
could contrive. You don't belong here."
He pulled on her arm again. attempting to lead her toward the gates. She
resisted. pulling against him with equal strength. "I'm not going."
Raoden turned with surprise. "But you have to go-this is Elantris, Sarene. No
one wants to be here."
"I don't care," she insisted, voice defiantly firm. "I'm going to stay."
"Arelon needs you."
"Arelon will be better off without me. If I hadn't interfered, Iadon would
still be alive, and Telrii wouldn't have the throne."
Raoden fell still. He wanted her to stay-he longed for her to stay. But he
would do whatever it took to get her out of Elantris. The city was death. The
gates were opening: the gyorn had recognized his prey.
Sarene regarded Raoden with wide eyes, her hand reaching up toward him. The
splotches had nearly completely vanished now. She was beautiful.
"You think we can afford to feed you. Princess?" Raoden said, forcing
harshness into his voice. "You assume we will waste food on a woman who is not
one of us?"
"That won't work, Spirit," Sarene shot back. "I can see the truth in your
eyes."
"Then believe this truth," Raoden said. "Even with severe rationing, New
Elantris only has enough food for a few more weeks. We raise crops, but it
will be months before we can harvest them. During that time we will starve.
All of us—the men the women and the children. We will starve unless someone on
the outside can get us more supplies."
She hesitated. then she was in his arms, pulling close against his chest.
"Curse you," she hissed. "Domi curse you."
"Arelon does need you, Sarene," he whispered back. "If what you say is right,
and a Fjordell sympathizer is on the throne, there may not be much time left
for Elantris. You know what the Derethi priests would do to us if they had
their way. Things have gone very wrong in Arelon, Sarene, and you are the only
one I trust to fix them."
She looked into his eyes. "I will return."
Men in yellow and brown churned around them, pulling the two apart. They
shoved Raoden aside. and he fell back against the slick cobblestones as the
figures

pulled Sarene away. Raoden was left lying on his back, feeling the slime
squish beneath him, looking up at a man in bloodred armor. The gyorn stood
quietly for a moment, then turned and followed Sarene out of the city. The
gates slammed shut behind him.

CHAPTER 47
T H E gates slammed shut. This time they didn't lock Sarene in Elantris, but
out of it. Emotions snapped at her soul like a pack of angry wolves, each one
demanding her attention. Five days before, she had though her life ruined. She
had wished, prayed, and begged for Domi to heal her. Now she found herself
craving to return to her damnation. as long as Spirit was there.
Domi, however, had made the decision for her. Spirit was right: She could no
more live in Elantris than he could exist outside of the city. The worlds, and
the demands of their flesh, were far too different.
A hand fell on her shoulder. Shaking off her numbness, Sarene turned. There
weren't many men she had to crane her neck to look up at. Hrathen.
"Jaddeth has preserved you, Princess," he said in a lightly accented voice.
Sarene shook his arm away. "I don't know how you did this, priest, but I know
one thing with absolute certainty. I owe your god nothing."
"Your father thinks differently, Princess." Hrathen said, his face hard.
"For a man whose religion claims to spread truth, priest, your lies are
strikingly vulgar."
Hrathen smiled thinly. "Lies? Why don't you go and speak with him? In a way,
it could be said that you gave us Teod. Convert the king, and often you
convert the kingdom as well."
"Impossible!" Sarene said, growing uncertain. Gyorns were usually far to wily
to tell direct falsehoods.
"You fought with wisdom and cleverness, Princess," Hrathen said, taking a slow
step forward and extending his gauntleted hand. "But true wisdom knows when
further fighting is pointless. I have Teod. and Arelon will soon be mine as

well. Do not be like the stonelark, ever trying to dig a pit in the sand's wet
beaches and ever having your work destroyed by the tide. Embrace Shu-Dereth,
and let your efforts become more than vanity."
"I will die first!"
"You already have," the gyorn pointed our. "And I brought you back." He took
another step forward. and Sarene shied back, pulling her hands up against her
chest.
Steel whipped in the sunlight, and suddenly the point of Eondel's sword was at
Hrathen's neck. Sarene felt herself enfolded in enormous, powerful arms, a
scratchy voice crying out in joy beside her.
"Blessed be Domi's name!" Kiin praised, lifting her off the ground with his
hug.
"Blessed be Jaddeth's name." Hrathen said, sword tip still pressed against his
flesh. "Domi left this one to rot."
"Say no more, priest." Eondel said, angling his sword threateningly.
Hrathen snorted. Then. moving more quickly than Sarene's eyes could track. the
gyorn bent backward and pulled his head out of the sword's range. He kicked at
the same time, smashing his foot into Eondel's hand and knocking the weapon
free.
Hrathen spun, crimson cape billowing, bloodred hand plucking the sword from
the air. Steel reflected sunlight as Hrathen spun the weapon. He snapped its
tip against the cobblestones, holding it as a king would his scepter. Then, he
let it drop, the hilt falling back into Eondel's srunned hand. The priest
stepped forward, passing the confused general.
"Time moves like a mountain, Sarene," Hrathen whispered, so close that his
breastplate nearly brushed against Kiin's protective arms. "It comes so slowly
that most don't even notice its passing. It will, however, crush those who
don't move before it."
With that he spun, his cape fluttering against both Eondel and Kiin as he
marched away.
Kiin watched Hrathen go, hatred in his eyes. Finally, he turned to Eondel.
"Come, General. Let's take Sarene home to rest."
"There is no time for rest, Uncle." Sarene said. "I need you to gather our
allies. We must meet as soon as possible."
Kiin raised an eyebrow. "There will be time enough for that later. 'Ene.
You're in no condition—"
"I've had a fine vacation, Uncle," she declared, "but there is work to be
done. Perhaps when it is finished, I'll be able to escape back to Elantris.
For now, we need to worry about stopping Telrii from giving our country to
Wyrn. Send messengers to Roial and Ahan. I want to meet with them as soon as
possible."
Her uncle's face looked utterly dumbfounded.
"Well, she seems all right," Eondel noted. smiling.

TH E cooks in her father's household had learned one thing: When Sarene wanted
to eat, she could eat.
"You'd better move faster, Cousin," Lukel said as she finished her fourth
plate. "You looked like you almost had time to taste that one."
Sarene ignored him, motioning for Kiin to bring in the next delicacy. She had
been told that if one starved oneself long enough, the stomach would shrink,
thereby reducing the amount of food one could ear. The man who had invented
that theory would have thrown up his hands in despair if he could have seen
Sarene feasting.
She sat at the table across from Lukel and Roial. The elderly duke had just
arrived, and when he had seen Sarene, she thought for a moment he was going to
collapse from the shock. Instead, he had breathed a prayer to Domi, seating
himself speechlessly in the chair across from her.
"I can honestly say that I have never seen a woman eat this much," Duke Roial
noted appreciatively. There was still a hint of disbelieving wonder in his
eyes as he looked at her.
"She's a Teoish giantess," Lukel said. "I don't think it's fair to make
comparisons between Sarene and regular women."
"If I weren't so busy eating, I'd respond to that," Sarene said, waving her
fork at them. She hadn't realized exactly how hungry she was until she'd
entered Kiin's kitchen, where the lingering scents of past banquets hung in
the air like a delectable fog. She was only now appreciating how useful it was
to have a world-traveled chef as an uncle.
Kiin entered with a pan of semi-boiling meat and vegetables in a red sauce.
"It's Jindoeese RaiDomo Mai. The name means 'meat with fiery skin.' You're
fortunate I had the proper ingredients, the Jindo RaiDel pepper had a poor
crop last season, and . . ." He trailed off as Sarene began heaping meat onto
her plate. "You don't care, do you?" he asked with a sigh. "I could have
boiled it in dishwater, and it would be the same to you."
"I understand, Uncle." Sarene said. "You suffer for your art."
Kiin sat down, looking at the empty dishes scattered across the table. "Well,
you certainly inherited the family appetite."
"She's a big girl," Lukel said. "It takes a lot of fuel to keep that body
going." Sarene shot him a look between bites.
"Is she slowing down at all?" Kiin asked. "I'm running out of supplies."
"Actually," Sarene said, "I think this should about do it. You don't
understand what it was like in there, gentlemen. I did actually enjoy myself,
but there wasn't a lot of food to be had."
"I'm surprised there was any at all." Lukel said. "Elantrians like to eat."
"But they don't actually need to," Kiin said, "so they can afford to
stockpile."

Sarene kept eating, not looking up at her uncle and cousin. Her mind, however,
paused. How did they know so much about Elantrians?
"Whatever the conditions, Princess." Roial said, "we thank Domi for your safe
return."
"It isn't as miraculous as it seems, Roial," Sarene said. "Did anyone count
how many days Hrathen was in Elantris?"
"Four or five," Lukel said after a moment's thought.
"I'd be willing to bet it was five days—exactly the same amount of time it
took me to get thrown in and then be 'healed.' "
Roial nodded. "The gyorn had something to do with this. Have you spoken with
your father yet?"
Sarene felt her stomach turn. "No. I'm ... going to do that soon."
There was a knock at the door, and a few moments later Eondel entered, Shuden
in tow. The young undo had been out riding with Torena.
As he entered, the baron's face broke into an uncharacteristically wide smile.
"We should have known you'd be back, Sarene. If anyone could be sent to hell
and return untouched, it would be you."
"Not exactly untouched," Sarene said raising her hand to feel her bald scalp.
"Did you find anything?"
"Here, my lady," Eondel said, holding out a short blond wig. "It was the best
I could find—most of the others felt so thick I would have sworn they were
made of horse hair."
Sarene looked over the wig with a critical eye-it would barely come down to
her shoulders. But, it was better than baldness. In her estimation, her hair
was the greatest loss incurred by her exile. It was going to take years to
grow it to a decent length again.
"Too bad no one gathered up my own hair." she said, tucking the wig away until
she could find time to put it on properly.
"We didn't exactly anticipate your return, Cousin," Lukel said. picking at the
last few pieces of meat in the pan. "It was probably still attached to your
veil when we burned it."
"Burned it?"
"Arelish custom, 'Ene," Kiin explained. "When someone is thrown into Elantris,
we burn their possessions."
"Everything?" Sarene asked weakly.
"I'm afraid so," Kiin said with embarrassment.
Sarene closed her eyes, exhaling. "Never mind," she said. regarding them.
"Where's Ahan?"
"At Telrii's palace." Roial said.
Sarene frowned. "What's he doing there?"
Kiin shrugged. "We figured we should send someone, at least. to make an

overture to the new king. We're going to have to work with him. so we might as
well see what kind of cooperation we can expect."
Sarene eyed her companions. Despite their obvious joy at seeing her. she
sensed something in their expressions. Defeat. They had worked so hard to keep
Telrii off the throne, and they had failed. Inside, Sarene barely acknowledged
that she felt many of the same emotions. She felt sick. She couldn't decide
what she wanted: everything was so confused. Fortunately. her sense of duty
provided guidance. Spirit was correct: Arelon was in serious danger. She
didn't want to even contemplate the things Hrathen had said about her
father-she only knew that no matter what else happened, she had to protect
Arelon. For Elantris's sake.
"You speak as if there weren't anything we could do about Telrii's claim of
the throne," Sarene said to the quiet room.
"What could we do?" Lukel said. "Telrii's been crowned, and the nobility
supports him."
"So does Wyrn." Sarene reminded. "Sending Ahan is a good idea. but I doubt
you'll find any leniency in Telrii's reign—for us, or for the rest of Arelon.
My lords, Raoden should have been king. and I am his wife. I feel responsible
for his people. They suffered under Iadon. If Telrii turns this kingdom over
to Wyrn, then Arelon will become nothing more than another Fjordell province."
"What are you implying, Sarene?" Shuden asked.
"That we take action against Telrii—any action we can."
The table fell silent. Finally, Roial spoke. "This is different from what we
were doing before, Sarene. We opposed Iadon, but we did not plan to remove
him. If we take direct action against Telrii, then we will be traitors to the
Crown."
"Traitors to the Crown, but not the people," Sarene said. "In Teod, we respect
the king because he protects us. It is a bargain—a formal agreement. Iadon did
nothing to protect Arelon. He built no army to keep Fjorden away, he devised
no legal system to insure that his subjects were treated fairly, and he did
nothing to care for the spiritual welfare of his nation. My instincts warn me
that Telrii will be even worse."
Roial sighed. "I don't know, Sarene. Iadon overthrew the Elantrians to seize
his power. and now you suggest that we do the same thing. How much of this can
a country stand before it breaks apart?"
"How much of Hrathen's string pulling do you think it can stand?" Sarene asked
pointedly.
The gathered lords looked at each other. "Let us sleep on it, Sarene," Shuden
requested. "You speak of difficult matters—ones that should not be entered
into without careful meditation."
Agreed," Sarene said. She was looking forward to the night's rest herself. For
the first time in almost a week, she was going to actually be warm as she
slept. The lords nodded, rising to go their separate ways. Roial hung back for
a

moment. "It looks as if there is no reason to continue our betrothal, is
there, Sarene?" "I don't think so, my lord. If we take the throne now, it will
be through force, not manipulation of politics."
The elderly man nodded wistfully. "Ah, it was far too good to be true anyway.
my dear. Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight," Sarene said, smiling fondly as the aged duke left. Three
engagements and no weddings. She was amassing a poor track record indeed. With
a sigh, she watched Roial close the door. then turned to Kiin. who was
fastidiously clearing away the remains of her meal.
"Uncle," she said. "Telrii has moved into the palace and my things have been
burned. I find myself suddenly without lodgings. Might 1 accept your offer of
two months ago and move in here?"
Kiin chuckled. "My wife will be seriously annoyed if you don't. 'Ene. She
spent the last hour preparing a room for you."
SARENE sat on her new bed. wearing one of her aunt's nightgowns. Her legs were
pulled tightly against her chest, and her bowed head was sorrowful.
Ashe fuzzed for a moment, her father's face disappearing as the Seon returned
to his normal shape. He was silent for a long moment before saying, "I am
sorry, my lady."
Sarene nodded, her bald head rubbing against her knees. Hrathen had not been
lying-he hadn't even been exaggerating. Her father had converted to
Shu-Dereth.
The ceremony hadn't been performed yet: there were no Derethi priests in Teod.
However, it was apparent that as soon as Hrathen finished with Arelon, he
intended to travel to her homeland and personally collect her father's formal
oath. The oath would place Eventeo at the bottom of the Derethi hierarchy,
forcing him to submit to the whims of even a simple priest.
No amount of raving or explaining had changed her father's resolve. Eventeo
was an honest man. He had sworn to Hrathen that if Sarene returned safely, he
would convert. It didn't matter that the gyorn's trickery was behind both her
curse and restoration; the king would honor his promise.
Where Eventeo led, Teod would follow. It would take time, of course: the
people of Teod were not sheep. However, as the arteths Hooded her homeland,
the people would give ear where they would have given only fists before-all
beeause they knew that their king was Derethi. Teod had been changed forever.
And he had done it for her. Of course, he claimed that he also knew it was
best for the country. No matter how good Teod's navy was, sheer numbers
insured that a determined Fjordell campaign would eventually punch through the
armada. Eventeo claimed he would not fight a hopeless war.
Yet, this was the same man who had instructed Sarene that principle was

always worth fighting to protect. Eventeo had sworn that truth was immutable,
and that no bartle-even a hopeless one—was in vain when defending what was
right. But, apparently. his love was stronger than truth. She was flattered,
but the emotion made her sick. Teod would fall because of her, becoming just
another Fjordell state, its king little more than Wyrn's servant.
Eventeo had implied that she should lead Arelon to do as he had done, though
she could tell from his voice that he was proud when she refused. She would
protect Arelon, and Elantris. She would struggle for the survival of her
religion, because Arelon-poor sickIy Arelon—was now Shu-Korath's final
sanctuary. Where Arelon had once been a nation populated by gods, now it would
serve as the final haven for Domi Himself.
CHAPTER 48
RATH EN sat in the palace waiting room with growing dissatisfaction.
H 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 Hra-
then had been forced to shove a virtual mountain of pillows out of the way
before finding a stone ledge upon which to sear 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 sigh.
Iadon, at least, had been businesslike.
"Ah, Hrathen," Telrii said with a smile. "Welcome."
"Your Majesty," Hrathen said, masking his disgust. "I was hoping we could
speak in private."
Telrii sighed. "Very well," he said with a wave of 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 allegiance." "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 Teoish 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," TeIrii 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. 'Non 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."
H rathen's apprehension returned. "What are you saying?"
"Wyrn," Telrii said with a wide smile. "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.
Slightly dazed, Hrathen did as commanded.

CHAPTER 49
A T first Raoden stayed away from the library, because it reminded him of her.
Then. he found himself drawn back to it-because it reminded him of her.
Instead of thinking about his loss, Raoden focused on the connection Sarene
had made. He studied Aon after Aon, noticing other features of the landscape
in their forms. Aon Eno, the character for water, included a wiggling line
that matched the meanderings of the Aredel River. The character for wood—Aon
Dii—included several circles that represented the southern forests.
The Aons were maps of the land, each one a slightly different rendering of the
same general picture. Each one had the three basic lines-the coast line, the
mountain line, and the dot for Lake Alonoe. Many often had a line at the
bottom to represent the Kalomo River, which separated Arelon from Duladel.
Some of the features completely baffled him, however. Why did Aon Mea, the
character for thoughtfulness have an X that crossed somewhere in the middle of
the Eon County? Why was Aon Rii specked with two dozen seemingly random dots?
The answers might have been held in one of the library's tomes, bur so far he
had found nothing in the way of explanation.
The Dor attacked him at least twice a day now. Each battle seemed like it
would be his last, and each time he seemed a little weaker when the fight was
through—as if his energy were a finite well, dribbling a little lower with
each confrontation. The question was not whether he would fall or not, but
whether he would find the secret before he did.
R AO DEN pounded the map with frustration. Five days had passed since Sarene's
departure, and he still couldn't find the answer. He was beginning to feel
that he would continue for eternity, agonizingly close to the secret of AonDor
yet forever unable to find it.
The large map, now hung from the wall near his desk, fluttered as he pushed it
flat, studying its lines. Its edges were worn with age, and the ink was
beginning to fade. The map had lived through Elantris's glory and collapse:
how he wished it could speak, whisper to him the mysteries it knew.

He shook his head, sitting down in Sarene's chair, his foot knocking over one
of her book stacks. With a sigh. he leaned back in the chair and began to
draw—seeking solace in the Aons.
He had recently moved on to a new, more advanced AonDor technique. The texts
explained that Aons were more powerful when drawn with attention not only to
line length and slant. but line width as well. While they would still work if
the lines were all the same width, variance in the proper locations added
extra control and strength.
So, Raoden practiced as they instructed, using his fifthfinger to draw small
lines and his rhumb to construct larger ones. He could also use tools-such as
a stick or a quill—to draw the lines. Fingers were the convention, but form
mattered far more than the utensils used. After all, the Elantrians had used
AonDor to carve permanent symbols into rock and stone—and had even constructed
them from wire, pieces of wood, and a host of other materials. Apparently, it
was difficult to create AonDor characters from physical materials, but the
Aons still had their same effect, regardless of whether they were drawn in the
air or smelted from steel.
His practice was futile. It didn't matter how efficient his Aons were; none of
them worked. He used his fingernails to draw some lines so delicate that they
were nearly invisible; he drew others with three fingers side by side—exactly
as instructed in his texts. And it was pointless. All his memorization. all of
his work. Why had he even bothered?
Feet snapped in the hallway. Mareshe's newest technological advance was shoes
with thick leather soles, studded with nails. Raoden watched through his
translucent Aon as the door opened and Galladon entered.
"Her Seon just stopped by again, sule." the Dula said.
"Is he still here?"
Galladon shook his head. "He left almost immediately—he wanted me to tell you
that she's finally convinced the lords to rebel against King Telrii."
Sarene had been sending her Seon to give them daily reports of her
activities—a service that was a mixed blessing. Raoden knew he should listen
to what was happening on the outside, but he longed for the stress-free
relative ignorance of before. Then, he had only needed to worry about
Elantris; now he had to fret over the entire kingdom—a fact he had to stomach
along with the painful knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help.
"Did Ashe say when the next supply dump would come?"
"Tonight."
"Good," Raoden said. "Did he say if she would come herself?"
"Same stipulations as before, sule," Galladon said with a shake of his head.
Raoden nodded, keeping the melancholy out of his face. He didn't know what
means Sarene was using to deliver the supplies, but for some reason Raoden and
the others weren't allowed to retrieve the boxes until after their deliverers
had gone.

