The Way of Kings (120 page)

“Yes, but for whom?”

“For
me
,” Shallan said. “Is it so hard to believe that I could act for myself? Am I such a miserable failure that the only rational answer is to assume I was duped or manipulated?”

“You have no grounds to raise your voice to me, child,” Jasnah said evenly. “And you have
every
reason to remember your place.”

Shallan looked down again.

Jasnah was silent for a time. Finally, she sighed. “What were you
thinking
, child?”

“My father is dead.”

“So?”

“He was not well liked, Brightness. Actually, he was
hated
, and our family is bankrupt. My brothers are trying to put up a strong front by pretending he still lives. But…” Dared she tell Jasnah that her father had possessed a Soulcaster? Doing so wouldn’t help excuse what Shallan had done, and might get her family more deeply into trouble. “We needed something. An edge. A way to earn money quickly, or
create
money.”

Jasnah was silent again. When she finally spoke, she sounded faintly amused. “You thought your salvation lay in enraging not only all the entire ardentia, but Alethkar? Do you realize what my brother would have done if he’d learned of this?”

Shallan looked away, feeling both foolish and ashamed.

Jasnah sighed. “Sometimes I forget how young you are. I can see how the theft might have looked tempting to you. It was stupid nonetheless. I’ve arranged passage back to Jah Keved. You will leave in the morning.”

“I—” It was more than she deserved. “Thank you.”

“Your friend, the ardent, is dead.”

Shallan looked up, dismayed. “What happened?”

“The bread was poisoned. Backbreaker powder. Very lethal, dusted over the bread to look like flour. I suspect the bread was similarly treated every time he visited. His goal was to get me to eat a piece.”

“But I ate a
lot
of that bread!”

“The jam had the antidote,” Jasnah said. “We found it in several empty jars he’d used.”

“It can’t be!”

“I’ve begun investigating,” Jasnah said. “I should have done so immediately. Nobody quite remembers where this ‘Kabsal’ came from. Though he spoke familiarly of the other ardents to you and me, they knew him only vaguely.”

“Then he…”

“He was playing you, child. The whole time, he was using you to get to me. To spy on what I was doing, to kill me if he could.” She spoke of it so evenly, so emotionlessly. “I believe he used much more of the powder during this last attempt, more than he’d ever used before, perhaps hoping to get me to breathe it in. He realized this would be his last opportunity. It turned against him, however, working more quickly than he’d anticipated.”

Someone had almost killed her. Not someone,
Kabsal
. No wonder he’d been so eager to get her to taste the jam!

“I’m very disappointed in you, Shallan,” Jasnah said. “I can see now why you tried to end your own life. It was the guilt.”

She
hadn’t
tried to kill herself. But what good would it do to admit that? Jasnah was taking pity on her; best not to give her reason not to. But what of the strange things Shallan had seen and experienced? Might Jasnah have an explanation for them?

Looking at Jasnah, seeing the cold rage hidden behind her calm exterior, frightened Shallan enough that her questions about the symbolheads and the strange place she’d visited died on her lips. How had Shallan ever thought of herself as brave? She wasn’t brave. She was a fool. She remembered the times her father’s rage had echoed through the house. Jasnah’s quieter, move justified anger was no less daunting.

“Well, you will need to learn to live with your guilt,” Jasnah said. “You might not have escaped with my fabrial, but you
have
thrown away a very promising career. This foolish scheme will stain your life for decades. No woman will take you as a ward now. You
threw it away
.” She shook her head in distaste. “I hate being wrong.”

With that, she turned to leave.

Shallan raised a hand.
I have to apologize. I have to say something.
“Jasnah?”

The woman did not look back, and the guard did not return.

Shallan curled up under the sheet, stomach in knots, feeling so sick that—for a moment—she wished that she’d actually dug that shard of glass in a little deeper. Or maybe that Jasnah hadn’t been quick enough with the Soulcaster to save her.

She’d lost it all. No fabrial to protect her family, no wardship to continue her studies. No Kabsal. She’d never actually had him in the first place.

Her tears dampened the sheets as the sunlight outside faded, then vanished. Nobody came to check on her.

Nobody cared.

ONE YEAR AGO

Kaladin sat quietly in the waiting room of Amaram’s wooden warcenter. It was constructed of a dozen study sections that could be disconnected and pulled by chulls. Kaladin sat beside a window, looking out at the camp. There was a hole where Kaladin’s squad had been housed. He could make it out from where he sat. Their tents had been broken down and given to other squads.

Four of his men remained. Four, out of twenty-six. And men called him lucky. Men called him Stormblessed. He’d begun to believe that.

I killed a Shardbearer today
, he thought, mind numb.
Like Lanacin the Surefooted, or Evod Markmaker. Me. I killed one.

And he didn’t care.

He crossed his arms on the wooden windowsill. There was no glass in the window and he could feel the breeze. A windspren flitted from one tent to another. Behind Kaladin, the room had a thick red rug and shields on the walls. There were a number of padded wooden chairs, like the one Kaladin sat in. This was the “small” waiting chamber of the warcenter—small, yet larger than his entire house back in Hearthstone, the surgery included.

I killed a Shardbearer,
he thought again.
And then I gave away the Blade and Plate
.

That single event had to be the most monumentally stupid thing anyone, in any kingdom, in any era, had ever done. As a Shardbearer, Kaladin would have been more important than Roshone—more important than Amaram. He’d have been able to go to the Shattered Plains and fight in a real war.

No more squabbling over borders. No more petty lighteyed captains belonging to unimportant families, bitter because they’d been left behind. He would never again have had to worry about blisters from boots that didn’t fit, dinner slop that tasted of crem, or other soldiers who wanted to pick a fight.

He could have been rich. He’d given it all away, just like that.

