Chapter 18

They’d gone to seek a land some told them was mythical.

—From The Way of Kings , fourth parable

A dolin and the Azish emperor left most of the attendants in the antechamber as they joined the meeting. By tradition, Yanagawn picked up his own seat and carried it in, and Adolin did the same, grabbing one from outside. Navani and Dalinar liked the symbolism.

Inside, Adolin did a quick count of those in attendance, and saw he and Yanagawn were last. His father and aunt were there, as were Jasnah and Queen Fen. A few Radiant representatives, including Sigzil for the Windrunners and Stargyle for the Lightweavers, were placing their seats. There were also a couple of the lesser kings—or “primes” as they called them—from the Azish Empire. The Mink had come as well—the short Herdazian who was their key strategist. And possibly, following the fall of his kingdom, Herdaz’s ranking lighteyes. Even if he was actually darkeyed.

The meeting was rounded out by three other Alethi highprinces, a group of scribes, and several generals and important leaders—like Prince Kmakl and Noura the vizier. And of course there was Wit, sitting in the corner with a scroll across his lap. Aunt Navani waved, and all the gathered emotion spren in the room flew out—to not distract. Adolin closed the door. Maybe he should have greeted his father, whom he hadn’t seen in weeks. He glanced toward Dalinar.

No. After how they’d parted, they’d do the proper thing: ignore it and let it fester.

Mere seconds after he’d closed the door, there was a knock on it. Adolin peeked, then pulled it all the way open as one of the guards gestured to an older Reshi man wearing a loose robe that showed a powerful chest and a strong build. Adolin thought he was one of the leaders of their islands who had been visiting the tower these last few months.

They’d never invited him to any of their meetings. The man didn’t ask; he simply picked up a chair and stood outside, waiting with his son, who often wore Thaylen clothing.

Adolin glanced into the chamber. This man was king to only a few hundred, less powerful in his sphere than a lower Alethi landowner. He was Radiant—the sole Dustbringer left in the tower—but not many Radiants got to join the meeting.

There was silence for a moment before the Mink spoke. “We have a saying, in Herdaz,” he said. “No cousin is so distant they stop being family. A king of a small land is still a king.”

“Please, enter,” Dalinar said, nodding and waving to the Reshi king. “Though I warn you, much of what we discuss might be confusing without prior context.”

The man said nothing, carrying his chair and placing it at the back of the room, with several of the lesser Azish primes. He sat with a regal air—and honestly, Adolin doubted he spoke much Alethi. His presence seemed symbolic. Adolin closed the door again.

“That’s it,” Fen said. “Everyone is here. Can we finally begin? My kingdom is facing an entire fleet.”

“Mine,” Yanagawn said, “is about to be invaded through a portal into the heart of my city! And sooner than yours!”

“The Everstorm can bring the enemy fleet to my city in just a day,” Fen said. “We saw that last time!”

“Please,” Dalinar said. “We will get to everyone’s defenses. First, let’s establish where our forces currently stand.”

“I agree,” Fen said. “But I do want to make a point, Dalinar. This is your fault. You should have insisted that the borders freeze the moment the deal was struck.”

She was right, of course, but this was how it was with Adolin’s father. Dalinar was a great man, yes, but he was confident in his greatness. Which led him to assume he could solve any problem himself.

“I’m sorry, Fen,” Dalinar said. “I’m doing my best.”

“Your best is going to see my kingdom conquered while you protect yours! You practically ensured war these ten days.”

Silence. Eyes condemning. This is what you deserve, Father, Adolin thought, feeling the room turn—like spears lowered at a captured enemy—against Dalinar. You always barrel forward. Doing whatever you want. Consequences be storming damned. Like you did years ago, killing my mother. And you never bothered to tell me. You—

“You did well, Dalinar Kholin,” Yanagawn said. “We agreed to let you stand for us, and you found us a solution. Thank you.”

Adolin frowned, looking at the Azish emperor. His homeland was facing invasion. Why was he so calm?

“Because of you,” Yanagawn continued, “we have a chance. The enemy can be reborn again and again, but with the contest, peace is actually possible.”

“I failed you in the short term,” Dalinar said. “Armies are coming for your homeland.”

“As they were three days ago,” Yanagawn said. “And the weeks before that. All that has changed is that you have ensured there is an end in sight. Yes, the contract could have been a little better, but I think every Azish person in this room can admit that even with important documents, you always miss something.”

