Words of Radiance

“He repeated those words every day,” Bordin said, “but he only spoke of the Blades once.”

“I would hear of them for myself.”

“Brightlord… We could wait here days and not hear those words. Please. We must go. The ardents will eventually come by on their rounds.”

Amaram stood up with obvious reluctance. “Great Prince,” he said to the huddled figure of the madman, “I go to recover your treasures. Speak not of them to the others. I will put the Blades to good use.” He turned to Bordin. “Come. Let us search out this place.”

“Today?”

“You said it was close.”

“Yes, well, that was why I brought him all the way out here. But—”

“If he accidentally speaks of this to others, I would have them go to the place and find it empty of treasures. Come, quickly. You will be rewarded.”

Amaram strode out. Bordin lingered at the door, looking at the madman, then trailed out and shut the door with a click.

Shallan breathed out a long, deep breath, slumping down to the floor. “It’s like that sea of spheres.”

“Shallan?” Pattern asked.

“I’ve fallen in,” she said, “and it isn’t that the water is over my head—it’s that the stuff isn’t even water, and I have no idea how to swim in it.”

“I do not understand this lie,” Pattern said.

She shook her head, the color bleeding back into her skin and clothing. She made herself look like Veil again, then walked to the door, accompanied by the sound of the madman’s rambling. Herald of War. The time of the Return is near at hand…

Outside, she found her way back to the room with Iyatil, then apologized profusely to the ardents there who were looking for her. She pled that she had gotten lost, but said she’d accept an escort to take her back to her palanquin.

Before going, however, she leaned down to hug Iyatil, as if to wish her sister farewell.

“You can escape?” Shallan whispered.

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I can.”

“Take this,” Shallan said, pressing a sheet of paper into Iyatil’s gloved freehand. “I wrote upon it the ramblings of the madman. They repeat without change. I saw Amaram sneak into the room; he seems to think these words are authentic, and he seeks a treasure the madman spoke of earlier. I will write a thorough report via spanreed to you and the others tonight.”

Shallan moved to pull back, but Iyatil held on. “Who are you really, Veil?” the woman asked. “You caught me in stealth spying upon you, and you can lose me in the streets. This is not easily accomplished. Your clever drawings fascinate Mraize, another near-impossible task, considering all that he has seen. Now what you have done today.”

Shallan felt a thrill. Why should she feel so excited to have the respect of these people? They were murderers.

But storms take her, she had earned that respect.

“I seek the truth,” Shallan said. “Wherever it may be, whoever may hold it. That’s who I am.” She nodded to Iyatil, then pulled away and escaped the monastery.

Later on that night, after sending in a full report of the day’s events—as well as promising drawings of the madman, Amaram, and Bordin for good measure—she received back a simple message from Mraize.

The truth destroys more people than it saves, Veil. But you have proven yourself. You no longer need fear our other members; they have been instructed not to touch you. You are required to get a specific tattoo, a symbol of your loyalty. I will send a drawing. You may add it to your person wherever you wish, but must prove it to me when we next meet.

Welcome to the Ghostbloods.

Life Cycle of a Chull

65. The One Who Deserves It

ONE AND A HALF YEARS AGO

What is a woman’s place in this modern world? Jasnah Kholin’s words read. I rebel against this question, though so many of my peers ask it. The inherent bias in the inquiry seems invisible to so many of them. They consider themselves progressive because they are willing to challenge many of the assumptions of the past.