Words of Radiance

Relis scowled at Adolin. How did someone get a face so flat? Had he been dropped as a child? “You’re assuming I’d lose.”

“Well, of course you would,” Adolin said, chuckling. “I mean, let’s be honest, Relis. You’ve been sitting on your title for almost half a year. You haven’t won a duel of any importance since you defeated Epinar.”

“This from a man who spent years refusing almost all challenges,” Melali said, looking Adolin up and down. “I’m surprised your daddy let you free to come talk. Isn’t he afraid you might hurt yourself?”

“Nice to see you too, Melali,” Adolin said. “How’s your sister?”

“Off limits.”

Oh, right. That was what he’d done. Honest mistake. “Relis,” Adolin said. “You claim you’d face this assassin, yet you’re frightened of dueling me?”

Relis spread his hands, one holding a shimmering goblet of red wine. “It’s protocol, Adolin! I’ll duel you once you fight up through the brackets for a year or two. I can’t just take on any old challenger, particularly not in a bout with our Shards on the line!”

“Any old challenger?” Adolin said. “Relis, I’m one of the best there is.”

“Are you?” Relis asked, smiling. “After that display with Eranniv?”

“Yes, Adolin,” said Elit, Relis’s short, balding cousin. “You’ve only had a handful of duels of any consequence in recent memory—in one of those you basically cheated, and in the second you won by sheer luck!”

Relis nodded. “If I bend the rules and accept your challenge, then it will break the stormwall. I’ll have dozens of inferior swordsmen nipping at me.”

“No you won’t,” Adolin said. “Because you won’t be a Shardbearer any longer. You’ll have lost to me.”

“So confident,” Relis said, chuckling, turning to Elit and the women. “Listen to him. He ignores the rankings for months, then leaps back in and assumes he can beat me.”

“I’ll wager both my Plate and Blade,” Adolin said. “And my brother’s Plate and Blade, along with the Shard I won from Eranniv. Five Shards to your two.”

Elit started. The man was a Shardbearer with only the Plate—given to him by his cousin. He turned to Relis, looking hungry.

Relis paused. Then he closed his mouth and cocked his head lazily to the side as he met Adolin’s eyes. “You’re a fool, Kholin.”

“I’m offering it here, before witnesses,” Adolin said. “You win this bout, you take every Shard my family owns. What’s stronger? Your fear or your greed?”

“My pride,” Relis said. “No contest, Adolin.”

Adolin ground his teeth. He’d hoped the duel with Eranniv would make others underestimate him, make them more likely to duel him. It wasn’t working. Relis barked out a laugh. He held out his arm to Melali, and tugged her away, his attendants following.

Elit hesitated.

Well, it’s better than nothing, Adolin thought, a plan forming. “What about you?” Adolin asked the cousin.

Elit looked him up and down. Adolin didn’t know the man well. He was said to be a passable duelist, though he was often in his cousin’s shadow.

But that hunger—Elit wanted to be a full Shardbearer.

“Elit?” Relis said.

“Same offer?” Elit said, meeting Adolin’s gaze. “Your five to my one?”

What a terrible deal.

“Same offer,” Adolin said.

“I’m in,” Elit said.

Behind him, Ruthar’s son groaned. He grabbed Elit by the shoulder, towing him to the side with a growl.

“You told me to fight up through the brackets,” Adolin said to Relis. “I’m doing that.”

“Not my cousin.”

“Too late,” Adolin said. “You heard it. The ladies heard it. When do we fight, Elit?”

“Seven days,” Elit said. “On Chachel.”

Seven days—a long wait, considering a challenge like this. So, he wanted time to train, did he? “How about tomorrow instead?”

Relis snarled at Adolin, a very un-Alethi display, and shoved his cousin farther away. “I can’t see why you’re so eager, Adolin. Shouldn’t you focus on protecting that father of yours? It’s always sad when a soldier lives long enough to see his wits go. Has he started wetting himself in public yet?”

Steady, Adolin told himself. Relis was trying to goad him, maybe get Adolin to take a hasty swing. That would let him petition to the king for redress and a voiding of all contracts with his house—including the dueling agreement with Elit. But the insult went too far. His companions gasped slightly, pulling away at the very un-Alethi bluntness.