And
still
, the mere thought of touching that Blade turned his stomach. He didn’t want wealth, titles, armies, or even a good meal. He wanted to be able to go back and protect the men who had trusted him. Why had he chased after the Shardbearer? He should have run. But no, he’d insisted on charging at a storming
Shardbearer
.

You protected your highmarshal,
he told himself.
You’re a hero.

But why was Amaram’s life worth more than those of his men? Kaladin served Amaram because of the honor he had shown. He let spearmen share his comfort in the warcenter during highstorms, a different squad each storm. He insisted that his men be well fed and well paid. He didn’t treat them like slime.

He did let his subordinates do so, though. And he’d broken his promise to shelter Tien.

So did I. So did I….

Kaladin’s insides were a twisted mess of guilt and sorrow. One thing remained clear, like a bright spot of light on the wall of a dark room. He wanted nothing to do with those Shards. He didn’t even want to touch them.

The door thumped open, and Kaladin turned in his chair. Amaram entered. Tall, lean, with a square face and long martial coat of deep green. He walked on a crutch. Kaladin eyed the wrappings and splint with a critical eye.
I could have done better.
He’d also have insisted that the patient remain in bed.

Amaram was talking to one of his stormwardens, a middle-aged man with a square beard and robes of deep black.

“…why Thaidakar would risk this?” Amaram was saying, speaking in a soft voice. “But who else would it be? The Ghostbloods grow more bold. We’ll need to find out who he was. Do we know anything about him?”

“He was Veden, Brightlord,” the stormwarden said. “Nobody I recognize. But I will investigate.”

Amaram nodded, falling silent. Behind the two, a group of lighteyed officers entered, one of them carrying the Shardblade, holding it on a pure white cloth. Behind this group came the four surviving members of Kaladin’s squad: Hab, Reesh, Alabet, and Coreb.

Kaladin stood up, feeling exhausted. Amaram remained by the door, arms folded, as two final men entered and closed the door. These last two were also lighteyes, but lesser ones—officers in Amaram’s personal guard. Had these been among those who had fled?

It was the smart thing to do,
Kaladin thought.
Smarter than what I did.

Amaram leaned on his walking staff, inspecting Kaladin with bright tan eyes. He’d been in conference with his counselors for several hours now, trying to discover who the Shardbearer had been. “You did a brave thing today, soldier,” Amaram said to Kaladin.

“I…” What did you say to that?
I wish I’d left you to die, sir.
“Thank you.”

“Everyone else fled, including my honor guard.” The two men closest to the door looked down, ashamed. “But you charged in for the attack. Why?”

“I didn’t really think about it, sir.”

Amaram seemed displeased by the answer. “Your name is Kaladin, is it?”

“Yes, Brightlord. From Hearthstone? Remember?”

Amaram frowned, looking confused.

“Your cousin, Roshone, is citylord there. He sent my brother into the army when you came recruiting. I…I joined with my brother.”

“Ah yes,” Amaram said. “I believe I remember you.” He didn’t ask after Tien. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why attack? It wasn’t for the Shardblade. You rejected that.”

“Yes, sir.”

To the side, the stormwarden raised his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t believed that Kaladin had turned down the Shards. The soldier holding the Shardblade kept glancing at it in awe.

“Why?” Amaram said. “Why did you reject it? I have to know.”

“I don’t want it, sir.”

“Yes, but why?”

Because it would make me one of you. Because I can’t look at that weapon and not see the faces of the men its wielder slaughtered so offhandedly
.

Because…because…

“I can’t really answer that, sir,” Kaladin said, sighing.

The stormwarden walked over to the room’s brazier, shaking his head. He began warming his hands.

“Look,” Kaladin said. “Those Shards are mine. Well, I said to give them to Coreb. He’s the highest ranked of my soldiers, and the best fighter among them.” The other three would understand. Besides, Coreb would take care of them, once he was a lighteyes.

Amaram looked at Coreb, then nodded to his attendants. One closed the window shutters. The others pulled out swords, then began moving toward the four remaining members of Kaladin’s squad.

Kaladin yelled, leaping forward, but two of the officers had positioned themselves close to him. One slammed a punch into Kaladin’s gut as soon as he started moving. He was so surprised that it connected directly, and he gasped.

No.

He fought off the pain, turning to swing at the man. The man’s eyes opened wide as Kaladin’s fist connected, throwing him backward. Several other men piled on him. He had no weapons, and he was so tired from the battle that he could barely stay upright. They knocked him to the ground with punches to his side and back. He collapsed to the floor, pained, but still able to watch as the soldiers came at his men.

Reesh was cut down first. Kaladin gasped, stretching out a hand, struggling to his knees.

This can’t happen. Please, no!

Hab and Alabet had their knives out, but fell quickly, one soldier gutting Hab as two others hacked down Alabet. Alabet’s knife thumped as it hit the ground, followed by his arm, then finally his corpse.

Coreb lasted the longest, backing away, hands held forward. He didn’t scream. He seemed to understand. Kaladin’s eyes were watering, and soldiers grabbed him from behind, stopping him from helping.

Coreb’s fell to his knees and began to beg. One of Amaram’s men took him at the neck, neatly severing his head. It was over in seconds.

“You bastard!” Kaladin said, gasping against his pain. “You storming bastard!” Kaladin found himself weeping, struggling uselessly at the four men holding him. The blood of the fallen spearmen soaked the boards.

They were dead. All of them were dead. Stormfather! All of them!

Amaram stepped forward, expression grim. He went down on one knee before Kaladin. “I’m sorry.”

“Bastard!” Kaladin screamed as loud as he could.

“I couldn’t risk them telling what they saw. This is what must be, soldier. It’s for the good of the army. They’re going to be told that your squad helped the Shardbearer. You see, the men must believe that
I
killed him.”