Words of Radiance

The first course passed. Then Shallan noticed something. Balat—whom Father had started calling Nan Balat, as if he were the oldest—kept glancing at the guests. That was surprising. He usually ignored them.

Tavinar’s daughter caught his eye, smiled, then looked back at her food. Shallan blinked. Balat… and a girl? How odd to consider.

Father didn’t seem to notice. He eventually stood and raised his cup to the room. “Tonight, we celebrate. Good neighbors, strong wine.”

Tavinar and his wife hesitantly raised their cups. Shallan had only just begun to study propriety—it was hard to do, as her tutors kept leaving—but she knew that a good Vorin brightlord was not supposed to celebrate drunkenness. Not that they wouldn’t get drunk, but it was the Vorin way not to talk about it. Such niceties were not her father’s strong point.

“It is an important night,” Father said after taking a sip of his wine. “I have just received word from Brightlord Gevelmar, whom I believe you know, Tavinar. I have been without a wife for too long. Brightlord Gevelmar is sending his youngest daughter along with writs of marriage. My ardents will perform the service at the end of the month, and I will have a wife.”

Shallan felt cold. She pulled her shawl closer. The aforementioned ardents sat at their own table, dining silently. The three men were greying in equal measure, and had served long enough to know Shallan’s grandfather as a youth. They treated her with kindness, however, and studying with them brought her pleasure when all other things seemed to be collapsing.

“Why does nobody speak?” Father demanded, turning around the room. “I have just become betrothed! You look like a bunch of storming Alethi. We’re Veden! Make some noise, you idiots.”

The visitors clapped politely, though they looked even more uncomfortable than they had before. Balat and the twins shared looks, and then lightly thumped the table.

“To the void with all of you.” Father slumped back into his chair as his parshmen approached the low table, each bearing a box. “Gifts for my children to mark the occasion,” Father said with a wave of the hand. “Don’t know why I bother. Bah!” He drank the rest of his wine.

The boys got daggers, very fine pieces engraved like Shardblades. Shallan’s gift was a necklace of fat silvery links. She held it silently. Father didn’t like her speaking much at feasts, though he always placed her table close to the high table.

He never shouted at her. Not directly. Sometimes, she wished he would. Maybe then Jushu wouldn’t resent her so. It—

The door to the feast hall slammed open. The poor light revealed a tall man in dark clothing standing at the threshold.

“What is this!” Father demanded, rising, slamming his hands on the table. “Who interrupts my feast?”

The man strode in. His face was so long and slender, it looked as if it had been pinched. He wore ruffles at the cuffs of his soft maroon coat, and the way he pursed his lips made him look as if he’d just found a latrine that had overflowed in the rain.

One of his eyes was intense blue. The other dark brown. Both lighteyed and dark. Shallan felt a chill.

A Davar house servant dashed up to the high table, then whispered to Father. Shallan did not catch what was said, but whatever it was, it drained the thunder right out of Father’s expression. He remained standing, but his jaw dropped.

A handful of servants in maroon livery filed in around the newcomer. He stepped forward with a precise air, as if choosing his steps with some care to avoid stepping in anything. “I have been sent by His Highness, Highprince Valam, ruler of these lands. It has come to his attention that dark rumors persist in these lands. Rumors regarding the death of a lighteyed woman.” He met Father’s eyes.

“My wife was killed by her lover,” Father said. “Who then killed himself.”

“Others tell a different story, Brightlord Lin Davar,” the newcomer said. “Such rumors are… troublesome. They provoke dissatisfaction with His Highness. If a brightlord under his rule were to have murdered a lighteyed woman of rank, it is not something he can ignore.”

Father did not respond with the outrage Shallan would have predicted. Instead he waved his hands toward Shallan and the visitors. “Away,” he said. “Give me space. You there, messenger, let us speak alone. No need to drag mud into the hallway.”

The Tavinars rose, looking all too eager to be going. The girl did glance back at Balat as they left, whispering softly.

Father looked toward Shallan, and she realized she’d frozen in place again at the mention of her mother, sitting at her table just before the high table.

“Child,” Father said softly, “go sit with your brothers.”

She withdrew, passing the messenger as he stepped up to the high table. Those eyes… It was Redin, the highprince’s bastard son. His father used him as an executioner and assassin, it was said.