Words of Radiance (Page 133)

“No,” she said, blushing at her tears. “You are the type of man who profits from the gambling of others. You know that it usually leads to loss. I give you items of real value. Take them. Please?”

The man considered. He held out his hands for the daggers, and his man passed them over. He unsheathed one of the daggers and inspected it. “Name for me one reason I should show this man pity. In my house, he was an arrogant glutton, acting without thought for the difficulty he would cause you, his family.”

“Our mother was murdered,” Shallan said. “That night, as I cried, Jushu held me.” It was all she had.

The man considered. Shallan felt her heart pounding. Finally, he tossed the necklace back to her. “Keep that.” He nodded to his man. “Cut the little cremling free. Child, if you are wise, you will teach your brother to be more . . . conservative.” He pulled the door closed.

Shallan stepped back as the servant cut Jushu free. The man then climbed onto the back of the vehicle and knocked. It pulled away.

Shallan knelt beside Jushu. He blinked one eye—the other was bruised and beginning to swell shut—as she untied his bloodied hands. It had not been a quarter hour since Father had declared that the men could have him, but they had obviously taken that time to show Jushu what they thought of not being paid.

“Shallan?” he asked, lips bloodied. “What happened?”

“You weren’t listening?”

“My ears ring,” he said. “Everything is spinning. I . . . am I free?”

“Balat and Wikim traded their knives for you.”

“Mill took so little in trade?”

“Obviously, he did not know your true worth.”

Jushu smiled a toothy smile. “Always quick with your tongue, aren’t you?” He climbed to his feet with Shallan’s help and began to limp back toward the house.

Halfway there, Balat joined them, taking Jushu under his arm. “Thank you,” Jushu whispered. “She says you saved me. Thank you, Brother.” He started weeping.

“I . . .” Balat looked to Shallan, then back to Jushu. “You’re my brother. Let’s get you back and cleaned up.”

Content that Jushu would be cared for, Shallan left them and entered the manor house. She climbed the stairs, passed Father’s glowing room, and entered her chambers. She sat down on the bed.

There, she waited for the highstorm.

Shouts rose from below. Shallan squeezed her eyes shut.

Finally, the door to her rooms opened.

She opened her eyes. Father stood outside. Shallan could make out a crumpled form beyond him, lying on the floor of the hallway. Minara, the serving maid. Her body didn’t lie right, one arm bent at the wrong angle. Her figure stirred, whimpering, leaving blood on the wall as she tried to crawl away.

Father entered Shallan’s room and shut the door behind him. “You know I would never hurt you, Shallan,” he said softly.

She nodded, tears leaking from her eyes.

“I’ve found a way to control myself,” her father said. “I just have to let the anger out. I can’t blame myself for that anger. Others create it when they disobey me.”

Her objection—that he hadn’t told her to go immediately to her room, only that she shouldn’t leave it once she was there—died on her lips. A foolish excuse. They both knew she’d intentionally disobeyed.

“I would not want to have to punish anyone else because of you, Shallan,” Father said.

This cold monster, was this really her father?

“It is time.” Father nodded. “No more indulgences. If we are to be important in Jah Keved, we cannot be seen as weak. Do you understand?”

She nodded, unable to stop the tears.

“Good,” he said, resting his hand on her head, then running his fingers through her hair. “Thank you.”

He left her, shutting the door.

These Lightweavers, by no coincidence, included many who pursued the arts; namely: writers, artists, musicians, painters, sculptors. Considering the order’s general temperament, the tales of their strange and varied mnemonic abilities may have been embellished.

—From Words of Radiance, chapter 21, page 10

After leaving her carriage at a stable in the Outer Market, Shallan was led to a stairwell carved into the stone of a hillside. She climbed this, then stepped hesitantly out onto a terrace that had been cut from the side of the hill here. Lighteyes wearing stylish clothing chatted over cups of wine at the patio’s numerous ironwork tables.

