Elantris

CHAPTER 27

Hrathen stared at the paper for a long, long period of time. It was an accounting of King Iadon's finances, as calculated by Derethi spies. Somehow, Iadon had recovered from his lost ships and cargo. Telrii would not be king. Hrathen sat at his desk. still in the armor he'd been wearing when he entered to find the note. The paper sat immobile in his stunned fingers. Perhaps if he hadn't been faced by other worries, the news wouldn't have shocked him so much-he had dealt with plenty of upset plans in his life. Beneath the paper, however, sat his list of local arteths. He had offered every single one of them the position of head arteth, and they had all refused. Only one man remained who could take the position. Iadon's recovery was only one more fallen brick in the collapsing wall of Hrathen's sense of control. Dilaf all but ruled in the chapel; he didn't even inform Hrathen of half the meetings and sermons he organized. There was a vengefulness to the way Dilaf was wresting control away from Hrathen. Perhaps the arteth was still angered over the incident with the Elantrian prisoner, or perhaps Dilaf was just transferring his anger and frustration over Sarene's humanization of the Elantrians against Hrathen instead.

Regardless, Dilaf was slowly seizing power. It was subtle, but it seemed inevitable. The crafty arteth claimed that menial organizational items were "beneath the time of my lord hroden"-a claim that was, to an extent. well founded. Gyorns rarely had much to do with day-to-day chapel practices, and Hrathen couldn't do everything himself. Dilaf stepped in to fill the gaps. Even if Hrathen didn't break down and make the obvious move-appointing Dilaf head arteththe eventual result would be the same.

Hrathen was losing his grip on Arelon. Nobles went to Dilaf now instead of him, and while Derethi membership was still growing. it wasn't increasing quickly enough. Sarene had somehow foiled the plot to put Telrii on the throne-and after visiting the city, the people of Kae would no longer regard Elantrians as demons. Hrathen was setting a poor precedent for his activities in Arelon.

On top of it all stood Hrathen's wavering faith. This was not the time to call his beliefs into question. Hrathen understood this. However, understanding-as

opposed to feeling-was the root of his problem. Now that the seed of uncertainty had been given purchase in his heart. he couldn't easily uproot it.

It was too much. Suddenly, it seemed as if his room were falling in on him. The walls and ceiling shrunk closer and closer, as if to crush him beneath their weight. Hrathen stumbled, trying to escape, and fell to the marble floor. Nothing worked, nothing could help him.

He groaned. feeling the pain as his armor bit into his skin at odd angles. He rolled to his knees, and began to pray.

As a priest of Shu-Dereth. Hrathen spent hours in prayer each week. However, those prayers were different-more a form of meditation than a communication, a means of organizing his thoughts. This time he begged.

For the first time in years he found himself pleading for aid. Hrathen reached out to that God that he had served so long lie had almost forgotten Him. The God he had shuffled away in a flurry of logic and understanding, a God he had rendered impotent in his life, though he sought to further His influence.

For once, Hrathen felt unfit to perform on his own. For once he admitted a need for help.

He didn't know how long he knelt, praying fervently for aid, compassion, and mercy. Eventually. he was startled from his trancelike pleading by a knock at his door.

"Come." he said distractedly.

"I apologize for disturbing my lord." said a minor underpriest, cracking open the door. "But this just arrived for you." The priest pushed a small crate into the room, then closed the door.

Hrathen rose on unstable feet. It was dark outside, though he had begun his prayers before noon. Had he really spent that long in supplication? A lirtle dazed, Hrathen picked up the box and placed it on his desk, prying loose the lid with a dagger. Inside, packed with hay, was a rack containing four vials.

My Lord Hrathen, the note read. Here is the poison you requested. All of the effects are exactly as you specified. The liquid must be ingested, and the victim won't display any symptoms until about eight hours afterwards.

In all things, praise to Lord Jaddeth.

Forton, apothecary and loyal subject of Wyrn.

Hrathen picked up a vial, regarding its dark contents with wonder. He had almost forgotten his late-night call to Forton. He vaguely remembered assuming he would administer the poison to Dilaf. That plan wouldn't work anymore. He needed something more spectacular.

Hrathen swished the poison around in its vial for a moment, then pulled off the stopper and drank it down in a single gulp.