The image she’d drawn of herself came to her rescue. She could be that woman today—and that woman, while not emotionless, could push through the loss. She focused her attention on the moment, and the task at hand—specifically the two people in front of her. Dalinar and Navani Kholin.
The highprince was exactly what she’d expected him to be: a man with blunted features, short black hair silvering at the sides. His stiff uniform made him seem the only one in the room who knew anything about combat. She wondered if those bruises on his face were the result of the campaign against the Parshendi. Navani looked like a version of Jasnah twenty years older, still pretty, though with a motherly air. Shallan could never imagine Jasnah being motherly.
Navani had been smiling as Shallan approached, but now that levity was gone. She still had hope for her daughter, Shallan thought as the woman sat down in a nearby seat. I just crushed it.
“I thank you for bringing us this news,” Brightlord Dalinar said. “It is… good to have confirmation.”
It felt terrible. Not just to be reminded of the death, but to weigh others down with it as well. “I have information for you,” Shallan said, trying to be delicate. “About the things Jasnah was working on.”
“More about those parshmen?” Navani snapped. “Storms, that woman was too fascinated by them. Ever since she got it into her head that she was to blame for Gavilar’s death.”
What was this? That wasn’t a side of all this that Shallan had ever heard.
“Her research can wait,” Navani said, eyes fierce. “I want to know exactly what happened when you think you saw her die. Precisely as you remember it, girl. No details passed over.”
“Perhaps after the meeting…” Dalinar said, resting a hand on Navani’s shoulder. The touch was surprisingly tender. Was this not his brother’s wife? That look in his eyes; was that familial affection for his sister, or was it something more?
“No, Dalinar,” Navani said. “Now. I would hear it now.”
Shallan took a deep breath, preparing to begin, steeling herself against the emotions—and finding herself surprisingly in control. As she gathered her thoughts, she noticed a blond-haired young man watching her. That would likely be Adolin. He was handsome, as rumors indicated, and wore a blue uniform like his father. And yet Adolin’s was somehow more… stylish? Was that the right word? She liked how his somewhat unruly hair contrasted with the crisp uniform. It made him seem more real, less picturesque.
She turned back to Navani. “I woke in the middle of the night to shouting and the smell of smoke. I opened my door to unfamiliar men crowded around the doorway to Jasnah’s cabin, across the companionway from my own. They had her body on the floor, and… Brightness, I watched them stab her through the heart. I’m sorry.”
Navani tensed, head flinching, as if she’d been slapped.
Shallan continued. She tried to give Navani as much truth as she could, but obviously the things Shallan had done—weaving light, Soulcasting the ship—weren’t wise to share, at least for now. Instead, she indicated that she’d barricaded herself in her cabin, a lie she’d already prepared.
“I heard the men yelling up above as they were being executed, one by one,” Shallan said. “I realized that the only hope I could give them was a crisis for the brigands, so I used the torch I’d taken and set the ship on fire.”
“On fire?” Navani asked, horrified. “With my daughter unconscious?”
“Navani—” Dalinar said, squeezing her shoulder.
“You doomed her,” Navani said, locking eyes with Shallan. “Jasnah wouldn’t have been able to swim, like the others. She—”
“Navani,” Dalinar repeated, more firmly. “This child’s choice was a good one. You can hardly expect her to have taken on a band of men single-handed. And what she saw… Jasnah was not unconscious, Navani. It was too late to do anything for her at that point.”
The woman took a deep breath, obviously struggling to keep her emotions in check. “I… apologize,” she said to Shallan. “I am not myself at the moment, and I stray toward the irrational. Thank… thank you for bringing word to us.” She stood. “Excuse me.”
Dalinar nodded, letting her make a reasonably graceful exit. Shallan stepped back, hands clasped before herself, feeling impotent and strangely ashamed as she watched Navani leave. She hadn’t expected that to go particularly well. And it hadn’t.
She took the moment to check on Pattern, who was on her skirt, practically invisible. Even if he was noticed, he’d be thought an odd part of the fabric design—assuming, that was, he did as she’d ordered and didn’t move or speak.
“I assume your trip here was an ordeal,” Dalinar said, turning to Shallan. “Shipwrecked in the Frostlands?”
“Yes. Fortunately, I met with a caravan and traveled with them this way. We did encounter bandits, I regret to say, but were rescued by the timely arrival of some soldiers.”
“Soldiers?” Dalinar said, surprised. “From what banner?”
“They did not say,” Shallan replied. “I take it they were formerly of the Shattered Plains.”
“Deserters?”
“I have not asked for specifics, Brightlord,” Shallan said. “But I did promise them clemency for previous crimes, in recognition of their act of nobility. They saved dozens of lives. Everyone in the caravan I joined can vouch for the bravery of these men. I suspect they sought atonement and a chance to start over.”
“I will see that the king seals pardons for them,” Dalinar said. “Prepare a list for me. Hanging soldiers always feels like a waste.”
Shallan relaxed. One item dealt with.
“There is another matter of some delicacy we must discuss, Brightlord,” Shallan said. They both turned toward Adolin, loitering nearby. He smiled.
And he did have a very nice smile.
When Jasnah had first explained the causal to her, Shallan’s interest had been completely abstract. Marriage into a powerful Alethi house? Allies for her brothers? Legitimacy, and a way to continue working with Jasnah for the salvation of the world? These had seemed like wonderful things.
Looking at Adolin’s grin, however, she didn’t consider any of those advantages. Her pains of speaking of Jasnah didn’t fade completely, but she found it much easier to ignore them when looking at him. She found herself blushing.
This, she thought, could be dangerous.
Adolin stepped up to join them, the hum of conversation all around giving them some privacy within the crowd. He had found a cup of orange wine for her somewhere, which he held out. “Shallan Davar?” he asked.
“Um…” Was she? Oh, right. She took the wine. “Yes?”
“Adolin Kholin,” he said. “I am sorry to hear of your hardships. We will need to speak to the king of his sister. I can spare you that task, if I might go in your place.”
“Thank you,” Shallan said. “But I would prefer to see him myself.”
“Of course,” Adolin said. “As for our… involvement. It did make a lot more sense when you were Jasnah’s ward, didn’t it?”
“Probably.”