Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

Anytime Veil’s path took her closer to the city walls, she entered sections of the city that were the most cramped, and the most despondent. Refugees just sitting on the streets. Vacant eyes, ragged clothing. People without homes or community.

The closer she drew to the palace though, the emptier the city became. Even the unfortunates who populated the streets near the walls—where the Voidbringers were raiding—knew to stay away from this area.

That made the homes of the wealthy here in the palace district seem … out of place. In normal times, living close to the palace would have been a privilege, and every large compound here had private walls that sheltered delicate gardens and ostentatious windows. But now, Veil felt the wrongness of the area as a prickling sensation on her skin. The families living here must have felt it, but they stubbornly remained in their mansions.

She peeked through the iron gate of one such mansion, and found soldiers on sentry duty: men in dark uniforms whose colors and heraldry she couldn’t discern. In fact, when one glanced at her, she couldn’t make out his eyes. It was probably just a trick of the light, but … storms. The soldiers had a wrongness about them; they moved oddly, rushing in bursts, like prowling predators. They didn’t stop to talk to each other as they passed.

She backed away and continued down the street. The palace was right ahead. Straight on in front of it were the wide steps where she’d meet Kaladin, but she had some time left. She slipped into a park nearby, the first she’d seen in the city that wasn’t clogged with refugees. Towering stumpweight trees—bred over time for height and spread of leaves—gave a shadowed canopy.

Away from potential prying eyes, she used Stormlight to overlay Veil’s features and clothing with those of Lyn. A stronger, more sturdy build, a blue scout’s uniform. The hat became a black rain hat, of the type often worn during the Weeping.

She left the park as Veil playing a part. She tried to keep this distinction sharp in her mind. She was still Veil. Merely in disguise.

Now, to see what she could find out about the Oathgate. The palace was built on a rise overlooking the city, and she slipped through the streets to its eastern side, where she indeed found the Oathgate platform. It was covered in buildings, and was as high as the palace—maybe twenty feet up. It connected to the main palace by a covered walkway that rested atop a small wall.

They built that walkway right over the ramp, she thought with displeasure. The only other paths up onto the platform were sets of steps cut into the rock, and those were guarded by people in spren costumes.

Veil watched from a safe distance. So the cult was involved in this somehow? Above on the platform, smoke trailed from a large fire, and Veil could hear sounds rising from that direction. Were those … screams?

The whole place was unnerving, and she shivered, then retreated. She found Kaladin leaning against the base of a statue in a square before the palace steps. Soulcast out of bronze, the statue depicted a figure in Shardplate rising as if from waves.

“Hey,” she said softly. “It’s me. Do you like the boots on this outfit?” She raised her foot.

“Do we have to keep bringing that up?”

“I was giving you a passcode, bridgeboy,” she said. “To prove I’m who I say I am.”

“Lyn’s face made that clear,” he said, handing her the king’s letter, inside a sealed envelope.

I like him, Veil thought. An … odd thought, in how much stronger that feeling was to Veil than it had been to Shallan. I like that brooding sense he has about him, those dangerous eyes.

Why did Shallan focus so much on Adolin? He was nice, but also bland. You couldn’t tease him without feeling bad, but Kaladin, he glared at you in the most satisfying of ways.

The part of her that was still Shallan, deep down, was bothered by this line of thinking. So instead, Veil turned her attention to the palace. It was a grand structure, but more like a fortress than she’d pictured. Very Alethi. The bottom floor was a massive rectangle, with the short side facing toward the storm. The upper levels were successively thinner, and a dome rose from the center of the building.

From up close, she couldn’t make out exactly where the sunlight stopped and the shadow began. Indeed, the air of darkness felt … different from how Urithiru had when the dark spren was there. She kept feeling that she wasn’t seeing it all. When she’d glance away and look back, she could swear that something was different. Had that planter moved, the one running along the grand entry steps? Or … had that door always been painted blue?

She took a Memory, then looked away and back, and took another Memory. She wasn’t certain what good it would do, as she’d had trouble drawing the palace earlier.

“Do you see them?” Kaladin whispered. “The soldiers, standing between the pillars?”

She hadn’t. The front of the palace—at the top of the long set of stairs—was set with pillars. Looking closer into the shadows, she saw men in there, gathered beneath the overhang supported by the columns. They stood like statues, their spears upright, never moving.

Anticipationspren rose around Veil, and she jumped. While two of the spren looked normal—like flat streamers—the others were wrong. They waved long, thin tendrils that looked like lashes to whip a servant.

She shared a glance with Kaladin, then took a Memory of the spren.

“Shall we?” Kaladin asked.

“I shall. You stay here.”

He glanced at her.

“If something goes wrong, I’d rather you be ready out here to come in and help. Best not to potentially get us both stuck in the grip of one of the Unmade. I’ll shout if I need you.”

“And if you can’t shout? Or if I can’t hear you?”

“I’ll send Pattern.”

Kaladin folded his arms, but nodded. “Fine. Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, but he was thinking of Shallan. Veil wasn’t as foolhardy.

The climb up those steps seemed to take far too long. For a moment she could have sworn they stretched into the sky, toward the eternal void. And then she was atop them, standing before those pillars.

A group of guards approached her.

“I have a message from the king!” she said, holding it up. “To be delivered directly to Her Majesty. I’ve traveled all the way from the Shattered Plains!”

The guards didn’t break stride. One opened a door into the palace while the others formed up behind Veil, prodding her forward. She swallowed, sweat chilling her brow, and let them force her to that door. That maw …

She walked into a grand entryway, marked by marble and a brilliant sphere chandelier. No Unmade. No darkness waiting to consume her. She breathed out, though she could feel something. That phantom eeriness was indeed stronger here. The wrongness. She jumped when one of the soldiers put his hand on her shoulder.

A man in a captainlord’s knots left a small room beside the grand chamber. “What is this?”

“Messenger,” a soldier said. “From the Shattered Plains.” Another plucked the letter from her fingers and handed it toward the captainlord. She could see their eyes now, and they seemed ordinary—darkeyed grunts, lighteyed officer.

“Who was your commander there?” the captain asked her, looking over the letter, then squinting at the seal. “Well? I served on the Plains for a few years.”