Elantris (Elantris 1)

“The Count of Eon Plantation,” Kiin said. “Lukel, go check on the pork while your cousin and I gossip about our guests.”

“Yes, Father,” Lukel said, accepting the poker and moving to the firepit room at the back of the kitchen.

“Eondel is the only man besides Raoden that I’ve ever seen openly oppose the king and get away with it,” Kiin explained. “He’s a military genius, and owns a small personal army. There are only a couple hundred men in it, but they’re extremely well trained.”

Next Kiin pointed through the slightly open door toward a man with dark brown skin and delicate features. “That man beside Eondel is Baron Shuden.”

“Jindoeese?” Sarene asked.

Her uncle nodded. “His family took up residence in Arelon about a century ago, and they’ve amassed a fortune directing the Jindoeese trade routes through the country. When Iadon came to power, he offered them a barony to keep their carav

ans running. Shuden’s father passed away about five years ago, and the son is much more traditional than the father ever was. He thinks Iadon’s method of rule contradicts the heart of Shu-Keseg, which is why he’s willing to meet with us.”

Sarene tapped her cheek in thought, studying Shuden. “If his heart is as Jindoeese as his skin, Uncle, then he could be a powerful ally indeed.”

“That’s what your husband thought,” Kiin said.

Sarene pursed her lips. “Why do you keep referring to Raoden as ‘your husband’? I know I’m married. No need to keep pointing it out.”

“You know it,” Kiin said in his deep-throated rasp, “but you don’t believe it yet.”

Either Kiin didn’t see the question in her face, or he simply ignored it, for he continued with his explanations as if he hadn’t just made an infuriatingly unfair judgment.

“Beside Shuden is the Duke Roial of Ial Plantation,” Kiin said, nodding to the oldest man in the room. “His holdings include the port of Iald—a city that is second only to Kae in wealth. He’s the most powerful man in the room, and probably the wisest as well. He’s been loath to take action against the king, however. Roial and Iadon have been friends since before the Reod.”

Sarene raised an eyebrow. “Why does he come, then?”

“Roial is a good man,” Kiin explained. “Friendship or not, he knows that Iadon’s rule has been horrible for this nation. That, and I suspect he also comes because of boredom.”

“He engages in traitorous conferences simply because he’s bored?” Sarene asked incredulously.

Her uncle shrugged. “When you’ve been around as long as Roial, you have trouble finding things to keep you interested. Politics is so ingrained in the duke that he probably can’t sleep at night unless he’s involved in at least five different wild schemes—he was governor of Iald before the Reod, and was the only Elantris-appointed official to remain in power after the uprising. He’s fabulously wealthy—the only way Iadon keeps ahead is by including national tax revenues in his own earnings.”

Sarene studied the duke as the group of men laughed at one of Roial’s comments. He seemed different from other elderly statesmen she had met: Roial was boisterous instead of reserved, almost more mischievous than distinguished. Despite the duke’s diminutive frame, he dominated the conversation, his thin locks of powder-white hair bouncing as he laughed. One man, however, didn’t seem captivated by the duke’s company.

“Who is that sitting next to Duke Roial?”

“The portly man?”

“Portly?” Sarene said with a raised eyebrow. The man was so overweight his stomach bulged over the sides of his chair.

“That’s how we fat men describe one another,” Kiin said with a smile.

“But Uncle,” Sarene said with a sweet grin. “You’re not fat. You’re … robust.”

Kiin laughed a scratchy-throated chuckle. “All right, then. The ‘robust’ gentleman next to Roial is Count Ahan. You wouldn’t know it by watching them, but he and the duke are very good friends. Either that or they’re very old enemies. I can never remember which it is.”

“There’s a bit of a distinction there, Uncle,” Sarene pointed out.

“Not really. The two of them have been squabbling and sparring for so long that neither one would know what to do without the other. You should have seen their faces when they realized they were both on the same side of this particular argument—Raoden laughed for days after that first meeting. Apparently, he’d gone to them each separately and gained their support, and they both came to that first meeting with the belief they were outdoing the other.”

“So why do they keep coming?”

“Well, they both seem to agree with our point of view—not to mention the fact that they really do enjoy one another’s company. That or they just want to keep an eye on each other.” Kiin shrugged. “Either way they help us, so we don’t complain.”

“And the last man?” Sarene asked, studying the table’s final occupant. He was lean, with a balding head and a pair of very fidgety eyes. The others didn’t let nervousness show; they laughed and spoke together as if they were meeting to discuss bird-watching rather than treason. This last man, however, wiggled in his seat uncomfortably, his eyes in constant motion—as if he were trying to determine the easiest way to escape.

“Edan,” Kiin said, his lips turning downward. “Baron of Tii Plantation to the south. I’ve never liked him, but he’s probably one of our strongest supporters.”

“Why is he so nervous?”

