Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

“You’ll make them match the others,” Nananav said to Ishnah, who wore the guise of a rug merchant. “I won’t stand for them to be even a shade off. When you return with the repaired rugs, I’m going to set them beside the ones in other rooms to check!”

“Yes, Brightness,” Ishnah said. “But the damage is much worse than I—”

“These rugs were woven in Shinovar. They were made by a blind man who trained thirty years with a master weaver before being allowed to produce his own rugs! He died after finishing my commission, so there are no others like these.”

“I’m well aware, as you’ve told me three times now.…”

Veil took a Memory of the woman; then she and Vathah slipped past the room, continuing along the atrium. They were supposedly part of Ishnah’s staff, and wouldn’t be suffered to wander about freely. Red—noting that they were on their way—started to head back to rejoin Ishnah. He’d have been excused to visit the privy, but would be missed if he was gone too long.

His tune cut off.

Veil opened a door and pulled Vathah inside, heart thrumming as—right outside—a pair of guards walked down the stairwell from the second level.

“I still say we should be doing this at night,” Vathah whispered.

“They have this place guarded like a fort at night.”

The change of the guard was in midmorning, so Veil and the others had come just before that. Theoretically, this meant the guards would be tired and bored after an uneventful night.

Veil and Vathah had entered a small library lit by a few spheres in a goblet on the table. Vathah eyed them, but didn’t move—this infiltration was about far more than a few chips. Veil set down her pack and rummaged until she got out a notebook and charcoal pencil.

Veil took a deep breath, then let Shallan bleed back into existence. She quickly sketched Nananav from the glimpse earlier.

“I’m still amazed you were both of them, all along,” Vathah said. “You don’t act anything like one another.”

“That’s rather the point, Vathah.”

“I wish I’d picked it out myself.” He grunted, scratching the side of his head. “I like Veil.”

“Not me?”

“You’re my boss. I’m not supposed to like you.”

Straightforward, if rude. At least you always knew where you stood with him. He listened at the door, then cracked it open, tracking the guards. “All right. We go up the stairs, then come back along the second-floor walkway. We grab the goods, stuff them in the dumbwaiter, and make for the exit. Storms. I wish we could do this when nobody was awake.”

“What would be the fun of that?” Shallan finished her drawing with a flourish, then stood, poking Vathah in the side. “Admit it. You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m as nervous as a new recruit on his first day at war,” Vathah said. “My hands shake, and I swear every noise means someone spotted us. I feel sick.”

“See?” Shallan said. “Fun.” She pushed beside him and glanced out through the cracked door. Storming guards. They’d set up in the atrium nearby. They could undoubtedly hear the real Nananav’s voice from there, so if Shallan strolled out wearing the woman’s face, that would certainly cause alarm.

Time to get creative. Pattern buzzed as she considered. Make the waterfalls flow again? Illusions of strange spren? No … no, nothing so theatrical. Shallan was letting her sense of the dramatic run away with her.

Stay simple, as she’d done before. Veil’s way. She closed her eyes and breathed out, pressing the Light into Pattern, Lightweaving only sound—that of Nananav calling the guards into the room where she was lecturing Ishnah. Why come up with a new trick when the old ones worked fine? Veil didn’t feel the need to improvise merely to be different.

Pattern carried the illusion away, and the sound lured the guards off down the hall. Shallan led Vathah out of the library, then around the corner and up the steps. She breathed out Stormlight, which washed over her, and became Veil fully. Then Veil became the woman who was not quite Veil, with the dimples. And then, layered on top of that, she became Nananav.

Arrogant. Talkative. Certain that everyone around her was just looking for a reason not to do things properly. As they stepped onto the next floor, she adopted a calm, measured gait, eyeing the banister. When had that last been polished?

“I don’t find this fun,” Vathah said, walking beside her. “But I do like it.”

“Then it’s fun.”

“Fun is winning at cards. This is something else.”

He’d taken to his role earnestly, but she really should look at getting more refined servants. Vathah was like a hog in human clothing, always grunting and mulling about.

Why shouldn’t she be served by the best? She was a Knight Radiant. She shouldn’t have to put up with barely human deserters who looked like something Shallan would draw after a hard night drinking, and maybe while holding the pencil with her teeth.

The role is getting to you, a part of her whispered. Careful. She glanced about for Pattern, but he was still below.

They stopped at a second-floor room, locked tightly. The plan was for Pattern to open it, but she didn’t have the patience to wait. Besides, a master-servant was walking along.

He gave a bow when he saw Nananav.

“That is your bow?” Nananav said. “That quick bob? Where did they teach you that?”

“My apologies, Brightness,” the man said, bowing more deeply.

“I could cut your legs off at the knees,” Nananav said. “Then maybe you’d at least appear properly penitent.” She rapped on the door. “Open this.”

“Why—” He broke off, perhaps realizing she was not in a mood for complaints. He hurried forward and undid the combination lock on the door, then pulled it open for her, letting out air that smelled of spice.

“You may go do penance for your insult to me,” Nananav said. “Climb to the roof and sit there for exactly one hour.”

“Brightness, if I have offended—”

“If?” She pointed. “Go!”

He gave another bow—barely sufficient—and ran off.

“You might be overdoing that, Brightness,” Vathah said, rubbing his chin. “She has a reputation for being difficult, not insane.”

“Shut up,” Nananav said, striding into the room.

The mansion’s larder.

Racks of dried sausages covered one wall. Sacks of grain were stacked in the back, and boxes filled with longroots and other tubers covered the floor. Bags of spices. Small jugs of oil.

Vathah pulled the door closed, then hurriedly began stuffing sausages in a sack. Nananav wasn’t so hasty. This was a good place to keep it all, nice and locked up. Taking it elsewhere seemed … well, a crime.

Maybe she could move into Rockfall, act the part. And the former lady of the house? Well, she was an inferior version, obviously. Just deal with her, take her place. It would feel right, wouldn’t it?

With a chill, Veil let one layer of illusion drop. Storms … Storms. What had that been?

“Not to give offense, Brightness,” Vathah said, putting his sack of sausages in the dumbwaiter, “but you can stand there and supervise. Or you can storming help, and get twice as much food along with half as much ego.”