Would any of it matter? Accounts had been flooding in from around the world for weeks. Kings slaughtered. Ruling bodies decapitated all across Roshar. In Jah Keved, the assassin had reportedly killed dozens of soldiers bearing half-shard shields that could block his Blade, as well as three Shardbearers, including the king. It was a crisis that spanned the entire world, and one man was behind it. Assuming he was even a man.
Adolin found himself a cup of sweet wine at the edge of the room, poured by an eager servant in blue and gold. Orange wine, basically just juice. Adolin downed an entire cup anyway, then went looking for Relis. He needed to be doing something other than sitting and listening to people complain.
Fortunately, he’d concocted something while sitting there.
Relis, Ruthar’s son and star Shardbearer, was a man with a face like a shovel—flat and wide, with a nose that seemed like it had been smashed. He wore a frilly outfit of green and yellow. It wasn’t even interesting. He had the choice to wear anything, and he chose this?
He was a full Shardbearer, one of the few in the camps. He was also the current dueling champion—which, along with his parentage, made him of particular interest to Adolin. He stood speaking with his cousin Elit and a group of three of Sadeas’s attendants: women in the traditional Vorin havah. One of those women, Melali, gave Adolin a pointed glare. She was as pretty as she’d ever been, her hair up in complex braids and stuck with hairspikes. What had he done to annoy her, again? It had been forever since they’d courted.
“Relis,” Adolin said, raising his cup, “I just wanted you to know that I found it very brave of you to offer to fight the assassin yourself, when you spoke earlier. It is inspiring that you’d be willing to die for the Crown.”
Relis scowled at Adolin. How did someone get a face so flat? Had he been dropped as a child? “You’re assuming I’d lose.”
“Well, of course you would,” Adolin said, chuckling. “I mean, let’s be honest, Relis. You’ve been sitting on your title for almost half a year. You haven’t won a duel of any importance since you defeated Epinar.”
“This from a man who spent years refusing almost all challenges,” Melali said, looking Adolin up and down. “I’m surprised your daddy let you free to come talk. Isn’t he afraid you might hurt yourself?”
“Nice to see you too, Melali,” Adolin said. “How’s your sister?”
“Off limits.”
Oh, right. That was what he’d done. Honest mistake. “Relis,” Adolin said. “You claim you’d face this assassin, yet you’re frightened of dueling me?”
Relis spread his hands, one holding a shimmering goblet of red wine. “It’s protocol, Adolin! I’ll duel you once you fight up through the brackets for a year or two. I can’t just take on any old challenger, particularly not in a bout with our Shards on the line!”
“Any old challenger?” Adolin said. “Relis, I’m one of the best there is.”
“Are you?” Relis asked, smiling. “After that display with Eranniv?”
“Yes, Adolin,” said Elit, Relis’s short, balding cousin. “You’ve only had a handful of duels of any consequence in recent memory—in one of those you basically cheated, and in the second you won by sheer luck!”
Relis nodded. “If I bend the rules and accept your challenge, then it will break the stormwall. I’ll have dozens of inferior swordsmen nipping at me.”
“No you won’t,” Adolin said. “Because you won’t be a Shardbearer any longer. You’ll have lost to me.”
“So confident,” Relis said, chuckling, turning to Elit and the women. “Listen to him. He ignores the rankings for months, then leaps back in and assumes he can beat me.”
“I’ll wager both my Plate and Blade,” Adolin said. “And my brother’s Plate and Blade, along with the Shard I won from Eranniv. Five Shards to your two.”
Elit started. The man was a Shardbearer with only the Plate—given to him by his cousin. He turned to Relis, looking hungry.
Relis paused. Then he closed his mouth and cocked his head lazily to the side as he met Adolin’s eyes. “You’re a fool, Kholin.”
“I’m offering it here, before witnesses,” Adolin said. “You win this bout, you take every Shard my family owns. What’s stronger? Your fear or your greed?”
“My pride,” Relis said. “No contest, Adolin.”
Adolin ground his teeth. He’d hoped the duel with Eranniv would make others underestimate him, make them more likely to duel him. It wasn’t working. Relis barked out a laugh. He held out his arm to Melali, and tugged her away, his attendants following.
Elit hesitated.
Well, it’s better than nothing, Adolin thought, a plan forming. “What about you?” Adolin asked the cousin.
Elit looked him up and down. Adolin didn’t know the man well. He was said to be a passable duelist, though he was often in his cousin’s shadow.
But that hunger—Elit wanted to be a full Shardbearer.
“Elit?” Relis said.
“Same offer?” Elit said, meeting Adolin’s gaze. “Your five to my one?”
What a terrible deal.
“Same offer,” Adolin said.
“I’m in,” Elit said.
Behind him, Ruthar’s son groaned. He grabbed Elit by the shoulder, towing him to the side with a growl.
“You told me to fight up through the brackets,” Adolin said to Relis. “I’m doing that.”
“Not my cousin.”
“Too late,” Adolin said. “You heard it. The ladies heard it. When do we fight, Elit?”
“Seven days,” Elit said. “On Chachel.”
Seven days—a long wait, considering a challenge like this. So, he wanted time to train, did he? “How about tomorrow instead?”
Relis snarled at Adolin, a very un-Alethi display, and shoved his cousin farther away. “I can’t see why you’re so eager, Adolin. Shouldn’t you focus on protecting that father of yours? It’s always sad when a soldier lives long enough to see his wits go. Has he started wetting himself in public yet?”
Steady, Adolin told himself. Relis was trying to goad him, maybe get Adolin to take a hasty swing. That would let him petition to the king for redress and a voiding of all contracts with his house—including the dueling agreement with Elit. But the insult went too far. His companions gasped slightly, pulling away at the very un-Alethi bluntness.
Adolin didn’t give in to the desperate goading. He had what he wanted. He wasn’t certain what he could do about the assassin—but this, this was a way to help. Elit wasn’t ranked highly, but he served Ruthar, who was—more and more—acting as Sadeas’s right-hand man. Beating him would take Adolin one step closer to the real goal. A duel with Sadeas himself.
He turned to leave, and stopped short. Someone stood behind him—a stout man with a bulbous face and black curly hair. His complexion was ruddy, the nose too red, fine veins visible in his cheeks. The man had the arms of a soldier, despite his frivolous outfit—which was, Adolin admitted grudgingly, quite fashionable. Dark slacks that were trimmed with forest green silk, a short open coat over a stiff matching shirt. Scarf at the neck.