"Stop moping. sule," Galladon said with a grunt. "It doesn't suit you-it takes
a fine sense of pessimism to brood with any sort of respectability."
Raoden couldn't help smiling. "I'm sorry. It just seems that no matter how
hard I push against our problems, they just push back equally."
"Still no progress with AonDor?"
"No," Raoden said. "I checked older maps with new ones, looking for changes in
the coast or the mountain range. but nothing seems to have changed. I've tried
drawing the basic lines with slightly different slants, but that's fruitless.
The lines won't appear unless I put them at exactly the right slant—the same
slant as always. Even the lake is in the same place, unchanged. I can't see
what is different."
"Maybe none of the basic lines have changed. sule," Galladon said. "Perhaps
something needs to be added."
"I considered that-but what? I know of no new rivers or lakes, and there
certainly aren't any new mountains in Arelon." Raoden finished his Aon-Aon
Ehe—with a dissatisfied stroke of his thumb. He looked at the Aon's center.
the core that represented Arelon and its features. Nothing had changed.
Except. When the Reod occurred the land cracked. "The Chasm!" Raoden
exclaimed.
"The Chasm?" Galladon said skeptically. "That was caused by the Reod, Sule,
not the other way around."
"But what if it wasn't?" Raoden said with excitement. 'What if the earthquake
came just before the Reod? It caused the crack to the south. and suddenly all
of the Aons were invalid—they all needed an extra line to function. All of
AonDor, and therefore Elantris, would have fallen immediately."
Raoden focused on the Aon hanging just before him. With a hesitant hand, he
swiped his finger across the glowing character in an approximation of where
the Chasm stood. Nothing happened—no line appeared. The Aon flashed and
disappeared.
"I guess that is that. sule," Galladon said.
"No," Raoden said, starting the Aon again. His fingers whipped and spun. He
moved with a speed even he hadn't realized he'd achieved, re-creating the Aon
in a matter of seconds. He paused at the end, hand hovering at the bottom.
below the three basic lines. He could almost feel ...
He stabbed the Aon and slashed his finger through the air. And a small line
streaked across the Aon behind it.
Then it hit him. The Dor attacked with a roaring surge of power, and this time
it hit no wall. It exploded through Raoden like a river. He gasped, basking in
its power for just a moment. It burst free like a beast that had been kept
trapped in a small space for far too long. It almost seemed ... joyful.
Then it was gone, and he stumbled. dropping to his knees.
"Sule?" Galladon asked with concern.
Raoden shook his head, unable to explain. His toe still burned, he was still
an EIantrian, but the Dor had been freed. He had ... fixed something. The Dor
would come against him no more.
Then he heard a sound—like that of a burning fire. His Aon, the one he had
drawn before him, was glowing brightly. Raoden yelped, gesturing for Galladon
to duck as the Aon bent around itself, its lines distorting and twirling in
the air until they formed a disk. A thin prick of red light appeared in the
disk's center, then expanded, the burning sounds rising to a clamor. The Aon
became a twisting vortex of fire; Raoden could feel the heat as he stumbled
back.
It burst. spitting out a horizontal column of flame through the air just above
Galladon's head. The column crashed into a bookshelf immolating the structure
in a massive explosion. Books and flaming pages were tossed into the air,
slamming into walls and other bookcases.
The column of fire disappeared, the heat suddenly gone. and Raoden's skin felt
clammy in contrast. A few burning scraps of paper fluttered to the ground. All
that was left of the bookcase was a smoldering pile of charcoal.
"What was that?" Galladon demanded.
"I think I just destroyed the biology section." Raoden replied with wonder.
EXT time, sule, I recommend that you not test your theories with Aon Ehe.
Kolo?" Galladon set down a pile of mostly burned books. They had spent the
last hour cleaning up the library, making certain they doused any smoldering
flame.
"Agreed." Raoden said. too happy to be defensive. "That just happened to be
the one I was practicing—it wouldn't have been so dramatic if I hadn't put so
many modifiers on it."
Galladon looked back over the library. A dark scar still marked the place of
the incinerated bookcase, and several piles of half-charred tomes lay
scattered around the room.
"Shall we try another?" Raoden asked.
Galladon snorted. "As long as no fire is involved."
Raoden nodded. raising his hand to begin Aon Ashe. He finished the character's
double box shape and added the Chasm line. He stepped back. waiting anxiously.
The Aon began to glow. The light started at the tip of the coast line, then
burned through the entire Aon like flames sweeping across a pool of oil. The
lines turned red at first, then. like metal in a forge, turned a bright white.
The color stabilized. bathing the area in soft luminescence.
"It works, sule," Galladon whispered. "By Doloken—you actually did id"

Raoden nodded with excitement. He approached the Aon hesitantly, putting his
hand up against it. There was no heat—just as the books had explained. One
thing was wrong. however.
"It's not as bright as it should be," he said.
"How can you be sure? Galladon asked. "This is the first one you've seen
work."
Raoden shook his head. "I've read enough to know. An Aon Ashe this big should
be powerful enough to light the entire library—it's barely as bright as a
lantern."
He reached up, tapping the Aon in the center. The glow faded immediately, the
Aon's lines vanishing one at a time, as if some invisible finger were
undrawing them. Then he drew another Aon Ashe, this time including all the
power-increasing modifiers he knew. When this Aon finally stabilized, it
appeared slightly brighter than the first one, but nowhere near as powerful as
it should have been.
"Something is still wrong," Raoden said. "That Aon should be too bright for us
to look at."
"You think the Chasm line is wrong?" Galladon asked.
"No, it was obviously a large part of the problem. AonDor works now, but it's
handicapped in power. There must be something else—another line. perhaps, that
we need to add."
Galladon glanced down at his arms. Even against the dark-brown Dula skin, it
was easy to make out his sickly Elantrian splotches. "Try a healing Aon,
sule."
Raoden nodded, tracing Aon Ien in the air. He added a modification stipulating
Galladon's body as the target, as well as all three power-increasing marks. He
finished with the small Chasm line. The Aon flashed briefly then disappeared.
"Do you feel anything?" Raoden asked.
The Dula shook his head. Then, raising his arm, he inspected the cut on his
elbow—an injury caused just the other day when he slipped in one of the
fields. It was unchanged.
"The pain is still there, sule," Galladon said with disappointment. "And my
heart does not beat."
"That Aon didn't behave properly.- Raoden said. "It disappeared like before,
when we didn't know about the Chasm line. The Dor couldn't find a target for
its power."
"Then what good is it, sule?" Galladon's voice was bitter with frustration.
"We'll still rot in this city."
Raoden laid a comforting hand on the Dula's shoulder. "It isn't useless,
Galladon. We have the power of the Elantrians—some of it might not work, but
that might just be because we haven't experimented enough. Think about it!
This is the power that gave Elantris its beauty, the power that fed all of
Arelon. Don't give up hope when we're so close."

Galladon looked at him, then smiled ruefully. "No one can give up when you're
around, sule. You utterly refuse to let a man despair."
AS they tried more Aons, it became more apparent that something was still
blocking the Dor. They made a stack of papers float, but not an entire book.
They turned one of the walls blue, then changed it back, and Raoden managed to
convert a smile pile of charcoal into a few grains of corn. The results were
encouraging, but many Aons failed completely.
Any Aon, for instance, that targeted either of them flashed away
ineffectually. Their clothing was a valid target, but their flesh was not:
Raoden broke off the tip of his thumbnail and tried to make that float, and
was completely unsuccessful. The only theory Raoden could offer was the one he
had expressed earlier.
"Our bodies are frozen in the middle of being changed, Galladon," he
explained. watching a sheet of paper hover in front of him, then burst into
flames. Linked Aons appeared to work. "The Shaod hasn't finished with
us—whatever's keeping the Aons from reaching their full potential is also
stopping us from becoming true Elantrians. Until our transformation is
finished, it appears that no Aons can affect us."
"I still don't understand that first explosion, sule," Galladon said,
practicing Aon Ashe in front of himself. The Dula knew only a few Aons, and
his thick-fingered hands had trouble drawing them precisely. Even as he spoke,
he made a slight error, and the character faded away. He frowned, then
continued his question. "It seemed so powerful. Why hasn't anything else
worked that well?"
"I'm not sure." Raoden said. A few moments earlier he had hesitantly redrawn
Aon Ehe with the same modifications, creating the complex rune that was
supposed to form another column of flame. Instead, the Aon had barely
sputtered out enough fire to warm a cup of tea. He suspected that the first
explosion had something do with the Does surge through him ... an expression
of its long-awaited freedom.
"Perhaps there was some sort of buildup in the Dor," Raoden said. "Like a
pocket of gas trapped in the top of a cave. The first Aon I drew drained that
reserve."
Galladon shrugged. There was just so much they didn't understand. Raoden sat
for a moment, eyes falling on one of his tomes, a thought occurring.
He rushed over to his stack of AonDor books, selecting a large volume that
contained nothing but page after page of Aon diagrams. Galladon, whom he had
left behind midsentence, followed with a grumpy expression, peeking over
Rao-den's shoulder at the page Raoden chose.
The Aon was extensive and complex. Raoden had to take several steps to the

side as he drew it, the modifications and stipulations going far beyond the
central Aon. His arm ached by the time he had finished, and the construction
hung in the air like a wall of glowing lines. Then, it began to gleam, and the
sheet of inscripdons twisted, turning and wrapping around Raoden. Galladon
yelped in surprise at the suddenly bright light.
In a few seconds, the light vanished. Raoden could tell from the startled look
on Galladon's face that he had been successful.
"Sule .. . you've done it! You've healed yourself!"
"I'm afraid not," Raoden said with a shake of his head. "It's only an
illusion. Look." He held up his hands, which were still gray and spotted with
black. His face, however, was different. He walked over. regarding his
reflection in a polished plaque on the end of a bookshelf.
The garbled image showed an unfamiliar face—it was free from spots, true, but
it didn't look anything like his real face had before the Shaod had taken him.
"An illusion?" Galladon asked.
Raoden nodded. "It's based on Aon Shao, but there are so many things mixed in
that the base Aon is almost irrelevant."
"But it shouldn't work on you." Galladon said. "I thought we decided the Aons
couldn't target Elantrians."
"It doesn't," Raoden said, turning. "It targets my shirt. The illusion is like
an article of clothing—it only covers up my skin; it doesn't change anything."
"Then what good is it?"
Raoden smiled. "It is going to get us out of Elantris, my friend."

CHAPTER 50
W HAT took you so long?" "I couldn't find Spirit, my lady." Ashe explained,
floating into her carriage window. "So I had to deliver the message to Master
Galladon. After that, I went to check on King Telrii."
Sarene tapped her cheek with annoyance. "How is he doing, then?" "Galladon or
the king, my lady?"
"The king."
"His Majesty is quite busy lounging in his palace while half of Arelon's
nobility waits outside," the Seon said with a disapproving tone. "I believe
his largest current complaint is that there aren't enough young women left on
the palace staff."
"We've exchanged one idiot for another," Sarene said with a shake of her head.
"How did that man ever acquire enough wealth to become a duke?"
"He didn't, my lady," Ashe explained. "His brother did most of the work.
Telrii inherited upon the man's death."
Sarene sighed. leaning back as the carriage hit a bump. "Is Hrathen there?"
"Often, my lady." Ashe said. "Apparently, he visits the king on a daily
basis." "What are they waiting for?" Sarene asked with frustration. "Why
doesn't
Telrii just convert?"
"No one is certain, my lady."
Sarene frowned. The continued game left her baffled. It was well known that
Telrii had attended Derethi meetings, and there was no reason for him to
maintain an illusion of Korathi conservatism. "No new news on that
proclamation the gyorn has supposedly drafted?" she asked with trepidation.
"No, my lady," came the blessed reply. Rumors claimed that Hrathen had drawn
up a bill that would force all of Arelon to convert to Shu-Dereth or face
incarceration. Though the merchants put on a face of normalcy, holding the
spring Arelene Market, the entire city was on edge with a sense of tense
anxiety.
Sarene could easily imagine the future. Soon Wyrn would send a fleet of
priests into Arelon, followed closely by his warrior monks. Telrii, at first a
sympathizer, then a convert, would eventually become less than a pawn. In just
a few years Arelon wouldn't be just a country of Derethi believers, but a
virtual extension of Fjorden itself.
Once Hrathen's bill passed. the priest would waste no time in arresting Sarene
and the others. They would be locked away or, more likely, executed. After
that, there would be no one to oppose Fjorden. The entire civilized world
would belong to Wyrn, a final fulfillment of the Old Empire's dream.
And yet, despite all of this, her allies debated and talked. None of them
believed that Telrii would actually sign a document forcing conversion: such
atrocities didn't happen in their world. Arelon was a peaceful kingdom: even
the so-called riots of a decade past hadn't been that destructive-unless one
was an Elantrian. Her friends wanted to move carefully. Their caution was
understandable, laudable even, but their timing was terrible. It was a good
thing she had an opportunity to practice fencing this day. She needed to
release a little aggression.

As if in response to her thoughts. the carriage pulled to a halt in front of
Roial's manor. In the wake of Telrii's move into the palace, the women had
relocated their fencing practice to the old duke's gardens. The weather of
late had been warm and breezy, as if spring had decided to stay this time, and
Duke Roial had welcomed them.
Sarene had been surprised when the women insisted that they continue the
fencing practice. However, the ladies had shown strength in their resolve.
This one meeting would continue. every second day, as it had for over a month
now. Apparently, Sarene wasn't the only one who needed an opportunity to work
out her frustration with a sword.
She climbed out of the carriage, dressed in her usual white jumpsuit and
wearing her new wig. As she rounded the building, she could make out the
sounds of lyres clashing in the background. With shade and a wooden floor,
Roial's garden pavilion was a perfect place for practice. Most of the women
had already arrived, and they greeted Sarene with smiles and curtsies. None of
them had quite gotten over her sudden return from Elantris: now they regarded
her with even more respect, and fear, than they had before. Sarene nodded back
with polite affection. She liked these women, even if she could never be one
of them.
Seeing them. however, reminded her of the strange loss she still felt at
having left Elantris behind. It wasn't just Spirit; Elantris was the one place
where she could remember feeling unconditional acceptance. She had not been a
princess, she had been something far better-a member of a community where
every individual was vital. She had felt warmth from those motley-skinned
Elantrians, a willingness to accept her into their lives and give her part of
themselves.
There, in the center of the most cursed city in the world, Spirit had
constructed a society that exemplified Korathi teachings. The church taught of
the blessings of unity; it was ironic that the only people who practiced such
ideals were those who had been damned.
Sarene shook her head, snapping her sword forward in a practice thrust,
beginning her warm-ups. She had spent her adult life in an unending quest to
find acceptance and love. When, at long last, she had finally found both, she
had left them behind.
She wasn't sure how long she practiced-she fell into her forms easily once the
warm-ups were finished. Her thoughts rotated around Elantris, Domi, her
feelings, and the indecipherable ironies of life. She was sweating heavily by
the time she realized the other women had stopped sparring.
Sarene looked up with surprise. Everyone was huddled at one side of the
pavilion. chattering among themselves and looking at something Sarene couldn't
see. Curious, she edged her way to the side until her superior height gave her
a good look at the object of their attention. A man.
He was dressed in fine blue and green silks, a feathered hat on his head. He
had the creamy brown skin of a Duladen aristocrat—not as dark as Shuden's, but
not as light as Sarene's. His features were round and happy, and he had a
foppish, unconcerned air. Duladen indeed. The dark-skinned servant at his side
was massive and bulky, like most Dulas of lower birth. She had never seen
either man before.
"What is going on here?" Sarene demanded.
"His name is Kaloo. my lady." Ashe explained, floating over to her. "He
arrived a few moments ago. Apparently, he's one of the few Duladen Republicans
that escaped the massacre last year. He has been hiding in southern Arelon
until just recently, when he heard that King Iadon was looking for a man to
take Baron Edan's holdings."
Sarene frowned something about the man bothered her. The women suddenly burst
into laughter at one of his comments, giggling as if the Dula were an old and
favored member of the court. By the time the laughter died down, the Dula had
noticed Sarene.
"Ah," Kaloo said, bowing ornately. "This must be the Princess Sarene. They say
you are the most fair woman in all of Opelon."
"You should not believe all of the things that people say, my lord," Sarene
replied slowly.
"No," he agreed, looking up into her eyes. "Only the ones that are true."
Despite herself, Sarene started to blush. She did not like men who could do
that to her. "I'm afraid you have caught us off guard, my lord," Sarene said
through narrowed eyes. "We have been exercising quite vigorously, and are in
no position to receive you like proper ladies."
"I apologize for my abrupt arrival, Your Highness," Kaloo said. Despite the
polite words, he appeared unconcerned that he had interrupted an obviously
private gathering. "Upon arriving in this glorious city, I first paid my
respects to the palace—but was told that I would have to wait for at least a
week to see the king himself. I put my name on the lists, then had my coachman
drive me around your lovely city. I had heard of the illustrious Duke Roial,
and decided to pay him a visit. How surprised I was to find all these lovelies
in his gardens!"
Sarene snorted, but her rebuttal was interrupted by the arrival of Duke Roial.
Apparently, the old man had finally realized that his property had been
invaded by a roving Dula. As the duke approached, Kaloo gave another one of
his silly bows, sweeping his large, floppy hat out in front of him. Then he
launched into praises of the duke, telling Roial how honored he was to meet
such a venerable man.
"I don't like him," Sarene declared quietly to Ashe.
"Of course not, my lady," Ashe said. "You never have gotten along very well
with Duladen aristocrats."
"It's more than that," Sarene insisted. "Something about him seems false. He
doesn't have an accent."

"Most Republic citizens spoke Aonic quite fluently, especially if they lived
near the border. I have met several Dulas in my time without hint of an
accent."
Sarene just frowned. As she watched the man perform. she realized what it was.
Kaloo was too stereotypical. He represented everything a Duladen aristocrat
was said to be—foolishly haughty, overdressed and overmannered, and completely
indifferent when it came to just about everything. This Kaloo was like a
eliché that shouldn't exist, a living representation of the idealized Duladen
noble.
Kaloo finished his introductions and moved on to a dramatic retelling of his
arrival story. Roial took it all in with a smile; the duke had done lots of
business with Dulas, and apparently knew that the best way to deal with them
was to smile and nod occasionally.
One of the women handed Kaloo a cup. He smiled his thanks and downed the wine
in a single gulp, never breaking his narrative as he immediately brought his
hand back into the conversation. Dulas didn't just talk with their mouths,
they used their entire bodies as part of the storytelling experience. Silks
and feathers fluttered as Kaloo described his surprise at finding King Iadon
dead and a new king on the throne.
"Perhaps my lord would care to join us," Sarene said. interrupting Kaloowhich
was often the only way to enter a conversation with a Dula.
Kaloo blinked in surprise. "Join you?" he asked hesitantly, his flow of words
stopping for a brief moment. Sarene could sense a break in character as he
reoriented himself. She was becoming increasingly certain that this man was
not who he claimed. Fortunately, her mind had just alighted on a method to
test him.
"Of course, my lord," Sarene said. "Duladen citizens are said to be the finest
fencers in all of the land-better, even, than Jaadorians. I am certain the
ladies here would be much intrigued to see a true master at work."
"I am very thankful at the offer, Your Gracious Highness," Kaloo began. "but I
am hardly dressed—"
"We wiIl make it a quick bout, my lord," Sarene said. picking up her bag and
sliding out her two finest syres-the ones with sharpened points rather than
simple balls. She whipped one through the air expertly as she smiled at the
Dula.
"All right," the Dula said, tossing aside his hat. "Let us have a bout, then."
Sarene stopped, trying to judge whether he was bluffing. She hadn't intended
to actually fight him; otherwise she wouldn't have chosen the dangerous
blades. She considered for a moment, and then, with a casual shrug, tossed him
one of the weapons. If he was bluffing, then she intended to call him in a
very embarrassing—and potentially painful—way.
Kaloo pulled off his bright turquoise jacket, revealing the ruffled green
shirt underneath; then, surprisingly, he fell into a fencing stance, his hand
raised behind him, the tip of his syre raised offensively.

"All right," Sarene said, then attacked.
Kaloo jumped backward at the onslaught, twirling around the stunned Duke Roial
as he parried Sarene's blows. There were several startled cries from the women
as Sarene pushed through them, snapping her blade at the offending Dula. Soon
she emerged into the sunlight, jumping off the wooden dais and landing
barefoot in the soft grass.
As shocked as they were at the impropriety of the battle, the women made
certain not to miss a single blow. Sarene could see them following as she and
Kaloo moved out into the flat courtyard at the center of Roial's gardens.
The Dula was surprisingly good, but he was no master. He spent too much time
parrying her attacks, obviously unable to do much but defend. If he truly was
a member of the Duladen aristocracy, then he was one of their poorer fencers.
Sarene had met a few citizens who were worse than she, but on average three
out of four could defeat her.
Kaloo abandoned his air of apathy, concentrating solely on keeping Sarene's
syre from slicing him apart. They moved all the way across the courtyard,
Kaloo retreating a few steps with each new exchange. He seemed surprised when
he stepped onto brick instead of grass, arriving at the fountain centerpiece
of Roial's gardens.
Sarene advanced more vigorously as Kaloo stumbled up onto the brick deck. She
forced him back until his thigh struck the edge of the fountain itself. There
was nowhere else for him to go—or so she thought. She watched with surprise as
the Dula leapt into the water. With a kick of his leg, he sent a splash in her
direction, then leapt out of the fountain to her right.
Sarene's syre pierced the water as Kaloo passed through the air beside her.
She felt the tip of her blade strike something soft. and the nobleman let out
a quiet. almost unnoticeable, yelp of pain. Sarene spun, raising her blade to
strike again, but Kaloo was on his knee, his syre stuck point-first into the
soft earth. He held up a bright yellow flower to Sarene.
"Ah, my lady," he said in a dramatic voice. "You have found my secret—never
have I been able to face a beautiful woman in combat. My heart melts, my knees
shake. and my sword refuses to strike." He bowed his head, proffering the
flower. The collected women behind him sighed dreamily.
Sarene lowered her sword uncertainly. Where had he gotten the flower? With a
sigh, she accepted the gift. They both knew that his excuse was nothing more
than a sneaky method of escaping embarrassment-but Sarene had to respect his
cleverness. He had not only managed to avoid looking like a fool, but had
impressed the women with his courtly sense of romance at the same time.
Sarene studied the man closely, searching for a wound. She'd been certain her
blade had scratched him on the face as he jumped out of the fountain, but
there was no sign of a hit. Uncertain, she looked down at the tip of her syre.
There was no blood on it. She must have missed after all.

The women clapped at the show, and they began to urge the dandy back toward
the pavilion. As he left, Kaloo looked back at her and smiled—not the silly,
foppish smile he had used before, but a more knowing, sly smile. A smile she
found strikingly familiar for some reason. He performed another one of his
ridiculous bows, then allowed himself to be led away.

CHAPTER 51
THE market's tents were a bright burst of color in the center of the city.
Hrathen walked among them, noting the unsold wares and empty streets
       with dissatisfaction. Many of the merchants were from the East, and
they had spent a great deal of money shipping their cargoes to Arelon for the
spring market. If they failed to sell their goods, the losses would be a
financial blow from which they might never recover.
Most of the merchants. displaying dark Fjordell colorings, bowed their heads
respectfully at his passing. Hrathen had been away so long—first in Duladel,
then in Arelon—that he had almost forgotten what it was like to be treated
with proper deference. Even as they bowed their heads, Hrathen could see
something in these merchants' eyes. An edginess. They had planned for this
market for months, their wares and passage purchased long before King Iadon's
death. Even with the upheaval, they had no choice but to try and sell what
they could.
Hrathen's cloak billowed behind him as he toured the market, his armor
clinking comfortably with each step. He displayed a confidence he didn't feel,
trying to give the merchants some measure of security. Things were not well,
not at all. His hurried call via Seon to Wyrn had come too late: Telrii's
message had already arrived. Fortunately, Wyrn had displayed only slight anger
at Telrii's presumptuousness.
Time was short. Wyrn had indicated that he had little patience for fools, and
he would never-of course—name a foreigner to the title of gyorn. Yet Hrathen's
subsequent meetings with Telrii had not gone well. Though he seemed to be a
bit more reasonable than he had been the day he'd tossed Hrathen out, the king
still

resisted all suggestions of monetary compensation. His lethargy to convert
gave mixed signs to the rest of Arelon.
The empty market was a manifestation of the Arelish nobility's confused state.
Suddenly. they weren't certain if it were better to be a Derethi sympathizer
or not—so they simply hid. Balls and parties slowed. and men hesitated to
visit the markets, instead waiting to see what their monarch would do.
Everything hung on Telrii's decision.
It will come, Hrathen, he told himself. You still have a month left. You have
time to persuade. cajole, and threaten. Telrii will come to understand the
foolishness of his request, and he will convert.
Yet, despite self-assurances, Hrathen felt as if he were at a precipice. He
played a dangerous game of balance. The Arelish nobility weren't really his,
not yet. Most of them were still more concerned about appearances than
substance. If he delivered Arelon to Wyrn, he would deliver a batch of
halfhearted converts at best. He hoped it would be enough.
Hrathen paused as he saw a flutter of movement near a tent at his side. The
tent was a large blue structure with extravagant embroidery and large winglike
pavilions to the sides. The breeze brought hints of spice and smoke: an
incense merchant.
Hrathen frowned. He was certain he had seen the distinctive bloodred of a
Derethi robe as someone ducked inside the tent. The arteths were supposed to
be in solitary meditation at the moment, not idly shopping. Determined to
discover which priest had disobeyed his command. Hrathen strode across the
path and entered the tent.
It was dark inside, the thick canvas walls blocking out sunlight. A lantern
burned at one side of the tent, but the large structure was so piled with
boxes, barrels, and bins that Hrathen could see only shadows. He stood for a
moment, eyes adjusting. There didn't seem to be anyone inside the tent, not
even a merchant.
He stepped forward. moving through waves of scents both pungent and enticing.
Sweetsands, soaps, and oils all perfumed the air, and the mixture of their
many odors left the mind confused. Near the back of the tent, he found the
solitary lantern sitting beside a box of ashes, the remnants of burned
incense. Hrathen pulled off his gauntlet, then reached to rub the soft powder
between his fingers.
"The ashes are like the wreckage of your power, are they not. Hrathen?" a
voice asked.
Hrathen spun, startled by the sound. A shadowed figure stood in the tent
behind him. a familiar form in Derethi robes.
"What are you doing here?" Hrathen asked, turning from Dilaf and brushing off
his hand, then replacing his gauntlet.
Dilaf didn't respond. He stood in the darkness. his unseen face unnerving in
its stare.
"Dilaf?" Hrathen repeated, turning. "I asked you a question."

