Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [81]
He floated lethargically; the river grew wide after rising to the surface, and the current slowed considerably. He felt a form approach in the water, and he tried to speak, but his lungs were full. He only succeeded in vocalizing a loud, uncontrollable fit of coughing.
A hand clamped around his mouth, cutting off his cough with a gurgle.
“Quiet, fool!” Karata hissed.
Raoden nodded, struggling to control his fit. Perhaps he should have concentrated less on the theological metaphors of the trip, and more on keeping his mouth closed.
Karata released his mouth, but continued to hold on to his shoulder, keeping them together as they drifted past the city of Kae. Its shops were closed for the night, but an occasional guard patrolled the streets. The two continued to float in silence until they reached the northern edge of the city, where Iadon’s castle-like palace rose in the night. Then, still not speaking, they swam to the shore beside the palace.
The palace was a dark, sullen edifice—a manifestation of Iadon’s one insecurity. Raoden’s father was not often afraid; in fact, he was often belligerent when he should have been intelligently apprehensive. The trait had earned him wealth as a businessman trading with the Fjordell, but it had brought him failure as a king. In one thing only was Iadon paranoid: sleeping. The king was terrified that assassins would somehow sneak in and murder him as he slumbered. Raoden remembered well his father’s irrational muttering on the subject each night before retiring. The worries of kingship had only made Iadon worse, causing him to outfit his already fortresslike house with a battalion of guards. The soldiers lived near Iadon’s own quarters to facilitate quick response.
“All right,” Karata whispered, watching uncertainly as guards crossed on the battlements, “you got us out. Now get us in.”
Raoden nodded, trying to drain his sodden lungs as silently as possible—an act not accomplished without a fair bit of muffled retching.
“Try not to cough so much,” Karata advised. “You’ll irritate your throat and make your chest sore, and then you’ll spend eternity feeling like you have a cold.”
Raoden groaned, pushing himself to his feet. “We need to get to the west side,” he said, his voice a croak.
Karata nodded. She walked silently and quickly—much more so than Raoden could manage—like a person well acquainted with danger. Several times she put back her hand in warning, halting their progress just before a squad of guards appeared out of the darkness. Her aptitude gained them the western side of Iadon’s palace without mishap, despite Raoden’s lack of skill.
“Now what?” she asked quietly.
Raoden paused. A question now confronted him. Why did Karata want access to the palace? From what Raoden had heard of her, she didn’t seem like the type to exact revenge. She was brutal, but not vindictive. But, what if he were wrong? What if she did want Iadon’s blood?
“Well?” Karata asked.
I won’t let her kill my father, he decided. No matter how poor a king he is, I won’t let her do that. “You have to answer something for me first.”
“Now?” she asked with annoyance.
Raoden nodded. “I need to know why you want into the palace.”
She frowned in the darkness. “You aren’t in any position to make demands.”
“Nor are you in any position to refuse them,” Raoden said. “All I have to do is raise an alarm, and we’ll both be taken by the guards.”
Karata waited quietly in the darkness, obviously debating whether or not he would do it.
“Look,” Raoden said. “Just tell me one thing. Do you intend to harm the king?”
Karata met his eyes, then shook her head. “My quibble is not with him.”
Do I believe her, or not? Raoden thought. Do I have a choice?
He reached over, pulling back a patch of bushes that abutted the wall; then he threw his weight against one of the stones. The stone sank into the wall with a quiet grinding noise, and a section of ground fell away before them.
Karata