Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [140]
She reached over to her nightstand and picked up a scrap of parchment. On it she made a mark with a thin piece of charcoal, not wanting to bother with pen and ink.
“Look,” she declared, holding up the paper for Ashe to see. “The sounds always come on the same days of the week: MaeDal and OpeDal.”
Ashe floated over and looked at the paper, his glowing Aon the room’s only illumination besides starlight. “You’ve heard it twice on MaeDal and twice on OpeDal, four times in total,” he said skeptically. “That is hardly grounds for a decision that they ‘always come on the same days,’ my lady.”
“Oh, you think I’m hearing things anyway,” Sarene said, dropping the parchment back onto her table. “I thought Seons were supposed to have excellent auditory senses.”
“Not when we’re sleeping, my lady,” Ashe said, implying that that was exactly what he should have been doing at the moment.
“There must be a passage here,” Sarene decided, ineffectually tapping the stone wall.
“If you say so, my lady.”
“I do,” she said, rising and studying her window. “Look how thick the stone is around this window, Ashe.” She leaned against the wall and stuck her arm out the window. The tips of her fingers could barely curl around the outside ledge. “Does the wall really need to be so wide?”
“It offers much protection, my lady.”
“It also offers room for a passage.”
“A very thin one,” Ashe replied.
“True,” Sarene mused, kneeling down to view the bottom edge of the window at eye level. “It slopes upwards. The passage was constructed to angle up, passing between the bottoms of the windows on this level and the first story.”
“But the only thing in that direction is …”
“The king’s rooms,” Sarene finished. “Where else would a passage lead?”
“Are you suggesting that the king takes secret excursions twice a week in the middle of the night, my lady?”
“At precisely eleven o’clock,” Sarene said, eyeing the large grandfather clock in the corner of her room. “It’s always at the same time.”
“What possible reason could he have for such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” Sarene said, tapping her cheek in contemplation.
“Oh dear,” Ashe mumbled. “My lady is concocting something, isn’t she?”
“Always,” Sarene said sweetly, climbing back into bed. “Turn down your light—some of us want to get some sleep.”
CHAPTER 21
Hrathen sat down in his chair, wearing a red Derethi robe instead of his armor, as he often did when he was in his chambers.
The knock that came at his door was expected. “Come in,” he said.
Arteth Thered entered. A man of good Fjordell stock, Thered had a strong, tall frame, dark hair, and squareish features. He was still well muscled from his days training in the monastery.
“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing and falling to his knees with a proper sign of respect.
“Arteth,” Hrathen said, lacing his fingers in front of himself. “During my time here, I’ve been watching the local priests. I have been impressed with your service in Jaddeth’s kingdom, and I have decided to offer you the position of head arteth of this chapel.”
Thered looked up with surprise. “Your Grace?”
“I had thought that I would have to wait to appoint a new head arteth until a new batch of priests arrived from Fjorden,” Hrathen said. “But, as I said, you have impressed me. I decided to offer you the position.”
And, of course, he added in his mind, I don’t have time to wait. I need someone to administrate the chapel now so that I can focus on other tasks.
“My lord …” the arteth said, obviously overwhelmed. “I cannot accept this position.”
Hrathen froze. “What?” No Derethi priest would refuse a position of such power.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” the man repeated, looking down.
“What reason have you for this decision, Arteth?” Hrathen demanded.
“I can give none, Your Grace. I just … It just wouldn’t be right for me to take the position. May I withdraw?”
Hrathen waved his hand, disturbed. Ambition was such a cardinal Fjordell attribute; how had a man such as Thered lost his pride so quickly? Had Fjon really