Elantris (Elantris 1)

“What does she want?”

Before Raoden could reply, a firm, feminine voice called out of the courtyard. “I would speak with the tyrants of this city—the ones who call themselves Aanden, Karata, and Shaor. Present yourselves to me.”

“Where …?” Raoden asked with surprise.

“Remarkably well informed, isn’t she,” Mareshe noted.

“A little outdated, though,” Galladon added.

Raoden ground his teeth, thinking quickly. “Mareshe, send a runner for Karata. Tell her to meet us at the university.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, waving over a messenger boy.

“Oh,” Raoden said, “and have Saolin bring half of his soldiers and meet us there. He’s going to need to keep an eye on Shaor’s men.”

“I could go fetch them myself, if my lord wishes,” offered Mareshe, ever watchful for a chance to impress.

“No,” Raoden said. “You have to practice being Aanden.”

CHAPTER 23

Eondel and Shuden both insisted on going with her. Eondel kept one hand on his sword—he usually wore the weapon no matter what Arelish propriety said about them—and he watched both their guide and their complement of Elantris City Guards with equal amounts of suspicion. For their parts, the guards did a fair job of looking nonchalant, as if coming into Elantris were an everyday occurrence. Sarene could sense their anxiety, however.

Everyone had objected at first. It was unthinkable that she let herself be lured into the bowels of Elantris to meet with despots. Sarene, however, was determined to prove that the city was harmless. She couldn’t very well balk at a short trip inside if she wanted to persuade the other nobles to enter the gates.

“We’re nearly there,” the guide said. He was a taller man, about the same height as Sarene in heels. The gray parts of his skin were a little lighter than those on the other Elantrians she had seen, though she didn’t know if that meant he had been pale-skinned before, or if he had simply been in Elantris a shorter time than the rest. He had an oval face that might have been handsome before the Shaod destroyed it. He wasn’t a servant; he walked with too proud a gait. Sarene guessed that even though he was acting as a simple messenger, he was one of the trusted minions of an Elantris gang leader.

“What is your name?” she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. He belonged to one of three groups who, according to Ashe’s sources, ruled the city like warlords and enslaved those who were newly cast inside.

The man didn’t respond immediately. “They call me Spirit,” he eventually said.

A fitting name, Sarene thought, for this man who is so much a ghost of what he once must have been.

They approached a large building that the man, Spirit, informed her used to be Elantris’s university. Sarene regarded the building with a critical eye. It was covered with the same odd, brownish green sludge that coated the rest of the city, and while the structure might have once been great, now it was just another ruin. Sarene hesitated as their guide walked into the building. In Sarene’s estimation, the upper floor was seriously considering a collapse.

She shot Eondel a look. The older man was apprehensive, rubbing his chin in thought. Then he shrugged, giving Sarene a nod. We’ve come this far … he seemed to be saying.

So, trying not to think about the sagging ceiling, Sarene led her band of friends and soldiers into the structure. Fortunately, they didn’t have to go far. A group of Elantrians stood near the back of the first room, their dark-skinned faces barely visible in the dim light. Two stood on what appeared to be the rubble of a fallen table, raising their heads a few feet above the others.

“Aanden?” Sarene asked.

“And Karata,” replied the second form—apparently a woman, though her bald head and wrinkled face were virtually indistinguishable from those of a man. “What do you want of us?”

“I was led to believe you two were enemies,” Sarene said suspiciously.

“We recently realized the benefits of an alliance,” Aanden said. He was a short man with cautious eyes, his small face shriveled like that of a rodent. His pompous self-important attitude was about what Sarene had expected.

“And the man known as Shaor?” Sarene asked.

Karata smiled. “One of the aforementioned benefits.”

“Dead?”

Aanden nodded. “We rule Elantris now, Princess. What do you want?”

Sarene didn’t answer immediately. She had been planning to play the three different gang leaders against each other. She would have to present herself differently to a unified enemy. “I want to bribe you,” she said straightforwardly.

The woman raised an eyebrow with interest, but the small man huffed. “What need have we of your bribes, woman?”

