Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [233]
“You speak as if there weren’t anything we could do about Telrii’s claim of the throne,” Sarene said to the quiet room.
“What could we do?” Lukel said. “Telrii’s been crowned, and the nobility supports him.”
“So does Wyrn,” Sarene reminded. “Sending Ahan is a good idea, but I doubt you’ll find any leniency in Telrii’s reign—for us, or for the rest of Arelon. My lords, Raoden should have been king, and I am his wife. I feel responsible for his people. They suffered under Iadon. If Telrii turns this kingdom over to Wyrn, then Arelon will become nothing more than another Fjordell province.”
“What are you implying, Sarene?” Shuden asked.
“That we take action against Telrii—any action we can.”
The table fell silent. Finally, Roial spoke. “This is different from what we were doing before, Sarene. We opposed Iadon, but we did not plan to remove him. If we take direct action against Telrii, then we will be traitors to the Crown.”
“Traitors to the Crown, but not the people,” Sarene said. “In Teod, we respect the king because he protects us. It is a bargain—a formal agreement. Iadon did nothing to protect Arelon. He built no army to keep Fjorden away, he devised no legal system to insure that his subjects were treated fairly, and he did nothing to care for the spiritual welfare of his nation. My instincts warn me that Telrii will be even worse.”
Roial sighed. “I don’t know, Sarene. Iadon overthrew the Elantrians to seize his power, and now you suggest that we do the same thing. How much of this can a country stand before it breaks apart?”
“How much of Hrathen’s string pulling do you think it can stand?” Sarene asked pointedly.
The gathered lords looked at each other. “Let us sleep on it, Sarene,” Shuden requested. “You speak of difficult matters—ones that should not be entered into without careful meditation.”
“Agreed,” Sarene said. She was looking forward to the night’s rest herself. For the first time in almost a week, she was going to actually be warm as she slept.
The lords nodded, rising to go their separate ways. Roial hung back for a moment. “It looks as if there is no reason to continue our betrothal, is there, Sarene?”
“I don’t think so, my lord. If we take the throne now, it will be through force, not manipulation of politics.”
The elderly man nodded wistfully. “Ah, it was far too good to be true anyway, my dear. Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight,” Sarene said, smiling fondly as the aged duke left. Three engagements and no weddings. She was amassing a poor track record indeed. With a sigh, she watched Roial close the door, then turned to Kiin, who was fastidiously clearing away the remains of her meal.
“Uncle,” she said. “Telrii has moved into the palace and my things have been burned. I find myself suddenly without lodgings. Might I accept your offer of two months ago and move in here?”
Kiin chuckled. “My wife will be seriously annoyed if you don’t, ’Ene. She spent the last hour preparing a room for you.”
Sarene sat on her new bed, wearing one of her aunt’s nightgowns. Her legs were pulled tightly against her chest, and her bowed head was sorrowful.
Ashe fuzzed for a moment, her father’s face disappearing as the Seon returned to his normal shape. He was silent for a long moment before saying, “I am sorry, my lady.”
Sarene nodded, her bald head rubbing against her knees. Hrathen had not been lying—he hadn’t even been exaggerating. Her father had converted to Shu-Dereth.
The ceremony hadn’t been performed yet; there were no Derethi priests in Teod. However, it was apparent that as soon as Hrathen finished with Arelon, he intended to travel to her homeland and personally collect her father’s formal oath. The oath would place Eventeo at the bottom of the Derethi hierarchy, forcing him to submit to the whims of even a simple priest.
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