“Someone else—”
“Nobody else has been able to do this,” Dalinar said, sounding awed. “Four years, and none of our scouts or cartographers saw the pattern. If we’re going to find the Parshendi, I’m going to need her. I’m sorry.”
Shallan winced. She was not doing a very good job of keeping her drawing ability hidden.
“She just got back from that terrible place,” Navani’s voice said.
“I won’t let a similar accident occur. She will be safe.”
“Unless you all die,” Navani snapped. “Unless this entire expedition is a disaster. Then everything will be taken from me. Again.” Pattern stopped, then spoke further in his own voice. “He held her at this point, and whispered some things I did not hear. From there, they got very close and made some interesting noises. I can reproduce—”
“No,” Shallan said, blushing. “Too private.”
“Very well.”
“I need to go with them,” Shallan said. “I need to complete that map of the Shattered Plains and find some way to correlate it with the ancient ones of Stormseat.”
It was the only way to find the Oathgate. Assuming it wasn’t destroyed in whatever shattered the Plains, Shallan thought. And, if I do find it, will I even be able to open it? Only one of the Knights Radiant was said to be able to open the pathway.
“Pattern,” she said softly, clutching a mug of warmed wine, “I’m not a Radiant, right?”
“I do not think so,” he said. “Not yet. There is more to do, I believe, though I cannot be certain.”
“How can you not know?”
“I was not me when the Knights Radiant existed. It is complex to explain. I have always existed. We are not ‘born’ as men are, and we cannot truly die as men do. Patterns are eternal, as is fire, as is the wind. As are all spren. Yet, I was not in this state. I was not . . . aware.”
“You were a mindless spren?” Shallan said. “Like the ones that gather around me when I draw?”
“Less than that,” Pattern said. “I was . . . everything. In everything. I cannot explain it. Language is insufficient. I would need numbers.”
“Surely there are others among you, though,” Shallan said. “Older Cryptics? Who were alive back then?”
“No,” Pattern said softly. “None who experienced the bond.”
“Not a single one?”
“All dead,” Pattern said. “To us, this means they are mindless—as a force cannot truly be destroyed. These old ones are patterns in nature now, like Cryptics unborn. We have tried to restore them. It does not work. Mmmm. Perhaps if their knights still lived, something could be done . . .”
Stormfather. Shallan pulled the blanket around her closer. “An entire people, all killed?”
“Not just one people,” Pattern said, solemn. “Many. Spren with minds were less plentiful then, and the majorities of several spren peoples were all bonded. There were very few survivors. The one you call Stormfather lived. Some others. The rest, thousands of us, were killed when the event happened. You call it the Recreance.”
“No wonder you’re certain I will kill you.”
“It is inevitable,” Pattern said. “You will eventually betray your oaths, breaking my mind, leaving me dead—but the opportunity is worth the cost. My kind is too static. We always change, yes, but we change in the same way. Over and over. It is difficult to explain. You, though, you are vibrant. Coming to this place, this world of yours, I had to give up many things. The transition was . . . traumatic. My memory returns slowly, but I am pleased at the chance. Yes. Mmm.”
“Only a Radiant can open the pathway,” Shallan said, then took a sip of her wine. She liked the warmth it built inside of her. “But we don’t know why, or how. Maybe I’ll count as enough of a Radiant to make it work.”
“Perhaps,” Pattern said. “Or you could progress. Become more. There is something more you must do.”
“Words?” Shallan said.
“You have said the Words,” Pattern said. “You said them long ago. No . . . it is not words that you lack. It is truth.”
“You prefer lies.”
“Mmm. Yes, and you are a lie. A powerful one. However, what you do is not just lie. It is truth and lie mixed. You must understand both.”
Shallan sat in thought, finishing her wine, until the door to the sitting room burst open, letting in Adolin. He stopped, wild-eyed, regarding her.
Shallan stood up, smiling. “It appears that I have failed at properly—”
She cut off as he grabbed her in an embrace. Drat. She’d had a perfectly clever quip prepared too. She’d worked on it during the entire bath.
