Elantris (Elantris 1)

Sarene narrowed her eyes, trying to decide whether the duke was attempting to provoke her or not. Roial was as hard a man to read as any she had ever met. “You’ll find that I am hardly inexperienced, my lord. In Teod we don’t shelter our women behind a curtain of weaving and embroidering. I have spent years serving as a diplomat.”

“True,” Roial said, “but you are hardly familiar with the delicate political situations here in Arelon.”

Sarene raised an eyebrow. “I have often found, my lord, that a fresh, unbiased opinion is an invaluable tool in any discussion.”

“Don’t be silly, girl,” spat the still nervous Edan as he filled his plate. “I’m not going to risk my safety simply because you want to assert your liberated nature.”

A dozen snide retorts snapped to Sarene’s lips. However, even as she was deciding which was the most witty, a new voice entered the debate.

“I beseech you, my lords,” said the young Jindo, Shuden. His words were very soft, but still distinct. “Answer me a question. Is ‘girl’ the proper title for one who, had things turned out a bit differently, might have been our queen?”

Forks stopped on the way to mouths, and once again Sarene found herself the focus of the room’s attention. This time, however, the looks were slightly more appreciative. Kiin nodded, and Lukel shot her an encouraging smile.

“I warn you, my lords,” Shuden continued, “forbid her or accept her as you will, but do not treat her with disrespect. Her Arelish title is no stronger and no more flimsy than our own. Where we ignore one, we must ignore all others.”

Sarene blushed furiously on the inside, chastising herself. She had overlooked her most valuable asset—her marriage to Raoden. She had been a Teoish princess all her life; the position formed the cornerstone of who she was. Unfortunately, that self-concept was outdated. She was no longer just Sarene, daughter of Teod; she was also Sarene, wife to the crown prince of Arelon.

“I applaud your caution, my lords,” she said. “You have good reason to be careful—you have lost your patron, the only man who could have given you a measure of protection. Remember, however, that I am his wife. I am no substitute for the prince, but I am still a connection to the throne. Not just this throne, but others as well.”

“That’s well and good, Sarene,” Roial said, “but ‘connections’ and promises will do us little good in the face of the king’s wrath.”

“Little good is not the same as no good, my lord,” Sarene replied. Then, in a softer, less argumentative tone, she continued. “My lord duke, I will never know the man that I now call my husband. You all respected and, if I am to believe my uncle, loved Raoden—but I, who should have come to love him best, can never even meet him. This work in which you are involved was his passion. I want to be a part of it. If I cannot know Raoden, at least let me share his dreams.”

Roial watched her for a second, and she knew that he was measuring her sincerity. The duke was not a man to be fooled by mock sentimentality. Eventually, he nodded and began cutting himself a piece of pork. “I have no problem with her staying.”

“Neither do I,” Shuden said.

Sarene looked at the others. Lukel was smiling openly at her speech, and the stately mercenary Lord Eondel was nearly in tears. “I give my assent to the lady.”

“Well, if Roial wants her here, then I have to object out of principle,” Ahan said with a laugh. “But, happily, it looks as if I’m outvoted.” He winked at her with a broad smile. “I get tired of looking at the same crusty old faces anyway.”

“Then she stays?” Edan asked with surprise.

“She stays,” Kiin said. Her uncle still hadn’t touched his meal. He wasn’t the only one—neither Shuden nor Eondel had begun to eat either. As soon as the debate ended, Shuden bowed his head in a short prayer, then turned to eating. Eondel, however, waited until Kiin had taken his first bite—a fact Sarene noticed with interest. Despite Roial’s higher rank, the meeting was at Kiin’s home. According to the older traditions, it should have been his privilege to eat first. Only Eondel, however, had waited. The others were probably so accustomed to being the most important person at their respective tables that they gave no thought to when they should eat.

After the intensity of the debate surrounding Sarene’s place, or lack thereof, the lords were quick to turn their minds to a topic less controversial.

“Kiin,” Roial declared, “this is by far the best meal I have eaten in decades.”

