Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [219]
Her father’s white head hung silently in the dark room.
“Your lessons won’t be complete until you let go, Father,” Sarene said quietly. “If you truly believe the ideals that you gave me, then you will allow me to make this decision.”
Finally he spoke. “You love them that much, ’Ene?”
“They have become my people, Father.”
“It has been less than two months.”
“Love is independent of time, Father. I need to stay with Arelon. If it is to fall, I must fall with it—but I don’t think it will. There has to be a way to stop Telrii.”
“But you’re trapped in that city, Sarene,” her father said. “What can you do from there?”
“Ashe can act as messenger. I can no longer lead them, but I might be able to help. Even if I cannot, I still must stay.”
“I see,” her father finally said, sighing deeply. “Your life is yours, Sarene. I have always believed that—even if I forget it once in a while.”
“You love me, Father. We protect what we love.”
“And I do,” Eventeo said. “Never forget that, my daughter.”
Sarene smiled. “I never have.”
“Ashe,” Eventeo ordered, calling the Seon’s consciousness into the conversation.
“Yes, my king,” Ashe’s voice said, its deep tone deferential and reverent.
“You will watch and protect her. If she is injured, you will call me.”
“As I ever have, and ever will, my king,” Ashe responded.
“Sarene, I’m still going to set the armada in a defensive pattern. Let your friends know that any ship approaching Teoish waters will be sunk without question. The entire world has turned against us, and I cannot risk the safety of my people.”
“I’ll warn them, Father,” Sarene promised.
“Goodnight then, ’Ene, and may Domi bless you.”
CHAPTER 42
Hrathen was back in control. Like a hero from the old Svordish epics, he had descended to the underworld—physically, mentally, and spiritually—and returned a stronger man. Dilaf’s hold was broken. Only now could Hrathen see that the chains Dilaf had used to bind him had been forged from Hrathen’s own envy and insecurity. He had felt threatened by Dilaf’s passion, for he had felt his own faith inferior. Now, however, his resolve was firm—as it had been when he first arrived in Arelon. He would be the savior of this people.
Dilaf backed down unhappily. The arteth grudgingly promised to hold no meetings or sermons without Hrathen’s overt permission. And, in exchange for being officially named head arteth of the chapel, Dilaf also consented to relieve his numerous odivs from their vows, instead swearing them to the less binding position of krondet. The biggest change, however, wasn’t in the arteth’s actions, but in Hrathen’s confidence. As long as Hrathen knew that his faith was as strong as Dilaf’s, then the arteth would not be able to manipulate him.
Dilaf would not, however, relent in his pursuit of Elantris’s destruction. “They are unholy!” the arteth insisted as they walked toward the chapel. This night’s sermon had been extremely successful; Hrathen could now claim over three-fourths of the local Arelish nobility as Derethi members or sympathizers. Telrii would crown himself within the week, and as soon as his rule stabilized a bit, he would announce his conversion to Shu-Dereth. Arelon was Hrathen’s, and he still had a month left before Wyrn’s deadline.
“The Elantrians have served their purpose, Arteth,” Hrathen explained to Dilaf as they walked. It was cold this night, though not cold enough for one’s breath to mist.
“Why do you forbid me to preach against them, my lord?” Dilaf’s voice was bitter—now that Hrathen forbade him to speak about Elantris, the arteth’s speeches seemed almost emasculated.
“Preaching against Elantris no longer has a point,” Hrathen said, matching Dilaf’s anger with logic. “Do not forget that our hate had a purpose. Now that I have proven Jaddeth’s supreme power over Elantris, we have effectively shown that our God is true, while Domi is false. The people understand that subconsciously.”
“But the Elantrians are still unholy.”
“They are