"He hated it," Lukel said. "Iadon tried everything short of banishing Raoden to keep him quiet, but nothing worked. The prince would find a way to work his opinion into any and every royal ruling. He was the crown prince, and so court laws—written by Iadon himself—gave Raoden a chance to speak his mind in every matter brought before the king. And let me tell you, Princess, you don't know what a scolding is until you've had one from Raoden. The man could be so stern at times that even the stone walls would shrivel beneath his tongue."
Sarene sat back, enjoying the image of Iadon being denounced by his own son before the entire court.
"I miss him," Lukel said quietly. "This country needed Raoden. He was beginning to make some real differences; he had gathered quite a following amongst the nobles. Now the group is fragmenting without his leadership. Father and I are trying to hold them together. but I've been gone so long that I'm out of touch. And. of course, few of them trust Father."
"What? Why not:"
"He has something of a reputation for being a scoundrel. Besides, he doesn't have a title. He's refused every one the king tried to give him."
Sarene's brow furled. "Wait a moment—I thought Uncle Kiin opposed the king. Why would Iadon try to give him a title?"
Lukel smiled. "Iadon can't help it. The king's entire government is built on the idea that monetary success is justification for rule. Father is extremely successful, and the law says that money equals nobility. You see, the king was foolish enough to think that everyone rich would think the same way he does, and so he wouldn't have any opposition as long as he gave titles to everyone affluent. Father's refusal to accept a title is really a way of undermining Iadon's sovereignty, and the king knows it. As long as there's even one rich man who isn't technically a nobleman, the Arelish aristocratic system is flawed. Old Iadon nearly has a fit every time Father appears in court."
"He should come by more often then." Sarene said wickedly.
"Father finds plenty of opportunities to show his face. He and Raoden met nearly every afternoon here in the court to play a game of ShinDa. It was an unending source of discomfort to Iadon that they chose to do this in his own throne room. but again, his own laws proclaimed that the court was open to everyone his son invited, so he couldn't throw them out."
"It sounds like the prince had a talent for using the king's own laws against him."
"It was one of his more endearing traits," Lukel said with a smile. "Somehow Raoden would twist every one of Iadon's new decrees until they turned around and slapped the king in the face. Iadon spent nearly every moment of the last five years trying to find a way to disinherit Raoden. It turns out Domi solved that problem for him in the end."
Either Domi, Sarene thought with growing suspicion, or one of Iadon's own assassins. . . . "Who inherits now?" she asked.
"That's not exactly certain," Lukel said. "Iadon probably plans to have another son—Eshen is young enough. One of the more powerful dukes would probably be next in line. Lord Telrii or Lord Roial."
"Are they here?" Sarene asked, scanning the crowd.
"Roial isn't," Lukel said, "but that's Duke Telrii over there." Lukel nodded toward a pompous-looking man standing near the far wall. Lean and strong-postured, he might have been handsome had he not displayed signs of gross indulgence. His clothing sparkled with sewn-in gemstones, and his fingers glittered gold and silver. As he turned, Sarene could see that the left side of his face was marred by a massive, purplish birthmark.
"Let us hope the throne never falls to him," Lukel said. "Iadon is disagreeable, but at least he's fiscally responsible. Iadon is a miser. Telrii, however, is a spender. He likes money, and he likes those who give it to him. He'd probably be the richest man in Arelon if he weren't so lavish—as it is he's a poor third, behind the king and Duke Roial."
Sarene frowned. "The king would have disinherited Raoden, leaving the country with no visible heir? Doesn't he know anything about succession wars?"
Lukel shrugged. "Apparently, he'd rather have no heir than risk leaving Raoden in charge."
"He couldn't have things like freedom and compassion ruining his perfect little monarchy," Sarene said.
"Exactly."
"These nobles who followed Raoden. Do they ever meet?"
"No," Lukel said with a frown. "They're too afraid to continue without the prince's protection. We've convinced a few of the more dedicated ones to gather one last time tomorrow, but I doubt anything will come of it."
"I want to be there," Sarene said.
"These men don't like newcomers. Cousin," Lukel warned. "They've grown very jumpy-they know their meetings could be considered treasonous."
"It's the last time they plan to meet anyway. What are they going to do if I show up? Refuse to come anymore?"
Lukel paused, then smiled. "All right, I'll tell Father, and he'll find a way to get you in."
"We can both tell him over lunch," Sarene said. taking one last dissatisfied look at her canvas, then walking over to pack up her paints.
"So you're coming to lunch after all?"
"Well, Uncle Kiin did promise he'd fix Fjordell revertiss. Besides. after what I've learned today. I don't think I can sit here and listen to Iadon's judgments much longer. I'm liable to start throwing paints if he makes me much more angry."
Lukel laughed. "That probably wouldn't be a good idea, princess or not. Come on. Kaise is going to be ecstatic that you're coming. Father always fixes better food when we have company."