“Well that’s storming true,” Sigzil said, laughing.

“You’re right, Yanagawn,” Fen said with a grumble. “Dalinar, I was too harsh. We did agree to let you make the decision, and you did all you could. I shouldn’t grouse about what could have been, but my homeland only just started to recover from the last attack.”

“We merely need to hold out, Fen,” Yanagawn said. “For eight more days. Then we have peace.”

Storms. With that, the tone of the room changed again. Or perhaps Adolin hadn’t been reading it correctly in the first place. People nodded. Fen sat up a little straighter. And Dalinar … Dalinar met Yanagawn’s eyes, then bowed his head in a sign of respect and thanks.

When had the young emperor learned such maturity? Or … perhaps Adolin should be wondering why he hadn’t learned the same.

“Very well,” Dalinar said. “Let’s discuss our positions. Stargyle, you up to making a map with me?”

“Yes, sir,” the Lightweaver said. “After the last few weeks of practice, I think I can manage it.”

“Good,” Dalinar said. “We’ll begin in Emul, with—”

“Holy hell,” a voice said from the corner.

Adolin frowned, trying to figure out those words and how they fit together. The group parted, revealing Wit sitting in the corner, holding that paper and what looked like a bone. “It’s not possible,” Wit said, louder.

Adolin glanced toward Jasnah, who shook her head, as confused as he was.

“I’m an idiot, ” Wit said.

“Wit?” Dalinar asked. “Are you—”

Wit leapt to his feet. “I’m an absolute fool! The most awe-inspiring, spectacular example of idiocy this side of the cosmere. So grand, I should be immortalized in song. The type that drunk men sing before they puke, mixing the rancid contents of their poisoned stomachs with my name.”

“Wit,” Dalinar said firmly. “Explain yourself.”

Well, that seemed like an invitation for mockery. Adolin braced himself, but when Wit spoke his voice was serious.

“There are loopholes in this agreement,” Wit explained. “I’m sorry; I failed you all. I was supposed to shepherd the process of creating this contract. I could have seen exactly where these attacks would land, if I’d been more keen-eyed.”

He said it solemnly. Quietly. What could make Wit be so … normal?

“How could you have guessed they’d strike at Thaylen City?” Fen asked.

“Because it’s in this agreement,” Wit said, “blatant as my own nose. As you all know, Dalinar was forced a little off script in creating this three days ago.”

“Odium insisted he couldn’t accept the deal as presented,” Dalinar said to the room. “Because he can no longer keep the Fused imprisoned.”

“Locking them away is no longer viable,” Wit agreed, “with the Oathpact broken and the Everstorm in place. Regardless, Dalinar going off script led to this situation—where the enemy has one last chance to grab lands.”

“Which is why we’ve been expecting an attack on the borders in strategically valuable places,” the Mink said, standing beside Dalinar. “If they expand the size of Alethkar, for example, but then we win it back … well, their attack was wasted. So we assumed some encroachment from Jah Keved on the Frostlands, or maybe another push into Emul or Tashikk. Key is that Alethkar and Herdaz are ours, forever, if Dalinar wins.”

The Herdazian looked to Dalinar and nodded in respect. Adolin hadn’t heard all the details of the contract, but he’d been told that Dalinar had specifically singled out Herdaz for freedom. The mark of a promise kept.

Dalinar nodded back. Adolin’s father was standing—because of course he’d forgotten to bring his chair. Despite the grand philosophies he espoused, Dalinar was always an exception to the rules. Even his own.

Storms, Adolin thought, acknowledging the bitterness lacing his thoughts. I’m really, really letting this go too far.

He knew it. But he couldn’t stop it.

“The Mink is right,” Dalinar said. “Whatever happens, Odium keeps the lands that surrendered to him, such as Iri, Jah Keved, and Marat. We keep whatever we hold when the deadline arrives. Strikes against Thaylen City and Azimir are not completely outrageous—but they don’t seem a smart choice. Why risk everything on capturing our strongholds when it’s much more possible to grab land at the perimeter?”

“Because,” Wit whispered, “if he takes the capitals, he gets the kingdoms. In their entirety.”

“Wait,” Yanagawn said. “What did you say?”

