tempting prize. even if I were attached to it.'
Roial's face hardened. 'This is something I've been meaning to discuss with you, Sarene.'
'What?'
'You're far too harsh on yourself. I've heard the way you speak-you assume that nobody wants you.'
'They don't,' Sarene said flatly. 'Trust me.'
Roial shook his head. 'You're an excellent judge of character. Sarene-except your own. Often, our own opinions of ourselves are the most unrealistic. You may see yourself as an old maid, child, but you are young. and you are beautiful. Just because you've had misfortune in your past doesn't mean you have to give up on your future.'
He looked into her eyes. For all his mischievous shows, this was a man of sagely understanding. 'You will find someone to love you, Sarene,' Roial promised. 'You are a prize-a prize even greater than that throne you'll be attached to.'
Sarene blushed, looking down. Still… his words were encouraging. Perhaps she did have a hope. She would probably be in her mid-thirties, but she would have at least one more chance to find the right man.
'Anyway,' Roial said. 'Our wedding will have to come soon if we are going to beat Tel ri i.'
'What do you suggest?'
'The day of Iadon's funeral.' Roial said. 'Technically, Iadon's reign doesn't end until his burial.'
Four days. It would be a short engagement indeed.
'I just worry at the necessity of putting you through all of this,' Roial said. 'It can't be easy to consider marrying such a dusty old man.'
Sarene laid her hand on that of the duke, smiling at the sweetness in his tone. -All things considered, my lord, I think I'm rather fortunate. There are very few men in this world I would actually consider it an honor to be forced to marry.'
Roial smiled a wrinkly smile, his eyes twinkling. 'It's a shame Ahan's already married. isn't it?'
Sarene removed her hand and swatted him on the shoulder. 'I've had enough emotional shocks for one week, Roial-I'll kindly thank you not to make me sick to my stomach as well.'
The duke laughed at length. When his merriment died down, however, another sound replaced it-yelling. Sarene tensed. but the yells weren't ones of anger or pain. They seemed joyful and excited. Confused, she looked out the carriage window and saw a crowd of people surging through a cross street.
`What in the name of Domi is that?' Roial asked.
Their carriage drew closer. allowing Sarene to make out a tall form at the center of the erowd.
Sarene grew numb. -But. but that's impossible!'
'What?' Roial asked. squinting.
'It's Hrathen,' Sarene said with wide eyes, 'He's left Elantris!' Then she realized something else. The gyorn's face was unspotted. Flesh-colored.
'Merciful Domi-he's been healed!'
CHAPTER 36
When dawn signaled the fifth day of Hrathen's exile, he knew that he had made a mistake. He would die in Elantris. Five days was too long to go without drink, and he knew there was no water to be had in the city of the damned.
He didn't regret his actions-he had behaved in the most logical way. It had been desperate logic. but rational nonetheless. Had he continued in Kae, he would
have grown more impotent with each turning day. No, it was much better to die of dehydration.
He grew increasingly delirious as the fifth day passed. At times, he saw Dilaf laughing over him; at others the Teoish princess did the same. Once he even thought he saw Jaddeth himseIf, His face burning red with the heat of Godly disappointment as he looked down on Hrathen. The delusions soon changed, however. He no longer saw faces, no longer felt humiliated and scorned. In their place, he was confronted with something much more horrid.
Memories of Dakhor.
Once again, the dark, hollow cubicles of the monastery surrounded him. Screams echoed through the black stone hallways, cries of bestial agony mixing with solemn chanting. Chanting that had a strange power to it. The boy Hrathen knelt obediently, waiting, crouched in a cubical no larger than a closet. sweat streaming past terrified eyes. knowing that eventually they would come for him.
Rathbore Monastery trained assassins, Fjeldor Monastery trained spies. Dakhor Dakhor Monastery trained demons.
HIS delirium broke sometime in the early afternoon, releasing him for a time-like a cat allowing its prey to run free one last time before striking a deadly blow. Hrathen roused his weakened body from the hard stones, his matted clothing sticking to the slimy surface. He didn't remember pulling into a fetal position. With a sigh. Hrathen rubbed a hand over his dirty, grime-stained scalp-a senseless but reflexive attempt to wipe away the dirt. His fingers scraped against something rough and gristly. Stubble.
Hrathen sat upright. shock providing momentary strength. He reached with trembling fingers, searching out the small flask that had contained his sacrificial wine. He wiped the glass as best he could with a dirty sleeve, then peered at his spectral reflection. It was distorted and unclear. but it was enough. The spots were gone. His skin, though covered with dirt, was as fresh and unblemished as it had been five days before.
Forton's potion had finally worn off.
He had begun to think that it never would. that Forton had forgotten to make the effects temporary. It was amazing enough that the Hroven man could create a potion that made one's body mimic the afflictions of an Elantrian. But Hrathen had misjudged the apothecary: he had done as asked, even if the effects had lasted a bit longer than expected.
Of course. if Hrathen didn't get himself out of Elantris quickly. he might still die. Hrathen stood, gathering his remaining strength and bolstering it with excited adrenaline. 'Behold!' he screamed toward the guardhouse above. 'Witness the power and glory of Lord Jaddeth! I have been healed!'
There was no response. Perhaps it was too far for his voice to carry. Then, looking along the walls, he noticed something. There were no Guards. No patrols or watches marched their rounds. no telltale tips of spears marked their presence. They had been there the day before… or. had it been the day before that? The last three days had become something of a blur in his mind-one extended set of prayers, hallucinations, and the occasional exhausted nap.
Where had the guards gone? They considered it their solemn duty to watch Elantris, as if anything threatening couId ever come from the rotting city. The Elantris City Guard performed a useless function, but that function gave them notoriety. The Guards would never give up their posts.
Except they had. Hrathen began to scream again, feeling the strength leak from his body. If the Guard wasn't there to open the gates, then he was doomed. Irony tickled at his mind-the only Elantrian to ever be healed would die because of a collection of incompetent. negligent guards.
The gate suddenly cracked open. Another hallucination? But then a head poked through the gap-the avaricious captain that Hrathen had been nurturing.
'My lord…?' the guard asked hesitantly. Then, looking Hrathen up and down with wide eyes, he inhaled sharply. 'Gracious Domi! It's true-you've been healed!'
'Lord Jaddeth had heard my pleas. Captain,' Hrathen announced with what strength he could manage. 'The taint of Elantris has been removed from my body.'
The captain's head disappeared for a moment. Then, slowly, the gate opened all the way, revealing a group of wary guards.
'Come, my lord.'
Hrathen rose to his feet-he hadn't even noticed sinking to his knees-and walked on shaky legs to the gate. He turned. resting his hand on the wood-one side filthy and grime-stained. the other side bright and clean-and looked back at Elantris. A few huddled shapes watched him from the top of a building.
