Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The conversation came in bits and pieces, as if spoken from far away, down a long, echoing corridor. He could hear the bridgeman’s voice, pleading with another. No, two others. He caught perhaps one word in five, but the ones he could hear made him shudder.

They were here to kill him, just as he had always feared. It wasn’t the Assassin in White. His father’s killer had no interest in the son. No, he had wanted Dalinar, the man who should be king instead of the one that was king. Even his death, even his failure was a reminder that he was not meant for this.

A king on the outside, a coward on the inside. Any delusions of his authority were an illusion in truth.

Darkness was coming for him, crawling in at the edges of his vision. Shifting figures crowded forward.

Elhokar Kholin’s hearing faded which, even in the state he was in, he realized was a bad thing.

Truth. The word drifted through his mind. Give us a truth.

“Y-you want to know the truth?” Elhokar mumbled. “You can have it. I’m a b-bad king. I’m n-not my f-father, and I’m n-not Dalinar.”

We accept this truth, Elhokar Kholin.

“W-what does t-that--”

In the hallway, Kaladin was still fighting with the assassins. He said something, and the world exploded into blue and white, mixed with gold and black. The light was blinding, and Elhokar cried out. He felt himself warm. He felt himself change. He felt his world tilt.

When the light cleared, he saw Kaladin Stormblessed, ex-bridgeman, ex-slave, and current leader of his bodyguards standing tall, unharmed and bearing a glowing blue and white Shardblade. Elhokar stared in wonder. Stormlight came off of him in waves, like the way air rippled on a hot day.

They’re always such show-offs, said a voice in his mind. Those Windrunners. Ridiculous.

“Don’t say that, he’s a hero,” Elhokar said, sitting up. “He saved my life.”

He was a delaying tactic and a barrier, the voice said again. We saved your life.

“Is that the royal we? I was told to only use that when I needed to be particularly imposing, or pompous, depending on how you look at it.” Elhokar touched his side slowly, fingers shaking briefly. The illusion could utterly shatter, and then I’ll be dead again.

Not the royal we, though it belongs to you and you should own it, the voice said. We as in ‘you and I’, a collective of two persons, we.

“A... what?” Elhokar’s voice was louder now, and the bridgeman, the hero, turned towards him. He was glowing, and the thing that should have been a shardblade was now a spear, waving with blue and white light. “Captain...”

“Elhokar, try to stay still, you’re hurt,” the bridgeman said, and released his weapon. Instead of vanishing, his spear remained upright, glowing to give illumination to a hallway that was now utterly devoid of stormlight. Captain Kaladin knelt, and started feeling at Elhokar’s side. “What..?”

“You would think that a Windrunner would know a dying person from a healthy one by now, but it would appear not,” said the voice, and from the face the bridgeman made, he heard it too. “I always thought they were a bit overrated, personally.”

Kaladin’s spear dissolved into blue and white light, taking on the form of a young woman, her skirts snapping in an intangible wind. She pointed at the shadows. “Oh, just say that to my face, you eclectic pile of math!”

“I would surely do so, if I weren’t certain you would fall asleep before I got to the good part, Ancient Daughter,” the voice said. The shadows nearest to Elhokar shifted and moved, then floated up to him. For a moment, he simply stared at the shifting form, his sense of wonder fighting with panic.

“You’re one of the things from the mirror,” Elhokar said. “This must be what going mad feels like.”

“No, it’s far worse than that,” Captain Kaladin said, and held out his hand to beckon the glowing woman to his hand. “You have a spren.”

“He has a Cryptic,” the glowing woman complained. “Another one, I can’t believe this.”

The bridgeman turned his head. “What do you mean, Syl?”

“From the duel that wasn’t a duel,” the glowing woman -- Syl -- said impatiently. “I saw one interfering with the bastard that was fighting Renarin.”

“Syl!” Captain Kaladin said, shocked. “Where did you learn language like that?”

“We live with a barracks full of soldiers, did you think I hadn’t learned anything at all?” Syl put her hands on her hips. “Airsick lowlander.”

Does that mean--

“I’m going to have to lecture the men about--” Captain Kaladin shook his head slightly. “No, I can’t get distracted. Your Majesty, the ones trying to assassinate you weren’t Surgebinders, just angry men. The Assassin in White has gone after Dalinar and I need to go to him. Stay here, I can find a place for you to--”

“No,” Elhokar said, and forced himself to stand. The voice -- the shadow -- dispersed and reformed. “I want to go with you. I know that I haven’t been the most useful but I can still fight. I can do that much.”

“Shardbearers can’t fight the Assassin well,” the bridgeman pointed out. “...and you aren’t going to want to summon your Shardblade, anyway. Holding one of the dead blades is unpleasant for Surgebinders. You’ll need to make at least one other Oath beforehand.”

“Our Truths are different from your Oaths... but the Windrunner is correct,” the voice said. “You must break your bond with the poor Deadeye that is chained to that abomination so that you may progress.”

“...but it’s my only defense,” Elhokar said, and even to his own ears, he was whining. “How am I supposed to do anything if no one lets me?” Captain Kaladin stared down his nose at Elhokar, and there was a crawling sensation for a moment, as though being judged and found wanting. Not so different from any other time, then. Nothing has changed.

“I’ll speak to some of the people here, they should be able to hide you,” the bridgeman said, and held his hand out. The blue woman, Syl, immediately dispersed, and wind encircled the stern Surgebinder. Elhokar wondered briefly if he would simply take to the skies from here. “Keep quiet and don’t cause trouble for them. We’ll discuss this when I return.”

“No,” Elhokar said, forcing strength into his voice. “Break my bond with my Shardblade? Fine.” He held his hand out at his side, and counted out heartbeats, each one painful, as though shot through by lightning from the storm outside. “Let me--”

The blade screamed in his mind, wordless in its pain, demanding answers to a question he didn't understand.

“Break it, hurry,” the voice said. “If you drop it, you’ll have to start over.”

Elhokar hastily renounced his claim on the Shardblade, and it went dull. He dropped it from his hand, the blade stabbing downwards into the floor. Immediately, the pain ceased, and the pressure on his mind eased. The bridgeman stared at him. He had the sense that the spren, for all she was invisible, was staring too.

“Well?” Elhokar asked, chest heaving. “Are we leaving or what?”

~ * ~

Urithiru... the legendary city spoken of by scholars. It seemed quiet, almost dead, though anything was better than being outside in the terrible storm that shook the tower.

The Everstorm... I don’t know if I would have believed it to be told about it, Elhokar thought to himself. Dalinar had called the meeting of those who were identified as Surgebinders, though his uncle was insistent that they were the Knights Radiant now.

He had insisted to Captain Kaladin that he didn’t wish for Dalinar to know about the Cryptic, and the bridgeman had agreed. When he’d arrived, the bridgeman had pulled Adolin aside and spoken to him in soft, urgent tones, along with some pointing and not-quite shouting.

That’s probably because Adolin nearly got himself killed, Elhokar thought to himself, and smiled thinly. The two of them are about as subtle as my uncle’s tactics.

Absently, Elhokar rubbed at his chest, and remembered his uncle’s harsh, pointed lesson about trust. He was lucky to be alive. One of his father’s own tactics had involved provoking his enemies into duels or short, brutal wars conducted by the Blackthorn.

His uncle had changed since his father’s death, and it was still hard to understand why that, in the face of such a terrible enemy, Dalinar Kholin sought peace.

We’ll need to table the philosophical discussion for now, the voice said. But we will need to address this soon.

“I don’t see why,” Elhokar breathed out as he watched the bridgeman stalk away from his cousin to join Dalinar, while Adolin left the room. “My father was a great king, and he used war as a weapon like any other. That’s surely the right way to lead.”

Do you really want to be like your father? the voice asked. Do you want to leave your son’s education to others, ignoring him unless you want to parade him around as your heir? Force him into a loveless marriage simply to prove that you must be obeyed at all times?

Elhokar shivered. “Jasnah was always his favourite, that’s why he wanted her to marry well.”

Would she have married well to Meridas Amaram? the voice asked, impatient. To a man who speaks out of both sides of his mouth? Or is that just the lie you believed?

“I...”

“I am grateful that you’re all here,” Dalinar began, and looked to the bridgeman, as well as Adolin’s betrothed, Shallan Davar. The young woman who had arrived out of nowhere with news of Jasnah’s death, and Elhokar still had no idea what to make of her. “I was badly mistaken when I chose Amaram to lead the Knights Radiant, and for that, I do again apologize, Captain.”

The bridgeman, his expression still stormy, nodded once. “I couldn’t be sure that it was safe to tell anyone of my gifts. Syl -- my spren -- urged me to, but I had had too many things taken away from me. Many people believed Amaram to be a good man, including myself. The very scars I bear are because I trusted that so-called good man. It’s difficult to rely on your instincts when you’ve been so wrong in the past.”

“Understandable,” Dalinar said. He reached out and put a hand on Kaladin’s shoulder. It was an easy, reassuring gesture, and Elhokar fought back a wave of jealousy and nausea. Dalinar looked to Shallan. “I will say that your own gifts were a great surprise to me. Did Adolin..?”

“No, but Jasnah did,” Shallan said. “I was very surprised by my powers, by Pattern, and to a point, so was she. She had similar gifts to mine -- Elsecaller to my Lightweaver -- so she could teach me some things, but our approaches were different. I wish she had survived to see this day.”

“I do too,” Dalinar said, and let Kaladin go, then put a hand on Shallan’s shoulder. “I have... we have so much to do. I am sworn to the Stormfather as a Bondsmith. I will unite the Knights Radiant and we will reform the Knightly Orders. So much has been lost to us, but we will find it again, or so I believe.”

“So, that’s three then,” Kaladin said, and gave Elhokar a look. He looked away, into the shadows where the voice was hiding. “Bondsmith, Lightweaver, and Windrunner.”

“Four, actually,” said a quiet voice, startling Elhokar from thoughts that twisted like the shadows he watched. He turned to see his cousin, Renarin, approach. He wore the blue of the Kholin family, but decorated with Bridge Four’s designation. A long, thin rapier of a sword appeared in his hand. “Glys says I’m a Truthwatcher.”

“Four...” Dalinar said, and Elhokar fought back another stab of jealousy, this time at seeing the way his uncle’s face lit up with simple joy at the news. “The first of a proud order, of that I have no doubt.”

“With four, we will do everything we can to evacuate people from the war camps,” Kaladin said, bringing them back to the moment. “The damage done by the collision between the Highstorm and the Everstorm will kill far more than any war. After that... we need to contact others. My parents... I have to warn them. No one is prepared for a storm that travels the other way.”

“I don’t like it, but with two other people to use the Oathgates, we should be able to manage until you return,” Dalinar said. “Go, but return swiftly. If you find others...”

“I will send them your way,” Kaladin said. “Thank you, sir.”

What about me? Elhokar thought, swallowing hard. How am I supposed to learn anything without you here?

Dalinar nodded to Kaladin, who saluted, nodded to Shallan, and then turned to go. Renarin excused himself with some haste to follow after.

No one asked Elhokar what he thought of any of it, and it hurt more than it had when he’d been stabbed.

You could tell them now, the voice said. Explain what happened to you and why you insisted on going out to the Shattered Plains during a storm instead of staying safe.

“I’m enough of a disappointment as it is,” Elhokar muttered to himself. “Why should I make things worse?”

You would have your uncle’s respect, his reverence, if you told him that you were a Surgebinder, the voice said. You saw how he treated Renarin.

“My uncle has always loved his sons,” Elhokar breathed out as he watched Dalinar and Shallan discuss logistics. Renarin returned a few minutes later. “Besides, I don’t even know your name.”

My name would be difficult for you to comprehend, the voice said. I am a number that increases exponentially but never reaches an end. Hard for mortal minds to understand, and worse for their pronunciation. I have, however, decided on a nickname, like Shallan’s Pattern.

“Very well, what is it?”

The only appropriate thing for the advisor to a king, the voice said, smug. I am Vizir.

~ * ~

When the scattered forces of the Shattered Plains had arrived at Urithiru, one of Dalinar’s first orders was to find secured quarters for Elhokar’s person. Servants had fetched the essentials from the war camps, and now he was ensconced in one of the biggest rooms Dalinar’s scouts could find and make secure.

Unfortunately, this meant bodyguards. Fortunately, given everything that was happening, said bodyguards were few, as scouting forces were needed to find more living quarters for those flooding in from the camps.

There was a time when I’d have been offended by the lack of protection, Elhokar mused. Now, I want nothing more than to be alone... and besides, it’s not as if a normal assassin could kill me now.

“Just because you’re a Surgebinder, that doesn’t make you invincible,” Vizir said, and Elhokar looked at her floating, spinning form. “No, I can’t read your mind. I’ve been with you since childhood, so I’m familiar with your foibles.”

Elhokar glanced worriedly towards the door, and kept his voice low. “Since childhood? How?”

“They can’t hear me,” Vizir added. “Not unless I want them to, like I did with the Windrunner.”

“His name is Kaladin,” Elhokar said, and relaxed back. “Captain Kaladin Stormblessed. You should use his name.”

“Why, you don’t,” Vizir observed. Elhokar felt a chill move down his back. “He’s ‘the bridgeman’ and ‘the darkeyes’ and ‘the lowborn’. Why would I use his name when you don’t?”

“I...” Elhokar began, and stopped. Is that true? Do I treat him so poorly? He’s a hero--

Elhokar had also called for him to be thrown in jail, and only narrowly avoided executing him for his presumption about Amaram. A presumption that turned out to be entirely right. Not to mention the assassination attempt that Kaladin had stopped, nearly at the cost of his own life, by one of Kaladin’s own men. Moash hadn’t been a highprince or a brightlord, just a very angry, common man.

Any amount of confidence Elhokar had been feeling was replaced by both unease and guilt.

“In any case,” Vizir said, cutting through his thoughts. “What do you recall about your childhood?”

“Bits and pieces,” Elhokar admitted. “My mother’s voice, my father teaching me how to use a sword and how to ride a horse. Little things, here and there. Jasnah was so much older than I was, so we didn’t spend that much time with each other, especially after...”

“After..?” Vizir prompted. “Try to remember.”

“She wasn’t well, when we were young,” Elhokar said. “I overheard my father telling the ardents that she was mad before he sent her to them for treatment. She came back, but she was different. Colder, I think.”

“You thought you were mad because of what you were seeing too, didn’t you?” Vizir said, and Elhokar flinched. “Neither of you are mad, and madness does not make you more likely to see one of us. It’s misunderstood, and represents as many different problems as there are facets in cut glass. It is amusing that your father was so poor at recognizing the thing he wanted most.”

“What does that mean?” Elhokar demanded, shifting forward. “You’re speaking in circles while claiming to know so much, just like any human advisor. What are you talking about?”

“Is there something wrong, Your Majesty?” called a guard, and Elhokar froze. “The scouts have news, we’ll try to bring it to you.”

“Thank you,” Elhokar said, and turned to his spren. “Well?”

“Try to remember,” Vizir insisted. “You have heard the conversations, though you pushed them aside at the time. The words didn’t make sense to you at the time so you dismissed them but now there are many, many things that you must hear and find value in.”

Elhokar made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and tried to think. “I don’t know about when I was a child but I do know that before my father’s death, he met with many different advisors, and he was close with Amaram. That’s why I thought he was above reproach. My father trusted him, so too could I.”

“Your father trusted your uncle, too,” Vizir pointed out dryly. “But you didn’t.”

“My uncle changed,” Elhokar spat. “The Blackthorn went soft. He was stubborn and toothless. He...”

“He beat the shit out of you because you faked an assassination attempt and it completely obscured attempts to find the culprit of the real assassination attempts until it was almost too late,” Vizir said, brutally. “He is taking the hardest, most dangerous route for a man like him to walk because he was influenced by the same writings your father was before his death. Honour is speaking to him and it’s never an easy thing to deal with. Not for your father, and not for your uncle.”

