Words of Radiance

  “You’ll need to announce me, Vathah,” she said softly as they walked up.

  “As?”

  “Brightness Shallan Davar, ward of Jasnah Kholin and causal betrothed of Adolin Kholin. Wait to say it until I indicate.”

  The grizzled man nodded, hand on his axe. Shallan didn’t share his discomfort. If anything, she was excited. She strode by the guards with head held high, acting as if she belonged.

  They let her pass.

  Shallan almost stumbled. Over a dozen guards at the door, and they didn’t challenge her. Several raised hands as if to do so—she saw this from the corner of her eye—but they backed down into silence. Vathah snorted softly from beside her as they entered the tunnel-like corridor beyond the gates.

  The acoustics caught echoing whispers as the guards at the door conversed. Finally, one of them did call out after her. “. . . Brightness?”

  She stopped, turning toward them and raising an eyebrow.

  “I’m sorry, Brightness,” the guard called. “But you are . . . ?”

  She nodded to Vathah.

  “You don’t recognize Brightness Davar?” he barked. “The causal betrothed of Brightlord Adolin Kholin?”

  The guards hushed, and Shallan turned around to continue on her way. The conversation behind started up again almost immediately, loud enough this time that she could catch a few words. “. . . never can keep track of that man’s women . . .”

  They reached an intersection. Shallan looked one way, then the other. “Upward, I’d guess,” she said.

  “Kings do like to be at the top of everything,” Vathah said. “Attitude might get you past the outer door, Brightness, but it’s not going to get you in to see Kholin.”

  “Are you really his betrothed?” Gaz asked nervously, scratching at his eye patch.

  “Last I checked,” Shallan said, leading the way. “Which, granted, was before my ship sank.” She wasn’t worried about getting in to see Kholin. She’d at least get an audience.

  They continued upward, asking servants for directions. Those scuttled about in clusters, jumping when spoken to. Shallan recognized that kind of timidity. Was the king as terrible a master as her father had been?

  As they went higher, the structure seemed less like a fortress and more like a palace. There were reliefs on the walls, mosaics on the floor, carved shutters, an increasing number of windows. By the time they approached the king’s conference chamber near the top, wood trim framed the stone walls, with silver and gold leaf worked into the carvings. Lamps held massive sapphires, beyond the size of ordinary denominations, radiating bright blue light. At least she wouldn’t lack for Stormlight, should she need it.

  The passage into the king’s conference room was clogged with men. Soldiers in a dozen different uniforms.

  “Damnation,” Gaz said. “Those are Sadeas’s colors there.”

  “And Thanadal, and Aladar, and Ruthar . . .” Vathah said. “He’s meeting with all the highprinces, as I said.”

  Shallan could pick out factions easily, dredging from her studies of Jasnah’s book the names—and heraldry—of all ten highprinces. Sadeas’s soldiers chatted with those of Highprince Ruthar and Highprince Aladar. Dalinar’s stood alone, and Shallan could sense hostility between them and the others in the hallway.

  Dalinar’s guards had very few lighteyes among them. That was odd. And did that one man at the door look familiar? The tall darkeyed man with the blue coat that went down to his knees. The man with the shoulder-length hair, curling slightly . . . He was speaking in a low voice with another soldier, who was one of the men from the gates below.

  “Looks like they beat us up here,” Vathah said softly.

  The man turned and looked her right in the eyes, then glanced down toward her feet.

  Oh no.

  The man—an officer, by the uniform—strode directly toward her. He ignored the hostile stares of the other highprinces’ soldiers as he walked right up to Shallan. “Prince Adolin,” he said flatly, “is engaged to a Horneater?”

  She’d almost forgotten the encounter two days outside of the warcamps. I’m going to strangle that— She cut off, feeling a stab of depression. She had ended up killing Tyn.

  “Obviously not,” Shallan said, raising her chin and not using the Horneater accent. “I was traveling alone through the wilderness. Revealing my true identity did not seem prudent.”

  The man grunted. “Where are my boots?”

  “Is this how you address a lighteyed lady of rank?”

  “It’s how I address a thief,” the man said. “I’d just gotten those boots.”

