The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive 1)

“…realize that this action might prompt an unfavorable reaction from the devotaries?” the woman said, speaking in Alethi. It was very near to Shallan’s native Veden, and she’d been taught to speak it well during her childhood.

“Yes, Brightness,” said the robed man. He was elderly, with a wispy white beard, and had pale grey eyes. His open, kindly face seemed very concerned, and he wore a squat, cylindrical hat that matched the orange and white of his robes. Rich robes. Was this some kind of royal steward, perhaps?

No. Those gemstones on his fingers, the way he carried himself, the way other lighteyed attendants deferred to him…Stormfather! Shallan thought. This has to be the king himself! Not Jasnah’s brother, Elhokar, but the king of Kharbranth. Taravangian.

Shallan hastily performed an appropriate curtsy, which Jasnah noted.

“The ardents have much sway here, Your Majesty,” Jasnah said with a smooth voice.

“As do I,” the king said. “You needn’t worry about me.”

“Very well,” Jasnah said. “Your terms are agreeable. Lead me to the location, and I shall see what can be done. If you will excuse me as we walk, however, I have someone to attend to.” Jasnah made a curt motion toward Shallan, waving her to join them.

“Of course, Brightness,” the king said. He seemed to defer to Jasnah. Kharbranth was a very small kingdom—just a single city—while Alethkar was one of the world’s most powerful. An Alethi princess might well outrank a Kharbranthian king in real terms, however protocol would have it.

Shallan hurried to catch up to Jasnah, who walked a little behind the king as he began to speak to his attendants. “Brightness,” Shallan said. “I am Shallan Davar, whom you asked to meet you. I deeply regret not being able to get to you in Dumadari.”

“The fault was not yours,” Jasnah said with a wave of the fingers. “I didn’t expect that you would make it in time. I wasn’t certain where I would be going after Dumadari when I sent you that note, however.”

Jasnah wasn’t angry; that was a good sign. Shallan felt some of her anxiety recede.

“I am impressed by your tenacity, child,” Jasnah continued. “I honestly didn’t expect you to follow me this far. After Kharbranth, I was going to forgo leaving you notes, as I’d presumed that you’d have given up. Most do so after the first few stops.”

Most? Then it was a test of some sort? And Shallan had passed?

“Yes indeed,” Jasnah continued, voice musing. “Perhaps I will actually allow you to petition me for a place as my ward.”

Shallan almost stumbled in shock. Petition her? Wasn’t that what she’d already done? “Brightness,” Shallan said, “I thought that…Well, your letter…”

Jasnah eyed her. “I gave you leave to meet me, Miss Davar. I did not promise to take you on. The training and care of a ward is a distraction for which I have little tolerance or time at the present. But you have traveled far. I will entertain your request, though understand that my requirements are strict.”

Shallan covered a grimace.

“No tantrum,” Jasnah noted. “That is a good sign.”

“Tantrum, Brightness? From a lighteyed woman?”

“You’d be surprised,” Jasnah said dryly. “But attitude alone will not earn your place. Tell me, how extensive is your education?”

“Extensive in some areas,” Shallan said. Then she hesitantly added, “Extensively lacking in others.”

“Very well,” Jasnah said. Ahead, the king seemed to be in a hurry, but he was old enough that even an urgent walk was still slow. “Then we shall do an evaluation. Answer truthfully and do not exaggerate, as I will soon discover your lies. Feign no false modesty, either. I haven’t the patience for a simperer.”

“Yes, Brightness.”

“We shall begin with music. How would you judge your skill?”

“I have a good ear, Brightness,” Shallan said honestly. “I’m best with voice, though I have been trained on the zither and the pipes. I would be far from the best you’d heard, but I’d also be far from the worst. I know most historical ballads by heart.”

“Give me the refrain from ‘Lilting Adrene.’”

“Here?”

“I’m not fond of repeating myself, child.”

Shallan blushed, but began to sing. It wasn’t her finest performance, but her tone was pure and she didn’t stumble over any of the words.

“Good,” Jasnah said as Shallan paused for a breath. “Languages?”

Shallan fumbled for a moment, bringing her attention away from frantically trying to remember the next verse. Languages? “I can speak your native Alethi, obviously,” Shallan said. “I have a passable reading knowledge of Thaylen and good spoken Azish. I can make myself understood in Selay, but not read it.”

Jasnah made no comment either way. Shallan began to grow nervous.

“Writing?” Jasnah asked.

“I know all of the major, minor, and topical glyphs and can paint them calligraphically.”

“So can most children.”

“The glyphwards that I paint are regarded by those who know me as quite impressive.”

“Glyphwards?” Jasnah said. “I had reason to believe you wanted to be a scholar, not a purveyor of superstitious nonsense.”

“I have kept a journal since I was a child,” Shallan continued, “in order to practice my writing skills.”

“Congratulations,” Jasnah said. “Should I need someone to write a treatise on their stuffed pony or give an account of an interesting pebble they discovered, I shall send for you. Is there nothing you can offer that shows you have true skill?”

Shallan blushed. “With all due respect, Brightness, you have a letter from me yourself, and it was persuasive enough to make you grant me this audience.”

“A valid point,” Jasnah said, nodding. “It took you long enough to make it. How is your training in logic and its related arts?”

“I am accomplished in basic mathematics,” Shallan said, still flustered, “and I often helped with minor accounts for my father. I have read through the complete works of Tormas, Nashan, Niali the Just, and—of course—Nohadon.”

“Placini?”

Who? “No.”

“Gabrathin, Yustara, Manaline, Syasikk, Shauka-daughter-Hasweth?”

Shallan cringed and shook her head again. That last name was obviously Shin. Did the Shin people even have logicmasters? Did Jasnah really expect her wards to have studied such obscure texts?

“I see,” Jasnah said. “Well, what of history?”

History. Shallan shrank down even further. “I…This is one of the areas where I’m obviously deficient, Brightness. My father was never able to find a suitable tutor for me. I read the history books he owned….”

“Which were?”

“The entire set of Barlesha Lhan’s Topics, mostly.”

Jasnah waved her freehand dismissively. “Barely worth the time spent scribing them. A popular survey of historical events at best.”

“I apologize, Brightness.”

“This is an embarrassing hole. History is the most important of the literary subarts. One would think that your parents would have taken specific care in this area, if they’d hoped to submit you to study under a historian like myself.”