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“Who did you save? The queen?”

“No, someone far less important,” Venli said. “A surgeon and his wife, who were—”

“Lirin and Hesina?” he asked to Excitement. “The child too, I hope.”

“Yes. How did you—”

“You need to get me out, Venli,” Rlain said. “And get me to Hesina. I have something useful I could show her—and you, if you want to help.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Venli whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the door. “I have some authority, but there are many who distrust me. I don’t know if I can get you free. It might draw too much attention to me.”

“Venli,” he said to Confidence, “look at me.”

She met his gaze. Had he always been this intense? Eshonai had known him better than she had.

“You need to do this,” Rlain said to her. “You need to use whatever influence you have and get me out.”

“I don’t know if—”

“Stop being so insufferably selfish! Do something against your own self-interest, for the greater good, for once in your storming life, Venli.”

She hummed to Betrayal. She didn’t deserve that. She’d just told him how she was trying to rebuild the listeners. But he hummed louder to Confidence, so she aligned her rhythm to his.

“I’ll try,” she said.

* * *

Though Raboniel often spent her time down near the crystal pillar—or with the human scholars in the chambers nearby—the Lady of Wishes had indicated she would be about other duties today. By asking around, Venli found that she was for some reason at the Blackthorn’s former rooms.

Venli stepped inside, where an unusual number of Fused had gathered and were systematically going through the warlord’s belongings—cataloguing them, making notations about them, and packing them away. Venli passed through and saw one crate contained socks: each pair recorded and carefully stored.

They were putting all of his things into storage, but why had they dedicated Fused to such a mundane job? What was more, these were important Fused, none of the more erratic or crazy represented. Leshwi herself had been pressed into the work, and that all together whispered something meaningful: Someone very high up in the singer hierarchy was interested in this man. To the point of wanting to dissect and understand his each and every possession, no matter how ordinary.

Venli moved around the perimeter of the room, careful to stay away from the broad doors or windows leading to the balcony. Those had been draped off, but the rules were strict during daylight hours. No singers were to show themselves outside, lest they accidentally reveal the truth to Windrunner scouts.

She found two humans she didn’t recognize at the doorway into the bedroom, watching what occurred inside. There, Raboniel was speaking to a third human. The tall male was dressed in a coat and trousers that seemed elegant to Venli’s eyes—though she knew little of their fashion. More striking was the strange creature on his shoulder, an odd thing unlike any Venli had ever seen. It stood on two legs like a person, though its face ended in a beak and it had brightly colored scales that looked soft, of all things. When she entered, it turned and stared at her, and she was unnerved by how bright and intelligent its eyes seemed.

The Lady of Wishes sat in a chair by the bed, her face passive, with stacks of papers and books beside her.

Who was this man, and why would Raboniel pause her research to give him an audience? The Lady normally ignored requests from humans, going so far as to have several “important” ones flogged when they demanded audiences. More curious, as Venli edged around the side of the room, she saw that the man’s face was scarred in several places, bespeaking a roughness in contrast to his fine clothing.

“The only thing I find remarkable,” Raboniel said to Derision, “is how audacious you are, human. Do you not understand how easily I could have you beaten or killed?”

“That would be to throw away a useful opportunity,” the man said, loud and bold—a human version of the Rhythm of Determination. “And you are not one who throws away something useful, are you, Ancient One?”

“Use is relative,” Raboniel replied. “I will throw away an opportunity I’ll never have time to exploit if it is preventing me from something better.”

“What is better than free riches?” he said.

“I have Urithiru,” she said. “What need have I of spheres?”

“Not that kind of riches,” the man said, with a smile. He stepped forward and respectfully handed her a large pouch. Raboniel took it, and it made a soft clink. Raboniel undid the top, and stared inside. She sat there for a long moment, and when she next spoke, her voice was devoid of rhythms. “How? Where did you get this?”

“I bring a gift,” was all the man said. “To encourage you to meet with my babsk to negotiate terms. I had thought to wait until the current … turmoil subsided, but my babsk is determined. We will have a deal for use of the Oathgates. And we will pay.”

“It is … a fine gift,” Raboniel finally said.

“That is not the gift,” he said. “That is a mere advance on our future payments. This is the gift.”

He gestured to the side, and the strange creature on his shoulder whistled. The two men that Venli had seen outside entered, carrying something between them—a large cloth-covered box. It barely fit through the door, and was heavy, judging by the thump it made when they set it down.

The lead human whipped the cloth off, revealing a small teenage human girl in a box with bars on the sides. The dirty creature growled as she huddled in the center, shadowed. The man gestured dramatically, then bowed and began to walk away.

“Human?” Raboniel said. “I did not dismiss you. What is this? I need no slaves.”

“This is no slave,” the man said. “But if your master does happen to ever locate Cultivation, suggest that he ask her precisely why she made an Edgedancer who is fueled by Lifelight and not Stormlight.” He bowed again—a formal military bow—then withdrew.

Venli waited, expecting Raboniel to demand he be executed, or at least flogged. Instead she started humming to Conceit. She even smiled.

“I am confused, Ancient One,” Venli said, looking after the man.

“You needn’t be,” Raboniel said, “for this has nothing to do with you. He is dramatic, as I was warned. Hopefully he thinks I was put onto the back foot by his little stunt. Did he really deliver me a Radiant who is awake despite the tower’s protections?” She peered in at the caged child, who stared back defiantly and growled. “Barely seems tame.”

She clapped, and several servants entered. “Take this one to a secure place and do not let her go. Be careful. She might be dangerous.” As they took the cage, she turned to Venli and spoke to Craving. “So, was it really another of your people, as the reports say?”

“Yes,” Venli said. “I know him. His name is Rlain. A listener.”

“A child of traitors,” Raboniel said.

“As am I,” Venli said, then paused. She took a deep breath and changed her rhythm to Conceit. “I would have him released to my care. I haven’t any other kin to speak of. He is precious to me.”


Tags: Brandon Sanderson The Stormlight Archive Fantasy