Still, it was nice to be held. This was the most physically forward he’d ever been. Surviving an impossible journey did have its benefits. She let herself wrap her arms around him, feel the muscles on his back through his uniform, breathe in his cologne. He held her for several heartbeats. Not enough. She twisted her head and forced a kiss, her mouth enclosing his, firm in his embrace.
Adolin melted into the kiss, and did not pull back. Eventually, though, the perfect moment ended. Adolin took her head in his hands, looking into her eyes, and smiled. Then he grabbed her in another hug and laughed that barking, exuberant laugh of his. A real laugh, the one of which she was so fond.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“Visiting the other highprinces,” Adolin said, “one at a time and delivering Father’s final ultimatum—to join us in this assault, or forever be known as those who refused to see the Vengeance Pact fulfilled. Father thought giving me something to do would help distract me from . . . well, you.”
He leaned back, holding her by the arms, and gave her a silly grin.
“I have pictures to draw for you,” Shallan said, grinning back. “I saw a chasmfiend.”
“A dead one, right?”
“Poor thing.”
“Poor thing?” Adolin said, laughing. “Shallan, if you’d seen a live one, you’d have surely been killed!”
“Almost surely.”
“I still can’t believe . . . I mean, you fell. I should have saved you. Shallan, I’m sorry. I ran for Father first—”
“You did what you should have,” she said. “No person on that bridge would have had you rescue one of us instead of your father.”
He embraced her once more. “Well, I won’t let it happen again. Nothing like it. I’ll protect you, Shallan.”
She stiffened.
“I will make sure you aren’t ever hurt,” Adolin said fiercely. “I should have realized that you could be caught in an assassination attempt intended for Father. We’ll have to make it so that you aren’t ever in that kind of position again.”
She pulled away from him.
“Shallan?” Adolin said. “Don’t worry, they won’t get to you. I’ll protect you. I—”
“Don’t say things like that,” she hissed.
“What?” He ran his hand through his hair.
“Just don’t,” Shallan said, shivering.
“The man who did this, who threw that lever, is dead now,” Adolin said. “Is that what you’re worried about? He was poisoned before we could get answers—though we’re sure he belonged to Sadeas—but you don’t need to worry about him.”
“I will worry about what I wish to worry about,” Shallan said. “I don’t need to be protected.”
“But—”
“I don’t!” Shallan said. She breathed in and out, calming herself. She reached out and took him by the hand. “I won’t be locked away again, Adolin.”
“Again?”
“It’s not important.” Shallan raised his hand and wove his fingers between her own. “I appreciate the concern. That’s all that matters.”
But I won’t let you, or anyone else, treat me like a thing to be hidden away. Never, never again.
Dalinar opened the door into his study, letting Navani pass through first, then followed her into the room. Navani looked serene, her face a mask.
; “Child,” Dalinar said to Shallan, “I have a somewhat difficult request to make of you.”
“Anything you wish, Brightlord,” Shallan said, bowing. “But I do wish to make a request of you in turn.”
“What is it?”
“I need to accompany you on your expedition.”
Dalinar smiled, shooting a glance at Navani. The older woman did not react. She can be so good with her emotions, Shallan thought. I can’t even read what she’s thinking. That would be a useful skill to learn.
“I believe,” Shallan said, looking back to Dalinar, “that the ruins of an ancient city are hidden on the Shattered Plains. Jasnah was searching for them. So, then, must I.”
“This expedition will be dangerous,” Navani said. “You understand the risks, child?”
“Yes.”
“One would think,” Navani continued, “that considering your recent ordeal, you would wish for a time of shelter.”
“Uh, I wouldn’t say things like that to her, Aunt,” Adolin said, scratching at his head. “She’s kind of funny about them.”
“It is not a matter of humor,” Shallan said, lifting her head high. “I have a duty.”
“Then I shall allow it,” Dalinar said. He liked anything having to do with duty.
“And your request of me?” Shallan asked him.