"You have failed here. Hrathen," Dilaf whispered. "The fool Telrii is playing
with you. You, a gyorn of Shu-Dereth. Men do not make demands of the Fjordell
Empire, Hrathen. They should not."
Hrathen felt his face redden. "What know you of such things?" he snapped.
"Leave me be. Arteth."
Dilaf didn't move. "You were close, I admit, but your foolishness cost you the
victory."
"Bah!" Hrathen said, brushing past the small man in the darkness, walking
toward the exit. "My battle is far from over—I still have time left."
"Do you?" Dilaf asked. Out of the corner of his eye, Hrathen saw Dilaf
approach the ashes, running his fingers through them. "It has all slipped
away, hasn't it. Hrathen? My victory is so sweet in the face of your failure."
Hrathen paused, then laughed, looking back at Dilaf. "Victory? What victory
have you achieved? What . ?"
Dilaf smiled. In the wan light of the lantern, his face pocketed with shadow.
he smiled. The expression, filled with the passion, the ambition. and the zeal
that Hrathen had noted on that first day so long ago, was so disturbing that
Hrathen's question died on his lips. In the flickering light, the arteth
seemed not a man at all, but a Svrakiss, sent to torment Hrathen.
Dilaf dropped his handful of ashes, then walked past Hrathen, throwing open
the tent flap and striding out into the light.
"Dilaf?" Hrathen asked in a voice far too soft for the arteth to hear. "What
victory?"

CHAPTER 52
0 W!" Raoden complained as Galladon stuck the needle into his cheek.
"Stop whining." the Dula ordered, pulling the thread tight.
"Karata's much better at this." Raoden said. He sat before a mirror in their
rooms at Roial's mansion, his head cocked to the side, watching Galladon sew
the sword wound.

"Well, wait until we get back to Elantris, then," the Dula said grumpily,
punctuating the remark by sticking Raoden again.
"No," Raoden said with a sigh, "I've waited too long already-I can feel this
one ripping a little bit each time I smile. Why couldn't she have hit me on
the arm?"
"Because we're Elantrians, sule," Galladon explained. "If a bad thing can
happen to us. it will. You're lucky to escape with only this. In fact, you're
lucky you were even able to fight at all with that body of yours."
"It wasn't easy," Raoden said. keeping his head still as the Dula worked.
"That's why I had to end it so quickIy."
"Well, you fight better than I expected."
"I had Eondel teach me," Raoden said. "Back when I was trying to find ways to
prove that my father's laws were foolish. Eondel chose fencing because he
thought it would be most useful to me, as a politician. I never figured I'd
end up using it to keep my wife from slicing me to pieces."
Galladon snorted in amusement as he stabbed Raoden again, and Raoden gritted
his teeth against the pain. The doors were all bolted tightly and the drapes
closed, for Raoden had needed to drop his illusionary mask to let Galladon
sew. The duke had been kind enough to board them—Roial seemed to be the only
one of Raoden's former friends who was intrigued, rather than annoyed, by his
Kaloo personality.
"All right. sule," Galladon said. tugging the final stitch.
Raoden nodded, looking at himself in the mirror. He had almost begun to think
that the handsome Duladen face belonged to him. That was dangerous. He had to
remember that he was still an Elantrian, with all the weaknesses and pains of
his kind, despite the unconcerned personality he had adopted.
Galladon still wore his mask. The Aon illusions were good as long as Raoden
left them alone. Whether they were drawn in air or in mud, Aons could be
destroyed only by another Elantrian. The books claimed that an Aon inscribed
in dust would continue to function even if the pattern was scuffed or erased.
The illusions were attached to their underclothes, allowing them to change
outfits each day without needing to redraw the Aon. Galladon's illusion was
that of a nondescript, broad-faced Dula, an image Raoden had found at the back
of his book. Raoden's face had been much harder to choose.
"How's my personality?" Raoden asked, pulling out the AonDor book to begin
re-creating his illusion. "Am I convincing?"
Galladon shrugged. taking a seat on Raoden's bed. "I wouldn't have believed
you were a Dula, but they seem to. I don't think you could have made a better
choice, anyway. Kolo?"
Raoden nodded as he drew. The Arelish nobility were too well known, and

Sarene would have immediately seen through any attempt at pretending to be
from Teod. Assuming he wanted to speak Aonic, that left only Duladen. It had
been obvious from his failed attempts to imitate Galladon's accent that he
could never make a convincing member of the Duladen underclass; even his
pronunciation of a simple word such as "kolo" had sent Galladon into gales of
laughter. Fortunately, there were a good number of lesser-known Duladen
citizens-men who had been mayors of small towns or members of unimportant
councils—who spoke flawless Aonic. Raoden had met many such individuals, and
mimicking their personality required only a sense of flamboyance and a
nonchalant attitude.
Getting the clothing had been a little difficult—requiring Raoden, in another
illusion, to go purchase it from the Arelene Market. Since his official
arrival, however. he'd been able to get some better-tailored outfits. He
thought he played a fairly good Dula, though not everyone was convinced.
"I think Sarene's suspicious," Raoden said, finishing the Aon and watching it
spin around him and mold to his face.
"She's a bit more skeptical than most."
"True," Raoden said. He intended to tell her who he was as soon as possible,
but she had resisted any attempts by "Kaloo" co get her alone: she'd even
refused the letter he'd sent, returning it unopened.
Fortunately, things were going better with the rest of the nobility. Since
Rao-den had left Elantris two days before, entrusting New Elantris to Karata's
care, he had managed to wiggle his way into Arelish high society with an ease
that surprised even him. The nobles were too busy worrying about Telrii's rule
to question Kaloo's background. In fact. they had latched on to him with
startling vigor. Apparently, the sense of free-willed silliness he brought to
gatherings gave the nobles a chance to laugh and forget the chaos of the last
few weeks. So he soon became a necessary guest at any function.
Of course, the true test was going to be getting himself into Roial and
Sarene's secret meetings. If he was ever going to do any good for Arelon, he
needed to be admitted into that special group. They were the ones who were
working to determine the fate of the country. Galladon was skeptical about
Raoden's chances—of course, Galladon was skeptical about everything. Raoden
smiled to himself: he was the one who had actually started the meetings. It
seemed ironic that he should now be forced to work to regain admittance.
Kaloo's face once again masking his own, Raoden pulled on his green
gloves—articles that held the illusion that made his arms seem non-Elantrian-
then spun and twirled for Galladon. "And the magnificent Kaloo returns."
"Please, sule, not in private. I come close enough to strangling you in
public." Raoden chuckled. "All, what a life. Loved by all women, envied by
every man."

Galladon snorted. loved by all of the women but one. you mean."
"Well, she did invite me to spar with her any time I wanted." Raoden said.
smiling as he walked over to pull open the drapes.
"Even if it was just to get another chance to impale you." Galladon said. "You
should be glad she hit you on the face. where the illusion covered the wound.
If she'd stabbed through your clothing, it would have been very difficult to
explain why your cut didn't bleed. Kolo?"
Raoden slid open the balcony door, walking out to look over Roial's gardens.
He sighed as Galladon joined him. "Tell me this. Why is it rhat every time I
meet her. Sarene is determined to hate me?"
"Must be love," Galladon said.
Raoden laughed wryly. "Well, at least this time it's Kaloo she hates, rather
than the real me. I suppose I can forgive her for that-I've almost gotten to
the point where I hate him too."
A knock came at the door, drawing their attention. Galladon looked at him and
he nodded. Their costumes and faces were complete. Galladon, playing the part
of a servant, walked over and unlocked the door. Roial stood outside.
-My lord," Raoden said. approaching with outreached arms and a broad smile. "I
trust your day has been as fine as my own!"
"It has. Citizen Kaloo," Roial said. "May I come in?"
"Certainly, certainly," Raoden said. "It is, after all, your house. We are so
unspeakably indebted to your kindness that I know I shall never manage to
repay you."
"Nonsense, citizen," Roial said. "Though, speaking of payments, you will be
pleased to know that I made a good trade on those lamp mounts you gave me. I
deposited your credit in an account at my bank—it should be enough to see that
you live comfortably for several years at least."
"Excellent!" Raoden proclaimed. "We shall immediately seek another place to
reside.
"No, no." the old duke said, holding up his hands. "Stay here as long as you
wish. I get so few visitors in my old age that even this small house often
seems too large."
"Then we shall stay as long as you suffer us!" Raoden declared with
characteristically Duladen lack of decorum. It was said that the moment you
invited a Dula to stay. you would never get rid of him—or his family.
"Tell me, citizen," Roial said, strolling to the balcony. "Where did you find
a dozen lamp mounts made of solid gold?"
"Family heirlooms," Raoden said. "I pried them off our mansion walls even as
the people burned it down."
"It must have been horrible," Roial said, leaning against the balcony rail.

"Worse than horrible," Raoden said with somberness. Then he smiled. "But those
times are over now, my lord. I have a new country and new friends! You shall
become my family now."
Roial nodded absently, then shot wary eyes back at Galladon.
"I see something occupies your mind, Lord Roial," Raoden said. "Fear not to
speak it—good Dendo has been with me since I was born; he is worthy of any
man's trust."
Roial nodded, turning back to look out over his estate. "I do not mention the
harsh times in your homeland indiscriminately, citizen. You said they are over
now, but I fear for us the terror is just beginning."
"Ah, you speak of the problems with the throne," Raoden said with a click of
his tongue.
"Yes, citizen," Roial said. "Telrii is not a strong leader. I fear Arelon will
soon fall to Duladel's fate. We have Fjordell wolves nipping at us, smelling
blood, but our nobility pretends to see nothing more than favored hounds."
"Oh troubled times," Raoden said, "Where can I go to find simple peace?"
"Sometimes we must make our own peace, citizen."
"What do you mean?" Raoden asked, trying to keep the excitement out of his
voice.
"Citizen, I hope I do not injure you when I point out that the others see you
as rather frivolous."
Raoden laughed. "I hope they see me that way, my lord. I should hate to think
I've been playing the fool for nothing."
Roial smiled. "I sense a wit in you that is not completely masked by your
foppishness, citizen. Tell me, how did you manage to escape from Duladen?"
"I am afraid that is one secret which must remain untold, my lord," Raoden
said. "There are those who would suffer dearly if their part in my escape
became known."
Roial nodded. "I understand. The important part is that you survived when your
countrymen did not. Do you know how many refugees came up through the border
when the Republic fell?"
"I am afraid not, my lord," Raoden replied. "I was a little busy at the time."
"None," Roial said. "Not a single one that I know of—yourself excluded. I hear
that the republicans were too shocked to even think of escaping."
"My people are slow to act, my lord," Raoden said with upraised hands. "In
this case, our lax manner proved our downfall. The revolution rolled over us
while we were still discussing what to have for dinner."
"But you escaped."
"I escaped," Raoden agreed.
"You have already been through what we might have to suffer, and that makes
your advice valuable—no matter what the others may think."

"There is a way to escape Duladel's fate, my lord," Raoden said cautiously.
"Though it could be dangerous. It would involve a ... change in leadership."
Roial's eyes narrowed knowingly, and he nodded. Something passed between
them—an understanding of the duke's offer and Raoden's willingness. "You speak
of dangerous things," Roial warned.
"1 have been though a lot, my lord. I would not be averse to a little more
danger if it provided me a means of living the rest of my life in peace."
"I cannot guarantee that will happen," Roial said.
"And I cannot guarantee that this balcony won't suddenly collapse, sending us
to our doom. All we can do is count on Iuck. and our wits, to protect us."
Roial nodded. "You know the house of the merchant Kiin?"
"Yes."
"Meet me there tonight at sunset."
Raoden nodded, and the duke excused himself. As the door shut, Raoden winked
at Galladon. "And you thought I couldn't do it."
"I'll never doubt you again," Galladon said dryly.
"The secret was Roial, my friend," Raoden said, pulling the balcony door shut
as he walked back into the room. "He sees through most façades-but, unlike
Sarene, his primary question is not 'Why is this man trying to fool me?' but
'How can I make use of what I know?' I gave him hints, and he responded."
Galladon nodded. "Well, you're in. Now what will you do?"
"Find a way to put Roial on the throne instead of Telrii," Raoden said,
picking up a cloth and a jar of brown makeup. He smeared some of the makeup on
the cloth, then tucked the cloth in his pocket.
Galladon raised an eyebrow. "And what is that?" he asked, nodding to the
cloth.
"Something I hope I won't have to use."

CHAPTER 53
WHAT is he doing here?" Sarene demanded. standing at the doorway to Kiin's
kitchen. The idiot Kaloo sat inside, dressed in a montage of garish reds and
oranges. He spoke animatedly with Kiin and Roial, and apparently hadn't
noticed her arrival.
Lukel closed the door behind her, then glanced toward the Dula with apparem
distaste. Her cousin was known as one of the wittiest, most colorful men in
Kae. Kaloo's reputation, however, had quickly eclipsed even Lukel's, leaving
the young merchant a bitter second.
"Roial invited him for some reason," Lukel muttered.
"Has Roial gone mad?" Sarene asked, perhaps more loudly than she should have.
"What if that cursed Dula is a spy?"
"A spy for whom?" Kaloo asked merrily. "I don't think your pompous king has
the political acumen to hire spies—and let me assure you, no matter how much I
exasperate you, Princess, I bother Fjordells even more. That gyorn would
rather stab himself in the chest than pay me for information."
Sarene flushed with embarrassment, an action that only sent Kaloo into another
peal of laughter.
"I think, Sarene, you will find Citizen Kaloo's opinions helpful," Roial said.
"This man sees things differently from Arelenes, and he also has a fresh
opinion of events in Kae. I seem to remember that you yourself used a similar
argument when you first joined us. Do not diseount Kaloo's value because he
happens to be a little more eccentric than you find comfortable."
Sarene frowned, but allowed herself to be rebuked. The duke's observations
held weight; it would be helpful to have a new perspective. For some reason
Roial seemed to trust Kaloo. She could sense a mutual respect between them.
Grudgingly, she admitted that perhaps the duke had seen something in Kaloo
that she hadn't. The Dula had, after all, been staying with Roial for several
days.
Ahan was late, as usual. Shuden and Eondel spoke quietly at one end of the
table, their subdued conversation a stark contrast to Kaloo's vibrant
narrative. Kiin had provided appetizers—crackers with some sort of creamy
white glaze atop them.

Despite her insistences that he not prepare dinner, Kiin had obviously been
unable to let this many people congregate without giving them something to
eat. Sarene smiled: she doubted that other treasonous conspiracies enjoyed
gourmet snacks.
A few moments later, Ahan waddled in. nor bothering to knock. He plopped
himself down in his customary seat and proceeded to attack the crackers.
"We're all here, then," Sarene said, speaking sharply to interrupt Kaloo. All
heads turned toward her as she stood. "I trust you all have given our
predicament much thought. Does anyone want to start?"
"I wiIl," Ahan said. "Maybe Telrii can be persuaded nor to convert to
ShuDereth."
Sarene sighed. "I thought we discussed this, Ahan. Telrii isn't debating
whether or not to convert; he's waiting to see how much money he can get out
of Wyrn."
"If only we had more troops," Roial said with a shake of his head. "With a
proper army. we eould intimidate Telrii. Sarene, what chance is there of
getting aid from Teod?"
"Not much." Sarene said, sitting. "Remember, my father swore himself to
Shu-Dereth. Besides, Teod has a wonderful navy, but few ground troops. Our
country has a small population—we survive by sinking our enemies before they
land."
hear there are resistance fighters in Duladel," Shuden suggested. "They harass
caravans occasionally."
All eyes turned toward Kaloo, who raised his hands palms forward. "Trust me,
my friends, you do not want their help. The men of which you speak are mostly
former republicans, like myself. They can duel one another with fine
proficiency, but a syre isn't much good against a trained solider, especially
if he has five friends beside him. The resistance only survives because the
Fjordells are too lazy to chase it out of the swamps."
Shuden frowned. "I thought they were hiding in the caves of the Duladen
Steppes."
"There are several pockets of them," Kaloo said smoothly, though Sarene
detected a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. Who are you? she thought as the
conversation moved forward.
"I think we should bring the people into it," Lukel said. "Telrii has
indicated that he intends to maintain the plantation system. If we encourage
the common people to our cause. they should be willing to rise against him."
"It could work," Eondel said. "Lady Sarene's plan to sharecrop my peasants has
given them a taste of freedom, and they've grown far more self-confident over
the last few months. But, it would take a great deal of time-you don't train
men to fight overnight."

"Agreed," Roial said. "Telrii will be Derethi long before we finish, and
Hrathen's procIamation will be law."
"I could pretend to be Derethi for a while," Lukel said. "If only while I'm
planning the king's demise."
Sarene shook her head. "If we give Shu-Dereth that kind of foothold in AreIon,
we'll never be free of it."
"It's only a religion. Sarene," Allan said. "I think we should focus on real
problems."
"You don't think Shu-Dereth is a 'real problem.' Ahan?" Sarene asked. "Why
don't you try and explain that to Jindo and Duladel?"
"She's right," Roial said. "Fjorden embraced Shu-Dereth as a vehicle for
domination. If those priests convert AreIon, then Wyrn will rule here no
matter who we put on the throne."
"Then raising an army of peasants is out?" Shuden asked, bringing the
conversation back on topic.
"Too time-consuming," Roial said.
"Besides." Kaloo noted, "I don't think you want to throw this country into
war. I've seen what a bloody revolution can do to a nation—it breaks the
people's spirit to fight one another. The men in the Elantris City Guard might
be fools, but they are still your countrymen. Their blood would be on your
hands."
Sarene looked up at the comment. made without a hint of Kaloo's normal
flamboyance. Something about him made her increasingly suspicious.
"Then what?" Lukel said with exasperation. "We can't fight Telrii and we can't
wait for him to convert. What do we do?"
"We could kill him," Eondel said quietly.
"Well?" Sarene asked. She hadn't expected that suggestion to come out quite so
early in the meeting.
It has merits," Kiin agreed. showing a cold dispassion that Sarene had never
seen in him before. "Assassinating Telrii would solve a lot of problems."
The room fell quiet. Sarene felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she studied
the men. They knew what she knew. She had determined long before the meeting
began that this was the only way.
"All, one man's death to save a nation," Kaloo whispered.
"It seems the only alternative," Kiin said with a shake of his head.
"Perhaps," the Dula said. "Though I wonder if we aren't underestimating the
people of Arelon."
"We already discussed this." Lukel said. "We don't have enough time to rally
the peasants."
"Not just the peasants, young Lukel," Kaloo said, "but the nobility. Have you
not sensed their hesitance to back Telrii? Have you not seen the discomfort in
their eyes? A king with no support is no king at all."

"And the Guard?" Kiin asked pointedly.
"I wonder if we couldn't turn them," Kaloo said. "Certainly they could be
persuaded to see that what they have done is not right."
"You" had become "we." Sarene's brow furIed; she almost had it. There was
something familiar about his words....
"It's an interesting suggestion," Roial said.
"The Guard and the nobility support Telrii because they don't see another
alternative," Kaloo explained. "Lord Roial was shamed by the failed wedding,
and Lady Sarene was thrown into EIantris. Now, however, the embarrassment has
been removed. Perhaps if we can show the Guard the ultimate result of their
decision—occupation by Fjorden and a virtual enslavement of our people—they
will realize that they supported the wrong man. Give men an honest choice, and
I believe they will choose wisely."
That was it. Sarene knew that faith somewhere—that pure belief in the basic
goodness of all men. And. when she suddenly realized where she had seen it
before, she couldn't stop herself from jumping up and yelping in surprise.
R AO D EN cringed, immediately recognizing his mistake. He had let go of Kaloo
too quickly, allowing too much of his true self to show. The others hadn't
noticed the change, but Sarene—dear suspicious Sarene—hadn't been so lax. He
looked into her shocked, wide eyes, and knew that she knew. Somehow, despite
their short time together, she had recognized him when his best friends could
not.
Uh-oh, he thought to himself.
"SARENE?" Roial asked. "Princess, are you all right?"
Sarene looked around sheepishly, standing in front of her chair. She quickly
forgot her embarrassment, however, as her eyes fell on the furtive Kaloo. "No,
my lord, I don't think so," she said. "I think we need a break." "We haven't
really been going that long ..." Lukel said.
Sarene silenced him with a look, and no one else braved her wrath. "A break it
is," Roial said slowly.
"Good," Kiin said, rising from his seat. "I have some Hraggish mearwraps
cooling out back. I'll go get them."
Sarene was so flustered that she barely even considered chastising her uncle
for preparing a meal when she had expressly told him not to. She shot Kaloo a
telling look, then stalked away from the table, apparently on her way to the
privy. She waited in Kiin's study for a moment before the hapless impostor
finally strolled around the corner.

