Elantris (10 page)

“Svordish,” Jalla corrected—not that it was much different. The small kingdom of Svorden was all but a Fjordell province.

“Jalla and I studied together at the Svordish university,” Lukel explained. “We were married last month.”

“Congratulations,” Sarene said. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only newlywed in the room.” Sarene meant the comment lightly, but was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She felt Kiin’s large hand grip her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, ’Ene,” he said softly. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but … You deserved better than this; you were always such a happy child.”

“No loss to me,” Sarene said with an indifference she didn’t feel. “It isn’t like I knew him, Uncle.”

“Even still,” Daora said, “it must have been a shock.”

“You could say that,” Sarene agreed.

“If it helps,” Kiin said, “Prince Raoden was a good man. One of the best I have ever known. If you knew a little more about Arelish politics, then you would understand that I don’t use those words lightly when referring to a member of Iadon’s court.”

Sarene nodded slightly. Part of her was happy to hear she hadn’t misjudged Raoden by his letters; the other half thought it would have been easier to continue thinking that he was like his father.

“Enough talk about dead princes!” a small but insistent voice decided from the table. “If we don’t eat soon, Father will have to stop complaining about me because
I’ll
be dead.”

“Yes, Kiin,” Daora agreed, “you should probably go to the kitchen and make sure your feast isn’t burning.”

Kiin snorted. “I have each dish cooking on a precise schedule. It would be impossible for one to …” The large man trailed off, sniffing the air. Then he swore and barreled out of the room.

“Uncle Kiin is cooking dinner?” Sarene asked with amazement.

“Your uncle is one of the best chefs in this town, dear,” Daora said.

“Uncle Kiin?” Sarene repeated.
“Cook?”

Daora nodded, as if it were an everyday occurrence. “Kiin has traveled more places in this world than anyone in Arelon, and he brought back recipes from each one. I believe tonight he’s fixing something he learned in Jindo.”

“Does this mean we’re going to eat?” Kaise asked pointedly.

“I hate Jindoeese food,” Daorn complained, his voice almost indistinguishable from that of his sister. “It’s too spicy.”

“You don’t like anything unless it has a handful of sugar mixed in,” Lukel teased, mussing his half brother’s hair.

“Daorn, go run and get Adien.”

“Another one?” Sarene asked.

Daora nodded. “The last. Lukel’s full brother.”

“He’s probably sleeping,” Kaise said. “Adien’s always sleeping. I think it’s because his mind is only half awake.”

“Kaise, little girls who say such things about their brothers often end up in bed without supper,” Daora informed. “Daorn, get moving.”

“You don’t look like a princess,” Kaise said. The girl sat primly on her chair beside Sarene. The dining room had a homey, studylike feel, filled with dark wood paneling and relics from Kiin’s traveling days.

“What do you mean?” Sarene asked, trying to figure out how to use the odd Jindoeese dining utensils. There were two of them, one with a sharp pointed end and the other with a flat shoveled end. Everyone else was eating with them as if it were second nature, and Sarene was determined not to say anything. She would figure them out on her own or she wouldn’t get much to eat. The latter was looking much more likely.

“Well, for one thing you’re way too tall,” Kaise said.

“Kaise,” her mother warned in a threatening tone.

“Well it’s true. All of the books say princesses are petite. I’m not exactly sure what petite means, but I don’t think she’s it.”

“I’m Teoish,” Sarene said, successfully spearing something that looked like a marinated piece of shrimp. “We’re all this tall.”

“Father’s Teoish too, Kaise,” Daorn said. “And you know how tall he is.”

“But father’s fat,” Kaise pointed out. “Why aren’t you fat too, Sarene?”

Kiin, who had just appeared out of the kitchen doors, absently rapped his daughter on the head with the bottom of a serving tray as he passed. “Just as I thought,” he mumbled, listening to the ringing sound created by the metal pan, “your head is completely hollow. I guess that explains a lot.”