“You humble me, Roial,” Kiin said. He apparently avoided calling the others by their titles—but, oddly, none of them seemed to mind.

“I agree with Lord Roial, Kiin,” Eondel said. “No chef in this country can outdo you.”

“Arelon is a large place, Eondel,” Kiin said. “Be careful not to encourage me too much, lest you find someone better and disappoint me.”

“Nonsense,” Eondel said.

“I can’t believe that you make all of it by yourself,” Ahan said with a shake of his large round head. “I’m absolutely certain that you have a fleet of Jaadorian chefs hiding underneath one of those counters back there.”

Roial snorted. “Just because it keeps an army of men to keep you fed, Ahan, doesn’t mean that a single cook isn’t satisfactory for the rest of us.” Then, to Kiin, he continued. “Still, Kiin, it is very odd of you to insist on doing this all yourself. Couldn’t you at least hire an assistant?”

“I enjoy it, Roial. Why would I let someone else steal my pleasure?”

“Besides, my lord,” Lukel added, “it gives the king chest pains every time he hears that a man as wealthy as my father does something as mundane as cook.”

“Quite clever,” Ahan agreed. “Dissidence through subservience.”

Kiin held up his hands innocently. “All I know, my lords, is that a man can take care of himself and his family quite easily without any assistance, no matter how wealthy he supposedly is.”

“Supposedly, my friend?” Eondel laughed. “The little bit you let us see is enough to earn you a barony at least. Who knows, maybe if you told everyone how much you’re really worth we wouldn’t have to worry about Iadon—you’d be king.”

“Your assumptions are a bit inflated, Eondel,” Kiin said. “I’m just a simple man who likes to cook.”

Roial smiled. “A simple man who likes to cook—and whose brother is king of Teod, whose niece is now the daughter of two kings, and whose wife is a ranked noblewoman in our own court.”

“I can’t help that I’m related to important people,” Kiin said. “Merciful Domi gives us each different trials.”

“Speaking of trials,” Eondel said, turning eyes on Sarene. “Has Your Ladyship decided what to do for her Trial yet?”

Sarene furled her brow in confusion. “Trial, my lord?”

“Yes, uh, your …” The dignified man looked to the side, a bit embarrassed.

“He’s talking about your Widow’s Trial,” Roial explained.

Kiin shook his head. “Don’t tell me you expect her to perform one of those, Roial? She never even met Raoden—it’s preposterous to expect her to go through mourning, let alone a Trial.”

Sarene felt herself grow annoyed. No matter how much she claimed she enjoyed surprises, she didn’t like the way this conversation was going. “Would one of you please explain exactly what this Trial is?” she requested in a firm voice.

“When an Arelish noblewoman is widowed, my lady,” Shuden explained, “she is expected to perform a Trial.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Sarene asked, frowning. She did not like unfulfilled duties hanging over her.

“Oh, hand out some food or blankets to the poor,” Ahan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No one expects you to take any real interest in the process, it’s just one of the traditions that Iadon decided to hold over from the old days—the Elantrians used to do something similar whenever one of their kind died. I never liked the custom myself. It seems to me we shouldn’t encourage the people to look forwar

d to our deaths; it doesn’t bode well for an aristocrat’s popularity to be at its greatest just after he dies.”

“I think it’s a fine tradition, Lord Ahan,” Eondel said.

Ahan chuckled. “You would, Eondel. You’re so conservative that even your socks are more traditional than the rest of us.”

“I can’t believe no one’s told me about it,” Sarene said, still annoyed.

“Well,” Ahan said, “perhaps somebody would have mentioned it to you if you didn’t spend all of your time holed up in the palace or in Kiin’s house.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Arelon has a fine court, Princess,” Eondel said. “I believe there have been two balls since you arrived, and there is another happening as we speak.”

“Well, why didn’t anyone invite me?” she asked.

“Because you’re in mourning,” Roial explained. “Besides, the invitations only go out to men, who in turn bring their sisters and wives.”