Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [111]
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.
“I 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. “I 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