Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [241]
Seeing them, however, reminded her of the strange loss she still felt at having left Elantris behind. It wasn’t just Spirit; Elantris was the one place where she could remember feeling unconditional acceptance. She had not been a princess, she had been something far better—a member of a community where every individual was vital. She had felt warmth from those motley-skinned Elantrians, a willingness to accept her into their lives and give her part of themselves.
There, in the center of the most cursed city in the world, Spirit had constructed a society that exemplified Korathi teachings. The church taught of the blessings of unity; it was ironic that the only people who practiced such ideals were those who had been damned.
Sarene shook her head, snapping her sword forward in a practice thrust, beginning her warm-ups. She had spent her adult life in an unending quest to find acceptance and love. When, at long last, she had finally found both, she had left them behind.
She wasn’t sure how long she practiced—she fell into her forms easily once the warm-ups were finished. Her thoughts rotated around Elantris, Domi, her feelings, and the indecipherable ironies of life. She was sweating heavily by the time she realized the other women had stopped sparring.
Sarene looked up with surprise. Everyone was huddled at one side of the pavilion, chattering among themselves and looking at something Sarene couldn’t see. Curious, she edged her way to the side until her superior height gave her a good look at the object of their attention. A man.
He was dressed in fine blue and green silks, a feathered hat on his head. He had the creamy brown skin of a Duladen aristocrat—not as dark as Shuden’s, but not as light as Sarene’s. His features were round and happy, and he had a foppish, unconcerned air. Duladen indeed. The dark-skinned servant at his side was massive and bulky, like most Dulas of lower birth. She had never seen either man before.
“What is going on here?” Sarene demanded.
“His name is Kaloo, my lady,” Ashe explained, floating over to her. “He arrived a few moments ago. Apparently, he’s one of the few Duladen Republicans that escaped the massacre last year. He has been hiding in southern Arelon until just recently, when he heard that King Iadon was looking for a man to take Baron Edan’s holdings.”
Sarene frowned; something about the man bothered her. The women suddenly burst into laughter at one of his comments, giggling as if the Dula were an old and favored member of the court. By the time the laughter died down, the Dula had noticed Sarene.
“Ah,” Kaloo said, bowing ornately. “This must be the Princess Sarene. They say you are the most fair woman in all of Opelon.”
“You should not believe all of the things that people say, my lord,” Sarene replied slowly.
“No,” he agreed, looking up into her eyes. “Only the ones that are true.”
Despite herself, Sarene started to blush. She did not like men who could do that to her. “I’m afraid you have caught us off guard, my lord,” Sarene said through narrowed eyes. “We have been exercising quite vigorously, and are in no position to receive you like proper ladies.”
“I apologize for my abrupt arrival, Your Highness,” Kaloo said. Despite the polite words, he appeared unconcerned that he had interrupted an obviously private gathering. “Upon arriving in this glorious city, I first paid my respects to the palace—but was told that I would have to wait for at least a week to see the king himself. I put my name on the lists, then had my coachman drive me around your lovely city. I had heard of the illustrious Duke Roial, and decided to pay him a visit. How surprised