Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [12]
“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. “I 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