Sarene grabbed his shirt and all but threw him against the wall as she pressed
her face up against his.
"Spirit?" she demanded. "What in the name of Gracious Domi are you doing
here?"
Spirit looked to the side apprehensively. "Not so loudly. Sarene! How do you
think those men would react if they discovered they'd been sitting with an
Elantrian?"
"But ... how?" she asked, her anger turning to excitement as she realized it
really was him. She reached up to wiggle his nose, which was far too long to
be his real one. She was surprised when her fingers passed through the tip as
if it weren't there.
"You were right about the Aons, Sarene," Spirit said quickly. "They're maps of
Arelon—all I had to do was add one line, and the entire system started working
again."
"One line?"
"The Chasm," Spirit explained. "It caused the Reod. It was enough of a change
in the landscape that its presence needs to be reflected in the Aons."
"It works!" Sarene said. Then she released his shirt and gave him a bitter
punch to the side. "You've been lying to me!"
"Ow!" Spirit complained. "Please. no punching-my body doesn't heal, remember?"
Sarene gasped. "That didn't ... ?'.
"Change when we fixed AonDor?" Spirit asked. "No. I'm still an Elantrian under
this illusion. There's something else wrong with AonDor."
Sarene resisted the urge to punch him again. "Why did you lie to me?"
Spirit smiled. "Oh, and you're going to try and tell me it wasn't more fun
this way?"
"Well
He laughed. "Only you would consider that a valid excuse. my princess.
Actually. I never got the chance to tell you. Every time I tried to approach
you these last few days, you ducked away-and you ignored the letter I sent
you. I couldn't just jump in front of you and drop my illusion. I actually
came to Kiin's last night in the hopes I would see you in the window."
"You did?" Sarene asked with a smile.
"Ask Galladon," Raoden said. "He's back at Roial's right now eating all of the
duke's Jaadorian candy. Did you know he had a weakness for sweets?" "The duke
or Galladon?"
"Both. Look, they're going to wonder what's taking us so long."
"Let them." Sarene said. "All the other women have been mooning over Kaloo so
much, it's about time I fell into line."
Spirit began to chuckle, then he caught the dangerous look in her eyes and let

it taper off. "It really was the only way. Sarene. I didn't have much choice-I
had to act the part."
'I think you acted it a little too well," she said. Then she smiled, unable to
remain angry.
He obviously caught the softening in her eyes, for he untensed. "You have to
admit, it was fun at times. I had no idea you were that good of a fencer."
Sarene smiled slyly. "My talents are plentiful. Spirit. And apparently so are
yours—I had no idea you were that good of an actor. I hated you!"
"It's nice to feel appreciated," Spirit said, letting his arms wrap around
her.
Suddenly she was aware of his close proximity. His body was room temperature,
and the unnatural coolness was unnerving. However, rather than pulling away,
she let her head rest on his shoulder. "So, why did you come? You should be
back in New Elantris, preparing your people. Why risk coming out into Kae?"
"To find you," he said.
She smiled. That was the right answer.
"And," he continued, "to keep you all from slaughtering each other. This
country certainly is a mess, isn't it?"
Sarene sighed. "And it's partially my fault."
Spirit reached up to put his hands on her neck, rotating her head so she could
see into his eyes. His face was different, but those eyes were the same. Deep
and blue. How had she ever mistaken him for anyone else?
"You are not allowed to berate yourself, Sarene," he said. "I get enough of
that from Galladon. You've done a wonderful job here—better than I could have
even imagined. I assumed that these men would stop meeting after I left."
Sarene paused, shaking herself from the trance of being lost in those eyes.
"What was that you just said? After you left ... ?"
Voices called from the other room, and Spirit winked at her, his eyes
twinkling. "We need to go back in. "But . let's just say I have something else
I need to tell you, once the meeting is through and we can speak more
privately."
She nodded in a half daze. Spirit was in Kae, and AonDor worked. She walked
back into the dining room and sat down at the table, and Spirit entered the
room a few moments later. One chair was still empty, however.
"Where's Ahan?" Sarene asked.
Kiin frowned. "He left," he declared in a bitter tone.
Lukel laughed, shooting Sarene a smile. "The count claims that something he
ate didn't agree with him. He ... stepped out."
"It's impossible," Kiin grumbled. "There was nothing in those crackers that
could have upset his stomach."
"I'm sure it wasn't the crackers, Uncle." Sarene said with a smile. "It must
be something he ate before he came."

Lukel laughed in agreement. "Domi knows, that man eats so much it's a wonder
he doesn't end up sick every night by pure laws of probability."
"Well, we should continue without him." Roial said. "There's no telling how
long he will be indisposed."
Agreed," Sarene said, preparing to begin again.
Roial. however, beat her to it. He stood slowly, his old body looking
surprisingly weak. The duke sighed, shaking his head. "If you will all forgive
me, I have something to say?'
The nobles nodded, sensing the duke's solemnity.
"I will not lie to you; I never once debated whether or not action should be
taken against Telrii. He and I have spent the last ten years as mercantile
enemies. He is a flagrant, wasteful man—he will make a worse king, even, than
Iadon. His willingness to even consider Hrathen's silly proclamation was the
final proof I needed.
"No, my reason for demanding more time before we met was not to wonder if we
should depose Telrii. The reason I asked for more time was to wait for some ..
. associates of mine to arrive."
"Associates?" Sarene said.
"Assassins," Roial said. "Men I have hired out of Fjorden. Not all the people
of that country are perfectly loyal to their god—some are sworn to gold
instead." "Where are they?" Sarene asked.
"Staying in an inn not far away," Roial said.
"But," Sarene said with confusion, "just last week you warned us against
letting bloodshed advance our revolt."
Roial bowed his head. "The guilt was speaking, dear Sarene, for I had already
sent for these men. However, I have changed my mind. This young man from
Dula—"
Roial was interrupted by the sound of feet clomping in the entry hallway: Ahan
had returned. Odd, Sarene thought to herself as she turned, I didn't hear the
front door close.
When she turned, it was not Ahan she found standing in the doorway. Instead,
she was confronted by a group of armed soldiers with a well-dressed man at
their front. King Telrii.
Sarene jumped up, but her yell of surprise was lost among other similar
exclamations. Telrii stepped to the side, allowing a dozen men in Elantris
City Guard uniforms to fill the room. They were followed by the portly Count
Ahan.
"Ahan!" Roial said. "What have you done?"
"I finally got you, oId man," the count said gleefully, his jowls shaking. "I
told you I would. Joke about how my caravans to Svorden are doing now, you
cursed old idiot. We'll see how yours do while you spend the next few years in
prison."
Roial shook a mournful, white-haired head. "You fool . Didn't you realize
when this stopped being a game? We aren't playing with fruits and silks
anymore."
"Protest if you will," Ahan said with a triumphant shake of his finger. "But
you have to admit, I got you! I've been waiting to do this for months—I could
never get Iadon to believe me. Can you believe that he actually thought you
incapable of betraying him? He claimed your old friendship went too deep."
Roial sighed, regarding Telrii, who was smiling broadly, obviously enjoying
the exchange. "Oh, Ahan." Roial said. "You have always been so fond of acting
without thought."
Sarene was stunned. She couldn't move, or even speak. Traitors were supposed
to be men with dark eyes and sour dispositions. She couldn't connect that
image with Ahan. He was arrogant and impetuous, but she liked him. How could
someone she liked do something so horrible?
Telrii snapped his fingers, and a soldier stepped forward and rammed his sword
directly into Duke Roial's belly. Roial gasped, then crumpled with a moan.
"Thus are the judgments of your king,' Telrii said.
Ahan yelled. eyes widening in his fat face. "No! You said prison!" He rushed
past Telrii, blubbering as he knelt beside Roial.
"Did I?" Telrii asked. Then he pointed at two of his soldiers. "You two,
gather some men and find those assassins, then .. ." He tapped his thin
thoughtfully. .. throw them off the walls of Elantris."
The two men saluted, then marched from the room.
"The rest of you," Telrii said. "kill these traitors. Start with the dear
princess. Let it be known that this is the punishment for all those who try to
usurp the throne."
"No!" Shuden and Eondel yelled in unison.
The soldiers started to move, and Sarene found herself behind a protective
wall formed by Shuden, Eondel, and Lukel. Only Eondel was armed. however, and
they were faced by ten men.
"Interesting you should mention usurpers. Duke Telrii," a voice said from
across the table. "I was under the impression that the throne belonged to
Iadon's family."
Sarene followed the sound. Her eyes found Spirit—or, at least, someone wearing
Spirit's clothing. He had pale Aonic skin, sandy brown hair, and keen blue
eyes. Spirit's eyes. But his face didn't show any signs of Elantris's taint.
He tossed a rag on the table, and she could see the brown stains on one
side-as if he wanted them to believe he had simply wiped away his makeup to
reveal a completely different face underneath.
Telrii gasped, stumbling back against the wall. "Prince Raoden!" he choked.
"No! You died. They told me you were dead!"
Raoden. Sarene felt numb. She stared at the man Spirit, wondering who he was,
and if she had ever really known him.

Spirit looked at the soldiers. "Would you dare slay the true king of Arelon?"
he demanded.
The Guard members stepped back, faces confused and frightened.
"Men. protect me!" Telrii yelped. turning and scrambling from the room. The
soIdiers watched their leader flee, then unceremoniously joined him, leaving
the conspirators alone.
Spirit-Raoden—hopped over the table, brushing past Lukel. He shoved the still
blubbering Ahan out of his way and kneIt next to Kiin—the only one who had
thought to try treating Roial's wound. Sarene watched dumbly from behind, her
senses paralyzed. It was obvious that Kiin's care would be nowhere near enough
to save the duke. The sword had passed completely through the man's body,
delivering a painful wound that was eertainly mortal.
"Raoden!" Duke Roial gasped. "You have returned to us!"
"Be still, Roial," Raoden said, stabbing the air with his finger. Light burst
from its tip as he began to draw.
"I should have known it was you," the duke rambled. "All of that silly talk
about trusting the people. Can you believe I actually started to agree with
you? I should have sent those assassins to do their work the moment they
arrived."
"You are too good a man for that, Roial." Spirit said, his voice taut with
emo-
tion.
Roial's eyes focused, perceiving for the first time the Aon that Spirit was
drawing above him. He breathed out in awe. "Have you returned the beautiful
city as wel I?"
Spirit didn't respond. instead concentrating on his Aon. He drew differently
from the way he had before. his fingers moving more dexterously and quickly.
He finished the Aon with a small line near the bottom. It began to glow
warmly, bathing Roial in its light. As Sarene watched, the edges of Roial's
wound seemed to pull together slightly. A scratch on Roial's face disappeared,
and several of the liver spots on his scalp faded.
Then the light fell away, the wound still belching blood with each futile pump
of the duke's dying heart.
Spirit cursed. "It's too weak." he said, desperately beginning another Aon.
"And I haven't studied the healing modifiers! I don't know how to target just
one part of the body."
Roial reached up with a quivering arm and grabbed Spirit's hand. The partially
completed Aon faded away as the duke's movement caused Spirit to make a
mistake. Spirit did not start again, bowing his head as if weeping.
"Do not cry, my boy," Roial said. "Your return is blessed. You cannot save
this tired old body, but you can save the kingdom. I will die in peace,
knowing you are here to protect it."

Spirit cupped the old man's face in his hands. "You did a wonderful job with
me. Roial," he whispered. and Sarene felt intensely that she was intruding.
"Without you to watch over me, I wouId have turned out like my father."
"No, boy." Roial said. "You were more like your mother from the start. Domi
bless you."
Sarene turned away then as the duke's death turned gruesome, his body spasming
and blood coming to his lips. When she turned back, blinking the tears from
her eyes, Raoden was still kneeling over the old man's corpse. Finally he took
a deep breath and stood, turning to regard the rest of them with sad-but
firm—eyes. Beside her, Sarene felt Shuden. Eondel. and Lukel faIl to their
knees, bowing their heads reverently.
"My king," Eondel said, speaking for all of them.
"My ... husband," Sarene realized with shock.

CHAPTER 54
H E did what?" Hrathen asked with amazement.
The priest, startled by Hrathen's sudden reaction, stuttered as he re-
peated the message. Hrathen cut the man off halfway through.
The Duke of Ial Plantation, dead? By Telrii's command? What kind of random
move was this? Hrathen could tell from the messenger's face that there was
more. so he motioned for the man to continue. Soon Hrathen realized that the
execution hadn't been random at all-that in fact it had been completely
logical. Hrathen couldn't believe Telrii's fortune. Roial was said to be a
crafty man; catching the duke in the act of treason had been amazingly
propitious.
What the messenger related next, however. was even more shocking. The rumors
said that Prince Raoden had returned from the grave.
Hrathen sat, dumbfounded, behind his desk. A tapestry fluttered on the wall as
the messenger closed the door on his way out.
428
Control, he thought. You can deal with this. The rumor of Raoden's return was
false, of course, but Hrathen had to admit that it was a masterful stroke. He
knew of the prince's saintly reputation; the people regarded Raoden with a
level of idolizing adoration that was given only to dead men. If Sarene had
somehow found a look-alike, she could call him husband and continue her bid
for the throne even now that Roial was dead.
She certainly works quickly, Hrathen thought with a respectful smile.
Telrii's slaughter of Roial still bothered Hrathen. Murdering the duke without
trial or incarceration would make the other nobles even more apprehensive.
Hrathen rose. Perhaps it wasn't too late to convince Telrii to at least draft
a warrant of execution. It would ease the aristocratic minds if they were able
to read such a document.
TELRII refused to see him. Hrathen stood in the waiting room again, staring
down two of Telrii's guards, arms folded in front of him. The two men watched
at the ground sheepishly. Apparently, something had unsettled Telrii so much
that he wasn't taking any visitors at all.
Hrathen didn't intend to let himself be ignored. Though he could not force his
way into the room, he could make himself such a nuisance that Telrii
eventually agreed to meet with him. So he had spent the last hour demanding a
meeting every five minutes.
In fact, the time was approaching for another request. "Soldier," he
commanded. "Ask the king if he will see me."
The soldier sighed—just as he had the last half-dozen times Hrathen had made
the demand. However, the soldier opened the door and obeyed, going in to
search out his commander. A few moments later, the man returned.
Hrathen's query froze in his throat. It wasn't the same man.
The "guard" whipped out his sword and attacked the second guard. Sounds of
metal against metal exploded from the king's audience chamber. and men began
to scream—some in rage, others in agony.
Hrathen cursed—a battle on the one night he had left his armor behind.
Gritting his teeth. he spun past the fighting guards and entered the room.
The tapestries were in flames, and men struggled desperately in the close
confines. Several guards lay dead at the far doorway. Some wore the brown and
yellow of the Elantris Guard. The others were in silver and blue—the colors of
Count Eondel's legion.
Hrathen dodged a few attacks, ducking blades or smashing them out of men's
hands. He had to find the king. Telrii was too important to
Time froze as Hrathen saw the king through the melee, burning strips of cloth
dripping from the brocades above. Telrii's eyes were wild with fear as he

dashed toward the open door at the back of the room. Eondel's sword found
TeIrii's neck before the king had taken more than a few steps.
Telrii's headless corpse fell at Count Eondel's feet. The count regarded it
with grim eyes, then collapsed himself, holding a wound in his side.
1-Irathen stood quietly in the melee, chaos forgotten for the moment,
regarding the two corpses. So much for avoiding a bloody change in power, he
thought with resignation.
CHAPTER 55
I T seemed unnatural to look at Elantris from the outside. Raoden belonged in
the city. It was as if he stood outside of his own body. looking at it from
another person's perspective. He should no more be separated from Elantris
than his spirit should be separated from his body.
He stood with Sarene atop Kiln's fortresslike house in the noonday sun. The
merchant, showing both foresight and healthy paranoia following the massacre
ten years before, had built his mansion more like a castle than a house. It
was a compact square. with straight stone walls and narrow windows, and it
even stood atop a hill. The roof had a pattern of stones running along its
lip, much like the battlements atop a city wall. It was against one such stone
that Raoden leaned now, Sarene pressed close to his side, her arms around his
waist as they regarded the city.
Soon after Roial's death the night before. Kiln had barred his doors and
informed them that he had enough supplies stockpiled to last years. Though
Raoden doubted the doors would survive long against a determined attack, he
welcomed the feelings of safety Kiin inspired. There was no telling how Telrii
would react to Raoden's appearance. Chances were, however, that he would give
up all pretense and seek Fjordell aid. The Elantris Guard might have been
hesitant to attack Rao-den, but Fjordell troops would have no such
inhibitions.
"I should have figured it out," Sarene mumbled at Raoden's side.
"Hum?" Raoden asked, raising his eyebrows. She was wearing one of Daora's
dresses—which was, of course, too short for her, though Raoden rather liked
the amount of leg it showed. She wore her short blond wig, which was cut in a
style that made her look younger than she was, a schoolgirl instead of a
mature woman. Well, Raoden revised, a six-foot-tall schoolgirl.
Sarene raised her head, looking into his eyes. "I can't believe I didn't put
it together. I was even suspicious about your-meaning Raoden's—disappearance.
I assumed the king had killed you off, or at least exiled you."
"He certainly would have liked to," Raoden said. "He tried to send me away on
numerous occasions. but I usually wiggled out of it somehow."
"It was so obvious!" Sarene said. resting her head on his shoulder with a
petulant thud. "The cover-up, the embarrassment ... it makes perfect sense."

"It's easy to see the answers once the puzzle is solved, Sarene," Raoden said.
"I'm not surprised that no one connected my disappearance with Elantris—that
isn't the sort of thing an Arelene would assume. People don't talk about
Elantris, and they certainly don't want to associate it with those they love.
They would prefer to believe that I'd died than know that I'd been taken by
the Shaod."
"But I'm not an Arelene," Sarene said. "I don't have the same biases."
"You lived with them," Raoden said. "You couldn't help being affected by their
disposition. Besides. you haven't lived around Elantris—you didn't know how
the Shaod worked."
Sarene huffed to herself. "And you let me go along in ignorance. My own
husband."
"I gave you a clue," he protested.
"Yes, about five minutes before you revealed yourself."
Raoden chuckled, pulling her close. No matter what else happened, he was glad
he had made the decision to leave Elantris. This short time with Sarene was
worth it.
After a few moments, he realized something. "I'm not. you know." "Not what?"
"Your husband. At least, the relationship is disputable. The betrothal
contract said our marriage would be binding if either of us died before the
wedding. I didn't die—I went to Elantris. Though they're essentially the same
thing, the contract's words were very specific."
Sarene looked up with concern.
He laughed quietly. "I'm not trying to get out of it. Sarene." he said. "I'm
just saying we should make it formal, just so everyone's mind is put at ease."
Sarene thought for a moment, then she nodded sharply. 'Definitely. I've been
engaged twice during the last two months, and I never got a wedding. A girl
deserves a good wedding."
`A queen's wedding," Raoden agreed.
Sarene sighed as she looked back at Kae. The city seemed cold and lifeless,
almost unpopulated. The political uncertainty was destroying the economy of
Arelon as surely as Iadon's rule had destroyed its spirit. Where there should
have been busy commerce. only a few hearty pedestrians slipped furtively
through the streets. The only exception was the great city square, which held
the tents of the Arelene Market. While some of the merchants had decided to
cut their losses-moving on to Teod to sell what they could—a surprising number
had stayed. What could have persuaded so many to remain to try and push wares
upon a people that just weren't buying?
The only other place that showed any sign of activity was the palace. Elantris
City Guard members had been poring over the area like worried insects all
morning. Sarene had sent her Seon to investigate. but he had vet to return.
"He was such a good man,- Sarene said softly.
"Roial?" Raoden asked. "Yes, he was. The duke was the role model I needed when
my father proved unworthy."
Sarene chuckled softly. "When Kiin first introduced Roial to me, he said he
wasn't sure if the duke helped us because he loved Arelon, or because he was
just bored."
"Many people took Roial's craftiness as a sign of deceitfulness," Raoden said.
"They were wrong; Roial was clever, and he enjoyed intrigue, but he was a
patriot. He taught me to believe in Arelon, even after its many stumbles."
"He was like a wily old grandfather," Sarene said. "And he almost became my
husband."
"I still can't believe that." Raoden said. "I loved Roial   . but to imagine
him married? To you?"
Sarene laughed. "I don't think we believed it either. Of course, that doesn't
mean we wouldn't have gone through with it."
Raoden sighed, rubbing her shoulder. "If only I had known what capable hands I
was leaving Arelon in. It would have saved me a great deal of worry." "And New
Elantris?" Sarene asked. "Is Karata watching it?"
"New Elantris watches itself without much trouble," Raoden said. "But, I did
send Galladon back this morning with instructions to begin teaching the people
AonDor. If we fail here, I don't want to leave Elantris unable to protect
itself."
"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 our, 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
Rao-den with teary eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, pulling him close. "You
have no idea what that means."
After a moment. she pulled hack, 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 diseolored 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 nor 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—Kiln, Lukel, and Shudenwere 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 p.sople 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."
R AO DEN 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 uncertainly. 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 mueh.
With Seinalan stunned. the princess of Teod took his duty upon herself and,
reaching up, placed the crown on Raoden's head.
"Behold, your king!" she exclaimed.
Some of the people actually started cheering.
ON E man was not cheering, but hissing. Dilaf looked as if he wanted to claw
his way through the crowd and rip Raoden apart with his bare hands. The
people, whose cheers increased from a few scattered yells to a generaI
exclamation of approval. kept him back. The priest looked around him with
loathing, then forced his way through the crowd and escaped through the doors,
out into a darkening city.
Sarene ignored the priest, instead looking over at Raoden. "Congratulations,
Your Majesty," she said, kissing him lightly.
"I can't believe they accepted me," Raoden said with wonder.
"Ten years ago they rejected the Elantrians," Sarene said, "and found that a
man could be a monster no matter what he looked like. They're finally ready to
accept a ruler not because he's a god or because he has money, but because
they know lie will lead them well."
Raoden smiled. "Of course, it helps when that ruler has a wife who can deliver
a moving speech at precisely the right moment."
"True."
Raoden turned, looking out over the crowd toward the fleeing Dilaf. "Who was
that?"
"Just one of Hrathen's priests." Sarene said dismissively. "I imagine he isn't
having a very good day-Dilaf is known for his hatred of Elantrians."
Raoden didn't seem to think her dismissal was justified. "Something's wrong.
Sarene. Why did my illusion drop?"
"You didn't do that?"
Raoden shook his head. "I .   I think that priest did it."
"What?"
"I sensed the Dor the moment before my Aon fell, and it was coming from that
priest." He paused for a moment, grinding his teeth. "Can I borrow Ashe?" "Of
course," Sarene said. waving the Seon closer.
"Ashe, would you deliver a message for me?" Raoden asked.
"Of course, my lord," the Seon said with a bob.
"Find Galladon in New Elantris and tell him what just happened," Raoden said.
"Then warn him to be ready for something."
"For what, my lord?"
"I don't know," Raoden said. "Just tell him to be prepared-and tell him that
I'm worried."

