“Jasnah?” Pattern asked. “I do not think you are paying attention, Shallan. She is not very empathetic.”
Shallan sighed.
“You’re empathetic though!”
“The pathetic part, at least.” She steeled herself. “I belong here, Pattern, don’t I?”
“Mmm. Yes, of course you do. You’ll want to sketch them, right?”
“The classic scholars didn’t just draw. The Oilsworn knew mathematics—he created the study of ratios in art. Galid was an inventor, and her designs are still used in astronomy today. Sailors couldn’t find longitude at sea until the arrival of her clocks. Jasnah’s a historian—and more. That’s what I want.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.” Problem was, Veil wanted to spend her days drinking and laughing with the men, practicing espionage. Radiant wanted to practice with the sword and spend time around Adolin. What did Shallan want? And did it matter?
Eventually Navani called the meeting to order, and people took seats. Scribes on one side of Navani, ardents from a variety of devotaries on the other—and far from Jasnah. As the stormwardens settled down farther around the ring of seats, Shallan noticed Renarin standing in the doorway. He shuffled, peeking in, but not entering. When several scholars turned toward him, he stepped backward, as if their stares were physically forcing him out.
“I…” Renarin said. “Father said I could come … just listen maybe.”
“You’re more than welcome, Cousin,” Jasnah said. She nodded for Shallan to get him a stool, so she did—and didn’t even protest being ordered about. She could be a scholar. She’d be the best little ward ever.
Head down, Renarin rounded the ring of scholars, keeping a white-knuckled grip on a chain hung from his pocket. As soon as he sat, he started pulling the chain between the fingers of one hand, then the other.
Shallan did her best to take notes, and not stray into sketching people instead. Fortunately, the proceedings were more interesting than usual. Navani had most of the scholars here working on trying to understand Urithiru. Inadara reported first—she was a wizened scribe who reminded Shallan of her father’s ardents—explaining that her team had been trying to ascertain the meaning of the strange shapes of the rooms and tunnels in the tower.
She went on at length, talking of defensive constructions, air filtration, and the wells. She pointed out groupings of rooms that were shaped oddly, and of the bizarre murals they’d found, depicting fanciful creatures.
When she eventually finished, Kalami reported on her team, who were convinced that certain gold and copper metalworks they’d found embedded in walls were fabrials, but they didn’t seem to do anything, even with gems attached. She passed around drawings, then moved on to explaining the efforts—failed so far—they’d taken to try to infuse the gemstone pillar. The only working fabrials were the lifts.
“I suggest,” interrupted Elthebar, head of the stormwardens, “that the ratio of the gears used in the lift machinery might be indicative of the nature of those who built it. It is the science of digitology, you see. You can judge much about a man by the width of his fingers.”
“And this has to do with gears … how?” Teshav asked.
“In every way!” Elthebar said. “Why, the fact that you don’t know this is a clear indication that you are a scribe. Your writing is pretty, Brightness. But you must give more heed to science.”
Pattern buzzed softly.
“I never have liked him,” Shallan whispered. “He acts nice around Dalinar, but he’s quite mean.”
“So … which attribute of his are we totaling and how many people are in the sample size?” Pattern asked.
“Do you think, maybe,” Janala said, “we are asking the wrong questions?”
Shallan narrowed her eyes, but checked herself, suppressing her jealousy. There was no need to hate someone simply because they’d been close to Adolin.
It was just that something felt … off about Janala. Like many women at court, her laughter sounded rehearsed, contained. Like they used it as a seasoning, rather than actually feeling it.
“What do you mean, child?” Adrotagia asked Janala.
“Well, Brightness, we talk about the lifts, the strange fabrial column, the twisting hallways. We try to understand these things merely from their designs. Maybe instead we should figure out the tower’s needs, and then work backward to determine how these things might have met them.”
“Hmmm,” Navani said. “Well, we know that they grew crops outside. Did some of these wall fabrials provide heat?”
Renarin mumbled something.
Everyone in the room looked at him. Not a few seemed surprised to hear him speak, and he shrank back.
“What was that, Renarin?” Navani asked.
“It’s not like that,” he said softly. “They’re not fabrials. They’re a fabrial.”
The scribes and scholars shared looks. The prince … well, he often incited such reactions. Discomforted stares.
“Brightlord?” Janala asked. “Are you perhaps secretly an artifabrian? Studying engineering by night, reading the women’s script?”
Several of the others chuckled. Renarin blushed deeply, lowering his eyes farther.
You’d never laugh like that at any other man of his rank, Shallan thought, feeling her cheeks grow hot. The Alethi court could be severely polite—but that didn’t mean they were nice. Renarin always had been a more acceptable target than Dalinar or Adolin.
Shallan’s anger was a strange sensation. On more than one occasion, she’d been struck by Renarin’s oddness. His presence at this meeting was just another example. Was he thinking of finally joining the ardents? And he did that by simply showing up at a meeting for scribes, as if he were one of the women?
At the same time, how dare Janala embarrass him?
Navani started to say something, but Shallan cut in. “Surely, Janala, you didn’t just try to insult the son of the highprince.”
“What? No, no of course I didn’t.”
“Good,” Shallan said. “Because, if you had been trying to insult him, you did a terrible job. And I’ve heard that you’re very clever. So full of wit, and charm, and … other things.”
Janala frowned at her. “… Is that flattery?”
“We weren’t talking of your chest, dear. We’re speaking of your mind! Your wonderful, brilliant mind, so keen that it’s never been sharpened! So quick, it’s still running when everyone else is done! So dazzling, it’s never failed to leave everyone in awe at the things you say. So … um…”
Jasnah was glaring at her.
“… Hmm…” Shallan held up her notebook. “I took notes.”
“Could we have a short break, Mother?” Jasnah asked.
“An excellent suggestion,” Navani said. “Fifteen minutes, during which everyone should consider a list of requirements this tower would have, if it were to somehow become self-sufficient.”
She rose, and the meeting broke up into individual conversations again.
“I see,” Jasnah said to Shallan, “that you still use your tongue like a bludgeon rather than a knife.”