Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [113]
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.
Ashe 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. I 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