Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01]
Page 38
“Enough, Nelshenden,” Jasnah snapped. “That man is to be my husband.”
Nelshenden fell silent.
“But, my lady,” Shinri said . . . Meridas. Thinking about him made her
feel as if her mind had been dipped in grease. She glanced toward the
king’s table, and found the man’s calm—yet somehow scandalous—eyes
watching her. Stripping her to the bones—or maybe just to the flesh that
coated them. Shinri turned away.
“Meridas will be an important lord in my brother’s kingdom,” Jasnah
explained. “He will need a woman acquainted with politics. Through being
his wife, I can be of great service to my brother. It is a far better union than I had feared. Perhaps I was wrong in assuming the queen would exile me
to an unimportant city.”
There was . . . something in her tone. Another person wouldn’t have been
able to recognize it, but Shinri had spent years learning beneath Jasnah’s tutelage. She could see hints of the emotion Jasnah hid.
Pain. Hurt, carefully tucked away. Unacknowledged. Suppressed. But
still potent. No, Jasnah did not want to marry this man. Not at all.
Shinri lay a hand on Jasnah’s, and Jasnah looked into her eyes. Right
then, finally, Shinri understood. Jasnah wasn’t heartless. The woman
couldn’t make her emotions go away. She was just very, very good at hiding them. Suddenly, Shinri felt closer to Jasnah than she ever had in the past three years.
“That man is not honorable,” Nelshenden whispered.
“There is nothing you can do, Nelshenden,” Jasnah said, her eyes becoming cold again, emotions checked with a skill that Shinri could only envy.
“There is something I can do,” Nelshenden said. “I could challenge him.
A High Duel.”
Shinri started slightly. A High Duel. Duel to the death. He would do it,
268
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
too. Nelshenden was so cursed honorable and idealistic that he would get
himself slaughtered to protect Jasnah’s honor.
“No,” Jasnah said. “You will not die dueling that man, Nelshenden.”
“I could win his Shardblade,” the guard replied. “I could be . . .” Worthy of you. He left off the last part, but Shinri could read his eyes.
“You would die,” Jasnah said. “Lord Meridas has a Shardblade, and you
saw him fight young Aredor. The new Parshen has great skill in dueling.
He would slaughter you.”
“I would almost prefer that,” Nelshenden whispered.
“This is no time for vendettas,” Jasnah informed sharply. “Or have you
forgotten that the king’s life is in danger?”
Mention of duty brought Nelshenden slightly out of his darkened state.
“I remember, my lady.”
“Has Kemnar returned yet?” Jasnah asked.
Nelshenden shook his head. “I have not seen him since last night, when
he visited the palace in beggar’s clothing. Even then, his reports were not encouraging. If the Stormkin assassins have people inside of the city, then we have not been able to discover them.”
“What would you have me do, Jasnah?” Shinri asked, feeling ashamed.
She had let her fixation with Tethren take her away from where she was
needed. For once—perhaps the only time in her recent life—Jasnah had
suffered a shock she could barely handle, and Shinri had been off tracking down a dead man.
Perhaps not dead . . . a piece of her whispered.
But irrelevant at the moment anyway, she argued back. Her duty was to Jasnah.
“There is much to do,” Jasnah said. “I’ll need you to visit the tables of the other women and listen for anything suspicious. There are ladies here from across all of Alethkar—perhaps one of them will give us the clue we need.
I cannot leave the queen’s table—we’ll have to rely on you for information tonight.”
“I understand, my lady,” Shinri said.
“Here,” Jasnah said, handing Shinri a letter. “Deliver this first.” The
other ladies were already exchanging secrets and proposing alliances, but
Jasnah appeared to have only this one letter. The betrothal announcement
had shocked her indeed.
“Who is it for?” Shinri asked.
“Lord Aredor Kholin,” Jasnah explained.
Shinri frowned. A man?
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 269
“Tell him to have someone he trusts read it to him,” Jasnah said. “Someone he trusts very much.”
“Yes, my lady,” Shinri said, rising to weave her way through the tables to the edge of the room. The men cheered as a Shardbearer was defeated, their mirth somewhat distracting. Sometimes she envied them, and the freedom
their innocence brought. Most were simple tribute lords or Shardbearers.
They didn’t have to worry about plots and betrayals—they could come to a
feast simply to enjoy the duels and eat a good meal.
Shinri glanced at the king’s table as she passed, and Meridas paused in
his conversation just long enough to give her another of his filthy stares.
Oh, Jasnah, she thought as she scuttled past. I know you’re strong, but this?
And yet, Jasnah would survive. She was demanding of those around her,
but nowhere near as demanding as she was with herself. She would take
her betrothal and use it to her best advantage. A woman couldn’t simply
take up a Shardblade and duel away her problems. She had to be clever,
patient, and persistent.
The Prallah war was but a breeze to the highstorm that is coming . . . Dangerous times approach. King Amelin’s words returned to her. He had been so
apprehensive. What did he know? What was he planning for?
