Words of Radiance

“That’s precisely why you should follow my commands,” the king said, frowning at the highprinces.

“No,” Ruthar said, “it is why we must abandon these ludicrous restrictions you have placed upon us, Your Majesty! This is not a time to look foolish before the world.”

“Listen to Ruthar,” Sebarial said dryly, leaning back in his chair. “He’s an expert at looking like a fool.”

The arguing continued, and Shallan got a better feel for the room. There were actually three factions. Dalinar and the king, the team with Sadeas, and what she dubbed the peacemakers. Led by Hatham—who seemed, when he spoke, the most natural politician in the room—this third group sought to mediate.

So that’s what it’s really about, she thought, listening as Ruthar argued with the king and Adolin Kholin. They’re each trying to persuade these neutral highprinces to join their faction.

Dalinar said little. The same for Sadeas, who seemed content to let Highprince Ruthar and his wife speak for him. The two watched each other, Dalinar with a neutral expression, Sadeas with a faint smile. It seemed innocent enough until you saw their eyes. Locked on to one another, rarely blinking.

There was a storm in this room. A silent one.

Everyone seemed to fall into one of the three factions except for Sebarial, who kept rolling his eyes, occasionally throwing out commentary that bordered on the obscene. He obviously made the other Alethi, with their haughty airs, uncomfortable.

Shallan slowly picked apart the conversation’s subtext. This talk of prohibitions and rules placed by the king . . . it wasn’t the rules themselves that seemed to matter, but the authority behind them. How much would the highprinces submit to the king, and how much autonomy could they demand? It was fascinating.

Right up to the moment when one of them mentioned her.

“Wait,” said Vamah—one of the neutral highprinces. “Who is that girl over there? Does someone have a Veden in their retinue?”

“She was speaking with Dalinar,” Roion said. “Is there news of Jah Keved that you’re keeping from us, Dalinar?”

“You, girl,” said Ialai Sadeas. “What can you tell us of your homeland’s succession war? Do you have information on this assassin? Why would someone in the employ of the Parshendi seek to undermine your throne?”

All eyes in the room turned toward Shallan. She felt a moment of sheer panic. The most important people in the world, interrogating her, their eyes drilling into her—

And then she remembered the drawing. That was who she was.

“Alas,” Shallan said, “I will be of little use to you, Brightlords and Brightladies. I was away from my homeland when that tragic assassination occurred, and I have no insight into its cause.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Hatham asked, polite, but insistent.

“She’s watching the zoo, obviously,” Sebarial said. “The lot of you making fools of yourselves is the best free entertainment to be found in this frozen wasteland.”

It probably was wise to ignore that one. “I am the ward of Jasnah Kholin,” Shallan said, meeting Hatham’s eyes. “My purpose here is of a personal nature.”

“Ah,” Aladar said. “The phantom betrothal I’ve heard rumors of.”

“That’s right,” Ruthar said. He had a decidedly oily look about him, with dark slicked hair, burly arms, and a beard around the mouth. Most disturbing, however, was that smile of his—a smile that seemed far too predatory. “Child, what would it take for you to visit my warcamp and speak to my scribes? I need to know what is happening in Jah Keved.”

“I will do better than that,” Roion said. “Where are you staying, girl? I offer an invitation to visit my palace. I too would hear of your homeland.”

But . . . she’d just said she didn’t know anything . . .

Shallan dredged up Jasnah’s training. They didn’t care about Jah Keved. They wanted to get information about her betrothal—they suspected that there was more to the story.

The two who had just invited her were among those Jasnah rated the least politically savvy. The others—like Aladar and Hatham—would wait until a private time to make the invitation, so they didn’t reveal their interest in public.

“Your concern is unwarranted, Roion,” Dalinar said. “She is, of course, staying in my warcamp and has a position among my clerks.”

“Actually,” Shallan said, “I didn’t get a chance to respond to your offer, Brightlord Kholin. I would love the opportunity to be in your service, but alas, I have already taken a position in another warcamp.”

Stunned silence.

