Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [190]
“Of course—best part of a party!” the count said with a laugh. Then, nodding to Sarene, he continued, “Your Highness. I’d warn you not to let this old scoundrel corrupt you, but I’m just as worried about you doing the same to him.”
“Me?” Sarene said with mock indignation. “What danger could I be?”
Ahan snorted. “Ask the king,” he said, shoving a wafer into his mouth. “Actually, you can ask me—just look what you’re doing to my poor wife. She refuses to eat!”
“I’m enjoying my fruit, Ahan,” Seaden said. “I think you should try some of it.”
“Maybe I’ll try a plate of it after I’m done here,” Ahan huffed. “You see what you’re doing, Sarene? I would never have agreed to this ‘fencing’ thing if I had known how it would ruin my wife’s figure.”
“Ruin?” Sarene asked with surprise.
“I’m from southern Arelon, Princess,” Ahan said, reaching for some more clams. “To us, round is beautiful. Not everyone wants their women to look like starving schoolboys.” Then, realizing that he might have said too much, Ahan paused. “No offense intended, of course.”
Sarene frowned. Ahan really was a delightful man, but he often spoke—and acted—without thought. Unsure how to properly respond, Sarene hesitated.
The wonderful Duke Roial came to her rescue. “Well, Ahan, we have to keep moving—I have a lot of guests to greet. Oh, by the way—you might want to tell your caravan to hurry.”
Ahan looked up as Roial began to lead Sarene off. “Caravan?” he asked, suddenly very serious. “What caravan?”
“Why, the one you have carrying sourmelons from Duladel to Svorden, of course,” the duke said offhandedly. “I sent a shipment of them myself a week ago. It should be arriving tomorrow morning. I’m afraid, my friend, that your caravan will arrive to a saturated market—not to mention the fact that your melons will be slightly overripe.”
Ahan cursed, the plate going limp in his hand, shellfish tumbling unnoticed to the grass below. “How in the name of Domi did you manage that?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Roial asked. “I was half partner in young Lukel’s venture. I got all the unripened fruits from his shipment last week—they should be ready by the time they hit Svorden.”
Ahan shook his head, laughing in a low voice. “You got me again, Roial. But just you watch—one of these days I’m finally going to get the better of you, and you’ll be so surprised that you won’t be able to look at yourself for a week!”
“I look forward to it,” Roial said as they left the serving tables behind.
Sarene chuckled, the sound of Seaden scolding her husband rising behind. “You really are as good a businessman as they say, aren’t you?”
Roial spread his hands in humility. Then he said, “Yes. Every bit as good.”
Sarene laughed.
“However,” Roial continued, “that young cousin of yours puts me to shame. I have no idea how he kept that sourmelon shipment a secret—my Duladen agents are supposed to inform me of such things. I only got in on the deal because Lukel came to me for capital.”
“Then it’s a good thing he didn’t go to Ahan instead.”
“A good thing indeed,” Roial agreed. “I would never hear the end of it if he had. Ahan’s been trying to best me for two decades now—one of these days he’s going to realize I only act brilliant to keep him off-balance, and then life isn’t going to be half as entertaining.”
They continued to walk, speaking with guests and enjoying Roial’s excellent gardens. The early-blooming flower beds were cleverly lit with torchlight, lanterns, and even candles. Most impressive were the crosswood trees, whose branches—leafed with pink and white blossoms—were lit from behind by lanterns running up the trunks. Sarene was enjoying herself so much that she almost lost track of time. Only Ashe’s sudden appearance reminded her of the night’s true purpose.
“My lady!” Ashe exclaimed. “The king is leaving the party!”
“Are you certain?” she asked, her attention snapping away from the crosswood flowers.
“Yes, my lady,” Ashe said. “He left furtively, claiming he needed to use the privy, but he called his carriage instead.”
“Excuse