Words of Radiance

They ignore the greater assumption—that a “place” for women must be defined and set forth to begin with. Half of the population must somehow be reduced to the role arrived at by a single conversation. No matter how broad that role is, it will be—by nature—a reduction from the infinite variety that is womanhood.

I say that there is no role for women—there is, instead, a role for each woman, and she must make it for herself. For some, it will be the role of scholar; for others, it will be the role of wife. For others, it will be both. For yet others, it will be neither.

Do not mistake me in assuming I value one woman’s role above another. My point is not to stratify our society—we have done that far too well already—my point is to diversify our discourse.

A woman’s strength should not be in her role, whatever she chooses it to be, but in the power to choose that role. It is amazing to me that I even have to make this point, as I see it as the very foundation of our conversation.

Shallan closed the book. Not two hours had passed since Father had ordered Helaran’s assassination. After Shallan had retreated to her room, a pair of Father’s guards had appeared in the hallway outside. Probably not to watch her—she doubted that Father knew that she’d overheard his order for Helaran to be killed. The guards were to see that Malise, Shallan’s stepmother, did not try to flee.

That could be a mistaken assumption. Shallan didn’t even know if Malise was still alive, following her screaming and Father’s cold, angry ranting.

Shallan wanted to hide, to hunker down in her closet with blankets wrapped around her, eyes squeezed shut. The words in Jasnah Kholin’s book strengthened her, though in some ways it seemed laughable for Shallan to even be reading it. Highlady Kholin talked about the nobility of choice, as if every woman had such opportunity. The decision between being a mother or a scholar seemed a difficult decision in Jasnah’s estimation. That wasn’t a difficult choice at all! That seemed like a grand place to be! Either would be delightful when compared to a life of fear in a house seething with anger, depression, and hopelessness.

She imagined what Highlady Kholin must be, a capable woman who did not do as others insisted she must. A woman with power, authority. A woman who had the luxury of seeking her dreams.

What would that be like?

Shallan stood up. She walked to the door, then cracked it open. Though the evening had grown late, the two guards still stood at the other end of the hallway. Shallan’s heart thumped, and she cursed her timidity. Why couldn’t she be like women who acted, instead of being someone who hid in her room with a pillow around her head?

Shaking, she slipped from the room. She padded toward the soldiers, feeling their eyes on her. One raised his hand. She didn’t know the man’s name. Once, she’d known all of the guards’ names. Those men, whom she’d grown up with, had been replaced now.

“My father will need me,” she said, not stopping at the guard’s gesture. Though he was lighteyed, she did not need to obey him. She might spend most of every day in her rooms, but she was still of a much higher rank than he.

She walked by the men, trembling hands clenched tight. They let her go. When she passed her father’s door, she heard soft weeping inside. Malise still lived, thankfully.

She found Father in the feast hall, sitting alone with both firepits roaring, full of flames. He slumped at the high table, lit by harsh light, staring at the tabletop.

Shallan slipped into the kitchen before he noticed her, and mixed his favorite. Deep violet wine, spiced with cinnamon and warmed against the chill day. He looked up as she walked back into the feast hall. She set the cup before him, looking into his eyes. No darkness there today. Just him. That was very rare, these days.