Even without a guard escort, Shinri had been forced to work a little bit to obtain true solitude. Handmaidens could be a very tenacious lot, especially when they assumed that becoming Shinri’s confidant was a sure and quick way to political power. Most of them had yet to realize what Shinri knew instinctively—that Ahven had no intention of leaving political maneuvering to the women. Shinri would be no pathway to power. Instead, she would be a symbol of Ahven’s new courtly feminine ideal. To him, a woman was a thing that looked pretty and was always obedient, more like the Shin women were said to be. Unfortunately, Ahven’s intentions for social revolution were only the most minor of the dangers he posed to Roshar. She could see his intention in those eyes, laid bare by the connection and understanding he had given her through their forced intimacy.
He would not stop with Alethkar. Ahven wanted what no man had ever obtained—total dominance of Roshar. He wished to succeed where the Seven Conquerors—even legendary Jarnah—had failed. That was why she had to escape; not just for herself, but for Roshar. If she stayed, he would use her to open the Oathgates. He would strike against Prallah, Thalenah, and Shinavar. The last would be difficult, but with the united forces of the Kanaran Peninsulas behind him . . .
Ahven Vedenel could not be allowed to claim the known world as his own. The creature who owned those cruel eyes could not be entrusted with the fates and lives of so many. That knowledge was what finally gave her the strength to overcome her fearful reluctance.
The handmaidens had been her second problem. No escape would have been possible beneath their clinging eyes. Fortunately, she had found an easy pathway to freedom.
Kanaran women did not like to walk.
Shinri stood, stretching slightly, then picked up her basket and continued her wandering down the disused hallway. A thin sheet of dust bespoke the recent absence of cleaners. Had Ahven left orders for servants to clean the unoccupied wings? If he hadn’t, the dust would quickly mount. Idly, Shinri wondered if that would be such a bad thing. The dust had its own beauty about it—the beauty of sleep and restfulness, of a place undisturbed.
Getting rid of her attendants had required more walking than even she was accustomed to. However, the new palace members had quickly come to understand that Shinri was a woman of . . . odd mannerisms. She remembered with a smile the first time she had idly tipped over a vase, letting it crash to the stone floor and shatter into a thousand ceramic shards. Jasnah would never have let her get away with something so blatant. Now, however, Shinri was the one in charge—at least, ostensibly. Destroying the vase had gone a long ways toward unwinding her tension, and she had been able to turn back to her glyph painting with a far more relaxed hand. The other women in the room, however, had sat for a long while, staring at the broken vase with confusion and a hint of fright. After that, Shinri had been certain to break things far more regularly.
No, they had not thought it all that uncharacteristic for the eccentric Lady Shinri to begin taking five-hour strolls through the palace. The more resilient ones tried to tag along at first. Then the blisters and the sore feet had appeared. After that, not ten days had passed before Shinri was able to consistently set out on walks and find herself completely unaccompanied.
Shinri passed through several intersections, slowly making her way back toward occupied hallways, though she stayed away from the Oathgates. The last time she had lingered too close, the guards there had escorted her back to her rooms, then left her under guard for an entire day. Shinri did not doubt that they had acted upon specific orders from Ahven—and she didn’t want to consider the punishments he had left should she ignore this first warning.
No, the Oathgates were still a couple of steps away; she had other things to consider first. One of the more important lessons Jasnah had taught her was one of perspective. Vast problems differed from small ones only in the number of steps it took to overcome them. When clever people failed, it was often because they tried to accomplish those steps in the wrong order.
The Oathgates were guarded by ten men by day and five at night. Both shifts had a Shardbearer, and even the regular men were sworded noblemen. The prison section of the palace, however, was only guarded by one aging solider. Shinri turned one final corner, and found him exactly where he usually was—half-dozing in a chair at the end of the hallway.
The detention cells were on the other side of the central arcade from the Oathgates. This sector of the palace, while used occasionally, was populated only sparsely—mostly by guard patrols or palace staffmembers on errands. There were two double-hallways of cells, none of which had been used very often during Elhokar’s reign. There were far more appropriate dungeons for common citizen criminals—the palace cells were intended for prisoners of more important reputation.
