“Captain Colot,” she said, naming the officer who had joined the Windrunners. He wasn’t Lyn’s actual commander, but he did have scouts in his team.
The captainlord nodded, then handed the letter to one of his men. “Take it to Queen Aesudan.”
“I was supposed to deliver it in person,” Veil said, though she itched to be out of this place. To flee madly, if she were being honest. She had to stay. Whatever she learned here would be of—
One of the soldiers ran her through.
It happened so quickly, she was left gaping at the sword blade protruding through her chest—wet with her blood. He yanked the weapon back out, and Veil collapsed with a groan. She reached for Stormlight, by instinct.
No … no, do as … as Jasnah did …
Pretend. Feign. She stared up at the men in horror, in betrayal, painspren rising around her. One soldier jogged off with the message, but the captain merely walked back toward his post. Not one of the rest said a word as she bled all over the floor, her vision fading …
She let her eyes close, then took in a short, sharp breath of Stormlight. Just a tiny amount, which she kept within, holding her breath. Enough to keep her alive, heal the wounds inside …
Pattern. Please don’t go. Don’t do anything. Don’t hum, don’t buzz. Quiet. Stay quiet.
One of the soldiers picked her up and slung her over his shoulder, then carried her through the palace. She dared cracking a single eye, and found the wide hallway here was lined with dozens upon dozens of soldiers. Just … standing there. They were alive; they’d cough, or shift position. Some leaned back against the wall, but they all kind of stayed in place. Human, but wrong.
The guard carrying her passed a floor-to-ceiling mirror rimmed in a fancy bronze frame. In it, she glimpsed the guard with Lyn thrown over his shoulder. And beyond that, deep within the mirror, something turned—the normal image fading—and looked toward Shallan with a sudden and surprised motion. It looked like a shadow of a person, only with white spots for eyes.
Veil quickly closed her peeking eye. Storms, what had that been?
Don’t shift. Stay perfectly still. Don’t even breathe. Stormlight allowed her to survive without air.
The guard carried her down some steps, then opened a door and walked down a few more. He dropped her none too gently onto the stone and tossed her hat on top of her, then turned and left, closing a door behind him.
Veil waited as long as she could stand before opening her eyes and finding herself in darkness. She took a breath, and nearly choked at the rotten, musty stench. Dreading and suspecting what she might find, she drew in Stormlight and made herself glow.
She’d been dropped beside a small line of corpses. There were seven of them, three male and four female, wearing fine clothing—but covered in rotspren, their flesh chewed at by cremlings.
Holding in a scream, she scrambled to her feet. Perhaps … perhaps these were some of those lighteyes who’d come to the palace to talk to the queen?
She snatched her hat and scrambled to the steps. This was the wine cellar, a stone vault cut right into the rock. At the door she finally heard Pattern, who had been talking, though his voice had seemed distant.
“Shallan? I felt what you told me. Don’t go. Shallan, are you well? Oh! The destruction. You destroy some things, but seeing others destroyed upsets you. Hmmmm.…” He seemed pleased to have figured it out.
She focused on his voice, something familiar. Not the memory of a sword protruding from her own chest, not the callous way she’d been dumped here and left to rot, not the line of corpses with exposed bones, haunted faces, chewed-out eyes …
Don’t think. Don’t see it.
She shoved it all away, and rested her forehead against the door. Then she carefully eased it open and found an empty stone hallway beyond, with more steps leading upward.
There were too many soldiers that way. She put on a new illusion, of a servant woman from her sketchbook. Maybe that would be less suspicious. It covered the blood, at least.
She didn’t head back upstairs, but instead took a separate path farther into the tunnels. This turned out to be the Kholin mausoleum, which was lined with another kind of corpse: old kings turned to statues. Their stone eyes chased her down empty tunnels until she found a door that, judging from the sunlight underneath, led out into the city.
“Pattern,” she whispered. “Check for guards outside.”
He hummed and slid under the door, then returned a moment later. “Mmm … There are two.”
“Go back, then along the wall slowly to the right,” she said, infusing him.
He did so, sliding under the door. A sound she’d created rose from him as he moved away, imitating the captainlord’s voice from above, calling for the guards. It wasn’t perfect, as she hadn’t sketched the man, but it seemed to work as she heard booted feet move off.
She slipped out, and found herself at the base of the rise that the palace sat upon, a cliff of some twenty feet above her. The guards were distracted, walking to her right, so Veil slipped onto a street nearby, then ran for a short time, thankful to finally have a chance to work off some of her energy.
She collapsed in the shadow of a hollow building, with the windows broken open and the door missing. Pattern scooted along the ground nearby, joining her. The guards didn’t seem to have noticed her.
“Go find Kaladin,” she said to Pattern. “Bring him here. Warn him that soldiers might be watching him from the palace, and they might come for him.”
“Mmmm.” Pattern slid away from her. She huddled against herself, back to a stone wall, her coat still covered in blood. After a nerve-racking wait, Kaladin stepped onto the street, then hurried up to her. “Storms!” he said, kneeling beside her. Pattern slipped off his coat, humming happily. “Shallan, what happened to you?”
“Well,” she said, “as a connoisseur of things that have killed me, I think a sword happened.”
“Shallan…”
“The evil force that rules the palace did not think highly of someone coming with a letter from the king.” She smiled at him. “You could say, um, it made that point quite clear.”
Smile. I need you to smile.
I need what happened to be all right. Something that can simply roll off me.
Please.
“Well…” Kaladin said. “I’m glad we … took a stab at this anyway.” He smiled.
It was all right. Just another day, another infiltration. He helped her to her feet, then looked to check on her wound, and she slapped his hand. The cut was not in an appropriate location.
“Sorry,” he said. “Surgeon’s instincts. Back to the hideout?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “I’d rather not be killed again today. It’s quite draining.…”
The disagreements between the Skybreakers and the Windrunners have grown to tragic levels. I plead with any who hear this to recognize you are not so different as you think.
—From drawer 27-19, topaz
Dalinar reached into the dark stone shaft where he’d hidden the assassin’s Honorblade. It was still there; he felt the hilt under the lip of stone.
He expected to feel more upon touching it. Power? A tingling? This was a weapon of Heralds, a thing so ancient that common Shardblades were young by comparison. Yet, as he slipped it free and stood up, the only thing he felt was his own anger. This was the weapon of the assassin who had killed his brother. The weapon used to terrorize Roshar, murder the lords of Jah Keved and Azir.