“Perhaps you judge them too harshly,” Shuden said. “They seemed less like tyrants and more like people trying to make the best of a very difficult life.”
Sarene shook her head. “You should hear some of the stories Ashe told me, Shuden. The Guards say that when new Elantrians are thrown into the city, the gangs descend on them like sharks. What few resources enter this city go to the gang leaders, and they keep the rest of the people in a state of near starvation.”
Shuden raised an eyebrow, looking over at the Elantris City Guards, the source of Sarene’s information. The group leaned lazily on their spears, watching with uninterested eyes as the noblemen began unloading the cart.
“All right,” Sarene admitted, climbing into the cart and handing Shuden a box of vegetables. “Perhaps they aren’t the most reliable source, but we have proof in front of us.” She swept her arm toward the emaciated forms that clustered in side streets. “Look at their hollow eyes and apprehensive steps. These are a people who live in fear, Shuden. I’ve seen it before in Fjorden, Hrovell, and a half-dozen other places. I know what an oppressed people looks like.”
“True,” Shuden admitted, accepting the box from Sarene, “but the ‘leaders’ didn’t look much better to me. Perhaps they aren’t oppressive, just equally oppressed.”
“Perhaps,” Sarene said.
“My lady,” Eondel protested as Sarene lifted another box and handed it to Shuden, “I wish you would step back and let us move those. It just isn’t proper.”
“I’ll be fine, Eondel,” Sarene said, handing him a box. “There’s a reason I didn’t bring any servants—I want us all to take part. That includes you, my lord,” Sarene added, nodding to Ahan, who had found a shaded spot near the gate to rest.
Ahan sighed, rising and waddling out into the sunlight. The day had turned remarkably hot for one so early in the spring, and the sun was blazing overhead—though even its heat hadn’t been able to dry out the omnipresent Elantris muck.
“I hope you appreciate my sacrifice, Sarene,” the overweight Ahan exclaimed. “This slime is absolutely ruining my cloak.”
“Serves you right,” Sarene said, handing the count a box of boiled potatoes. “I told you to wear something inexpensive.”
“I don’t have anything inexpensive, my dear,” Ahan said, accepting the box with a sullen look.
“You mean to tell me you actually paid money for that robe you wore to Neoden’s wedding?” Roial asked, approaching with a laugh. “I wasn’t even aware that shade of orange existed, Ahan.”
The count scowled, lugging his box to the front of the cart. Sarene didn’t hand Roial a box, nor did he move to receive one. It had been big news in the court a few days before when someone had noticed the duke walking with a limp. Rumors claimed he had fallen one morning while climbing out of bed. Roial’s spry attitude sometimes made it difficult to remember that he was, in fact, a very old man.
Sarene got into a rhythm, giving out boxes as hands appeared to take them—which is why she didn’t notice at first that a new figure had joined the others. Nearing the final few boxes, she happened to look up at the man accepting the load. She nearly dropped the box in shock as she recognized his face.
“You!” she said with amazement.
The Elantrian known as Spirit smiled, taking the box out of her stunned fingers. “I was wondering how long it would take you to realize I was here.”
“How long …”
“Oh, about ten minutes now,” he replied. “I arrived just after you began unloading.”
Spirit took the box away, stacking it with the others. Sarene stood in muted stupefaction on the back of the cart—she must have mistaken his dark hands for Shuden’s brown ones.
A throat cleared in front of her, and Sarene realized with a start that Eondel was waiting for a box. She rushed to comply.
“Why is he here?” she wondered as she dropped the box into Eondel’s arms.
“He claims that his master ordered him to watch the distribution. Apparently, Aanden trusts you about as much as you trust him.”
Sarene delivered the last two boxes, then hopped down from the back of the cart. She hit the cobblestones at the wrong angle, however, and slipped in the muck. She tipped backward, waving her hands and yelping.
Fortunately, a pair of hands caught her and pulled her upright. “Be careful,” Spirit warned. “Walking in Elantris takes a little getting used to.”
Sarene pulled her arms out of his helpful grasp. “Thank you,” she muttered in a very unprincesslike voice.
Spirit raised an eyebrow, then moved to stand next to the Arelish lords. Sarene sighed, rubbing her elbow where Spirit had caught her. Something about his touch seemed oddly tender. She shook her head to dispel such imaginings. More important things demanded her attention. The Elantrians were not approaching.