Men such as the son and adopted Shardbearer of Lord Dalenar Kholin.
The fact that Merin and Renarin had been placed in the palace cells indicated that Ahven saw their potential worth as bargaining tools; however, the lax guard indicated that Ahven currently thought them to be of little value. Ahven intended to defeat the Aleth armies with ease; Renarin and Merin were backup tools, not vital prisoners.
Or, at least, that was what Shinri hoped. If she was wrong, then a goodly amount of planning would have to be revised. She shifted her basket to the other hand, then walked down the hallway with what she hoped was an innocent-looking step. The guard perked up lethargically, standing and bowing slightly as she approached. He was a nobleman—a sword was at his waist—but he couldn’t have been very high-ranking, else he wouldn’t have earned such an undesirable post.
“My lady,” he said.
Shinri paused in front of him. “Evening’s blessing, solider,” she said. “I’ve come to bring the prisoners some food.”
The guard rubbed his chin, which bore a Veden-style square beard. “They’ve been fed already, my lady.”
“I’m sure they have,” Shinri said. “Though I doubt the meal was of enviable quality. I think they would appreciate something a little more healthy.”
The soldier frowned. “It isn’t good to keep prisoners too healthy, my lady,” he said. “It encourages escape.”
“It isn’t good for them to be sickly either,” Shinri replied. “My husband may have need of these men—and I intend to see that they are kept alive in case that need arises. Cruelty may be your prerogative, solider, but mercy is mine—a right granted me by the Almighty.”
The man’s face grew troubled as he considered. If he were too low a rank, he would take the matter to his superior. Shinri was counting on his noble upbringing and the independence it usually inspired.
“I brought some for you too,” Shinri noted, pulling back the napkin to reveal the bread rolls underneath. “It’s only bread, soldier. I doubt you’ll find that it makes your prisoners too healthy to be manageable.”
“I’ll have to check the basket first,” the soldier finally said.
“Very well,” Shinri replied, handing it to him. You’re a little more clever than I had hoped, aren’t you? That’s a pity.
He opened the basket, then systematically began breaking each roll in half to check for contraband—as if a high lady would actually have bothered to cook them herself. Shinri sighed inwardly, folding her arms and waiting upon the man’s inspection. “How have they been so far?” she asked as he worked. “I trust you haven’t been keeping them too unhealthy.”
The soldier shrugged, ripping apart a roll. “The one on the left stays pretty quiet—he’s a little one, and I doubt he could be of much trouble if he wanted to. The one on the right . . . well, he’s obviously a soldier. Tall lad and well-muscled. Could have been trouble, but I think the captivity took the heart out of him. He screamed and yelled a lot at first, but then got really quiet.”
Shinri frowned. “He’s still alive, I assume.”
The soldier snorted. “He eats his food, my lady. That means he’s alive enough, but I don’t know if he’s still got his mind or not. I’ve guarded men l
ike him before—men who couldn’t deal with being kept locked up. They usually quiet up after a while, if only because they get tired of yelling.”
What a delightfully kind-hearted one you are, Shinri thought sourly as the man selected a few rolls for himself, then handed the basket back to her. I guess that’s how you ended up a jailer.
Shinri nodded her satisfaction, then brushed past the man into the hallway. He stayed behind, thankfully, settling into his chair to work on the rolls. Technically, Shinri was a First Lady—his queen. Even if he had denied her entrance, he should never have treated her with the disrespect he had displayed. Ahven’s touch, virulent and destructive as a winter mold, was spreading already.
Shinri selected the leftmost hallway. The hallways were relatively well-lit and kept clean, unlike some dungeons Shinri had heard of, but there was a definite smell of unwashed bodies to the place. The cells were all open but one, and it bore a stout wooden door. A small window at the top provided a glimpse inside, though it was high enough up that Shinri would have trouble looking in without getting up on her toes.
She approached the door with trepidation. “Renarin?” she asked in a quiet voice, glancing back toward the guard.
