Words of Radiance (Page 147)

Shallan nodded, looking disappointed. Adolin’s armorers came over to help him remove his Plate, but he waved them away. It was bad enough to show her his sloppy hair, plastered to his head from being in the helm. His clothing underneath—a padded uniform—would look awful.

“So, uh, you liked the duel?” he asked.

“You were wonderful,” Shallan said, turning back to him. “Elit kept jumping at you, and you just brushed him off like an annoying cremling trying to crawl up your leg.”

Adolin grinned. “The rest of the crowd didn’t think it was wonderful.”

“They came to see you get stomped,” she said. “You were so inconsiderate for not giving that to them.”

“I’m quite stingy in that regard,” Adolin said.

“You almost never lose, from what I’ve discovered. Awfully boring of you. Maybe you should try for a tie now and then. For variety.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said. “We can discuss it, perhaps over dinner this evening? At my father’s warcamp?”

Shallan grimaced. “I’m busy this evening. Sorry.”

“Oh.”

“But,” she said, stepping closer. “I might have a gift for you soon. I haven’t had much time to study—I’ve been working hard to reconstruct Sebarial’s house ledgers—but I might have stumbled upon something that can help you. With your duels.”

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“I remembered something from King Gavilar’s biography. It would require you to win a duel in a spectacular way, though. Something amazing, something that would awe the crowd.”

“Fewer boos, then,” Adolin said, scratching at his head.

“I think everyone would appreciate that,” Renarin noted from beside the door.

“Spectacular . . .” Adolin said.

“I’ll explain more tomorrow,” Shallan said.

“What happens tomorrow?”

“You’re feeding me dinner.”

“I am?”

“And taking me on a walk,” she said.

“I am?”

“Yes.”

“I’m a lucky man.” He smiled at her. “All right, then, we can—”

The door slammed open.

Adolin’s bridgeman guards jumped, and Renarin cursed, standing up. Adolin just turned, gently moving Shallan to the side so he could see who was standing beyond. Relis, current dueling champion and Highprince Ruthar’s eldest son.

As expected.

“What,” Relis demanded, stalking into the room, “was that?” He was followed by a small gaggle of other lighteyes, including Brightlady Istow, the highjudge. “You insult me and my house, Kholin.”

Adolin clasped his gauntleted hands behind his back as Relis stalked right up to him, shoving his face into Adolin’s.

“You didn’t like the duel?” Adolin asked casually.

“That was not a duel,” Relis snapped. “You embarrassed my cousin by refusing to fight properly. I demand that this farce be invalidated.”

“I’ve told you, Prince Relis,” Istow said from behind. “Prince Adolin didn’t break any—”

“You want your cousin’s Plate back?” Adolin asked quietly, meeting Relis’s eyes. “Fight me for it.”

“I won’t be goaded by you,” Relis said, tapping the center of Adolin’s breastplate. “I won’t let you pull me into another of your dueling farces.”

“Six Shards, Relis,” Adolin said. “Mine, those of my brother, Eranniv’s Plate, and your cousin’s Plate. I wager them all on a single bout. You and me.”

“You are a dunnard if you think I’ll agree to that,” Relis snapped.

“Too afraid?” Adolin asked.

“You’re beneath me, Kholin. These last two fights prove it. You don’t even know how to duel anymore—all you know are tricks.”

“Then you should be able to beat me easily.”

Relis wavered, shifting from one foot to the other. Finally, he pointed at Adolin again. “You’re a bastard, Kholin. I know you fought my cousin to embarrass my father and myself. I refuse to be goaded.” He turned to leave.

Something spectacular, Adolin thought, glancing at Shallan. Father asked for fanfare. . . .

“If you’re afraid,” Adolin said, looking back to Relis, “you don’t have to duel me alone.”

Relis stopped in place. He looked back. “Are you saying you’ll take me on with anyone else at the same time?”

“I am,” Adolin said. “I’ll fight you and whomever you bring, together.”

“You are a fool,” Relis breathed.

“Yes or no?”

“Two days,” Relis snapped. “Here in the arena.” He looked to the highjudge. “You witness this?”

