Her association with Pattern stretched back to that time, for certain. She’d used him as a Blade to kill her mother. Shallan had suppressed many of those memories, but this fact was indisputable. Pattern and she had begun to bond nearly a decade ago.
Could Pattern have been working with them all along? Feeding them information about her progress? Leading her to contact them when she’d first come to the warcamps?
The implications of that shook her to the core. If her spren was a spy … could she trust anything?
Could she even keep going? This revelation was far, far worse than discovering Vathah or Ishnah had been the spy. This … this made her tremble. Made her legs weak.
Shallan, Radiant thought. Be strong. We don’t know all the facts yet.
No. No, she couldn’t be strong. Not in the face of this.
She crawled away, deep within, and started whimpering like a child. Something was odd about Pattern, about his interactions with her all along. The way he covered up what happened in the past. The timeline of her past … disregarding the holes in it … didn’t quite work. It never had worked.…
Strength, Shallan, Veil thought.
Take over, Shallan thought. You can face this. It’s why you were created.
Try to keep going, Veil thought, refusing to take over. Just keep walking. You can do this.
So Shallan reluctantly maintained control. When Adolin called a brief break two hours later, Shallan forced herself to make a quick sketch of the communication cube in its trunk. The Memory was perfect, and the details did not lie. The powder had been scuffed with finger marks. It was a very, very thin coating, almost invisible. But her Lightweaver ability allowed her to memorize such details.
Shallan tried hard to ignore the problem, instead focusing on their surroundings, which had grown more uneven and rocky. The glass trees here were beautiful, like they were molten liquid, and made sweeping curls reminiscent of crashing waves. Yes, focus on those. That beauty.
She was particularly thrilled when she spotted what had to be Lasting Integrity: a large fortress on a bleak outcrop of obsidian jutting out into the bead ocean. Imperious—with high walls crafted of some uniformly blue stone—the large boxy fortress was positioned perfectly to defend a natural bay to the north. You even had to cross a bridge to reach the place. Honorspren, it was clear, did not take fortification lightly.
Shallan wanted to draw it. She could lose herself in the picture and not have to confront other facts. But then Pattern walked up beside her, and she instead whimpered and retreated again.
Veil at last took control. For Shallan’s own good.
“We are almost arrived!” Pattern said, his pattern rotating in an intensely excited manner.
Veil needed proof, so she chose her words deliberately. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your early days with Shallan. It seems possible that the Ghostbloods were watching her when she was a child. If we can discover facts to confirm this, it might help us figure out how to beat them.”
“Mm. That makes sense, I suppose!” he said. “I don’t remember much though.”
“You were together once, in the garden, with Shallan,” Veil said—fabricating a complete lie. “I can see her memories. Shallan saw Balat speaking to someone who looked, in hindsight, like she might have been wearing a mask. Do you suppose he might be the spy?”
“Oh!” Pattern said. “Your brother? Working with the Ghostbloods? Hmmm … That would be painful for you! But maybe it makes sense. Mraize always does seem to know too much about your brothers and where they are.”
“Do you remember that day in Shallan’s past?” Veil pushed. “Anything about it?”
“In the garden, with Balat meeting someone wearing a mask…” Pattern said.
“An important moment,” Veil said. “You were there. I can remember you being with Shallan.”
“Um … Yes!” he said. “I remember now. Ha ha. Yes, that happened. Balat and a mysterious figure. You have made my memory start to return, Veil! We were together then. And maybe Balat is a spy. My my. That is very naughty of him.”
From deep inside, Shallan whimpered again. But Veil, Veil had been created to soldier through moments like this. She ignored the profound sickening feeling. Pattern was lying to her.
Pattern was lying.
Veil couldn’t take anything for granted any longer. She couldn’t assume anyone was trustworthy. She had to be careful, redouble her defenses, and keep Shallan safe.