Stop it, Shinri told herself. You’re back serving Jasnah now. You let yourself get distracted by Tethren and Thalenah, and weren’t here when you were needed.
You need to focus, like Lady Jasnah told you to.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t banish her worries so easily. The contrived
fiasco of Tethren’s death was far too suspicious, and King Amelin’s words
were far too ominous. Jasnah had trained Shinri too well—she couldn’t
help considering the things she had discovered.
I’ll discuss them with Jasnah this evening, Shinri decided. She’ll know how to interpret what has happened. She would be annoyed at Shinri for keeping the investigation of Tethren’s death secret, but that couldn’t be helped any longer. Events were growing too large for Shinri to manage alone.
Decision made, Shinri sought out Dalenar’s heir. Aredor sat with his
brother and the solemn young Shardbearer Merin Kholin. They had a very
good table, of course—Lord Aredor was one of the most popular young
men of the court—and sat watching the duels in the southern ring. Aredor
had his Shardblade summoned, as did Merin, and they were obviously
comparing the Blades.
Shinri bowed slightly as she approached. “Lord Aredor,” she said,
drawing his attention. All three young men looked up. “I—”
Shinri froze. There, sitting on the table, was Tethren’s Shardblade.
270
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
She knew it, of course. Hopelight, it was called, a majestic Blade that
bore a crystalline pattern etched into its metal. The pattern was dull, now, like a stature that had been weathered by countless winds. And in its place an unfamiliar design was beginning to emerge, something akin to flowing
rivulets of water. Yet, despite the wearing, despite the new bond, the hints of Tethren’s touch was unmistakable. The glyphs that had run along th
e
Blade were still visible, and Shinri had known that Blade as she had known the man himself.
She couldn’t move. She could only stare at the table.
“Lady Shinri!” Aredor said with a grin, obviously not noticing her
incapa citation. “Doesn’t our Lord Merin look handsome this evening?
Almost like the grand hero the court has made him out to be, eh?” Aredor
looked at his young companion, smiling and winking.
“Where . . .” Shinri whispered. “Where did you get that Shardblade?”
“Oh, surely you’ve heard the story, Shinri,” Aredor said dramatically.
“Lord Merin saved the king’s life, you know. An unknown Shardbearer
tried to kill his majesty on the battlefield—ignored Protocol, even. But
Lord Merin intervened. Jumped up and pul ed the faceless man right off his horse. It’s quite a story—you should have Merin tell it to you some time.”
“You just told it to her, Aredor,” Merin said, blushing.
Shinri ignored them both. Unknown Shardbearer . . . tried to kill his
majesty . . . She knew of the event, of course. She had been with Jasnah, near the battlefield, when it happened. She had paid little attention to it, however, despite gossip about the strange, faceless Shardbearer that had
tried to kill King Elhokar. An unknown man, without glyph to identify him.
The sinking of the ship was to cover something else, Amelin had said. Something about the way Tethren died, though I can’t figure out what.
House Rienar had tried to assassinate King Elhokar on the battlefield.
It was inconceivable. And yet, her proof was unmistakable. The Shardblade
lay on the table, Tethren’s touch upon it seeming to fade by the moment.
Though her mind was stunned, Shinri’s body knew what it had been
sent to do. She dropped the letter to the table. “Have someone you trust
read it to you, Lord Aredor,” she heard herself mumble. Then she turned,
walking from the room and its jovial occupants, with their masculine
cheering and feminine manipulations.
She walked out into the hallway, seeking a bit of quiet to think. Why
would the Rienar try to kill Elhokar? Why would they do it on the battlefield? And—the most confusing question of all—how would they have
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 271
persuaded Tethren to take part in such a dishonorable act? The man she
had known would never have broken Protocol.
And yet, how well had she really known him? She had still been mostly
a child then. Even if her impression had been truthful, they had seen each other little during the last year. Men changed.
Shinri sighed, letting her fingers trail along the cool stone wall as she
walked, the sounds of feasting growing dim behind her. The truth was,
she knew very little. She was not Jasnah, able to anticipate logical discoveries with an inhuman sense of inference. Tethren’s Shardblade had been right before Shinri on several occasions, carried by the young lord Merin, and she had never even noticed it. She might never have noticed it, had
Merin not taken off the practice sheath to display the Blade to his friends.
Shinri paused her wanderings, leaning back against the stone wall with
her eyes closed. Even knowing of his death, even having been separated
from him for so long, seeing Tethren’s Blade was a shock. It was the first tangible evidence that he was gone, a piece of her life cut away. While she couldn’t really mourn a love lost, she could at least feel depressed at what might have been.
I need to get back to Jasnah, Shinri thought. She needs to know about this.
It no longer affects just me. They tried to kill Elhokar. Perhaps House Rienar is allied with Jezenrosh.
“Lady Shinri Davar?” a voice asked.
Shinri jumped, opening her eyes. A man stood in the hallway before her.