“I do,” she said.

Relis stormed out. The others trailed after. The highjudge lingered, regarding Adolin. “You realize what you have done.”

“I know the dueling conventions quite well. Yes. I’m aware.”

She sighed, but nodded, walking out.

Peet closed the door, then looked at Adolin, raising an eyebrow. Great. Now he was getting attitude from the bridgemen. Adolin sank back down on the bench. “Will that do for spectacular?” he asked Shallan.

“You really think you can beat two at once?” she asked.

Adolin didn’t reply. Fighting two men at once was hard, particularly if they were both Shardbearers. They could gang up on you, flank you, blindside you. It was far harder than fighting two in a row.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But you wanted spectacular. So I’ll try for spectacular. Now, I hope you actually have a plan.”

Shallan sat down next to him. “What do you know of Highprince Yenev . . . ?”

There came also sixteen of the order of Windrunners, and with them a considerable number of squires, and finding in that place the Skybreakers dividing the innocent from the guilty, there ensued a great debate.

—From Words of Radiance, chapter 28, page 3

Shallan stepped from the carriage into a light rainfall. She wore the white coat and trousers of the darkeyed version of herself that she’d named Veil. Rain sprinkled on the brim of her hat. She’d spent too long talking with Adolin after his duel, and had needed to rush to make it to this appointment, which was happening in the Unclaimed Hills a good hour’s ride out of the warcamps.

But she was here, in costume, on time. Barely. She strode forward, listening to the rain patter on stone around her. She had always liked rainfalls like these. The younger sisters of highstorms, they brought life without the fury. Even the desolate stormlands here west of the warcamps bloomed with the advent of water. Rockbuds split, and though these didn’t have blossoms like the ones back home, they did put out vibrant green vines. Grass rose thirstily from holes and refused to retreat until it was practically stepped on. Some reeds produced flowers to entice cremlings, which would feast upon the petals and in so doing rub themselves with spores that would give rise to the next generation, once mixed with the spores of other plants.

If she’d been at home, there would be far more vines—so many that it would be hard to walk without tripping. Going out in a wooded area would require a machete to move more than a couple of feet. Here, the vegetation became colorful, but not an impediment.

Shallan smiled at the wonderful surroundings, the light rainfall, the beautiful plant life. A little dampness was a small price to pay for the melodious sound of sprinkling rain, for fresh clean air and a beautiful sky full of clouds that varied in every shade of grey.

Shallan walked with a waterproof satchel under her arm, the hired carriage driver—she couldn’t use Sebarial’s coach for today’s activity—awaiting her return as she’d instructed. This coach was pulled by parshmen instead of horses, but they were faster than chulls and had worked well enough.

She hiked toward a hillside ahead of her, the destination indicated on the map she’d received via spanreed. She wore a nice pair of sturdy boots. This clothing of Tyn’s might be unusual, but Shallan was glad for it. The coat and hat kept off the rain, and the boots gave her sure footing on the slick rock.

She rounded the hill and found that it was broken on the other side, the rock having cracked and fallen in a small avalanche. The strata of hardened crem were clearly visible on the edges of the chunks of rock, which meant this was a newer fracture. If it had been old, new crem would have obscured that coloring.

The crack made a small valley in the hillside—full of clefts and ridges from the crumbled rock. These had caught spores and windborne stems, and that in turn had created an explosion of life. Wherever sheltered from the wind, plants would find purchase and start to grow.

The snarl of green grew haphazardly—this was not a true lait, where life would be safe over time, but instead a temporary shelter, good for a few years at most. For now, plants grew eagerly, sometimes atop one another, sprouting, blossoming, shaking, twisting, alive. It was an example of raw nature.

The pavilion, however, was not.

It covered four people who sat in chairs too fine for the surroundings. Snacking, they were warmed by a brazier at the center of the open-sided tent. Shallan approached, taking Memories of the people’s faces. She’d draw those later, as she had done with the first group of the Ghostbloods she’d met. Two of them were the same as last time. Two were not. The discomforting woman with the mask did not seem to be present.