There was a pause.
“Oh, hello, Shinri,” Renarin’s familiar voice eventually said back. “How are you?”
Shinri started slightly. “Um, I’m fine,” she lied, frowning. Even locked in a cell, kept half-starved, you’re a strange one, Renarin. “My family is allied with King Ahven. I talked the guard into letting me bring you some food.”
“That was kind of you,” Renarin said. His tone sounded . . . distracted. But, well, that was kind of how he always was. “So, you’re the one who opened the Oathgate? I wasn’t expecting it to be you, but I probably should have been able to figure it out. I’m far too new at this.”
Shinri nearly dropped the basket in shock. “How did you know that?” she hissed.
There was no answer.
“Renarin!” Shinri said a little bit louder.
“We need to escape,” Renarin finally said, ignoring her question.
“That’s why I’m here,” Shinri said, bending down and sliding back the feeding plate at the base of the door. “Here, take these rolls so the guard doesn’t get suspicious. I was thinking that we should—”
“Oh, don’t tell me,” Renarin said, “tell Merin.” Renarin’s face appeared in the opening. He didn’t look too haggard, though he hadn’t shaved in a while. His beard was dark, and a bit patchy, making him look even younger than he was. Behind him, Shinri could make out something on the floor. Something that looked like . . . scribbles of some sort.
Renarin accepted the bread. “Merin is on the other side,” he said. “He can work with you on getting us out. I’m too busy right now. Thank you for the bread.”
With that, he slid the plate closed with a motion that felt oddly like he were locking her out of his private study. Shinri knelt, stupefied, for a moment.
I will never understand that boy, she thought with frustration, rising. She walked back down the hallway, shooting a glance at the guard, then turned down the second parallel corridor. Merin’s cell was directly opposite Renarin’s, and here Shinri paused, basket held before her, staring at the blank door.
She had avoided thinking much about Tethren. Everything else—her marriage, the invasion, Ahven—was just too recent. Her soul already bore a tenset fresh wounds; there was no need to prod at one that had begun to scab over. She didn’t completely believe that Tethren was dead, but she knew that she probably wouldn’t ever be completely satisfied, for she had seen no body. She had made what peace she could during those months spent searching out what had happened to him.
Her grief for Tethren was a distant thing, dulled by time and distance. In a way, her guilt over not feeling worse was even more painful than her sense of loss. Yet for reasons she knew were irrational, the boy inside the cell before her was a focus for both emotions. She needed him if she were going to escape—even from a distance, she had heard rumored praises of Merin’s natural fighting ability. The court’s men had been intimidated by this boy who had saved the king’s life twice, a boy who already—after just a few months’ time—knew how to duel well enough to stand against noblemen who had been training all their lives.
Yes, she needed this boy—Renarin alone would not be enough to get her past the guards and to the Oathgates. Unfortunately, Shinri knew that if she was going to work with Merin Kholin, she would need to know the truth about Tethren. Bad news is not a thing to be avoided, Lady Jasnah had always said. Better to learn things that bring you pain than to remain in the greater agony of ignorance.
Shinri stepped up to the cell door’s window, going up on her toes and peeking in. The cell was sparse and small. Merin looked little better than Renarin did, though he appeared far more a man with his soldier’s build and even beard. He sat at the back of the room, legs folded, hand held before him with one finger pointing toward the ceiling. He was staring intently at the finger, as if in some sort of trance.
Wonderful, Shinri thought, anticipating another conversation like the one with Renarin. The guard was right. His mind’s gone.
“Merin?” she asked. “Merin Kholin?”
The boy looked up, lowering his hand slightly and focusing on the window. He sat for a moment, then leapt to his feet with excitement. “I know you!” he said, rushing to the window. “Lady Jasnah’s ward!”
Shinri paused, slightly taken aback. “Shinri Davar,” she said, lowering herself from her toes and speaking through the door.
“Am I to be released?” Merin asked with excitement. “Has King Elhokar retaken the palace?”