“This map,” Dalinar said, crossing the room and holding up the crinkled map detailing her path back through the chasms. “Navani’s scholars say this is as accurate as any map we have. You can truly expand this? Deliver a map of the entire Shattered Plains?”
“Yes.” Particularly if she used what she remembered of Amaram’s map to fill in some details. “But Brightlord, might I make a suggestion?”
“Speak.”
“Leave your parshmen behind in the warcamp,” she said.
He frowned.
“I cannot accurately explain why,” Shallan said, “but Jasnah felt that they were dangerous. Particularly to bring out onto the Plains. If you wish my help, if you trust me to create this map for you, then trust me on this one single point. Leave the parshmen. Conduct this expedition without them.”
Dalinar looked to Navani, who shrugged. “Once our things are packed, they won’t be needed really. The only ones inconvenienced will be the officers, who will have to set up their own tents.”
Dalinar considered, chewing on her request. “This comes from Jasnah’s notes?” Dalinar asked.
Shallan nodded. To the side, blessedly, Adolin piped in. “She’s told me some of it, Father. You should listen to her.”
Shallan shot him a grateful smile.
“Then it shall be done,” Dalinar said. “Gather your things and send word to your uncle Sebarial, Brightness. We’re leaving within the hour. Without parshmen.”
THE END OF
Part Four
“Congratulations,” Brother Lhan said. “You have found your way to the easiest job in the world.”
The young ardent pursed her lips, looking him up and down. She had obviously not expected her new mentor to be rotund, slightly drunk, and yawning.
“You are the . . . senior ardent I’ve been assigned to?”
“‘To whom I’ve been assigned,’” Brother Lhan corrected, putting an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “You’re going to have to learn how to speak punctiliously. Queen Aesudan likes to feel that those around her are refined. It makes her feel refined by association. My job is to mentor you on these items.”
“I have been an ardent here in Kholinar for over a year,” the woman said. “I hardly think that I need mentoring at all—”
“Yes, yes,” Brother Lhan said, guiding her out of the monastery’s entryway. “It’s just that, you see, your superiors say you might need a little extra direction. Being assigned to the queen’s own retinue is a marvelous privilege! One, I understand, you have requested with some measure of . . . ah . . . persistence.”
She walked with him, and each step revealed her reluctance. Or perhaps confusion. They passed into the Circle of Memories, a round room with ten lamps on the walls, one for each of the ancient Epoch Kingdoms. An eleventh lamp represented the Tranquiline Halls, and a large ceremonial keyhole set into the wall represented the need for ardents to ignore borders, and look only at the hearts of men . . . or something like that. He wasn’t sure, honestly.
Outside the Circle of Memories, they entered one of the covered walkways between monastery buildings, a light rain sprinkling the rooftops. The last leg of the walkways, the sunwalk, gave a wonderful view of Kholinar—at least on a clear day. Even today, Lhan could see much of the city, as both the temple and the high palace occupied a flat-topped hill.
Some said that the Almighty himself had drawn Kholinar in rock, scooping out sections of ground with a fluent finger. Lhan wondered how drunk he’d been at the time. Oh, the city was beautiful, but it was the beauty of an artist who wasn’t quite right in the mind. The rock took the shape of rolling hills and steeply sloping valleys, and when the stone was cut into, it exposed thousands of brilliant strata of red, white, yellow, and orange.
The most majestic formations were the windblades—enormous, curving spines of rock that cut through the city. Beautifully lined with colorful strata on the sides, they curved, curled, rose, and fell unpredictably, like fish leaping from the ocean. Supposedly, this all had to do with how the winds blew through the area. He did mean to get around to studying why that was. One of these days.
Slippered feet fell softly on glossy marble, accompanying the sound of the rains, as Lhan escorted the girl—what was her name again? “Look at that city,” he said. “Everyone out there has to work, even the lighteyes. Bread to bake, lands to oversee, cobblestones to . . . ah . . . cobble? No, that’s shoes. Damnation. What do you call people who cobble, but don’t actually cobble?”