“You know about the visions?!” Elhokar exclaimed. “They’re real? What do you mean, my father has never--”

“Your Majesty!” A guard burst into Elhokar’s room, and the king spun. Anger -- to conceal the fear of being discovered -- died on his lips at the look on the guard’s face. He gestured once for the guard to continue. “Brightlord Sadeas has been murdered!”

~ * ~

When his uncle had been young, Elhokar recalled that he’d paced like a caged whitespine. Dalinar had always been moving, prowling like a predator... dangerous. It had given Elhokar a little thrill to know that the most dangerous man on Roshar was kept tame by his father’s hand.

His aunt, Evi, had told both her sons that Dalinar was a hero and an honourable man. Elhokar had wondered if the woman, a foreigner that had come with a brother, a suit of Shardplate, and nothing else, had been naive. His mother had certainly worried about that often enough.

The man once called Blackthorn stood stock-still, rigid, as though he had to visibly contain himself from throwing an absolutely cataclysmic row as he reported the details of the incident to Elhokar. The scout that had found the body was with him, along with Adolin, Elhokar’s younger cousin, and Shallan Davar.

“Palona may have been inappropriate when she said it, but she wasn’t wrong,” Shallan said, fingers moving as she sketched lightly in her notebook. “No one will miss Torol Sadeas.”

“His wife will,” Dalinar said grimly. “And his soldiers. Sadeas’ behaviour and manners spilled down from his very officers to the most basic of his soldiers. We see that in how the bridgemen Kaladin was training were treated by men one step away from joining them. He was cunning, brutal, conniving, and now he’s dead. We need to find out who did this, very quickly.”

“Did you?” Elhokar asked, and Dalinar turned to the king, expression so rigidly controlled Elhokar feared his face might freeze that way. He’d never laugh again, and he doesn’t do that much to begin with. “Well, did you?”

“No,” Dalinar said tightly. “Our plan was to pin him down into a duel, which I suppose will no longer be necessary. If the plan had been to kill him like a common assassin, we wouldn’t have gone to so much trouble to make sure all was following the laws, if not the Codes.”

Elhokar watched the words spill from Dalinar’s mouth in a literal way: sounds, inferences, and meanings tumbled from his lips in glyphs and symbols that immediately made sense to him. They hovered in the air for a moment, then dissipated into motes of light.

What’s doing that? Elhokar wondered. Vizir hovered nearby, invisible, staying out of view of Shallan’s own Cryptic who was resting on her skirt and humming to itself. “I... are you sure?”

“Father wouldn’t do something like that,” Adolin said, glaring at Elhokar. “None of us would dirty our blades with Sadeas’ blood.”

This time, the words were different. Each meaning was coloured different shades of red, until the final words were the hue of spilled blood, closer to brown than bright crimson. There was something to that, something heavy to be weighed and measured.

Is he... lying? Is that what that means? Elhokar wondered. Could I tell that people were lying before? Surely not, otherwise I would have noticed before.

“If you’re done questioning my son, the next stage is to find out who did kill him,” Dalinar said. “We must find out who had the means, motive, and opportunity to kill him.”

“Almost everyone, many people, and a lot of people,” Shallan said, and frowned at her drawing for a moment. She held it up, and Elhokar saw that it was Torol Sadeas himself, dead with a knife through his eye. For some reason, for all he’d been on the battlefield plenty of times, the image made him queasy. “Sadeas was a bastard, and no one liked him but his wife and his lackeys.”

Dalinar raised an eyebrow at her choice of words, but nodded once, rigid, immovable in the face of such bluntly-spoken facts.

“I don’t suppose we can blame that on you spending time with Bridge Four too, can we?” Elhokar muttered, and all three stared at him. “Never mind. So, what you’re saying is that it will be nearly impossible to narrow down one, specific person who could have killed him.”

“Essentially, yes,” Shallan said. “Which doesn’t mean we shouldn’t look into it further. If it was a serial killer and not someone with a personal grudge against him, they could strike again. We don’t want that to happen.”

“Look into it,” Dalinar commanded, and Shallan nodded to him. “Be careful, we don’t know anything about the person who did this.”

“We do, actually,” Elhokar said. He gestured to Shallan’s drawing. “I assume that you recreated this from memory?”

“I did, yes,” Shallan said, and some of her words were pure, clear, while others were shaded. “I’m an artist, I have an eye for these kinds of things. Anyone could have done the same.”

“Then you have conveyed accurately that his eyes weren’t burnt out when he died?” Elhokar took a step closer, and glanced down at Pattern briefly before focusing on the drawing. “That means that this knife wound was what killed him. He wasn’t killed by a Shardblade. If he had been, his eyes would have been gone.”

“Dead and inorganic matter still cuts under a Shardblade,” Adolin said. “What does it matter what order it happened in?”

“It means that whoever killed him was close enough to him to kill him with a normal knife. A Shardbearer. A Shard plate bearer.” Elhokar tapped the paper lightly. Tiny motes of Creation floated off of it and dispersed. Curious. “How many can boast that they know exactly how to kill a Shardplate bearer without any kind of serious injury themselves.”

“...another Shardplate bearer would know its weaknesses,” Adolin said slowly, and these words were clear, though tinged with something else. “And there are those who have killed Shardblade and plate wearers before. One of them is even here, usually.”

“What?” Elhokar said. “Who?”

“The one who bears the scars for it, though they didn’t come from any blade,” Adolin admitted grimly. “Kaladin.”

~ * ~

“I think you’re all overlooking something very important,” Sigzil said, once the bridgemen had calmed. “Something not considered by those who came up with it when this line of inquiry had started.”

Elhokar squirmed as he watched Adolin nod in understanding. Adolin may have made the suggestion, but I was the one who brought up the idea and called a hero into question. Another mistake for me.

“No feeling sorry for yourself,” Vizir said. “I want to see what the Squire has to say.”

“Captain Kaladin was not in Urithiru when the murder took place,” Sigzil said. “Based on Brightness Davar’s sketch, the report from our scouts, and the state of the corpse, Kaladin was already gone when Brightlord Sadeas died. There were witnesses to it, though not yourself, Brightlord.”

There was something like reprimand in the bridgeman’s voice, and Elhokar had to assume it was something to do with the argument he’d witnessed between Adolin and Kaladin not long after they’d come to Urithiru.

“He saves my life one--”

“Three, perhaps even four.”

“--time and he thinks he can give me orders,” Adolin growled. “Fine, Kaladin wasn’t here. He clearly told you about his powers, and he taught you all in secret to use spears and to coordinate your bridge runs. What else did he teach you about?”

Sigzil stiffened. “Brightlord, this goes far beyond--”

“You wanna know about the Captain, gancho?” asked a voice, and Elhokar took in the sight of a Herdazian in a Bridge Four uniform, and thought he looked familiar. Two arms filled out the sleeves of the uniform well, though his coat was fastened a little haphazardly for Kholin tastes. “I can tell you all about him.”

“Lopen, that’s the king,” Sigzil hissed. “At least try to be respectful.”

“Do you want me to tell the story or not?” Lopen demanded. He turned to Elhokar. “Kaladin, sure, he stabbed that guy. He never wanted to talk about it. Me? I win a fight against a Shardbearer after my whole squad got cut up, I keep those Shards. I tell the whole world that darkeyes can do anything. Him? Nah. He turned ‘em down. He hates killing. Fighting? Yeah, he loves it. Killing people? No way.”

“What kind of a soldier hates killing?” Elhokar asked. “What kind of a bodyguard won’t kill?”

“Didn’t say he wouldn’t, said he hates it.” Lopen shrugs. “When your brother -- and you don’t have a lot of those, not like cousins -- dies and your friends die and other slaves die because of war, you probably wouldn’t like killing much either.”

“It was to avenge my father,” Elhokar snapped, and the words felt like shards of glass in his mouth as he spoke them. “It was necessary!”

Lopen gestured to the sky, and out towards the Shattered Plains which had been destroyed in places where the Everstorm and the Highstorm had met. “You feel avenged, gancho?”

Elhokar opened his mouth and closed it. Nothing that had come from the ex-slave’s mouth had been anything other than pure truth, shining like diamonds fully charged with Stormlight. “Fine. So, it wasn’t Kaladin. It wasn’t one of the bridgemen. Who could it have been?”

“A man missing a medal,” Sigzil muttered, and made shooing motions. “Come on. We can’t practice without Kaladin here, but we can at least get some things settled. You’re supposed to be a member of the command staff, Lopen. You can’t just laze about, sticking people to walls.”

“Yeah yeah, gancho,” Lopen said, and waved lazily before walking off.

“These men are my bodyguards,” Elhokar muttered, shaking his head. “I can hardly believe it.”

“They’re going to be, to a man, Windrunners,” Adolin pointed out. “From what Shallan was telling me, some of the Orders had Squires -- people who can use some of the Surges without actually being chosen by spren -- and Bridge Four are Kaladin’s. They’re worthy, but not yet ready to speak their second Oath. They also only have those powers near a true Knight, which of course, would be Kaladin.”

Does he..? No, Kaladin promised, Elhokar mused. But maybe... “So, what else do you know about the Orders?”

“I did my best to pay attention to what Shallan was telling me,” Adolin said. “There are ten Orders, one for each of the Heralds. Each Order has two Surges and they make five Oaths total. The first is the same, while the others vary a great deal. I don’t know much more than that, a lot was lost.”

“Has she said much about how her Order functions? Lightweaver, I believe it was,” Elhokar said, trying to sound casual. “It might be valuable to know for the future.”

“No, she hasn’t,” Adolin said, giving him a curious look. “...but I can suggest to her that you want to hear more. Unfortunately, I have a lot to do with this investigation, but she should be free.”

If I don’t have witnesses, I can ask her a little more openly about our shared Surges, Elhokar thought, and nodded once. “If you could, just. Though, will she not need a chaperone?”

Adolin, to his surprise, rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I know the perfect one.”

Chapter Text

“You wished to see me, Your Majesty?” Shallan stood at his door, and one of her men, the deserters that she’d vouched for, tried not to meet the gaze of the Bridge Four men who were standing on guard. “Adolin said so.”

“I did, yes. Come in,” Elhokar said. It had been several hours since he had made the request, and he had spent all of them feeling nervous. “Thank you for coming, Brightness Davar. I was told that you had an, ah, appropriate chaperone as well?”

“Chaperone?” came a voice from Shallan’s skirt. “Excellent. Ahem. NO MATING.”

“...yes, thank you, Pattern,” Shallan muttered. Her pale, Veden skin flushed with embarrassment as shamespren showered her red hair like flower petals from Shinovar. “Now all of Urithiru knows that I am to be, at all times, appropriate with a married man who is also the leader of Alethkar.”

“You’re welcome,” Pattern said, and hummed in a way that seemed, to Elhokar, to be extremely self-satisfied.

Elhokar stepped aside, letting Shallan into his chamber before closing the door on the gaping guards. “I understand that you’re a Lightweaver, is that correct?”

“We’re keeping that quiet,” Shallan said. “I’ve told people that I’m an Elsecaller, which is -- was -- Jasnah’s Order. I have special gifts that I want to keep secret from people.”

Don’t we all? Elhokar wondered. “Like what?”

Abruptly, Shallan was gone. In her place was a darkeyed Alethi woman with long, dark hair, a hat, and a white coat. “Like that, Your Majesty. My name is Veil, nice to meet you. Fancy a trip to the market?”

Elhokar saw each word as they fell from her lips, forming into tiny mirrors, false images that winked and twinkled in the Stormlight sconces, all tinged in red. “You’re lying just so easily, that’s incredible.”

“That’s very insightful of you,” Shallan-as-Veil said, raising an eyebrow. “But, I did just show you an illusion. That’s the entire point.”

“No, it’s your words,” Elhokar said. “Though, I suppose this leads right into why I called you here. Vizir, show yourself to her.”

“I suppose that I must if we are to get anywhere,” Vizir said. Shallan, spotting her, abruptly lost control of her illusion. “I suppose you’ll do as a tutor, though you and Elhokar don’t share many commonalities.”

“Am I supposed to be insulted or relieved?” Shallan asked. “Also, you’re a Cryptic. Another Cryptic. Pattern, why didn’t you tell me there was another Cryptic here?”

“I didn’t know, Shallan,” Pattern said, and the lace on her dress traveled upwards to wrap around her shoulder. “Hello, cousin.”

“Cousin,” Vizir replied tersely. “In answer to your question, we are all perfectly capable of hiding from one another in the Physical Realm, as evidenced by the fact that you were presumably unaware of the Windrunner’s spren.”

“That’s true, we even managed to get through the incident in the chasm without revealing each others’ special powers.” Shallan reached out, pressing a finger into Vizir, who spread apart slightly, and buzzed in annoyance. “Pattern doesn’t like to be parted from me, but you seem to act fairly independently.”

“I am older than Pattern is,” Vizir said. “My comprehension of the Physical Realm is more complete than his. Also, never do that again.”

“Sorry,” Shallan said, and Elhokar noted the insincerity of her words without comment. “So, you’re a Lightweaver. Why?”

“...what do you mean, why?” Elhokar asked, stung. “I was chosen, as you were. As was the-- Kaladin. And my uncle and cousin. As was my sister, though it didn’t save her life. It healed me with that first burst, and Kaladin as well.”

“The healing stops when there’s no Stormlight,” Shallan said grimly. “And what I mean is, why were you chosen to become a Lightweaver? I’ve done some reading. My -- our -- Order is for artists, entertainers, and presumably musicians and writers. You’re a king, and a warrior, if not a soldier like Kaladin.”

“I can’t say that I’ve ever tried to be an artist, though I’ve drawn maps,” Elhokar said, unease creeping under his skin. “I’m a man, so I don’t read, and I don’t write. I’ve never used an instrument, though I suppose I’ve sung before. Mostly to my son when he had a hard time sleeping.”

“I always forget that you’re a father,” Shallan said. “We’re also the Order of liars. We love secrets and subterfuge. We weave truth, lies, and illusions.”

“This started when I spoke my Truth,” Elhokar said. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t share it.”

“I don’t intend to share mine, so I certainly can understand why you wouldn’t share yours.” Shallan nodded to herself, and walked to one of few seats and took it. “I’m so mad that you have chairs and I don’t.”

“Privilege of rank,” Elhokar noted. “In the face of all of that, I can understand your skepticism. So... why me?”

“There is much that was lost over time,” Vizir said, and both Lightweavers looked to her. “The understanding of every Order has become obscured by time and the written testimony of those who were not of those Orders themselves. We have always hidden aspects of each Order from outsiders.”

“You sound like you were there,” Elhokar said. “Or you’ve studied a history different from ours.”

“Many were lost in the event you call the Recreance. Whole generations were lost.” Vizir’s voice took on a sad tone, and Elhokar watched with interest as her form, seemingly random, tinged purple. “It hurt some more deeply than others. The Cryptics had vaults of knowledge, though few survived to see them. Those that came after were able to read about the Physical Realm if they knew about them.”

“So, you’re one of those people, but Pattern isn’t,” Shallan said. “I always thought he was a bit of a baby.”

“Mm, yes,” Pattern agreed, buzzing happily. “Shallan, what’s a baby?”

“A young, tiny, and mostly helpless person,” Elhokar said, cutting off any further digression. “So, do you know why I was chosen to be a Lightweaver along with Brightness Davar?”

“Of course I do,” Vizir said in a tone so close to Jasnah’s that Shallan smeared her page, swore, and began erasing. “I watched you for a long time, attracted to the lies that you internalized over the years. Now, you are ready to embrace your truths. You have spoken the first, but there will be others.”

Elhokar glanced at Shallan, who seemed absorbed in her drawing, and Pattern, who buzzed, pleased, interested, or, perhaps like a real baby, was merely preparing to soil his diaper. “What lies do you think I’m holding in my mind?”

“It’s not a matter of what I think, it’s what you think,” Vizir said. “You have spent many years being something you are not.” Elhokar glanced away. “Now, you are becoming what you are. That process is not easy, no more is it so for Windrunners or Truthwatchers or Bondsmiths. If this were easy, everyone would have a spren.”

