Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [252]
“But,” Sarene said with confusion, “just last week you warned us against letting bloodshed advance our revolt.”
Roial bowed his head. “The guilt was speaking, dear Sarene, for I had already sent for these men. However, I have changed my mind. This young man from Dula—”
Roial was interrupted by the sound of feet clomping in the entry hallway: Ahan had returned. Odd, Sarene thought to herself as she turned, I didn’t hear the front door close.
When she turned, it was not Ahan she found standing in the doorway. Instead, she was confronted by a group of armed soldiers with a well-dressed man at their front. King Telrii.
Sarene jumped up, but her yell of surprise was lost among other similar exclamations. Telrii stepped to the side, allowing a dozen men in Elantris City Guard uniforms to fill the room. They were followed by the portly Count Ahan.
“Ahan!” Roial said. “What have you done?”
“I finally got you, old man,” the count said gleefully, his jowls shaking. “I told you I would. Joke about how my caravans to Svorden are doing now, you cursed old idiot. We’ll see how yours do while you spend the next few years in prison.”
Roial shook a mournful, white-haired head. “You fool … Didn’t you realize when this stopped being a game? We aren’t playing with fruits and silks anymore.”
“Protest if you will,” Ahan said with a triumphant shake of his finger. “But you have to admit, I got you! I’ve been waiting to do this for months—I could never get Iadon to believe me. Can you believe that he actually thought you incapable of betraying him? He claimed your old friendship went too deep.”
Roial sighed, regarding Telrii, who was smiling broadly, obviously enjoying the exchange. “Oh, Ahan,” Roial said. “You have always been so fond of acting without thought.”
Sarene was stunned. She couldn’t move, or even speak. Traitors were supposed to be men with dark eyes and sour dispositions. She couldn’t connect that image with Ahan. He was arrogant and impetuous, but she liked him. How could someone she liked do something so horrible?
Telrii snapped his fingers, and a soldier stepped forward and rammed his sword directly into Duke Roial’s belly. Roial gasped, then crumpled with a moan.
“Thus are the judgments of your king,” Telrii said.
Ahan yelled, eyes widening in his fat face. “No! You said prison!” He rushed past Telrii, blubbering as he knelt beside Roial.
“Did I?” Telrii asked. Then he pointed at two of his soldiers. “You two, gather some men and find those assassins, then …” He tapped his thin thoughtfully. “… throw them off the walls of Elantris.”
The two men saluted, then marched from the room.
“The rest of you,” Telrii said, “kill these traitors. Start with the dear princess. Let it be known that this is the punishment for all those who try to usurp the throne.”
“No!” Shuden and Eondel yelled in unison.
The soldiers started to move, and Sarene found herself behind a protective wall formed by Shuden, Eondel, and Lukel. Only Eondel was armed, however, and they were faced by ten men.
“Interesting you should mention usurpers, Duke Telrii,” a voice said from across the table. “I was under the impression that the throne belonged to Iadon’s family.”
Sarene followed the sound. Her eyes found Spirit—or, at least, someone wearing Spirit’s clothing. He had pale Aonic skin, sandy brown hair, and keen blue eyes. Spirit’s eyes. But his face didn’t show any signs of Elantris’s taint. He tossed a rag on the table, and she could see the brown stains on one side—as if he wanted them to believe he had simply wiped away his makeup to reveal a completely different face underneath.
Telrii gasped, stumbling back against the wall. “Prince Raoden!” he choked. “No! You died. They told me you were dead!”
Raoden. Sarene felt numb. She stared at the man Spirit, wondering who he was, and if she had ever really known him.
Spirit looked at the soldiers. “Would you dare slay the true king of Arelon?” he demanded.
The Guard members stepped back, faces confused and frightened.
“Men, protect me!” Telrii yelped, turning