Words of Radiance

So much for the contest, Kaladin thought, letting Moash lead him. The place was still busy, though not quite as packed as it had been earlier. Tucked away in the back of the tavern was a hallway with private dining rooms, the type used by wealthy merchants who didn’t want to be subjected to the crudeness of the common room. A swarthy man lounged outside of one. He might have been part Azish, or maybe just a very tan Alethi. He carried very long knives at his belt, but didn’t say anything as Moash pushed open the door.

“Kaladin…” Syl’s voice. Where was she? Vanished, apparently, from even his eyes. Had she done that before? “Be careful.”

He stepped into the room with Moash. Three men and a woman drank wine at a table inside. Another guard stood at the back, wrapped in a cloak, a sword at his waist and his head down, as if he were barely paying attention.

Two of the seated people, including the woman, were lighteyes. Kaladin should have expected this, considering the fact that a Shardblade was involved, but it still gave him pause.

The lighteyed man stood up immediately. He was perhaps a little older than Adolin, and he had jet-black Alethi hair, styled crisply. He wore an open jacket and an expensive-looking black shirt underneath, embroidered with white vines running between the buttons, and a stock at his throat.

“So this is the famous Kaladin!” the man exclaimed, stepping forward and reaching out to clasp Kaladin’s hand. “Storms, but it is a pleasure to meet you. Embarrassing Sadeas while saving the Blackthorn himself? Good show, man. Good show.”

“And you are?” Kaladin asked.

“A patriot,” the man said. “Call me Graves.”

“And are you the Shardbearer?”

“Straight to the point, are you?” Graves said, gesturing for Kaladin to sit at the table.

Moash took a seat immediately, nodding to the other man at the table—he was darkeyed, with short hair and sunken eyes. Mercenary, Kaladin guessed, noting the heavy leathers he was wearing and the axe beside his seat. Graves continued to gesture, but Kaladin delayed, inspecting the young woman at the table. She sat primly and sipped her cup of wine held in two hands, one covered in her buttoned sleeve. Pretty, with pursed red lips, she wore her hair up and stuck through with sundry metal decorations.

“I recognize you,” Kaladin said. “One of Dalinar’s clerks.”

She watched him, careful, though she tried to appear relaxed.

“Danlan is a member of the highprince’s retinue,” Graves said. “Please, Kaladin. Sit. Have some wine.”

Kaladin sat down, but did not pour a drink. “You are trying to kill the king.”

“He is direct, isn’t he?” Graves asked Moash.

“Effective, too,” Moash said. “It’s why we like him.”

Graves turned to Kaladin. “We are patriots, as I said before. Patriots of Alethkar. The Alethkar that could be.”

“Patriots who wish to murder the kingdom’s ruler?”

Graves leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. A bit of the humor left him, which was fine. He’d been trying too hard anyway. “Very well, we shall be on with it. Elhokar is a supremely bad king. Surely you’ve noticed this.”

“It’s not my place to pass judgment on a king.”

“Oh please,” Graves said. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen the way he acts? Spoiled, petulant, paranoid. He squabbles instead of consulting, he makes childish demands instead of leading. He is blowing this kingdom to the ground.”

“Have you any idea the kinds of policies he put into place before Dalinar got him under control?” Danlan asked. “I spent the last three years in Kholinar helping the clerks there sort through the mess he made of the royal codes. There was a time when he’d sign practically anything into law if he was cajoled the right way.”

“He is incompetent,” said the darkeyed mercenary, whose name Kaladin didn’t know. “He gets good men killed. Lets that bastard Sadeas get away with high treason.”

“So you try to assassinate him?” Kaladin demanded.

Graves met Kaladin’s eyes. “Yes.”

“If a king is destroying his country,” the mercenary said, “is it not the right—the duty—of the people to see him removed?”

“If he were removed,” Moash said, “what would happen? Ask yourself that, Kaladin.”

“Dalinar would probably take the throne,” Kaladin said. Elhokar had a son back in Kholinar, a child, barely a few years old. Even if Dalinar only proclaimed himself regent in the name of the rightful heir, he would rule.

“The kingdom would be far better off with him at the head,” Graves said.

“He practically rules the place anyway,” Kaladin said.

“No,” Danlan said. “Dalinar holds himself back. He knows he should take the throne, but hesitates out of love for his dead brother. The other highprinces interpret this as weakness.”

“We need the Blackthorn,” Graves said, pounding the table. “This kingdom is going to fall otherwise. The death of Elhokar would spur Dalinar to action. We would get back the man we had twenty years ago, the man who unified the highprinces in the first place.”