Timbre pulsed to Praise.
“The listeners?” Venli whispered to the spren. “We didn’t do that good a job of resisting Odium. As soon as we got a hint of power, we came running back to him.” That had been her fault. She had driven them toward new information, new powers. She’d always hungered for it. Something new.
Timbre pulsed to Consolation, but then it blended, changing once again to Resolve.
Venli hummed the same transformation.
Something new.
But also something old.
She walked to the two sailors. They immediately stood at attention, saluting her as the only Regal on the ship, holding a form of power. “I know who you were,” she said to the two of them.
“You … you do?” the femalen asked.
“Yes.” Venli pointed. “Keep working, and let me tell you of the listeners.”
* * *
I think you did a great job, Szeth, the sword said from Szeth’s hand as they rose above Thaylen City. You didn’t destroy many of them, yes, but you just need some more practice!
“Thank you, sword-nimi,” he said, reaching Nin. The Herald floated with toes pointed downward, hands clasped behind his back, watching the disappearing ships of the parshmen in the distance.
“I am sorry, master,” Szeth finally said. “I have angered you.”
“I am not your master,” Nin said. “And you have not angered me. Why would I be displeased?”
“You have determined that the parshmen are the true owners of this land, and that the Skybreakers should follow their laws.”
“The very reason that we swear to something external is because we acknowledge that our own judgment is flawed. My judgment is flawed.” He narrowed his eyes. “I used to be able to feel, Szeth-son-Neturo. I used to have compassion. I can remember those days, before…”
“The torture?” Szeth asked.
He nodded. “Centuries spent on Braize—the place you call Damnation—stole my ability to feel. We each cope somehow, but only Ishar survived with his mind intact. Regardless, you are certain you wish to follow a man with your oath?”
“It is not as perfect as the law, I know,” Szeth said. “But it feels right.”
“The law is made by men, so it is not perfect either. It is not perfection we seek, for perfection is impossible. It is instead consistency. You have said the Words?”
“Not yet. I swear to follow the will of Dalinar Kholin. This is my oath.” At the Words, snow crystallized around him in the air, then fluttered down. He felt a surge of something. Approval? From the hidden spren who only rarely showed itself to him, even still.
“I believe that your Words have been accepted. Have you chosen your quest for the next Ideal?”
“I will cleanse the Shin of their false leaders, so long as Dalinar Kholin agrees.”
“We shall see. You may find him a harsh master.”
“He is a good man, Nin-son-God.”
“That is precisely why.” Nin saluted him quietly, then began to move away through the air. He shook his head when Szeth followed, and then he pointed. “You must protect the man you once tried to kill, Szeth-son-Neturo.”
“What if we meet on the battlefield?”
“Then we will both fight with confidence, knowing that we obey the precepts of our oaths. Farewell, Szeth-son-Neturo. I will visit you again to oversee your training in our second art, the Surge of Division. You may access that now, but take care. It is dangerous.”
He left Szeth alone in the sky, holding a sword that hummed happily to itself, then confided that it had never really liked Nin in the first place.
* * *
Shallan had found that no matter how bad things got, someone would be making tea.
Today it was Teshav, and Shallan gratefully took a cup, then peeked through the command post at the top of the city, still looking for Adolin. Now that she was moving, she found she could ignore her fatigue. Momentum could be a powerful thing.
Adolin wasn’t here, though one of the runner girls had seen him a short time ago, so Shallan was on the right track. She walked back to the main thoroughfare, passing men carrying stretchers full of the wounded. Otherwise, the streets were mostly empty. People had been sent to stormshelters or homes as Queen Fen’s soldiers gathered gemstones from the reserve, rounded up Amaram’s troops, and made certain there was no looting.
Shallan idled in the mouth of an alleyway. The tea was bitter, but good. Knowing Teshav, it probably had something in it to keep her on her feet and alert—scribes always knew the best teas for that.
She watched the people for a time, then glanced upward as Kaladin landed on a rooftop nearby. He was next up for working the Oathgate, taking over from Renarin.
The Windrunner stood like a sentinel, surveying the city. Was that going to become a thing for him? Always standing around up high somewhere? She’d seen how envious he’d been as he’d watched those Fused, with their flowing robes, moving like the winds.
Shallan glanced toward the thoroughfare as she heard a familiar voice. Adolin hiked down the street, led by the messenger girl, who pointed him toward Shallan. Finally. The messenger girl bowed, then scampered off back toward the command post.
Adolin stepped over and ran his hand through his mop of hair, blond and black. It looked fantastic, despite his ripped uniform and scraped face. Perhaps that was the advantage to persistently messy hair—he managed to make it go with anything. Though she had no idea how he’d gotten so much dust on his uniform. Had he fought a bag of sand?
She pulled him against her in the mouth of the alleyway, then twisted and put his arm around her shoulders. “Where did you get off to?”
“Father asked me to check on each of the Thaylen Shardbearers and report. I left you a palanquin.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ve been surveying the aftermath of the fight. I think we did a good job. Only half the city destroyed—which is quite the step up from our work in Kholinar. If we keep this up, some people might actually live through the end of the world.”
He grunted. “You seem in higher spirits than earlier.”
“Teshav fed me tea,” she said. “I’ll probably be bouncing off the clouds soon. Don’t get me laughing. I sound like an axehound puppy when I’m hyper.”
“Shallan…” he said.
She twisted up to look at his eyes, then followed his gaze. Above, Kaladin rose into the air to inspect something that they couldn’t see.
“I didn’t mean to abandon you earlier,” Shallan said. “I’m sorry. I should never have let you run off.”
He took a deep breath, then removed his arm from her shoulders.
I’ve screwed it up! Shallan thought immediately. Stormfather. I’ve gone and ruined it.
“I’ve decided,” Adolin said, “to step back.”
“Adolin, I didn’t mean to—”
“I have to say this, Shallan. Please.” He stood up tall, stiff. “I’m going to let him have you.”
She blinked. “Let him have me.”
“I’m holding you back,” Adolin said. “I see the way you two look at each other. I don’t want you to keep forcing yourself to spend time with me because you feel sorry for me.”