¤ ¤ ¤
LUKEL was right.
"She's here!" Kaise declared with an enthusiastic squeal as she saw Sarene walk in. "Father, you have to fix lunch!"
Jalla appeared from a nearby doorway to meet her husband with a hug and a brief kiss. The Svordish woman whispered something to Lukel in Fjordell, and he smiled, rubbing her shoulder affectionately. Sarene watched with envy, then steeled herself with gritted teeth. She was a royal Teoish princess: it wasn't her place to complain about the necessities of state marriages. If Domi had taken her husband before she even met him, then He obviously wanted to leave her mind clear for other concerns.
Uncle Kiln emerged from the kitchen, stuffed a book in his apron, then gave Sarene one of his crushing hugs. "So you couldn't stay away after all. The lure of Kiin's magical kitchen was too much for you, eh?"
"No, Papa, she's just hungry," Kaise announced.
"Oh. is that all. Well, sit down. Sarene. I'll have lunch out in a few moments."
The meal proceeded in much the same way as dinner had the night before, Kaise complaining about the slowness, Daorn trying to act more mature than his sister, and Lukel teasing them both mercilessly—as was the solemn duty of any elder brother. Adien made his appearance late, looking distracted as he mumbled some numbers softly to himself. Kiin brought out several steaming platters of food. apologizing for his wife's absence because of a prior engagement.
The meal was delightful—the food good, the conversation enjoyable. Until, that was, Lukel took it upon himself to inform the family of Sarene's painting talents.
"She was engaged in some sort of new-abstractionism." her cousin proclaimed with a completely serious voice.
"Is that so?" Kiin asked.
"Yes," Lukel said. "Though I can't quite say what kind of statement she was trying to make by representing a flower patch with a brown smudge that only vaguely resembles a horse."
Sarene blushed as the table laughed. However, it wasn't over—Ashe chose that moment to betray her as well.
"She calls it the school of creative misdirection." the Seon explained solemnly in his deep stately voice. "I believe the princess feels empowered by crafting art that completely baffles one's ability to distinguish what the subject could be."
This was too much for Kiin who nearly collapsed from laughter. Sarene's torment was soon over, however, as the topic of conversation met with a slight change—the source of which was of some interest to the princess.
"There's no such thing as a school of creative misdirection," Kaise informed them.
"There isn't?" her father asked.
"No. There's the impressionist school. the neorepresentational school, the abstract derivational school, and the revivationist school. That's it."
"Oh, is that so?" Lukel asked with amusement.
"Yes." Kaise pronounced. "There was the realist movement, but that's the same as the neorepresentational school. They just changed names to sound more important."
"Stop trying to show off for the princess." Daorn mumbled.
"I'm not showing off," Kaise huffed. "I'm being educated."
"You are too showing off," Daorn said. "Besides, the realist school is not the same as the neorepresentational school."
"Daorn, stop grumbling at your sister." Kiin ordered. "Kaise, stop showing off."
Kaise scowled, then sat back with a sullen look on her face and began mumbling incoherently.
"What's she doing?" Sarene asked with confusion.
"Oh, she's cursing at us in Jindoeese," Daorn said offhandedly. "She always does that when she loses an argument,"
"She thinks she can save face by speaking in other languages," Lukel said. "As if that proves that she's actually more intelligent than the rest of the world."
With that, the torrent of words from the small blond girl's mouth changed directions. With a start, Sarene realized Kaise was now muttering in Fjordell. Kaise wasn't done, however: she topped of the tirade with a brief, but biting, accusation in what sounded like Duladen.
"How many languages does she speak?" Sarene asked in amazement.
"Oh, four or five, unless she's learned a new one while I wasn't looking," Lukel said. "Though she's going to have to stop soon. Svordish scientists claim that the human mind can only maintain six languages before it starts to jumble them."
"It's one of Iittle Kaise's life quests to prove them wrong," Kiin explained in his deep, scratchy voice. "That and to eat every morsel of food to be found in all of Arelon."
Kaise stuck out her chin at her father with a dismissive sniff, then turned back to her meal.
"They're both so . . . well informed," Sarene said with surprise.
"Don't be too impressed," Lukel said. "Their tutors have been covering art history lately, and the two of them have been working hard to prove they can outdo one another."
"Even so." Sarene said.
Kaise, still displeased at her loss, mumbled something over her meal. "What was that?" Kiin asked with a firm tone.
"I said, 'If the prince were here. he would have listened to me.' He always took my side."
"He just sounded like he was agreeing with you." Daorn said. "That is called sarcasm, Kaise."
Kaise stuck out her tongue at her brother. "He thought I was beautiful, and he loved me. He was waiting for me to grow up so he could marry me. Then I would be queen, and I'd throw you all in the dungeon until you admitted that I was right."