not-quite-right posture gave an air of mental deficiency. Coupled with the slurred voice, even Jek was unable to sense the competence hidden behind
those dull eyes.
“What is next?” Ahven asked his steward.
“Your audiences are finished, my lord,” the stumpy man replied.
“They are?” Ahven asked, looking sorrowful.
“Yes, your majesty. Perhaps you should return to your rooms and rest.
You have had a full day. Look, see. Your Shin minstrel has arrived.”
“Yes,” Ahven said, nodding. “I am tired. I will return to my rooms.”
Jek raised an eyebrow, impressed again. Ahven’s reactions were simple
without sounding inane. He played his part well.
This man is Truthless, Jek reminded himself, rubbing his fingers together.
Truthless, and heartless. Ahven might be a fine actor, but beneath his mask he is a murderer like the rest—and a lazy one. How easy it was to order the slaughter of a family when one could sit comfortably in one’s palace, listening to
minstrels while children died.
“You did as I asked?” The Idiot King stood at the far side of his sitting
room, beside a large wooden cabinet.
“You did not ask,” Jek said simply.
Ahven smiled, watching the movement of Jek’s lips. “No, I did not.
Davar’s family is dead, then.”
“Yes,” Jek said, his voice reserved, though tone would be lost on this man.
Ahven nodded, turning toward the cabinet. He pulled it open, reveal-
ing . . . birds. Jek paused in amazement, regarding the three metal cages.
Two were empty, but one contained a small flock of bright yellow Shin
songbirds. They were . . . beautiful, though their cheeps haunted him.
They were reminders of a place that seemed more distant with each fresh
assassination.
Ahven opened the rightmost cage, reached in, and allowed one of the
birds to hop onto his finger, Then he brought it out and shut the cage.
The Idiot King turned, the songbird resting on his finger and warbling with a light voice.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 143
“What was the reaction in Windhollow?” Ahven asked, glancing toward
Jek’s face.
Jek shook his head. “Talshekh will come for you,” he said. “The rumors
say he believes that the Puppeteer was behind the assassination. He is
already gathering his forces.”
“Indeed,” Ahven said, glancing down at the bird.
Ahven frowned. There had been a time when house Vedenel had been the
most powerful of the three, a time when it had ruled the entire kingdom, its House Leader more an emperor than a king. That time had passed long ago.
Now, House Vedenel was suffered more than obeyed. It was the weakest
of the three, and that weakness had grown even worse since the death of
Ahven’s father.
“House Vedenel has no army,” Jek said, Ahven’s eyes flickering up at
the movement of his lips. “You barely have what could be called a militia.
House Davar is the most powerful of the three—Talshekh will gather a
considerable force.”
“Indeed,” Ahven repeated. He looked back down at his songbird,
reaching out and scratching its head. The small creature proffered its
head eagerly, rubbing against his scratching finger. “Talshekh Davar has
wanted to take the throne for some time. Only fears for his family kept him back—his wife worried that war would open the children to assassination.”
“So you remove the source of his hesitance?”
Ahven nodded. “Even if he hadn’t suspected my dear Chancel or of State,
Talshekh would have gathered his army. He wants my head nearly as much
as your former master did—though for different reasons. He considers
my . . . deficiencies an embarrassment to the proud Veden heritage.”
Jek’s frown deepened. Not an idiot . . . but perhaps a madman.
Ahven continued to scratch the bird’s head. “I cannot hear them, you
know,” he eventually said. “I’ve often wished to. My hearing went when
I was a small child. I sometimes think that I can remember what it was
like . . . the songs. The pure voice of my sister. Perhaps it is simply a
fabrication, but the memory is there.”
Jek opened his mouth to reply, but Ahven was too fascinated by the
songbird to look up.
“It trusts me so implicitly,” the king said as the bird ruffled its feathers, then rubbed its head against his finger for more scratching. “I raised them all, you know. My keepers considered it a good waste of time for their dear child of a king.”
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Ahven continued to scratch, then reached over with his other hand, and
lightly snapped the bird’s neck. Jek blinked in surprise as Ahven set the
corpse aside, resting it on a nearby table. “Come,” the Idiot King said. “I have other tasks for you to perform.”
Jek remained where he was as the king walked away, looking down at the
dead creature. So that is it, he thought to himself. Ahven is not a man who kills for revenge, or even to advance himself. He kills because he wishes to prove how powerful he is. Not a madman or an idiot . . . just a simple thug.
Jek shook his head, turning to do as he had been ordered.
chapter 16
SHINRI 2
Shinri wished, not for the first time, that the Aleth royal court had
never moved to Ral Eram. She was much fonder of Kholinar. It felt . . .
real, and not just because of the lait plants. A city reflected the soul of its lord, and few men were as real as Dalenar Kholin.