There were more of them now, perhaps fifty, clustered hesitantly and birdlike in the shadows. Some were obviously children, but most were of the same indeterminable age; their wrinkled Elantrian skin made them all look as old as Roial. None approached the food.
“Why aren’t they coming?” Sarene asked with confusion.
“They’re scared,” Spirit said. “And disbelieving. This much food must seem like an illusion—a devilish trick their minds have surely played on them hundreds of times.” He spoke softly, even compassionately. His words were not those of a despotic warlord.
Spirit reached down and selected a turnip from one of the carts. He held it lightly, staring at it as if he himself were unsure of its reality. There was a ravenousness in his eyes—the hunger of a man who hadn’t seen a good meal in weeks. With a start, Sarene realized that this man was as famished as the rest of them, despite his favored rank. And he had patiently helped unload dozens of boxes filled with food.
Spirit finally lifted the turnip and took a bite. The vegetable crunched in his mouth, and Sarene could imagine how it must taste: raw and bitter. Yet, reflected in his eyes it seemed a feast.
Spirit’s acceptance of the food seemed to give approval to the others, for the mass of people surged forward. The Elantris City Guards finally perked up, and they quickly surrounded Sarene and the others, their long spears held out threateningly.
“Leave a space, here before the boxes,” Sarene ordered.
The Guards parted, allowing Elantrians to approach a few at a time. Sarene and the lords stood behind the boxes, distributing food to the weary supplicants. Even Ahan stopped griping as he got into the work, doling out food in solemn silence. Sarene saw him give a bag to what must have been a little girl, though her head was bald and her lips creased with wrinkles. The girl smiled with an incongruous innocence, then scampered away. Ahan paused for a moment before continuing his labor.
It’s working, Sarene thought with relief. If she could touch Ahan, then she might be able to do the same for the rest of the court.
As she worked, Sarene noticed the man Spirit standing near the back of the crowd. His hand was raised thoughtfully to his chin as he studied her. He seemed … worried. But why? What had he to be worried about? It was then, staring into his eyes, that Sarene knew the truth. This was no lackey. He was the leader, and for some reason he felt he needed to hide that fact from her.
So, Sarene did what she always did when she learned that someone was keeping things from her. She tried to find out what they were.
“There’s something about him, Ashe,” Sarene said, standing outside the palace and watching the empty food cart pull away. It was hard to believe that for all the afternoon’s work, they had distributed only three meals. It would all be gone by noon tomorrow—if it wasn’t gone already.
“Who, my lady?” Ashe asked. He had watched the food distribution from the top of the wall, near where Iadon had been standing. He had wanted to accompany her, of course, but she had forbidden it. The Seon was her main source of information about Elantris and its leaders, and she didn’t want to make an obvious connection between the two of them.
&n
bsp; “The guide,” Sarene explained as she turned and strolled through the broad tapestry-lined entryway of the king’s palace. Iadon liked tapestries far too much for her taste.
“The man called Spirit?”
Sarene nodded. “He pretended to be following the others’ orders, but he was no servant. Aanden kept shooting glances at him during our negotiations, as if looking for reassurance. Do you think perhaps we got the names of the leaders wrong?”
“It’s possible, my lady,” Ashe admitted. “However, the Elantrians I spoke with seemed very certain. Karata, Aanden, and Shaor were the names I heard at least a dozen times. No one mentioned a man named Spirit.”
“Have you spoken with these people recently?” Sarene asked.
“Actually, I have been focusing my efforts on the Guards,” Ashe said, bobbing to the side as a courier rushed past him. People had a tendency to ignore Seons with a level of indifference that would have been offensive to any human attendant. Ashe took it all without complaint, not even breaking his dialogue.
“The Elantrians were hesitant to give anything more than names, my lady—the Guards, however, were very free with their opinions. They have little to do all day besides watch the city. I put their observations together with the names I gathered, and produced what I told you.”
Sarene paused for a moment, leaning against a marble pillar. “He’s hiding something.”
“Oh dear,” Ashe mumbled. “My lady, don’t you think you might be overextending yourself? You’ve decided to confront the gyorn, liberate the court women from masculine oppression, save Arelon’s economy, and feed Elantris. Perhaps you should just let this man’s subterfuge go unexplored.”