Adolin didn’t speak, but he dared them to continue condemning him. He dared them to ignore the testimony of the witness they’d chosen, the one they’d pretended to give the power of judgment. He let them mull it over. He let them think.
Then they began to trail away. Haunted, perhaps confused, the honorspren began to leave. The elders gathered around Sekeir, who remained standing, dumbfounded, staring at Maya. They pulled him away, speaking in hushed, concerned tones.
They didn’t touch Adolin. They stayed far from him, from Maya. Until eventually a single person remained in the stands. A female spren in a black suit, her skin faintly tinged with an oily rainbow. Blended stood up, then picked her way down the steps.
“I should like to take credit,” she said, “for your victory in what everyone assumed was an unwinnable trial. But it was not my tutelage, or your boldness, that won this day.”
Maya finally let go of Adolin’s arm. She seemed stronger than before, though her eyes were still scratched out. He could feel her curiosity, her … awareness. She looked up at him and nodded.
He nodded back. “Thank you.”
“Stren…” she whispered. “Stren. Be…”
“Strength before weakness.”
She nodded again, then turned her scratched-out gaze toward the ground, exhausted.
“I don’t intend to forget that you testified against me,” Adolin said to Blended. “You played both sides of this game.”
“It was the best way for me to win,” she said, inspecting Maya. “But you should know that I suggested to the honorspren elders that they use your deadeye as a witness. They were unaware of the legal provision that allowed them to speak for her.”
“Then her pain is your fault?” Adolin demanded.
“I did not suggest they treat her with such callousness,” Blended said. “Their act is their own, as is their shame. But admittedly, I knew how they might act. I wanted to know if a truth exists—the one you said to me.”
Adolin frowned, trying to remember.
“That she spoke,” Blended reminded him. “To you. That friendship exists between you. I sought proof, and found that her name—recorded in old documents of spren treaties—is as you said. A curious fact to find. Indeed.”
Blended strolled around Adolin and studied Maya’s face. “Still scratched out…” she said. “Though a bond between you is.”
“I’m … no Radiant,” Adolin said.
“No. That is certain.” Maya met Blended’s gaze. “But something is happening. I must leave this place at last and return to the inkspren. If the words this deadeye spoke are…”
“If what she said is true,” Adolin said, “then you have no further excuse for refusing humankind the bonds they need.”
“Don’t we?” Blended asked. “For centuries, my kind told ourselves an easy lie, yes. That humans had been selfish. That humans had murdered. But easy answers often are, so we can be excused.
“This truth, though, means a greater problem is. Thousands of spren chose death instead of letting the Radiants continue. Does this not worry you more? They truly believed that—as humans claimed at the time—Surgebinding would destroy the world. That the solution was to end the orders of Radiants. Suddenly, at the cost of many lives.”
“Did you know the full cost, Maya?” Adolin asked, the question suddenly occurring to him. “Did you and your Radiants know that you would become deadeyes?”
Adolin felt Maya searching deep, pushing through her exhaustion, seeking … memories that were difficult for her to access. Eventually, she shook her head and whispered, “Pain. Yes. Death? No. Maybe.”
Adolin sat beside her, letting her lean against him. “Why, Maya? Why were you willing to do it?”
“To save … save…” She sagged and shook her head.
“To save us from something worse,” Adolin said, then looked to Blended. “What does it mean?”
“It means we’ve had all of this terribly wrong for much time, Highprince Adolin,” she said. “And my own stupidity is. I have always thought myself smart.” She shook her head as she stood before them, arms folded. “What an effective test. Very effective.”
“This?” Adolin said, waving to the empty forum. “This was a complete and utter farce.”
“I meant a different test,” Blended said. “The true trial—the one you’ve been engaging in for the last few years: the test for this spren’s loyalty. She was the only judge who ever mattered, and today was her chance to offer judgment.” Blended leaned forward. “You passed.”
With that she turned to go and strode up the steps—her stark onyx coloring making her seem a shadow with no accompanying body. “Easy answers no longer are,” she said. “But if deadeyes can begin to return … this is grand news. Important news. I will convey this to my people.
“I do not know if making new Radiants is a good idea—but I must admit that your ancestors were not traitors. Something did frighten them enormously, to cause humans and spren to destroy their bonds. And if the spren did not know they would die … then pieces of this puzzle are still missing. The questions are more complicated, and more dangerous, than we ever knew.”
With that, Blended left. Adolin let Maya rest for a few minutes. When he finally stood up, she joined him. She followed him as she normally did, expressionless and mild, but he could feel that she was not as insensate as she’d been. She was conserving energy.
She wasn’t healed, but she was better. And when he had needed her, she had been willing to struggle through death itself to speak for him.
No, he thought. She spoke for herself. Don’t make the same mistake again.
He needed to find Shallan and head to the Oathgate so they could share what he’d learned. Maybe the honorspren would swallow their pride and help. Maybe they would, as Blended said, find other reasons to fear.
Either way, he suspected the Radiant relationship would never be the same again.
FOURTEEN MONTHS AGO
Venli scrambled through a nightmare of her own making.
Beneath a blackened sky, humans and listeners fought with steel and lightning. She heard screams more often than commands, and beneath it all, a new song. A song of summoning, joined by thousands of voices. The Everstorm was coming, building to a crescendo as the listeners called it.
She’d imagined this day as an organized effort by the listeners—led by her. Instead there was chaos, war, and death.
She did not join in the singing. She splashed through deep puddles, seeking to escape. The Weeping rains streamed down, soft but persistent. She passed listeners she recognized, all standing in a line, their eyes glowing red as they sang.
“Faridai,” she said to one of them. “We have to get away. The humans are sweeping in this direction.”
He glanced at her, but continued singing. The whole line seemed completely oblivious to the rain, and mostly oblivious to her words. She attuned Panic. They were overwhelmed by the new form, consumed by it.
She felt that same impulse, but was able to resist. Perhaps because of her long association with Ulim? She wasn’t certain. Venli hurried away, looking over her shoulder. She couldn’t make out much of what was happening on the battlefield. It stretched across multiple plateaus, veiled in mist and rain, shadowed by pitch-black clouds. Occasional bursts of red lightning showed that many of the new stormforms were fighting.