“Veil?” Pattern asked. “Are you well? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m merely thinking,” Veil said. “Have you seen any strange spren watching us?”
“The corrupted gloryspren?” he asked. “Like you said to watch out for? No, I have not. Mmm…”
She saw something ahead, a small group of riders glowing a faint blue-white. The honorspren had seen them approaching, and had sent a contingent to engage them.
Adolin halted the column, dismounting and telling his soldiers to water the horses and settle everyone. Then he stepped forward, still wearing the bloodied uniform, his side bandaged.
Veil moved to follow. “Keep your eyes—or whatever it is you have—open,” she said to Pattern as he ambled along beside her. “These are dangerous times, Pattern. We have to always be on the watch. Careful, lest we be taken advantage of…”
“Yes, truly.”
Shallan grew very small, very quiet. It’s all right, Veil thought. I’ll figure it out. I’ll find a way to keep you safe. I promise.
* * *
Adolin stopped in front of his caravan, Shallan at his side. The pain medication he’d taken was working, and he felt only a small ache from his gut wound. And the march here—during which he’d admitted he needed to ride, letting him rest—had helped with his light-headedness.
He still required sleep and time to recover. This wound wouldn’t be debilitating, unless it started to rot. But he also wouldn’t be in fighting shape for weeks at least.
For now, he kept a strong front. He had Notum stay back, though he was certain the three approaching honorspren had seen him. They rode on those same graceful not-horses that Notum had been riding earlier. His had run off in a panic when he’d been attacked, and they hadn’t been able to locate it.
These newcomers wore sharp field uniforms after an unfamiliar style—long sweeping coats that trailed almost to the knees, with high collars. They wore crowns on their heads, and carried long swords at their sides, slim and beautiful. The swords were the only things they wore that weren’t made of their own substance—coats, crowns, shirts, all were simply created by the honorspren.
A woman at the front had the highest collar of the three. She wore her hair up, tight save for one small tail of it pouring out the back. That, like the uniforms, was a fashion style unfamiliar to Adolin.
She pulled her not-horse to a halt about five paces from him. “Human,” she said. “You’ve been recognized by our scouts. Are you Adolin Kholin, as we have surmised?”
“Your intelligence is good,” he said to her, hand resting on his sheathed sword. “I’ve come by order of the Bondsmith, my father, to visit your lands and deliver a message on his behalf. I bring with me Knights Radiant of four different orders, all of whom work in concert against the rising Everstorm. Proof that men and spren once again need their bonds of old.”
“Lasting Integrity is not accepting visitors or emissaries, regardless of their pedigree,” the woman said, her tone sharp, each word a barked order. “You are to leave. We are not interested in bonds with murderers and traitors.”
Adolin took out the letters he’d been given, proffering them. He waited, sweating, hoping. One of the honorspren urged its mount forward, then took the letters.
Adolin felt a wave of relief as the honorspren returned to the other two. “Those letters explain our position,” Adolin said. “My father hopes that we can forge a new—”
He was interrupted as the spren deliberately ripped the letters in half. “We will not acce
pt,” the woman said, “a contract from you.”
“It’s not a contract!” Adolin said, stepping forward, ignoring a spike of pain from his side. “They’re just letters! At least read them!”
“By reading these, we imply there is an argument you could make to persuade us,” the woman said as the other honorspren further shredded the letters. “You will withdraw from these lands and take with you the traitor Notum. Inform him that we now know his complicities run deeper than anticipated. His exile is complete.”
Adolin gritted his teeth. “He was attacked,” he said. “Nearly killed before we could get there! The world is changing. Barricading yourselves in your fortress won’t stop the change, but it might leave you completely without allies when you finally realize you need to do something!”
The honorspren unsheathed her sword and pointed it at him. “This is our realm. Our sovereign land. So you will leave as ordered. Humans never respect that, never accept that spren can own anything. We are possessions to you.”
“I don’t—”
“You will leave,” she said. “We reject your offer! We reject your bonds!”
