Elantris - Brandon Sanderson [87]
“Very nice, dear,” Eshen said. Only the incurably bubbly queen could deliver such a compliment without sarcasm.
Sarene sighed, dropping her hoop to her lap and grabbing some brown thread for the branch.
“Don’t worry, Sarene,” Daora said. “Domi gives everyone different levels of talent, but he always rewards diligence. Continue to practice and you will improve.”
You say that with such ease, Sarene thought with a mental scowl. Daora’s own hoop was filled with a detailed masterpiece of embroidered perfection. She had entire flocks of birds, each one tiny yet intricate, hovering and spinning through the branches of a statuesque oak. Kiin’s wife was the embodiment of aristocratic virtue.
Daora didn’t walk, she glided, and her every action was smooth and graceful. Her makeup was striking—her lips bright red and her eyes mysterious—but it had been applied with masterful subtlety. She was old enough to be stately, yet young enough to be known for her remarkable beauty. In short, she was the type of woman Sarene would normally hate—if she weren’t also the kindest, most intelligent woman in the court.
After a few moments of quiet, Eshen began to talk, as usual. The queen seemed frightened of silence, and was constantly speaking or prompting others to do so. The other women in the group were content to let her lead—not that anyone would have wanted to try wrestling control of a conversation from Eshen.
The queen’s embroidery group consisted of about ten women. At first, Sarene had avoided their meetings, instead focusing her attention on the political court. However, she had soon realized that the women were as important as any civil matter; gossip and idle chatting spread news that couldn’t be discussed in a formal setting. Sarene couldn’t afford to be out of the chain, she just wished she didn’t have to reveal her ineptitude to take part.
“I heard that Lord Waren, son of the Baron of Kie Plantation, has had quite the religious experience,” Eshen said. “I knew his mother—she was a very decent woman. Quite proficient at knitting. Next year, when sweaters come back in, I’m going to force Iadon to wear one—it isn’t seemly for a king to appear unconscious of fashion. His hair is quite too long.”
Daora pulled a stitch tight. “I have heard the rumors about young Waren. It seems odd to me that now, after years of being a devout Korathi, he would suddenly convert to Shu-Dereth.”
“They’re all but the same religion anyway,” Atara said offhandedly. Duke Telrii’s wife was a small woman—even for an Arelene—with shoulder-length auburn curls. Her clothing and jewelry was by far the richest in the room, a compliment to her husband’s extravagance, and her stitching patterns were always conservative and unimaginative.
“Don’t say such things around the priests,” warned Seaden, Count Ahan’s wife. The largest woman in the room, her girth nearly matched that of her husband. “They act as if your soul depends on whether you call God Domi or Jaddeth.”
“The two do have some very striking differences,” Sarene said, trying to shield her mangled embroidering from the eyes of her companions.
“Maybe if you’re a priest,” Atara said with a quiet twitter of a laugh. “But those things hardly make any difference to us.”
“Of course,” Sarene said. “We are, after all, only women.” She looked up from her needlepoint discreetly, smiling at the reaction her statement sparked. Perhaps the women of Arelon weren’t quiet as subservient as their men assumed.
The quiet continued for only a few moments before Eshen spoke again. “Sarene, what do women do in Teod to pass the time?”
Sarene raised an eyebrow in surprise; she had never heard the queen ask such a straightforward question. “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”
“What do