Words of Radiance

“Show her this, please,” Shallan said.

Kaladin hesitated, then took the sheet. He looked it over, but obviously couldn’t tell that he was holding it upside down. It was one of the written communications between Jasnah and her mother, arranging for the causal. Communicated via spanreed, there would be two copies—the one that had been written on Jasnah’s side, and the one on Brightness Navani’s side.

“We’ll see,” Kaladin said.

“We’ll . . .” Shallan found herself sputtering. If she couldn’t get in to see Dalinar, then . . . Then . . . Storm this man! She took his arm in her freehand as he turned to give orders to his men. “Is this really all because I lied to you?” she demanded more softly.

He looked back at her. “It’s about doing my job.”

“Your job is to be offensive and asinine?”

“No, I’m offensive and asinine on my own time too. My job is to keep people like you away from Dalinar Kholin.”

“I guarantee he will want to see me.”

“Well, forgive me for not trusting the word of a Horneater princess. Would you like some shells to chew on while my men tow you away to the dungeons?”

All right, that’s enough.

“The dungeons sound wonderful!” she said. “At least there, I’d be away from you, idiot man!”

“Only for a short time. I’d be by to interrogate you.”

“What? I couldn’t pick a more pleasant option? Like being executed?”

“You’re assuming I could find a hangman willing to put up with your blathering long enough to fit the rope.”

“Well, if you want to kill me, you could always let your breath do the job.”

He reddened, and several guards nearby started snickering. They tried to stifle their reaction as Captain Kaladin looked at them.

“I should envy you,” he said, turning back to her. “My breath needs to be up close to kill, while that face of yours can kill any man from a distance.”

“Any man?” she asked. “Why, it’s not working on you. I guess that’s proof that you’re not much of a man.”

“I misspoke. I didn’t mean any man, just males of your own species—but don’t worry, I’ll take care not to let our chulls get close.”

“Oh? Your parents are in the area, then?”

His eyes widened, and for the first time she seemed to have really gotten under his skin. “My parents have nothing to do with this.”

“Yes, that makes sense. I’d expect that they want nothing to do with you.”

“At least my ancestors had the sense not to breed with a sponge!” he snapped, probably a reference to her red hair.

“At least I know my parentage!” she snapped back.

They glared at each other. Part of Shallan felt satisfaction at being able to make him lose his temper, though from the heat she felt in her face, she’d let go of hers as well. Jasnah would have been disappointed. How often had she tried to get Shallan to control her tongue? True wit was controlled wit. It shouldn’t be allowed to run free, any more than an arrow should be loosed in a random direction.

For the first time, Shallan realized that the large hallway had grown silent. A great number of the soldiers and attendants were staring at her and the officer.

“Bah!” Kaladin shook her arm free of his—she hadn’t let go after getting his attention earlier. “I revise my opinion of you. You’re obviously a highborn lighteyes. Only they are capable of being this infuriating.” He stalked away from her toward the doors to the king’s chamber.

Nearby, Vathah relaxed visibly. “Getting into a shouting match with the head of Highprince Dalinar’s guard?” he whispered to her. “Was that wise?”

“We created an incident,” she said, calming herself. “Now Dalinar Kholin will hear of this one way or another. That guardsman won’t be able to keep my arrival secret from him.”

Vathah hesitated. “So it was part of the plan.”

“Hardly,” Shallan said. “I’m not nearly that clever. But it should work anyway.” She looked to Gaz, who was released by Kaladin’s guards so he could join the two of them, though all were still under careful watch.

“Even for a deserter,” Vathah said under his breath, “you’re a coward, Gaz.”

Gaz just stared at the ground.

“How do you know him?” Shallan asked.

“He was a slave,” Gaz said, “at the lumberyards where I used to work. Storming man. He’s dangerous, Brightness. Violent, a troublemaker. I don’t know how he got to such a high position in such a short time.”