“That would be interesting,” Shallan commented without looking up. “An entire society of people neatly sorted into ten categories, each with a personal companion to keep them company and ask them embarrassing questions.”

“I do not think there would be enough of us,” Pattern said. “I suppose that we could create more of ourselves. I would have to go back to Shadesmar, however. You would have to go with me so that we are not parted while I reproduce. Is that something babies can do?”

“No,” Elhokar and Vizir said together. “They cannot.”

“Then I must wait until I am no longer a baby,” Pattern said, buzzing again. “Does it take long?”

“Longer than I’d like...” Vizir said. Her pattern flared and reformed, seemingly irritated. “In any case, the core of the Lightweavers is truth beyond any other. There are both truth and lies in many kinds of artwork, in espionage, and in politics. There are also truth and lies woven into the core of every person. It’s not just a matter of telling the truth or lying, it’s about parts of your very identity.”

“Which says some very interesting things about both of us, I think,” Elhokar said. “So, what about what I’m seeing? Is that something Brightness Davar sees too?”

“That depends on what it is that you’re seeing,” Shallan said. “You said something about seeing my lies?”

“Yes,” Elhokar said, and there was a lightness in his chest, relief at finally getting on topic. As the word left his mouth, he saw it glimmer and shine. “And other things, apparently. When someone speaks, the words are joined by something else. It’s hard to describe, like chips of glass, stained with colours depending on the intent of the speaker.”

“That’s... new, and interesting,” Shallan observed. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“...so, you can’t help me?” Elhokar asked. “I just want to know what I’m seeing.”

“I didn’t say that,” Shallan said, and looked up at him. “I think we should test some things. Is it happening right now as I’m speaking?”

“Not much,” Elhokar admitted. “It seems to occur when people are being particularly emphatic or their words might be significant.”

“It could be the intent of the speaker, then,” Shallan said. “You said you could tell that someone was lying, correct?”

“It seemed like it, yes,” Elhokar said. “Though it could mean something else.”

“Then let’s test it.” Shallan sat up, and looked Elhokar in the eye. Her eyes, bright blue, were so serious and intent he immediately expected a prank. “My name is Shallan Davar. I come from Jah Keved. I have big breasts that Adolin goes wild for and they hardly fit in my havah.”

The first statement produced clear chips, the second tinted slightly with green, and the last, with red. Elhokar couldn’t help but glance down at Shallan’s chest briefly, and then away. You’re a married man and she’s almost betrothed, stop that.

Shallan laughed at his reaction. “So, what did you see?”

“Clear, green, red,” Elhokar said, forcing his gaze back to her eyes. “The first statement is absolutely true. It’s your name. The second is... vague, perhaps? Jah Keved is a large place, so you would need to be more precise to be truthful. The third was a... a lie, it would seem.”

“It is, especially because Adolin is exceedingly proper. Even if he wasn’t, our baby would make sure we didn’t get to any of the fun stuff,” Shallan said, and threw a fond look at the embroidery on her sleeve. Pattern buzzed, pleased with himself once more.

“It is true, I perform this function,” Pattern said. “Is this also something human babies accomplish?”

“Sometimes,” Elhokar said, feeling his cheeks heat. The word tinged pink. “And it would seem embarrassment is pink.”

“We’d have to test some others,” Shallan said. “Though I think I can tell where this is going. It reminds me of the lesser spren, the ones that appear when we feel particularly strong emotions. You’re not embarrassed enough for shamespren but you are letting that emotion show through in your voice. Curious.”

“It is fairly curious,” Elhokar said. “So... I can tell when someone’s words are shaded with emotion. So what?”

“So what?!” Vizir exclaimed, and her patterns rotated with irritation that stained her yellow. “So you can infer shades of meaning from people who speak to you with dishonest intent! When you improve, you will be able to distinguish between the different hues of colour, since there are many shades of red, not just one.”

“That seems handy, and artistic, in many ways,” Shallan said. “Some people just don’t bother to really tell the difference between one red or another, but artists usually do. So, there you have it.”

“It will be handy to tell that people are lying,” Elhokar said. “Though I can’t just blurt something like that out. Can lies be identified in someone else reading a lie to you?”

“I don’t know,” Shallan said. “We’re going to have to experiment more. I also want to see if you’re drawing on Stormlight to do this, or if you’re just seeing it. I don’t use Stormlight to draw or to create a Memory, but I do need it to create my illusions.”

“It seems like a waste to use up something so precious,” Elhokar mused. “Especially given that I’m trying to keep things a secret.”

“Dalinar wanted me to practice, so we should both practice,” Shallan said. “I don’t know how I feel about being ‘in charge’ of the Knights Radiant, but all the world’s a stage, right?”

“I don’t have any idea what that means, but I’ll believe you.” Elhokar took a deep breath. “We should see if we can work out what each set of colours means, and if we can hide those emotions when speaking. Then, if we can--”

“Shallan!” The pair turned towards the sound of Adolin’s voice carrying through the door. “Are you still here? One of your lost souls is still here.”

“I’m a soldier, Brightlord,” one of the men protested. “My soul is exactly where I expect it to be!”

“I’m here, Adolin. Come in!” Shallan glanced at Elhokar. “He can come in, can’t he?”

“He’s my cousin, of course he can,” Elhokar said. “Come in!”

Adolin opened the door, and took a step through the doorway. He looked over each of them, but made no comment at Vizir floating between them, her pattern still, though she was likely invisible to him. “Good, I thought you might still be together and I’m glad you’re both safe.”

Sincerity flowed from Adolin’s words, though there was a stain deep within, something red. A lie, but what could Adolin be lying about? Surely he genuinely cares for Shallan’s well-being.

“Safe as houses,” Shallan assured him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the murder investigation,” Adolin said grimly. “There’s been another death.”

~ * ~

“This is horrifying,” Navani said grimly. Elhokar needed no special Lightweaver powers to tell she was sincerely concerned about the news. “A serial killer on the loose in Urithiru? Targeting officers? We can’t... if we could get the tower’s systems working, we could at least activate the defenses.”

“I’m certain you’ll figure it out, Mother,” Elhokar said. His mother was pacing, though it wasn’t the same caged animal movement that he associated with Dalinar. Instead, it was the busy walk of a woman who needed to make sure everything was functioning smoothly so that the sun and moons kept rising and falling, and the Highstorms kept to their schedules.

She could have easily become obsessed with control instead of just organization, Elhokar thought to himself, fond. Though I can see why Aesudan might not recognize the difference. It can be hard to tell, somedays. Father said--

The memory of what his father had said shattered into fragments at his mother’s next words: “My scholars will figure it out. I’ll simply make sure they have the time to do so, among everything else we need to do. Once the scouts confirm it, we’ll be able to make sure the merchants are better organized. I swear, Sebarial will be the death of me!”

The words had started out clear, but quickly tinged into a colour Elhokar could only describe as ‘light red’. It wasn’t pink; that had a different shade to it, a different nuance. His mother wasn’t embarrassed; she was lying, but it wasn’t the same kind of lie that he had seen before.

It has to be a lie that she believes, but didn’t come up with. “Mother,” Elhokar said, before really considering the consequences. “Who told you that you weren’t a scholar? It’s not true.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Navani said, and affection shaded her words. It made it hard to see that the lie was growing stronger, more entrenched like an enemy on a battlefield. “It’s true, though. I am a patron of the sciences, not a scientist myself. I don’t write original works or do my own research.”

“It’s a lie,” Elhokar said, and strode towards his mother, taking her hands. Navani blinked at him, startled, her violet eyes wide. “Who did this to you? Who told you that? Was it Dalinar? He should never have--”

“He would never say such a thing to me,” Navani said sharply, words briefly tinged with orange before she sighed in frustration. “Your father and I had several conversations about it in the past. He observed that because I did not do my own, original research and relied on the findings of others, that I was not a scholar.”

Among other things hung in the air, unspoken, though Elhokar could see it floating there like petals marring the surface of a pool of water. “Was he the only one who said that?”

“I don’t--”

“Mother, please, don’t lie to me,” Elhokar said. “It’s just the two of us now.”

“Jasnah often informed me, when I tried to inquire about her studies, that I was no scholar, and so was not particularly helpful to her in such matters,” Navani admitted. “Though, she did apologize for speaking so harshly to me. We were not close after she reached her majority.”

“...but she didn’t say she was wrong about you, so you still believe it.” Elhokar squeezed her hands. “And she is wrong. I have never met someone who loved learning as much as you did, of knowing, of teaching. I remember all the lessons you taught me in childhood, though I didn’t always do them justice.”

“Don’t say that,” Navani said lightly. “And... your sister may have been harsh in her assessment, but it was nothing others didn’t see. Yes, Gavilar was the first to say it, but I’m sure he was only saying what others were thinking.”

“More than one person can think a wrong, false thing,” Elhokar said firmly. “And just because you say something, doesn’t make it true. Trust me, I understand now about truth and lies. Better than I ever used to. My father was wrong. My sister was wrong. You held everything together before Father died, and you’re doing it again now. That’s what stops you from being a scholar, not anything else. We take too much of your time.”

“Elhokar...” Navani said, and embraced him tightly, rubbing her freehand over his back, and up into his hair. She cupped the back of his head, as though holding an infant to be cradled instead of a man grown. “Your words are very kind.”

“Not always,” Elhokar said as she released him. “I have been harsh, foolish, overly trusting and overly dis trusting of the words of others. I have failed at being a good king. I can never be the king my father was.”

“Thank the Almighty for that,” Navani murmured, and Elhokar was alarmed to see the crisp truth in those words. “You’re your own king, and you must learn the path just as your father did.”

“...but you’re glad I am not my father’s son,” Elhokar said, and his brow furrowed. “Is... did you love my father? Am I his son?”

“I have never been disloyal to your father, in body or in spirit,” Navani snapped. “Do not question me on this. He did, or at least, he didn’t care if it was true or not. Just that the possibility existed. Why do you think he threw it in my face on the very night he died?”

Elhokar went still as his mother’s words struck him, chips of colour that pelted him like rocks thrown by an angry child, and while they were tinged with fury, there were other emotions too: jealousy, frustration, loneliness, resentment... but no lies. Nothing untruthful about any of them.

“I...” Navani took a breath. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Forgive me, please.”

“Why not?” Elhokar whispered. “It was true. Mother, you said you were loyal but not that you... did you love my father? Did you love Gavilar Kholin?”

“Please don’t think that I don’t love you, my precious son,” Navani said. “Nor Jasnah, Almighty keep her soul safe. Just because things were difficult between your father and I--”

“Mother, please!”

“I tried to love him,” Navani began. “I did... but no, in the end, I didn’t love Gavilar. I couldn’t.”

“And is that why you’re carrying on this business with Dalinar now? Because you loved one brother and not the other?!” Elhokar clutched at his chest, feeling cold seep into it. “Did you decide you’d waited long enough, but then the war didn’t end?”

“How dare you?” Navani cried. “I was tired of being pushed aside by your wife, and I wanted to come here where I could at least feel wanted, and yes, I did feel as though I’d waited long enough, mourning a man I didn’t love, watching the children I’d loved grow away from me, just as he did. It’s not as though I didn’t have to drag Dalinar every step of the way. I’m a bloody adult and I’ll pursue love if I damn well want to!”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Elhokar snapped. “Not about Father and not about Dalinar.”

“You don’t want to hear much, from what I understand,” Navani shot back, and Elhokar froze. “Not when it could be something you don’t personally like.”

Elhokar felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. “So you think I’m a bad king too? Do you think I should just concede to Dalinar and the other Highprinces like some kind of puppet?”

“Yes, I think you’re a bad king!” Navani cried. “You are their puppet, you listen to everything they say and don’t think about why you’re doing the listening! Even with Dalinar, who has only ever tried to keep you safe!”

The memory of Elhokar’s spoken Truth, the words that had made him Radiant, twisted inside him. “Then I’ll abdicate in his favour, or in my son’s, and Dalinar can serve as Regent--”

“And what good will that do?!” Navani exclaimed. She grabbed for his arms, and shook him a little. “What’s the point in knowing you have flaws if you do nothing to correct them?!”

“Because I don’t know how,” Elhokar cried. “I’m told not to listen to people but to listen to them at the same time! When I listen, I’ve listened to the wrong person, and when I don’t, they’re completely in the right! How am I supposed to correct my flaws when I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!”

“There’s a difference between listening and doing what they say,” Navani said, and let him go. She took a breath, visibly composing herself. “You need to listen to what people tell you, even if you don’t like it, even if you hate it with every fiber of your being... and then think about it. Consider what you know about the person saying it to you. Decipher what their agenda might be.”

“How am I supposed to know all of that?” Elhokar asked, and immediately hated the whining sound in his voice. “Even the most straight-forward people talk out of both sides of their mouths.”

“You have people you trust gather information about the Highprinces,” Navani said. “They listen in on meetings or look at documents they might have. You can have people inside the churches too, if you’re going to be dealing with the Ardents. They aren’t political entities in their own right, but they do serve often as advisors, and then in other countries--”

“You want me to spy on my own people?” Elhokar said, aghast. “That’s dishonest.”

“They spy on you,” Navani pointed out. “Ialai and I spent years installing people in the right places to bring Gavilar information. Of course, the little whitespine uses them for Sadeas’ benefit now, or... she did. Now he’s gone, and things are unstable. So much changed after Gavilar died, including the cooperation between us.”

She’s completely correct, Vizir pointed out, and Elhokar jerked slightly, and forced himself to look at his mother, not at his spren. Spying isn’t just a thing of shadow courts and assassins, this is a real part of rulership. You need to know everything and see everything, and the only way to do that is to obtain information, sift out the truth and the lies, and then use it like a sword to cut through situations.

“I thought I was supposed to be a bad king,” Elhokar mumbled. Navani looked concerned, and reached out to touch his hand. “So what’s the point?”

The Truth is that you are a bad king, Vizir said. The lie is that you have to stay that way.

Elhokar closed his eyes, considering. His mother’s words rang in his mind, and he turned each of them over, and added in this new information, this new possibility. There is hope, like the light that illuminates a dark and terrible night. “Alright. Tell me where to start.”

~ * ~

Late in the evening, Elhokar sat in his room, alone save for Vizir, who hovered by his shoulder. In his hands he held something he never expected to have: a book. He’d listened to The Way of Kings a few times, on some occasions since Dalinar had taken to reading it, once or twice of his own volition, but this was different.

Towards Peace, the Autobiography of Gavilar Kholin.

Navani had written his father’s biography, and that one he’d had read to him before, and there had been others, each of which he’d listened to once or twice in the hopes of hearing his father’s voice one last time. It hadn’t done much good, and even requesting a male Ardent to come and read hadn’t helped.

This book, according to the scribes, had been ‘written’ by Gavilar himself, though his father hadn’t been able to write any more than Elhokar did. He’d dictated this one, as he’d dictated the one to Jasnah, and likely others. The book resonated with Elhokar, all the more so because it hadn’t been written by one of his relatives.

“If I’m going to do this, perhaps I should learn to read,” Elhokar said. “Maybe Shallan can teach me, so no one will find out. Imagine the scandal of a king learning to read, though, so maybe I shouldn’t. I’ll hardly seem like a man, it’s unthinkable. But so is the return of the Voidbringers, and the end of the world.”

“You should learn to read,” Vizir noted. “I have no idea why you can’t, it seems foolish. This wasn’t true in the ancient days. Men and women wrote books and fought. It’s not as though knowing how to do one completely negates your ability to do the other, like some kind of odd curse.”

“It’s a religious thing, other people don’t follow the same rules,” Elhokar said. “Vorinism dictates the tasks of women and men, divided up into what best suits each sex. Men know war so that our children may know peace. Women read and write, turning their pens into weapons and their minds into shields.”

“What if you aren’t a man or a woman?” Vizir demanded. “What if you’re both?”

Elhokar blinked slowly, and looked up at her. “I don’t... know?”

