She'd fled Teod at that point, immersing herself in her father's diplomatic corps. She served as an envoy in all the major cities of Opelon, from Fjorden itself to the Svordish capital of Seraven. The prospect of going to Arelon had intrigued her, of course, but her father had remained adamant about his prohibition. He barely allowed spies into the country, let alone his only daughter.
Still. Sarene thought with a sigh. she had made it eventually. It was worth it, she decided; her engagement to Raoden had been a good idea, no matter how horribly it had turned out. For a while, when they had been exchanging letters, she had allowed herself to hope again. The promise had eventually been crushed, but she still had the memory of that hope. It was more than she had ever expected to obtain.
"You look as if your best friend just died," Roial noted, returning to hand her a cup of blue Jaadorian wine.
"No, just my husband," Sarene said with a sigh.
"Ah," Roial said with an understanding nod. "Perhaps we should move somewhere else-a place where we won't have such a clear view of our young baron's rapture.
"A wonderful suggestion, Your Grace," Sarene said.
They moved along the pavilion's outer border. Roial nodding to those who complimented him on the fine party. Sarene strolled along at the elderly man's side, growing increasingly confused at the dark looks she occasionally got from noblewomen they passed. It was a few minutes before she realized the reason behind the hostility; she had completely forgotten Roial's status as the most marriageable man in Arelon. Many of the women had come this night expecting the duke to be unaccompanied. They had probabIy planned long and hard on how to corner the old man, intent on currying his favor. Sarene had ruined any chance of that.
Roial chuckled, studying her face. -You've figured it out then, haven't you?"
"This is why you never rhrow parties, isn't it?"
The duke nodded. "As difficult as it is to deal with them at another man's ball, it is nearly impossible to be a good host with those vixens nipping at my hide."
"Be careful, Your Grace," Sarene said. "Shuden complained about exactly the same sort of thing the first time he took me to a ball, and look where he ended up."
"Shuden went about it the wrong way." Roial said. "He just ran away-and everyone knows that no matter how hard you run, there's always going to be someone faster. I, on the other hand, don't run. I find far too much enjoyment in playing with their greedy little minds."
Sarene's chastising reply was cut off by the approach of a familiar couple. Lukel wore his customarily fashionable outfit, a blue, gold-embroidered vest and tan trousers, while Jalla, his dark-haired wife, was in a simple lavender dress-Jindoeese, by the look of its high-necked cut.
"Now, there's a mismatched couple if I've ever seen one." Lukel said with an open smile as he bowed to the duke.
"What?" Roial asked. "A crusty old duke and his lovely young companion?" "I was referring more to the height difference, Your Grace," Lukel said with a laugh.
Roial glanced up with a raised eyebrow; Sarene stood a full head taller than him. "At my age, you take what you can get."
"I think that's true no matter what your age. Your Grace." Lukel said, looking down at his pretty, black-eyed wife. "We just have to accept whatever the women decide to allot us, and count ourselves blessed for the offering."
Sarene felt sick-first Shuden, now Lukel. She was definitely not in the mood to deal with happy couples this night.
Sensing her disposition, the duke bid Lukel farewell, pleading the need to check on the food in other parts of the garden. Lukel and Jalla turned back to their dancing as Roial led Sarene out of the lighted pavilion and back under the darkened sky and flickering torchlight.
"You're going to need to get over that, Sarene," the duke said. "You can't go running every time you meet someone with a stable relationship."
Sarene decided not to point out that young love was hardly stable. "I don't always get this way, Your Grace. I've just had a difficult week. Give me a few more days, and I'll be back to my regular, stone-hearted self.'
Sensing her bitterness, Roial wisely decided not to respond to that particular remark. Instead, he glanced to the side, following the sound of a familiar voice's laughter.
Duke Telrii had apparently decided not to join the king's private section of the party. Quite the opposite. in fact. He stood entertaining a large group of noblemen in a small hedged courtyard opposite the pavilion of Iadon's private gathering. It was almost as if he were starting his own exclusive subparty.
"Not a good sign," Roial said quietly, voicing Sarene's own thoughts.
Agreed." Sarene said. She did a quick count of Telrii's fawners, trying to distinguish rank, then glanced back toward Iadon's section of the party. Their numbers were about equal. but Iadon seemed to command more important nobility-for the moment.
"That's another unforeseen effect of your tirade before the king." Roial said. 'The more unstable Iadon becomes, the more tempting other options appear."
Sarene frowned as Telrii laughed again, his voice melodious and unconcerned. He did not at all sound like a man whose most important supporter-Gyorn Hrathen-had just fallen.
"What is he planning?" Sarene wondered. "How could he take the throne now?" Roial just shook his head. After a moment more of contemplation, he looked up and addressed open air. "Yes?"
Sarene turned as Ashe approached. Then, with astonishment, she realized it wasn't Ashe. It was a different Seon.
"The gardeners report that one of your guests has fallen into the pond, my lord," the Seon said, bobbing almost to the ground as he approached. His voice was crisp and unemotional.
"Who?" Roial asked with a chuckle.
"Lord Redeem, Your Grace," the Seon explained. "It appears the wine proved too much for him."
Sarene squinted, searching deep into the ball of light and trying to make out the glowing Aon. She thought it was Opa.
Roial sighed. "He probably scared the fish right out of the pond. Thank you, Opa. Make sure that Redeem is given some towels and a ride home, if he needs it. Next time maybe he won't mix ponds with alcohol."
The Seon bobbed formally once more, then floated away to do his master's bidding.
"You never told me you had a Seon. my lord," Sarene said.
"Many of the nobles do, Princess," Roial said, "but it is no longer fashionable to bring them along with us wherever we go. Seons are reminders of Elantris."
"So he just stays here at your house?"
Roial nodded. "Opa oversees the gardeners of my estate. I think it fitting-after all. his name does mean 'flower.'
Sarene tapped her cheek, wondering about the stern formality in Opa's voice. The Seons she knew back in Teod were much warmer with their masters, no matter what their personality. Perhaps it was because here, in the presumed land of their creation, Seons were now regarded with suspicion and dislike.
"Come," Roial said, taking her arm. "I was serious when I said I wanted to check on the serving tables."
Sarene allowed herself to be led away.
"Roial, you old prune," a blustery voice called out as they approached the serving tables, "I'm astounded. You actually know how to throw a party! I was afraid you'd try and cram us all into that box you call a house."
"Ahan," Roial said, "I should have realized I would find you next to the food."
The large count was draped in a yellow robe and clutched a plateful of crackers and shellfish. His wife's plate. however, held only a few slices of fruit. During the weeks Seaden had been attending Sarene's fencing lessons she had lost considerable weight.
"Of course-best part of a party!" the count said with a laugh. Then, nodding to Sarene, he continued, "Your Highness. I'd warn you not to let this old scoundrel corrupt you. but I'm just as worried about you doing the same to him."