Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he admitted, and she could hear the smile on his lips. “But always beautiful.”

He thought that. He actually did. She tried to believe she deserved it, but it was difficult. She was so wrapped up in lies, she literally didn’t know who she was anymore.

What if he found out? What if he knew what she really was?

“Your terrible taste in women,” Shallan whispered, “is one of the things I love most about you.” She pressed her head to his chest again, feeling the blond hairs tickle her cheek. “And I do love you. That’s the only thing I’ve figured out about my life.”

“After today, I have to agree with you on this trial idea of mine. It was a terrible plan.”

“I’d be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I couldn’t love you despite your occasional stupid idea.”

He rubbed the back of her head through her hair. “They’re going to imprison me,” he said. “They’re already building the cell. I will be a symbol to them, a display for other spren to come and see.”

“I’ll break you out,” Shallan said.

“How?”

“I stole some Stormlight,” she said. “I’ll grab my agents and Godeke, and we’ll stage a rescue. I doubt the honorspren will give chase; they’re too paranoid for that.”

Adolin breathed out in the darkness.

“Not going to forbid me?” Shallan asked.

“I … don’t know,” he said. “There are some here who want to listen to me, Shallan. Some I can persuade. But they’re afraid of dying, and I find myself uncertain. Not everyone is suited to war, and that’s what I’m recruiting them for. I can’t truthfully promise them they’ll live, that their Radiants won’t betray them. Maybe it’s not right to demand they join us.”

“Kelek told you their leaders were considering going to the enemy’s side,” Shallan said. “If that happens, those spren will end up bonding people anyway, regardless of what they think now. And the people they’ll bond aren’t the type to worry about the safety of their spren.”

“True,” Adolin said. “Storms, I wish I could get through to everyone here. Maybe tomorrow. I have a chance to rebut their witness, ask my own questions.…”

“Adolin? You said this is a terrible plan. Will the last day change that?”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But at least it’s a terrible plan that lets me engage with them. It lets them see a human trying to be honorable. Even if he’s terrible at it.”

“You’re not terrible at being honorable.”

He grimaced. “Someone smarter could have won this,” he said softly. “Jasnah could have made them see. Instead it’s just me. I wish … I wish I knew, Shallan. What to do. How to make them see.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to return to that earlier moment of perfection. She couldn’t. There was too much pain in his voice. His heartbeat had sped up. His breathing no longer felt serene to her, but frustrated.

It tore her apart to hear him like this. This was the man who had kept them all together when Kholinar fell, the man who was normally so optimistic. He’d come here determined to prove to his father—and maybe to himself—that he was still valuable. This stupid trial was going to take that from him.

Unless.

No, Radiant thought. We can’t fulfill Mraize’s plan. He’s manipulating you.

We do what two of us agree to, Shallan said. And I agree it is time to do as Mraize wants. We will take Kelek’s soul, and we will imitate him at the trial. Veil and I will—

No, Veil thought.

Shallan’s breath caught. What?

I change my mind, Veil said. I side with Radiant. I will not go kill Kelek. Two against one, Shallan.

Something stirred deep inside of Shallan.

“I…” Adolin whispered. “I wish I could find out who killed that poor Cryptic. That’s what ruined it today. Ruined it all.”

It is time.

“This trial is not ruined,” Formless said to Adolin. “You know, the more I contemplate it, the more I think maybe this trial wasn’t such a bad idea. You’re right. At least you’re getting a chance to show them what an honorable man looks like.”

“For all the good it’s doing,” Adolin said.

“I don’t know,” Formless said. “The High Judge is one of the Heralds. Maybe he’ll end up surprising you.…”

And so, I’ll die.

Yes, die. If you’re reading this and wondering what went wrong—why my soul evaporated soon after being claimed by the gemstone in your knife—then I name you idiot for playing with powers you only presume to understand.

Teft felt like a wet sack of socks that had been left out in a storm. The honest-by-Kelek’s-own-breath truth was that he’d figured he’d done it again. When he’d woken up naked and sickly, he’d assumed he’d gone back to the moss. In that moment, he’d hated himself.

Then he’d seen Dabbid and Rlain. When he saw their joy—more heard it in Rlain’s case—Teft knew he couldn’t truly hate himself. This was where the oaths had brought him. His self-loathing was, day by day, fading away. Sometimes it surged again. But he was stronger than it was.

The others loved him. So, whatever he’d done, he would get up and make it right. That was the oath he’d taken, and by the Almighty’s tenth name, he would keep it.

For them.

Then he’d found out the truth. He hadn’t broken. He hadn’t taken up the moss. It wasn’t his fault. For once in his storming excuse for a life, he had been kicked to the gutter and woken up with a headache—and it hadn’t been due to his own weakness.

A few days of healing later, he still found it remarkable. His streak held strong. Almost seven months with no moss. Damnation. He had an urge for some moss now, honestly. It would take the edge off his pounding headache.

But Damnation. Seven months. That was the longest he’d gone without touching the stuff since … well, since joining the army. Thirty years.

Never count those years, Teft, he told himself as Dabbid brought him some soup. Count the ones you’ve been with friends.

The soup had some meat in it, finally. What did they think would happen if he ate something proper? He’d been out for a few days, not a few years. That wasn’t enough time to turn into some kind of invalid.

In fact, he seemed to have weathered it better than Kaladin. Stormblessed sat on the floor—refused to take the bench because it was “Teft’s.” Had a haunted look to him and was a little shrunken, like he’d been hollowed out with a spoon. Whatever he’d seen when suffering those fevers, it hadn’t done him any good.

Teft had felt that way before. Right now he was mostly aches, but he’d felt that way too.

“And we were supposed to be off storming duty,” Teft grumbled, eating the cold soup. “Civvies. This is how we end up? Fate can be a bastard, eh, Kal?”

“I’m just glad to hear your voice,” Kaladin said, taking a bowl of soup from Dabbid. “Wish I could hear hers…”

His spren. He’d lost her somehow, in the fighting when he’d gotten wounded.