“And what is a man, exactly?” Vizir asked. “Are you not a mutable being, just as we spren are? You go from being a tiny, squalling, angry thing to a scampering troublemaker to an awkward long thing that makes funny faces when you touch yourself--”

“...I cannot believe you were watching me like that!”

“Who said I was watching you?” Vizir asked snidely. “I wasn’t done. You change in many ways over the years you exist before returning to nothingness. When are you a man? When you are born? When you first begin to speak? When you can walk on your own? When you are married?”

“When you’re born, the doctors say what you are,” Elhokar said uneasily. “That’s how it’s always been.”

“Can you fight with a sword when you are born?” Vizir asked. “Can you ride a horse or wage war?”

“No, of course not,” Elhokar protested. “You have to grow up and learn how to do those things.”

“So, does being a man prevent you from learning how to read and write?” Vizir asked. “Does your hand become overcome with painspren and your books spontaneously declare themselves to be fire?”

“Well, no,” Elhokar said. “I’m holding a book right now, even if I’m not reading it. If I opened it and tried, it would just be nonsense to me. No fire is involved.”

Vizir buzzed in a self-satisfied way, much as Pattern had done earlier, though the noise was deeper, more mature sounding. “And if you choose not to learn how to fight or ride, is the declaration of your manhood taken away?”

“No,” Elhokar said. “Besides, only the lighteyes learn to use a sword to begin with. Darkeyed men who don’t fight are everywhere. Merchants, labourers, even slaves. All of them are still men. And, yes, before you ask, there are men that can read. Ardents, or those who aren’t Vorin.”

“So, how does one tell if an infant is born a man or a woman?” Vizir asked. “Can doctors speak to children and ask them what they are?”

Elhokar squeezed his eyes shut. He recalled pacing outside the birthing chamber, having been banished there by the doctors and his wife’s attendants. His father had not lived for that day, and Dalinar had been at war. Aesudan had requested Navani be kept from the process, and Elhokar had agreed. He flinched with guilt.

“Their parts, I suppose. They’re very modest then, but they can still tell,” he said. “I remember when they told me I had a boy. Gavinor was so very small...”

“Ah, their parts,” Vizir said. “And, if one or more of these parts are lost, they are no longer a man. Does that kind of person have a different name?”

“No, no,” Elhokar said, shaking his head slightly to banish the memories. “A man who loses their, ah, parts is still a man.”

“Let me summarize, then,” Vizir said, and Elhokar had the impression of interlaced fingers being folded over a stomach, though his spren had none of the anatomy for such a gesture. “A man is declared so when they are born, based on their parts, but those parts can be absent. A man must fight -- sometimes with a sword -- though they need not always do so. A man cannot learn to read, but nothing stops them from doing so except for ‘Vorinism’, which is a religion created by people, not the nature of their birth. Though, a man can learn how to read and be Vorin, so long as they are a specific kind of man. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Elhokar said impatiently. “I don’t see what this has to do with--”

“If a man can be a man without any of the things that Vorinism says makes you a man, then what is a man?”

“I don’t know!” Elhokar said, throwing up his arms in exasperation. “I don’t know what a man is, except that I am one! Whether or not I can fight or ride or read. What is the point of all this?”

“That learning to read does not make you any less of a man unless you declare yourself to be so,” Vizir said. “Spren do not have men or women at all. Some of us take on voices that we like, shapes that we like, and forms that reflect our natures, but even then those things are mutable. I may learn to like a different voice and adopt it. I may not. I have the option to change and the option to stay the same. Neither of these options will make me any less of a spren. We are as we are. You are as you are.”

“I can change being a bad king if I choose it,” Elhokar said quietly. “I can change being a man if I choose it. The choice to read does not necessarily reflect on myself as a man or as a king, so...”

“So?” Vizir prompted, buzzing happily.

“So I should learn how to read,” Elhokar said with a sigh. “In secret.”

“Yes,” Vizir said. “Exactly. I am glad you have seen things my way.”

“You’re as bad as Jasnah was,” Elhokar muttered. “Will you help me learn?”

“Of course I will,” Vizir said. “And Jasnah sounds like a very excellent and correct person.”

“Oh, she was,” Elhokar said, and gingerly opened up the front cover. “She was... now, let’s start at the beginning.”

Chapter Text

Reading is far harder than fighting, Elhokar thought, holding Towards Peace as he sat in his room, reading by Stormlight. Vizir was absent from her place at his right ear, instead spread across the open pages, reading out each of the words as they came up. Elhokar knew the glyph pairs -- it was expected of him -- but little more. The realisation that women's writing had not just glyphs but tiny pieces of words called letters that they strung together to make words, sentences, paragraphs, and whole chapters, made the entire process intimidating.

"People just learn this, every day?" Elhokar whispered. "In childhood. How do they manage?"

"One letter at a time, one word at a time," Vizir said. "Though, children don't start with lengthy autobiographies written by their dead fathers. They start with simple books about chulls, axehounds, and lavis grain."

"...so, I'm wasting my time?"

"Do you think you're wasting your time?" Vizir asked. "We have limits as to what we can obtain for instructional materials, given that you feel the need to keep your lessons a secret. We may not be able to get you a reading primer. You have privilege, given that you are the king, but it means that your activities are watched by everyone."

"Including nosy spren," Elhokar muttered. "I had hoped Shallan could teach me more."

"She's busy with her investigation, as you are well aware," Vizir said sternly. "Besides, her expression of the Lightweaver Surges is going to be quite different from yours. You've already seen how that is true. I can teach you how your Surges function. Your mother can teach you how to gather political intelligence and sift it for useful information. Your uncle can teach you how to inspire, unify, and lead."

"Shallan knows the truth about me," Elhokar said quietly. "She doesn't have to like me. She's not even Alethi, she's Veden. She isn't bonded to me, the way you are. She doesn't have to pity me or protect me like my mother or my uncle. She doesn't owe me anything. Shallan was simply going to help me anyway. Now she's gone off to do something more interesting, leaving me behind."

The words blurred suddenly, and Elhokar reached up, wiping moisture from his eyes. Vizir rose from the page, and began to orbit him slowly, her form shifting as it did so. He kept his head bowed towards the pair of pages that he couldn't read, not out of concentration but out of shame.

"Elhokar," his spren began. "I..."

"I'm sorry," Elhokar replied quietly. "I'm whining again. I'll stop."

The words were tinted pink, orange, and yellow. No red.

"Perhaps... perhaps you need a break," Vizir said, eventually. "One does not learn to read in a single day. Or even a few weeks. Why don't we go for a walk. You can call for a bodyguard."

If I told my uncle that I knew exactly who had killed Torol Sadeas, would I get to see Shallan again because her investigation would be over? Elhokar wondered helplessly. Or would I finally meet my end, strangled to death by my uncle because I accused his favourite child of murder?

"Elhokar?"

"Yes," he said finally, closing the book with a soft thump. "Let's go for a walk."

In the time since Sadeas' death, there had been meetings. Accusations. Outright threats. Meridas Amaram had become the Highprince of Sadeas at Ialai's insistence because her nephew was too young to rule.

Meridas Amaram, the man Elhokar's father had wanted Jasnah to marry. A man who had been, according to Gavilar, above reproach. Except, Kaladin the ex-slave, ex-bridgeman, the man who had saved his uncle and cousin's life, had accused him of terrible deeds. Deeds that, as it turned out, were true.

I wasn't brave enough to refuse the request, Elhokar thought miserably as he hid his father's book amongst his things, careful not to fold them into the laundry that would be taken away by servants to wash. I should have been. Except, then Ialai would want to know why. Everyone knows of Kaladin's assertions, and they even know I eventually let him go... but most people don't believe him. Kaladin's gifts aren't well known. No one outside the Kholin camp is aware of them, so--

As Elhokar thought, he caught sight of the faintest hint of colour from Towards Peace : the aura was glowing an ominous dark red and the moment Elhokar noticed it, it vanished. "Did you see..?"

"I don't necessarily perceive the colours as you do," Vizir said. "...so, what did you see?"

"Nothing," Elhokar replied flatly. "Never mind."

"I see," Vizir said, even as the words fell from his lips in a trickle of red. "Well, let's see about that walk."

Elhokar retrieved his jacket, the same uniform of the Kholinar forces, and pulled it on. He took a breath, then two, and left his room. His bodyguards had been moved to the entrance of this section of chambers rather than directly outside his door, ostensibly because they were short on guards, but more likely because after the first dozen times Elhokar had inadvertently raised his voice speaking to Vizir and dismissed them, they likely wanted to do their duty further away from the madman who was their king.

Urithiru was immense, echoing, and empty. Instead of exploring it in wonder, many huddled within, sheltering from a storm they did not understand, looking to those who had no more idea of what was happening than they did, but because of the colour of their eyes, the blood in their veins, and the symbols on their clothing, were to be stronger, wiser, better than they were.

What makes the colour of our eyes define our ability to lead? Elhokar wondered as he walked. Behind him trailed a few guards, and he ignored them. His darkeyed guards. The lighteyed king ignored them. Is that what's wrong with me? That I don't pay attention to those who are beneath me? Why are they beneath me?

Elhokar stopped walking, and it took two steps for his guards to stop as well, then backing up to give him appropriate space. Space that yawned like a darkened chasm; the darkness hid horrors beyond words. Chasmfiends. Floodwaters. Perhaps even the Parshendi. Death itself.

Who was the first to tell me that, as a lighteyes, I was better than the darkeyes around me? A tutor, I think. Who was the one to decide that I was a lighteyes worthy to be king, while other lighteyes are only generals. Administrators. Citylords? Where did the nahn and dahn system come from?

The questions seemed stupid, even in Elhokar's own mind. Everyone knew. Everyone in Alethkar knew. Only a fool would ask questions for which they knew the answer. Not just Alethkar: in Jah Keved, in Kharbranth, they all knew. They all knew and no one would ever question it. The Almighty had told them so, so it must be true.

Vorinism, Elhokar realised. "Those who don't follow Vorinism don't necessarily use the same system of determining rank. They think we're as strange and backwards as we consider them letting their women run around with their safehand uncovered or letting their men read."

"That... that they do, Your Majesty," said one of the guards hesitantly. Elhokar turned to stare at him, and he flinched back a little. "Not talking to us. Forgiveness, please."

Elhokar turned back, dismissing the man, then cringing at how easy it was to do. I need to stop doing that. I just don't know how. It's my job to be unconcerned about lesser things. How do I stop thinking of people as lesser things? The people I was taught to look up to are all terrible cremlings. The people I reflexively look down on are noble, being raised up by the spren and the Stormfather. The Almighty is probably dead. I...

Jasnah would likely enjoy the vindication of her beliefs. There was no Almighty. Not any more. No one guided men to do good, or shun evil. Nothing guided them through dark days and storm-white nights. They were all wanderers in the dark, groping around for landmarks that did not exist. One step could easily carry them into the void.

But, Jasnah is dead. Shallan saw it. She witnessed it. No grand tribute for one of the greatest scholars of the modern day, just a watery grave. At least she'd find it appropriate; no one could send her to the Tranquiline Halls to quarrel with the Voidbringers... because she doesn't believe in them. She believed in scholarship, in truth, in her own path. In... in my uncle, though not in our mother. Not in me.

Something tickled at his mind, and he looked around for Vizir. There was no immediate sign of his spren, but he could sense her still. Like being watched. The paranoia he'd felt for years, justified. Long ago, when Elhokar had been only very young, people had whispered that Jasnah had been mad. They had cured her, but a hatred for the Ardentia had replaced whatever madness had taken her. No one spoke of it later, though he'd heard his uncle ask about it once.

My uncle... Elhokar began to walk again, this time with greater purpose. Jasnah might have been able to answer my questions, but she's gone. My uncle, on the other hand, is still here.

Ten minutes of walking brought Elhokar to the room that had replaced the Hall of Maps in the warcamps. They had not been able to transfer all the stonework, but the maps had been preserved with care, for all they were outdated. Some had called for the copies to be discarded and redrawn, but Dalinar liked to keep them. To stare at them. To consider the past even as he looked towards the future.

The man himself stood at one of the tables, arms folded behind his back, staring down, as though ready at any time for a military inspection.

From whom, I wonder, Elhokar mused. "Uncle? Am I... disturbing you?"

"No," Dalinar said, and turned towards him. Stern. Formal. Unyielding. Like stone. "How can I help you, Your Majesty?"

"Am I only your king, now? Not your nephew?" Elhokar blurted out. "Does that make it easier when Mother wants to marry you?"

Dalinar stiffened, then sighed. All at once, tension ran out of him. "I want to marry your mother too, but the time is not right. Even if it were, no one wants to officiate. Under Vorinism, we are brother and sister. I tried... please do believe that I tried to talk her out of it."

"...but you love her," Elhokar said slowly, once again feeling around in the dark. "Don't you?"

"I do, yes. Since before you, or Jasnah, or my sons were born," Dalinar said quietly. "Since before she married my brother. From almost the moment I saw her, I desired her. She told me that my intensity frightened her. Sometimes, I wonder if I should tell her that it's not gone. I just have to imprison it, like a spren in a fabrial, lest I let it out and destroy something else."

Elhokar shivered. "I think she knows. I think she likes it."

"I know she does, Nephew," Dalinar said patiently. "She's not ignorant of how I am. She said she finds the ways I have changed intriguing."

"Better that than cowardly, I suppose," Elhokar said. "Though, you weren't a coward. You were wiser than all of us, in the end. Finding this place. Fighting for me."

"You recall the words your father left for me," Dalinar said, and nodded. "I think about them every day. I also think of what he told me, to follow the Codes. I didn't, Elhokar. I was drunk the night your father died. There was a plan, but there should have been redundancy. I always thought that if I'd been there, I could have saved his life."

"Could you?" Elhokar asked quietly. "Could you have saved my father?"

"No," Dalinar admitted. The word fell like a Warmace shattering stone. "I fought the Assassin in White. He would have killed me, and then my sons would have been orphans. Someone else would have led the Vengeance Pact. Your father would still be dead. Perhaps others if they'd been fool enough to rely on me."

"So, shouldn't you let your guilt go, then?" Elhokar asked. As always, when his uncle spoke, every gemstone was as clear as a diamond, as truth itself. He wondered at it, at his uncle's unrelenting sincerity. "Since it was never your fault."

"It's very difficult to let go of guilt," Dalinar said. "Sometimes impossible, though not always. I was younger then. I could have done better. There is something... something I have told very few. The Thrill sickens me. When I go to battle, it rises as easily as it always does, but when it does so, I am nauseous, as though smelling rotting flesh. As though immersed in filth."

"That's..."

"A quintessential part of being Alethi, isn't it? Adolin affirmed it, 'we all feel the Thrill'. What does it mean that it makes me sick? I have... something of an idea. It comes from the same source as the pain I feel when I hold a Shardblade."

"The... Stormfather?" Elhokar asked, hesitantly. "You cannot serve two masters?"

"He is not clear, but that may be it," Dalinar admitted. "I can’t know for sure. It doesn't matter, it's no longer my place to go to war. I must unite and not divide."

"We'll always be divided, won't we?" Elhokar asked. "Different princedoms, different nations, different ranks, different..." He recalled his conversation with Vizir about men and women, and hastily added, "beliefs."

Dalinar raised an eyebrow, but didn't probe. Instead, he began to pace. He did not stalk, but every line in his body seemed to wish to, the crisp lines of his Kholinar uniform seemed to beg for it. "And yet, are we not all of Roshar? Do we not all experience the same Highstorms, breathe the same air, drink the same water? Are we all not born as infants who grow into adulthood, eating, sleeping, educating ourselves in one way or another? Do we not all seek the same things?"

"No," Elhokar said. "Why do some men lead and some follow?"

His uncle paused mid-step, considering Elhokar. "All men lead and all men follow. Not always at the same time, but they do do both. Why?"

"How is that possible?" Elhokar asked. "Lighteyes lead. Darkeyes follow."