Adolin took a deep breath, each of his arguments dying like shriveled plants starved for rainwater. Until only one dangerous possibility remained. A plan he had barely dared consider, let alone suggest to the others.
When he spoke, it was with the same brashness—but the same sense of instinctive rightness—that had led him to attack Sadeas. “You mistake me!” he snapped at the honorspren. “I didn’t come to offer you bonds with Radiants.”
“What, then?” she demanded.
“I’ve come,” Adolin said, “to face your judgment. You’ve named us murderers, traitors. I reject this, and vow to prove it. Take me, as a representative of the Kholin house and the new government of Urithiru. I am a highprince of Alethkar and the son of the Bondsmith. I will stand in the place of those humans whom you say betrayed you. You wish to reject us because of what they did? Prove, through judgment, that I deserve this treatment.”
The lead honorspren fell silent, then she leaned to the side and whispered quickly to her companions. They seemed equally baffled. Behind, Shallan took Adolin by the arm on his good side, her face concerned.
He stood firm. Not because he was confident, but because he was angry. They wanted to call him a traitor? They wanted to blame him for what had been done to Maya? Well, they were honorspren. He suspected they wouldn’t be able to resist a chance to formally defend their honor—as they saw it.
“You would stand trial?” the honorspren said at last. “For your ancestors?”
“I will stand trial for myself. In turning me away, you insult my sense of dignity, my integrity. You say I am not worthy, when you do not know me?”
“We know humans,” one said.
“I reject that argument. Honor demands you let me speak for myself, if you are going to punish me. Where is the trial? Where is the chance for me to speak? Where is your honor?”
This provoked a reaction at last. The three began looking at one another.
“You are honorspren, are you not?” Adolin said. “You believe in justice? In fairness? Let’s see if you can uphold those ideals while blaming me for what was done in the past. Let me speak for myself. Then prove that I, Adolin Kholin, deserve to be turned away.”
Finally the leader sat up straight in her saddle. “Very well. We cannot reject a demand for judgment. Come with us. Know that if you enter Lasting Integrity, there is little chance of you ever leaving.”
“We shall see,” Adolin said, then turned and waved to beckon the others.
“No,” the honorspren said. “Just you.”
“My party has traveled far,” Adolin said, “and they include representatives of—”
“You may bring two others,” the honorspren said. “And that deadeye. You have bound her corpse, haven’t you, human? You’re not one of these new Radiants? Or have you already killed your spren?”
“I’m not a Radiant,” Adolin said. “But yes, Maya is my Blade.”
“Then we must be certain you are not mistreating her,” the honorspren said. “We care for all deadeyes. Bring her, and two others. Decide quickly.”
Adolin ground his teeth. “Allow me to confer.”
As he and Shallan returned to the others, she seized him by the arm. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “You can’t stand trial for what a bunch of people did thousands of years ago.”
“I will if it gets us in those gates,” Adolin said. “Do we have a choice?”
“Yes,” she said. “We could turn back.”
And face my father, having failed him again?
The others gathered around him. Adolin explained what was happening, the Stump’s spren translating for her.
“I don’t like this,” Zu said, shaking her head, her golden hair shimmering. “I don’t like splitting us up.”
“The first step to completing this mission is getting the honorspren to talk to me,” Adolin said. “If they turn us away here, we’re done. If I can get through those gates, I can maybe start a conversation.”
“They’re not going to listen to you, Brightlord,” Godeke said. “They’re going to arrest you.”
“If it gets me in, I don’t particularly care. We’ll send a small group back immediately to tell my father what I’ve done. The rest can camp out here for a few days, care for Notum, and wait for word from me. We have a few weeks until supplies make it necessary for you to return; we’ll decide what to do then.”
The others offered a few more token objections. Shallan—actually, she seemed like Veil right now—merely listened as Adolin persuaded the others. She plainly knew he would take her in with him, as well as her spren. It seemed the natural choice.
