Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive 3.5)

As Yalb waited for the captain and the others to discuss what to do, he leaned against the railing and studied the unfortunate ship, drifting forlorn. Was it fate that he should find this vessel? That the man whose ship had vanished now joined with the ship whose crew had vanished? The captain would want to break out an extra sail and bring this one home. Yalb was certain of it. They needed every ship in the war effort.

They were going to put him on it. He knew they were. The storming queen herself would likely demand it.

The sea was a strange mistress indeed. Open. Welcoming. Inviting.

Sometimes a little too much so.

1

Some people might have considered it boring work to select a new trade expedition. To Rysn, it was a thrilling chase. Yes, she did it sitting in a room surrounded by stacks of papers, but she felt like a hunter all the same.

Among these reports hid so many interesting tidbits. Details of goods for sale, rumors of ports with needs that the war was making difficult to fulfill. Somewhere among all of this minutia was the perfect opportunity for her crew. She sorted through it like a scout creeping through the underbrush, quiet and careful, seeking the perfect line of attack.

Plus, diving into something so involved distracted her from other worries. Unfortunately, as soon as she thought that, Rysn couldn’t help glancing at Chiri-Chiri. Covered in carapace, with large membranous wings, the larkin ordinarily spent her days pestering Rysn for food or otherwise getting into trouble. But today, like so many recently, the larkin was curled up, sleeping at the far end of the long table, near Rysn’s pot of grass from Shinovar.

Chiri-Chiri had grown to roughly a foot long from her snout to the base of her tail—which extended another fifteen inches. She was big enough that Rysn needed two hands to carry her. The larkin cut an impressive profile, with her pointed mandibles and predator’s eyes. But these days, her normally brown-violet shell had whitened to an almost chalky color. Too white—this wasn’t a simple molt. Something was wrong.

Rysn slid along her bench. In the past, she’d preferred a tiny office set off from others. She now thought she’d done that unconsciously because she’d wanted to hide away.

No more of that. She now had a large office, in which she’d commissioned a variety of furniture changes. Though she’d lost the use of her legs in her accident two years ago, her injury wasn’t as far up along her spine as other people she’d written to. Rysn could sit on her own, though doing so strained her muscles unless she had a backrest to lean against. Even then, she felt it was good practice to sit and strengthen her muscles.

Instead of a chair—or a series of them—she preferred long benches with high backs, which she could slide along. She’d ordered them built along the various long tables in the office, which also had a large number of windows. It felt so open and free now; she found it remarkable she’d ever preferred something much smaller and darker.

She reached the end of the bench, near Chiri-Chiri’s nest of blankets. Rysn set down her pen and plucked a diamond sphere from the nearby goblet, then nudged it over to Chiri-Chiri. It glowed brightly, inviting the larkin to feast on its Stormlight.

Chiri-Chiri only cracked a silver eye and barely stirred. A few anxietyspren, like twisting black cross shapes, appeared around Rysn. Storms. The animal doctors hadn’t been able to offer much aid—they guessed she had a disease, but said that diseases were very individualized to a species. And Chiri-Chiri was the sole member of her species any of them had ever seen.

Trying not to let the worry crush her, Rysn left the sphere near Chiri-Chiri’s mouth, then forced herself to return to her hunt. She’d already sent a request via spanreed to someone she thought could help with Chiri-Chiri. There wasn’t anything more Rysn could do until he replied. So, she scooted along her bench to resume her work. Then, however, she realized she’d left her pen. She began to scoot back to fetch it.

Immediately, Nikli bounded out of his position near the doorway and scrambled to grab the pen for her. Before she could arrive, the overeager man had the tool proffered.

Rysn sighed. Nikli was her new head porter, the man who carried her between locations when she needed help. He was from somewhere in the western Makabaki region, and though his Thaylen was good, he’d had trouble finding work. He stood out, with his face and arms covered in white tattoos.

He was eager to keep his job, but while she appreciated initiative . . . “Thank you, Nikli,” she said, taking the pen. “But please wait until I ask for help before rendering it.”

“Oh!” he said. He bowed. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said, waving for him to retreat to the side of the room. His attitude wasn’t uncommon. When she’d explained the benches for her office, the initial response had been confusion. “But why?” the carpenters’ foreman had asked.

Ah, to be free of the “but why.”

To everyone else, her actions seemed odd. She was a trademaster, with her own ship and crew. She could order servants to fetch her anything she needed. And she did need help now and then.

The thing was, she didn’t always need help. It was a lesson she herself had been forced to learn, so she didn’t blame Nikli for the mistake. She shook off the minor irritation and refocused on her task, trying to recapture her excitement.

This would be her second voyage as a shipowner. Her first, completed two weeks ago, had been a direct back-and-forth trade deal that had let her and the crew grow accustomed to one another. It had gone . . . fine. Oh, the profits had been good, and the crew appreciated that. The deals she negotiated were their livelihood.

Yet there was something about the sailors, and their captain, that Rysn hadn’t yet figured out. Some hesitance to engage with her. Perhaps they were simply accustomed to Vstim and not Rysn, as her ways were slightly different from her babsk’s. Or maybe they wanted a voyage more engaging, more rewarding, than such a simple trip.

She sifted through her options, eventually settling on three different trade offers. Any of the three could be lucrative, but which to select? She mulled it over for a time, then wrote out a list of pros and cons to each deal, as Vstim had taught her.

Eventually she rubbed her temples, her eyebrow jewelry tinkling softly, and decided to give it a few minutes. Instead she reached for some spanreed communications that had come in recently—from women around the world who, like her, had lost the use of their legs.

Talking with them was exciting and invigorating. They felt so many of her own emotions, and were eager to share with her things they’d learned. Mura, an Azish woman, had designed several interesting devices to help in daily life, demonstrating marvelous creativity. Hooks and rings—with items hanging on pegs—to allow for ready access. Specialized hoops, wires, and curved rods to aid in dressing herself.

Reading through the latest letters, she couldn’t help but be encouraged. She had once felt so isolated. Now she realized there were many people who—despite being strangely invisible to the world at large—faced her same challenges. Their stories invigorated her, and with their suggestions in hand, Rysn had ordered changes to her ship. A fixed seat and sunshade up on the quarterdeck, near the helm station. Changes to her cabin to make moving around and dressing easier.