"And yet, if you were to march to war, there would be darkeyes leading other darkeyes," Dalinar said. "If there were to be an evacuation of a town because an army was coming, there would be those who would take charge, ordering others. There would be those who would refuse to leave, wanting to defend their homes. They might not believe what was coming would threaten them. Lighteyes will lead other lighteyes as well. A darkeyed doctor would order a lighteyed citylord to stay in bed and rest."

"There are those who would say it's against the natural order," Elhokar protested, weakly. "That it's against the Almighty's will for such."

Dalinar's expression grew shadowed. "I don't think the Almighty would have wanted for darkeyes to die simply because there was no lighteyed official to tell them what to do. Nor do I think that the Almighty would have wanted the lighteyes to die because they were too stubborn to listen to an expert, no matter what colour their eyes were."

"...but the Almighty is dead," Elhokar whispered. "You said so. So, how can the Almighty want anything?"

"I don't believe Honour and the Almighty are the same," Dalinar said heavily. "It is a thin distinction, but I must believe there is more. If not on Roshar, then further out, somewhere in the cosmere. Somewhere, something watches over us. When we pray, our words are heard. Burning glyphwards reach something."

"Do you see that in your visions?" Elhokar asked. "Is that why you still believe?"

"No, I believe because I have faith," Dalinar said. "The ardents don't believe that I do. They think that I am a heretic, a blasphemer. Perhaps I am, but I cannot let them stop me. I couldn't let the resistance of the highprinces - or my son, or even you - stop me. I had a goal, a mountain to climb. I must make it to the top. No matter what."

"...because the Voidbringers are returning," Elhokar said. "So are the Desolations. That means... is anything we believed true?"

Dalinar began to pace again, at first, with great intensity and then, as if realising that he had become somehow slightly less restrained, set a calmer, more measured pace. "I think that it is very likely that there were once orders handed down from on high. However, as time passed, each of those orders were passed on slightly differently. Different words were used. Different names for the same places. Different analogies were drawn on to illustrate points. The meaning changed over time, as crem from rain builds on a roof and causes strain."

"...and now the roof is going to cave in because no one ordered it clean," Elhokar said. The words made sense, but still... "Why are lighteyes superior to darkeyes?"

Dalinar raised an eyebrow. "Are they?"

Elhokar flushed, and tried again. "Why are lighteyes said to be leaders and darkeyes said to be followers?"

"Nohadon believed that lighteyes should live their lives in service to darkeyes," Dalinar said. "Some might even be said to, but many more do as they wish, leaving the darkeyes to derive meaning from their service. You have done it. I have done it. Many have done it. We have power, and so with that power, we take advantage. We are not cruel, or not all of us are. We are simply placed in a position of great power, and with that power comes responsibility, privilege, and consequence."

"Responsibility I understand," Elhokar said slowly. "It's duty. Privilege I understand. It's birthright. Consequence..."

"When darkeyes commit a crime, who judges them?"

"Lighteyes," Elhokar said automatically. "Or... high-ranking darkeyes, in some cases."

"Yes," Dalinar said. "And what if a lighteyes commits a crime?"

"They don't..." Elhokar winced at his uncle's look. "They're judged by other lighteyes. Higher ranking ones."

"Yes," Dalinar said again. He paced away from Elhokar, and then back towards him. Looming. "What happens when a high ranking lighteyes commits a crime? What happens when they do something so heinous that even their peers look at them and go 'this cannot be borne any longer'?"

"I..." Elhokar looked down at his hands. "I would say the Almighty intervenes, but I think we've established that doesn't really happen. So, I don't know. What does happen?"

"The darkeyes judge," Dalinar said quietly. "The lowest of the low, with nothing else to lose. They will tear us from our thrones, with knives in their fists and hate in their hearts. The capacity for justice is in the hands of those with the power to enforce it."

Elhokar shuddered. "Are you talking about... Moash?"

"I am talking about the fall of nations," Dalinar said. "Consequences are what happen in response to one of your actions, as punishment, you lose something. Wealth. Power. Prestige. Your very life. A high ranking man can become a low ranking one... until there is nowhere further down to go. Until you reach the very bottom of the chasm and dwell amongst the filth and the rot. You could give up. You could await death and hope for a better existence next time. Or you could realise that there are no consequences you could face that would stay your hand. You could rise up and lash out at those who hurt you. You could scream and rage at the Almighty Himself for your pain and your suffering. You could let hate sustain you where there is no food or water or warmth."

"The bridgemen... Kaladin. They were like that, weren't they?"

"As I understand it, yes," Dalinar said. "I've heard a little from Renarin, and a little more from Adolin. I've heard Kaladin's testimony regarding his treatment, not just by Amaram, but by Roshone, by the men in charge of the bridgecrews. I think in some cases his experiences were extreme, exceptional... but not unique. He survived because he is Stormblessed, but these things did not happen to him because he was Stormblessed. If you follow."

Windrunners are obnoxious show-offs, Vizir said, startling Elhokar. She had been silent the whole time, floating, listening until she could make this jibe, her tone deeply bitter. ...but they are frequently drawn to hopeless causes, to bring hope where there was none. We could call them Hopebringers, but that's more pretentious than they deserve.

"So... consequences occur when someone with greater authority acts against someone with lesser authority, until you have nowhere to go, either up or down," Elhokar said, hoping Dalinar had not seen him flinch. "But then, why lighteyes? Why darkeyes? Why not pick... hair colour, or skin colour? Or something else entirely?"

"Ask the Azish. Ask the Reshi. Ask the Shin and the Thaylen," Dalinar said. "But for us... in my visions, I have spoken to the Knights Radiant. They said that Alethela was their home and I believe its heart was Alethkar. A nation of warriors. A nation where those with light-coloured eyes, changed by Stormlight, were prominent. People looked to the Knights Radiant to fight, to defend, to lead . The Radiants became lost, but the belief held."

"...is it that simple?" Elhokar asked, wonderingly. "We're descended from those who were chosen by spren, so people look to us for leadership, whether we're bonded to spren or not?"

"Well, there's also the fact there are a damned sight fewer lighteyes than darkeyes," Dalinar said dryly. "It would be very inconvenient if the darkeyes, who outnumber us thousands to one in an average group, were all the leaders, jockeying for position. That's why we have societal rungs, so we can stack more people on the bottom like stone so the whole structure doesn't simply collapse."

I like him, Vizir said. Bondsmiths are usually terribly self-righteous, but this one is clever.

He's still self-righteous, just in a way you approve of, Elhokar thought sourly, and was startled when Vizir laughed in his mind. Can you hear me?

Of course I can, Vizir thought back. You're the one who keeps insisting on speaking aloud like a madman.

Elhokar groaned softly, and then cursed. "So, it's all wrong, then? The whole social order?"

"It will sound self-serving, but I don't think that it is," Dalinar said. "Not entirely. The reason the Knights Radiant had light eyes is because they were chosen to the Orders. They were chosen to the Orders because a spren found them worthy. They spoke the Oaths. They committed to the ideals. Right or wrong, they were prepared to lead, to defend. When their courage failed, lesser men picked up the pieces. I would not be surprised if the Alethi War Codes derived from their beliefs, in fragments. Common sense, threaded with important vows."

Elhokar considered, and nodded a little. "Is that why you came to follow them? The War Codes. Aside from what my father said, you felt a kinship with them before you became a Radiant?"

Dalinar paused, and Elhokar saw his fists tighten. "I follow the War Codes because I have always followed something or someone. When left to my own devices..."

"Please, tell me," Elholkar said, taking a step forward. "I want to know."

"I follow the War Codes because without them, I am a monster," Dalinar said quietly. Elhokar's eyes widened. "The Blackthorn was a horror. He killed without mercy. He revelled in slaughter. Not just that, he was a creature of extremes. Drinking. Eating. Not... not some of the carnal acts, he had limits. I had limits. Often, that limit was Gavilar. He was my older brother. I loved him. I envied him. Sometimes, I even hated him. I always, however, obeyed him."

"Why?"

"Because I could not be trusted to act on my own," Dalinar said. "I only have hazy memories of my childhood, largely because I was very stupid and impulsive. I didn't think, I merely acted. Gavilar was there to restrain me, when our parents could not. He was stronger and smarter than I was. It was natural to defer to him. In everything. Including..."

"Mother," Elhokar whispered. "Because you loved her. So did my father. So, when he..."

"It was always going to be him," Dalinar said. "I would not fight him on anything. I was once so battle-addled I nearly turned on him. I didn't, but it was closer than I would have liked. I promised myself, never again. Restraint. If nothing else, in this. I would be loyal to my brother until the day I died."

My father was the only one who could control the Blackthorn. Everyone always said so, Elhokar thought, studying Dalinar's solemn face. He was the calm one, the one who could be negotiated with. When negotiations failed, you would get...

The sweetroot or the switch, Vizir said, her tone oddly gently. The caress or the slap. The gift or the punishment.

"You went to war in my father's name," Elhokar whispered, to Vizir, to Dalinar. "You fought wars for him. You became a horror for him."

"No," Dalinar said, his rumbling tone gentle. "I was always going to be the horror. I simply needed something -- someone -- to steer me in the right direction. After your father died, there was no one to do so. I had to put the Blackthorn down, like a horse with shattered legs. As a mercy."

For the first time since the conversation had begun, colour tinted Dalinar's words, though only for a moment. I was always going to be the horror. I needed someone to steer me in the right direction. The words were glowing a light shade of red. The colour itched at Elhokar, so familiar and yet he didn't recognize it.

I need to know what it means, Elhokar thought. I just don't know how to find out. "But you are... leashed, now. No more Blackthorn. Because of the Codes, and the promises."

"Correct," Dalinar said, and paced away. "I do not drink strong wine; it leads to excess. I avoid combat or killing when I can; the Thrill sickens me. I wear a uniform at all times to avoid being slovenly, sloppy. I refuse duels, no matter how insulting the words, because I could kill any man who challenged me without question... so I must choose not to. I do what I must to protect Alethkar and my brother's legacy."

"...including me," Elhokar said, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I should have trusted you. I... I can see that you are trustworthy, now. I will never doubt your words again."

Dalinar paused, and turned. "There is no need to apologise. Simply... do better today than you did yesterday. Do better tomorrow than you did today."

Elhokar nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Not because of the colours, but so that I don't simply start bawling like Gavinor after waking from a bad dream. "There is something else. Uncle, I give you my blessing to marry my mother. You were kept apart for too long. For Alethkar's sake. For its sake, you should both be happy. I can tell the Ardents to perform the ceremony any time you're ready."

"A kind offer, but no," Dalinar said. "If you're seen siding with me, the Ardents will turn their face from you too. Better that I be the odd heretic than the king."

"I... very well." Elhokar gestured helplessly, the words pink with embarrassment. "What will you do?"

Dalinar smiled, startling Elhokar. His uncle's face did not transform with joy as some did, but it did soften many of his sharpest edges. "As I have been reminded over the course of this conversation, there are higher authorities than men to appeal to. We'll have to perform the ceremony outside, but... please attend, we'll gather everyone that cares to join us."

"I'll be there," Elhokar said. "Make no mistake about that, Uncle. Or should I call you..?"

"No, no," Dalinar said. "I think that would be very awkward. Don't you?"

~ * ~

Late that night, Elhokar sat on his bed, propped up against the wall, trying to read his father's book again. If he gazed towards a lower corner of the room, eyes unfocused, he could see the aura again. Light red.

"Red is for lies," Elhokar said quietly. "So, a light red would be a kind of lie. Don't you think so?"

"I don't perceive the colours as you do," Vizir said, her form tinged briefly with green. "However, that seems likely, based on your observations. Why?"

"My uncle told one lie," Elhokar said softly. "A lie he believed, I am certain of it. That means someone told him something so important that he would always think of it, always repeat it, to himself and to others... even though it wasn't true."

"Your people lie often, to others and to themselves," Vizir noted, fuzzing a little. "It's not surprising that your uncle would be no different."

"He hasn't lied to me before," Elhokar said. "He told me uncomfortable truths. Awkward ones. Painful ones. Never falsehoods. Someone had to tell him those lies... and I think that I know who."

"Who?" Vizir asked, rotating idly.

"My father," Elhokar said quietly, resting his hand over the words. Briefly, the book grew brighter. "I think that he could have steered my uncle away from his path of self-destruction. I think he told my uncle that he could never be anything but a horror and that he was the only one who could stop him. When offered two choices, and one of them is 'I will send the Blackthorn and my armies after you', the other choice is better, no matter how bad it is. And, if you don't..."

"The Rift." Vizir's form sharpened briefly, then faded a little. "A blight on the Physical Realm. Even spren do not like to go there. I was with you by then, of course, but--"

"You were watching me when I was sixteen ?" Elhokar asked. "No... it was before that. Wasn't it? The spren were watching for those they found worthy that long ago, and we knew nothing. How long has the end been coming?"

"Since this world was born," Vizir said quietly. "All die, in the end. All drift apart, like clouds scurrying away from a storm. All will betray each other. We will all become dull, brittle, inert. That is the truth of the world. Your people are ephemeral, transient. Nothing ever lasts."

Elhokar stared at his spren, thoughts of his father forgotten. "It's... true, but only in the most basic of ways. Don't... don't we still have people who love us? That we can trust. I'll grow old and die eventually but I'll live until then."

"You will, and hurt many, many people in your turn," Vizir replied. "The Honour-bound deny it. They are such fools, they--"

"Is that why you're so cold to Kaladin and Syl?" Elhokar asked. "Because Windrunners protect people? They put their lives, hearts, and souls at risk trying to do what’s right?"

"They will get themselves killed, twisting themselves in knots for their Oaths," Vizir hissed. "They make one believe in them, to trust, but then where is their Honour at the end?"

"Honour's dead, but I'll see what I can do," Elhokar whispered. "You know me. You know the truth about me, the most basic of truths, but Vizir... I may be a fool, a coward, and a terrible king, and it may be that I will betray you one day. I won't make a stupid promise that I can't keep, but... I'll try not to do it. I'll try to never hurt you. I'll love you like I love my son."

"Elhokar, I..." Vizir fuzzed until she was barely visible. "Waiting in this realm, alone, wondering if you’d even speak your Truth was so lonely. I..."

He reached out, holding his hands above the air where she hung, and then pulled back. "There must be a way to... here." He twisted, and grabbed a pillow, then held it out to her. "Latch on to this for a moment."

"...I am not Pattern," Vizir said, tone thick. "I do not need to be held. I am not an infant."

"No, of course you're not," Elhokar said. "Go on."

Slowly, Vizir returned to her normal appearance, and floated to the pillow, merging with the cloth until she was eye to 'eye' with Elhokar. The king of Alethkar smiled a little, and drew the pillow to his chest, cradling it carefully, as though holding Gavinor in his infancy. Dalinar had once told him that holding Adolin had changed him. Elhokar had felt the same about his own son.

Vizir, pressed between his chest and the pillow, buzzed. Elhokar stroked over the cloth.

"Shh," he whispered. "Shh. Let it all out."

In his arms, his spren, who had no eyes, no mouth, no lungs with which to scream, wailed.

Chapter Text

“...and then the Midnight Mother emulated the act of violence -- Shallan stabbing a man in the hand with a knife -- by doing it to another, different Horneater,” Pattern said, buzzing happily. “From that information we were able to determine a pattern, which led us to her existence at all. Then we were able to track her down, fight her, and frighten her from Urithiru! Hmm!”

“Good for you,” Vizir said sourly. “I’m teaching Elhokar how to read and we’ve been discussing ethics.”

“Oh, that sounds fun,” Pattern said, buzzing. “But, Shallan already knows how to read, and she’s studied ethics. We had books but then they were lost. Shallan, should we buy more books about ethics?”

“I needed them because of my Wardship,” Shallan said. “I wanted to show Jasnah that I could learn and improve myself even with my limited means and education. That’s not something I need to prove any more, because she’s gone. Though, we shouldn’t discuss that in front of the king.”