Lord Dalenar suffered no sycophants in his court, and panderers soon
withered beneath his stern, capable eyes. Everyone was expected to do as
they should, and many did just that—for they knew that their lord was a
man who took his duty seriously. Shinri also liked the city for its honest political climate. Many of the more ambitious women avoided the Kholinar
court, for it was known to be somewhat bland. Young Kinae—betrothed
to Dalenar as part of the treaty that bound the pseudo-rebellious city of
Khardinar to Alethkar proper—was still too young for political games.
In addition, Lord Dalenar was known to use unpopular attributes—
such as honesty and trustworthiness—as criteria for granting rewards to
his men.
A good example was the young boy who rode between Lord Dalenar’s
sons, obviously still uncomfortable with the idea that he would be invited to go riding with his lord and the king’s sister. Merin, now Merin Kholin, was a strong-limbed boy with a firmness of body—a trait not mimicked by the
uncertainty in his eyes. She had seen hundreds like him, spearmen brought
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from the plentiful vil ages that dotted Alethkar’s midlands. Of course, none of those men had achieved this boy’s feat—slaying a Shardbearer.
It was something spoken of in ballads, but not something the nobility
actually expected to happen. A common citizen? Kil ing such a high-ranked
nobleman? Without the histories to remind them that such things were to
be considered acts of heroism, most of the aristocracy probably would have found the boy’s act offensive. As it was, they spoke of him in mixed terms.
The tale of his bravery was like a thing out of a poem or ballad, yet the boy himself many whispered of as awkward and unimpressive. Separating the
deed from the man; it was a very aristocratic
mindset.
There was no such confusion for Lord Dalenar. Though Dalenar sat
upon his horse attired as any other nobleman—dressed in seasilks, his
hair finely-kept, his saddle rich—his noble eyes and honorable actions
proved him something far above the average. He was a handsome man,
too. Square-faced with peppered hair, his body firm like that of a man far younger. It was hard for her to imagine a more perfect lord.
Perhaps Tethren would have turned out like Dalenar, her mind thought unbidden, always eager to ruin a perfect moment. As the days passed, her
hopes for her fiancé’s return had slowly given way before brutal reality.
Independent reports confirmed both Tethren’s trip to Thalenah and his ship’s misfortune. Some scattered wreckage had been turned up by other ships in
the convoy, but the highstorm had been fierce, and no survivors had been
discovered.
Tethren is gone, she told herself. You have to move on to more pressing matters.
Like Jasnah said—you need to be alert. There is danger in court.
Though their ride was ostensibly a leisurely one, Shinri doubted Jasnah
was capable of simple ‘leisure.’ The lady had come to discuss her concerns about the Aleth court with one of the few people she actually trusted.
Shinri, however, tried not to let her mistress’s agenda spoil the ride. The lait hillside was gorgeous. The horses could barely move without stepping on
leaves or vines of some sort. The lait rockbuds, with their underdeveloped shells and overdeveloped blossoms, grew so thickly that it was often hard
to see through their leaves to the ground below. Massive flowers hung from the center of the thick rockbud stalks, their weight causing them to dangle and bob in the slight breeze. Unlike a garden, there was no coordination
of colors—blue blossoms grew right next to yellow ones in no discernable
pattern—and Shinri found the lack of obvious organization refreshing.
Lord Dalenar reined in his horse. “This looks like a good spot,” he noted, nodding toward a more level bump on the lait hillside.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 147
“It is suitable,” Jasnah said. Though her voice was control ed, Shinri knew her mistress well enough to tell that Jasnah would have been just as pleased with stark stone walls as she was with the beautiful hillside. To Jasnah, the ride itself was a waste of valuable time that could have been spent plotting.
They waited quietly as a group of attendants rushed forward and con-
structed a sitting platform amidst the rockbuds. Shinri patted her horse's neck fondly, then allowed an attendant to help her down. The petite white
mare had given her a pleasant ride, even if a piece of her did wish that
she’d been allowed to ride Lord Dalenar’s massive war charger instead.
The men waited respectfully as Jasnah and Shinri seated themselves before
dismounting.
The mat was stiffly plush, seated on wooden supports to be just above
the general height of the leaves and flowers. It was far too comfortable,
but Shinri was accustomed to such things. Lord Dalenar whipped back
his deep blue cloak and seated himself across from Jasnah, then the three
younger men joined them.
“We spend two years wishing for the comforts of home,” the young Lord
Aredor quipped as he sat, “and as soon as we get here, we can’t wait to leave those comforts behind so we can take our meals out on the hillsides.”
Lord Dalenar grunted softly, smiling at the irony.
“The scenery is a bit more agreeable here than it was in Prallah, Lord
Aredor,” Shinri noted as the servants began bringing them pre-meal tea.
“There are a few more flowers in the lait than there were on the highlands.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Aredor said with a quick smile. “It seems we carried
the two fairest flowers of all in our company the entire time.”
Shinri did him the honor of blushing, but Jasnah just snorted quietly.