“Iadon’s system of government lends itself well to greed—the better a noble does financially, the more likely he is to be granted a better title. So, the minor nobles squabble like children, each one trying to find new ways to milk their subjects and increase their holdings.

“The system also encourages financial gambling. Edan’s fortune was never very impressive—his holdings border the Chasm, and the lands nearby just aren’t very fertile. In an attempt to gain a bit more status, Edan made some risky investments—but lost them. Now he doesn’t have the wealth to back his nobility.”

“He might lose his title?”

“Not ‘might’—he’s going to lose it as soon as the next tax period comes around and Iadon realizes just how poor the baron’s become. Edan has about three months to either discover a gold mine in his backyard or overthrow Iadon’s system of allocating noble titles.” Kiin scratched his face, as if looking for whiskers to pull in thought. Sarene smiled—ten years might have passed since the burly man’s face had held a beard, but old habits were more difficult to shave away.

“Edan is desperate,” Kiin continued, “and desperate people do things completely out of character. I don’t trust him, but of all the men in that room, he’s probably the most anxious for us to succeed.”

“Which would mean?” Sarene asked. “What exactly do these men expect to accomplish?”

Kiin shrugged. “They’ll do about anything to get rid of this silly system that requires them to prove their wealth. Noblemen will be nobleman, ’Ene—they’re worried about maintaining their place in society.”

Further discussion was halted as a voice called from the dining room. “Kiin,” Duke Roial noted pointedly, “we could have raised our own hogs and had them slaughtered in the time this is taking you.”

“Good meals take time, Roial,” Kiin huffed, sticking his head out the kitchen door. “If you think you can do better, you’re welcome to come cook your own.”

The duke assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait much longer. Kiin soon proclaimed the pig cooked to perfection, and ordered Lukel to begin cutting it. The rest of the meal quickly followed—a feast so large it would even have satisfied Kaise, if her father hadn’t ordered her and the other children to visit their aunt’s house for the evening.

“You’re still determined to join us?” Kiin asked Sarene as he reentered the kitchen to grab the final dish.

“Yes,” Sarene said firmly.

“This isn’t Teod, Sarene,” Kiin said. “The men here are a lot more … traditional. They don’t feel it’s proper for a woman to be involved in politics.”

“This from a man who’s doing the evening’s cooking?” Sarene asked.

Kiin smiled. “Good point,” he noted in his scratchy voice. Someday, she would have to find out what had happened to his throat.

“I can handle myself, Uncle,” Sarene said. “Roial isn’t the only one who likes a good challenge.”

“All right, then,” Kiin said, picking up a large steaming bean dish. “Let’s go.” Kiin led the way through the kitchen doors and then, after setting down the plate, gestured to Sarene. “Everyone, I’m sure you’ve all met my niece, Sarene, princess of our realm.”

Sarene curtsied to Duke Roial, then nodded to the others, before taking her seat.

“I was wondering who that extra seat was for,” mumbled the aged Roial. “Niece, Kiin? You have connections to the Teoish throne?”

“Oh come now!” The overweight Ahan laughed merrily. “Don’t tell me you don’t know Kiin is old Eventeo’s brother? My spies told me that years ago.”

“I was being polite, Ahan,” Roial said. “It’s bad form to spoil a man’s surprise just because your spies are efficient.”

“Well, it’s also bad form to bring an outsider to a meeting of this nature,” Ahan pointed out. His voice was still happy, but his eyes were quite serious.

All faces turned toward Kiin, but it was Sarene who answered. “One would think that after such a drastic reduction in your numbers, my lord, you would appreciate additional support—no matter how unfamiliar, or how feminine, it may be.”

The table went silent at her words, ten eyes studying her through the steam rising from Kiin’s several masterpieces. Sarene felt herself grow tense beneath their unaccepting gaze. These men knew just how quickly a single error could bring destruction upon their houses. One did not dabble lightly with treason in a country where civil upheaval was a fresh memory.

Finally, Duke Roial laughed, the chuckle echoing lightly from his slight frame. “I knew it!” he proclaimed. “My dear, no person could possibly be as stupid as you made yourself out to be—not even the queen herself is that empty-headed.”

Sarene pasted a smile over her nervousness. “I believe you’re wrong about Queen Eshen, Your Grace. She’s simply … energetic.”

Ahan snorted. “If that’s what you want to call it.” Then, as it appeared no one else was going to begin, he shrugged and began helping himself to the food. Roial, however, did not follow his rival’s lead; mirth had not erased his concerns. He folded his hands in front of himself and regarded Sarene with a very practiced gaze.

“You may be a fine actress, my dear,” the duke said as Ahan reached in front of him to grab a basket of rolls, “but I see no reason why you should attend this dinner. Through no fault of your own, you are young and inexperienced. The things we say tonight will be very dangerous to hear and even more dangerous to remember. An unnecessary set of ears—no matter how pretty the head to which they are attached—will not help.”