Brandon Sanderson: Elantris

She was to revise that opinion shortly.

King Iadon waved her over. She carefully hid her annoyance at the wait, and

approached him with the proper air of noble submission. He interrupted her halfway through her curtsy.

"No one told me you would be so tall," he declared.

"My lord?" she said, looking up.

"Well, I guess the only one who would have cared about that isn't around to see it. Eshen!" he snapped, causing an almost unseen woman near the far side of the room to jump in compliance.

"Take this one to her rooms and see that she has plenty of things to keep her occupied. Embroidery or whatever else it is that entertains you women." With that, the king turned to his next appointment-a group of merchants.

Sarene stood in midcurtsy, stunned at Iadon's complete lack of courtesy. Only years of courtly training kept her jaw from dropping. Quick but unassertive, the woman Iadon had ordered-Queen Eshen, the king's wife-scuttled over and took Sarene's arm. Eshen was short and slight of frame, her brownish blond Aonic hair only beginning to streak with gray.

"Come, child," Eshen said in a high-pitched voice. "We mustn't waste the king's time."

Sarene allowed herself to be pulled through one of the room's side doors. "Merciful Domi," she muttered to herself. "What have I gotten myself into?"

… And you'll love it when the roses come in. I have the gardeners plant them so you can smell them without even leaning out the window. I wish they weren't so big. though."

Sarene frowned in confusion. "The roses?"

"No, dear," the queen continued, barely pausing. "the windows. You can't believe how bright the sun is when it shines through them in the morning. I asked them-the gardeners, that is-to find me some orange ones, because I so adore orange, but so far all they found were some ghastly yellow ones. 'If I wanted yellow,' I said to them, 'I would have had you plant aberteens.' You should have seen them apologize-I'm sure we'll have some orange ones by the end of next year. Don't you think that would be lovely. dear? Of course, the windows will still be too big. Maybe I can have a couple of them bricked off."

Sarene nodded, fascinated-not by the conversation, but by the queen. Sarene had assumed that the lecturers at her father's academy had been skilled at saying nothing with lots of words, but Eshen put them all to shame. The queen flitted from one topic to the next like a butterfly looking for a place to land, but never finding one suitable enough for an extended stay. Any one of the topics would have been potential fuel for an interesting conversation, but the queen never let Sarene grab hold of one long enough to do it justice.

Sarene took a calming breath, telling herself to be patient. She couldn't blame

the queen for being the way she was; Domi taught that aIl people's personalities were gifts to be enjoyed. The queen was charming, in her own meandering way. Unfortunately, after meeting both king and queen, Sarene was beginning to suspect that she would have trouble finding political allies in Arelon.

Something else bothered Sarene-something odd about the way Eshen acted. No one could possibly talk as much as the queen did; she never Iet a silent moment pass. It was almost like the woman was uncomfortable around Sarene. Then, in a moment of realization, Sarene understood what it was. Eshen spoke on every imaginable topic except for the one most important: the departed prince. Sarene narrowed her eyes with suspicion. She couldn't be certain-Eshen was, after all, a very flighty person-but it seemed that the queen was acting far too cheerful for a woman who had just lost her son.

"Here is your room, dear. We unpacked your things, and added some as well. You have clothing in every color, even yellow, though I can't imagine why you would want to wear it. Horrid color. Not that your hair is horrid, of course. Blond isn't the same as yellow, no. No more than a horse is a vegetable. We don't have a horse for you yet, but you are welcome to use any in the king's stables. We have lots of fine animals, you see, Duladel is beautiful this time of year."

"Of course," Sarene said, looking over the room. It was small, but suited her tastes. Too much space could be as daunting as too little could be cramped.

"Now, you'll be needing these, dear, Eshen said, pointing a small hand at a pile of clothing that wasn't hanging like the rest-as if it had been delivered more recently. All of the dresses in the pile shared a singIe attribute.

"Black?" Sarene asked.

"Of course. You're… you're in…" Eshen fumbled with the words.

"I'm in mourning," Sarene realized. She tapped her foot with dissatisfaction-black was not one of her favorite colors.

Eshen nodded. "You can wear one of those to the funeral this evening. It should be a nice service-I did the arrangements." She began talking about her favorite flowers again, and the monologue soon degenerated into a discourse on how much she hated Fjordell cooking. Gently but firmly, Sarene led the woman to the door, nodding pleasantly. As soon as they reached the hallway. Sarene pled fatigue from her travels, and plugged the queen's verbal torrent by closing the door.

"That's going to get old very quickly," Sarene said to herself.

"The queen does have a robust gift for conversation, my lady." a deep voice agreed.

"What did you find out?" Sarene asked, walking over to pick through the pile of dark clothing as Ashe floated in through the open window.

"I didn't find as many Seons as I had expected. I seem to recall that this city was once overflowing with us."

"I noticed that too." Sarene said, holding up a dress in front of the mirror. then discarding it with a shake of her head. "1 guess things are different now."

"They are indeed. As per your instructions, I asked the other Seons what they knew of the prince's untimely death. Unfortunately. my lady, they were hesitant to discuss the event-they consider it extremely ill omened for the prince to die so soon before he was to be married."

"Especially for him," Sarene mumbled, pulling off her clothing to try on the dress. "Ashe, something strange is going on. I think maybe someone killed the prince.

"Killed, my lady?" Ashe's deep voice was disapproving, and he pulsed slightly at the comment. "Who would do such a thing?"

"I don't know, but… something feels odd. This doesn't seem like a court that is in mourning. Take the queen, for instance. She didn't appear distraught when she spoke to me-you'd think she would be at least a little bothered by the fact that her son died yesterday."

"There is a simple explanation for that, my lady. Queen Eshen is not Prince Raoden's mother. Raoden was born of Iadon's first wife, who died over twelve years ago."

"When did he remarry?"

"Right after the Reod," Ashe said, "Just a few months after he took the throne."

Sarene frowned. "I'm still suspicious." she decided, reaching around awkwardly to button the back of her dress. Then she regarded herself in the mirror, looking at the dress critically. "Well, at least it fits-even if it does make me look pale. I was half afraid it would cut off at my knees. These Arelish women are all so unnaturally short."

"If you say so, my lady," Ashe replied. He knew as well as she did that Arelish women weren't that short; even in Teod, Sarene had been a head taller than most of the other women. Her father had called her Leky Stick as a child-borrowing the name of the tall thin post that marked the goal line in his favorite sport. Even after filling out during adolescence, Sarene was still undeniably lanky.

"My lady," Ashe said, interrupting her contemplations.

"Yes, Ashe?"

"Your father is desperate to talk to you. I think you have some news he deserves to hear."

Sarene nodded, holding in a sigh. and Ashe began to pulse brightly. A moment later the ball of light that formed his essence melted into a bustlike glowing head. King Eventeo of Teod.