Sarene had played this game far too often; Aanden used the uninterested front of a man unaccustomed to serious politics. She had met men like him dozens of times while serving in her father’s diplomatic corps—and she was very tired of them.

“Look,” Sarene said, “let’s be frank—you’re obviously not very good at this, and so extended negotiations would be a waste of time. I want to bring food to the people of Elantris, and you’re going to resist me because you think it will weaken your hold on them. Right now you’re probably trying to figure out how to control who benefits from my offerings and who doesn’t.”

The man squirmed uncomfortably, and Sarene smiled. “That is why I am going to bribe you. What will it take for you to let the people come and get food freely?”

Aanden balked, obviously uncertain how to proceed. The woman, however, spoke firmly. “You have a scribe to write down our demands?”

“I do,” Sarene said, gesturing for Shuden to pull out his paper and charcoalpen.

The list was extensive—even larger than Sarene had expected—and it included many odd items. She had assumed they would request weapons, perhaps even gold. Karata’s demands, however, began with cloth, moved through various grains, some worked-metal sheets, lengths of wood, straw, and ended with oil. The message was clear: Rule of Elantris depended not on force or wealth, but on controlling basic necessities.

Sarene agreed to the demands curtly. If she had been dealing with Aanden only, she would have argued for less, but this Karata was a straightforward, unwavering woman—the type who didn’t have much patience for haggling.

“Is that everything?” Sarene asked as Shuden scribbled down the final request.

“That will do for the first few days,” Karata said.

Sarene narrowed her eyes. “Fine. But I have one rule you have to follow. You can’t forbid anyone from coming to the courtyard. Rule as despots if you wish, but at least let the people suffer with full stomachs.”

“You have my word,” Karata said. “I will keep no one back.”

Sarene nodded, motioning that the meeting was finished. Karata assigned a guide to lead them back to the gate—not Spirit, this time. He stayed behind, approaching the city’s two tyrants as Sarene left the building.

“Was that good enough, my lord?” Mareshe asked eagerly.

“Mareshe, that was perfect,” Raoden replied, watching the retreating princess with satisfaction.

Mareshe smiled modestly. “Well, my lord, I do my best. I haven’t much experience with acting, but I do think I played a properly decisive and intimidating leader.”

Raoden caught Karata’s eye. The gruff woman was trying very hard not to laugh. The pompous artisan had been perfect—neither decisive or intimidating. People outside Elantris saw the city as a lawless realm lorded over by harsh, thieving despots. Together Mareshe and Karata had portrayed exactly what the princess and her companions had expected to see.

“She suspected something, sule,” Galladon noted, walking out of the shadows at the side of the room.

“Yes, but she doesn’t know what,” Raoden said. “Let her suspect

that ‘Aanden’ and Karata are playing tricks on her; it will do no harm.”

Galladon shook his head slightly, his bald head shining in the dim light. “What’s the point? Why not bring her to the chapel; let her see what we really are?”

“I’d like to, Galladon,” Raoden said. “But we can’t afford to let out our secret. The people of Arelon tolerate Elantris because the Elantrians are so pitiful. If they discover we’re establishing a civilized society, their fears will surface. A mass of moaning wretches is one thing, a legion of unkillable monstrosities is another.”

Karata nodded, saying nothing. Galladon, the eternal skeptic, simply shook his head—as if unsure what to think.

“Well, she certainly is determined. Kolo?” he finally asked, referring to Sarene.

“Determined indeed,” Raoden agreed. Then, with amusement, he continued, “And I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“She thinks you’re the lackey of a tyrant,” Karata pointed out. “Is she supposed to like you?”

“True,” Raoden said. “However, I think we should add a clause to our agreement that says I can attend all of her distributions. I want to keep an eye on our benevolent princess—she doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything without several motives, and I wonder just what made her decide to do her Trial here in Elantris.”

“That went well,” Eondel said, watching their guide disappear back into Elantris.

“You got away easily,” Shuden agreed. “The things they demanded can be obtained without much expenditure.”

Sarene nodded slightly, rubbing her fingers along the cart’s wooden side. “I just hate to deal with people like that.”