CHAPTER 57
H R ATHEN watched as "Raoden" strode into the throne room. No one challenged
the impostor's claim—this man, Raoden or not, would soon be king. Sarene's
move was a brilliant stroke. Telrii assassinated, a pretender on the throne
... Hrathen's plans were in serious danger.
Hrathen eyed this pretender, feeling an odd surge of hatred as he saw the way
that Sarene looked at the man. Hrathen could see the love in her eyes. Could
that foolish adoration really be serious? Where had this man come from so
suddenly? And how had he managed to capture Sarene, who was normally so
discerning?
Regardless, she had apparently given her heart to him. Logically, Hrathen knew
his jealousy was foolish. Hrathen's own relationship with the girl had been
one of antagonism, not of affection. Why should he be jealous of another man?
No, Hrathen needed to be levelheaded. Only one month remained until the armies
of united Derethi would wash over Arelon, slaughtering the peopleSarene
included. Hrathen had to work quickly if he was going to find a way to convert
the kingdom with so little time remaining.
Hrathen pulled back as Raoden began the coronation. Many a king ordered his
enemies' incarceration as a first royal decree, and Hrathen didn't want his
presence to give the impostor a reminder.
He was, however, close enough to the front to witness the transformation.
Hrathen was confused by the sight: the Shaod was supposed to come suddenly,
but not that suddenly. The oddity forced him to reconsider his assumptions.
What if Raoden hadn't died? What if he had been hiding in Elantris all along?
Hrathen had found a way to feign being an Elantrian. What if this man had done
the same?
Hrathen was shocked by the transformation, but he was even more shocked when
the people of Arelon did nothing about it. Sarene gave her speech, and people
just stood dully. They did not stop her from crowning the Elantrian king.
Hrathen felt sick. He turned, and by happenstance he saw Dilaf slipping away
from the crowd. Hrathen trailed behind—for once, he shared Dilaf's disgust. He
was amazed that the people of Arelon could act so illogically.
At that moment, Hrathen realized his mistake. Dilaf had been right: If Hrathen
had focused more on Elantris, the people would have been too disgusted to

grant Raoden kingship. Hrathen had neglected to instill in his followers a
true sense of Jaddeth's holy will. He had used popularity to convert, rather
than doctrine. The result was a fickle congregation, capable of returning to
their old ways as quickly as they had left.
It is this cursed deadline! Hrathen thought to himself as he strode down Kae's
quickly darkening evening streets. Three months was not enough time to build a
stable following.
Ahead of him, Dilaf turned down a side street. Hrathen paused. That wasn't the
way to the chapel—it was the way to the center of the city. Curiosity
overcoming brooding. Hrathen turned co follow the arteth, staying far enough
behind to diffuse the clicking of his armored feet on the cobblestones. He
needn't have worried: the arteth strode through the blackening night with
single-minded purpose, not bothering to look back.
Dusk had almost passed, and darkness cloaked the market square. Hrathen lost
track of Dilaf in the waning light and stopped, looking around at the quiet
tents.
Suddenly, lights appeared around him.
A hundred torches winked into existence from within dozens of different tents.
Hrathen frowned, and then his eyes opened wide as men began to pour from the
tents, torchlight glistening off bare backs.
Hrathen stumbled back in horror. He knew those twisted figures. Arms like
knotted tree branches. Skin pulled tight over strange ridges and unspoken
symbols.
Though the night was quiet, memories howled in Hrathen's ears. The tents and
merchants had been a ruse. That was why so many Fjordells had come to the
Arelene Market despite the political chaos, and that was why they had stayed
when others left. They weren't merchants at all, but warriors. The invasion of
Arelon was to begin a month early.
Wyrn had sent the monks of Dakhor.

CHAPTER 58
RAODEN awoke to strange sounds. He lay disoriented for a moment in Roial's
mansion. The wedding wasn't slated to happen until the following afternoon,
and so Raoden had chosen to sleep in Kaloo's rooms back in Roial's mansion
instead of staying at Kiin's house, where Sarene had already taken the guest
bedroom.
The sounds came again-sounds of fighting.
Raoden leaped from his bed and threw open the balcony doors, staring out over
the gardens and into Kae. Smoke billowed in the night sky, fires blazing
throughout the city. Screams were audible, rising from the darkness like the
cries of the damned, and metal clanged against metal from someplace nearby.
Hurriedly throwing on a jacket. Raoden rushed through the mansion. Turning a
corner. he stumbled across a squad of Guardsmen battling for their lives
against a group of ... demons.
They were bare-chested, and their eyes seemed to burn. They looked like men,
but their flesh was ridged and disfigured, as if a carved piece of metal had
somehow been inserted beneath the skin. One of Raoden's soldiers scored a hit,
but the weapon left barely a mark-scratching where it should have sliced. A
dozen soldiers lay dying on the floor, but the five demons looked unharmed.
The remaining soldiers fought with terror, their weapons ineffective, their
members dying one by one.
Raoden stumbled backward in horror. The lead demon jumped at a soldier,
dodging the man's thrust with inhuman speed, then impaling him on a
wicked-looking sword.
Raoden froze. He reeognized this demon. Though its body was twisted like the
rest, its face was familiar. It was Dilaf, the Fjordell priest.
Dilaf smiled. eyeing Raoden. Raoden scrambled for one of the fallen soldiers'
weapons, but he was too slow. Dilaf darted across the room, moving like the
wind, and brought his fist up into Raoden's stomach. Raoden gasped in pain and
dropped to the floor.
"Bring him," the creature ordered.

"MAKE certain you deliver these tonight." Sarene said, pulling the lid closed
on the final box of supplies.
The beggar nodded, casting an apprehensive glance toward the wall of Elantris,
which stood only a few feet away.
"You needn't be so afraid, Hoid." Sarene said. "You have a new king now.
Things are going to change in Arelon."
Hoid shrugged. Despite Telrii's death. the beggar refused to meet with Sarene
during the day. Hoid's people had spent ten years fearing Iadon and his farms;
they weren't used to acting without the enveloping presence of night, no
matter how legal their intentions. Sarene would have used someone else to make
the delivery, but Hoid and his men already knew how and where to deposit the
boxes. Besides, she would rather the populace of Arelon not discover what was
in this particular shipment.
"These boxes are more heavy than the ones before. my lady," Hoid noted
astutely. There was a reason he had managed to survive a decade on the streets
of Kae without being caught.
"What the boxes contain is none of your business," Sarene replied, handing him
a pouch of coins.
Hoid nodded, his face hidden in the darkness of his hood. Sarene had never
seen his face. but she assumed from his voice that he was an older man.
She shivered in the night, eager to get back to Kiin's house. The wedding was
set for the next day, and Sarene had a hard time containing her excitement.
Despite all the trials, difficulties, and setbacks, there was finally an
honorable king on the throne of Arelon. And, after years of waiting, Sarene
had finally found someone her heart was as willing to marry as her mind.
"Goodnight then. my lady," Hoid said. following the train of beggars who
slowly climbed the stairs of Elantris's wall.
Sarene nodded to Ashe. "Go tell them that a shipment is coming, Ashe." "Yes,
my lady." Ashe said with a bob. and hovered away to follow Hoid's beggars.
Pulling her shawl close, Sarene climbed into her carriage and ordered the
coachman home. Hopefully, Galladon and Karata would understand why she had
sent crates full of swords and bows. Raoden's apprehensive warning earlier in
the day had disturbed Sarene immensely. She kept worrying about New Elantris
and its bright. accepting people. and so she had finally decided to do
something.
Sarene sighed as the carriage rolled down the quiet street. The weapons
probably wouldn't help much; the people of New Elantris were not soldiers. But
it had been something she could do.
The carriage pulled to a sudden stop. Sarene frowned, opening her mouth to
call out a question to the coachman. Then she paused. Now that the rumbling of
the coach had ceased, she could hear something. Something that sounded faintly

like ... screams. She smelled the smoke a second later. Sarene pulled back the
carriage curtain, poking her head out the window. She found a scene as if from
hell itself.
The carriage stood at an intersection. Three streets were calm, but the one
directly before her blazed red. Fires billowed from homes, and corpses slumped
on the cobblestones. Men and women ran screaming through the streets: others
simply stood in dazed shock. Among them stalked shirtless warriors, their skin
glistening with sweat in the firelight.
It was a slaughter. The strange warriors killed with dispassion, cutting down
man, woman. and child alike with casual swipes of their swords. Sarene watched
for a stunned moment before screaming at the coachman to turn them around. The
man shook himself from his stupor, whipping at the horses to turn.
Sarene's yell died in her throat as one of the shirtless warriors noticed the
carriage. The soldier dashed toward them as the carriage began to turn. Sarene
yelled a warning to the coachman too late. The strange warrior leapt. sailing
an incredible distance to land on the carriage horse's back. The soldier
crouched lithely upon the beast's flesh, and for the first time Sarene could
see the inhuman twisting of his body, the chilling fire in his eyes.
Another short hop took the soldier to the top of the carriage. The vehicle
rocked slightly, and the coachman screamed.
Sarene threw open her door and stumbled out. She scrambled across the
cobblestones, shoes thrown from her feet in haste. Just up the street, away
from the fires. lay Kiin's house. If she could only
The coachman's body slammed into a building beside her, then slumped to the
ground. Sarene screamed, lurching back, nearly tripping. To the side. the
demonic creature was a dark silhouette in the firelight as he dropped from the
carriage top, prowling slowly along the street toward her. Though his motions
seemed casual, he moved with a lithe alertness. Sarene could see the unnatural
shadows and pockets beneath his skin, as if his skeleton had been twisted and
carved.
Pushing down another scream, Sarene scrambled away, running up the hill toward
her uncle's house. Not fast enough. Catching her would barely be a game for
this monster she could hear his footsteps behind. Approaching. Faster and
faster. She could see the lights up ahead, but
Something grabbed her ankle. Sarene jerked as the creature yanked with
incredible strength. twisting her leg and spinning her so she smashed to the
ground on her side. Sarene rolled onto her back, gasping at the pain.
The twisted figure loomed above her. She could hear it whispering in a foreign
tongue. Fjordell.
Something dark and massive slammed into the monster, throwing it backward. Two
figures struggled in the darkness. The creature howled, but the newcomer
bellowed louder. Dazed, Sarene pushed herself up, watching the shadowed

forms. An approaching light soon unmasked them. The shirtIess warrior was
expected. The other was not.
"Kiln?"Sarene asked.
Her uncle held an enormous axe. large as a man's chest. He smashed it into the
creature's back as it wiggled across the stones, reaching for its sword. The
creature cursed in pain, though the axe didn't penetrate far. Kiin wrenched
the weapon free, then raised it in a mighty swing and brought it down directly
into the demon's face.
The creature grunted. but did not stop moving. Neither did Kiin. He swung
again and again, hacking at the monster's head with repeated swings, howling
Teoish battle cries in his scratchy voice. Bones crunched, and finally the
creature stopped moving.
Something touched her arm, and Sarene yelped. Lukel, kneeling beside her,
raised his lantern. "Come on!" he urged, grabbing her hand and pulling her to
her feet.
They dashed the short distance to Kiin's mansion, her uncle lumbering behind.
They pushed through the doors. then stumbled into the kitchen, where a
frightened group waited for their return. Daora rushed to her husband as Lukel
slammed the door.
"Lukel, collapse the entryway," Kiin ordered.
Lukel complied, throwing the lever Sarene had always mistaken for a
torch-holder. A second later there was a mighty crash from the entryway, and
dust poured through the kitchen door.
Sarene plopped into a chair, staring at the quiet room. Shuden was there, and
he had managed to find Torena, who sniffled quietly in his arms. Daorn, Kaise,
and Adien huddled in a corner with Lukel's wife. Raoden was not there.
"What ... what are those things?" Sarene asked. looking up at Lukel.
Her cousin shook his head. "I don't know. The attack started just a short time
ago, and we were worried that something had happened to you. We were outside
waiting-it's a good thing Father spotted your coach down at the bottom of the
hill."
Sarene nodded, still a bit numb.
Kiin stood with his wife in one arm, looking down at the bloodied axe in his
other hand. "I swore I would never take up this cursed weapon again," he
whispered.
Daora patted her husband's shoulder. Despite her shock, Sarene realized that
she recognized the axe. It used to hang on the kitchen wall. with other
mementoes of Kiin's travels. Yet he had held the weapon with obvious skill.
The axe wasn't a simple ornament as she had assumed. Looking closely, she
could see nicks and scratches on its blade. Etched into the steel was a
heraldic Aon—Aon Reo. The character meant "punishment."

"Why would a merchant need to know how to use one of those?" Sarene asked,
almost to herself.
Kiin shook his head. "A merchant wouldn't."
Sarene knew of only one person who had used Aon Reo, though he was more a myth
than a man. "They called him Dreok." she whispered. "The pirate Crushth roar."
"That was always a mistake," Kiin said in his raspy voice. "The true name was
Dreok Crushedthr oat."
"He tried to steal the throne of Teod from my father," Sarene said, looking up
into Kiin's eyes.
"No," Kiin said, turning away. "Dreok wanted what belonged to him. He tried to
take back the throne that his younger brother, Eventeo, stole—stole right from
under Dreok's nose while he foolishly wasted his life on pleasure trips."
DI LAF strode into the chapel, his face bright with satisfaction. One of his
monks dropped an unconscious Raoden next to the far wall.
"This, my dear Hrathen," Dilaf said, "is how you deal with heretics."
Appalled, Hrathen turned away from the window. "You are massacring the entire
town, Dilaf! What is the point? Where is the glory for Jaddeth in this?"
"Do not question me!" Dilaf screamed. his eyes blazing. His raging zeal had
finally been released.
Hrathen turned away. Of all the titles in the hierarchy of the Derethi Church,
only two outranked gyorn: Wyrn, and gragdet—leader of a monastery. The
gragdets were usually discounted, for they generally had little to do with the
world outside their monasteries. Apparently that had changed.
Hrathen ran his eyes over Dilaf 's bare chest, seeing the twisted patterns
that had always been hiding beneath the arteth's robes. Hrathen's stomach
turned at the lines and curves that ran like varicose veins beneath the man's
skin. It was bone, Hrathen knew—hard, unyielding bone. Dilaf wasn't just a
monk, and he wasn't just a gragdet; he was monk and gragdet of the most
infamous monastery in Fjorden. Dakhor. The Order of Bone.
The prayers and incantations used to create Dakhor monks were secret; even the
gyorns didn't know them. A few months after a boy was initiated into the
Dakhor order, his bones started to grow and twist, adopting strange patterns
like those visible beneath Dilaf 's skin. Somehow, each of those patterns gave
its bearer abilities, such as heightened speed and strength.
Horrible images washed through Hrathen's mind. Images of priests chanting over
him: memories of an awesome pain rising within, the pain of his bones
reshaping. It had been too much—the darkness, the screams, the torment.
Hrathen had left after just a few months to join a different monastery.

He had not left behind the nightmares or memories, however. One did not easily
forget Dakhor.
"So you were a Fjordell all this time?" Hrathen whispered.
"You never suspected, did you?" Mal asked with a smile. "You should have
realized. It is far easier to imitate an Arelene speaking Fjordell than it is
for an actual man of Arelon to learn the Holy Language so perfectly."
Hrathen bowed his head. His duty was clean Dilaf was his superior. He didn't
know how long Dilaf had been in Arelon—the Dakhor lived unusually long
lives—but it was obvious that Dilaf had been planning Kae's destruction for a
very long time.
"Oh, Hrathen," Dilaf said with a laugh. "You never did understand your place,
did you? Wyrn didn't send you to convert Arelon."
Hrathen looked up with surprise. He had a letter from Wyrn that said
otherwise.
"Yes, I know of your orders. Gyorn," Dilaf said. "Reread that letter sometime.
Wyrn didn't send you to Arelon to convert, he sent you to inform the people of
their impending destruction. You were a distraction, something for people like
Eventeo to focus their attention on while I prepared for the city's invasion.
You did your job perfectly."
"Distraction . . . ?" Hrathen asked. "But the people . .."
"Were never to be saved, Hrathen." Dilaf said. "Wyrn always intended to
destroy Arelon. He needs such a victory to insure his grip on the other
countries—despite your efforts. our control of Duladel is tenuous. The world
needs to know what happens to those who blaspheme against Jaddeth."
"These people don't blaspheme." Hrathen said, feeling his anger rise. "They
don't even know Jaddeth! How can we expect them to be righteous if we don't
give them a chance to convert!"
Dilaf's hand shot out. slapping Hrathen across the face. Hrathen stumbled
back, cheek flaring with pain from the blow—delivered by an unnaturally strong
hand, hardened by extra bones.
"You forget to whom you speak, Gyorn," Dilaf snapped. "This people is unholy.
Only Arelenes and Teos can become Elantrians. If we destroy them, then we end
the heresy of Elantris forever!"
Hrathen ignored his throbbing cheek. With growing numbness, he finally
realized how deeply Di!af's hatred went. "You will slaughter them all? You
would murder an entire nation of people?"
"It is the only way to be certain," Dilaf said, smiling.

CHAPTER 59
RAODEN awoke to new pains. The sharpest was at the back of his head,
but there were others—scratches, bruises, and cuts across his entire body.
For a moment it was almost too much. Each wound stung sharply, never
deadening, never weakening. Fortunately, he had spent weeks dealing with the
Dot's all-powerful attacks. Compared to those crushing monuments of agony, the
regular pains of his body—no matter how severe—seemed weaker. Ironically. the
very force that had nearly destroyed him now allowed him to keep insanity at
bay.
Though dazed, he could feel himself being picked up and thrown onto something
hard-a saddle. He lost track of time as the horse cantered, and he was forced
to struggle against the darkness of insensibility. There were voices around
him, but they spoke in Fjordell, which he didn't understand.
The horse stopped. Raoden opened his eyes with a groan as hands pulled him off
the beast and set him on the ground.
"Wake up, Elantrian," said a voice speaking Aonic.
Raoden raised his head, blinking confused eyes. It was still night, and he
could smell the thick scent of smoke. They were at the base of a hill—Kiin's
hill. The blockish house stood only a few yards away, but he could barely make
it out. His vision swam, everything blurry.
Merciful Domi, he thought. let Sarene be safe.
"I know you can hear me. Princess," Dilaf yelled. "Look who I have here. Let
us make a deal."
"No!" Raoden tried to say, but it came out as a croak. The blow to his head
had done something to his brain. He could barely keep himself upright, let
alone speak. The worst part was, he knew it would never improve.
He could not heal—now that the dizziness had come upon him, it would never
leave.
"YOU realize that there is no dealing with him," Kiin said quietly. They
watched Dilaf and the staggering Raoden through one of Kiin's slitlike
windows.

Sarene nodded quietly, feeling chill. Raoden wasn't doing well; he wobbled as
he stood, looking disoriented in the firelight. "Merciful Domi. What have they
done to him?"
"Don't look. 'Ene," Kiin said, turning away from the window. His enormous
axe—the axe of Dreok the Pirate—stood ready in the corner.
"I can't look away," Sarene whispered. "I have to at least speak to him-to say
goodbye."
Kiin sighed, then nodded. "All right. Let's go to the roof. At the first sign
of bows, however, we're locking ourselves back in."
Sarene nodded solemnly, and the two cIimbed the steps up onto the roof. She
approached the roof's ledge, looking down at Dilaf and Raoden. If she could
convince the priest to take her in exchange for Raoden, she would do it.
However, she suspected that Dilaf would demand the entire household, and
Sarene could never agree to such a thing. Daora and the children huddled in
the basement under Lukel's care. Sarene would not betray them, no matter whom
Dilaf held hostage.
She opened her mouth to speak, knowing that her words would probably be the
last Raoden ever heard.
"GO!" Dilaf ordered.
Hrathen stood by, a dismayed observer, as Sarene fell into Dilaf 's trap. The
Dakhor monks sprang forward. jumping from hiding places along the base of the
building. They leaped to the walls, their feet seeming to stick as they found
tiny footholds between bricks and arrow slits. Several monks. already in place
hanging from the back of the rooftop, swung up and cut off Sarene's escape.
Hrathen could hear startled yells as Sarene and her companion realized their
predicament. It was too late. A few moments later, a Dakhor jumped down from
the rooftop, a struggling princess in his arms.
"Hrathen, get me your Seon," Dilaf ordered.
Hrathen complied, opening the metal box and letting the ball of light float
free. Hrathen hadn't bothered asking how the monk knew about the Seon. The
Dakhor were Wyrn's favored warriors: their leader would be privy to many of
his secrets.
"Seon, I wish to speak with King Eventeo," Dilaf said.
The Seon complied. Soon its light molded into the head of an overweight man
with a proud face.
"I do not know you," Eventeo said. "Who calls for me in the middle of the
night?"
"I am the man who has your daughter. King," Dilaf said, prodding Sarene in the
side. The princess yelped despite herself.

Eventeo's head turned, as if searching out the source of the sound, though he
would only be able to see Dilaf 's face. "Who are you?"
"I am Dilaf. Gragdet of the Dakhor Monastery."
"Merciful Domi . . ." Eventeo whispered.
Dilaf's eyes thinned, and he smiled evilly. "I thought you had converted,
Eventeo. No matter. Wake your soldiers and gather them on their ships. I will
arrive in Teod one hour from now, and if they are not ready to present a
formal surrender, I will kill the girl."
"Father no!" Sarene yelled. "He can't be trusted!"
"Sarene?" Eventeo asked anxiously.
"One hour, Eventeo," Dilaf said. Then he swiped his hand in the air
dismissively. The king's confused face melted back into the smooth spherical
shape of a Seon.
"You will kill the Teos as well," Hrathen said in Fjordell.
"No," Dilaf said. "Others will perform those executions. I will just kill
their king, then burn Teod's ships with the sailors still on them. Once the
armada is gone, Wyrn can land his armies on Teod's shore and use the country
as a battleground to prove his might."
"It is unnecessary you know," Hrathen said, feeling sick. "I had him-Eventeo
was mine."
"He might have converted, Hrathen," Dilaf said, "but you are simpleminded if
you think he would have allowed our troops to land on his soil."
"You are a monster," Hrathen whispered. "You will slaughter two kingdoms to
feed your paranoia. What happened to make you hate Elantris so much?"
"Enough!" Dilaf shouted. "Do not think I won't hesitate to kill you. Gyorn.
The Dakhor are outside the law!" The monk stared at Hrathen with menacing
eyes. then slowly calmed, breathing deeply as he noticed his captives again.
The still disoriented Raoden was stumbling toward his wife, who was being held
by a quiet Dakhor. The prince reached out to her, his arm wavering.
"Oh," Dilaf said, unsheathing his sword. "I forgot about you." He smiled
wickedly as he rammed the blade through Raoden's stomach.
THE pain washed over Raoden like a sudden wave of light. He hadn't even seen
the thrust coming.
He felt it, however. Groaning, he stumbled to his knees. The agony was
unimaginable, even for one whose pain had been building steadily for two
months. He held his stomach with trembling hands. He could feel the Dor. It
felt . . . close.
It was too much. The woman he loved was in danger, and he could do nothing.
The pain, the Dor, his failure ... The soul that was Raoden crumpled beneath
their combined weight, giving a final sigh of resignation.

After that there was no longer pain, for there was no Ionger seIf. There was
nothing.
SAR E NE screamed as Raoden fell to the ground. She could see the suffering in
his face, and she felt the sword as if it had been run through her own
stomach. She shuddered, weeping as Raoden struggled for a moment, his legs
working. Then he just ... stopped.
"Failed . ." Raoden whispered, his lips forming a Hoed mantra. "Failed my
love. Failed...."
"Bring her," Dilaf said. The words, spoken in Fjordell, barely registered in
Sarene's mind.
"And the others?" a monk asked.
"Gather them with the rest of the people in this accused town and take them
into Elantris," Dilaf said. "You will find the Elantrians near the center of
the city. in a place that seems more cleanly."
"We found them, my gragdet." the monk said. "Our men have already attacked."
"Ah, good," Dilaf said with a hiss of pleasure. "Make certain you gather their
bodies—Elantrians do not die as easily as normal men, and we do not want to
let any of them escape."
"Yes, my gragdet."
"When you have them all in one place, bodies, Elantrians, and future
Elantrians. say the purification rites. Then burn them all."
"Yes, my gragdet." the warrior said. bowing his head.
"Come. Hrathen." Dilaf said. "You will accompany me to Teod."
Sarene fell into a disbelieving stupor as they pulled her away, watching
Rao-den until his slumped form was no longer visible in the night.