Kaise rubbed her head petulantly before turning back to her meal, muttering, “I still think princesses should be smaller. Besides, princesses are supposed to have good table manners; cousin Sarene’s dropped about half of her meal on the floor. Who ever heard of a princess that didn’t know how to use MaiPon sticks?”

Sarene blushed, looking down at the foreign utensils.

“Don’t listen to her, ’Ene,” Kiin laughed, setting another succulent-smelling dish on the table. “This is Jindoeese food—it’s made with so much grease that if half of it
doesn’t
end up on the floor, then something’s wrong. You’ll get the hang of those sticks eventually.”

“You can use a spoon, if you want,” Daorn said helpfully. “Adien always does.”

Sarene’s eyes were immediately drawn to the fourth child. Adien was a thin-faced boy in his late teens. He had a pale white complexion and a strange, discomforting cast to his face. He ate awkwardly, his motions stiff and uncontrolled. As he ate, he mumbled to himself—repeating numbers, as far as Sarene could tell. Sarene had met people like him before, children whose minds weren’t completely whole.

“Father, the meal is delicious,” Lukel said, drawing the attention away from his brother. “I don’t believe you’ve ever fixed this shrimp dish before.”

“It’s called HaiKo,” Kiin said in his raspy voice. “I learned it off a traveling merchant while you were studying in Svorden last year.”

“Sixteen million four hundred thousand seven hundred and seventy-two,” Adien mumbled. “That’s how many steps it is to Svorden.”

Sarene paused slightly at Adien’s addition, but the rest of the family paid him no heed, so she did likewise. “It truly is wonderful, Uncle,” Sarene said. “I would never have figured you for a chef.”

“I’ve always enjoyed it,” Kiin explained, sitting down in his chair. “I would have fixed you some things back when I visited Teod, but your mother’s head cook had this inane idea that royalty didn’t belong in the kitchen. I tried to explain to her that, in a way, I partially
owned
the kitchens, but she still would never let me set foot inside to prepare a meal.”

“Well, she did us all a disservice,” Sarene said. “You don’t do all of the cooking, do you?”

Kiin shook his head. “Fortunately, no. Daora is quite the cook herself.”

Sarene blinked in surprise. “You mean you don’t have a cook to fix your meals for you?”

Kiin and Daora shook their heads in unison.

“Father
is
our cook,” Kaise said.

“No servers or butlers either?” Sarene asked. She had assumed the lack of servants was due to an odd desire on Kiin’s part to keep this particular meal personal.

“None at all,” Kiin said.

“But why?”

Kiin looked at his wife, then back at Sarene. “Sarene, do you know what happened here ten years ago?”

“The Reod?” Sarene asked. “The Punishment?”

“Yes, but do you know what that means?”

Sarene thought for a moment, then shrugged slightly. “The end of the Elantrians.”

Kiin nodded. “You probably never met an Elantrian—you were still young when the Reod hit. It is hard to explain how much this country changed when the disaster struck. Elantris used to be the most beautiful city in the world—trust me, I’ve been everywhere else. It was a monument of glowing stone and lustrous metal, and its inhabitants looked like they were chiseled from the same materials. Then … they fell.”

“Yes, I’ve studied this before,” Sarene said with a nod. “Their skin turned dark with black spots, and their hair began to fall from their skulls.”

“You can say that with the knowledge of books,” Kiin said, “but you weren’t here when it happened. You can’t know the horror that comes from seeing gods turn wretched and foul. Their fall destroyed the Arelish government, throwing the country into total chaos.”

He paused for a moment, then continued. “It was the servants who started the revolution, Sarene. The very day their masters fell, the servants turned on them. Some—mostly the country’s current nobility—say it was because the lower class in Elantris was treated too well, that their pampered natures inspired them to cast down their former rulers at the first sign of weakness. I think it was simply fear—ignorant fear that the Elantrians had a vile disease, mixed with the terror that comes from seeing someone you had worshipped stricken down before you.

“Either way, the servants are the ones who did the most damage. First in small groups, then in an incredibly destructive riot, killing any Elantrian they could find. The most powerful Elantrians went first, but the killings spread to the weaker ones as well.