“It’s fine,” Elhokar said, and took a breath to ease the knot of tension in his chest. “Though, could you explain why your means were limited? Isn’t your family nobility in Jah Keved?”

“Relatively minor nobility,” Shallan said, and Elhokar raised an eyebrow. “Oh, fine. We were poor nobility, because my father was hated by every other House because of his business dealings. We had very little spare funds for education, and he saw little interest in providing one for me beyond skills that he could easily have me show off in front of visitors. My stepmother wasn’t well educated either, and we couldn’t keep tutors. I taught myself from the books in my father’s library, the number of which were about history or ethics were quite limited.”

“My sister picked you as her Ward anyway. She rarely takes Wards... and you’d be the last one,” Elhokar said, and set down the book. Vizir buzzed disapprovingly, and he ignored her. “I’m sure she was very impressed by your hard work.”

“I tricked her,” Shallan said simply. “I wanted to become her Ward so that I could steal her Soulcaster to replace one that was broken when my father died. I was able to convince her of my sincerity towards becoming a scholar so she would trust me and then I stole from her. I delayed leaving for home and it got me caught. That and nearly being murdered by an assassin meant for her.”

Elhokar stared at Shallan, and picked out the vagueness of some of the words, shaded in green, but there were no lies. It looked more like someone not wanting to share details. It’s not an interrogation, more like a confession. “But you were still her Ward.”

“Yes,” Shallan said, sighing. “She was furious with me, but I’d figured out her secret, and she knew mine. I told her the whole story and she... actually, she forgave me, though she expected me to work harder than ever. What really drew her was the fact I had, even very briefly, Soulcast.”

“Something I’d be able to do too, if I had any idea how,” Elhokar said. “Vizir thinks it’s more important to learn to read and how to use this talent I have... which doesn’t correspond clearly to what you can do.”

“What was it she said before? We don’t have many commonalities?” Shallan shrugged. “It’s true, I suppose. Besides, I can hardly teach you about Soulcasting when I don’t really know myself. I couldn’t even convince a stick to be fire.”

“I doubt I’ll have any better luck in that case,” Elhokar said. “I can’t get most people to listen to me normally, much less sticks. I can’t believe my uncle keeps refusing the throne when he’s a better leader than I ever will be.”

“Not that I’m one to judge, but if you keep telling yourself you’re a terrible leader, you can’t move on from that point,” Shallan said. “You were born into a position of leadership. Maybe you’re good at it, and maybe you’re not, but you’ve still got that power unless you abdicate it.”

“...if I try to abdicate, I get yelled at,” Elhokar said. “Though you have a point, I suppose. I have power, so I can choose how to use it. To act, to stay my hand. I’m still learning what that means to me and people like me. Which brings up a point... if things were so bad with your father, why did you never go to your highprince? To the king?”

“The highprince and my father were allies, if anything the information I had would have just put my father further under his thumb, and probably resulted in more dead family members,” Shallan said lightly. “The highprinces of Jah Keved were quarrelsome, more so than the Alethi ones, because the Alethi highprinces still had a war to focus on at least. Jah Keved didn’t.”

“That’s horrifying to hear, but makes sense. That must have been very hard on your darkeyes, if the lighteyes were too busy fighting amongst themselves to lead," Elhokar said. "Or... it might be they even enjoyed it, watching those higher rank than them fighting."

"I don't know, but I'd imagine it would be more like what things were like for Kaladin," Shallan said slowly. "Petty citylords abusing their power over darkeyed citizens and their tenant farmers, local lords recruiting for pointless border wars. People... people getting into messes they shouldn't have."

"Messes that wind up with needing to steal a Soulcaster?" Elhokar asked, raising an eyebrow in a way he hoped was authoritative, inquisitive, and knowing all at once. I should practice this instead of reading, I'll get further in politics.

"Something like that, yes," Shallan said, sighing. "Jasnah helped with that too. She sent funds to my family, and they're supposed to be coming here. I'm just not sure when. Given everything, they could have been caught out in the Everstorm. If I had the ability to travel like Kaladin..."

"It could be we'll hear news soon," Elhokar said. "I don't know, but there might be a way to look for them."

"We struggled, as a family," Shallan said quietly. "Broken people, trying to pretend that we were normal. If it weren't for all the bad parts, my father's death would have been the best thing to happen to us. It still might be."

The words resonated oddly with Elhokar. They were true, no red or green tinted them, but there was something to what she said, something he connected with. I loved my father, didn't I? His death was tragic. It... it happened for no reason, sparking off this war that's taken so many. He was beloved by all, though my mother was miserable... and my uncle still believes his lies. Lies that live inside my book, a memorial glowing red. Lies that keep him in chains even now. Jasnah, though, she and our father were close. She wouldn't have loved him so much if he had been that terrible. Though, Amaram, and her treatment by the ardents...

Elhokar's mind reeled, and he forced himself to pay attention to Vizir, and Pattern, who were squabbling again.

"--was only doing what she thought was right, hmm!" Pattern said insistently. "Which Jasnah should appreciate because she only did what she thought was right first!"

"That's hardly a justification," Vizir sniffed. "Shallan is quite lucky Jasnah trusted her at all after that, Soulcasting or not. Being a Surgebinder -- or a Radiant for that matter -- does not make one inherently good. You are surely too young to remember that, but I am not."

"What's this?" Elhokar asked, looking at Shallan. "What did my sister do?"

"Oh, well," Shallan said, looking uncomfortable. A single shamespren petal floated away from her. "While we were in Kharbranth, she wanted to teach me a hands-on lesson about right and wrong. She dressed up, and we walked to a dangerous part of the city, and we killed four men."

Elhokar blinked. "That's not... all that happened, is it?"

"No," Shallan said, sighing. "As Jasnah told me, there had been men attacking, robbing, and sometimes killing, people in a specific alley. The guard patrols looked the other way. They were afraid, likely, of being hurt by these very effective criminals. Jasnah felt as though she was taking advantage of the King's generosity and wanted to give something back to him. She had her Soulcaster with her, and when we were attacked in the alley, she used it to kill our attackers. Or, I thought she was using it to kill them. She was an Elsecaller, and Soulcasting was one of her skills, but at the time..."

"You thought she was using a precious artifact for... murder? Justice?"

"Yes," Shallan said. "I felt awful, and I told Jasnah that what she'd done was wrong, but I struggled to articulate why. She sent me to the task of researching different ethical schools of thought. Most said she was right, and the ones that didn't seemed fairly horrible. So, she was morally correct but I still felt like she was wrong. It gave me the push I needed to steal from her, but then I stayed."

"Why did you, in the end?" Elhokar asked, nodding. "You could have gotten away."

"I worried that if I left too soon, she'd suspect me immediately," Shallan said, and her words dripped red. Elhokar raised an eyebrow. Shallan winced. "That was the reason I told my brothers, but the truth was that I wanted to hold on to what I had for just a little bit longer. Your sister was brilliant, if not callous. Then..."

"Then?"

"I tried Soulcasting, and it worked, though I didn't understand how or why. I changed a vase in my room into blood. It made such a mess, I panicked. I didn't want to be caught, so I... hurt myself, and hoped that it would cover my tracks. It did, entirely too well. Jasnah was so remorseful that she'd 'driven me' to such drastic actions. I was being sent home, and she hoped one day I'd return. I felt awful."

Elhokar nodded. "In the moment, you felt justified, but now that you'd done it, it was a lot harder to hold on to that conviction."

"Yes," Shallan said simply, spreading her hands. "You'd be amazed what you can talk yourself into. In the end, I got caught because the man who'd been trying to kill her almost killed me. He'd been trying to assassinate her, hoping to get her to eat the poisoned food at least once... instead, he kept feeding it to me, alongside an antidote. Except, because Jasnah felt so bad for me, she conceded to try the food he offered just this once... and because she did fear poisoning, because she did know someone was trying to kill her, she Soulcast the pot of jam he offered us."

Elhokar shivered briefly, recalling his own brushes with assassination. Including the one I faked. Which cost me quite a bit, none the least of which was my uncle's regard. "So, she neutralised the poison?"

"No," Shallan said. "I'll come to it. With the jam gone 'off', he urged her to at least try to bread, which I certainly had done. Jasnah did too, but not before Soulcasting it too. I saw its form warp, just a little, but thought nothing of it at the time. The assassin had eaten the bread too, and he was frantic for me to have the jam... which was of course, incredibly disgusting, because Jasnah isn't good with Soulcasting organics. So, the assassin and I were both poisoned. Jasnah Soulcast my blood to remove the poison... but because I'd stolen her Soulcaster, I confessed the theft to her, believing that if she tried with my fake, it wouldn’t work. She saved my life anyway, thankfully. I'm lucky that she didn't decide to let me die for my crime."

"...I'd say that's harsh, but you'd just seen my sister play executioner for four killers in an alley," Elhokar said. "So I'm a little surprised too."

"Would she have been justified in doing so?" Vizir asked. "Letting a thief die?"

"She did let Kasbah die, but given that he was trying to murder her and she could only save one of us due to how fast-acting the poison was, picking me seemed to be the most logical choice. I suppose she could have saved him for an interrogation if she’d had the time to consider it. Besides, up until then, she liked me more than an ardent that seemed bent on 'saving her soul'," Shallan said lightly. "But, I suppose that would depend on what was stolen. There are laws, but they don't usually state that thieves are executed."

Vizir fuzzed, tinting a new colour to Elhokar: orange. Her voice rose. "Not usually ? I see things went to Damnation when the Skybreakers weren't around reminding people what the purpose of laws are. What about those humans in the alley? Did they deserve to be executed?"

"Vizir... you heard Shallan," Elhokar said slowly. "They attacked and robbed people, then killed them. I can understand her distaste for Jasnah's method, but my sister could have achieved the same results with a sword, or--"

"Did it not occur to you that those could have been completely different people?!" Vizir cried, and the orange became more vibrant, pulsing like a Stormborn's eyes. "They could have been first-time opportunists! They could have been searching for something! They could have been innocent and they were murdered for the temerity of being there!"

Elhokar sat back, stunned by her fury. That must be what that colour means, he thought distantly. Orange means anger.

"That's certainly... possible," Shallan said. "We didn't ask. We didn't verify. Jasnah was certain, though. That's why she baited them out."

"Does it not occur to you that entrapment is also a crime?" Vizir said, turning on her. Shallan withered. "That tempting men into committing a crime and then executing them for it, without trial, without adherence to law, is equally heinous?"

"It was self defence ," Elhokar argued. "You're reaching if you think that just anyone would wander into a specific alley, following two wealthy-looking women into darkness, innocently curious as to what they're doing. They were going to beat my sister, rob her, and kill her. She had to defend herself. Anyone else would have died."

"Did she have to kill them?" Vizir demanded. "Is what they were doing a crime punishable by an immediate but painful death as their very being was transformed into... into... which ones did she use?"

"Smoke, crystal, and fire," Shallan said quietly. "It... it was quick, but it wasn't painless. Sometimes, I still wonder what it felt like to those men before they died."

"Murderers are often executed," Elhokar said, swallowing heavily. "Not... not always lighteyed ones, though. Sometimes, you exile them to small, remote towns to ruin someone's life. Or several someones. Thieves are usually punished less harshly, depending on what was stolen. Assault, somewhere in the middle. But--"

"If... Jasnah wouldn't have done this to just anyone," Shallan said, taking a breath. "She specifically sought out that alley to entrap those people whose crimes were known but not being dealt with appropriately. I was upset that she used a Soulcaster to do it. I don't... know how I would have felt if she used a sword."

"How would you have felt if she'd picked someone else?" Vizir asked. "You've dismissed the possibility that she executed the wrong people, but what if she'd decided on a different crime to execute people for? Different people who had committed theft, different footpads who'd assaulted someone, a serial killer?"

"I don't-- she wouldn't have done that," Elhokar said. "My sister isn't a murderer."

"Why would it be murder in those cases, but a justified act with regards to what she did do?" Vizir asked. "There is a saying, I believe it was meant to be a joke, I heard from some of your guards. The joke is something to the effect of a man asking a woman 'would you sleep with me for a thousand emerald broams?'"

"Is this the kind of lost consciousness sleeping, or the mating sleeping?" Pattern asked, speaking up for the first time.

"The second one, I believe," Elhokar said, frowning. "I think I know this one too. The woman says yes, I believe."

"Yes," Vizir said. "And don't say 'no mating', this is a story, not an actual encounter. The man then says 'would you sleep with me for a skychip?'. The woman is very offended and she says 'what kind of woman do you take me for?'. The man says--"

"’We've already established that, now we're simply negotiating terms’," Elhokar said. "So you're saying my sister is a murderer, just an expensive one?"

"Soulcasting gems are pricey," Shallan murmured. "Not that I'm specifically agreeing either way."

"If you say that Jasnah is perfectly justified in using whatever means necessary for dealing with those criminals, why is that not the case for people who committed lesser crimes that might have caught her attention?" Vizir asked. "If it is acceptable to mete out justice without regard for the law, was it then justified for Moash to try to kill you Elhokar? Was Roshone justified in putting those who were competing with him in jail to rot? Is any murder justified if you can make your argument for the justified death of your target ?"

"I don't..." Elhokar stared down at his hands. What would my father say? He would have had to pass these kinds of judgements before he died. My uncle, too. What...

There was a light knock on the door, making Elhokar and Shallan jump. Vizir immediately faded from view. "Hello? Is this a private party, or can I join you?"

"Adolin!" Shallan said, relieved, and hopped up to meet him at the door. "No, King Elhokar and I were just... talking. About Jasnah, actually. Was there something you needed?"

"Just to see you, and let you know there's going to be another meeting soon," Adolin said. "What about Jasnah were you discussing?"

"Let me... recap the whole thing," Shallan said, and took Adolin by the hand, leading him to the bed. Elhokar shifted, giving his cousin space, listening with half an ear as Shallan relitigated the whole event. By the end, Adolin was frowning. "So... what do you think?"

"I think it's complicated," Adolin said quietly, voice solemn. "Do you know much about self-defence?"

"Pretend I don't, and explain it to me?" Shallan asked, tone light, tinted with dark green. "I want to hear your thoughts."

"I don't study ethics, just war," Adolin said. "...but a big part of our plan to deal with Sadeas was provoking fights. Father let me duel again, the whole point was to entrap people into fighting me, then I'd win, and we'd take their shards. Elhokar, you remember."

"I do," Elhokar said. "It made sense. We were weak. We're still weak."

"My father believes in the Codes, and the Codes warn against in-fighting," Adolin said. "We followed them, and we got screwed over for it. That doesn't mean they're wrong, it just means that not everyone will abide by them. Wars are messy. They're 'if we push this little bit harder, we can win and then we will go back to how we were before'. They're 'anything we do to win is justified'. I didn't used to think of it that way, then I started talking to Kaladin. He hates it, you know? War. It took his brother and it took his friends. It almost took m--y father."

'It almost took me', you mean, Elhokar thought. "It's the Alethi ideal to die in battle."

"Do you ever wonder why?" Adolin asked. "Do you ever think that's why we push people into corners and force them to meet us on the field of battle where we can win? Not in debate, not in trade, not in production. War."

"...they killed my father."

"We've killed a lot of their fathers, and mothers, and children," Adolin said. "I'm not here to debate the war, you asked me a question. My point was, sometimes people feel the need to defend themselves, especially when pushed into a corner. If... Shallan. If you were in that alley by yourself. If those men had come across you. What would you have done?"

"Screamed," Shallan admitted. "I didn't have Pattern then, so I couldn't have fought back the way you could, or Kaladin could. I would have tried to run, find a guard, if I could. If they'd... they'd beaten me, or assaulted me, but I still lived, I'd have memorised their faces, described them to the authorities. Assuming they didn't kill me."

Adolin nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it. "I'm sorry to ask, but... let's say you did have a weapon you could use. Not a Shardblade, a... staff. You're trained to use it, in this scenario. What would you have done then?"

