Words of Radiance

“I’m not going to have your last sight in life be a view of me standing in half a filthy dress, covered in purple blood, my hair an utter mess. It’s undignified. On your feet, bridgeboy.”

In the distance, she heard a rumbling. Not good…

“Climb up,” he said.

“I’m not—”

“Climb up,” he said more firmly, “and lie down in the cubby, then reach your hand over the edge. Once I near the top, you can help me the last few feet.”

She fretted for a moment, then fetched her satchel and made the climb. Storms, those handholds were slick. Once up, she crawled into the shallow cubby and perched precariously, reaching down with one hand as she braced herself with the other. He looked up at her, then set his jaw and started climbing.

He mostly pulled himself with his hands, wounded leg dangling, the other one steadying him. Heavily muscled, his soldier’s arms slowly pulled him up slot by slot.

Below, water trickled down the chasm. Then it started to gush.

“Come on!” she said.

Wind howled through the chasms, a haunting, eerie sound that called through the many rifts. Like the moaning of spirits long dead. The high sound was accompanied by a low, rumbling roar.

All around, plants withdrew, vines twisting and pulling tight, rockbuds closing, frillblooms folding away. The chasm hid.

Kaladin grunted, sweating, his face tense with pain and exertion, his fingers trembling. He pulled himself up another rung, then reached his hand up toward hers.

The stormwall hit.

73. A Thousand Scurrying Creatures

ONE YEAR AGO

Shallan slipped into Balat’s room, holding a short note between her fingers.

Balat spun, standing. He relaxed. “Shallan! You nearly killed me with fright.”

The small room, like many in the manor house, had open windows with simple reed shutters—those were closed and latched today, as a highstorm was approaching. The last one before the Weeping. Servants outside pounded on the walls as they affixed sturdy stormshutters over the reed ones.

Shallan wore one of her new dresses, the expensive kind that Father bought for her, after the Vorin style, straight and slim-waisted with a pocket on the sleeve. A woman’s dress. She also wore the necklace he had given her. He liked it when she did that.

Jushu lounged on a chair nearby, rubbing some kind of plant between his fingers, his face distant. He had lost weight during the two years since his creditors had dragged him from the house, though with those sunken eyes and the scars on his wrists, he still didn’t look much like his twin.

Shallan eyed the bundles Balat had been preparing. “Good thing Father never checks in on you, Balat. Those bundles look so fishy, we could make a stew out of them.”

Jushu chuckled, rubbing the scar on one wrist with the other hand. “Doesn’t help that he jumps every time a servant so much as sneezes out in the hallway.”

“Quiet, both of you,” Balat said, eyeing the window where workers locked a stormshutter in place. “This is not a time for levity. Damnation. If he discovers that I’m planning to leave…”

“He won’t,” Shallan said, unfolding the letter. “He’s too busy getting ready to parade himself in front of the highprince.”

“Does it feel odd to anyone else,” Jushu said, “to be this rich? How many deposits of valuable stone are there on our lands?”

Balat turned back to packing his bundles. “So long as it keeps Father happy, I don’t care.”

The problem was, it hadn’t made Father happy. Yes, House Davar was now wealthy—the new quarries provided a fantastic income. Yet, the better off they were, the darker Father grew. Walking the hallways grumbling. Lashing out at servants.

Shallan scanned the letter’s contents.

“That’s not a pleased face,” Balat said. “They still haven’t been able to find him?”

Shallan shook her head. Helaran had vanished. Really vanished. No more contact, no more letters; even the people he’d been in touch with earlier had no idea where he’d gone.

Balat sat down on one of his bundles. “So what do we do?”

“You will need to decide,” Shallan said.

“I have to get out. I have to.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Eylita is ready to go with me. Her parents are away for the month, visiting Alethkar. It’s the perfect time.”

“If you can’t find Helaran, then what?”

“I’ll go to the highprince. His bastard said that he’d listen to anyone willing to speak against Father.”

“That was years ago,” Jushu said, leaning back. “Father’s in favor now. Besides, the highprince is nearly dead; everyone knows it.”

“It’s our only chance,” Balat said. He stood up. “I’m going to leave. Tonight, after the storm.”

“But Father—” Shallan began.

“Father wants me to ride out and check on some of the villages along the eastern valley. I’ll tell him I’m doing that, but instead I’ll pick up Eylita and we’ll ride for Vedenar and go straight to the highprince. By the time Father arrives a week later, I’ll have had my say. It might be enough.”

“And Malise?” Shallan asked. The plan was still for him to take their stepmother to safety.