Adolin didn’t give in to the desperate goading. He had what he wanted. He wasn’t certain what he could do about the assassin—but this, this was a way to help. Elit wasn’t ranked highly, but he served Ruthar, who was—more and more—acting as Sadeas’s right-hand man. Beating him would take Adolin one step closer to the real goal. A duel with Sadeas himself.

He turned to leave, and stopped short. Someone stood behind him—a stout man with a bulbous face and black curly hair. His complexion was ruddy, the nose too red, fine veins visible in his cheeks. The man had the arms of a soldier, despite his frivolous outfit—which was, Adolin admitted grudgingly, quite fashionable. Dark slacks that were trimmed with forest green silk, a short open coat over a stiff matching shirt. Scarf at the neck.

Torol Sadeas, highprince, Shardbearer, and the very man Adolin had been thinking of—the single person he hated most in the world.

“Another duel, young Adolin,” Sadeas said, taking a sip of wine. “You really are determined to embarrass yourself out there. I still find it strange your father abandoned his prohibition of you dueling—indeed, I thought it a matter of honor to him.”

Adolin pushed past Sadeas, not trusting himself to speak so much as a single word to this eel of a man. Sight of the man brought memories of stark panic as he watched Sadeas retreat from the field of battle to leave Adolin and his father alone and surrounded.

Havar, Perethom, and Ilamar—good soldiers, good friends—had died that day. They and six thousand more.

Sadeas grabbed Adolin’s shoulder as he passed. “Think what you will, son,” the man whispered, “but what I did was intended as a kindness to your father. A tip of the sword to an old ally.”

“Let. Go.”

“If you lose your mind as you age, pray to the Almighty there are people like myself willing to give you a good death. People who care enough not to snicker, but instead hold the sword for you as you fall on it.”

“I’ll have your throat in my hands, Sadeas,” Adolin hissed. “I’ll squeeze and squeeze, then I’ll sink my dagger into your gut and twist. A quick death is too good for you.”

“Tsk,” Sadeas said, smiling. “Careful. It’s a full room. What if someone heard you threatening a highprince?”

The Alethi way. You could abandon an ally on the battlefield, and everyone could know it—but an offense in person, well, that just wouldn’t do. Society would frown on that. Nalan’s hand! His father was right about them all.

Adolin turned in a quick motion, reversing out of Sadeas’s grip. His next moves were by instinct, his fingers balling, stepping in preparation to plant a fist in that smiling, self-satisfied face.

A hand fell on Adolin’s shoulder, causing him to hesitate.

“I don’t think that would be wise, Brightlord Adolin,” said a soft but stern voice. It reminded Adolin of his father, though the timbre was off. He glanced at Amaram, who had stepped up beside him.

Tall, with a face like chipped stone, Brightlord Meridas Amaram was one of the only lighteyed men in the room who wore a proper uniform. As much as Adolin wished he himself could wear something more fashionable, he had come to realize the importance of the uniform as a symbol.

Adolin took a deep breath, lowering his fist. Amaram nodded to Sadeas, then turned Adolin by his shoulder and walked him away from the highprince.

“You mustn’t let him provoke you, Your Highness,” Amaram said softly. “He’ll use you to embarrass your father, if he can.”

They moved through the room full of chattering attendants. Drinks and finger food had been distributed. It had turned from a short break during the meeting into a full-blown party. Not surprising. With all the important lighteyes here, people would want to mingle and connive.

“Why do you remain with him, Amaram?” Adolin asked.

“He is my liege lord.”

“You’re of a rank that you could choose a new liege. Stormfather! You’re a Shardbearer now. Nobody would even question you. Come to our camp. Join with Father.”

“In doing that, I would create a divide,” Amaram said softly. “So long as I remain with Sadeas, I can help bridge gaps. He trusts me. So does your father. My friendship with both is a step toward keeping this kingdom together.”

“Sadeas will betray you.”

“No. Highprince Sadeas and I have an understanding.”

“We thought we had one. Then he set us up.”