CHAPTER 60
GALLAD0N hid in the shadows, careful not to move until the gyorn and his
strange, bare-chested companions were gone. Then, motioning to Karata, he
crept up to Raoden's body. "Sule?" Raoden did not move.
"Doloken, Sule!" Galladon said, choked with emotion. 'Don't do this to me!" A
noise came from Raoden's mouth, and Galladon leaned in eagerly, listening.
"Failed . . ." Raoden whispered. "Failed my love . . ." The mantra of the
fallen: Raoden had joined the Hoed.
Galladon sank down on the hard cobblestones. his body shaking as he wept
tearlessly. The last hour had been a horror. Galladon and Karata had been at
the library, planning how to lead the people away from Elantris. They had
heard the screams even at that distance, but by the time they had arrived at
New Elantris. no one but Hoed remained. As far as he knew, he and Karata were
the last two conscious Elantrians.
Karata placed a hand on his shoulder. "Galladon, we should go. This place is
not safe."
"No," Galladon said, climbing to his feet. "I have a promise to keep." He
looked up at the mountain slope just outside of Kae, a slope that held a
special pool of water. Then, reaching down. he tied his jacket around Raoden
to cover the wound, and hefted his friend up onto his shoulder.
"Raoden made me vow to give him peace," Galladon said. "After I see to him.
intend to do the same for myself. We are the last, Karata: there is no more
room for us in this world."
The woman nodded, moving to take part of Raoden's burden on herself. Together.
the two of them began the hike that would end in oblivion.
LUK EL didn't struggle: there was little use in it. His father, however, was a
different story. It took three Fjordells to bind Kiin and throw him on a
horse—and even then. the large man managed to get off the odd kick at a
passing head.

Eventually, one of the soldiers thought to smash him on the back of the skull
with a rock, and Kiin fell still.
Lukel held his mother and wife close as the warriors herded them toward
Elantris. There was a long line of people—nobles gathered from the eorners of
Kae, their clothing and faces ragged. Soldiers kept a watchful eye on the
captives—as if any of them had the courage or will left to try escaping. Most
of the people didn't even look up as they were pushed through the streets.
Kaise and Daorn clung to Lukel, wide-eyed and frightened. Lukel pitied them
the most. for their youth. Adien walked along behind him, apparently
unconcerned. He slowly counted the steps as he moved. "Three hundred
fifty-seven, three hundred fifty-eight, three hundred fifty-nine . . ."
Lukel knew that they were marching to their own execution. He saw the bodies
that lined the streets, and he understood that these men were not intent on
domination. They were here to commit a massacre, and no massacre would be
complete with victims left alive.
He considered fighting back, grabbing a sword in some hopeless feat of
heroism. But in the end. he simply plodded along with the others. He knew that
he was going to die, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. He
was no warrior. The best he could hope for was a quick end.
H RATHEN stood next to Dilaf, remaining perfectly still as instructed. They
stood in a circle—fifty Dakhor, Sarene, and Hrathen, with one solitary monk in
the center. The Dakhor raised their hands, and the men on either side of
Hrathen placed a hand on his shoulder. His heart began to pound as the monks
began E0 glow. the bone inscriptions beneath their skin shining. There was a
jarring sensation, and Kae vanished around them.
They reappeared in an unfamiliar city. The houses lining the nearby street
were tall and connected, rather than separated and squat like those of Kae.
They had arrived in Teod.
The group still stood in a circle, but Hrathen did not fail to notice that the
man in the center was now missing. Hrathen shuddered, images from his youth
returning. The monk in the center had been fuel, his flesh and soul burned
away—a sacrifice in return for the instantaneous transportation to Teod.
Dilaf stepped forward, leading his men up the street. As far as Hrathen could
tell, Dilaf had brought the bulk of his monks with him, leaving Arelon in the
care of regular Fjordell soldiers and a few Dakhor overseers. Arelon and
Elantris had been defeated: the next battle was Teod. Hrathen could tell from
Dilaf's eyes that the monk would not be satisfied until every person of Aonic
descent was dead.
Dilaf chose a building with a flat roof and motioned for his men to climb. It
was easy for them. their enhanced strength and agility helping them leap and

scramble up surfaces no normal man could possibly scale. Hrathen felt himself
lifted and thrown over a monk's shoulder. and the ground fell away as he was
carted up the side of the wall—carried without difficulty despite his plate
armor. The Dakhor were unnatural monstrosities, but one couldn't help being
awed at their power.
The monk dropped Hrathen unceremoniously on the roof, his armor clanking
against the stone. As Hrathen pulled himself to his feet, his eyes found those
of the princess. Sarene's face was a tempest of hatred. She blamed him, of
course. She didn't realize that, in a way, Hrathen was as much a prisoner as
she.
Dilaf stood at the edge of the roof, scanning the city. A fleet of ships was
pulling into Teod's enormous bay.
-We are early." Dilaf said, squatting down. "We will wait."
GALLA D 0 N could almost imagine that the city was peaceful. He stood on a
mountainside boulder. watching the morning's light creep across Kae—as if an
invisible hand were pulling back a dark shade. He could almost convince
himself that the rising smoke was coming from chimneys, not the ashen wrecks
of buildings. He could nearly believe that the specks lining the streets were
not bodies, but bushes or boxes, the crimson blood on the streets a trick of
the early sunlight.
Galladon turned away from the city. Kae might he peaceful. but it was the
peace of death, not of serenity. Dreaming otherwise did little good. Perhaps
if he had been less inclined to delusion, he wouldn't have let Raoden pull him
out of Elantris's gutters. He wouldn't have allowed one man's simplistic
optimism to cloud his mind: he wouldn't have begun to believe that life in
Elantris could be anything but pain. He wouldn't have dared to hope.
Unfortunately, he had listened. Like a rulo, he had allowed himself to give in
to Raoden's dreams. Once, he'd thought that he could no longer feel hope; he'd
chased it far away, wary of its fickle tricks. He should have left it there.
Without hope, he wouldn't have to worry about disappointment.
"Doloken, sule," Galladon mumbled, looking down at the mindless Raoden, you
certainly made a mess of me."
The worst of it was, he still hoped. The light that Raoden had kindled still
flickered inside Galladon's chest, no matter how hard he tried to stomp it
out. The images of New Elantris's destruction were still crisp in his memory.
Mareshe, an enormous, ragged hole torn in his chest. The quiet craftsman Taan,
his face crushed beneath a large stone, but his fingers still twitching. The
old Kahar—who had cleaned all of New Elantris practically by himself—missing
an arm and both legs.
Galladon had stood amid the carnage, screaming at Raoden for abandoning them,
for leaving them behind. Their prince had betrayed them for Sarene.
And still, he hoped.

It was like a small rodent, cowering in the corner of his soul, frightened by
the anger, the rage, and the despair. Yet every time he tried to grab hold of
it. the hope slipped to another part of his heart. It was what had spurred him
to leave the dead behind, to crawl from Elantris in search of Raoden,
believing for some irrational reason that the prince could still fix
everything.
You are the fog Galladon. Not Raoden, Galladon told himself bitterly. He
couldn't help being what he was. You, however, know better.
Yet, he hoped. A part of Galladon still believed that Raoden would somehow
make things better. This was the curse his friend had set upon him, the wicked
seed of optimism that refused to be uprooted. Galladon still had hope. and he
probably would until the moment he gave himself up to the pool.
Silently, Galladon nodded to Karata, and they picked Raoden up, ready to trek
the last short distance to the pond. In few minutes he would be rid of both
hope and despair.
ELANTRIS was dark, even though dawn was breaking. The tall walls made a
shadow, keeping the sunlight out, expanding the night for a few moments. It
was here, at one side of the broad entry plaza, that the soldiers deposited
Lukel and the other nobles. Another group of Fjordells was building an
enormous pile of wood. hauling scraps of buildings and furniture into the
city.
Surprisingly, there were very few of the strange demon warriors: only three
directed the work. The rest of the men were regular soldiers, their armor
covered with red surcoats marking them as Derethi monks. The worked quickly,
keeping their eyes off of their prisoners, apparently trying not to think too
hard about what the wood would be used for.
Lukel tried not to think about that either.
Jalla pulled close to him, her body trembling with fright. Lukel had tried to
convince her to plead for freedom because of her Svordish blood, but she would
not go. She was so quiet and unassertive that some mistook her for weak. but
if they could have seen her as she was, voluntarily staying with her husband
though it meant eertain death, they would have realized their mistake. Of all
the deals, trades. and recognitions Lukel had won, the prize of Jalla's heart
was by far the most valuable.
His family pulled close to him, Daora and the children having no place to turn
now that Kiin was unconscious. Only Adien stood apart, staring at the pile of
lumber. He kept mumbling some number to himself.
Lukel searched through the crowd of nobles, trying to smile and give
encouragement. though he himself felt little confidence. Elantris would be
their grave. As he looked. Lukel noticed a figure standing near the back of
the group, hidden by bodies. He was moving slowly, his hands waving in front
of himself.

Shuden? Lukel thought. The Jindo's eyes were closed, his hands moving fluidly
in some sort of pattern. Lukel watched his friend with confusion, wondering if
the Jindo's mind had snapped: then he remembered the strange dance that Shuden
had done that first day in Sarenens fencing class. ChayShan.
Shuden moved his hands slowly, giving only a bare hint of the fury that was to
come. Lukel watched with growing determination. somehow understanding. Shuden
was no warrior. He practiced his dance for exercise, not for combat. However,
he was not going to let the ones he loved be murdered without some sort of
fight. He would rather die struggling than sit and wait, hoping that fate
would send them a miracle.
Lukel took a breath, feeling ashamed. He searched around him, his eyes finding
a table leg that one of the soldiers had dropped nearby. When the time came.
Shuden would not fight alone.
RAO DEN floated, senseless and unaware. Time meant nothing to him-he was time.
It was his essence. Occasionally he would bob toward the surface of what he
had once called consciousness, but as he approached he would feel pain, and
back away. The agony was like a lake's surface: if he broke through it. the
pain would return and envelop him.
Those times he got close to the surface of pain. however, he thought he saw
images. Visions chat might have been real, but were probably just reflections
of his memory. He saw Galladon's face, concerned and angry at the same time.
He saw Karata, her eyes heavy with despair. He saw a mountain landscape,
covered with scrub and rocks.
It was all immaterial to him.
"I often wish that they'd just let her die."
Hrathen looked up. Dilaf's voice was introspective, as if he were talking to
himself. However, the priest's eyes were focused on Hrathen.
"What?" Hrathen asked hesitantly.
-If only they had let her die ..." Dilaf trailed off. He sat at the edge of
the rooftop, watching the ships gather below, his face reminiscent. His
emotions had always been unstable. No man could keep Dilaf's level of ardor
burning for long without doing emotional damage to his mind. A few more years.
and Dilaf would probably be completely insane.
"I was already fifty years old back then, Hrathen," Dilaf said. "Did you know
that? I have lived nearly seventy years, though my body doesn't look older
than twenty. She thought I was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, even
though my body had been twisted and destroyed to fit the mold of an Arelene."

ELANTRIS 459
Hrathen remained quiet. He had heard of such things. that the incantations of
Dakhor could actually change the way a person looked. The process had
undoubtedly been very painful.
"When she fell sick, I took her to Elantris." Dilaf mumbled, his legs pulled
tightly against his chest. "I knew it was pagan, I knew it was blasphemous,
but even forty years as a Dakhor wasn't enough to keep me away ... not when I
thought Elantris could save her. Elantris can heal, they said, while Dakhor
cannot. And I took her."
The monk was no longer Iooking at Hrathen. His eyes were unfocused. "They
changed her," he whispered. "They said the spell went wrong, but I know the
truth. They knew me, and they hated me. Why, then, did they have to put their
curse on Seala? Her skin turned black, her hair fell out, and she began to
die. She screamed at night, yelling that the pain was eating her from the
inside. Eventually she threw herself off the city wall."
Dilaf's voice turned reverently mournful. "I found her at the bottom. still
alive. Still alive, despite the fall. And I burned her. She never stopped
screaming. She screams still. I can hear her. She will scream until Elantris
is gone."
THEY reached the ledge, behind which lay the pool, and Galladon laid Raoden
down. The prince slumped idly against the stone. his head hanging slightly
over the side of the cliff, his unfocused eyes staring out over the city of
Kae. Galladon leaned back against the rock face, next to the door of the
tunnel that led down to Elantris. Karata slumped next to him in exhaustion.
They would wait a brief moment, then find oblivion.
ONCE the wood was gathered. the soldiers began a new pile—this one of bodies.
The soldiers went searching through the city, seeking the corpses of
Elantrians who had been slain. Lukel realized something as he watched the pile
grow. They weren't all dead. In fact, most of them weren't.
Most of them had wounds so grievous that it sickened Lukel to look at them,
yet their arms and legs twitched, their lips moving. Elantrians, Lukel thought
with amazement, the dead whose minds continue to live.
The pile of bodies grew higher. There were hundreds of them, all of the
Elantrians that had been collecting in the city for ten years. None of them
resisted; they simply allowed themselves to be heaped, their eyes uncaring,
until the pile of bodies was larger than the pile of wood.
"Twenty-seven steps to the bodies." Adien whispered suddenly, walking away
from the crowd of nobles. Lukel reached for his brother, but it was too late.
A soldier yelled for Adien to get back with the others. Adien didn't respond.

Angry, the soldier slashed at Adien with a sword, leaving a large gash in his
chest. Adien stumbled, but kept walking. No blood came from the wound. The
soldier's eyes opened wide. and he jumped back, making a ward against evil.
Adien approached the pile of Elantrians and joined its ranks, flopping down
among them and then lying still.
Adien's secret of five years had finally been revealed. He had joined his
people.
"I remember you, Hrathen." Dilaf was smiling now, his grin wicked and demonic.
"I remember you as a boy, when you came to us. It was just before I left for
Arelon. You were frightened then. as you are frightened now. You ran from us,
and I watched you go with satisfaction. You were never meant to be Dakhor—you
are far too weak."
Hrathen felt chilled. "You were there?"
"I was gragdet by then, Hrathen," Dilaf said. "Do you remember me?"
Then, looking into the man's eyes, Hrathen had a flash of remembrance. He
remembered evil eyes in the body of a tall, unmerciful man. He remembered
chants. He remembered fires. He remembered screams-his screams-and a face
hanging above him. They were the same eyes.
"You!" Hrathen said with a gasp.
"You remember."
"I remember," Hrathen said with a dull chill. "You were the one that convinced
me to leave. In my third month, you demanded that one of your monks use his
magic and send you to Wyrn's palace. The monk complied, giving up his life to
transport you a distance that you eould have walked in fifteen minutes."
"Absolute obedience is required. Hrathen," Dilaf whispered. "Occasional tests
and examples bring loyalty from the rest." Then. pausing, he looked out over
the bay. The armada was docked, waiting as per Dilaf's order. Hrathen scanned
the horizon, and he could see several dark specks-the tips of masts. Wyrn's
army was coming.
"Come," Dilaf ordered, rising to his feet. "We have been successful; the
Teoish armada has docked. They will not be able to stop our fleet from
landing. I have only one duty remaining—the death of King Eventeo."
A vision sprung into Raoden's impassive mind. He tried to ignore it. Yet, for
some reason, it refused to leave. He saw it through the shimmering surface of
his pain-a simple picture.
It was Aon Rao. A large square with four circles around it, lines connecting
them to the center. It was a widely used Aon—especially among the Korathi—for
its meaning. Spirit. Soul.

Floating in the white eternity, Raoden's mind tried to discard the image of
Aon Rao. It was something from a previous existence, unimportant and
forgotten. He didn't need it any longer. Yet, even as he strove to remove the
image, another sprung up in its place.
Elantris. Four walls forming a square. The four outer cities surrounding it,
their borders circles. A straight road leading from each city to Elantris.
Mercifid Domi!
THE soldiers opened several barrels of oil, and Lukel watched with revulsion
as they began pouring them over the heap of bodies. Three shirtless warriors
stood at the side, singing some sort of chant in a foreign language that
sounded too harsh and unfamiliar to be Fjordell. We will be next, Lukel
realized.
"Don't look." Lukel ordered his family, turning away as the soldiers prepared
Elantris for immolation.
KING Eventeo stood in the distance, a small honor guard surrounding him. He
bowed his head as Dilaf approached. The monk smiled, preparing his knife.
Eventeo though he was presenting his country for surrender—he didn't realize
that he was offering it up for a sacrifice.
Hrathen walked beside Dilaf, thinking about necessity and duty. Men would die,
true, but their loss would not be meaningless. The entire Fjordell Empire
would grow stronger for the victory over Teod. The hearts of men would
increase in faith. It was the same thing Hrathen himself had done in Arelon.
He had tried to convert the people for political reasons. using politics and
popularity. He had bribed Telrii to convert, giving no heed to saving the
man's soul. It was the same thing. What was a nation of unbelievers when
compared with all of Shu-Dereth?
Yet, even as he rationalized, his stomach grew sick.
1 was sent to save these people, not to slaughter them!
Dilaf held Princess Sarene by the neck. her mouth gagged. Eventeo looked up
and smiled reassuringly as they approached. He could not see the knife in
Dilaf's hand.
"I have waited for this," Dilaf whispered softly. At first, Hrathen thought
the priest referred to the destruction of Teod. But Dilaf wasn't looking at
the king. He was looking at Sarene, the blade of his knife pressed into her
back.
"You, Princess. are a disease," Dilaf whispered in Sarene's ear, his voice
barely audible to Hrathen. "Before you came to Kae, even the Arelenes hated
Elantris. You are the reason they forgot that loathing. You associated with
the unholy ones. and you even descended to their level. You are worse than
they are—you are one who is not cursed, but seeks to be cursed. I considered
killing your father first and

making you watch. but now I realize it will be much worse the other way
around. Think of old Eventeo watching you die, Princess. Ponder that image as
I send you to Jaddeth's eternal pits of torment."
She was crying, the tears staining her gag.
RAODEN struggled toward consciousness. The pain hit him like an enormous block
of stone, halting his progress, his mind recoiling in agony. He threw himseIf
against it. and the torment washed over him. He slowly forced his way through
the resistant surface, coming to a laborious awareness of the world outside
himself.
He wanted to scream, to scream over and over again. The pain was incredible.
However, with the pain, he felt something else. His body. He was moving, being
dragged along the ground. Images washed into his mind as sight returned. He
was being pulled toward something round and blue.
The pool.
NO! he thought desperately. Not yet! I know the answer!
R AODEN screamed suddenly, twitching. Galladon was so surprised that he
dropped the body.
Raoden stumbled forward, trying to get his footing, and fell directly into the
pool.

CHAPTER 61
DILA F reached around the princess to press his dagger against her neck.
Eventeo's eyes opened wide with horror.
Hrathen watched the dagger begin to slice Sarene's skin. He thought of
Fjorden. He thought of the work he had done, the people he had saved. He
thought of a young boy, eager to prove his faith by entering the priesthood.
Unity.
"No!" Spinning, Hrathen drove his fist into Dilaf's face.

Dilaf stumbled for a moment, lowering his weapon in surprise. Then the monk
looked up with rage and plunged the dagger at Hrathen's breast.
The knife slid off Hrathen's armor, scraping ineffectually along the painted
steel. Dilaf regarded the breastplate with stunned eyes. -But, that armor is
just for show...."
"You should know by now. Dilaf," Hrathen said, bringing his armored forearm up
and smashing it into the monk's face. Though the unnatural bone had resisted
Hrathen's fist. it crunched with a satisfying sound beneath steel. "Nothing I
do is just for show."
Dilaf fell, and Hrathen pulled the monk's sword free from its seabbard.
"Launch your ships. Eventeo!" he yelled. "Fjorden's armies come not to
dominate, but to massacre. Move now if you want to save your people!"
"Rag Domi!" Eventeo cursed, yelling for his generals. Then he paused. "My
daughter
"I will help the girl!" Hrathen snapped. "Save your kingdom, you fool!"
Though Dakhor bodies were unnaturally quick, their minds recovered from shock
no more quickly than those of regular men. Their surprise bought Hrathen a few
vital seconds. He brought his sword up, shoving Sarene toward an alleyway and
backing up to block the entrance.
THE water held Raoden in a cool embrace. It was a thing alive: he could hear
it calling in his mind. Come, it said, I give you release. It was a comforting
parent. It wanted to take away his pain and sorrows, just as his mother had
once done.
Come, it pled. You can finally give up.
No. Raoden thought. Not yet.
THE Fjordells finished dousing the Elantrians with oil. then prepared their
torches. During the entire process, Shuden moved his arms in restrained
circular patterns, not inereasing their speed as he had the time at the
fencing class. Lukel began to wonder if Shuden wasn't planning an assault at
all, but simply preparing himself for the inevitable.
Then Shuden burst into motion. The young baron snapped forward. spinning like
a dancer as he brought his fist around. driving it into the chest of a
chanting warrior monk. There was an audible crack, and Shuden spun again,
slapping the monk across the face. The demon's head spun completely around,
his eyes bulging as his reinforced neck snapped.
And Shuden did it all with his eyes closed. Lukel couldn't be certain. but he
thought he saw something else-a slight glow following Shuden's movements in
the dawn shadows.