Dressed in the clothing of a merchant courtier, he had pale skin and large, Shin eyes. She opened her mouth to reply, then paused, realizing that she
recognized his foreign features. She had seen him before, in the Veden
City Oathgate chamber.
When he moved, his body displayed the same fluid control she had
sensed in him on that day weeks before. Before she could so much as
speak, he had his hand wrapped around her neck, something sharp pressed
against her back.
“I apologize, child,” he whispered to her in lightlyaccented Veden. “But
you must come with me.”
chapter 29
TALN 6
Taln gave Lhan the slip after about two hours of watching duels.
Goodbye, my friend, Taln thought as he slumped down to hide his
height, then ducked away amidst the massive crowd.
He was outside, in one of the palace’s outer courtyards, where several
dueling rings lay well-illuminated in the night by torches and lanterns.
The duelists who participated were of insignificant rank—Nineteenth and
Twentieth lords who had been eliminated from the prime competition, or
lesser duelists from other countries.
However, these duels were still exciting—a man’s rank had little to do
with his fighting ability. There were still prizes to be had, for the king had sponsored several prestigious events outside of the prime competition, as
had some of the more wealthy merchant companies. Even if these men didn’t
win a Shardblade, a victory in a lesser event could mean wealth and notoriety.
Taln forced himself away from the dueling rings. He pushed through the
crowd, shuffling beneath his cloak in a hunched posture. Lhan had been
right—the courtyard was extremely busy, dense with the scent of bodies.
However, the monk had been wrong about the duels being boring. How
could he not be intoxicated by the thrill of a wel -fought contest? How could he not itch to participate, hands longing for the unity of mind and weapon?
Taln could have watched the duels in a joyful daze if his purpose hadn’t
been so urgent.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 273
As he approached the palace gates, he sought out a secluded overhang
beside a vending tent, then stood and turned his cloak inside-out. The
inside—or, actually, the outside, since he had been wearing his cloak
the wrong way around since leaving the monastery—was lined with
brilliant blue seasilk. He’d purchased the cloth in secret, then sewn it to the outside of his cloak in the early hours of the morning, when even the monks were asleep. He still felt guilty for gambling with the other cromcleaners, winning enough money to buy the seasilk, but he had been unable to think
of another way.
Taln stepped out from behind the tent and assumed a commanding
posture. His plan would require more than a skin of silk—his cloak wasn’t
tailored like that of a nobleman. While it was bulky and masculine, it hung naturally on his body, and didn’t have the broad extended shoulders to give it the cape-like, rectangular look that Rosharan lords favored.
Nobility, however, was not in wealth or tailoring, but in attitude. Taln
strode toward the palace doors, his cloak clasped shut in front of him, lest it open and reveal his common clothing beneath. His step was firm, his air important, and his lips formed a slight half-scowl. As he stepped up to the gates, one of the guards frowned slightly, regarding him. The man made
as if to step forward, and Taln halted immediately, turning an intolerant
look toward the man.
“Where would I find the primary competition?” he demanded, mimick-
ing the noble accent as best he could. He would st
ill have a bit of the
backwater Riemak accent in his voice, he knew, but hopefully that would
enhance the persona he was attempting to mimic.
The guard paused. He was a younger man, with dark curly hair and a
boyish face. “My . . . lord?” he asked.
“The primary competition,” Taln repeated. Then, in a lower voice, he
continued. “Tell me. How is the king’s . . . mood today.”
“I’m not sure, my lord,” the guard confessed.
Taln turned, looking toward the palace with a somewhat distracted
expression, as if he were considering something unpleasant. “Have any
other lords arrived late?” he asked.
“Not that I know of, my lord,” the guard said.
Taln’s expression darkened. “My father warned me of the king’s temper.
Do you think, perhaps, the joy of the festivities might make him more
accepting of my tardiness?”
“I’m not certain, my lord,” the guard replied.
Taln nodded curtly. “Very well. Where can I find him?”
274
BRAND ON SANDERS ON
The guard pointed down the central hallway. “To the east, my lord, in the
grand feast hall.” The guard paused for a moment. “Good luck, my lord.”
Taln sighed, nodding his thanks, and strode into the palace. The truth
was that he needed no directions—he probably knew the palace better than
half of its occupants. Indeed, he knew things about its construction that
had been kept secret even from kings. He quickly made his way through
the pil ared hallways and grand, open foyers of the Aleth section. The grand feast hall was near the center of the ten-winged structure, with the other communal rooms.
Even if he hadn’t known his way, the location would have been obvious.
Servants scuttled to and from the room, bringing food and drink, and
lords in bright clothing stood in the hallway outside, speaking in quiet
conference or boisterous discussion. Few paid Taln any heed—hopefully,
his affectation would mark him as a lord, but his relatively poor cloak would mark him as an unimportant one.
The grand hall was nearly as crowded as the courtyards, though many
of the people here were sitting, and the room smelled of perfumes and
luxurious food rather than sweat. The women and men sat apart in three