Oathbringer

  Radiant worried they’d leave the city undefended in their reverie. And what had become of the enemy that had been fighting in the streets? The defenders had to make certain this wasn’t an elaborate feint.

  Veil worried about looting. A city in chaos often proved how feral it could become. Veil wanted to be out on the streets, looking for people likely to be robbed, and making sure they were cared for.

  Shallan wanted to sleep. She felt … weaker … more tired than the other two.

  Jasnah approached along the wall walk, then leaned down beside her. “Shallan? Are you well?”

  “Just tired,” Veil lied. “You have no idea how draining that was, Brightness. I could use a stiff drink.”

  “I suspect that would help very little,” Jasnah said, rising. “Rest here a while yet. I want to make absolutely certain the enemy is not returning.”

  “I swear to do better, Brightness,” Radiant said, taking Jasnah’s hand. “I wish to fulfill my wardship—to study and learn until you determine I am ready. I will not flee again. I’ve realized I have very far to go yet.”

  “That is well, Shallan.” Jasnah moved off.

  Shallan. Which … which am I…? She’d insisted she would be better soon, but that didn’t seem to be happening. She grasped for an answer, staring into the nothingness until Navani approached and knelt down beside her. Behind, Dalinar accepted a respectful bow from Queen Fen, then bowed back.

  “Storms, Shallan,” Navani said. “You look like you can barely keep your eyes open. I’ll get you a palanquin to the upper reaches of the city.”

  “The Oathgate is likely clogged,” Radiant said. “I would not take a place from others who might be in greater need.”

  “Don’t be foolish, child,” Navani said, then gave her an embrace. “You must have been through so much. Devmrh, would you get a palanquin for Brightness Davar?”

  “My own feet are good enough,” Veil said, glaring at the scribe who jumped to obey Navani. “I’m stronger than you think—no offense, Brightness.”

  Navani pursed her lips, but then was pulled away by Dalinar and Fen’s conversation; they were planning to write the Azish and explain what had happened. Veil figured he was rightly worried that today’s events would spread as rumors of Alethi betrayal. Storms, if she hadn’t been here herself, she’d have been tempted to believe them. It wasn’t every day that an entire army went rogue.

  Radiant decided they could rest for ten minutes. Shallan accepted that, leaning her head back against the wall. Floating …

  “Shallan?”

  That voice. She opened her eyes to find Adolin scrambling across the wall to her. He skidded a little as he fell to his knees beside her, then raised his hands—only to hesitate, as if confronted by something very fragile.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Veil said. “I’m not some delicate piece of crystal.”

  Adolin narrowed his eyes.

  “Truly,” Radiant said. “I’m a soldier as much as the men atop this wall. Treat me—other than in obvious respects—as you would treat them.”

  “Shallan…” Adolin said, taking her hand.

  “What?” Veil asked.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “Of course it is,” Radiant said. “This fighting has left us all thoroughly worn out.”

  Adolin searched her eyes. She bled from one, to the other, and back. A moment of Veil. A moment of Radiant. Shallan peeking through—

  Adolin’s hand tightened around her own.

  Shallan’s breath caught. There, she thought. That’s the one. That’s the one I am.

  He knows.

  Adolin relaxed, and for the first time she noticed how ragged his clothing was. She raised her safehand to her lips. “Adolin, are you all right?”

  “Oh!” He looked down at his ripped uniform and scraped hands. “It’s not as bad as it looks, Shallan. Most of the blood isn’t mine. Well, I mean, I guess it is. But I’m feeling better.”

  She cupped his face with her freehand. “You’d better not have gotten too many scars. I’m expecting you to remain pretty, I’ll have you know.”

  “I’m barely hurt, Shallan. Renarin got to me.”

  “Then it’s all right if I do this?” Shallan asked, hugging him. He responded, pulling her tight. He smelled of sweat and blood—not the gentlest of scents, but this was him and she was Shallan.

  “How are you?” he asked. “Really?”

  “Tired,” she whispered.

  “You want a palanquin…”

  “Everyone keeps asking that.”