"I'd have..." Shallan took a breath, considering. "If I knew how to use it, the way Kaladin uses a spear? I'd have hit them, fought my way free. I wouldn't have been as badly hurt, and I could describe them. If I'd knocked them out, they'd still be in the alley for the guards to find."

"You wouldn't have killed them?"

"I... no," Shallan whispered. "I don't like killing."

"Self-defence is different from being in battle," Adolin said. "When you're defending yourself, you do whatever you can to win free and get out of there . You end it as soon as you can. What if... what if the person that attacked you was someone you hated. Absolutely loathed. What about then?"

"I... would like to think that I'd still run, even if I hated them," Shallan said. "I might kick them a time or two to make sure they wouldn't get away, but I still don't want to kill if I don’t have to."

"What if they left you with no choice?" Adolin asked, his voice low, urgent. "What if the person attacking you wouldn't stop? What if they threatened that they would never stop, that they'd come after you again and again, after your family, after the people you loved most? Would you kill them then?"

Is this... a confession? Elhokar wondered. "If Shallan were provoked so much, threatened so direly, if she thought there was no other way out... I don't think she could be blamed for killing. What do you think?"

"I think, probably, someone would die," Shallan said. "...but I wouldn't have to like it."

"No, of course not," Adolin said. "That's a case when self-defence could end in a death. Let's take something a little less... dire. What about if someone pushed you. Not... very hard, but clearly enough to provoke. What would you do?"

"Fall on my backside, my balance isn't wonderful in these shoes," Shallan said, smiling shakily. "But... honestly, I'd walk away, unless they kept escalating."

"Even if they insulted your honour?" Adolin said, raising an eyebrow. "Your... virtue."

"No mating!"

"Pattern, please ," Shallan said, like a prayer to the Almighty. Elhokar felt Vizir buzz with amusement. "I would be angry, I might shove back, but it's not worth killing for."

"No, it isn't, though it would really piss me off," Adolin said, lifting Shallan's hand to his lips to kiss. "A lot of people insulted my father's honour -- and intelligence, courage, and sanity -- over this last year and change. I wanted to fight them. I wanted them to show their respect after I beat the crem out of them. He wouldn't let me until we needed to turn it against the other highprinces. I didn't understand then, but I have a much better idea now -- and duels aren't usually fatal."

“Not usually, and sometimes one feels pressed to, ah, beat the crem out of someone,” Elhokar said, rubbing his chest absently.

"There are people for whom an insult against the wrong thing, the wrong target, is worth beating someone half to death," Adolin said. "Destroying their property, starting fires... going to war. Sometimes it's justified, sometimes it isn't, but you have to ask yourself if it's worth the price of seeing it through to the bitter end. About the cost to the other person... and to yourself. I remember being so proud of going to war, of winning that war... and then I saw the look on Kaladin's face when he'd stare out over the Shattered Plains and remember the dead. Now, I think it needs to be a war worth fighting. Now, I wonder how hard I'd need to be pushed to push back."

Articulate, for someone you suspect of murder, Vizir thought, and Elhokar shivered briefly. But he makes some good points.

“So, what’s the lesson here?” Shallan asked. “Thoroughly research your targets before stabbing them?”

“It’s not always possible, especially during a war,” Adolin said. shaking his head. “But, in cases of self-defence, it’s right to protect yourself from someone else trying to hurt you. You have the right to live, to walk freely, to not fear dark alleys. The problem comes when ‘self-defence’ is actually just an excuse to hurt people. When you do that, you’re not actually acting in self-defence, you’re justifying a desire to do violence by choosing ‘acceptable’ targets. Which is not the kind of person someone ought to be.”

“‘We’ve already established what kind of a person you are, now we’re simply negotiating terms’,” Shallan murmured, echoing back the punchline of Vizir’s joke. “Seeking people out to kill them is wrong, even if you’re doing it with the best of intentions.”

“Exactly,” Adolin said. “I’ve heard that joke, and you’re worth at least one hundred emerald broams.”

“Thank you, I think,” Shallan said, smiling at him. Adolin met her eyes and they gazed at each other until Elhokar cleared his throat.

"So... how do you know when to push back, and when to stand down?" Elhokar asked, grasping for the conversational thread once more. "You had to learn that, didn't you? And recently?"

"When Sadeas left my father and I, and all our forces, at the Tower," Adolin said, his expression growing still and closed. "I realised there are a lot of things that can be borne, so long as you aren't actively being abandoned by your allies to die at the hands of your enemies as 'a matter of policy'. That's not the kind of country I want to live in."

"No, I can't imagine anyone would." Elhokar paused, and looked at him. "Do you think this is what my father did? When he was uniting Alethkar?"

Adolin blinked. "Uncle Gavilar? Well... probably, yes. Not that there weren't horrible things done on both sides, the Rift... My mother's death wounded my father very badly. It hurt all of us."

"Yes," Elhokar said, recalling a distant conversation, and pushed the memory back down. "I'd imagine it did."

They fell quiet, and after a few moments, Adolin spoke up. "There's that meeting."

"Yes," Elhokar said. "I just need a few moments. Shallan, why don't you go with..."

"Thank you for that generous suggestion, I just may," Shallan said lightly, and stood up. Adolin followed, and offered his arm. She took it, and they strolled out, speaking of less harrowing things.

Elhokar sat for a long moment, not moving. Vizir faded back into view. "What did you think? That was a very--"

"Did my father provoke the Parshendi into murdering him?" Elhokar asked quietly. "Do you know? Have we fought this war for no damned good reason at all?"

"I don't know," Vizir said. "I spent time with you, not your sister or your father. Not with your mother or your cousins. I watched what you watched, saw what you saw whenever I could. I think that's an answer you'll have to seek for yourself. Discover your own truth."

"What if I don't like what I find?" Elhokar asked, finally standing. He made sure his book was safely hidden. I'm amazed Adolin didn't notice it. I suppose we did ambush him with an ethical quandary. I’d be distracted too.

"Then you will have people to listen to you as you work through it," Vizir said. "If no one else does, I will listen. I will advise. I will teach. That's why I'm here."

"I'm lucky to have you," Elhokar said softly. "Even if you do make my head ache at times."

"You're just exercising your thinkspren," Vizir said. "Come, let us go to this meeting."

Elhokar nodded, and walked to the end of the hallway, nodding to his bodyguards. He was trying to greet them more often, to remember that they were not merely there to protect him, but to exist, and to learn. That they had concerns of their own. It felt, in its own way, like he was a child learning the basics of walking, but his guards appreciated it.

He was the last to arrive for the meeting, and Dalinar turned to him with a slight nod and a thin smile. Elhokar couldn't help but feel marginally lighter for the acknowledgement. "We have much to discuss.”

“Of course,” Elhokar said, and took his seat. His mother smiled at him, something she’d been doing more often since her marriage, and he smiled back. “No chairs this time?”

“This isn’t as formal of a meeting,” Navani said lightly. “That will come.”

Renarin, and a pair of Bridge Four guards, took their places around the room while Dalinar walked a slow, controlled circuit, looking over each of them. “Let’s get started. So, we--”

"Sir!" Elhokar turned to see a blue-uniformed scout burst in, dark-cheeked and panting from effort. "You must come and see!"

"What is it?" Dalinar asked, resting a hand on his side-sword. "Is it an attack?"

"No," the scout said. "It's... it's a miracle! It's the King's Wit... and he’s found Brightness Jasnah! She's alive! She’s back!"

Chapter Text

His sister was alive . Elhokar hurried, all but running; he was keeping pace with Dalinar, who walked in as unrestrained a manner as he'd ever seen. Shallan, inhaling Stormlight, hurried along too, Adolin at her heels through no supernatural means at all. Elhokar's guards were running to avoid being left behind.

Waiting in one of the great chambers was Jasnah Kholin. His older sister looked, for once in her life, rumpled, her havah torn and stained, and her safehand sleeve was open, revealing her gloved hand. Her hair, usually pinned back neatly, was loose, tumbling over her shoulders, the thinnest streak of grey marring the flawless black. She wore no makeup, no jewellery, and from her height, no shoes either.

With her stood his Wit, and the man looked as proud as if he'd invented her.

"Elhokar," Jasnah said. "Uncle. Shallan. I am glad to--"

He flung himself at his sister and she looked startled before wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. "I've missed you," Elhokar whispered. "I've missed you so much. Shallan said you died."

"Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Jasnah said, and glanced at Shallan, who was dancing from foot to foot. "Come here, child. I won't bite."

"You might." Shallan hurried forward, and Elhokar reluctantly stepped back so Jasnah could embrace her ward, stroking her hair a little. "I saw you die, but if I've learned anything these last months, it's that we're harder to kill than people might think."

"That's true," Jasnah said, then released her. "I'm glad that you're alive. I thought... I feared that I had saved you only to kill you in a different way."

"No, I... I'll explain everything." Shallan moved aside so Dalinar, Adolin, and Renarin could each embrace Jasnah in turn.

Elhokar turned to Wit. "I don't understand how you found her but... thank you."

"I'm quite certain it would be a crime to let someone like Jasnah die." Wit gestured over as Jasnah was murmuring softly to her cousins, examining Renarin's no longer weakened eyesight, and one of Adolin's battle scars, tutting disapprovingly. "Your family has a... certain kind of strength to it in one way. A fragility in others. It will be interesting to see how things play out."

"What things--"

Out of the corner of his eye, something tumbled to the ground, audibly crashing, though no one noticed; it was a stone chip the size of a fist, pure and crystal-clear for all its size. The gasp that provoked the sight, not so much a word as an exclamation of feeling, did draw attention.

"Mother," Jasnah said, the word summoning forth complicated shadings. "I--"

"Jasnah!" Navani hurried forward and, like Elhokar had done minutes before, threw herself at her daughter, and burst into tears. "You're alive. My little girl..."

Jasnah's arms were stiff as they came up to pat Navani's shoulders gently. "Hello, Mother. Yes, I'm alive. Not so little, but alive."

Navani sniffled, and Dalinar offered her his large hanky, and put a hand on the small of her back. "We must... must take you on a tour of the tower. There's so much we don't understand about it, though I'm sure you'll figure it out in a moment."

"Once I've had the chance to rest," Jasnah said. "And I have... much to discuss with you, I think."

"As do all of us with you," Dalinar said. "But yes, you must rest. We'll get you a room near Elhokar's."

"I should be housed near my ward," Jasnah said, and glanced at Elhokar. "Not that I wouldn't otherwise mind."

"You may not want to be actually," Shallan said. "I'm housed in Sebarial's wing."

"Sebarial?!" Jasnah said, disbelievingly. "How did you get stuck with him?"

"I like him," Shallan said. "He's my dear old uncle."

"You're not--" Jasnah eyed her ward. "I see."

"You don't really need special gifts to see Shallan picked him because he was a neutral party in a political battlefield, then put him on the spot in front of his peers, because she didn't want to put herself deeply into debt with our family while her betrothal was pre-causal," Renarin said, the quietness of his voice partially concealing the dryness of his statement. "Fortunately, he seems to like Shallan back."

"Really?" Adolin said, eyes wide. The word came out half dark green, and half red. "I had no idea. Shallan, you never told me."

Shallan flushed, and shamespren petals floated around her. "Well, I--"

"I'm kidding," Adolin said, and put an arm around her, hugging her close. Elhokar blinked at the sudden breach of etiquette, though he let Shallan go after a moment. "It makes sense. I think he likes you too, he complains differently when it's about you."

"Thanks," Shallan said, giving Renarin a brief look. "Anyway, you'd be welcome to visit, Jasnah, or I can come and visit you in your new room. I spend plenty of time in this part of the city anyway."

"I see," Jasnah said, and nodded. "I'll take you up on that. So, by Elhokar's room, then?"

"I'll show you," Elhokar said. "It's this way."

Elhokar offered Jasnah his arm, and she gave him a tired, amused look before taking it. He raised a sphere with his other hand and walked her through the hallway. Any thoughts of the meeting he'd been asked to attend scattered like fearful leaves.

So, this is Jasnah. I only saw her very briefly when you were young, Vizir said, her voice silent to all but Elhokar. She seems very different now. I suppose ageing does that.

She's been through a great deal, Elhokar thought back. I have so many things to ask her. Where was she? How long has she known she was a Radiant? Why--

Why is her shadow trying to move towards the light?

It's... what? Elhokar nearly stumbled, barely catching himself in time. Jasnah frowned at him as his gaze fell to the floor and saw her shadow straining towards the sphere he was holding. "Did it always do that?"

"What... oh." Jasnah frowned at it disapprovingly. "Not always, but often enough."

"Is that what your order does?" Elhokar asked. "The Elsecallers, do they all have strange shadows?"

"The answer to that is... complicated," Jasnah said. "But yes, it does have to do with being a Surgebinder."

"That's another term for Radiant, isn't it?" Elhokar said. "No, it's... a Surgebinder is like a spearman, whereas a Radiant is the Cobalt Guard."

"Essentially, yes," Jasnah said, and gave him a look. "I didn't take you to be a scholar."

"I need to learn," Elhokar said softly. "I need to not be an ignorant fool. Jasnah, I... I have made so many mistakes. Some of the worst have been because I was ignorant. Foolish. Cruel. Unwise. Paranoid to the point of uselessness. I'm trying to be better today than I was yesterday... but it's hard."

"The most important step a man can take," Jasnah mused. "That's good, Elhokar. It's important to view yourself objectively. Neither too critically nor too forgivingly. Recognize your flaws and learn to correct them."

"I think that I still have a long way to go," Elhokar said. "I think there are things about myself I still need to learn."

"Like why is it that you have a Cryptic?" Jasnah asked. "Or do you know by now?"

"I..." Elhokar blinked. "Yes, I was aware of her presence. I think I want to know why you're aware of her, though, when no one can see her unless she shows herself to them."

"Give me some time to clean up and then we'll discuss it," Jasnah said, patting his arm with her safehand. "I'm going to take it as undertext that I should keep this quiet."

"Please," Elhokar said, and gestured to one of the rooms. "That one is free. There's more crowding in other parts of the city, but the lighteyes still live apart. As always."

Jasnah raised an eyebrow. "'As always'? That's an interesting observation."

"I've been making them quite a lot lately," Elhokar replied. "Some of my observations are even relevant. Please, relax. Clean yourself up. We'll talk later. I'll ask someone to bring you something to eat."

"I'd be very grateful for that," Jasnah said, observing him appraisingly. "The food I've been eating as of late has been less than fulfilling."

"I think we can solve that little problem," Elhokar said. "How do you feel about stew?"

~ * ~

An hour later, Elhokar sat in Jasnah's room, the pair of them curled in mismatched chairs with bowls of steaming stew in their hands, a thick blanket wrapped around each of them. The contributions had come from Navani and Dalinar's spare furniture, the bridgeman's cook Rock, and the wife of one of Elhokar's regular guards that worked in the laundry respectively.

It was so relaxing that he could have fallen asleep right then. Elhokar's eyes very nearly drifted closed.

"Jasnah," Vizir said, startling them both. "It's a pleasure to meet you formally. We were all distressed to hear of your death."

"This is my spren," Elhokar said. "Her name is Vizir."

"Like an advisor, interesting," Jasnah nodded. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Ivory."

From her shadow, something grew into a being the size of a short man, then rapidly became larger until it was six feet in height. It was shaped like a man, though too perfectly, and it was, from the clothes it imitated to its skin, a black that had swallowed other colours and only rarely allowed them to escape. It nodded to Elhokar, and seemed to eye Vizir distrustfully.

"An inkspren, how interesting," Vizir said. "Decided to join us on this side, then?"

"This one is," Ivory said, his tone smooth, urbane. Practised in a way that made Elhokar feel childish and rough. "You're an elder."

"I am," Vizir said. "Someone needs to be around here, given our choices."

"I'd be fascinated to hear you say that to the Stormfather."

"The Storm father can storm off ." Vizir huffed slightly. Elhokar, in the middle of eating, nearly choked trying not to laugh. "We are few as of yet. Pattern is an infant , Sylphrena is rebellious, and Glys is reticent. There will be others, little Windrunners and Lightweavers darting about this way and that, causing trouble."