“I realized earlier that I might have missed something,” Wit said. “So, I sent a request to one of the best contract negotiators I know. Frost. Tall fellow. Big as a house, actually. Sharp teeth. Fondness for chastising me, which shows he has good judgment. He refused to help, as he insists he will not intervene, but his sister is as smart as he is, and she listened. I read her the contract, and she needed access to the Alethi legal code. That’s what I’ve been doing for these past hours—reading her laws, talking her through it, asking for her explanations.”

“And you did this … right here?” Navani asked. “How?”

Wit held up the little bone, as if that explained everything. “The general idea is this: In Dalinar’s negotiations, he argued for the return of Alethkar and Herdaz. Entire kingdoms. Then he agreed to Odium’s request: Odium can try for entire kingdoms with his attacks. By Alethi law, this means that he has to capture their seat of power. So …”

“So he throws everything he has at Azimir,” Yanagawn whispered. “Because if he can take it, he claims the kingdom. That’s what you’re saying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Wit said.

Oh, Damnation, Adolin thought. The room fell silent.

“He promised me,” Dalinar whispered, “that there would be no taking advantage of loopholes. That he would hold to the spirit of the contest. You had to dig through the Alethi legal code for hours to find this. It sounds a lot like a loophole to me.”

“Yes,” Wit said. “And that’s why I’m an idiot. Not because I missed the intricacies of the legal code—but because this isn’t something that Rayse could ever do. It’s not only against his nature, it’s something he promised he would not do. Even without a formal covenant, a god cannot break that kind of promise without dire consequences.”

“So … what?” Dalinar said. “I’m missing something.”

“As are we all,” Wit said with a sigh. “Odium is exploiting a loophole in your agreement. Rayse wouldn’t do that. Rayse couldn’t do that. So …” He looked around the room, meeting their eyes. “So we are not facing Rayse. My old enemy must be dead, and someone else has taken up the Shard of Odium. I should have seen it the moment he started acting so oddly, but now I’ve confirmed it by sensing the rhythms of Roshar. My friends, we are facing an enemy we do not know and cannot anticipate. And whoever it is, they’re a genius—one who has devised a ploy to conquer all of Roshar in ten days.”

“All right,” Shob said, huddling in an alcove with Shallan and Gaz up on the third floor. “Look at these.”

Shallan and Gaz had taken different faces, all three of them now appearing like Herdazian workers. Gaz had a real sparkflicker on his finger, with some flint to fake working it. Shob blew his nose, then set out some pages for them on the ground. It was quieter here, with less traffic, though sound still echoed up through the nearby atrium.

“Oi was watching the atrium region,” Shob said. “Like you said. Oi spotted someone spyin’ on Dalinar as he talked to some Makabaki woman. The Ghostblood was this one here.”

Shallan took the page, a sketch of a short Alethi or Veden woman Hoid had identified as a Ghostblood, but not one Shallan had ever met. At the bottom he’d written: former actor, recruited recently.

Actor, eh? She supposed that wasn’t an unusual recruitment tactic for a secretive organization.

“You set a tail on her?” Shallan asked.

“Darcira is followin’ right now,” Shob said, rubbing his nose again. The man was always bemoaning some ailment or another—none of which were ever as debilitating as he thought. He was good at his job though. This was a solid lead.

The Ghostbloods regularly set up, then abandoned bases. They were also fantastically good at losing tails, but a new recruit? This seemed a weak point.

Shob leaned back, complaining about his stomach while Shallan looked over the sketch once more, noting the woman’s tattoo peeking out through her freehand sleeve. Hoid’s sketches were excellent.

Shallan rubbed her wrist, where she’d refused to get one of those same tattoos. She flipped through the sketches and pulled out the picture of Mraize: tall and distinguished—scarred and proud of it. She … didn’t hate him. For all his threats and manipulations, he was too complex a man to be hated. She felt frustration mixed with envy, accompanied by a bitter sadness about what could perhaps have been.

She would have to kill him. As she’d killed Tyn. As she’d killed her father. But she would not enjoy it.

The next sketch was Iyatil in her mask. Even the sketch of her was shadowed, and Hoid noted he didn’t catch sight of her often. The next two pictures were those masked newcomers—assassins brought in from Iyatil’s homeland, wearing wooden masks painted in a way that made them feel … featureless. Just shapes and lines, not people, except for those eyes staring out, and the mouths barely exposed at the bottom.

