And, over it all, there was an even more disturbing problem-something Hrathen didn't want to confront, something even more disarming than Sarene's Trial or Dilaf's maneuverings. Hrathen could face external forces such as theirs, and he could be victorious.
His internal wavering, however, was something entirely different.
He reached into his desk, seeking out a small book. He remembered unpacking it into the drawer, as he had during countless other moves. He hadn't looked at it in years, but he had very few possessions, and so he had never found himself overburdened enough to discard the book.
Eventually, he located it. He flipped through the aging pages. selecting the one he was looking for.
I have found purpose, the book read. Before, I lived, but I didn't know why. I have direction now. It gives glory to all that I do. I serve in Lord Jaddeth's empire, and my service is linked directly to Him. I am important.
Priests in the Derethi faith were trained to record spiritual experiences, but Iira-then had never been diligent in this particular area. His personal record contained
only a few entries-including this one, which he had written a few weeks after his decision to join the priesthood many years before. Just before he entered Dakhor monastery.
What happened to your faith, Hrathen?
Omin's questions plagued Hrathen's thoughts. He heard the Korathi priest whispering in his mind, demanding to know what had happened to Hrathen's beliefs, demanding to know the purpose behind his preaching. Had Hrathen become cynical, performing his duties simply because they were familiar? Had his preaching become a IogicaI challenge and not a spiritual quest?
He knew, in part, that it had. He enjoyed the planning, the confrontation, and the thinking it took to convert an entire nation of heretics. Even with Dilaf distracting him, Hrathen found the challenge of Arelon invigorating.
But what of the boy Hrathen? What of the faith, the almost unthinking passion he had once felt? He could barely remember it. That part of his life had passed quickly, his faith transforming from a burning flame into a comfortable warmth.
Why did Hrathen want to succeed in Arelon? Was it for the notoriety? The man who converted Arelon would be long remembered in the annals of the Derethi church. Was it a desire to be obedient? He did, after all. have a direct order from Wyrn. Was it because he seriously thought conversion would help the people? He had determined to succeed in Arelon without a slaughter such as he had instigated in Duladel. But, again, was it really because he wanted to save lives? Or was it because he knew that a smooth conquest was more difficult. and therefore more of a challenge?
His heart was as unclear to him as a room filled with smoke.
Dilaf was slowly seizing control. That in itself wasn't as Frightening as Hrathen's own sense of foreboding. What if Dilaf was right to try and oust Hrathen? What if Arelon would be better off with Dilaf in control? Dilaf wouldn't have worried about the death caused by a bloody revolution; he would have known that the people would eventually be better off with Shu-Dereth, even if their initial conversion required a massacre.
Dilaf had faith. Dilaf believed in what he was doing. What did Hrathen have? He wasn't certain anymore.
CHAPTER 25
I think, perhaps, that she needs this food as much as we do," Raoden said, regarding the slight-framed Torena with a skeptical eye. Ahan's daughter had pulled her reddish gold hair up under a protective scarf, and she wore a simple blue dress-something she'd probably had to borrow from one of her maids, considering the average Arelish noblewoman's extravagant wardrobe.
"Be nice to her," Sarene ordered, handing Raoden a box from the cart. "She's the only woman brave enough to come-though she only agreed because I had Shuden ask her. If you scare that girl away, none of the others will ever come."
"Yes. Your Highness," Raoden said, bowing slightly. It seemed that a week's worth of distributing food together had softened her hatred of him somewhat, but she was still cold. She would respond to his comments, even converse with him. but she would not let herself be his friend.
The week had been surrealy unnerving for Raoden. He'd spent his time in Elantris accustoming himself to the strange and the new. This week, however, he had been forced to reacquaint himself with the familiar. It was worse, in a way. He could accept Elantris as a source of pain. It was entirely different to see his friends the same way.
Even now, Shuden stood next to the girl Torena, his hand on her elbow as he encouraged her to approach the line of food. Shuden had been one of Raoden's best friends; the solemn Jindo and he had spent hours at a time discussing their views on Arelon's civic problems. Now Shuden barely noticed him. It had been the same with Eondel, Kiin, Roial, and even Lukel. They had been companions to the handsome Prince Raoden, but never to the accursed creature known as Spirit.
Yet, Raoden found it hard to be bitter. He couldn't blame them for not recognizing him; he barely recognized himself anymore. with his wrinkled skin and spindly body. Even his voice was different. In a way, his own subterfuge hurt even more than his friends' ignorance. He couldn't tell them who he was, for news of his survival could destroy Arelon. Raoden knew very well that his own popularity exceeded that of his father-there would be some who would follow him. Elantrian or not. Civil war would serve no one, and at the end of it, Raoden would probably find himself beheaded.
No, he definiteIy had to remain hidden. Knowledge of his fate would only give his friends pain and confusion. However, concealing his identity required vigilance. His face and voice had changed, but his mannerisms had not. He made a point of staying away from anyone who had known him too well, trying to be cheerful and friendly, but not open.
Which was one reason why he found himself gravitating toward Sarene. She hadn't known him before, and so he could discard his act around her. In a way, it was kind of a test. He was curious to see how they would have gotten along as husband and wife, without their separate political necessities getting in the way.
His initial feelings seemed to have been correct. He liked her. Where the letters had hinted, Sarene fulfilled. She wasn't like the women he had grown accustomed to in the Arelish court. She was strong and determined. She didn't avert her eyes downward whenever a man addressed her, no matter how noble his rank. She gave orders easily and naturally, and never feigned weakness in order to draw a man's attentiveness.
Yet, the lords followed her. Eondel, Shuden, even Duke Roial-they deferred to her in judgment and responded to her commands as if she were king. There was never a look of bitterness in their eyes, either. She gave her orders courteously, and they responded naturally. Raoden could only smile in amazement. It had taken him years to earn these men's trust. Sarene had done it in a matter of weeks.
She was impressive in every attribute-intelligent, beautiful, and strong. Now, if only he could convince her not to hate him.
Raoden sighed and turned back to the work. Except for Shuden, all of the day's nobles were new to the process. Most were minor noblemen of little import, but there were a couple of important additions. Duke Telrii, for instance, stood to one side, watching the unloading process with lazy eyes. He didn't participate himself, but had brought a manservant to fill his place. Telrii obviously preferred to avoid any actual exertion.
Raoden shook his head. He had never cared much for the duke. He had once approached the man, hoping that Telrii might be persuaded to join in Raoden's opposition to the king. Telrii had simply yawned and asked how much Raoden was willing to pay for his support, then had laughed as Raoden stalked away. Rao-den had never been able to decide whether Telrii had asked the question out of actual greed. or if he had simply known how Raoden would react to the demand.