  “I could carry you up,” he said, then pulled back and grinned. “Course, you’re a Radiant. So maybe you could carry me instead? I’ve already been all the way up to the top of the city and back down once.…”

  Shallan smiled, until farther down the wall a glowing figure in blue landed on the battlements. Kaladin settled down, blue eyes shining, flanked by Rock and Lopen. Soldiers all along the walk turned toward him. Even in a battle with multiple Knights Radiant, there was something about the way Kaladin flew, the way he moved.

  Veil immediately took over. She pulled herself to her feet as Kaladin strode along the wall to meet with Dalinar. What happened to his boots?

  “Shallan?” Adolin asked.

  “A palanquin sounds great,” Veil said. “Thanks.”

  Adolin blushed, then nodded and strode toward one of the stairwells down into the city.

  “Mmm…” Pattern said. “I’m confused.”

  “We need to approach this from a logical position,” Radiant said. “We’ve been dancing around a decision for months, ever since those days we spent in the chasms with Stormblessed. I’ve begun to consider that a relationship between two Knights Radiant is likely to accomplish a more equitable union.”

  “Also,” Veil added, “look at those eyes. Simmering with barely bridled emotion.” She walked toward him, grinning.

  Then slowed.

  Adolin knows me.

  What was she doing?

  She shoved Radiant and Veil aside, and when they resisted, she stuffed them into the back part of her brain. They were not her. She was occasionally them. But they were not her.

  Kaladin hesitated on the wall walk, but Shallan just gave him a wave, then went the other way, tired—but determined.

  * * *

  Venli stood by the railing of a fleeing ship.

  The Fused boasted from within the captain’s cabin. They talked about next time, promising what they’d do and how they’d win. They spoke of past victories, and subtly hinted at why they’d failed. Too few of them had awakened so far, and those who had awakened were unaccustomed to having physical bodies.

  What a strange way to treat a failure. She attuned Appreciation anyway. An old rhythm. She loved being able to hear those again at will—she could attune either old or new, and could make her eyes red, except when she drew in Stormlight. Timbre had granted this by capturing the Voidspren within her.

  This meant she could hide it from the Fused. From Odium. She stepped away from the cabin door and walked along the side of the ship, which surged through the water, heading back toward Marat.

  “This bond was supposed to be impossible,” she whispered to Timbre.

  Timbre pulsed to Peace.

  “I’m happy too,” Venli whispered. “But why me? Why not one of the humans?”

  Timbre pulsed to Irritation, then the Lost.

  “That many? I had no idea the human betrayal had cost so many of your people’s lives. And your own grandfather?”

  Irritation again.

  “I’m not sure how much I trust the humans either. Eshonai did though.”

  Nearby, sailors worked on the rigging, speaking softly in Thaylen. Parshmen, yes, but also Thaylens. “I don’t know, Vldgen,” one said. “Yeah, some of them weren’t so bad. But what they did to us…”

  “Does that mean we have to kill them?” his companion asked. She caught a tossed rope. “It doesn’t seem right.”

&n
bsp; “They took our culture, Vldgen,” the malen said. “They blustering took our entire identity. And they’ll never let a bunch of parshmen remain free. Watch. They’ll come for us.”

  “I’ll fight if they do,” Vldgen said. “But … I don’t know. Can’t we simply enjoy being able to think? Being able to exist?” She shook her head, lashing a rope tight. “I just wish I knew who we were.”

  Timbre pulsed to Praise.

  “The listeners?” Venli whispered to the spren. “We didn’t do that good a job of resisting Odium. As soon as we got a hint of power, we came running back to him.” That had been her fault. She had driven them toward new information, new powers. She’d always hungered for it. Something new.

  Timbre pulsed to Consolation, but then it blended, changing once again to Resolve.

  Venli hummed the same transformation.

  Something new.

  But also something old.

  She walked to the two sailors. They immediately stood at attention, saluting her as the only Regal on the ship, holding a form of power. “I know who you were,” she said to the two of them.

  “You … you do?” the femalen asked.

