"By mistake," Sarene said curtly. "Seinalan gained the seat about fifteen years ago, when he was barely your age. It was just after Wulfden became Wyrn, and the leaders of Shu-Korath felt threatened by his vigor. For some reason, they got it into their minds that they needed to elect a patriarch who was just as young as Wulfden—if not younger. Seinalan was the result."
Shuden raised an eyebrow.
"I agree completely," Sarene said. "But, I have to give them a bit of credit. Wulfden is said to be one of the most handsome men to ever take the Fjordell throne, and the Korathi leaders wanted someone who would be equally impressive."
Lukel snorted. "Handsome and pretty are two completely different things, Cousin. Half the women who see that man will love him, the other half will just be jealous."
Throughout the conversation, Lord Eondel grew progressively more pale. Finally, he found voice for his indignation. "Remember, my lords and lady, this is Domi's holy chosen vessel."
"And he couldn't have picked a vessel more lovely," Lukel quipped—earning him an elbow in the ribs from Sarene.
"We will try to make our comments more respectful, Eondel," she apologized. "The patriarch's looks are unimportant anyway—I'm more interested in why he came."
"Isn't a king's funeral enough of a reason?" Shuden asked.
"Perhaps," Sarene said, unconvinced, as the carriage pulled to a halt outside the Korathi chapel. "Come on, let's see His Holiness settled as soon as possible—the funeral is in less than two hours, and after that it appears that I'm getting married."
¤ ¤ ¤
WITH no obvious heir, and with Eshen completely unhinged by her husband's disgrace and subsequent death, Duke Roial took the burden of the funeral arrangements upon himself.
"Pagan murderer or not, Iadon was once my friend," the duke had explained. "He brought stability to this country in a time of need. For that much, he at least deserves a decent burial."
Omin had requested that they not use the Korathi chapel for the services, so Roial decided to use the king's throne room instead. The choice made Sarene a little uncomfortable—the throne room was the same place they would hold the wedding. However, Roial thought it symbolic that the same room would serve both the passing of the old king and the ascension of the new.
The decorations were tasteful and subdued. Roial, characteristically frugal, had planned arrangements and colors that would work for both a funeral and a wedding. The room's pillars were wrapped with white ribbons, and there were various arrangements of flowers—mostly white roses or aberteens.
Sarene entered the room, looking to the side with a smile. Near the front, next to one of the pillars, was the place where she had first set up her easel. It seemed like so long ago, though barely more than a month had passed. Forgotten with shame were the days when she had been considered an empty-headed girl—the nobility now regarded her with something akin to awe. Here was the woman who had manipulated the king, then made a fool of him, and finally toppled him from his throne. They would never love her as they had loved Raoden, but she would accept their admiration as an inferior substitute.
To the side, Sarene saw Duke Telrii. The bald, overdressed man actually looked displeased, rather than simply uncaring. Roial had announced his wedding to Sarene only a few hours earlier, giving the pompous Telrii little time to consider a response. Sarene met Telrii's eyes, and sensed ... frustration in the man's bearing. She had expected something from him—some kind of attempt to block their marriage—but he had made no move. What held him back?
Roial's arrival called the group to order, and the crowd fell silent. Roial walked to the front of the room, where the king's casket lay sealed, and began to speak.
It was a short offering. Roial spoke of how Iadon had forged a country from the ashes of Elantris, and how he had given them all their titles. He warned them against making the same mistake as the king, counseling them not to forget Domi in their riches and comfort. He closed by advocating that they refrain from speaking ill of the deceased, remembering that Domi would see to Iadon's soul, and such was none of their concern.
With that, he motioned for several of Eondel's solders to pick up the casket. However, another form stepped forward before they could go more than a few steps.
"I have something to add." Seinalan announced.
Roial paused in surprise. Seinalan smiled, showing perfect teeth to the room. He had already changed clothing, and was wearing a robe similar to the first, except it had a wide golden band running up his back and down his chest instead of the embroidery.
"Of course, Your Holiness," Roial said.
"What is this about?" Shuden whispered.
Sarene simply shook her head as Seinalan walked up to stand behind the casket. He regarded the crowd with a self-important smile, melodramatically whipping a scroll from the sleeve of his robe.
"Ten years ago, just after his ascension, King Iadon came to me and made this statement," Seinalan said. "You can see his seal at the bottom, as well as my own. He ordered that I present this to Arelon at his funeral, or fifteen years from the date of its creation, whichever arrived first.'
Roial moved across the side of the room until he was standing next to Sarene and Shuden. His eyes showed curiosity. and concern. At the front of the room, Seinalan broke the seal on the scroll and unrolled it.