She knew what she wanted to say next. A huge gamble, one of which Jasnah would never have approved. She found herself speaking anyway, trusting her instincts. It worked in art, after all.

“Brightlord Sebarial,” Shallan said, looking toward the bearded man that Jasnah so thoroughly detested, “was the first to offer me a position and invite me to stay with him.”

The man almost choked on his wine. He looked up over the cup toward her, narrowing his eyes.

She shrugged with what she hoped was an innocent gesture, and smiled. Please . . .

“Uh, that’s right,” Sebarial said, leaning back. “She’s a distant family relation. Couldn’t possibly live with myself if I didn’t give her a place to stay.”

“His offer was quite generous,” Shallan said. “Three full broams a week support.”

Sebarial’s eyes bugged out.

“I wasn’t aware of this,” Dalinar said, looking from Sebarial to her.

“I’m sorry, Brightlord,” Shallan said. “I should have told you. I didn’t find it appropriate to be staying in the house of someone who was courting me. Surely you understand.”

He frowned. “What I’m having trouble understanding is why anyone would want to be closer to Sebarial than they need to be.”

“Oh, Uncle Sebarial is quite tolerable, once you get used to him,” Shallan said. “Like a very annoying noise that you eventually learn to ignore.”

Most seemed horrified at her comment, though Aladar smiled. Sebarial—as she’d hoped—laughed out loud.

“I guess that is settled,” Ruthar said, dissatisfied. “I do hope you’ll at least be willing to come brief me.”

“Give it up, Ruthar,” Sebarial said. “She’s too young for you. Though with you involved, I’m sure it would be brief.”

Ruthar sputtered. “I wasn’t implying . . . You moldy old . . . Bah!”

Shallan was glad that attention then turned from her back to the topics at hand, because that last comment had her blushing. Sebarial was inappropriate. Still, he seemed to be making an effort to leave himself out of these political discussions, and that seemed like the place where Shallan wanted to be. The position with the most freedom. She would still work with Dalinar and Navani on Jasnah’s notes, but she didn’t want to be beholden to them.

Who is to say being beholden to this man is any different? Shallan thought, rounding the room to approach where Sebarial sat, without wife or family members to attend him. He was unmarried.

“Almost threw you out on your ear, girl,” Sebarial said quietly, sipping his wine and not looking at her. “Stupid move, putting yourself in my hands. Everyone knows I like to set things on fire and watch them burn.”

“And yet you didn’t throw me out,” she said. “So it wasn’t a stupid move. Merely a risk that paid rewards.”

“Still might drop you. I’m certainly not paying that three broams. That’s almost as much as my mistress costs, and at least I get something from that arrangement.”

“You’ll pay,” Shallan said. “It’s a matter of public record now. But don’t worry. I will earn my keep.”

“You have information about Kholin?” Sebarial asked, studying his wine.

So he did care.

“Information, yes,” Shallan said. “Less about Kholin, and more about the world itself. Trust me, Sebarial. You’ve just entered into a very profitable arrangement.”

She’d have to figure out why that was.

The others continued arguing about the Assassin in White, and she gathered that he had attacked here but had been fought off. As Aladar steered the conversation to a complaint that his gemstones were being taken by the Crown—Shallan didn’t know the reason they’d been seized—Dalinar Kholin slowly stood up. He moved like a rolling boulder. Inevitable, implacable.

Aladar trailed off.

“I passed a curious pile of stones along my path,” Dalinar said. “Of a type I found remarkable. The fractured shale had been weathered by highstorms, blown up against stone of a more durable nature. This pile of thin wafers lay as if stacked by some mortal hand.”

The others looked at Dalinar as if he were mad. Something about the words tugged at Shallan’s memory. They were a quotation from something she’d once read.

Dalinar turned, walking toward the open windows on the leeward side of the room. “But no man had stacked these stones. Precarious though they looked, they were actually quite solid, a formation from once-buried strata now exposed to open air. I wondered how it was possible they remained in such a neat stack, with the fury of the tempests blowing against them.