Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [227]
As he walked, Hrathen found his eyes consistently drawn toward the darkened streets of Elantris. He tried to focus his thoughts on Telrii and the impending conquest of Arelon, but another matter tickled at his mind.
Grudgingly, Hrathen admitted to himself that he had wanted to walk the wall of Elantris this night for more than one reason. He was worried about the princess. The emotion bothered him, of course, but he didn’t deny that he felt it. Sarene had been a wonderful opponent, and he knew how dangerous Elantris could be. He had realized this when he gave the poisoning order, determining the risk to be worth the gain. After waiting three days, however, his resolve was beginning to waver. He needed her to live for more reason than one.
So, Hrathen watched the streets, foolishly hoping that he might see her below and console his conscience that she was unharmed. Of course, he hadn’t seen anything of the sort; in fact, there didn’t seem to be any Elantrians about this evening. Hrathen didn’t know if they had just moved to other parts of the city, or if the place had grown so violent that they had destroyed themselves. For the princess’s sake, he hoped the second was not true.
“You are the gyorn, Hrathen,” a sudden voice said.
Hrathen spun, eyes searching for the man who had approached him unseen and unheard. A Seon hovered behind him, glowing vibrantly in the darkness. Hrathen squinted, reading the Aon at its center. Dio.
“I am he,” Hrathen said cautiously.
“I come on behalf of my master, King Eventeo of Teod,” the Seon said with a melodious voice. “He wishes to speak with you.”
Hrathen smiled. He had been wondering how long it would take Eventeo to contact him. “I am anxious to hear what His Majesty has to say.”
The Seon pulsed as its light pulled inward, outlining the face of a man with an oval face and a full chin.
“Your Majesty,” Hrathen said with a slight nod. “How may I serve you?”
“No need for useless civility, Gyorn,” Eventeo said flatly. “You know what I want.”
“Your daughter.”
The king’s head nodded. “I know that somehow you have power over this sickness. What would it take for you to heal Sarene?”
“I have no power of myself,” Hrathen said humbly. “It was Lord Jaddeth who performed the healing.”
The king paused. “Then, what would it take for your Jaddeth to heal my daughter?”
“The Lord might be persuaded if you gave Him some form of encouragement,” Hrathen said. “The faithless receive no miracles, Your Majesty.”
King Eventeo slowly bowed his head—he had obviously known what Hrathen would demand. He must love his daughter very much.
“It will be as you say, priest,” Eventeo promised. “If my daughter returns safely from that city, I will convert to Shu-Dereth. I knew it was coming anyway.”
Hrathen smiled broadly. “I will see if I can … encourage Lord Jaddeth to return the princess, Your Majesty.”
Eventeo nodded. His face was that of a man defeated. The Seon ended the contact and floated away without a word.
Hrathen smiled, the final piece of his plan falling into place. Eventeo had made a wise decision. This way, at least, he got to demand something in return for his conversion—even if it was something he would have received anyway.
Hrathen looked down at Elantris, more anxious than ever that Sarene return to him unharmed. It was beginning to appear that within the next few months he would be able to hand Wyrn not one heathen nation, but two.
CHAPTER 46
There had been times when Raoden had wished his father dead. Raoden had seen the people’s suffering, and knew his father was to blame. Iadon had proven himself deceitful in his success and merciless in his determination to crush others. He had delighted in watching his nobles squabble while his kingdom collapsed. Arelon would be better off without King Iadon.
Yet, when news of his father’s demise actually