Words of Radiance

Parshendi! she realized. That’s what those glyphs mean. Parap-shenesh-idi. The three glyphs individually meant three separate things—but together, their sounds made the word “Parshendi.” That was why some of the writings seemed like gibberish. Amaram was using some glyphs phonetically. He underlined them when he did this, and that allowed him to write in glyphs things that never should have worked. The stormwardens really were turning glyphs into a full script.

Parshendi, she translated, still distracted by the nature of the characters, must know how to return the Voidbringers.

What?

Remove secret from them.

Reach center before Alethi armies.

Some of the writings were lists of references. Though they’d been translated to glyphs, she recognized some of the quotes from Jasnah’s work. They referred to the Voidbringers. Others were purported sketches of Voidbringers and other creatures of mythology.

This was it, full proof that the Ghostbloods were interested in the same things Jasnah was. As was Amaram, apparently. Heart beating with excitement, Shallan turned around, looking over the room. Was the secret to Urithiru here? Had he found it?

There was too much for Shallan to translate fully at the moment. The script was too difficult, and her thumping heart made her too nervous. Besides, Amaram would likely return very soon. She took Memories so she could sketch this all out later.

As she did, the writings she translated in passing caused a new species of dread to rise within her. It seemed… it seemed that Highlord Amaram—paragon of Alethi honor—was actively trying to bring about the return of the Voidbringers.

I have to stay a part of this, Shallan thought. I can’t afford to have the Ghostbloods cast me out for making a mess of this incursion. I need to discover what else they know. And I have to know why Amaram is doing what he does.

She couldn’t just run tonight. She couldn’t risk leaving Amaram alerted that someone had infiltrated his secret room. She couldn’t botch this assignment.

Shallan had to craft better lies.

She pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket and slapped it onto the desk, then began to frantically draw.

* * *

Kaladin jumped off the wall at a careful speed, twisting to the side and landing back on the ground without breaking step. He wasn’t going very quickly, but at least he didn’t stumble anymore.

With each jump, he shoved the visceral panic farther down. Up, back onto the wall. Down again. Again and again, sucking in Stormlight.

Yes, this was natural. Yes, this was him.

He continued running along the chasm bottom, feeling a surge of excitement. Shadows waved him on as he dodged between piles of bone and moss. He leaped over a large pool of water, but misjudged its size. He came down—about to splash into the shallow water.

But by reflex, he looked upward and Lashed himself toward the sky.

For a brief moment, Kaladin stopped falling down and fell up instead. His momentum continued forward, and he cleared the pool, then Lashed himself downward again. He landed in a trot, sweating.

I could Lash myself upward, he thought, and fall into the sky forever.

But no, that was how an ordinary person thought. A skyeel didn’t fear falling, did it? A fish didn’t fear drowning.

Until he began thinking in a new way, he wouldn’t control this gift he had been given. And it was a gift. He would embrace this.

The sky was now his.

Kaladin shouted, dashing forward. He leaped and Lashed himself to the wall. No pausing, no hesitance, no fear

. He hit at a dead run, and nearby, Syl laughed for joy.

But that, that was simple. Kaladin jumped off the wall and looked directly above him at the opposite wall. He Lashed himself in that direction, and flung his body into a flip. He landed, going down on one knee upon what had been the ceiling to him a moment before.

“You did it!” Syl said, flitting around him. “What changed?”

“I did.”

“Well, yeah, but what about you?” Syl asked.

“Everything.”

She frowned at him. He grinned back, then took off at a run along the side of the chasm.

* * *

Shallan strode down the mansion’s back steps to the kitchen, thumping each foot down harder than it would normally fall, trying to imitate being heavier than she was. The cook looked up from her novel and dropped it in a wide-eyed panic, moving to stand. “Brightlord!”

“Remain seated,” Shallan mouthed, scratching at her face to mask her lips. Pattern spoke the words she’d told him to say in a perfect imitation of Amaram’s voice.