Yelling a battle cry—more to motivate himself than frighten his foes-Lukel
grabbed the table leg and swung it at a soldier. The wood bounced off the
man's helmet, but the blow was powerful enough to daze him, so Lukel followed
it with a solid blow to the face. The soldier dropped and Lukel grabbed his
weapon.
Now he had a sword. He only wished he knew how to use it.
T I-1E Dakhor were faster, stronger, and tougher, but Hrathen was more
determined. For the first time in years, his heart and his mind agreed. He
felt power—the same strength he had felt that first day when he had arrived in
Arelon, confident in his ability to save its people.
He held them off, though just barely. Hrathen might not have been a Dakhor
monk, but he was a master swordsman. What he lacked in comparative strength
and speed he could compensate for in skill. He swung, thrusting his sword at a
Dakhor chest, slamming it directly in between two bone ridges. The blade slid
past enlarged ribs, piercing the heart. The Dakhor gasped, dropping as Hrathen
whipped his sword free. The monk's companions, however, forced Hrathen to
retreat defensively into the alleyway.
He felt Sarene stumbling behind him, pulling off her gag. "There are coo
many!" she said. "You can't fight them all."
She was right. Fortunately, a wave moved through the crowd of warriors. and
Hrathen heard the sounds of battle coming from the other side. Eventeo's honor
guard had joined the affray.
"Come on," Sarene said. tugging his shoulder. Hrathen risked a glance behind
him. The princess was pointing at a slightly ajar door in the building next to
them. Hrathen nodded, battering away another attack, then turned to run.
R AO D EN burst from the water, gasping reflexively for breath. Galladon and
Karata jumped back in surprise. Raoden felt the cool blue liquid streaming
from his face. It wasn't water, but something else. Something thicker. He paid
it little heed as he crawled from the pool.
"Sule!" Galladon whispered in surprise.
Raoden shook his head, unable to respond. They had expected him to
dissolve—they didn't understand that the pool couldn't take him unless he
wanted it to.
"Come." he finally rasped, stumbling to his feet.
DESPITE Lukel's energetic assault and Shuden's powerful attack, the other
townspeople simply stood and watched in dumb stupefaction. Lukel found himself

desperately fighting three soldiers; the only reason he stayed alive was
because he did more dodging and running than actual attacking. When aid
finally did come. it was given by an odd source: the women.
Several of Sarene's fencers snatched up pieces of wood or fallen swords and
fell in behind Lukel, thrusting with more control and ability than he could
even feign to know. The brunt of their onslaught was pushed forward by
surprise, and for a moment Lukel thought they might actually break free.
Then Shuden fell, crying out as a sword bit into his arm. As soon as the
Jindo's concentration broke. so did his war dance, and a simple club to the
head knocked him from the battle. The old queen, Eshen, fell next, a sword
rammed through her chest. Her horrible scream, and the sight of the blood
streaming down her dress, unnerved the other women. They broke, dropping their
weapons. Lukel took a long gash on the thigh as one of his foes realized he
had no clue how to use his weapon.
Lukel yeIled in pain and fell to the cobblestones. holding his leg. The
soldier didn't even bother to finish him off.
R AO DEN dashed down the side of the mountain at a horrifying pace. The prince
leapt and scrambled, as if he hadn't been practically comatose just a few
minutes earlier. One slip at this pace. one wrong step, and he wouldn't stop
rolling until he hit the foot of the mountain.
"Doloken!" Galladon said, trying his best to keep up. At this rate they would
reach Kae in a matter of minutes.
SA RENE hid beside her unlikely rescuer, holding perfectly still in the
darkness.
Hrathen looked up through the floorboards. He had been the one to spot the
cellar door. pulling it open and shoving her though. Underneath they had found
a terrified family huddled in the blackness. They had all waited quietly,
tense. as the Dakhor moved through the house then left out the front door.
Eventually, Hrathen nodded. "Let's go,' he said. reaching over to lift the
trapdoor.
"Stay down here," Sarene told the family. "Don't come up until you absolutely
have to."
The gyorn's armor clinked as he climbed the steps, then peeked cautiously into
the room. He motioned for Sarene to follow, then moved into the small kitchen
at the back of the house. He began pulling off his armor, dropping its pieces
to the floor. Though he gave no explanation. Sarene understood the action. The
bloodred gyorn's armor was far too distinctive to be worth its protective
value.
As he worked, Sarene was surprised at the apparent weight of the metal.

"You've been walking around all these months in real armor? Wasn't that
difficult?"
"The burden of my calling," Hrathen said. pulling off his final greave. Its
bloodred paint was now scratched and dented. "A calling I no longer deserve."
He dropped it with a clank.
He looked at the greave, then shook his head, pulling off his bulky cotton
underclothing, meant to cushion the armor. He stood bare-chested, wearing only
a pair of thin, knee-length trousers and a long, sleevelike band of cloth
around his right arm.
Why the covered arm? Sarene wondered. Some piece of Derethi priest's garb?
Other questions were more pressing. however.
"Why did you do it. Hrathen?" she asked. "Why turn against your people?"
Hrathen paused. Then he looked away. "Dilaf 's actions are evil." "But your
faith . .
"My faith is in Jaddeth. a God who wants the devotion of men. A massacre does
not serve Him."
"Wyrn seems to think differently."
Hrathen did not respond, instead selecting a cloak from a nearby chest. He
handed it to her, then took another for himself. "Let us go."
R AO D EN 'S feet were so covered with bumps, lacerations, and scrapes that he
no longer related to them as pieces of flesh. They were simply lumps of pain
burning at the end of his legs.
But still he ran on. He knew that if he stopped, the pain would claim him once
again. He wasn't truly free-his mind was on loan. returned from the void to
perform a single task. When he was finished, the white nothingness would suck
him down into its oblivion again.
He stumbled toward the city of Kae, feeling as much as seeing his way.
LUK EL lay dazed as Jalla pulled him back toward the mass of terrified
townspeople. His leg throbbed, and he could feel his body weakening as blood
spilled from the long gash. His wife bound it as best she could, but Lukel
knew that the action was pointless. Even if she did manage to stop the
bleeding, the soldiers were only going to kill them in a few moments anyway.
He watched in despair as one of the bare-chested warriors tossed a torch onto
the pile of Elantrians. The oil-soaked bodies burst into flames.
The demon-man nodded to several soldiers, who pulled out their weapons and
grimly advanced on the huddled townspeople.

"WHAT is he doing?" Karata demanded as they reached the bottom of the slope.
Raoden was still ahead of them, running in an unsteady gait toward Kae's short
border wall.
"I don't know," Galladon said. Ahead, Raoden grabbed a long stick from the
ground, then he started to run, dragging the length of wood behind him.
What are you up to, sule?Galladon wondered. Yet he could feel stubborn hope
rising again. "Whatever it is, Karata, it is important. We must see that he
finishes." He ran after Raoden, following the prince along his path.
After a few minutes, Karata pointed ahead of them. -There!" A squad of six
Fjordell guards, probably searching the city for stragglers, walked along the
inside of Kae's border wall. The lead soldier noticed Raoden and raised a
hand.
"Come on," Galladon said, dashing after Raoden with sudden strength. "No
matter what else happens, Karata, don't let them stop him!"
R AO DEN barely heard the men approaching. and he only briefly recognized
Galladon and Karata running up behind him, desperately throwing themselves at
the soldiers. His friends were unarmed; a voice in the back of his head warned
that they would not be able to win him much time.
Raoden continued to run, the stick held in rigid fingers. He wasn't sure how
he knew he was in the right place, but he did. He felt it.
Only a little farther. Only a little farther.
A hand grabbed him; a voice yelled at him in Fjordell. Raoden tripped, falling
to the ground—but he kept the stick steady, not letting it slip even an inch.
A moment later there was a grunt, and the hand released him.
Only a little farther!
Men battled around him, Galladon and Karata keeping the soldiers' attention.
Raoden let out a primal sob of frustration, crawling like a child as he dug
his line in the ground. Boots slammed into the earth next to Raoden's hand,
coming within inches of crushing his fingers. Still he kept moving.
He looked up as he neared the end. A soldier finished the swing that separated
Karata's beleaguered head from her body. Galladon fell with a pair of swords
in his stomach. A soldier pointed at Raoden.
Raoden gritted his teeth. and finished his line in the dirt.
Galladon's large bulk crashed to the ground. Karata's head knocked against the
short stone wall. The soldier took a step.
Light exploded from the ground.
It burst from the dirt like a silver river, spraying into the air along the
line
Raoden had drawn. The light enveloped him—but it was more than just light. It
was essential purity. Power refined. The Dor. It washed over him, covering him
like a warm liquid.
And for the first time in two months, the pain went away.
THE light continued along Raoden's line, which connected to Kae's short border
wall. It followed the wall, spurting from the ground. continuing in a circle
until it completely surrounded Kae. It didn't stop. The power shot up the
short road between Kae and Elantris, spreading to coat the great city's wall
as well. From Elantris it moved to the other three outer cities, their rubble
all but forgotten in the ten years since the Reod. Soon all five cities were
outlined with light—five resplendent pillars of energy.
The city complex was an enormous Aon—a focus for Elantrian power. All it had
needed was the Chasm line to make it begin working again.
One square. four circles. Aon Rao. The Spirit of Elantris.
RAO DEN stood in the torrent of light, his clothing fluttering in its unique
power. He felt his strength return, his pains evaporate like unimportant
memories, and his wounds heal. He didn't need to look to know that soft white
hair had grown from his scalp, that his skin had discarded its sickly taint in
favor of a delicate silver sheen.
Then he experienced the most joyful event of all. Like a thundering drum, his
heart began to beat in his chest. The Shaod, the Transformation, had finally
completed its work.
With a sigh of regret, Raoden stepped from the light, emerging into the world
as a metamorphosed creature. Galladon, stunned, rose from the ground a few
feet away, his skin a dark metallic silver.
The terrified soldiers stumbled away. Several made wards against evil, calling
upon their god.
' You have one hour," Raoden said, raising a gIowing finger toward the docks.
"Go."
LUK EL clutched his wife. watching the fire consume its living fuel. He
whispered his love to her as the soldiers advanced to do their grisly work.
Father Omin whispered behind Lukel, offering a quiet prayer to Domi for their
souls, and for those of their executioners.
Then, like a lantern suddenly set aflame, Elantris erupted with light. The
entire city shook, its walls seeming to stretch, distorted by some awesome
power. The

people inside were trapped in a vortex of energy, sudden winds ripping through
the town.
All fell still. They stood as if at the eye of an enormous white storm, power
raging in a wall of luster that surrounded the city. Townspeople cried out in
fear. and soldiers cursed, looking up at the shining walls with confusion.
Lukel wasn't watching the walls. His mouth opened slightly in amazement as he
stared at the pyre of corpses—and the shadows moving within it.
Slowly, their bodies glistening with a light both more luminous and more
powerful than the flames around them, the Elantrians began to step from the
blaze, unharmed by its heat.
The townspeople sat stunned. Only the two demon priests seemed capable of
motion. One of them screamed in denial, dashing at the emerging Elantrians
with his sword upraised.
A flash of power shot across the courtyard and struck the monk in the chest,
immolating the creature in a puff of energy. The sword dropped to the
cobblestones with a clang. followed by a scattering of smoking bones and burnt
flesh.
Luke! turned bewildered eyes toward the source of the attack. Raoden stood in
the still open gate of Elantris, his hand upraised. The king glowed like a
specter returned from the grave, his skin silver, his hair a brilliant white,
his face effulgent with triumph.
The remaining demon priest screamed at Raoden in Fjorden. cursing him as a
Svrakiss. Raoden raised a hand, quietly sketching in the air, his fingers
leaving gleaming white trails—trails that shone with the same raging power
that surrounded Elantris's wall.
Raoden stopped, his hand poised next to the gleaming character—Aon Daa, the
Aon for power. The king looked through the glowing symbol, his eyes raised in
a challenge to the lone Derethi warrior.
The monk cursed again, then slowly lowered his weapon.
"Take your men, monk," Raoden said. "Board those ships and go. Anything
Derethi, man or vessel. that remains in my country after the next hour's chime
will suffer the force of my rage. I dare you to leave me with a suitable
target."
The soldiers were already running, dashing past Raoden into the city. Their
leader slunk behind them. Before Raoden's glory, the monk's horrible body
seemed more pitiful than it did terrifying.
Raoden watched them go, then he turned toward Lukel and the others. "People of
Arelon. Elantris is restored!"
Lukel blinked dizzily. Briefly, he wondered if the entire experience had been
a vision concocted by his overtaxed mind. When the shouts of joy began to ring
in his ears, however, he knew that it was all real. They had been saved.
"How totally unexpected," he declared, then proceeded to faint from blood
loss.

DILAF tenderly prodded at his shattered nose, resisting the urge to bellow in
pain. His men. the Dakhor. waited beside him. They had easily slain the king's
guards, but in the combat they had somehow lost not only Eventeo and the
princess, but the traitor Hrathen as well.
"Find them!" Dilaf demanded, rising to his feet. Passion. Anger. The voice of
his dead wife called in his ears, begging for revenge. She would have it.
Eventeo would never launch his ships in time. Besides, fifty Dakhor already
roamed his capital. The monks themselves were like an army, each one as
powerful as a hundred normal men.
They would take Teod yet.

CHAPTER 62
SARENE and Hrathen shambled down the city street, their nondescript cloaks
pulled close. Hrathen kept his hood up to hide his dark hair. The people of
Teod had gathered in the streets, wondering why their king had brought the
armada into the bay. Many wandered in the direction of the docks, and with
these Sarene and Hrathen mingled, stooped and subservient, trying their best
to look commonplace.
"When we arrive, we will seek passage on one of the merchant ships." Hrathen
said quietly. "They will bolt from Teod as soon as the armada launches. There
are several places in Hrovell that don't see a Derethi priest for months at a
time. We can hide there."
"You talk as if Teod will fall," Sarene whispered back. "You may go. priest,
but I will not leave my homeland."
"If you value its safety, you will," Hrathen snapped. "I know Dilaf—he is a
man obsessed. If you stay in Teod. so will he. If you leave, perhaps he will
follow."
Sarene ground her teeth. The gyorn's words had apparent sense in them, but it
was possible he was concocting things to get her to accompany him. Of course,

there was no reason for him to do such a thing. What cared he for Sarene? She
had been his fervent enemy.
They moved slowly, unwilling to set themselves apart from the crowd by
increasing their speed. 'You didn't really answer my question before, priest."
Sarene whispered. "You have turned against your religion. Why?"
Hrathen walked in silence for a moment. "I ... I don't know. woman. I have
followed Shu-Dereth since I was a child—the structure and formality of it have
always called to me. I joined the priesthood. I ... thought I had faith. It
turned out. however, that the thing I grew to believe was not Shu-Dereth after
all. I don't know what it is."
"Shu-Korath?"
Hrathen shook his head. "That is too simple. Belief is not simply Korathi or
Derethi. one or the other. I still believe Dereth's teachings. My problem is
with Wyrn, not God."
HORRIFIED at his show of weakness before the girl, Hrathen quickly steeled his
heart against further questions. Yes, he had betrayed Shu-Dereth. Yes, he was
a traitor. But, for some reason, he felt calm now that he had made the
decision. He had caused blood and death in Duladel. He would not let that
happen again.
He had convinced himself that the Republic's fall was a necessary tragedy. Now
he had dispelled that illusion. His work in Duladel had been no more ethical
than what Dilaf had attempted here in Teod. Ironically, by opening himself to
truth. Hrathen had also exposed himself to the guilt of his past atrocities.
One thing. however, kept him from despair—the knowledge that whatever else
happened to him, no matter what he had done, he could say that he now followed
the truth in his heart. He could die and face Jaddeth with courage and pride.
The thought crossed his mind right before he felt the stab of pain in his
chest. He reached over in surprise, grunting as he brought his hand up. His
fingers were stained with blood. He felt his feet weaken, and he slumped
against a building, ignoring Sarene's startled cry. Confused, he looked out
into the crowd, and his eyes fell on the face of his murderer. He knew the
man. His name was Fjon—the priest Hrathen had sent home from Kae the very day
he had arrived. That had been two months ago. How had Fjon found him? How ...
? It was impossible.
Fjon smiled, then disappeared into the throng of people.
As the darkness closed in. Hrathen discarded all questions. Instead his view
and consciousness was filled with Sarene's worried face. The woman who had
destroyed him. Because of her, he had finally rejected the lies he had
believed all of his life.
She would never know that he had come to love her.
"LEAVE me," Lukel said with a pained tone. "I'm nearly dead—see to the oth"

Goodbye, my princess, he thought. Jaddeth, be merciful to my soul. I only did
the best I could.
SARENE watched the light fading from Hrathen's eyes.
"No!" she cried, pressing her hand against his wound in a futile attempt to
stop the blood. "Hrathen, don't you dare leave me alone here!"
He didn't respond. She had fought with him over the fate of two countries. but
had never really known who he was. She never would.
A startled scream shocked Sarene back into the tangible world. People gathered
around her, upset by the sight of a dying man in the street. Stunned, Sarene
realized she had become the center of attention. She lifted her hand, pulled
away as if to hide, but it was too late. Several bare-chested forms appeared
from an alley to investigate the disturbance. One of them had blood on his
face, the sign of a broken nose.
FJ ON slipped away from the crowd, exulting at the ease of his first kill.
They had told him that it would be simple: He needed only to knife a single
man, and then he would be admitted into the monastery of Rathbore, where he
would be trained as an assassin.
You were right, Hrathen, he thought. They did give me a new way to serve
faddeth's empire—an important one.
How ironic that the man he had been ordered to kill had turned out to be
Hrathen himself. How had Wyrn known that Fjon would find Hrathen here, on the
streets of Teod of all places? Fjon would probably never know; Lord Jaddeth
moved in ways beyond the understanding of men. But Fjon had performed his
duty. His period of penance was over.
With a merry step, Fjon went back to his inn and ordered breakfast.
ers.
"Stop whining." Raoden said, drawing Aon Ten in the air above the wounded
Lukel. He crossed it with the Chasm line, and the wound in the merchant's leg
resealed instantly. Not only did Raoden know the proper modifiers this time,
but his Aons had the power of Elantris behind them. With the resurrection of
the city, AonDor had regained its legendary strength.
Lukel looked down, experimentally bending his leg and feeling where the cut
had been. Then he frowned. "You know, you could have left a scar. I had to go
through an awful lot to get that wound-you should have seen how courageous

I was. My grandchildren are going to be disappointed that I don't have any
scars to show them."
"They'll live," Raoden said, rising and walking away.
"What's wrong with you?" Lukel said from behind. "I thought we won."
We won, Raoden thought. but Ifailed. They had searched the city—there was no
sign of Sarene, Dilaf, or Hrathen. Raoden had captured a straggling Derethi
soldier and demanded to know where they were, but the man had pled ignorance,
and Raoden had released him with disgust.
He brooded, watching the people celebrate. Despite the deaths, despite the
near-complete destruction of Kae, they were happy. Fjorden had been cast out
and Elantris had returned. The days of the gods had come again. Unfortunately,
Rao-den couldn't enjoy the sweetness of his victory. Not without Sarene.
Galladon approached slowly, ambling away from the group of Elantrians. The
mass of sliver-skinned people were, for the most part. disoriented. Many of
them had been Hoed for years, and knew nothing of current events.
"They're going to be—" the Dula began.
"My lord Raoden!" a voice suddenly interrupted-a voice Raoden recognized.
"Ashe?" he asked anxiously, seeking out the Seon.
"Your Majesty!" Ashe said, zipping across the courtyard. "A Seon just spoke
with me. The princess! She is in Teod, my lord. My kingdom is under attack as
well!"
"Teod?" Raoden asked, dumbfounded. "How in Domi's name did she get there?"
SA R EN E backed away, wishing desperately for a weapon. The townspeople
noticed Dilaf and his warriors and, seeing the Fjordells' odd twisted bodies
and malevolent eyes, scattered in fright. Sarene's reflexes urged her to join
them, but such a move would only put her directly in Dilaf's hands. The small
monk's warriors quickly fanned out to cut off Sarene's escape.
Dilaf approached—his face stained with drying blood, his bare torso sweating
in Teod's cold air, the intricate patterns beneath the skin on his arms and
chest bulging. his lips curved in a wicked smile. At that moment, Sarene knew
that this man was the most horrifying thing she would ever see.
RAO DEN climbed to the top of Elantris's wall, taking the steps two at a time,
his restored Elantrian muscles moving more quickly and tirelessly than even
those of his pre-Shaod self.
"Sule!" Galladon called with concern, rushing up behind him.
Raoden didn't respond. He topped the wall, pushing his way through the crowds
of people who stood looking over the remains of Kae. They parted as they

realized who he was, some kneeling and mumbling "Your Majesty." Their voices
were awed. In him they saw a return to their former lives. Hopeful, luxurious
lives filled with ample food and time. Lives nearly forgotten over a decade of
tyranny.
Raoden gave them no heed. continuing until he stood on the northern wall,
which overlooked the broad blue Sea of Fjorden. On the other side of those
waters lay Teod. And Sarene.
"Seon," Raoden ordered, "show me the exact direction Teod's capital is from
this point."
Ashe hovered for a moment, then moved to a spot in front of Raoden, marking a
point on the horizon. "If you wanted to sail to Teod, my lord, you would go in
this direction."
Raoden nodded, trusting the Seon's innate sense of direction. He began to
draw. He constructed Aon Tia with frantic hands, his fingers tracing patterns
he had learned by rote, never thinking they would do any good. Now, with
Elantris somehow feeding the Aons' strength, lines no longer simply appeared
in the air when he drew-they exploded. Light streamed from the Aon, as if his
fingers were ripping tiny holes through a mighty dam, allowing only some of
the water to squirt through.
"Stile!" Galladon said, finally catching up to him. "Sule. what is going on?"
Then, apparently recognizing the Aon, he cursed. "Doloken, Raoden. you don't
know what you're doing!"
"I am going to Teod," Raoden said, continuing to draw.
"But sule," Galladon protested. "You yourself told me how dangerous Aon Tia
can be. What was it you said? If you don't know the exact distance you need to
travel, you could be killed. You can't go into this blind. Kolo?"
"It's the only way. Galladon," Raoden said. "I have to at least try."
Galladon shook his head. laying a hand on Raoden's shoulder. "Sule, a
meaningless attempt won't prove anything but your stupidity. Do you even know
how far it is to Teod?"
Raoden's hand fell slowly to his side. He was no geographer; he knew Teod was
about four days' sail, but he had no practical knowledge of how many miles or
feet that was. He had to work a frame of reference into Aon Tia, give it some
sort of measurement, so that it knew how far to send him.
Galladon nodded, clapping Raoden on the shoulder. "Prepare a ship!" the Dula
ordered to a group of soldiers—the last remnants of the Elantris City Guard.
It will be too late! Raoden thought with sorrow. What good is power, what good
is Elantris, if I can't use it to protect the one I love?
"One million, three hundred twenty-seven thousand. forty-two," said a voice
from behind Raoden.
Raoden turned with surprise. Adien stood a short distance away, his skin
shining with a silvery Elantrian glow. His eyes betrayed none of the mental
retardation that had eursed him since birth: instead they stared lucidly
ahead.

"Adien," Raoden said with surprise. "You're ..."
The young man, looking strikingly like Lukel now that he was healed, stepped
forward. "I ... I feel like my entire life has been a dream, Raoden. I
remember everything that happened. But. 1 eouldn't interact—I couldn't say
anything. That's changed now, but one thing remains the same. My mind ... I've
always been able to figure numbers...."
"Footsteps." Raoden whispered.
"One million. three hundred twenty-seven thousand, forty-two," Adien repeated.
"That is how many steps it is to Teod. Measure my stride. and use that as your
unit."
"Hurry, my lord!" Ashe exclaimed with fear. "She's in danger. Mai—he's
watching the princess now. He says she's surrounded. Oh, Domi! Hurry!"
"Where, Seon!" Raoden snapped, kneeling down and measuring Adien's stride with
a strip of cloth.
"Near the docks, my lord," Ashe said. "She's standing on the main road leading
to the docks!"
"Adien!" Raoden said, drawing a line in his Aon that duplicated the length of
the boy's stride.
"One million, three hundred twenty-six thousand, eight hundred and five."
Adien said. "That will take you to the docks." He looked up, frowning. "I ...
I'm not sure how I know that. I went there as a child once, but .. ."
It'll have to be enough, Raoden thought. He reached up and wrote a modifier
beside his Aon, telling it to transport him one million, three hundred
twenty-six thousand, eight hundred and five lengths of the line.
"Sule. this is insane!" Galladon said.
Raoden looked at his friend, nodded in agreement, then with a broad stroke
drew the Chasm line across his Aon.
"You are in charge of Arelon until I return, my friend," Raoden said as Aon
Tia began to shake. spewing light before him. He reached up and grabbed the
center of the trembling Aon, and his fingers latched on to it, as if it were
solid.
'dos Domi, he prayed, if you have ever heard my prayers before, direct my path
710W. Then, hoping Ashe had the angle correct, he felt the Aon's power rush
through and envelop his body. A moment later the world disappeared.
SARENE pressed her back against the hard brick wall. Dilaf approached with
gleeful eyes. He crept forward, his line of monks closing on Sarene.
It was over. There was nowhere for her to run.
Suddenly, a spray of light crashed into one of the monks, throwing the
creature into the air. Stupefied, Sarene watched the monk's body as it arced
before her, then fell to the ground with a thud. The other monks paused,
stunned.

