The people, however, never expected the fighting to go that far. Raoden heard what they said about him. They assumed that “Lord Spirit” would somehow find a way to bring Shaor to their side, just as he had with Aanden and Karata.
Raoden began to feel sick as they walked toward the chapel, the mounting pains of his several dozen bruises and scrapes suddenly pressing against him with suffocating pressure. It was as if his body were encased in a blazing fire—his flesh, bones, and soul being consumed in the heat.
“I’ve failed them,” he said quietly.
Galladon shook his head. “We can’t always get what we want on the first try. Kolo? You’ll find a way—I would never have thought you’d get this far.”
I was lucky. A lucky fool, Raoden thought as the pain pounded against him.
“Sule?” Galladon asked, suddenly looking at Raoden with concern. “Are you all right?”
Must be strong. They need me to be strong. With an inner groan of defiance, Raoden pushed through the haze of agony and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.”
“I’ve never seen you look like this, sule.”
Raoden shook his head, leaning up against the stone wall of a nearby building. “I’ll be all right—I was just wondering what we’re going to do about Shaor. We can’t reason with her, and we can’t defeat her men by force….”
“You’ll think of something,” Galladon said, his normal pessimism overridden by an obvious desire to encourage his friend.
Or we’ll all die, Raoden thought, hands growing tense as they gripped the stone corner of the wall. For good this time.
With a sigh, Raoden pushed away from the wall, the stone crumbling beneath his fingers. He turned around and looked at the wall with surprise. Kahar had recently cleaned it, and its white marble glistened in the sun—except where Raoden’s fingers had crushed it.
“Stronger than you thought?” Galladon asked with a smirk.
Raoden raised his eyebrows, brushing at the broken stone. It crumbled away. “This stone is as soft as pumice!”
“Elantris,” Galladon said. “Things decay quickly here.”
“Yes, but marble?”
“Everything. People too.”
Raoden smacked the broken spot of stone with another rock; small flecks and chips cascaded to the ground at the impact. “It’s all connected somehow, Galladon. The Dor is linked to Elantris, just as it’s linked to Arelon itself.”
“But why would the Dor do this, sule?” Galladon asked with a shake of his head. “Why destroy the city?”
“Maybe it’s not the Dor,” Raoden said. “Maybe it’s the sudden absence of the Dor. The magic—the Dor—was a part of this city. Every stone burned with its own light. When that power was removed, the city was left hollow. Like the discarded shell of a small rivercrawler that has grown too big for its skin. The stones are empty.”
“How can a stone be empty?” Galladon said skeptically.
Raoden cracked off another piece of marble, crumbling it between his fingers. “Like this, my friend. The rock spent so long infused by the Dor that it was weakened irreparably by the Reod. This city really is a corpse—its spirit has fled.”
The discussion was interrupted by the approach of an exhausted Mareshe. “My lord Spirit!” he said urgently as he approached.
“What is it?” Raoden asked apprehensively. “Another attack?”
Mareshe shook his head, confusion in his eyes. “No. Something different, my lord. We don’t know what to make of it. We’re being invaded.”
“By whom?”
Mareshe half smiled, then shrugged. “We think she’s a princess.”
_______
Raoden crouched on the rooftop, Galladon at his side. The building had been transformed into an observation area to watch the gates for newcomers. From its vantage, he could get a very good look at what was happening in the courtyard.
A crowd had gathered atop the Elantris city wall. The gate stood open. That fact was amazing enough; normally, after newcomers were cast in, the gate was immediately pulled shut, as if the guards were frightened to let it rest open for even a moment.
However, in front of the open gate sat a sight even more dumbfounding. A large horse-drawn cart rested in the middle of the courtyard, a cluster of well-dressed men huddled at its side. Only one person looked unafraid of what she saw before her—a tall woman with long blond hair. She wore a smooth, full-bodied brown dress with a black scarf tied around her right arm, and she stood with her arm raised to one of the horses’ necks, patting the nervous beast. Her sharp face held a set of capable eyes, and she studied the dirty, slime-splattered courtyard with a calculating expression.
Raoden exhaled. “I only saw her through Seon,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize she was so beautiful.”
“You recognize her, sule?” Galladon asked in surprise.
“I … think I’m married to her. That could only be Sarene, the daughter of King Eventeo of Teod.”
“What is she doing here?” Galladon asked.
“More importantly,” Raoden said, “what is she doing here with a dozen of Arelon’s most influential nobles? The older man near the back is Duke Roial—some say he’s the second-most-powerful man in the kingdom.”
Galladon nodded. “And I assume the young Jindo is Shuden, the Baron of Kaa Plantation?”
Raoden smiled. “I thought you were a simple farmer.”
“Shuden’s caravan route runs directly through the center of Duladel, sule. There isn’t a Dula alive who doesn’t know his name.”
“Ah,” Raoden said. “Counts Ahan and Eondel are there as well. What in Domi’s name is that woman planning?”
As if in response to Raoden’s question, Princess Sarene finished her contemplation of Elantris. She turned and walked to the back of the cart, shooing away apprehensive nobles with an intolerant hand. Then she reached up and whipped the cloth off the back of the cart, revealing its contents.
The cart was piled with food.
“Idos Domi!” Raoden cursed. “Galladon, we’re in trouble.”
Galladon regarded him with a frown. There was hunger in his eyes. “What in Doloken are you blabbering about, sule? That’s food, and my intuition tells me she’s going to give it to us. What could be wrong with that?”
“She must be doing her Widow’s Trial,” Raoden said. “Only a foreigner would think to come into Elantris.”
“Sule,” Galladon said instantly, “tell me what you’re thinking.”
“The timing is wrong, Galladon,” Raoden explained. “Our people are just starting to get a sense of independence; they’re beginning focus on the future and forget their pain. If someone hands them food now, they’ll forget everything else. For a short time they’ll be fed, but Widow’s Trials only last a few weeks. After that, it will be back to the pain, the hunger, and the self-pity. My princess out there could destroy everything we’ve been working for.”
“You’re right,” Galladon realized. “I’d almost forgotten how hungry I was until I saw that food.”
Raoden groaned.
“What?”
“What happens when Shaor hears about this? Her men will attack that cart like a pack of wolves. There’s no telling what kind of damage it would do if one of them killed a count or a baron. My father only suffers Elantris because he doesn’t have to think about it. If an Elantrian kills one of his nobles, however, he could very well decide to exterminate the lot of us.”
People were appearing in the alleys around the courtyard. None appeared to be Shaor’s men; they were the tired, wretched forms of those Elantrians who still lived on their own, wandering through the city like shades. More and more of them had been joining with Raoden—but now, with free food available, he would never get the rest of them. They would continue without thought or purpose, lost in their pain and damnation.
“Oh, my lovely princess,” Raoden whispered. “You probably mean well, but handing these people food is the worst thing you could do to them.”
Mareshe waited at the bottom of the stairs. “Did you see her?” he asked anxiously.
“We did,” Raoden said.