A short time later he approached the honorspren—leading Gallant, with Maya on his back—along with Veil, Pattern, and their trunks of clothing on pack animals. The honorspren spun about, then led them to the front of the fortress. There, they conferred with a few others who stood guard outside the walls.
Then the gates opened. Adolin strode in, accompanied by Veil, Pattern, and Maya. He grunted at the pain from his wounded side as a group of glowing blue-white figures immediately seized him and slapped his wrists in chains. The gates swung shut behind them with a booming sound.
So be it. He was not going to return to his father empty-handed. He would not abandon his mission.
No matter the cost.
Regardless, I will try to do as you suggest. However, you seem more afraid of the Vessel. I warn you that this is a flaw in your understanding.
Weeks after destroying the spanreed, Navani still hadn’t made headway discovering the nature of the spren who had contacted them. Their triangulation of the spanreed had led them to a strange dark location on the fourth floor of the tower, near a monastery. The measurements hadn’t been precise enough to tell them exactly where, and searches had revealed nothing.
Nevertheless, Navani had plenty of other things to occupy her. Running a kingdom—even one consisting of a single enormous city—was a wearying task.
She rarely got a break from the demands of merchants, lighteyes, ardents, and the thousands of others who needed her attention. Whenever she did, she retreated to the basement of the tower, where she could peek in on the efforts of her scholars. Today she could spare only an hour—but she wanted to make the most of it.
As soon as she entered, Tomor—the young relative of Falilar—ran over and intercepted her, carrying a strange device. “Brightness!” he said, with a quick bow. “You’re here! See, it’s finally done!”
Tomor held up a device that resembled a leather glove. He was working on that lifting fabrial, she remembered. I told him to connect it to those weights in the deep shaft. She was still excited by that prospect: the idea of using the power of the storms to wind up weights, then activate them with a fabrial to raise a lift.
This lifting fabrial was only a small part of that larger, more important device.
Navani took the fabrial from him, hesitant. “You … made it into a glove?”
“Yes, like you asked!” Tomor said.
“I didn’t ask for a glove,” Navani said. “I wanted the device to be more portable and elegant.”
“Like … a glove?” he said.
“It’s intended to be mounted to a lift, Ardent Tomor,” Navani said. “I don’t see how this shape enhances its function.”
“But with this, you don’t need a lift!” he explained with enthusiasm. “Look, here, put it on!”
He nodded eagerly as Navani fit the device over her hand and wrist, then had Tomor tie the straps to brace it up to her elbow. Made of stiff leather, it was almost more a gauntlet than a glove. The gemstones were hidden in a compartment at the side, affixed with metal caging that could be covered over with another piece of leather.
“See, see!” Tomor said. “You can conjoin different fabrials with this dial on the side of the index finger. You can move it with your thumb, allowing single-handed manipulation! By making a fist, you can slow the unwinding of the weight! Open palm, you go at maximum speed. Closed fist, you stop!”
“Maximum speed…” It registered what he was saying. He expected people to rise through the central shaft of the tower being pulled by their hand. It was a wildly imaginative application of what she’d wanted—and also a terrible design.
“Tomor,” Navani said, trying to find a way to explain without dampening his enthusiasm. “Don’t you think this might be a little dangerous? We should be designing lifts.”
“But we already have fabrials for that!” he said. “Think of the flexibility this would allow Brightlord Dalinar. Wearing this gauntlet, he could go zip all the way to the top without needing to wait for a lift! Walking outside the tower, and don’t want to go all the way to the central shaft to catch a lift? No problem. Zip! All the way up high.”
She tried to imagine Dalinar dangling in the sky after going “zip” because he activated this insane device, and couldn’t help smiling. If her husband wanted, he could have a Windrunner fly him up—but he never did. As efficient as that sounded, it really wasn’t worth the hassle and inconvenience, rather than simply riding a lift like everyone else.
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