A figure dashed between the surprised line of monks, scrambling toward Sarene.
His skin was silvery, his hair a blazing white, his face .. .
"Raoden?" she asked with shock.
Dilaf growled, and Sarene yelped as the priest dove at Raoden, moving
supernaturally quickly. Yet somehow Raoden reacted just as quickly. spinning
and backing away before Dilaf's attack. The king's hand whipped out, scrawling
a quick Aon in the air.
A burst of light shot from the Aon, the air warping and twisting around it.
The bolt took DiIaf in the chest and exploded, throwing the monk backward.
Dilaf crashed into the side of a building and collapsed to the ground. Then,
however, the priest groaned, stumbling back to his feet.
Raoden cursed. He dashed the short distance and grabbed Sarene. "Hold on." he
ordered, his free hand tracing another Aon. The designs Raoden crafted around
Aon Tia were complex, but his hand moved dexterously. He finished it just as
Dilaf's men reached them.
Sarene's body lurched, much as it had when Dilaf had brought them to Teod.
Light surrounded her. shaking and pulsing. A brief second later the world
returned. Sarene stumbled in confusion. falling against the familiar Teoish
cobblestones.
She looked up with surprise. About fifty feet down the street she could see
the bare chests of Dilaf's monks standing in a confused circle. One of them
raised a hand, pointing at Raoden and Sarene.
"Idos Domi!" Raoden cursed. "I forgot what the books said! The Aons grow
weaker the farther one goes from Elantris."
"You can't get us home?" Sarene asked, climbing to her feet.
"Not by Aon, I can't," Raoden said. Then, taking her hand, he started running.
Her mind was so full of questions the entire world seemed a confused jumble.
What had happened to Raoden? How had he recovered from the wound Dilaf gave
him? She choked the questions back. It was enough that he had come.
FRANTIC, Raoden searched for a means of escape. Perhaps alone he could have
outrun Dilaf's men, but never with Sarene in tow. Their street emptied onto
the docks, where Teod's large warships were ponderously moving from the bay to
engage a fleet bearing Fjorden's flag. A man in royal green robes stood at the
far side of the docks, conversing with a couple of adjuncts. King
Eventeo—Sarene's father. The king didn't see them, instead turning to walk in
a rushed step down a side alley.
"Father!" Sarene yelled out, but the distance was too far.
Raoden could hear footsteps approaching. He spun. thrusting Sarene behind

him, and raised his arms to begin an Aon Daa with each hand. The Aons were
weaker in Teod, but they weren't ineffectual.
Dilaf held up a hand, slowing his men. Raoden froze, unwilling to commit
himself to a final battle unless he had to. What was Dilaf waiting for?
Bare-chested monks poured from alleys and streets. Dilaf smiled, waiting as
his warriors gathered. Within a few minutes his group had grown from twelve to
fifty, and Raoden's odds had plummeted from bad to hopeless.
"Not much of a rescue." Sarene muttered, stepping forward to stand next to
Raoden, staring down the group of monstrosities with a contemptuous air.
Her defiant irony brought a smile to Raoden's lips. "Next time, I'll remember
to bring an army with me."
DI L AF 'S monks charged. Raoden completed his duplicate Aons—sending out a
pair of powerful energy blasts—then quickly began drawing again. Yet, holding
to his waist with tense hands, Sarene could see that Raoden wouldn't finish
before the supernaturally quick warriors arrived.
The docks shook with a powerful force. Wood cracked and stone shattered, and
an explosion of wind blasted across her. She had to cling to Raoden's somehow
more stable body to keep from being thrown to the ground. When she finally
dared open her eyes, they were surrounded by hundreds of silver-skinned forms.
"Aon Daa!" Galladon ordered with a booming voice.
Two hundred hands raised in the air. scribbling Aons. About half of them made
mistakes, their Aons evaporating. Enough finished, however, to send a wave of
destruction toward Dilaf's men that was so powerful it tore completely through
the first few monks.
Bodies collapsed and others were thrown backward. The remaining monks paused
in shock, staring at the Elantrians.
Then the Dakhor scattered in an offensive charge, turning from Raoden and
Sarene to attack this new foe.
DI LA F was the only one of his men who thought to duck. The rest, confidently
arrogant in their strength, simply allowed the powerful blasts to hit them.
Fools! Dilaf thought as he rolled away. Every Dakhor was blessed with special
skills and powers. They all had increased strength and nearly indestructible
bones, but only Dilaf bore the power that made him resistant to attacks by the
Dor—a power that had required the deaths of fifty men to create. He felt.
rather than saw, as his men were torn apart by the Elantrians' attack.
The remaining monks were horribly outnumbered. They attacked bravely,

trying to kill as many of the vile Elantrians as they could. They had been
trained well. They would die fighting. Dilaf yearned to join them.
But he did not. Some thought him mad, but he was not a fool. The screams in
his head demanded revenge, and there was still a way left. One way to get
vengeance on the Teoish princess and her Elantrians. One way to fulfill Wyrn's
commands. One way to turn the tide of this battle.
Dilaf scrambled away. stumbling slightly as a bolt of energy sprayed against
his back. His bone wardings held, and he was left unharmed by the attack.
When he had entered the docks a few moments before, he had seen King Eventeo
disappear down a side alley. He now dashed toward that same alley.
His prey would follow.
"RAODEN!" Sarene said. pointing at the fleeing Dilaf.
"Let him go," Raoden said. "He can do no more damage."
"But that's the way my father went!" Sarene said, tugging him toward the
alley.
She's right, Raoden thought with a curse. He took off behind Dilaf. Sarene
waved him on. and he left her behind. letting his newly reconditioned
Elantrian legs carry him to the alleyway at an extraordinary speed. The other
Elantrians didn't see him go, but continued to fight the monks.
Raoden entered the alleyway, barely puffing. Dilaf tackled him a second later.
The monk's powerful body appeared out of a shadowed corner, slamming Raoden
into the alley wall.
Raoden cried out, feeling his ribs crack. Dilaf backed away, unsheathing his
sword with a smile. The priest lunged forward, and Raoden barely rolled away
in time to avoid being impaled. As it was, Dilaf's attack sliced through the
flesh of Raoden's left forearm, spilling silvery-white Elantrian blood.
Raoden gasped as pain washed through his arm. This pain, however, was weak and
dull compared to his former agonies. He forgot it quickly. rolling again as
Dilaf 's blade sought his heart. If his heart stopped again. Raoden would die.
Elantrians were strong and quick-healing, but they were not immortal.
As he dodged. Raoden searched through his memory of Aons. Thinking quickly, he
rolled to his feet, rapidly scribbling Aon Edo before him. It was a simple
character, requiring only six strokes, and he finished it before Dilaf could
make a third attack. The Aon flashed briefly, and then a thin wall of light
appeared between himself and Dilaf.
Dilaf tested the wall hesitantly with the tip of his sword, and the wall
resisted. The more one pressed against it, the more it drew from the Dor.
pressing back with equal strength. Dilaf could not reach him.
Casually. Dilaf reached up and tapped the wall with his bare hand. His palm

flashed briefly, and the wall shattered. shards of light scattering through
the air.
Raoden cursed his stupidity—this was the man who had destroyed his illusionary
face just a day before. Somehow, Dilaf had the power to negate Aons. Rao-den
jumped back, but the sword snapped forward more quickly. The tip did not
strike Raoden's chest, but struck his hand instead.
Raoden cried out as the sword pierced his right palm. He brought his other
hand up to cup it around the injured one. but the wound on his forearm blazed
with renewed vigor. Both hands were incapacitated: he could no longer draw
Aons. Dilaf's next attack was a casual kick, and Raoden's already wounded ribs
cracked further. He cried out and dropped to his knees.
Dilaf laughed, tapping Raoden on the side of the face with the tip of his
sword. "The Skaze are right. then. Elantrians are nor indestructible." Raoden
didn't answer.
"I will still win, Elantrian." Dilaf said, his voice passionate and frenzied.
"After Wyrn's fleets defeat the Teoish armada. I will gather my troops and
march on Elantris."
"No one defeats the Teoish armada. priest." a feminine voice interjected, a
blade flashing out to strike at Dilaf's head.
The priest yelped. barely bringing his own sword up in time to block Sarene's
attack. She had found a sword somewhere. and she whipped it in a pattern that
moved too quickly for Raoden to track. He smiled at Dilaf's surprise.
remembering how easily the princess had defeated his own skills. Her weapon
was thicker than a syre, but she still handled it with remarkable proficiency.
Dilaf however, was no ordinary man. The bone patterns beneath his skin started
glowing as he blocked Sarene's attack, and his body began to move even more
quickly. Soon Sarene stopped advancing, and almost immediately she was forced
to begin retreating. The battle ended as Dilaf 's sword pierced her shoulder.
Sarene's weapon clanged to the cobblestones, and she stumbled, slumping down
next to Raoden.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Raoden shook his head. No one could be expected to win a sword fight against
one such as Dilaf.
"And my revenge begins." Dilaf whispered reverently, bringing up his sword.
"You may stop yelling, my love."
Raoden grabbed Sarene protectively with a bleeding hand. Then he paused. There
was something moving behind Dilaf-a form in the shadows of the alleyway.
Frowning, Dilaf turned to follow Raoden's gaze. A figure stumbled from the
darkness, holding his side in pain. The figure was a tall. broad-chested man
with dark hair and determined eyes. Though the man no longer wore his armor,
Raoden recognized him. The gyorn, Hrathen.

Strangely, Dilaf didn't seem happy to see his companion. The Dakhor monk spun,
raising his sword, eyes flashing with anger. He leapt, screaming something in
Fjordell. and swung his sword at the obviously weakened gyorn.
Hrathen stopped, then whipped his arm our from beneath his cloak. Dilaf's
sword hit the flesh of Hrathen's forearm.
And stopped.
Sarene gasped beside Raoden. "He's one of them!" she whispered.
It was true. Dilaf's weapon scraped along Hrathen's arm, pushing back the
sleeve there and revealing the skin beneath. The arm was not that of a normal
man: it showed twisting patterns beneath the skin, the outcroppings of bone
that were the sign of a Dakhor monk.
Dilaf, obviously, was surprised by the revelation as well. The monk stood
stunned as Hrathen's hand whipped out and grabbed Dilaf by the neck.
Dilaf began to curse, squirming in Hrathen's grasp. The gyorn, however, began
to stand up straighter. his grip tightening. Beneath his cloak. Hrathen was
bare-chested, and Raoden could see that his skin there bore no Dakhor
markings. though it was wet with blood from a wound at his side. Only the
bones in his arm had the strange twisted patterns. Why the partial
transformation?
Hrathen stood tall, ignoring Dilaf, though the monk began to swing at
Hrathen's enhanced arm with his short sword. The blows bounced off, so Dilaf
swung at Hrathen's side instead. The sword bit deeply into Hrathen's flesh,
but the gyorn didn't even grunt. Instead, he tightened his grip on Dilaf's
neck. and the little monk gasped, dropping his sword in pain.
Hrathen's arm began to glow.
The strange, twisting lines beneath Hrathen's skin took on an eerie radiance
as the gyorn lifted Dilaf off the ground. Dilaf squirmed and twisted, his
breath coming in gasps. He struggled to escape. prying at Hradien's fingers,
but the gyorn's grip was firm.
Hrathen held Dilaf aloft, as if toward the heavens. He stared upward, toward
the sky, eyes strangely unfocused, Dilaf proffered like some sort of holy
offering. The gyorn stood there for a long moment, immobile, arm glowing,
Dilaf becoming more and more frantic.
There was a snap. Dilaf stopped struggling. Hrathen lowered the body with a
slow motion. then tossed it aside. the glow in his arm fading. He looked
toward Raoden and Sarene, stood quietly for a moment, then toppled forward
lifelessly.
WHEN Galladon arrived a few moments later, Raoden was trying unsuccessfully to
heal Sarene's shoulder with his wounded hands. The large Dula took in the
scene. then nodded for a couple of Elantrians to check on Dilaf and Hrathen's
corpses. Then Galladon settled down, letting Raoden tell him how to draw Aon

Ien. A few moments later, Raoden's hands and ribs had been restored, and he
moved to help Sarene.
She sat quietly. Despite her wound, she had already checked on Hrathen. He was
dead. In fact, either one of the wounds in his sides should have killed him
long before he managed to break Dilaf 's neck. Something about his Dakhor
markings had kept him alive. Raoden shook his head, drawing a healing Aon for
Sarene's shoulder. He still didn't have an explanation as to why the gyorn had
saved them, but he quietly blessed the man's intervention.
"The armada?" Sarene asked anxiously as Raoden drew.
"Looks to me like it's doing fine," GaIIadon said with a shrug. "Your father
is searching for you-he came to the docks soon after we arrived."
Raoden drew the Chasm line, and the wound in Sarene's arm disappeared.
"I have to admit, sule, you are lucky as Doloken," Galladon said. "Jumping
here blind was just about the most idiotic thing I've ever seen a man do."
Raoden shrugged. pulling Sarene tight. "It was worth it. Besides, you
followed, didn't you?"
Galladon snorted. "We had Ashe call ahead to make sure you arrived safely.
We're not kayana. unlike our king."
"All right," Sarene declared firmly. "Somebody is going to start explaining
things to me right now."

CHAPTER 63
SARENE straightened Raoden's jacket, then stood back, tapping her cheek as she
studied him. She would have preferred a white suit rather than a gold one, but
for some reason white seemed pale and lifeless when placed next to his silvery
skin.
"Well?" Raoden asked, holding his arms out to the sides.
"You'll have to do," she decided airily.
He laughed, approaching and kissing her with a smile. "Shouldn't you be alone
in the chapel, praying and preparing? What ever happened to tradition?"

tried that once already," Sarene said, turning to make sure he hadn't mussed
up her makeup. "This time I intend to keep a close eye on you. For some
reason, my potential husbands have a way of disappearing."
"That might say something about you. Leky Stick.' Raoden teased. He had
laughed long when her father explained the nickname to him, and since then he
had been careful to use it at every possible occasion.
She swatted at him absently, straightening her veil.
"My lord, my lady," said a stoic voice. Raoden's Seon. Ien, floated in through
the doorway. "It is time."
Sarene grabbed Raoden's arm in a firm grip. "Walk." she ordered, nodding
toward the doorway. This time, she wasn't letting go until someone married
them.
RAODEN tried to pay attention to the ceremony, but Korathi wedding services
were lengthy and often dry. Father Omin, well aware of the precedent set by an
Elantrian asking a Korathi priest to officiate at his wedding, had prepared an
extensive speech for the occasion. As usual. the short man's eyes wok on a
semiglazed look as he rambled, as if he had forgotten that there was anyone
else present.
So Raoden let his mind wander too. He couldn't stop thinking of a conversation
he had held with Galladon earlier in the day. a conversation initiated because
of a piece of bone. The bone, retrieved from the body of a dead Fjordell monk,
was deformed and twisted—yet it was more beautiful than disgusting. It was
like a carved piece of ivory, or a bundle of engraved wooden rods all twisted
together. Most disturbingly, Raoden swore he could make out slightly familiar
symbols in the carving. Symbols he recognized from his schooling-ancient
Fjordell characters.
The Derethi monks had devised their own version of AonDor.
The worry pressed on his mind with such vigor that it drew his attention even
in the middle of his own wedding. Over the centuries, only one thing had kept
Fjorden from conquering the West: Elantris. If Wyrn had learned to access the
Dor ... Raoden kept remembering Dilaf and his strange ability to resist. and
even destroy. Aons. If a few more of the monks had possessed that power. then
the battle could easily have gone another way.
Ien's familiar bubble-like ball of light floated approvingly at Raoden's side.
The Seon's restoration almost made up for the dear friends Raoden had lost
during the final battle to restore Elantris. Karata and the others would be
missed. Ien claimed to remember nothing of his time of madness, but something
seemed a little ... different about the Seon. He was more quiet than normal,
even more thoughtful. As soon as he had some free time, Raoden planned to
interrogate the other Elantrians in the hopes of discovering more about the
Seons. It disturbed him that throughout his studies, readings, and learning,
he had never discovered

exactly how Seons were created-if, indeed, they were even creations of AonDor.
That wasn't the only thing that bothered him, however. There was also the
question of Shuden's strange ChayShan dance. Onlookers, including Lukel,
claimed that the Jindo had managed to defeat one of Dilaf's monks alone—with
his eyes closed. Some even said they had seen the young baron glowing as he
fought. Raoden was beginning to suspect there was more than one way to access
the Dor—far more. And one of those methods was in the hands of the most
brutal, domineering tyrant in Opelon: Wyrn Wulfden the Fourth. Regent of All
Creation.
Apparently, Sarene noticed Raoden's inattention, for she elbowed him in the
side when Omin's speech began to wind down. Ever the stateswoman, she was
poised, in control. and alert. Not to mention beautiful.
They performed the ceremony, exchanging Korathi pendants that bore Aon Omi and
pledging their lives and deaths to one another. The pendant he gave to Sarene
had been delicately carved from pure jade by Taan himself, then overlaid with
bands of gold to match her hair. Sarene's own gift was less extravagant. but
equally fitting. Somewhere she had found a heavy black stone that polished up
as if it were metal. and its reflective darkness complimented Raoden's silvery
skin.
With that, Omin proclaimed to all of Arelon that its king was married. The
cheering began, and Sarene leaned over to kiss him.
"Was it everything you hoped for?" Raoden asked. "You said you have been
anticipating this moment for your entire life."
"It was wonderful," Sarene replied. "However, there is one thing I have looked
forward to even more than my wedding."
Raoden raised an eyebrow.
She smiled mischievously. "The wedding night."
Raoden laughed his reply, wondering what he had gotten himself, and Arelon,
into by bringing Sarene to Arelon.

EPILOGUE
THE day was warm and bright, a complete contrast to the day of Iadon's burial.
Sarene stood outside Kae, regarding the former king's barrow. Everything Iadon
had fought for had been overturned; Elantris had been revitalized and serfdom
proclaimed illegal. Of course, his son did sit on the throne of Arelon, even
if that throne was inside of Elantris now.
Only a week had passed since the wedding, but so much had happened. Rao-den
had ended up allowing the nobility to keep their titles, though he had first
tried to abolish the entire system. The people wouldn't have it. It seemed
unnatural for there not to be counts, barons, or other lords. So, Raoden had
instead twisted the system to his own ends. He made each lord a servant of
Elantris, charging them with the responsibility of caring for the people in
remote parts of the country. The nobility became less aristocrats and more
food distributors—which. in a way, was what they should have been in the first
place.
Sarene watched him now, speaking with Shuden and Lukel, his skin glowing even
in the sunlight. The priests who said the fall of Elantris had revealed its
occupants' true selves had not known Raoden. This was the true him, the
glowing beacon, the powerful source of* pride and hope. No matter how
metallically bright his skin became, it could never match the radiance of his
soul.
Beside Raoden stood the quiet Galladon, his skin glowing as well, though in a
different way. It was darker, like polished iron, a remnant of his Duladen
heritage. The large man's head was still bald. Sarene had been surprised at
that fact. for all the other Elantrians had grown heads of white hair. When
asked about the oddity, Galladon had simply shrugged in his characteristic
manner, mumbling. "Seems right to me. I've been bald since I hit my third
decade. Kolo?"
Just behind Raoden and Lukel, she could make out the silver-skinned form of
Adien, Daora's second son. According to Lukel, the Shaod had taken Adien five
years before. but the family had determined to cover up his transformation
with makeup rather than throw him into Elantris.
Adien's true nature was no more baffling than that of his father. Kiln hadn't
been willing to explain much, but Sarene saw the confirmation in her uncle's
eyes. Just over ten years ago. he had led his fleets against Sarene's father
in an attempt to

steal the throne-a throne that Sarene was beginning to believe might legally
have beIonged to Kiin. If it was true that Kiin was the older brother, then he
should have inherited, not Eventeo. Her father still wouldn't speak on the
subject, but she intended to get her answers eventually.
As she pondered, she noticed a carriage pulling up to the grave site. The door
opened and Torena climbed out. leading her overweight father, Count Ahan. Ahan
hadn't been the same since Roial's death: he spoke in a dazed. sickly voice,
and he had lost an alarming amount of weight. The others hadn't forgiven him
for his part in the duke's execution, but their scorn could never match the
self-loathing he must feel.
Raoden caught her eye, nodding slightly. It was time. Sarene strode past
Iadon's grave and four just like it—the resting places of Roial, Eondel,
Karata, and a man named Saolin. This last barrow held no body, but Raoden had
insisted that it be raised with the others.
This area was to become a memorial, a way of remembering those who had fought
for Arelon—as well as the man who had tried to crush it. Every lesson had two
sides. It was as important for them to remember Iadon's sickening greed as it
was to remember Roial's sacrifice.
She slowly approached one final grave. The earth was raised high like the
others, forming a barrow that would someday be covered with grass and foliage.
For now, however, it was barren, the freshly piled earth still soft. Sarene
hadn't needed to lobby hard for its creation. They all now knew the debt they
owed to the man buried within. Hrathen of Fjorden, high priest and holy gyorn
of Shu-Dereth. They had left his funeral until the last.
Sarene turned to address the crowd, Raoden at their front. "I will not speak
long," she said, "for though I had more contact with the man Hrathen than most
of you, I did not know him. I always assumed that I could come to understand a
man through being his enemy. and I thought that I understood Hrathen—his sense
of duty, his powerful will, and his determination to save us from ourselves.
"I did not see his internal conflict. I could not know the man whose heart
drove him, eventually, to reject all that he had once believed in the name of
what he knew was right. I never knew the Hrathen who placed the lives of
others ahead of his own ambition. These things were hidden, but in the end
they are what proved most important to him.
"When you remember this man, think not of an enemy. Think of a man who longed
to protect Arelon and its people. Think of the man he became, the hero who
saved your king. My husband and I would have been killed by the monster of
Dakhor, had Hrathen not arrived to protect us.
"Most important, remember Hrathen as the one who gave that vital warning that
saved Teod's fleets. If the armada had fallen, then be assured that Teod
wouldn't have been the only country to suffer. Wyrn's armies would have fallen
on

Arelon, Elantris or no Elantris, and you all would be fighting for survival at
this moment-if, that is, you were even still alive."
Sarene paused. letting her eyes linger on the grave. At its head stood a
carefully arranged stack of bloodred armor. Hrathen's cloak hung on the end of
a sword, its point driven into the soft earth. The crimson cape flapped in the
wind.
"No." Sarene said. "When you speak of this man. let it be known that he died
in our defense. Let it be said that after all else. Hrathen, gyorn of
Shu-Dereth, was not our enemy. He was our savior."