Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [32]
“Jaddeth struck down the Elantrians,” Dilaf said fervently.
“Yes,” Hrathen said, not bothering to look down at the shorter man. “But ofttimes Jaddeth uses natural processes to bring about His will. A plague will kill Fjordell as well as Arelene.”
“Jaddeth would protect his chosen.”
“Of course,” Hrathen said distractedly, shooting one more dissatisfied glance down the hallway toward the throne room. He had made the offer out of duty, knowing that the easiest way to save Arelon would be to convert its ruler, but he hadn’t expected Iadon to respond favorably. If only the king knew how much suffering he could forestall with a simple profession of faith.
It was too late now; Iadon had formally rejected Jaddeth. He would have to become an example. However, Hrathen would have to be careful. Memories of the Duladen revolution were still stark in Hrathen’s mind—the death, blood, and chaos. Such a cataclysm had to be avoided. Hrathen was a stern man, and a determined one, but he was no lover of carnage.
Of course, with only three months’ time, he might not have a choice. If he was going to succeed, he might have to incite a revolt. More death and more chaos—horrible things to throw upon a nation that had still hadn’t recovered from its last violent revolution. However, Jaddeth’s empire would not sit still and wait because a few ignorant nobles refused to accept the truth.
“I suppose I expected too much of them,” Hrathen mumbled. “They are, after all, only Arelenes.”
Dilaf made no response to the comment.
“I noticed someone odd in the throne room, Arteth,” Hrathen said as they turned and walked out of the palace, passing both sculpture and servant without so much as a glance. “Perhaps you can help me identify her. She was Aonic, but she was taller than most Arelenes, and her hair was much lighter than the average Arelish brown. She looked out of place.”
“What was she wearing, Your Holiness?” Dilaf asked.
“Black. All black with a yellow sash.”
“The new princess, Your Grace,” Dilaf hissed, his voice suddenly hateful.
“New princess?”
“She arrived yesterday, the same as yourself. She was to be married to Iadon’s son Raoden.”
Hrathen nodded. He hadn’t attended the prince’s funeral, but he had heard of the event. He hadn’t known, however, of the impending marriage. The betrothal must have occurred recently. “She’s still here,” he asked, “even though the prince died?”
Dilaf nodded. “Unfortunately for her, the royal engagement contract made her his wife the moment he died.”
“Ah,” Hrathen said. “Where is she from?”
“Teod, Your Grace,” Dilaf said.
Hrathen nodded, understanding the hatred in Dilaf ‘s voice. Arelon, despite the blasphemous city of Elantris, at least showed some possibility for redemption. Teod, however, was the homeland of Shu-Korath—a degenerate sect of Shu-Keseg, the parent religion of Shu-Dereth. The day Teod fell beneath Fjorden’s glory would be a joyous day indeed.
“A Teoish princess could be a problem,” Hrathen mused.
“Nothing can hinder Jaddeth’s empire.”
“If nothing could hinder it, Arteth, then it would already encompass the entire planet. Jaddeth takes pleasure in allowing His servants to serve Him, and grants us glory in bending the foolish before our will. And of all the fools in the world, Teoish fools are the most dangerous.”
“How could one woman be a danger to you, Your Holiness?”
“Well, for one thing, her marriage means that Teod and Arelon have a formal blood bond. If we aren’t careful, we’ll have to fight them both at once. A man is more likely to think himself a hero when he has an ally to support him.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
Hrathen nodded, sweeping out into the sunlight. “Pay attention, Arteth, and I will teach you a very important lesson—one that few people know, and even fewer can properly use.”
“What lesson is that?” Dilaf asked, following close behind.
Hrathen