“It didn’t stop with the Elantrians either—the people attacked families, friends, and even those who had been appointed to positions by the Elantrians. Daora and I watched it all, horrified and thankful that there were no Elantrians in
the family. Because of that night, we haven’t ever been able to convince ourselves to hire servants.”

“Not that we really need them,” Daora said. “You’d be surprised at how much you can get done on your own.”

“Especially when you have a couple of children to do the dirty jobs,” Kiin said with a sly smile.

“Is that all we’re good for, Father?” Lukel said with a laugh. “Scrubbing floors?”

“It’s the only reason
I’ve
ever found for having kids,” Kiin said. “Your mother and I only had Daorn because we decided we needed another couple of hands to wash chamber pots.”

“Father,
please,”
Kaise said. “I’m trying to eat.”

“Merciful Domi help the man who interrupts Kaise’s supper,” Lukel said with a chuckle.

“Princess
Kaise,” the little girl corrected.

“Oh, so my little girl’s a princess now?” Kiin asked with amusement.

“If Sarene can be one, then so can I. After all, you’re her uncle, and that should make you a prince. Right, Father?”

“Technically yes,” Kiin said. “Though I don’t think I officially have a title anymore.”

“They probably kicked you out because you spoke of chamber pots during supper,” Kaise said. “Princes can’t do that sort of thing, you know. It’s horrible table manners.”

“Of course,” Kiin said with a fond smile. “I wonder why I never realized that before.”

“So,” Kaise continued. “If you are a prince, then your daughter is a princess.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Kaise,” Lukel said. “Father’s not king, so his kids would be barons or counts, not princes.”

“Is that true?” Kaise asked with a disappointed tone.

“I’m afraid so,” Kiin said. “However, trust me. Anyone who claims you’re not a princess, Kaise, hasn’t ever listened to you complain at bedtime.”

The little girl thought for a moment and, apparently unsure how to take the comment, simply turned back to her dinner. Sarene wasn’t paying much attention; her mind had frozen at the part where her uncle had said “I don’t think I officially have a title anymore.” It smelled of politics. Sarene thought she knew every important event that had happened in Teod’s court during the last fifty years, and she knew nothing of Kiin being officially stripped of his title.

Before she could ponder any more on the incongruity, Ashe floated in through a window. In the excitement of the dinner, Sarene had almost forgotten that she’d sent him to follow the Gyorn Hrathen.

The ball of light stopped hesitantly in the air near the window. “My lady, am I interrupting?”

“No, Ashe, come in and meet my family.”

“You have a Seon!” Daorn exclaimed with amazement. For once his sister seemed too stunned to speak.

“This is Ashe,” Sarene explained. “He’s been serving my house for over two centuries, and he’s the wisest Seon I’ve ever known.”

“My lady, you exaggerate,” Ashe said modestly, yet at the same time she noticed he was glowing a bit brighter.

“A Seon …” Kaise said with quiet wonder, her dinner forgotten.

“They’ve always been rare,” Kiin said, “now more than ever.”

“Where did you get him?” Kaise asked.

“From my mother,” Sarene said. “She Passed Ashe to me when I was born.” The Passing of a Seon—it was one of the finest gifts a person could receive. Someday, Sarene would have to Pass Ashe, selecting a new ward for him to watch over and care for. She had planned it to be one of her children, or perhaps grandchildren. The possibility of either ever existing, however, was looking increasingly unlikely….

“A Seon,” Kaise said with wonder. She turned to Sarene, eyes alight with excitement. “Can I play with him after supper?”

“Play
with me?” Ashe asked uncertainly.

“Can I please, Cousin Sarene?” Kaise begged.

“I don’t know,” Sarene said with a smile. “I seem to recall a few comments about my height.”

The little girl’s look of disappointed chagrin was a source of great amusement to all. It was at that moment, among their laughter, that Sarene began to feel her tension ease for the first time since leaving her homeland a week before.

CHAPTER 6