Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [28]
Kiin’s large, castle-like mansion was not a surprise. She remembered that her uncle had been a merchant of some sort, and her memories were highlighted by expensive gifts and Kiin’s exotic clothing. He had not only been the younger son of a king, but he had also been an extremely successful businessman. Something he still was, appartently. He’d been out of the city on business until that morning, which was why she hadn’t seen him at the funeral.
The greatest shock was the children. Despite the fact that Sarene knew he was married, she just couldn’t reconcile her recollections of the unruly Hunkey Kay with the concept of fatherhood. Her preconceptions were neatly shattered the moment Kiin and Daora opened the door to the mansion’s dining hall.
“Father’s home!” called the voice of a young girl.
“Yes, Father’s home,” Kiin said with a suffering voice. “And no, I didn’t bring you anything. I’ve only been gone a few minutes.”
“I don’t care what you did or didn’t bring me. I just want to eat.” The speaker, a young girl about ten years old, had a very serious, adult-sounding voice. She wore a pink dress tied with white ribbon, and had a bob of stark blond hair on her head.
“When do you not want to eat, Kaise?” a little boy, who looked almost identical to the girl, asked with a sour look.
“Children, don’t squabble,” Daora said firmly. “We have a guest.”
“Sarene,” Kiin declared, “meet your cousins. Kaise and Daorn. The two biggest headaches in your poor uncle’s life.”
“Now, Father, you know you would have gone mad from boredom long ago without them,” a man said from the far doorway. The newcomer was of average Arelish height, which meant he was an inch or two shorter than Sarene, with a lean build and a strikingly handsome, hawkish face. His hair had been parted down the center and flopped down on either side of his face. A woman with black hair stood at his side, her lips slightly pursed as she studied Sarene.
The man bowed slightly to Sarene. “Your Highness,” he said with only a hint of a smile on his lips.
“My son Lukel,” Kiin explained.
“Your son?” Sarene asked with surprise. Young children she could accept, but Lukel was a few years older than she was. That meant …
“No,” Kiin said with a shake of his head. “Lukel is from Daora’s previous marriage.”
“Not that that makes me any less his son,” Lukel said with a broad smile. “You can’t escape responsibility for me that easily.”
“Domi himself wouldn’t dare take responsibility for you,” Kiin said. “Anyway, that’s Jalla next to him.”
“Your daughter?” Sarene asked as Jalla curtsied.
“Daughter-in-law,” the dark-haired woman explained, her speech thick with an accent.
“You’re Fjordell?” Sarene asked. The hair had been a clue, but the name and accent were giveaways.
“Svordish,” Jalla corrected—not that it was much different. The small kingdom of Svorden was all but a Fjordell province.
“Jalla and I studied together at the Svordish university,” Lukel explained. “We were married last month.”
“Congratulations,” Sarene said. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only newlywed in the room.” Sarene meant the comment lightly, but was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She felt Kiin’s large hand grip her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, ’Ene,” he said softly. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but … You deserved better than this; you were always such a happy child.”
“No loss to me,” Sarene said with an indifference she didn’t feel. “It isn’t like I knew him, Uncle.”
“Even still,” Daora said, “it must have been a shock.”
“You could say that,” Sarene agreed.
“If it helps,” Kiin said, “Prince Raoden was a good man. One of the best I have ever known. If you knew a little more about Arelish politics, then you would understand that I don’t use those words lightly