“I don’t know,” the young woman said softly.
“Well, it’s no matter to us. You see, we have only one job, and it’s an easy one. To serve the queen.”
“That is not easy work.”
“But it is!” Lhan said. “So long as we’re all serving the same way. In a very . . . ah . . . careful way.”
“We are sycophants,” the young woman said, staring out over the city. “The queen’s ardents tell her only what she wants to hear.”
“Ah, and here we are, at the point of the matter.” Lhan patted her on the arm. What was her name again? They’d told it to him. . . .
Pai. Not a very Alethi name; she’d probably chosen it upon being made an ardent. It happened. A new life, a new name, often a simple one.
“You see, Pai,” he said, watching to notice if she reacted. Yes, it did seem he’d gotten the name right. His memory must be improving. “This is what your superiors wanted me to talk to you about. They fear that if you’re not properly instructed, you might cause a bit of a storm here in Kholinar. Nobody wants that.”
He and Pai passed other ardents along the sunwalk, and Lhan nodded to them. The queen had a lot of ardents. A lot of ardents.
“Here’s the thing,” Lhan said. “The queen . . . she sometimes worries that maybe the Almighty isn’t pleased with her.”
“Rightly so,” Pai said. “She—”
“Hush, now,” Lhan said, wincing. “Just . . . hush. Listen. The queen figures that if she treats her ardents well, it will buy her favor with the One who makes the storms, so to speak. Nice food. Nice robes. Fantastic quarters. Lots of free time to do whatever we want. We get these things as long as she thinks she’s on the right path.”
“Our duty is to give her the truth.”
“We do!” Lhan said. “She’s the Almighty’s chosen, isn’t she? Wife of King Elhokar, ruler while he’s off fighting a holy war of retribution against the regicides on the Shattered Plains. Her life is very hard.”
“She throws feasts every night,” Pai whispered. “She engages in debauchery and excess. She wastes money while Alethkar languishes. People in outer towns starve as they send food here, with
the understanding that it will be passed on to soldiers who need it. It rots because the queen can’t be bothered.”
“They have plenty of food on the Shattered Plains,” Lhan said. “They’ve got gemstones coming out of their ears there. And nobody is starving here either. You’re exaggerating. Life is good.”
“It is if you’re the queen or one of her lackeys. She even canceled the Beggars’ Feasts. It is reprehensible.”
Lhan groaned inside. This one . . . this one was going to be hard. How to persuade her? He wouldn’t want the child to do anything that endangered her. Or, well, him. Mostly him.
They entered the palace’s grand eastern hall. The carved pillars here were considered one of the greatest artworks of all time, and one could trace their history back to before the shadowdays. The gilding on the floor was ingenious—a lustrous gold that had been placed beneath Soulcast ribbons of crystal. It ran like rivulets between floor mosaics. The ceiling had been decorated by Oolelen himself, the great ardent painter, and depicted a storm blowing in from the east.
All of this could have been crem in the gutter for the reverence Pai gave it. She seemed to see only the ardents strolling about, contemplating the beauty. And eating. And composing new poems for Her Majesty—though honestly, Lhan avoided that sort of thing. It seemed like work.
Perhaps Pai’s attitude came from a residual jealousy. Some ardents were envious of the queen’s personal chosen. He tried to explain some of the luxuries that were now hers: warm baths, horseback riding using the queen’s personal stables, music and art . . .
Pai’s expression grew darker with each item. Bother. This wasn’t working. New plan.
“Here,” Lhan said, steering her toward the steps. “There’s something I want to show you.”
The steps twisted down through the palace complex. He loved this place, every bit of it. White stone walls, golden sphere lamps, and an age. Kholinar had never been sacked. It was one of the few eastern cities that hadn’t suffered that fate in the chaos after the Hierocracy’s fall. The palace had burned once, but that fire had died out after consuming the eastern wing. Rener’s miracle, it was called. The arrival of a highstorm to put out the fire. Lhan swore the place still smelled of smoke, three hundred years later. And . . .
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