The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,311

warned you.” She held the retrieved book close to her breast. “I believe you said you had me figured out.”

“I rescind that statement.” He looked at her. “You’re really leaving?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry. Kabsal…I’m not what you think I am.”

“I think you’re a beautiful, intelligent woman.”

“Well, you have the woman part right.”

“Your father is sick, isn’t he?”

She didn’t answer.

“I can see why you’d want to return to be with him,” Kabsal said. “But surely you won’t abandon your wardship forever. You’ll be back with Jasnah.”

“And she won’t be staying in Kharbranth forever. She’s been moving from place to place almost constantly for the last two years.”

He looked ahead, staring out the front of the lift as they rose. Soon, they had to transfer to another lift to carry them up the next group of floors. “I shouldn’t have been spending time with you,” he finally said. “The senior ardents think I’m too distracted. They never like it when one of us starts looking outside the ardentia.”

“Your right to court is protected.”

“We’re property. A man’s rights can be protected at the same time that he is discouraged from exercising them. I’ve avoided work, I’ve disobeyed my superiors…In courting you, I’ve also courted trouble.”

“I didn’t ask you for any of that.”

“You didn’t discourage me.”

She had no response for that, other than to feel a rising worry. A hint of panic, a desire to run away and hide. During her years of near-solitude on her father’s estate, she had never dreamed of a relationship like this one. Is that what this is? she thought, panic swelling. A relationship? Her intentions in coming to Kharbranth had seemed so straightforward. How had she gotten to the point where she risked breaking a man’s heart?

And, to her shame, she admitted to herself that she would miss the research more than Kabsal. Was she a horrible person for feeling that way? She was fond of him. He was pleasant. Interesting.

He looked at her, and there was longing in his eyes. He seemed…Stormfather, he seemed to really be in love with her. Shouldn’t she be falling in love with him too? She didn’t think she was. She was just confused.

When they reached the top of the Palanaeum’s system of lifts, she practically ran out into the Veil. Kabsal followed, but they needed another lift up to Jasnah’s alcove, and soon she found herself trapped with him once more.

“I could come,” Kabsal said softly. “Return with you to Jah Keved.”

Shallan’s panic increased. She barely knew him. Yes, they had chatted frequently, but rarely about the important things. If he left the ardentia, he’d be demoted to tenth dahn, almost as low as a darkeyes. He’d be without money or house, in almost as bad a position as her family.

Her family. What would her brothers say if she brought a virtual stranger back with her? Another man to become part of their problems, privy to their secrets?

“I can see from your expression that it’s not an option,” Kabsal said. “It seems that I’ve misinterpreted some very important things.”

“No, it’s not that,” Shallan said quickly. “It’s just…Oh, Kabsal. How can you expect to make sense of my actions when even I can’t make sense of them?” She touched his arm, turning him toward her. “I have been dishonest with you. And with Jasnah. And, most infuriatingly, with myself. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, obviously trying to feign nonchalance. “At least I’ll get a sketch. Won’t I?”

She nodded as the lift finally shuddered to a halt. She walked down the dark hallway, Kabsal following with the lanterns. Jasnah looked up appraisingly as Shallan entered their alcove, but did not ask why she’d taken so long. Shallan found herself blushing as she gathered her drawing tools. Kabsal hesitated in the doorway. He’d left a basket of bread and jam on the desk. The top of it was still wrapped with a cloth; Jasnah hadn’t touched it, though he always offered her some as a peace offering. Without jam, since Jasnah hated it.

“Where should I sit?” Kabsal asked.

“Just stand there,” Shallan said, sitting down, propping her sketchpad against her legs and holding it still with her covered safehand. She looked up at him, leaning with one hand against the doorframe. Head shaved, light grey robe draped around him, sleeves short, waist tied with a white sash. Eyes confused. She blinked, taking a Memory, then began to sketch.

It was one of the most awkward experiences of her life. She didn’t tell Kabsal that he could move, and