Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [10]
“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 Duladen 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 wouldn’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