The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,56

his face as he studied the picture, rubbing his bearded chin with one finger.

He smiled pleasantly, setting down the picture. “You have lacquer?”

“I do,” she said, getting it out of her satchel. It was contained in a bulb sprayer of the type often used for perfume.

He accepted the small jar and twisted the clasp on the front, then gave the bottle a shake and tested the lacquer on the back of his hand. He nodded in satisfaction and reached for the drawing. “A piece such as this should not be allowed to risk smudging.”

“I can lacquer it,” Shallan said. “No need to trouble yourself.”

“It is no trouble; it’s an honor. Besides, I am an ardent. We don’t know what to do with ourselves when we aren’t busying about, doing things others could do for themselves. It is best just to humor me.” He began to apply the lacquer, dusting the page with careful puffs.

She had trouble keeping herself from reaching to snatch the sketch away. Fortunately, his hands were careful, and the lacquer went on evenly. He’d obviously done this before.

“You are from Jah Keved, I presume?” he asked.

“From the hair?” she asked, raising a hand to her red locks. “Or from the accent?”

“From the way you treat ardents. The Veden Church is by far the most traditional. I have visited your lovely country on two occasions; while your food sits well in my stomach, the amount of bowing and scraping you show ardents made me uncomfortable.”

“Perhaps you should have danced on a few tables.”

“I considered it,” he said, “but my brother and sister ardents from your country would likely have dropped dead of embarrassment. I would hate to have that on my conscience. The Almighty is not kind toward those who kill his priests.”

“I should think that killing in general would be frowned upon,” she responded, still watching him apply the lacquer. It felt odd to let someone else work on her art.

“What does Brightness Jasnah think of your skill?” he asked as he worked.

“I don’t think she cares,” Shallan said, grimacing and remembering her conversation with the woman. “She doesn’t seem terribly appreciative of the visual arts.”

“So I have heard. It’s one of her few faults, unfortunately.”

“Another being that little matter of her heresy?”

“Indeed,” Kabsal said, smiling. “I must admit, I stepped in here expecting indifference, not deference. How did you come to be part of her entourage?”

Shallan started, realizing for the first time that Brother Kabsal must have assumed her to be one of the Brightlady Kholin’s attendants. Perhaps a ward.

“Bother,” she said to herself.

“Hum?”

“It appears I’ve inadvertently misled you, Brother Kabsal. I’m not associated with Brightness Jasnah. Not yet, anyway. I’ve been trying to get her to take me on as a ward.”

“Ah,” he said, finishing his lacquering.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? You did nothing wrong.” He blew on the picture, then turned it for her to see. It was perfectly lacquered, without any smears. “If you would do me a favor, child?” he said, setting the page aside.

“Anything.”

He raised an eyebrow at that.

“Anything reasonable,” she corrected.

“By whose reason?”

“Mine, I guess.”

“Pity,” he said, standing. “Then I will limit myself. If you would kindly let Brightness Jasnah know that I called upon her?”

“She knows you?” What business had a Herdazian ardent with Jasnah, a confirmed atheist?

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied. “I’d hope she’s heard my name, though, since I’ve requested an audience with her several times.”

Shallan nodded, rising. “You want to try to convert her, I presume?”

“She presents a unique challenge. I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t at least try to persuade her.”

“And we wouldn’t want you to be unable to live with yourself,” Shallan noted, “as the alternative harks back to your nasty habit of almost killing ardents.”

“Exactly. Anyway, I think a personal message from you might help where written requests have been ignored.”

“I…doubt that.”

“Well, if she refuses, it only means that I’ll be back.” He smiled. “That would mean—hopefully—that we shall meet each other again. So I look forward to it.”

“I as well. And I’m sorry again about the misunderstanding.”

“Brightness! Please. Don’t take responsibility for my assumptions.”

She smiled. “I should hesitate to take responsibility for you in any manner or regard, Brother Kabsal. But I still feel bad.”

“It will pass,” he noted, blue eyes twinkling. “But I’ll do my best to make you feel well again. Is there anything you’re fond of? Other than respecting ardents and drawing amazing pictures, that is?”

“Jam.”

He cocked his head.

“I like it,” she said, shrugging.