As she was studying those pictures a soldier strolled past and glanced at Shallan’s group. Gaz casually held up one of the pages to be more visible, but it suddenly depicted a busty woman in a state of complete undress. Shallan blushed, drawing a shamespren despite herself. The soldier chuckled and moved on.

“Gaz,” she hissed.

“What?” he said. “You have a better way to explain a bunch of street sweepers gathered around some papers?”

“Where did you even get that image!”

“Drew it myself,” he said, with a grunt. “You said we should take them art lessons. Gotta get the musculature right to learn proper Lightweaving.”

“I know that!” she said, recalling some experiences in her youth. She shooed away that shamespren in the shape of a red flower petal. “But … my models were never quite so … um …”

“Oi think somethin’s wrong with my heart,” Shob said from beside them, lying on his back now, eyes closed. “Oi think it stopped beating. Can’t feel it. Is that normal?” Shallan didn’t give it much thought—Shob was merely being his usual overdramatic self.

Gaz shook the page so the image vanished, returning to a depiction of a Ghostblood. “You want me to invite you next time we do a drawing session?”

“Storms, no,” Shallan said, still blushing. “You’re not supposed to stare at models. It’s unprofessional.”

“I don’t think those ladies and fellows mind,” Shob said. “On account of their other jobs.”

Storms. Well, she did need anatomy practice. She put that out of her head as Shob groaned and sat up, then wagged a blinking spanreed with a message from Darcira. They counted out the blinks silently, interpreting the message. New Ghostbloods hideout found. Narak. I watch.

“Narak?” Gaz said softly. “Why so far away?”

“The tower is awake now,” Shallan said. “Perhaps the Sibling could locate them for us if they were closer.”

“Should we hit them with a strike team?” Gaz asked. “Gather some troops—put some Windrunners to good use for once?”

“We should gather one,” Shallan said. “Adolin should have gotten us permission. But striking won’t do much good unless we know Mraize and Iyatil are inside. Plus, like I said earlier, we need to find out what they’re planning.”

“Which means …” Gaz said.

“We’ll use a strike team, yes,” Shallan said. “But we’re going to sneak in first.”

Gaz nodded and collected the pictures, then headed out. Shob was lying down again. Shallan had always found his antics ridiculous, but today … today she hesitated, then tapped him on the foot while he looked up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Hey, you all right?”

“Oi know Oi probably am,” he replied. “Oi know it’s just in my head, all these things Oi feel. So yeah, Oi suppose. It ain’t real.”

Shallan suddenly felt guilty. She’d dismissed his attitude as silly earlier. How many would call what she dealt with “silly”?

“Hey,” she said. “ Feeling real is enough. The things in our heads can be some of the most important things in our lives. Love is in our heads. Confidence. Integrity. All things we make up, but they’re still very important.”

He sat up. “And me feelin’ sick all the time? Is that good, like love or integrity?”

“Probably not,” she said. “But it being in your head doesn’t mean we should ignore it. You need any help?”

He cocked his head, illusion covering his face, but his eyes—his expressions—showed his true self. “Nobody’s ever asked me that. You know? In years, nobody’s asked me that? Yeah. Yeah, Oi think Oi could use some help.” He hesitated. “But Oi don’t know. Sometimes … when people listen to me … it gets worse. Oi just start thinkin’ of more things wrong, then ask for more and more sympathy. Till Oi hate myself, and everyone hates me.”

“Ignoring the problem isn’t the solution though,” Shallan said. “Trust me. When we’re done with all this, let’s see if we can find someone who can help. There has to be an ardent or a surgeon or someone.”

“Okay,” he said, rising. “Oi think Oi just felt a heartbeat. So maybe Oi will survive long enough.” He glanced at her, then paused. “Oi say exaggerations of what Oi feel like that because they’re funny. Makes people think Oi’m jokin’. So they don’t hate me, you know?”

She took his hand, squeezed it, and nodded.

“You still want me watchin’ here?” he asked.

She nodded again. “Thanks for spotting that Ghostblood, but I want another set of eyes on that meeting up above. Outside, in the room with the guards, listening to what they’re chattering about.” Shob was excellent at that kind of information-gathering, but his skill set wasn’t aligned with attacking enemies, as she was planning to try next.

“Then Oi’d better find a lift up,” he said. Then he glanced at her. “You … pay better attention now. What happened on that trip?”

“I found a few pieces of myself,” she said, “that I’d lost.”