"'My lords and ladies of Arelon,' " Seinalan read. holding the paper before him as if it were a shining relic. " 'Let the will of your first king. Iadon of Kae. be known. I swear solemnly before Dom, my ancestors, and whatever other gods may be watching that this proclamation is lawful. If it be that I am dead or for some other reason unable to continue as your king, then let it be understood that I made this decree of sound mind, and it is binding according to the laws of our nation.
"'I order that all titles of noble rank are to be frozen as they stand, to be handed down from generation to generation, father to son, as is commonly done in other nations. Let wealth no longer be the measure of a man's nobility—those who have held to their rank this long have proven themselves worthy. The attached document is a codified list of inheritance laws patterned after those in Teod. Let this document become the law of our country.
Seinalan lowered the paper to a stunned room. There was no sound, except for a quiet exhale from beside Sarene. Finally, people began to speak in hushed. excited tones.
"So that's what he was planning all along," Roial said softly. "He knew how unstable his system was. He intended it that way. He let them go at each other's throats just to see who would be strong enough, or treacherous enough, to survive."
"A good plan, if an unconscionable one," Shuden said. "Perhaps we underestimated Iadon's craftiness."
Seinalan still stood at the front of the room, eyeing the nobles with knowing looks.
"Why him?" Shuden asked.
"Because he's absolute," Sarene said. "Not even Hrathen would dare question the word of the patriarch—not yet, at least. If Seinalan says that order was made ten years ago, then everyone in Arelon is bound to agree with him."
Shuden nodded. "Does this change our plans?"
"Not at all," Roial said, shooting a look toward Telrii, whose expression had turned even darker than before. "It strengthens our claim—my union with Iadon's house will be even more creditable."
"Telrii still bothers me," Sarene said as the patriarch added a few platitudes about the wisdom of adopting the inheritance system. "His claim is definitely weakened by this—but will he accept it?"
"He'll have to," Roial said with a smile. "None of the nobility would dare follow him now. Iadon's proclamation grants the thing they have all been wanting—stable titles. The nobility aren't going to risk crowning a man who has no valid blood claim to the throne. The legality of Iadon's declaration doesn't matter; everyone is going to act as if it were Church doctrine."
Eondel's soldiers were finally allowed to come forward and pick up the casket. Faced with no precedent regarding the proper burial of an Arelish king, Roial had turned to the culture most similar to his own: Teod. The Teos favored large ceremonies, often burying their greatest kings with an entire shipload of riches. if not the ship itself. While such was obviously unfit for Iadon, Roial had adapted other ideas. A Teoish funeral procession was a long, drawn-out exercise, often requiring the attendants to walk an hour or more to reach the prepared site. Roial had included this tradition, with a slight modification.
A line of carriages waited outside the palace. To Sarene, using vehicles seemed disrespectful, but Shuden had made a good point.
"Roial is planning to make a bid for the crown this very afternoon." the Jindo had explained. "He can't afford to offend the plush lords and ladies of Arelon by requiring a forced march all the way out of the city."
Besides, Sarene had added to herself, why worry about disrespect? This is, after all only Iadon.
With the carriages, it took only about fifteen minutes to reach the burial site. At first it looked like a large hole that had been excavated, but careful inspection would have shown it to be a natural depression in the earth that had been further deepened. Once again, Roial's frugality had been behind the choice.
With little ceremony. Roial ordered the coffin lowered into the hole. A large group of workers began to build the mound over it.
Sarene was surprised how many nobles stayed to watch. The weather had turned cold lately. bringing a chill wind from the mountains. A drizzle hung in the air, clouds obscuring the sun. She had expected most of the nobility to trickle away after the first few shovels of dirt were thrown.
But they stayed, watching the work with silent eyes. Sarene, dressed for once in black, pulled her shawl close to ward off the cold. There was something in the eyes of those nobles. Iadon had been the first king of Arelon, his rule—short though it had been—the beginning of a tradition. People would recall Iadon's name for centuries, and children would be taught how he had risen to power in a land whose gods were dead.
Was it any wonder he had turned to the Mysteries? With all he had seen—the glory of pre-Reod Elantris, then the death of an era thought eternal—was it any wonder he sought to control the chaos that seemed to reign in the land of the gods? Sarene though she understood Iadon a little bit better, standing in the chill dampness, watching the dirt slowly envelop his coffin.
Only when the last shovel of dirt was thrown, the last part of the mound patted down, did the Arelish nobility finally turn to leave. Their going was a quiet procession, and Sarene barely noticed. She stood for a while longer, looking at the king's barrow in the rare afternoon fog. Iadon was gone; it was time for new leadership in Arelon.
A hand fell lightly on her shoulder, and she turned to look into Roial's comforting eyes. "We should get ready, Sarene."
Sarene nodded and allowed herself to be led away.
¤ ¤ ¤
SARENE knelt before the altar in the familiar, low-ceilinged Korathi chapel. She was alone; it was customary for a bride to have one last private communion with Domi before taking her marriage vows.