"The Stormfather himself, he's bonded to our uncle," Elhokar added, for Jasnah’s sake. "I don't know how much Wit told you, or even how much he knew, but Dalinar is a Surgebinder too. A Bondsmith. He refounded the Knights Radiant."

"I have no doubt he'll be a good leader, and Bondsmiths are rare," Jasnah said. "Usually only one at a time, though there can be as many as three."

"Before he knew he was a Bondsmith, he'd asked Amaram to lead them," Elhokar said quietly. "Before he actually knew there were Surgebinders so close to him. The first he met was Shallan, then Kaladin, then Renarin, and now him. And you, of course, but we thought you'd died."

"Why are you keeping your bond secret?" Jasnah asked, stirring her stew before taking up a spoonful. "This is... remarkably good. Where did you get this?"

"One of the former bridgemen, Rock," Elhokar replied. "He's trustworthy, all the Windrunner squires are. He did once feed chull dung to Sadeas. None of the bridgemen find this cause for concern. They seem to feel like Sadeas deserved it."

"Did he?"

"If I believe them, yes." Elhokar sighed, and began to eat his own stew. As presaged, it was delicious. "I do. I can... tell now if people are lying. Much more so than I used to."

"If you're bonded to a Cryptic, that makes you a Lightweaver, though obviously a very different kind from Shallan. Is that why you don't want to tell anyone about your spren?"

"Shallan knows, I needed someone to talk to about my powers," Elhokar said. "Kaladin, the Windrunner, knows because he was there. Standing against the assassins trying to kill me. Not... the Assassin in White. Normal men. One was a friend of his. I don't think he knows that I realized. I wouldn't have figured it out if speaking my Truth to Vizir hadn't healed me and cleared my mind. I was... very drunk before that happened."

"Why were you drinking?"

"I was angry," Elhokar admitted. "At Dalinar. At myself. At Father, for getting murdered. I felt helpless and I hated that. Our uncle had pushed me into a corner, knocked me down, and stepped on my chest and then ordered me to do what he wanted. I felt like a bad king, a failure. I wanted, very much, for Kaladin to teach me how to be a hero... and he didn't believe I could ever become one. I didn't want to accept the fact I wouldn't ever be great. Dalinar and the armies had gone to find the Parshendi city. Stop them from summoning this Everstorm we'd been warned of. I knew the Assassin in White was coming but he didn't want me . He wanted Dalinar , because the Assassin only went after people of consequence."

"So you aren't a person of consequence as a king?"

"Our uncle holds himself back, chains himself down, because he fears what he becomes without strict restraints. You probably remember what he was like after Aunt Evi died, but before Father was killed. He won't be king, he won't allow me to abdicate. He'll beat the crem out of me and marry our mother, but he won't do that ."

"He... what?"

“Dalinar and Mother are married now, having spent longer than our lifetimes in love and unable to be together,” Elhokar said, and stirred his stew, watching his sister’s expression. It was closed off, cold.

“And... people accepted this?”

"Some have, others haven’t. The Stormfather married them because no ardent would. The Stormfather accepts oaths." Elhokar shrugged helplessly. "They're happy. They're in love. Mother never loved Father, and I guess Dalinar spent a long time loving Mother, but held himself back from it. The way he did everything else."

Jasnah's expression twisted. "Doesn't it just make sense? She didn't care for us, didn't care for a good man--"

"Our father wasn't a good man," Elhokar said quietly, cutting her off. I don't want to hear her say something we'll all regret. "I'm surprised you never saw it, you've always been so brilliant. Mother always said so. Dalinar, Shallan... I'm supposed to be the ignorant one."

"Elhokar..." Vizir buzzed; the shading of her words was new, yet familiar. Purple, this time.

"What," Jasnah said, holding up a hand. "Are you talking about?"

"What do you remember about our childhood?" Elhokar asked, meeting her question with his own. "As early as you can remember."

"I remember... being carried," Jasnah said softly. "Being shown off to other highprinces. Dalinar threw me in the air once. I was frightened, but it was also exciting. He caught me, I didn't fall. I remember... some people treated me like a child. Like there were things I couldn't understand, and that angered me. So I was determined to not be a child any more."

"By the time I was born, everyone was calling you a little brightlady," Elhokar said, nodding along. "So mature, so serious. Sharp, though. So very sharp."

"People don't take you seriously when you're sloppy," Jasnah said, tapping her spoon against her bowl, then took another mouthful. "They find a way to dismiss your words if you don't look right. So you wear clothes that make you look beautiful, you use makeup and style your hair. You stand up straight and you speak eloquently and you shape your letters so neatly that no one will ever dismiss you. Until they actually read what you're saying."

"...and then they listen because you're right and they're all idiots?" Elhokar hazarded. Vizir buzzed, amused. "I didn't realise. I thought you just liked it."

"I don't hate it," Jasnah said, sighing. "I've often thought it was ridiculous that to be listened to as a man, all you needed to do was wear a uniform... or a crown. A woman had to build themselves all the way up."

"Yes and no," Elhokar said, speaking between bites of stew. "A man in a sloppy, slovenly uniform is an embarrassment to their position. A crown only conveys the authority that the wearer has earned. Any idiot can wear one."

"At least in a uniform, you don't have to worry about the latest fashions," Jasnah said. "A uniform has to look a certain way."

"Watching people try to get around that is at least entertaining," Elhokar said. "Though, the colours were nice while they lasted. Dalinar required me to enforce the Alethi War Codes."

"Required you to?"

Elhokar sighed. "He insisted, and... while it's been nerve wracking, I can't say I totally object. He had a point about how careless it was making us. We acted as though we were on a hunting expedition, not a military operation."

"I always did like him," Jasnah said, and the words were tinted red. Elhokar raised an eyebrow at her. "Mostly. He was... energetic. Boisterous. Violent and dangerous... and a drunk. He drank so much."

"He was drunk the night our father died," Elhokar said. "He wears it like chains around his neck. He told me he always thought if he'd been sober, our father would still be alive... then he fought the Assassin in White."

"You said he was after Dalinar, but he's clearly still alive. So are you."

"It was before he became a Bondsmith, so he almost died. Adolin almost died. Kaladin fought him, up in the sky, beyond the storm. I didn't get to see it, but Kaladin believed that he died. The power the Assassin had was like Kaladin's. It came from Jezrien's Honourblade."

"The Shin have those, don't they? They swore never to use them, but the Assassin was Shin." Jasnah frowned. "Why would they..?"

"I don't know," Elhokar said. "There's so much I still don't know."

"Asking questions is what being a truth seeker is all about," Jasnah said. "Our father changed before he died. He was growing into... something. I saw him that night. He was talking to Meridas, and he saw me. He was... distrustful. I remember, that struck me. I remember feeling very hurt by it."

"Why would he distrust you?" Elhokar asked, shifting a little. "Did he think you'd done something wrong? Or disloyal?"

"I spent my life protecting my family," Jasnah said softly. "I had been on my way to speak to someone about that when I came across him. I didn't really understand the look he'd given me and it unsettled me. Not long afterwards, it happened."

"What did?"

"Since you're a Lightweaver, you'll be able to Soulcast," Jasnah said. "I can too. My other Surge allows me to travel into Shadesmar, the Cognitive Realm. On that day I did it by accident, falling into a place I'd never seen, terrified. It was only for a few moments, but it was related to why my shadow is sometimes strange. In Shadesmar, shadows point towards a light source, not away from it."

"Shadesmar is," Ivory put in. "Your place, where you are respected and sought out."

"Good, you deserve it," Elhokar said. "Was that night the first time you'd seen Shadesmar?"

"I don't know," Jasnah admitted. "I don't think so. When I was younger, I..."

"People said you were mad," Elhokar said softly. "The ardents took you and locked you away where there was no light, only darkness."

"Because 'that's how you treat the mad'," Jasnah finished bitterly, words tinted a dark orange. "I should never have said anything to anyone, but I trusted them. I was naive. Nothing should be said without proper proof, proper documentation. So no one can tell you that you're insane, or lying."

"You aren't insane," Elhokar said. "It was wrong for people to tell you that. Who was it you told? One of our parents?"

"...one of Navani's ardents." Jasnah toyed with her bowl, sloshing the contents a little. "I was being taught... something. Natural science, an introductory lesson. I found it boring. I'm a competent sketcher, but no more. My attention wandered, and I... saw something. My shadow changed. I reached towards it, and..."

"And the ardent saw it laying the wrong way?"

"Something like that." Jasnah shrugged, her words green. "It was the first time, but the ardent said not to speak of it. It wasn't their job to punish me, but they told our parents, and then... well, it kept happening. Little things, strange things. I tried to convince people of the truth, they told me at first that I was a liar, then that I was... mad."

"My fault it is," Ivory said, putting a hand on Jasnah's shoulder. Elhokar blinked; the gesture seemed oddly tender, and human. "I came too soon."

"No," Jasnah said. "I was just surprised, but I would have welcomed you if I’d understood. The ardents locked me away. In the dark, surrounded by strange shadows. Some nights I wept myself to sleep. Others, I screamed. I felt trapped, smothered, isolated. I reached out and everything was beyond my reach. Never again."

"I'm so... so sorry." Sorrier still to see that all her words were true, and the depths of her pain came shaded with dark purple and orange. The specific shades were new to Elhokar, though he was getting a better sense of what they meant: sadness, and anger. "You didn't deserve that. No one could."

"The worst part," Jasnah continued, as though she hadn't heard him. "Was the way that, after it was over, no one wanted to talk about it. No one apologised. No one acknowledged that the only thing my incarceration had taught me was not to trust anyone around me. Not even you, for all I suspect we shared some things."

Elhokar nodded slowly. "I... saw things, sometimes. Things with no face watching me in mirrors. No one else ever saw them, but in retrospect... it must have been Vizir."

"I wasn't the only Cryptic interested in you, but yes. We've lingered around you for some time." Vizir buzzed over to Elhokar, hovering near him. "I do... apologise for the paranoia it instilled in you. We are curious by nature, and we are not truly ourselves while in the Physical Realm until we bond."

"It's alright," Elhokar said, and held his hand out to her, cupping her without touching her. Vizir buzzed more loudly and he could feel the vibration against his skin. A kind of comfort only she could offer.

Jasnah smiled a little, and ate more of her stew. It took her a moment to begin again. "I remember Navani wanting to... coddle me. Mother me. Treat me like a little girl who hadn't been hurt. I resented her because of it. I pulled away, and worked to be as independent as possible."

"She was so heartbroken when she thought you were dead," Elhokar said softly. "So devastated by your loss. She feels as though you keep her at arm's length because you don't think she's a real scholar."

"She's a rich patron of the sciences," Jasnah said. "There's nothing wrong with that, but--"

"Father used to tell her she wasn't a real scholar," Elhokar said. "I don't understand half of what she's talking about, and I think Dalinar understands even less, but he tries."

"Simply having a vocabulary doesn't make you a scholar," Jasnah said. Elhokar raised what he hoped was an impressive, arched brow. Jasnah raised one back, immediately surpassing him, then sighed. "It doesn't . Using the right words for what you mean is just... expected."

"If you're an artist, you know the different shades of colour. A musician knows the correct tones. A swordsman knows the names of all the stances and when to use them. So, a scholar..."

"A correctly educated young ward can repeat back any piece of random information upon command. That doesn't make her a scholar."

"And your ward, did she do that?" Elhokar asked. Even to himself, his words were tinted green/red; he knew that no such thing had happened, Shallan had explained more of her process of becoming Jasnah's ward, and Elhokar had used it to practise discerning truth from lies.

"...no, she did not." Jasnah scraped at her bowl with her spoon. "Navani dismisses my interests. She thinks history is useless, and I think her obsession with fabrials is just another path towards control."

"...what do you call a one-armed Herdazian with a spear?"

"Excuse me?" Jasnah raised an eyebrow. "A Herdazian?"

"What do you call a one-armed Herdazian with a spear?" Elhokar asked again. "Mostly armless."

"Is that... a pun?"

"It's a joke from one of my bodyguards," Elhokar said. "Specifically, a man who, until he became a Squire, had one arm. He likes to make jokes. About the people he sees, but mostly about himself. He can be a little annoying, but he doesn't take himself seriously. Or anyone else. He likes to see people smile."

"I'm failing to see why this is relevant."

"Isn't it possible that Mother teases you about being a historian because she'd like to see you smile? That she hopes you'll tease her back about her fabrials because she wants you to acknowledge she actually cares for them as more than tools of conquest?"

"It's possible," Jasnah conceded. "Though it's ridiculous for her to assume that's why I think she likes fabrials."

"...you just said that you believe her interest in them is about control," Elhokar pointed out. "So maybe you do, a little."

Jasnah gave him an annoyed look. "In any case, is the lesson here that I should allow people to mock my interests so they will smile?"

"I think the objective is that people smile because they think you're funny," Elhokar said. "Though, that was only for the jokes that he told about other people. The ones he told about himself were for a different reason."

"And, why was that?"

"He said that people liked to ignore his missing arm. They avoided talking about it, or looking at it," Elhokar said. "They pitied him, or dismissed him because he was crippled. So he made jokes about his injury. That way, it forced people to look at him , not just his arm. It grabbed their attention and confronted their perception of him. I will say this, no one has ever ignored Lopen after meeting him. Even if you wanted to."

Jasnah stilled, and considered. Elhokar saw the slight crease in her brow, the way she frowned without anger. "I don't know if I could make jokes about my so-called lunacy in that way. It... hurts too much."

"It might help to make it hurt less," Elhokar said. "It could also make the wounds fresh again. That might help them heal, or it could make them scar more deeply."

"I'll... consider it." Jasnah scraped her spoon against the curve of her bowl. "So, Navani is a true scholar, then? Then why does she constantly poke her nose into the affairs of others?"

"You would have to ask her, but..." Elhokar considered, then swallowed. "I think most of it was because none of the rest of us cared about the things that make Alethkar run. Myself included."

"Our Father cared about Alethkar," Jasnah said flatly. "I certainly do."

"How many feasts did you plan?" Elhokar asked. "How many seating plans did Father create to make sure enemies didn't sit next to each other? How many times have I spent time in the kitchens making sure we had enough food to feed everyone."

"Well, I..." Jasnah paused. "Other people did those things. She just supervised."

"She organised and planned," Elhokar said. "Aesudan... complained about it. That Mother would try to get her to assist, and that it was boring. There were servants for that, and... I've thought that too, in the past. That being a leader meant only focusing on the big picture, the vast maps of territory and conquest. But a servant will kill you in your sleep if you provoke them. Your soldiers will turn on you if you push them too far. Your darkeyes will rebel and tear you from your throne if you abuse them."

"Though not if they feel that someone cares for them, that someone is listening to their woes," Jasnah said, and pressed her lips together. Once, she would chew her lip in thought, but she'd discarded it, along with so many other things. "So, Navani controls people because she cares."

"She organises because it matters, and because no one else would take the time to do it," Elhokar corrected her. "She likes details but would rather be working on fabrials. It's just that she can't trust that anyone else will do the hard work of organising. So she does it herself."

"Familiarity is," Ivory murmured. Jasnah gave him a look and he held up his hands in awkward, stilted imitation of someone surrendering. "Offensive, is not."

"So she takes on burdens beyond expectation so that things run smoothly at the expense of her own free time. She wants to build a relationship with me and I need to reach out to her... should I even ask about her desire to see me married to Meridas?"

"As far as I know, that was pushed by Father," Elhokar said. "Mother doesn't like him, and at this point, most other people don't either. He sterilised his own reputation but the crem is starting to show."

Jasnah nodded. "I'll talk to her. A Veristitalian should not shy away from it, and instead embrace the fearlessness of truth. So... what do you call a cremling that only comes out at night and has a bite that causes madness?"

Elholkar smiled. "I don't know, what?"

Jasnah smiled back, and tilted her head towards him in acknowledgement. "A lunar-tick."