  “Yes.” Venli pointed. “Keep working, and let me tell you of the listeners.”

  * * *

  I think you did a great job, Szeth, the sword said from Szeth’s hand as they rose above Thaylen City. You didn’t destroy many of them, yes, but you just need some more practice!

  “Thank you, sword-nimi,” he said, reaching Nin. The Herald floated with toes pointed downward, hands clasped behind his back, watching the disappearing ships of the parshmen in the distance.

  “I am sorry, master,” Szeth finally said. “I have angered you.”

  “I am not your master,” Nin said. “And you have not angered me. Why would I be displeased?”

  “You have determined that the parshmen are the true owners of this land, and that the Skybreakers should follow their laws.”

  “The very reason that we swear to something external is because we acknowledge that our own judgment is flawed. My judgment is flawed.” He narrowed his eyes. “I used to be able to feel, Szeth-son-Neturo. I used to have compassion. I can remember those days, before…”

  “The torture?” Szeth asked.

  He nodded. “Centuries spent on Braize—the place you call Damnation—stole my ability to feel. We each cope somehow, but only Ishar survived with his mind intact. Regardless, you are certain you wish to follow a man with your oath?”

  “It is not as perfect as the law, I know,” Szeth said. “But it feels right.”

  “The law is made by men, so it is not perfect either. It is not perfection we seek, for perfection is impossible. It is instead consistency. You have said the Words?”

  “Not yet. I swear to follow the will of Dalinar Kholin. This is my oath.” At the Words, snow crystallized around him in the air, then fluttered down. He felt a surge of something. Approval? From the hidden spren who only rarely showed itself to him, even still.

  “I believe that your Words have been accepted. Have you chosen your quest for the next Ideal?”

  “I will cleanse the Shin of their false leaders, so long as Dalinar Kholin agrees.”

  “We shall see. You may find him a harsh master.”

  “He is a good man, Nin-son-God.”

  “That is precisely why.” Nin saluted him quietly, then began to move away through the air. He shook his head when Szeth followed, and then he pointed. “You must protect the man you once tried to kill, Szeth-son-Neturo.”

  “What if we meet on the battlefield?”

  “Then we will both fight with confidence, knowing that we obey the precepts of our oaths. Farewell, Szeth-son-Neturo. I will visit you again to oversee your training in our second art, the Surge of Division. You may access that now, but take care. It is dangerous.”

  He left Szeth alone in the sky, holding a sword that hummed happily to itself, then confided that it had never really liked Nin in the first place.

  * * *

  Shallan had found that no matter how bad things got, someone would be making tea.

  Today it was Teshav, and Shallan gratefully took a cup, then peeked through the command post at the top of the city, still looking for Adolin. Now that she was moving, she found she could ignore her fatigue. Momentum could be a powerful thing.

  Adolin wasn’t here, though one of the runner girls had seen him a short time ago, so Shallan was on the right track. She walked back to the main thoroughfare, passing men carrying stretchers full of the wounded. Otherwise, the streets were mostly empty. People had been sent to stormshelters or homes as Queen Fen’s soldiers gathered gemstones from the reserve, rounded up Amaram’s troops, and made certain there was no looting.

  Shallan idled in the mouth of an alleyway. The tea was bitter, but good. Knowing Teshav, it probably had something in it to keep her on her feet and alert—scribes always knew the best teas for that.

  She watched the people for a time, then glanced upward as Kaladin landed on a rooftop nearby. He was next up for working the Oathgate, taking over from Renarin.

  The Windrunner stood like a sentinel, surveying the city. Was that going to become a thing for him? Always standing around up high somewhere? She’d seen how envious he’d been as he’d watched those Fused, with their flowing robes, moving like the winds.

  Shallan glanced toward the thoroughfare as she heard a familiar voice. Adolin hiked down the street, led by the messenger girl, who pointed him toward Shallan. Finally. The messenger girl bowed, then scampered off back toward the command post.