“Hush!” Shinri said, glancing toward the guard, who didn’t appear to have noticed Merin’s exclamation. “The palace is under Veden control. I am suffered because I am a . . . relation of their king. They think I’m only bringing you some bread.”
“Oh.” Merin’s voice sounded disappointed. “Renarin and I need to escape,” he said after a few moments. “Can you help us?”
“Perhaps,” Shinri said. “I might be able to discover a time when the Oathgates will be open for us. But they are guarded by five men.”
“Us?” Merin asked.
“I’m going with you,” Shinri said. “It’s complicated, but I cannot stay in Ral Eram any longer.”
Merin was quiet for a moment. “I’ll need my Blade,” he finally said. “You need to get me a Shardblade.”
You say that as if finding one were as easy as sneaking extra dessert from the palace kitchens. “That may not be possible,” Shinri said. “Let me think about it.” Today I just wanted to make sure you were both fit and sane—or, in Renarin’s case, as close to sane as possible.
“It’s just good to talk to someone,” Merin said, his voice sounding relieved. “Someone other than Renarin, that is. He’s a good man, but he’s a little . . .”
“Strange?” Shinri asked.
“Strange,” Merin agreed.
“I need to give you the bread and be going,” Shinri said, kneeling down. “I’ll be back, though.”
“When?”
“I don’t know,” Shinri said. “In a few days at most.” She slid open the feeding plate, then opened her basket. She paused, however. “There is something else,” she said, moving to hand him the bread. “The man you killed on the battlefield, the one whose Shardblade you earned. Can you remember anything about him?”
Merin’s face appeared behind the plate. He frowned in confusion. “The man in Prallah?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. There wasn’t much time to think, and he wore full Shardplate. I didn’t see his face, only his horse charging toward the king.”
Shinri kept her face expressionless as Merin accepted the bread. “Nothing else?” she asked. “There was nothing distinctive about him? Nothing you remember about him or his armor?”
Merin paused. Then he suddenly grew exci
ted, setting his bread on the floor beside him. He grabbed a small rock from behind him and scratched something into the stone. “Do you recognize this glyph?” he asked eagerly.
Shinri frowned at his awkward scrawl, obviously made by the hand of one who didn’t know proper slants or line orders. It was still recognizable, however, as nan, one of the more common glyphs.
“Yes,” Shinri said. “Why?”
“I found a rock carved with this symbol tucked inside the dead Shardbearer’s gauntlet,” Merin said. “What does it mean?”
Shinri’s frown deepened. The symbol was slightly off. It might have been Merin’s unpracticed hand, but there were a few extra lines. It looked almost like . . .
Shinri couldn’t stop her slight intake of breath.
“What?” Merin asked. “There’s something special about it, isn’t there? It’s a glyph of power. I . . . I think it’s magical somehow.”
“Don’t be silly,” Shinri said. He’s just a peasant, she reminded herself. To most of them, all writing is mystical. Don’t snap at him. “The glyph means ‘lightning,’” she said. “I’ve seen it hundreds of times. There’s nothing magical about it.”
“Why the reaction then?” Merin demanded.
“Those lines you drew at the sides,” Shinri said. “They’re familiar to me. They make the symbol look very similar to a stylized glyph, the type used by noblemen to differentiate their various lines.”
Merin frowned. “Well, whose glyph is this one?”
Shinri closed her eyes, sitting back. “The queen’s,” she said. “Queen Nanavah.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Merin complained. “Why would the Shardbearer be carrying it?”
He wanted my sister. Even from a distance, Ahven’s words taunted her. He loved her with the deep, foolish love men reserve for something unattainable.
“The stone,” Shinri said. “Carved with a lady’s glyph. It is a . . . sign of favor, given to a friend or loved one.”
“You have to be wrong,” Merin said.
I wish I was.
“There’s no reason for the man to be carrying a stone carved with Queen Nanavah’s glyph,” Merin said. “Maybe I drew it wrong. I’m telling you, there was something magical about that glyph. I can’t really explain it, but trust me—it was there.”
The Way of Kings Prime Page 63
