Words of Radiance

“Do not speak that way to me,” Father said, stalking forward, finger pointed at Helaran. “I am your father.” Maids scurried to the side of the room, trying to stay out of the way. Shallan pulled the satchel up against her chest, trying to hide in her chair.

“You are a murderer,” Helaran said calmly.

Father stopped in place, face gone red beneath his beard. He then continued forward. “How dare you! You think I can’t have you imprisoned? Because you’re my heir, you think I—”

Something formed in Helaran’s hand, a line of mist that coalesced into silvery steel. A Blade some six feet long, curved and thick, with the side that wasn’t sharp rising into a shape like burning flames or perhaps ripples of water. It had a gemstone set at the pommel, and as light reflected off the metal, the ridges seemed to move.

Helaran was a Shardbearer. Stormfather! How? When?

Father cut off, pulling up short. Helaran hopped down from the low dais, then leveled the Shardblade at his father. The point touched Father’s chest.

Father raised his hands to the sides, palms forward.

“You are a vile corruption upon this house,” Helaran said. “I should shove this through your chest. To do so would be a mercy.”

“Helaran…” The passion seemed to have bled from Father, like the color from his face, which had gone stark white. “You don’t know what you think you know. Your mother—”

“I will not listen to your lies,” Helaran said, rotating his wrist, twisting the sword in his hand, point still against Father’s chest. “So easy.”

“No,” Shallan whispered.

Helaran cocked his head, then turned, not moving the sword.

“No,” Shallan said, “please.”

“You speak now?” Helaran said. “To defend him?” He laughed. A wild bark of a noise. He whipped the sword away from Father’s chest.

Father sat down in a dining chair, face still pale. “How? A Shardblade. Where?” He glanced suddenly upward. “But no. It’s different. Your new friends? They trust you with this wealth?”

“We have an important work to do,” Helaran said, turning and striding to Shallan. He laid a hand fondly on her shoulder. He continued more softly. “I will tell you of it someday, Sister. It is good to hear your voice again before I leave.”

“Don’t go,” she whispered. The words felt like gauze in her mouth. It had been months since she’d last spoken.

“I must. Please do some drawings for me while I’m gone. Of fanciful things. Of brighter days. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“Farewell, Father,” Helaran said, turning and striding from the room. “Try not to ruin too much while I’m gone. I will come back periodically to check.” His voice echoed in the hallway outside as he left.

Brightlord Davar stood, roaring. The few maids left in the room fled out the side door into the gardens. Shallan shrank back, horrified, as her father picked up his chair and slammed it into the wall. He kicked over a small dining table, then took the chairs one at a time and smashed them into the floor with repeated, brutal blows.

Breathing deeply, he turned his eyes on her.

Shallan whimpered at the rage, the lack of humanity, in his eyes. As they focused on her, the life returned to them. Father dropped a broken chair and turned his back toward her, as if ashamed, before fleeing the room.

20. The Coldness of Clarity

Artform applied for beauty and hue.One yearns for the songs it creates.

Most misunderstood by the artist it’s true,Come the spren to foundation’s fates.From the Listener Song of Listing, 90th stanza

The sun was a smoldering ember on the horizon, sinking toward oblivion, as Shallan and her little caravan neared the source of the smoke in front of them. Though the column had dwindled, she could now make out that it had three different sources, rising into the air and twisting into one.

She climbed to her feet on the rocking wagon as they rolled up one last hill, then stopped on the side, mere feet away from letting her see what was out there. Of course; cresting the hill would be a very bad idea if bandits waited below.

Bluth climbed down from his wagon and jogged forward. He wasn’t terribly nimble, but he was the best scout they had. He crouched and removed his too-fine hat, then made his way up the hillside to peek over. A moment later, he stood up straight, no longer attempting stealth.

Shallan hopped down from her seat and hurried over, skirts catching on the twisted branches of crustspines here and there. She reached the top of the hill just before Tvlakv did.