Words of Radiance

“That’s how they sound!”

“Nah, it’s more like they have pebbles in their mouths. But they talk really slow, with overemphasized sounds. Like this. ‘Oi looked over the paintings that ya gave me, and they’re roit nice. Roit nice indeed. Ain’t never had a cloth for my backside that was so pleasant.’”

“You’re exaggerating that!” Shallan said, though she couldn’t help laughing.

“A tad,” Tyn said, leaning back and sweeping her long, chull-guiding reed in front of her like a Shardblade.

“I don’t see why knowing a Bav accent would be useful,” Shallan said. “They’re not a very important people.”

“Kid, that’s why they’re important.”

“They’re important because they’re unimportant,” Shallan said. “All right, I know I’m bad at logic sometimes, but something about that statement seems off.”

Tyn smiled. She was so relaxed, so… free. Not at all what Shallan had expected after their first encounter.

But then the woman had been playing a part. Leader of the guard. This woman Shallan was talking to now, this seemed real.

“Look,” Tyn said, “if you’re going to fool people, you’ll need to learn how to act beneath them as well as above them. You’re getting the whole ‘important lighteyes’ thing down. I assume you’ve had good examples.”

“You could say that,” Shallan replied, thinking of Jasnah.

“Thing is, in a lot of situations, being an important lighteyes is useless.”

“Being unimportant is important. Being important is useless. Got it.”

Tyn eyed her, chewing on some jerky. Her sword belt hung from a peg on the side of the seat, swaying to the rhythm of the chull’s gait. “You know, kid, you get kind of mouthy when you let your mask down.”

Shallan blushed.

“I like it. I prefer people who can laugh at life.”

“I can guess what you’re trying to teach me,” Shallan said. “You’re saying that a person with a Bav accent, someone who looks lowly and simple, can go places a lighteyes never could.”

“And can hear or do things a lighteyes never could. Accent is important. Elocute with distinction, and it often won’t matter how little money you have. Wipe your nose on your arm and speak like a Bav, and sometimes people won’t even glance to see if you’re wearing a sword.”

“But my eyes are light blue,” Shallan said. “I’ll never pass for lowly, no matter what my voice sounds like!”

Tyn fished in her trouser pocket. She had slung her coat over another peg, and so wore only the pale tan trousers—tight, with high boots—and a buttoned shirt. Almost a worker’s shirt, though of nicer material.

“Here,” Tyn said, tossing something to her.

Shallan barely caught it. She blushed at her clumsiness, then held it up toward the sun: a small vial with some dark liquid inside.

“Eyedrops,” Tyn said. “They’ll darken your eyes for a few hours.”

“Really?”

“Not hard to find, if you have the right connections. Useful stuff.”

Shallan lowered the vial, suddenly feeling a chill. “Is there—”

“The reverse?” Tyn cut in. “Something to turn a darkeyes into a lighteyes? Not that I know of. Unless you believe the stories about Shardblades.”

“Makes sense,” Shallan said, relaxing. “You can darken glass by painting it, but I don’t think you can lighten it without melting down the whole thing.”

“Anyway,” Tyn said, “you’ll need a good backwater accent or two. Herdazian, Bavlander, something like that.”

“I probably have

a rural Veden accent,” Shallan admitted.

“That won’t work out here. Jah Keved is a cultured country, and your internal accents are too similar to one another for outsiders to recognize. Alethi won’t hear rural from you, like a fellow Veden would. They’ll just hear exotic.”

“You’ve been to a lot of places, haven’t you?” Shallan asked.

“I go wherever the winds take me. It’s a good life, so long as you’re not attached to stuff.”

“Stuff?” Shallan asked. “But you’re—pardon—you’re a thief. That’s all about getting more stuff!”

“I take what I can get, but that just proves how transient stuff is. You’ll take some things, but then you’ll lose them. Just like the job I pulled down south. My team never returned from their mission; I’m half convinced they ran off without seeing me paid.” She shrugged. “It happens. No need to get worked up.”

“What kind of job was it?” Shallan asked, blinking pointedly to take a Memory of Tyn lounging there, sweeping her reed as if conducting musicians, not a care in the world. They’d nearly died a couple of weeks back, but Tyn took it in stride.

“It was a big job,” Tyn said. “Important, for the kinds of people who make things change in the world. I still haven’t heard back from the ones who hired us. Maybe my men didn’t run off; maybe they just failed. I don’t know for certain.” Here, Shallan caught tension in Tyn’s face. A tightening of the skin around the eyes, a distance to her gaze. She was worried about what her employers might do to her. Then it was gone, smoothed away. “Have a look,” Tyn said, nodding up ahead.