Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [201]
Roial’s face hardened. “This is something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you, Sarene.”
“What?”
“You’re far too harsh on yourself. I’ve heard the way you speak—you assume that nobody wants you.”
“They don’t,” Sarene said flatly. “Trust me.”
Roial shook his head. “You’re an excellent judge of character, Sarene—except your own. Often, our own opinions of ourselves are the most unrealistic. You may see yourself as an old maid, child, but you are young, and you are beautiful. Just because you’ve had misfortune in your past doesn’t mean you have to give up on your future.”
He looked into her eyes. For all his mischievous shows, this was a man of sagely understanding. “You will find someone to love you, Sarene,” Roial promised. “You are a prize—a prize even greater than that throne you’ll be attached to.”
Sarene blushed, looking down. Still … his words were encouraging. Perhaps she did have a hope. She would probably be in her mid-thirties, but she would have at least one more chance to find the right man.
“Anyway,” Roial said. “Our wedding will have to come soon if we are going to beat Telrii.”
“What do you suggest?”
“The day of Iadon’s funeral,” Roial said. “Technically, Iadon’s reign doesn’t end until his burial.”
Four days. It would be a short engagement indeed.
“I just worry at the necessity of putting you through all of this,” Roial said. “It can’t be easy to consider marrying such a dusty old man.”
Sarene laid her hand on that of the duke, smiling at the sweetness in his tone. “All things considered, my lord, I think I’m rather fortunate. There are very few men in this world I would actually consider it an honor to be forced to marry.”
Roial smiled a wrinkly smile, his eyes twinkling. “It’s a shame Ahan’s already married, isn’t it?”
Sarene removed her hand and swatted him on the shoulder. “I’ve had enough emotional shocks for one week, Roial—I’ll kindly thank you not to make me sick to my stomach as well.”
The duke laughed at length. When his merriment died down, however, another sound replaced it—yelling. Sarene tensed, but the yells weren’t ones of anger or pain. They seemed joyful and excited. Confused, she looked out the carriage window and saw a crowd of people surging through a cross street.
“What in the name of Domi is that?” Roial asked.
Their carriage drew closer, allowing Sarene to make out a tall form at the center of the crowd.
Sarene grew numb. “But … but that’s impossible!”
“What?” Roial asked, squinting.
“It’s Hrathen,” Sarene said with wide eyes, “He’s left Elantris!” Then she realized something else. The gyorn’s face was unspotted. Flesh-colored.
“Merciful Domi—he’s been healed!”
CHAPTER 36
When dawn signaled the fifth day of Hrathen’s exile, he knew that he had made a mistake. He would die in Elantris. Five days was too long to go without drink, and he knew there was no water to be had in the city of the damned.
He didn’t regret his actions—he had behaved in the most logical way. It had been desperate logic, but rational nonetheless. Had he continued in Kae, he would have grown more impotent with each turning day. No, it was much better to die of dehydration.
He grew increasingly delirious as the fifth day passed. At times, he saw Dilaf laughing over him; at others the Teoish princess did the same. Once he even thought he saw Jaddeth himself, His face burning red with the heat of Godly disappointment as he looked down on Hrathen. The delusions soon changed, however. He no longer saw faces, no longer felt humiliated and scorned. In their place, he was confronted with something much more horrid.
Memories of Dakhor.
Once again, the dark, hollow cubicles of the monastery surrounded him. Screams echoed through the black stone hallways, cries of bestial agony mixing with solemn chanting. Chanting that had a strange power to it. The boy Hrathen knelt obediently,