Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

I should welcome the same. I do not. I fear you.

Formless awoke early on the day of Adolin’s final judgment. It was time. She slipped from the bed and began dressing. Unfortunately, she’d moved a little too quickly, as Adolin stirred and yawned.

“Veil’s clothing,” he noted.

Formless didn’t respond, still dressing.

“Thank you,” Adolin said, “for Shallan’s support last night. I needed her.”

“There are some things only she can do,” Formless said. Would that be a problem, now that Shallan no longer existed?

“What’s wrong, Veil?” Adolin said, sitting up in bed. “You seem different.”

Formless pulled on her coat. “Nothing’s different. I’m the same old Veil.”

Don’t you use my name, Veil thought deep inside. Don’t you dare lie to him like that.

Formless stopped. She’d thought Veil locked away.

“No,” Adolin said. “Something is different. Become Shallan for a moment. I could use her optimism today.”

“Shallan is too weak,” Formless said.

“Is she?”

“You know how troubled her emotions are. She suffers every day from a traitorous mind.” She put on her hat.

“I knew a one-armed swordsman once,” Adolin said, yawning. “He had trouble in duels because he couldn’t hold a shield, or two-hand a sword.”

“Obviously,” Formless said, turning and rummaging in her trunk.

“But I tell you,” Adolin said, “no one could arm-wrestle like Dorolin. No one.”

“What is your point?”

“Who do you think is stronger?” Adolin asked. “The man who has walked easily his entire life, or the man with no legs? The man who must pull himself by his arms?”

She didn’t reply, fiddling with the communication cube, then tucking Mraize’s knife into her pocket along with her gemstone of Stormlight.

“We don’t always see strength the right way,” Adolin said. “Like, who is the better swimmer? The sailor who drowns—giving in at long last to the current after hours of fighting—or the scribe who has never stepped into the water?”

“Do you have a point with these questions?” Formless snapped, slamming her trunk closed. “Because I don’t see one.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Adolin grimaced. “I’m not explaining it well. I just … I don’t think Shallan is as weak as you say. Weakness doesn’t make someone weak, you see. It’s the opposite.”

“That is foolishness,” she said. “Return to sleep. Your trial is in a couple hours, and you shouldn’t be fatigued for it.”

Formless stalked out into the living room. There she hid by the side of the door and waited to see if Adolin followed. Pattern perked up from where he’d been sitting at the desk, and Formless quieted him with a glare.

Adolin didn’t come out. She heard him sigh loudly, but he remained in bed.

Good. She had to act quickly. Formless needed to give him this last gift, the gift of winning here in Lasting Integrity. She owed the memory of Shallan that much.

I know what you’re doing, Veil whispered. I’ve finally figured it out.

Formless froze. She checked on Radiant—tucked into the prison of her mind, trying to break free but unable to speak. So why could Veil?

Well, she could ignore a voice or two. Formless sat at the desk and sketched the layout of the judge’s home. They’d paced it off yesterday, and peeked in windows. With her talent for spatial awareness, this floor plan should be accurate.

You aren’t a new persona, Veil thought. If you were, you couldn’t draw like that. You can lie to yourself, but not me.

Formless froze again. Was this what she wanted? What she really wanted? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

There were so many questions. Why was Veil able to talk? Who had killed Ialai? How would she extricate herself from Adolin, from the Radiants? Was that the life she desired?

Formless steeled herself, quieting the questions. She placed a hand on her forehead, breathing deeply.

Pattern stepped over, so Formless closed the sketchbook and slid it into her satchel.

“… Veil?” Pattern asked. “What are you doing?”

“It has to happen today,” Formless said. She checked the clock. “Soon. Before the judge leaves his quarters.” She gripped the gemstone she’d hidden in her pocket.

“Veil,” Pattern said. “This is not a good idea.”

He is right, Veil thought. He is right, Shallan.

I am Formless, she thought back.

No you’re not, Shallan.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to tell me what is right and wrong, Pattern,” Formless said to him. “We still haven’t dealt with your betrayal and your lies. Perhaps you aren’t the best judge of morality, and should leave that to me.”

His pattern slowed and his shoulders slumped, and he stepped backward as if he wanted to vanish into the shadows.

Formless drew out a little Stormlight, savoring the sensation of it inside her veins. Then she performed a Lightweaving.

It worked. Formless was a composite of the three—a single person with Shallan’s drawing and Lightweaving abilities, Radiant’s determination and ability to get things done, and Veil’s ability to push aside the pain. Veil’s ability to see the truth.

The best of all three of them.

Lies, Shallan, Veil thought. Storms. I should have seen this. I should have known.…

She glanced at herself in the mirror, and found the Lightweaving to be perfect. She looked exactly like Lusintia, the honorspren woman. She even gave off the same faint glow. This was going to be so easy.

Formless packed her drawing tools in case she needed to quickly sketch a new face. A Lightweaving disguised her satchel as a cloth bag like the ones the honorspren used.

Bells from below announced that it was about an hour until the trial. She crossed the room, passing Pattern, who had withdrawn to the corner. He stood in the shadows, his pattern moving lethargically.

“What’s happening?” he said. “Something is very wrong with you, Shallan. I have handled this so poorly. I talked to Wit yesterday, and he—”

“You’re still doing that?” Formless said. “You’re still disobeying me?”

Pattern pulled away further.

“I’ve had enough of you,” Formless hissed. “Stay here and cover for me with Adolin. We’ll talk about this at length after the trial.”

She took a deep breath and peeked out to make sure no one was watching—they might wonder why Lusintia had been in Shallan’s house—then slipped out and began crossing the southern plane. The fortress was quiet. Spren didn’t sleep, but they did have less active periods. They would congregate at “night” in the homes of friends, leaving the walkways of the fortress relatively unwatched.

A few leaves fluttered through the open air between the four sides. Formless tried not to look at the other three planes, three cities making an impossible box around her. She wasn’t good at—

“Veil,” a voice said behind her. “I need to explain. I must tell you the truth. Mmm…”

She groaned and turned. Pattern was following her like a barely weaned axehound pup.