  “I’ll have a dozen new pairs sent to you,” Shallan said. “After I have spoken with Highprince Dalinar.”

  “You think I’m going to let you see him?”

  “You think you get to choose?”

  “I’m captain of his guard, woman.”

  Blast, she thought. That was going to be inconvenient. At least she wasn’t trembling from the confrontation. She really was past that. Finally.

  “Well tell me, Captain,” she said. “What is your name?”

  “Kaladin.” Odd. That sounded like a lighteyes’s name.

  “Excellent. Now I have a name to use when I tell the highprince about you. He’s not going to like his son’s betrothed being treated this way.”

  Kaladin waved to several of his soldiers. The men in blue surrounded her and Vathah and . . .

  Where had Gaz gotten off to?

  She turned and found him backing down the corridor. Kaladin spotted him, and started visibly.

  “Gaz?” Kaladin demanded. “What is this?”

  “Uh . . .” The one-eyed man stammered. “Lordsh . . . Um, Kaladin. You’re, ah, an officer? So things have been going well for you . . .”

  “You know this man?” Shallan asked Kaladin.

  “He tried to get me killed,” Kaladin said, voice even. “On multiple occasions. He’s one of the most hateful little rats I’ve ever known.”

  Great.

  “You’re not Adolin’s betrothed,” Kaladin said, meeting her gaze as several of his men gleefully seized Gaz, who had backed into other guards coming up from below. “Adolin’s betrothed has drowned. You are an opportunist with a very bad sense of timing. I doubt that Dalinar Kholin will be pleased to find a swindler trying to capitalize on the death of his niece.”

  She finally started to feel nervous. Vathah glanced at her, obviously worried that this Kaladin’s guesses were correct. Shallan steadied herself and reached into her safepouch, pulling out a piece of paper she’d found in Jasnah’s notes. “Is Highlady Navani in that room?”

  Kaladin didn’t reply.

  “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.”

  Relis scowled at Adolin. How did someone get a face so flat? Had he been dropped as a child? “You’re assuming I’d lose.”

  “Well, of c
ourse you would,” Adolin said, chuckling. “I mean, let’s be honest, Relis. You’ve been sitting on your title for almost half a year. You haven’t won a duel of any importance since you defeated Epinar.”

  “This from a man who spent years refusing almost all challenges,” Melali said, looking Adolin up and down. “I’m surprised your daddy let you free to come talk. Isn’t he afraid you might hurt yourself?”

  “Nice to see you too, Melali,” Adolin said. “How’s your sister?”

  “Off limits.”

  Oh, right. That was what he’d done. Honest mistake. “Relis,” Adolin said. “You claim you’d face this assassin, yet you’re frightened of dueling me?”

  Relis spread his hands, one holding a shimmering goblet of red wine. “It’s protocol, Adolin! I’ll duel you once you fight up through the brackets for a year or two. I can’t just take on any old challenger, particularly not in a bout with our Shards on the line!”

  “Any old challenger?” Adolin said. “Relis, I’m one of the best there is.”

  “Are you?” Relis asked, smiling. “After that display with Eranniv?”

  “Yes, Adolin,” said Elit, Relis’s short, balding cousin. “You’ve only had a handful of duels of any consequence in recent memory—in one of those you basically cheated, and in the second you won by sheer luck!”

  Relis nodded. “If I bend the rules and accept your challenge, then it will break the stormwall. I’ll have dozens of inferior swordsmen nipping at me.”

  “No you won’t,” Adolin said. “Because you won’t be a Shardbearer any longer. You’ll have lost to me.”

  “So confident,” Relis said, chuckling, turning to Elit and the women. “Listen to him. He ignores the rankings for months, then leaps back in and assumes he can beat me.”

  “I’ll wager both my Plate and Blade,” Adolin said. “And my brother’s Plate and Blade, along with the Shard I won from Eranniv. Five Shards to your two.”

  Elit started. The man was a Shardbearer with only the Plate—given to him by his cousin. He turned to Relis, looking hungry.

  Relis paused. Then he closed his mouth and cocked his head lazily to the side as he met Adolin’s eyes. “You’re a fool, Kholin.”