Sarene paused. “So you don’t think the Elantrians—what’s left of them—are devils?”
“Svrakiss, as the Fjordells call them?” Omin asked with amusement. “No, though I hear that is what this new gyorn teaches. I fear his pronouncements will only bring hatred.”
Sarene tapped her cheek in thought. “That may be what he wants.”
“What purpose could that accomplish?”
“I don’t know,” Sarene admitted.
Omin shook his head again. “I cannot believe any follower of God, even a gyorn, would do such a thing.” He took on an abstracted look as he considered the prospect, a slight frown on his face.
“Father?” Sarene asked. “Father?”
At the second prod Omin shook his head, as if startled to realize she was still there. “I’m sorry, child. What were we discussing?”
“You never finished telling me what a Widow’s Trial was,” she reminded. Tangents were all too frequent when one was speaking with the diminutive priest.
“Ah, yes. The Widow’s Trial. Put simply, child, you are expected to do some favor for the country—the more you loved your husband, and the more lofty your station, the more extravagant your Trial is supposed to be. Most women give food or clothing to the peasantry. The more personal your involvement, the better the impression you give. The Trial is a method of service—a means of bringing humility to the exalted.”
“But where will I get the money?” She hadn’t decided just how to go about asking her new father for a stipend.
“Money?” Omin asked with surprise. “Why, you’re one of the richest people in Arelon. Didn’t you know that?”
“What?”
“You inherited Prince Raoden’s estate, child,” Omin explained. “He was a very wealthy man—his father made sure of that. Under King Iadon’s government, it would not be good for the crown prince to be any less rich than a duke. By the same token, it would be a source of extreme embarrassment to him if his daughter-in-law weren’t fabulously wealthy. All you need to do is speak to the royal treasurer, and I’m certain he will take care of you.”
“Thank you, Father,” Sarene said, giving the little man a fond hug. “I have work to do.”
“Your visit was welcome, child,” Omin said, looking back at the city with contemplative eyes. “That is what I am here for.” However, she could tell that soon after making the comment, he had already forgotten her presence, traveling, once again, the long roads within his mind.
Ashe waited for her outside, hovering beside the door with characteristic patience.
“I don’t see why you’re so worried,” Sarene said to him. “Omin liked Elantris; he wouldn’t have anything against your entering his chapel.”
Ashe pulsed slightly. He hadn’t entered a Korathi chapel since the day many years ago when Seinalan, the patriarch of Shu-Korath, had thrown him out of one.
“It is all right, my lady,” Ashe said. “I have a feeling that no matter what the priests may say, both of us will be happier if we stay out of one another’s sight.”
“I disagree,” Sarene said, “but I don’t want to argue it. Did you hear anything of our conversation?”
“Seons have very good ears, my lady.”
“You don’t have ears at all,” she pointed out. “What did you think?”
“It sounds like a good way for my lady to gain some notoriety in the city.”
“My thought exactly.”
“One other thing, my lady. You two spoke of the Derethi gyorn and Elantris. The other night, when I was inspecting the city, I noticed the Gyorn Hrathen walking the city wall of Elantris. I have gone back several nights now, and have found him there on a couple of occasions. He appears quite friendly with the captain of the Elantris City Guard.”
“What is he trying to do with that city?” Sarene said, frustrated.
“It baffles me as well, my lady.”
Sarene frowned, trying to piece together what she knew of the gyorn’s actions and Elantris. She could make no connections. However, as she thought, something else occurred to her. Perhaps she could solve one of her other problems and inconvenience the gyorn at the same time.
“Maybe I don’t need to know what he is doing to block him,” she said.
“It would certainly help, my lady.”
“I don’t have that luxury. But, we do know this: If the gyorn wants the people to hate the Elantrians, then it is my job to see the opposite happen.”
Ashe paused. “What are you planning, my lady?”
“You’ll see,” she said with a smile. “First, let’s get back to my rooms. I’ve wanted to speak with Father for some time now.”
“‘Ene? I’m glad you called. I’ve been worried about you.” Eventeo’s glowing head hovered before her.
“You could have sent for me at any time, Father,” Sarene said.
“I didn’t want to intrude, honey. I know how you value your independence.”
“Independence is second to duty right now, Father,” Sarene said. “Nations are falling—we don’t have time to worry about one another’s feelings.”
“I stand corrected,” her father said with a chuckle.
“What is happening in Teod, Father?”
“It isn’t good,” Eventeo warned, his voice growing uncharacteristically somber. “These are dangerous times. I just had to put down another Jeskeri Mystery cult. They always seem to spring up when an eclipse is near.”
Sarene shivered. The Mystery cultists were an odd bunch, one her father didn’t like to deal with. There was reservation in his voice, however—something else was bothering him. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid there is, ’Ene,” her father admitted. “Something worse.”
“What?”
“You know Ashgress, the Fjordell ambassador?”
“Yes,” Sarene said with a frown. “What has he done? Denounced you in public?”
“No, something worse.” Her father’s face looked troubled. “He left.”
“Left? The country? After all the trouble Fjorden went through to get representatives back in?”
“That’s right, ’Ene,” Eventeo said. “He took his entire entourage, made a last speech on the docks, and left us behind. There was a disturbing air of finality about the event.”
“This isn’t good,” Sarene agreed. Fjorden had been dogmatic about keeping a presence in Teod. If Ashgress had left, he had gone in response to a personal command from Wyrn. It smelled of their having given up on Teod for good.
“I’m scared, ’Ene.” The words chilled her like nothing else—her father was the strongest man she knew.
“You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Only to you, ’Ene,” Eventeo said. “I want you to understand how serious the situation is.”
“I know,” Sarene said. “I understand. There’s a gyorn here in Kae.”
Her father muttered a few curses she had never heard him speak before.
“I think I can handle him, Father,” Sarene said quickly. “We’re keeping our eyes on one another.”
“Which one is it?”
“His name is Hrathen.”
Her father cursed again, this time even more vehemently. “Idos Domi, Sarene! Do you know who that is? Hrathen was the gyorn assigned to Duladen the six months before it collapsed.”
“I guessed that was who he was.”
“I want you out of there, Sarene,” Eventeo said. “That man is dangerous—do you know how many people died in the Duladen revolution? There were tens of thousands of casualties.”
“I know, Father.”
“I’m sending a ship for you—we’ll make our stand back here, where no gyorn is welcome.”
“I’m not leaving, Father,” Sarene said resolutely.
“Sarene, be logical.” Eventeo’s voice took on the quiet, prodding tone it did every time he wanted her to do something. He usually got his way; he was one of the few who knew how to sway her. “Everyone knows the Are
lish government is a mess. If this gyorn toppled Duladen, then he’ll have no trouble doing the same to Arelon. You can’t hope to stop him when the entire country is against you.”
“I have to stay, Father, regardless of the situation.”
“What loyalty do you owe them, Sarene?” Eventeo pled. “A husband you never knew? A people who are not your own?”
“I am the daughter of their king.”
“You are the daughter of a king here as well. What is the difference? Here the people know and respect you.”
“They know me, Father, but respect …” Sarene sat back, beginning to feel sick. The old feelings were returning—the feelings that had made her willing to leave her homeland in the first place, abandoning all she knew in favor of a foreign land.
“I don’t understand, ’Ene.” Her father’s voice was pained.