They were high enough here to look out over the warcamps. The perspective was eastward, toward the Origin. What an unnatural arrangement; it made her feel exposed. Shallan was accustomed to balconies, gardens, and patios all facing away from the storms. True, nobody was likely to be out here when a highstorm was expected, but it just felt off to her.

A master-servant in black and white arrived and bowed, calling her Brightness Davar without need of an introduction. She’d have to get used to that; in Alethkar she was a novelty, and an easily recognizable one. She let the servant lead her among the tables, sending her guards for the day off toward a larger room cut farther into the stone to the right. This one had a proper roof and walls, so it could be completely closed off, and a group of other guards waited here upon the whims of their masters.

Shallan drew the eyes of the other patrons. Well, good. She had come here to upset their world. The more people spoke of her, the better her chances of persuading them, when the time came, to listen to her regarding the parshmen. Those were everywhere in camp, even here in this luxurious winehouse. She spotted three in the corner, moving wine bottles from wall-mounted racks to crates. They moved at a plodding yet implacable pace.

A few more steps brought her to the marble balustrade right at the edge of the terrace. Here Adolin had a table set off by itself with an unobstructed view directly east. Two members of Dalinar’s house guard stood by the wall a short distance away; Adolin was important enough, apparently, that his guards didn’t need to wait with the others.

Adolin browsed a folio, oversized by design so it wouldn’t be mistaken for a woman’s book. Shallan had seen some folios containing battle maps, others with designs for armor or pictures of architecture. She was amused as she caught sight of the glyphs for this one, with women’s script underneath for further clarification. Fashions out of Liafor and Azir.

Adolin looked as handsome as he had before. Maybe more so, now that he was obviously more relaxed. She would not let him muddle her mind. She had a purpose to this meeting: an alliance with House Kholin to help her brothers and give her resources for exposing the Voidbringers and discovering Urithiru.

She couldn’t afford to come off as weak. She had to control the situation, could not act like a sycophant, and she couldn’t—

Adolin saw her and closed the portfolio. He stood up, grinning.

—oh, storms. That smile.

“Brightness Shallan,” he said, holding out a hand toward her. “You are settling well in Sebarial’s camp?”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning at him. That mop of unruly hair just made her want to reach out and run her fingers through it. Our children would have the strangest hair ever, she thought. His gold and black Alethi locks, my red ones, and . . .

And was she really thinking about their children? Already? Foolish girl.

“Yes,” she continued, trying to de-melt a little. “He has been quite kind to me.”

“It’s probably because you’re family,” Adolin said, letting her sit, then pushing in her chair. He did it himself, rather than allowing the master-servant to do so. She would not have expected that of someone so highborn. “Sebarial only does what he feels he’s forced to.”

“I think he may surprise you,” Shallan said.

“Oh, he’s already done that on several occasions.”

“Really? When?”

“Well,” Adolin said, sitting, “he once produced a very, um, loud and inappropriate noise at a meeting with the king. . . .” Adolin smiled, shrugging as if embarrassed, but he didn’t blush as Shallan might have in a similar situation. “Does that count?”

“I’m not sure. Knowing what I do of Uncle Sebarial, I doubt that such a thing is particularly surprising from him. Expected is more like it.”

Adolin laughed, tossing his head back. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. That you are.”

He seemed so confident. Not in a particularly conceited way, not like her father had been. In fact, it occurred to her that her father’s attitude had been caused not by confidence, but the opposite.

Adolin seemed perfectly at ease both with his station and those around him. When he waved for the master-servant to bring him a list of wines, he smiled at the woman, though she was darkeyed. That smile was enough to produce a blush even in a master-servant.

Shallan was supposed to get this man to court her? Storms! She’d felt far more capable when trying to scam the leader of the Ghostbloods. Act refined, Shallan told herself. Adolin has moved with the elite, and has been in relationships with the most sophisticated ladies of the world. He will expect that from you.

“So,” he said, flipping through the list of wines, described by glyphs, “we are supposed to get married.”