Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive 2)

“Yes, yes. People certainly are good at identifying me today. Perhaps I need to wear—”

Wit cut off as Shallan lunged at him. Kaladin dropped to the ground, reaching for his side knife, then hesitated as Shallan grabbed Wit in an embrace, her head against his chest, her eyes squeezed shut.

Kaladin took his hand off his knife, raising an eyebrow at Wit, who looked completely flabbergasted. He stood with his arms at his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I always wanted to say thank you,” Shallan whispered. “I never had a chance.”

Adolin cleared his throat. Finally, Shallan released Wit and looked at the prince.

“You hugged Wit,” Adolin said.

“Is that his name?” Shallan asked.

“One of them,” Wit said, apparently still unsettled. “There are too many to count, really. Granted, most of them are related to one form of curse or another…”

“You hugged Wit,” Adolin said.

Shallan blushed. “Was that improper?”

“It’s not about propriety,” Adolin said. “It’s about common sense. Hugging him is like hugging a whitespine or, or a pile of nails or something. I mean it’s Wit. You’re not supposed to like him.”

“We need to talk,” Shallan said, looking up at Wit. “I don’t remember everything we talked about, but some of it—”

“I’ll try to squeeze it into my schedule,” Wit said. “I’m fairly busy, though. I mean, insulting Adolin alone is going to take until sometime next week.”

Adolin shook his head, waving away the footman and helping Shallan into the carriage himself. After he did so, he leaned in to Wit. “Hands off.”

“She’s far too young for me, child,” Wit said.

“That’s right,” Adolin said with a nod. “Stick to women your own age.”

Wit grinned. “Well, that might be a little harder. I think there’s only one of those around these parts, and she and I never did get along.”

“You are so bizarre,” Adolin said, climbing into the carriage.

Kaladin sighed, then moved to follow them in.

“You intend to ride in there?” Wit asked, grin widening.

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. He wanted to watch Shallan. She wasn’t likely to try something in the open, while riding in the carriage with Adolin. But Kaladin might learn something by watching her, and he couldn’t be absolutely certain she wouldn’t try to harm him.

“Try not to flirt with the girl,” Wit whispered. “Young Adolin seems to be growing possessive. Or… what am I saying? Flirt with the girl, Kaladin. It might make the prince’s eyes bulge.”

Kaladin snorted. “She’s lighteyed.”

“So?” Wit asked. “You people are too fixated on that.”

“No offense,” Kaladin whispered, “but I’d sooner flirt with a chasmfiend.” He left Wit to drive the carriage, hauling himself into it.

Inside, Adolin looked toward the heavens. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s my job,” Kaladin said, seating himself next to Adolin.

“Surely I’m safe in here,” Adolin said through gritted teeth, “with my betrothed.”

“Well, maybe I just want a comfortable seat, then,” Kaladin said, nodding to Shallan Davar.

She ignored him, smiling at Adolin as the carriage started rolling. “Where are we going today?”

“Well, you said something about a dinner,” Adolin said. “I know of a new winehouse in the Outer Market, and it actually serves food.”

“You always know the best places,” Shallan said, her smile widening.

Could you be any more obvious with your flattery, woman? Kaladin thought.

Adolin smiled back. “I just listen.”

“Now if you only paid more attention to what wines were good…”

“I don’t because it’s easy!” He grinned. “They’re all good.”

She giggled.

Storms, lighteyes were annoying. Particularly when they fawned over one another. Their conversation continued, and Kaladin found it blatantly obvious how badly this woman wanted a relationship with Adolin. Well, that wasn’t surprising. Lighteyes were always looking for chances to get ahead—or to stab one another in the back, if they were in that mood instead. His job wasn’t to figure out if this woman was an opportunist. Every lighteyes was an opportunist. He just had to find out if she was an opportunistic fortune hunter or an opportunistic assassin.

They continued talking, and Shallan circled the conversation back toward the day’s activity.

“Now, I’m not saying I mind another winehouse,” Shallan said. “But I do wonder if those are becoming a tad too obvious a choice.”

“I know,” Adolin replied. “But there’s storming little to do out here otherwise. No concerts, no art shows, no sculpture contests.”

Is that really what you people spend your time on? Kaladin wondered. Almighty save you if you don’t have sculpture contests to watch.

“There’s a menagerie,” Shallan said, eager. “In the Outer Market.”

“A menagerie,” Adolin said. “Isn’t that a little… low?”

“Oh, come on. We could look at all of the animals, and you could tell me which ones you’ve bravely slaughtered while hunting. It’ll be very diverting.” She hesitated, and Kaladin thought he saw something in her eyes. A flash of something deeper. Pain? Worry? “And I could use some distraction,” Shallan added more softly.

“I actually despise hunting,” Adolin said, as if he hadn’t noticed. “No real contest to it.” He looked to Shallan, who pasted on a smile and nodded eagerly. “Well, something different could be a pleasant change. All right, I’ll tell Wit to take us there instead. Hopefully he’ll do it, instead of driving us into a chasm to laugh at our screams of horror.”

Adolin turned to open the small sliding shutter up to the driver’s perch and gave the order. Kaladin watched Shallan, who sat back, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She had an ulterior motive for going to the menagerie. What was it?

Adolin turned back around and asked after her day. Kaladin listened with half an ear, studying Shallan, trying to pick out any knives hidden on her person. She blushed at something Adolin said, then laughed. Kaladin didn’t really like Adolin, but at least the prince was honest. He had his father’s earnest temperament, and had always been straight with Kaladin. Dismissive and spoiled, but straight.

This woman was different. Her movements were calculated. The way she laughed, the way she chose her words. She would giggle and blush, but her eyes were always discerning, always watching. She exemplified what made him sick about lighteyed culture.

You’re just in an irritable mood, part of him acknowledged. It happened sometimes, more often when the sky was cloudy. But did they have to act nauseatingly cheery?

He kept an eye on Shallan as the ride continued, and eventually decided he was being too suspicious of her. She wasn’t an immediate threat to Adolin. He found his mind drifting back toward the night in the chasms. Riding the winds, Light churning inside of him. Freedom.

No, not just freedom. Purpose.