Kaladin hadn’t entered the conference chamber. However, the doors cracked a moment later. The meeting appeared to be over, or at least on break. Several aides rushed in to see if their highprinces needed anything, and chatter started up among the guards. Captain Kaladin shot her a glance, then reluctantly entered, carrying her sheet of paper.

Shallan forced herself to stand with hands clasped before her—one sleeved, the other not—to keep herself from looking nervous. Eventually, Kaladin stepped back out, a look of annoyed resignation on his face. He pointed at her, then thumbed over his shoulder, indicating she could enter. His guards let her pass, though they restrained Vathah when he tried to follow her.

She waved him back, took a deep breath, then strode through the moving crowd of soldiers and aides, entering the king’s conference chamber.

Now, as each order was thus matched to the nature and temperament of the Herald it named patron, there was none more archetypal of this than the Stonewards, who followed after Talenelat’Elin, Stonesinew, Herald of War: they thought it a point of virtue to exemplify resolve, strength, and dependability. Alas, they took less care for imprudent practice of their stubbornness, even in the face of proven error.

—From Words of Radiance, chapter 13, page 1

The meeting finally reached a break. They weren’t done—Stormfather, it didn’t seem like they’d ever be done—but the arguing was over for the moment. Adolin stood, wounds along his leg and side protesting, and left his father and aunt to speak in hushed tones as the large chamber filled with a buzz of conversation.

How did Father stand it? A full two hours had passed, according to Navani’s fabrial clock on the wall. Two hours of highprinces and their wives complaining about the Assassin in White. Nobody could agree on what should be done.

They all ignored the truth stabbing them in the face. Nothing could be done. Nothing other than Adolin staying alert and practicing, training to face the monster when he returned.

And you think you can beat him? When he can walk on walls and make the very spren of nature obey him?

It was a discomforting question. At his father’s suggestion, Adolin had reluctantly changed out of his Plate and into something more appropriate. We need to project confidence at this meeting, Dalinar had said, not fear.

General Khal wore the armor instead, hiding in a room to the side with a strike force. Father seemed to think it unlikely the assassin would strike during the meeting. If the assassin wanted to kill the highprinces, he could take them much more easily alone, in the night. Attacking them all together, in the company of their guards and dozens of Shardbearers, seemed like it would be an imprudent decision. Indeed, there were Shards aplenty at this meeting. Three of the highprinces wore their Plate, and the others had Shardbearers in attendance. Abrobadar, Jakamav, Resi, Relis . . . Adolin had rarely seen so many collected together at once.

Would any of it matter? Accounts had been flooding in from around the world for weeks. Kings slaughtered. Ruling bodies decapitated all across Roshar. In Jah Keved, the assassin had reportedly killed dozens of soldiers bearing half-shard shields that could block his Blade, as well as three Shardbearers, including the king. It was a crisis that spanned the entire world, and one man was behind it. Assuming he was even a man.

Adolin found himself a cup of sweet wine at the edge of the room, poured by an eager servant in blue and gold. Orange wine, basically just juice. Adolin downed an entire cup anyway, then went looking for Relis. He needed to be doing something other than sitting and listening to people complain.

Fortunately, he’d concocted something while sitting there.

Relis, Ruthar’s son and star Shardbearer, was a man with a face like a shovel—flat and wide, with a nose that seemed like it had been smashed. He wore a frilly outfit of green and yellow. It wasn’t even interesting. He had the choice to wear anything, and he chose this?

He was a full Shardbearer, one of the few in the camps. He was also the current dueling champion—which, along with his parentage, made him of particular interest to Adolin. He stood speaking with his cousin Elit and a group of three of Sadeas’s attendants: women in the traditional Vorin havah. One of those women, Melali, gave Adolin a pointed glare. She was as pretty as she’d ever been, her hair up in complex braids and stuck with hairspikes. What had he done to annoy her, again? It had been forever since they’d courted.

“Relis,” Adolin said, raising his cup, “I just wanted you to know that I found it very brave of you to offer to fight the assassin yourself, when you spoke earlier. It is inspiring that you’d be willing to die for the Crown.”