Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

She narrowed her eyes at him. “All right. What do you want this time?”

He grinned in his predatory way.

“You always make me want to do the things you ask,” Shallan said. “You tempt me not just with rewards, but with the secrets—or the dangers—themselves. You knew I’d be intrigued by what Amaram was studying. You knew I’d want to stop Ialai because of the threat she presented to Adolin. I always end up doing what you want. So what is it this time? What are you going to make me do?”

“You become a hunter in truth. I have known from the beginning your potential.” He looked to her, light violet eyes lingering on her still-red hair. “There is a man. Restares. You know the name?”

“I’ve heard of him. He was connected to the Sons of Honor?” Though she might have heard the name before getting Ialai’s book, it was written several times in there. The woman had been trying to contact him.

“He was their leader, at one point,” Mraize said. “Perhaps their founder, though we aren’t certain. Either way, he was involved from the beginning—and he knew the extent of what Gavilar was doing. Restares is perhaps the only living person who did.”

“Great. You want me to find him?”

“Oh, we know where he is,” Mraize said. “He has asked for—and been granted—asylum in a city no other Ghostblood has been able to enter.”

“A place you can’t enter?” Shallan asked. “Where is security that tight?”

“The fortress named Lasting Integrity,” Mraize said. “Home and capital city of the honorspren in Shadesmar.”

Shallan let out a long whistle of appreciation. The chicken, curiously, mimicked it.

“This is your mission,” Mraize said. “Find your way to Lasting Integrity. Get in, then find Restares. There should be no more than a handful of humans in the city; in fact, he might be the only one. We don’t know.”

“How am I supposed to accomplish that?”

“You are resourceful,” Mraize said. “You and yours have connections to the spren that no other Ghostblood has been able to manage so far.” His eyes flickered to Pattern, who sat on her coat, silent as usual when others were talking. “You will find a way.”

“Assuming I am able to do this,” Shallan said, “what should I do with the man? I’m not going to kill him.”

“Don’t be so hasty,” Mraize said. “When you find him, you’ll know what to do.”

“I doubt that.”

“Oh, you will. And once you successfully return from this mission, your reward will be—as always—something for which you hunger. Answers. All of them.”

She frowned.

“We will hold nothing back,” Mraize said. “Everything we know becomes yours after this.”

Shallan folded her arms, weighing her desires. For well over a year now, she’d told herself that she only continued with the Ghostbloods to find out their secrets. But Veil liked being part of them. The thrill of the intrigue. Even the suspense of potentially being found out.

Shallan, however, had always been seeking answers. Real secrets. Surely even Jasnah couldn’t be too angry with Shallan. She was infiltrating them, seeking to find their answers. Once Shallan learned everything the Ghostbloods had been hiding, she could go to Jasnah. What good would it do to pull out when the ultimate prize was so close?

I sense another reason you’re doing this, Shallan, Radiant thought at her. What is it? What aren’t you sharing with us?

“Aren’t you afraid?” Shallan asked Mraize, ignoring Radiant. “If I know your secrets, you’ll no longer have power to keep stringing me along. You won’t be able to keep bribing me.”

“If you do this, little knife,” he said, “you won’t need to be bribed any longer. Once you complete the mission with Restares and return, you may ask me any questions, and I will answer with what I know. About the world. About the Radiants. About other places. About you, and your past…”

He thought to tease that last one. But at it, Shallan shuddered, trembling deep inside. Formless grew stronger each time she thought about that.

“After getting your answers,” Mraize continued, “if you decide you no longer desire our association, you may leave us as Radiant wishes. She is weak, but everyone has weakness within them. If you succumb to yours, then so be it.”

She folded her arms, considering.

“I’m being sincere,” Mraize said. “I cannot promise you will be safe if you leave; other members of the organization do not like you. I do promise that I will not hunt you or yours, nor will my babsk. We will discourage others.”

“An easy promise,” Shallan said, “because you are certain I will never leave the Ghostbloods.”

“Find a reason to visit the honorspren,” Mraize said. “Then we shall talk.” He lifted his arm and threw the bird off toward another hunt.

Shallan gave no promise, but as she walked away, she knew he had her. They’d been hooked as soundly as any fish. For in Mraize’s mind were answers. About the nature of the world and its politics, but more beyond. About Shallan. The Davar house steward had belonged to the Ghostbloods. It was possible Shallan’s father had as well. Mraize had never been willing to speak of that, but she had to think they’d been grooming her—and her family—for over a decade.

He knew the truth about Shallan’s past. There were holes in her childhood memories. If they did what he asked, Mraize would fill them.

And maybe then, at long last, Veil could force Shallan to become complete.

All gemstones leak Stormlight at a slow rate—but so long as the crystal structure remains mostly intact, the spren cannot escape. Managing this leakage is important, as many fabrials also lose Stormlight through operation. All of this is tied up in the intricacies of the art. As is understanding one last vital kind of spren: logicspren.

—Lecture on fabrial mechanics presented by Navani Kholin to the coalition of monarchs, Urithiru, Jesevan, 1175

The palace at Kholinar had undergone a dramatic transformation. To a new form, so to speak. Here, more than any other place in the city, Venli felt she could look into the past and see the history of her people.

Gone was the ornate, but boring human fortress. In its place stood a grand construction that used many of the original foundations and walls, but expanded upon them in a unique design. Instead of boxy lines, it contained grand arcs, with large ridges sweeping down from the sides like curved blades. These multiplied toward the top, the ridges rising to points.

The result was a curved conical shape, the peak resembling a crown. The architecture had a distinctly organic feel, enhanced by walls grown over with shalebark to give a rough, uneven texture. The palace vaguely resembled a plant: bulging at the base, with gentle blades sweeping up to the cap.

Venli approached, attuned to Tension. The last twenty hours had been a chaotic jumble as she’d accompanied Leshwi through the city, meeting with other Fused, looking for information. Venli didn’t completely understand why it had set Leshwi off, but a new group of Fused spirits had awakened and come for bodies.

That wasn’t unexpected. Some of the Fused on Braize slumbered, or … hibernated? Meditated? They were coming aware in groups, and joining the battle. But several in particular had Leshwi worried. Perhaps terrified. After a day of chaos spent investigating with Leshwi, Venli had awakened to thunder early in the morning. The Everstorm.