They both knew Aredor meant nothing by the comment. Dalenar’s heir
was nothing if not an incorrigible flirt, and it was well-known in court
that he was far from interested in seeking a permanent match. There had
been a time, when she was very young, that Shinri had felt something of
a girlish crush on his older brother, the now-dead Sheneres, but she had
never given Aredor much more than passing thoughts. Stil , he would make
a wonderful political match—and one could do far worse than marrying
into Lord Dalenar’s family.
The thought immediately made her feel guilty. Tethren isn’t a few weeks dead and already you’re thinking of your next match?
Shinri accepted her tea from a servant, the motion causing her to turn
and catch Dalenar’s final son, Renarin, watching her with those eerie eyes of his. He immediately turned away, but Shinri couldn’t help shivering. The
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boy was just so . . . odd. Unlike most men, his expressions were completely unreadable, and his eyes often seemed distant—as if he were considering
things far beyond the capabilities of normal people.
Dalenar accepted his own tea—the liquid steaming and in a mug after
the masculine fashion. He took a drink, then turned his eyes over the softly wafting sea of leaves and flowers around them. “It feels strange, doesn’t it?”
he wondered. “Sitting here mildly, not wondering about the next battle or
about supply lines and gemstone reserves?”
“Our battles are hardly finished, uncle,” Jasnah said. “Sometimes I
wonder if the worst isn’t yet to come.”
Lord Dalenar raised an eyebrow, but Aredor just smirked. “My dear
cousin,” the boy noted, “don’t you always think the worst is yet to come?”
Jasnah ignored him. “The queen’s recent activity in court is a cause for
apprehension,” she said.
“I’m not sure, Jasnah,” Dalenar said. “I was wary of her before, when we
were in Prallah, but I have been pleased by the devotion she now shows
the king. We always worried that she would never grow to fulfil her role as Elhokar’s wife. Perhaps we should be heartened by her newfound interest
in politics.”
“Not if she is going about things the wrong way,” Jasnah said. “Mock
my sensitivities if you must, Aredor, but it must be said that the woman is not trustworthy.”
“She is our queen,” Dalenar said, hinting that the conversation bordered
on disrespect.
Jasnah waved her hand dismissively. “I care nothing for pleasantries of
courtly language right now, Uncle,” she said. “I care about keeping my
brother’s throne secure. If this woman cannot do that, then someone else
needs to look after him.”
Dalenar sat quietly for a moment, holding his bronze mug. “You need
to let him go sometime, Jasnah,” he said quietly. “Eventually you’ll have to move on, marry, and let the boy’s wife care for him. As I said, she does
seem to have genuine affection for Elhokar, and she seems to take her duties seriously now. She might see you as a threat to her power—but then, she
probably has good reason to do so.”
Jasnah bristled slightly, but then she relaxed. “I know, Uncle,” she finally agreed. “But I can’t let him go yet. Things are too dangerous. Prallah was long and tiring, but there was never any real worry that we would lose the campaign. What looms over us now could destroy Alethkar.”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 149
The conversation fell still, the only sounds those of servants p
reparing
their meal in the background.
“You mean civil war,” the young boy Merin offered. “You’re worried
about the other Parshen, Jezenrosh.”
Shinri eyed the boy. She had assumed he would be too intimidated
to offer anything during the conversation, but apparently he was a bit
more brazen than she thought. He pulled a Shardbearer off of his horse, she reminded herself. He rescued the king when all of the other soldiers were running.
Those are not the actions of a coward.
Still, he probably shouldn’t have spoken. Despite his Shardblade, Merin
was still a youth. This conversation was between Dalenar and Jasnah, with
Aredor’s council being suffered because he was a full adult. Merin might
be brave, but he obviously still had little understanding of courtly etiquette.
“I doubt it will be anything that dramatic,” Jasnah said. “But it doesn’t
take a war to destroy the soul of a kingdom. Jezenrosh is poisoning the
nobility against my brother, and without my connections in court I cannot
determine his level of success. I worry he will divide the people against their king.”
“You can’t think that he wants the throne for himself,” Aredor said.
“I don’t know,” Jasnah said. For a moment, Shinri thought she might
reveal what Balenmar had said about the faceless Shardbearer, but Jasnah
kept these speculations to herself. “The man is far too solitary—no one
knows what he wants.”
“I got to know him a little bit during the war,” Aredor said. “I don’t know, Jasnah. He likes to complain, but I don’t think he’d try and overthrow the king.”
“Do you know what happened?” Jasnah asked. “That night before
Jezenrosh left the war? Do you know what he and my brother argued
about?”
Aredor paused, then shook his head. “No.”
Dalenar shook his head as well. “I asked Elhokar, but he didn’t wish to
speak of it . . . and you know that boy’s temper.” He sighed, shaking his
head. “You’re right, Jasnah. The queen could have picked a better time to
begin asserting herself, eh?”
“Definitely,” Jasnah replied. “She’s locked me out of nearly every source of courtly information. To be honest, Uncle, I don’t share your confidence that she has my brother’s interests in her heart. I’ve been studying the kingdom’s expense ledgers recently.”
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 21
