Words of Radiance

“Hard to be unobtainable when we’re already in a causal.”

“Still important,” Tyn said, raising a finger. “You’re the one who wants to do a love scam. They’re tricky, but relatively safe. We’ll figure this out.”

Shallan nodded, though inside, her worries had spiked. What would happen with the betrothal? Jasnah wasn’t around to push for it any longer. The woman had wanted Shallan tied to her family, presumably because of the Surgebinding potential. Shallan doubted the rest of the Kholin house would be so determined to have a nobody Veden girl marry into the family.

As Tyn rose, Shallan stuffed away her anxiety. If the betrothal ended, so be it. She had far more important concerns in Urithiru and the Voidbringers. She would have to figure out a way to deal with Tyn, though—a way that didn’t involve actually scamming the Kholin family. Just one more thing to juggle.

Oddly, she found herself excited by the prospect as she decided to do one more drawing before finding some food.

31. The Stillness Before

Smokeform for hiding and slipping ’tween men.A form of power—like Surges of spren.Do we dare to wear this form again? It spies.Crafted of gods, this form we fear.By Unmade touch its curse to bear,Formed from shadow—and death is near. It lies.From the Listener Song of Secrets, 51st stanza

Kaladin led his troop of sore, tired men up to Bridge Four’s barrack, and—as he’d secretly requested—the men got a round of cheers and welcoming calls. It was early evening, and the familiar scent of stew was one of the most inviting things Kaladin could imagine.

He stepped aside and let the forty men tromp past him. They weren’t members of Bridge Four, but for tonight, they’d be considered such. They held their heads higher, smiles breaking out as men passed them bowls of stew. Rock asked one how the patrolling had gone, and though Kaladin couldn’t hear the soldier’s reply, he could definitely hear the bellowing laughter it prompted from Rock.

Kaladin smiled, leaning back against the barrack wall, folding his arms. Then he found himself checking the sky. The sun hadn’t quite set, but in the darkening sky, stars had begun to appear around Taln’s Scar. The Tear hung just above the horizon, a star much brighter than the others, named for the single tear that Reya was said to have shed. Some of the stars moved—starspren, nothing to be surprised by—but something felt odd about the evening. He breathed in deeply. Was the air stale?

“Sir?”

Kaladin turned. One of the bridgemen, an earnest man with short dark hair and strong features, had not joined the others at the stew cauldron. Kaladin searched for his name…

“Pitt, isn’t it?” Kaladin said.

“Yes, sir,” the man replied. “Bridge Seventeen.”

“What did you need?”

“I just…” The man glanced at the inviting fire, with members of Bridge Four laughing and chatting with the patrol group. Nearby, someone had hung a few distinctive suits of armor on the barrack walls. They were carapace helms and breastplates, attached to the leathers of common bridgemen. Those had now been replaced with fine steel caps and breastplates. Kaladin wondered who had hung the old suits up. He hadn’t even known that some of the men had fetched them; they were the extra suits that Leyten had crafted for the men and stashed down in the chasms before being freed.

“Sir,” Pitt said, “I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Back when we were bridgemen.” Pitt raised a hand to his head. “Storms, that seems like a different life. I couldn’t think rightly during those times. It’s all hazy. But I remember being glad

when your crew was sent out instead of mine. I remember hoping you’d fail, since you dared to walk with your chin up… I—”

“It’s all right, Pitt,” Kaladin said. “It wasn’t your fault. You can blame Sadeas.”

“I suppose.” Pitt got a distant look on his face. “He broke us right good, didn’t he, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Turns out, though, men can be reforged. I wouldn’t have thought that.” Pitt looked over his shoulder. “I’m going to have to go do this for the other lads of Bridge Seventeen, aren’t I?”

“With Teft’s help, yes, but that’s the hope,” Kaladin said. “Do you think you can do it?”

“I’ll just have to pretend to be you, sir,” Pitt said. He smiled, then moved on, taking a bowl of stew and joining the others.

These forty would be ready soon, ready to become sergeants to their own teams of bridgemen. The transformation had happened more quickly than Kaladin had hoped. Teft, you marvelous man, he thought. You did it.