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. “I 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 Unfortunately, that self-concept was outdated.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. “I have no problem with her staying.”
“Neither do I,” 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. Eondel, 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 forwar
d 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. “I 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, not 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 still 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. br />
“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.”