Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“You should drink less,” Adolin said.

She poked him on the shoulder. “You should stop sounding like your father.”

“Low blow, Veil,” he said with a wince. “But point taken. Watch our things.”

He went and got Maya, who followed when he asked. He likely thought she needed to get some exercise or something. He was a little strange about that spren.

I think the way he cares for her is sweet, Shallan thought.

Maybe it was. But it was strange too. Veil sauntered over to Unativi. “You can all go, if you want,” she said to the group of peakspren. “I’m going to stay behind anyway, so I can watch the barge.”

Unativi studied her, the light of his molten interior growing brighter through the cracks in his skin. “You stay? Why?”

She shrugged. “I’ve had a chance already today. You can all go; the boat doesn’t need more than one guard. It’s not like there’s any danger here, right?”

“If there were,” Unativi said, “you are Radiant. Better at facing it than a peakspren!” He turned to his sailors, who seemed eager. A couple of weeks on the same barge could make anyone bored of the scenery, including sailors.

Soon, Veil was blessedly alone. So far this trip, she’d been alone only when using the chamber pot in the draped-off section beneath the tarp. Even that had been situated far too near everyone else for comfort. She—

“Mmmmm…”

She spun and found that of course Pattern was still there. Watching her. “Going to contact Mraize, Veil?” he asked with a peppy voice. “Mmm…”

Yes, she was. All three were in agreement that they needed to talk to him, but it was uncomfortable how easily Pattern recognized this.

“Stay here,” she said to him, “and make certain nobody interrupts me.”

“Oh. I can’t listen?” His pattern slowed, seeming to almost wilt. “I like Mraize. He is very strange. Ha ha.”

“It would be better if someone were to watch out for me,” Veil said. Then she sighed. “Though it might be good for you to listen to Mraize too. You might spot something untrue that he says.”

“I do not think he says things that are fully untrue,” Pattern said. “Which makes his lies the best. Mmm. But I cannot tell automatically if something is a lie. I can simply appreciate them better than most, once I realize what they are.”

Well, in Veil’s experience, he was more expert at noticing subterfuge than many humans. She waved for him to join her under the awning, still happy to be mostly alone.

Part of her worried about that emotion. She’d lived a double life for basically the entire time she’d known Adolin—and it put a strain on Shallan. Worse, lying to herself was so ingrained it was becoming second nature.

This is a problem, Shallan, Veil thought as she made her way back to her trunk.

I’m getting better, Shallan retorted. No new personas in over a year now.

And Formless? Radiant demanded.

Formless isn’t real. Not yet, Shallan thought. We’re close to getting out of the Ghostbloods. One more mission, and we’re done. And Formless won’t manifest.

Veil had her suspicions. And she had to admit, she was a big part of the problem herself. Shallan idealized how Veil was able to live so relaxed, without worrying about her past or the things she’d done. Indeed, Shallan conflated this attitude with the life the Ghostbloods lived. A life she was beginning to envy …

Get answers, Shallan thought. Stop thinking about this. We need to contact Mraize before time runs out.

Veil sighed, but positioned Pattern near the open front of the tarp enclosure. He would be able to hear the conversation with Mraize, but could warn her if someone came onto the barge. Then she unlocked her trunk of personal effects.

Here she paused. Then she let Shallan take over for a few moments. Long enough to be certain.

Yes, Shallan thought. It has been moved again.

They’d checked it every day since that first time, and this was only the second time it had been moved. The night she’d gotten drunk. Inside, Radiant groaned in annoyance.

Sorry, Veil thought, taking over. But we can’t watch it all the time. Besides, we want the spy to feel comfortable using it, right? So that we have more chances to catch them?

Regardless, she couldn’t deny it felt creepy to know someone had snuck in and somehow used the cube while she was snoring a few feet away. She lifted the cube and inspected it. Other than having been set so a different face was up, nothing about it seemed different.

How did she activate it? Mraize had said to use his name. “I need to speak to Mraize. Um, that’s actually his title rather than his name.…”

The cube’s corners began to shine from a bright light inside, as if the metal were thinner there.

“I know him,” the cube said, making Veil start.

“You can talk!” she said.

It didn’t reply. She frowned, looking closely at the seams—the glow shimmered and changed. A short time later a strong voice came from inside, making the cube quiver in her hands.

“Little knife,” Mraize said. “I’ve been waiting.”

* * *

Adolin kept to his own rules, and didn’t wander off alone. He and Maya stuck close to his soldiers and scribe, who walked the small town in a tight cluster, laughing too loudly as they chatted—as if trying to prove they were absolutely not nervous to be in such a strange location.

Normally he would have joined in to put them at ease, but he found himself weighed down by the seriousness of the task ahead of him. His worries were resurfacing, now that the voyage was over. He needed to prove he could bring the honorspren to the coalition. After failing at Kholinar, he just … he needed to do this. Not for his father. For the coalition. For the war. For his homeland.

He tried to focus on the next step, which involved getting supplies at this waystop. It was basically a market, meant to cater to caravans and merchant ships. Like in Celebrant—the other spren city he’d visited—most of the buildings were made up of a mishmash of types of stone, speckled a variety of colors. Manifested building materials. Real rock and metal were far more valuable here, as they had to be transported in through a portal like the Oathgates.

There was no cohesive sense of architecture to the buildings. Azish influences were most common, but spren took what they could get, and so ended up with a patchwork of designs and styles. Most of the spren running the shops appeared to be cultivationspren. They called out offers in Azish or Alethi, offering fresh water or food supplies they knew humans might want.

Browsing the goods were spren of all varieties. Of those, he found the ashspren the most transfixing. They looked like people, but their flesh would crumble off at times, exposing bone. As he passed one, she snapped her fingers, making all the ash of her hand blow away and vanish—then it quickly grew back. He even spotted a couple of highspren, like tears in reality in the shape of people. He gave them a wide berth, though they seemed to be just another pair of merchants.

Spren clothing was as eclectic as their building materials. He passed one peakspren wearing a Veden uniform coat over a Tashikki wrap, of all things. It should have been garish—and certainly Adolin would never have worn any of it together—but he didn’t find himself bothered. They’d taken human clothing and made it their own; why should they follow the trends of kingdoms in another world?