Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [178]
“My lady,” Ashe said, his tone frank. “What is wrong?”
“I was right, Ashe,” she said, trying to laugh at her stupidity through the tears. “I should be happy; I was right about him all along.”
“Spirit?”
Sarene nodded, then rested her head against the back of the seat, staring up at the carriage’s ceiling. “He was withholding food from the people. You should have seen them, Ashe—their starvation had driven them mad. Spirit’s warriors kept them away from the courtyard, but they must have finally gotten hungry enough to fight back. I can’t imagine how they did it—they didn’t have armor or swords, just their hunger. He didn’t even try to deny it. He just stood there, watching his schemes fall apart, a stash of hoarded food at his feet.”
Sarene raised her hands to her face, holding her head in frustration. “Why am I so stupid?”
Ashe pulsed with concern.
“I knew what he was doing. Why does it bother me to find out I was right?” Sarene took a deep breath, but it caught in her throat. Ashe had been right: She had allowed herself to get too caught up in Spirit and Elantris. She had become too emotionally involved to act on her suspicions.
The result was a disaster. The nobility had responded to Elantrian pain and wretchedness. Long-held prejudices had weakened, the Korathi teachings of temperate understanding proving their influence. Now, however, the nobility would only remember that they had been attacked. Sarene could only thank Domi that none of them had been hurt.
Sarene’s thinking was interrupted by the sounds of armor clinking outside of her window. Recouping her composure the best she could, Sarene poked her head out the window to see what was causing the ruckus. A double line of men in chain and leather marched past her carriage, their livery black and red. It was Iadon’s personal guard, and they were heading for Elantris.
Sarene felt a chill as she watched the grim-faced warriors. “Idos Domi,” she whispered. There was hardness in these men’s eyes—they were prepared to kill. To slaughter.
At first, the coachman resisted Sarene’s commands that he drive more quickly, but few men found it easy to resist a determined Teoish princess. They arrived at the palace shortly, and Sarene hopped from the carriage without waiting for the coachman to pull down the steps.
Her reputation with the palace staff was growing, and most knew to get out of her way as she stalked through the hallways. The guards at Iadon’s study were also growing used to her, and they simply sighed resignedly as they pushed open the doors for her.
The king’s face fell visibly as she entered. “Whatever it is, it will wait. We have a crisis—”
Sarene slammed her open palms down on Iadon’s desk, shaking the wood and knocking over the penstand. “What in the blessed name of Domi do you think you’re doing?”
Iadon reddened with frustrated anger, standing. “There has been an attack on members of my court! It is my duty to respond.”
“Don’t preach to me about duty, Iadon,” Sarene countered. “You’ve been looking for an excuse to destroy Elantris for ten years now—only the people’s superstitions kept you back.”
“Your point?” he asked coldly.
“I am not going to be the one who gives you that excuse!” she said. “Withdraw your men.”
Iadon snorted. “You of all people should appreciate the quickness of my response, Princess. It was your honor that was slighted by that attack.”
“I’m perfectly capable of protecting my own honor, Iadon. Those troops move in direct opposition to everything I’ve accomplished these last few weeks.”
“It was a fool’s project, anyway,” Iadon declared, dropping a collection of papers to the table. The top sheet ruffled from the motion, and Sarene could read its scribbled commands. The words “Elantris’s” and “extermination” stood out, stark and foreboding.
“Go back to your room, Sarene,” the king said. “This will all be over in a matter of hours.”
For the first time Sarene realized how she must look, her face red and mussed from the tears, her simple monochrome dress