Words of Radiance

Since her brothers hadn’t been explicitly banished from the room, they took chairs around the hearth, far enough away to give father privacy. They left a spot for Shallan, and she settled down, the fine silk of her dress rumpling. The voluminous way it enveloped her made her feel as if she weren’t really there and only the dress mattered.

The highprince’s bastard settled down at the table with Father. At least someone was confronting him. But what if the highprince’s bastard decided Father was guilty? What then? Inquest? She didn’t want Father to fall; she wanted to stop the darkness that was slowly strangling them all. It seemed like their light had gone out when Mother died.

When Mother…

“Shallan?” Balat asked. “Are you well?”

She shook herself. “Can I see the daggers? They looked quite fine from my table.”

Wikim just stared at the fire, but Balat tossed his to her. She caught it clumsily, then pulled it from its sheath, admiring the way the metal folds reflected the hearthlight.

The boys watched the flamespren dance on the fire. The three brothers never talked anymore.

Balat glanced over his shoulder, toward the high table. “I wish I could hear what was being said,” he whispered. “Maybe they’ll drag him away. That would be fitting, for what he’s done.”

“He didn’t kill Mother,” Shallan said softly.

“Oh?” Balat snorted. “Then what did happen?”

“I…”

She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Not of that time, that day. Had Father actually done it? She felt cold again, despite the fire’s warmth.

The silence returned.

Someone… someone needed to do something.

“They’re talking about plants,” Shallan said.

Balat and Jushu looked at her. Wikim continued staring at the fire.

“Plants,” Balat said flatly.

“Yes. I can hear them faintly.”

“I can’t hear a thing.”

Shallan shrugged from within her too-enveloping dress. “My ears are better than yours. Yes, plants. Father is complaining that the trees in his gardens never listen when he tells them to obey. ‘They have been dropping their leaves because of a sickness,’ he says, ‘and they refuse to grow new ones.’

“‘Have you tried beating them for their disobedience?’ the messenger asks.

“‘All the time,’ Father replies. ‘I even break off their limbs, yet they still do not obey! It is untidy. At the very least, they should clean up after themselves.’

“‘A problem,’ the messenger says, ‘as trees without foliage are hardly worth keeping. Fortunately, I have the solution. My cousin once had trees that acted this way, and he found that all he needed to do was sing to them and their leaves popped right back out.’

“‘Ah, of course,’ Father says. ‘I will try that immediately.’

“‘I hope that it works for you.’

“‘Well, if it does, I will certainly be relieved.’”

Her brothers stared at her, baffled.

Finally, Jushu cocked his head. He was the youngest of the brothers, just above Shallan herself. “Re… leaf… ed…”

Balat burst into laughter—loud enough that their father glared at them. “Oh, that is awful,” Balat said. “That is purely awful, Shallan. You should be ashamed.”

She huddled down in her dress, grinning. Even Wikim, the older twin, cracked a smile. She hadn’t seen him smile in… how long?

Balat wiped his eyes. “I actually thought, for a moment, you could really hear them. You little Voidbringer.” He let out a deep breath. “Storms, but that felt good.”

“We should laugh more,” Shallan said.

“This hasn’t been a place for laughter,” Jushu said, sipping his wine.

“Because of Father?” Shallan asked. “There’s one of him and four of us. We just need to be more optimistic.”

“Being optimistic does not change facts,” Balat said. “I wish Helaran hadn’t left.” He thumped his fist down on the side of his chair.

“Do not begrudge him his travels, Tet Balat,” Shallan said softly. “There are so many places to see, places we will probably never visit. Let one of us go to them. Think of the stories he will bring back to us. The colors.”

Balat looked across the drab blackrock room, with its muted hearths glowing red-orange. “Colors. I wouldn’t mind a little more color around here.”

Jushu smiled. “Anything would be a nice change from Father’s face.”

“Now, don’t be down on Father’s face,” Shallan said. “It’s quite adept at doing its duty.”

“Which is?”

“Reminding us all that there are worse things than his odor. It’s really quite a noble Calling.”

“Shallan!” Wikim said. He looked dramatically unlike Jushu. Spindly and sunken-eyed, Wikim had hair cut so short he almost looked like an ardent. “Don’t say such things where Father could hear.”

“He’s engrossed in conversation,” Shallan said. “But you are right. I probably shouldn’t mock our family. House Davar is distinctive and enduring.”

Jushu raised his cup. Wikim nodded sharply.

“Of course,” she added, “the same could be said for a wart.”

Jushu just about spat out his wine. Balat let out another roaring laugh.

“Stop that racket!” Father shouted at them.

“It’s a feast!” Balat called back. “Did you not ask us to be more Veden!”