  Adolin stepped over and ran his hand through his mop of hair, blond and black. It looked fantastic, despite his ripped uniform and scraped face. Perhaps that was the advantage to persistently messy hair—he managed to make it go with anything. Though she had no idea how he’d gotten so much dust on his uniform. Had he fought a bag of sand?

  She pulled him against her in the mouth of the alleyway, then twisted and put his arm around her shoulders. “Where did you get off to?”

  “Father asked me to check on each of the Thaylen Shardbearers and report. I left you a palanquin.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been surveying the aftermath of the fight. I think we did a good job. Only half the city destroyed—which is quite the step up from our work in Kholinar. If we keep this up, some people might actually live through the end of the world.”

  He grunted. “You seem in higher spirits than earlier.”

  “Teshav fed me tea,” she said. “I’ll probably be bouncing off the clouds soon. Don’t get me laughing. I sound like an axehound puppy when I’m hyper.”

  “Shallan…” he said.

  She twisted up to look at his eyes, then followed his gaze. Above, Kaladin rose into the air to inspect something that they couldn’t see.

  “I didn’t mean to abandon you earlier,” Shallan said. “I’m sorry. I should never have let you run off.”

  He took a deep breath, then removed his arm from her shoulders.

  I’ve screwed it up! Shallan thought immediately. Stormfather. I’ve gone and ruined it.

  “I’ve decided,” Adolin said, “to step back.”

  “Adolin, I didn’t mean to—”

  “I have to say this, Shallan. Please.” He stood up tall, stiff. “I’m going to let him have you.”

  She blinked. “Let him have me.”

  “I’m holding you back,” Adolin said. “I see the way you two look at each other. I don’t want you to keep forcing yourself to spend time with me because you feel sorry for me.”

  Storms. Now he’s trying to ruin it! “No,” Shallan said. “First off, you don’t get to treat me like some kind of prize. You don’t decide who gets me.”

  “I’m not trying to…” He took another deep breath. “Look, this is hard for me, Shallan. I’m trying to do the right thing. Don’t make it harder.”

  “I don’t get a choice?”

  “You’ve made your choice. I
see how you look at him.”

  “I’m an artist, Adolin. I appreciate a nice picture when I see one. Doesn’t mean I want to pull it off the hook and go get intimate.”

  Kaladin landed on a roof in the distance, still looking the other way. Adolin waved toward him. “Shallan. He can literally fly.”

  “Oh? And is that what women are supposed to seek in a mate? Is it in the Polite Lady’s Handbook to Courtship and Family? The Bekenah edition, maybe? ‘Ladies, you can’t possibly marry a man if he can’t fly.’ Never mind if the other option is as handsome as sin, kind to everyone he meets regardless of their station, passionate about his art, and genuinely humble in the weirdest, most confident way. Never mind if he actually seems to get you, and remarkably listens to your problems, encouraging you to be you—not to hide yourself away. Never mind if being near him makes you want to rip his shirt off and push him into the nearest alleyway, then kiss him until he can’t breathe anymore. If he can’t fly, then well, you just have to call it off!”

  She paused for breath, gasping.

  “And…” Adolin said. “That guy is … me?”

  “You are such a fool.” She grabbed his ripped coat and pulled him into a kiss, passionspren crystallizing in the air around them. The warmth of the kiss did more for her than the tea ever could. It made her bubble and boil inside. Stormlight was nice, but this … this was an energy that made it dun by comparison.

  Storms, she loved this man.

  When she let him out of the kiss, he grabbed her and pulled her close, breathing heavily.

  “Are you … are you sure?” he asked. “I just … Don’t glare at me, Shallan. I have to say this. The world is full of gods and Heralds now, and you’re one of them. I’m practically a nobody. I’m not used to that feeling.”

  “Then it’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to you, Adolin Kholin. Well. Except for me.” She snuggled against him. “I will admit to you, in the interest of full honesty, that Veil did have a tendency to fawn over Kaladin Stormblessed. She has terrible taste in men, and I’ve convinced her to fall in line.”

  “That’s worrisome, Shallan.”

  “I won’t let her act on it. I promise.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Adolin said. “I meant … you, Shallan. Becoming other people.”