Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,432

harder, leading her down the steps and through this maze of a palace. He eventually deposited her in a room where several women were writing with spanreeds—Venli still wished her people knew how to make those. A gruff older soldier with a proper beard took reports.

“Found this one on the top floor,” the guard said, pushing Venli into a seat. “She was poking around in a suspicious way.”

“Does she speak Alethi?” asked the man with the beard.

“No, sir,” the man said. He saluted, then returned to his post.

Venli sat quietly, trying not to attune rhythms with too much dread. Surely this wouldn’t look too bad. She could complain she got lost. And wandered up several flights of stairs … And snuck past guards … When they’d been told several times to stay away …

When I find Ulim again, she thought, attuning Betrayal, I will … What? What could she do to a spren? What was she without him and his promises? She suddenly felt very, very small. She hated that feeling.

“You look like one of their scholars,” the older man said, his arms folded. “You really can’t speak Alethi? Or were you playing dumb?”

“I … was playing dumb.” She immediately regretted speaking. Why had she exposed herself?

The man grunted. Their version of attuning Amusement, she thought. “And what were you doing?”

“Looking for the privy.”

Dead flat stare. The human version of attuning Skepticism.

“I found it,” she said to Reconciliation. “Eventually. Room with all the pots.”

“I’m going to note this,” he said, nodding to one of the scribes, who began writing. “Your name?”

“Venli,” she said.

“If you were a human, I’d lock you up until someone came for you—or I’d give you to someone who could get me answers. But that treaty is being signed tonight. I don’t want to cause any incidents. Do you?”

“No, sir,” she said.

“Then how about this? You sit here, in this room with us, for the next four hours. Once the feast happens and the treaty is signed, we’ll see. Everything happens without a problem, and you can go in for the after-feast. Something goes wrong … well, then we’ll have another conversation, won’t we?”

Venli attuned Disappointment, but nothing was going to happen. She’d probably suffer nothing more than a talking-to from her sister. Part of her would rather be locked up.

She nodded anyway. In truth, she found the man’s actions surprisingly rational. Keeping her close would stop anything she might have planned—and if she truly was a lost guest, he wouldn’t be in any real trouble for holding her for a few hours.

She contemplated insisting she was too important for this. She discarded that idea. Caught so quickly after being abandoned by Ulim … Well, it was hard to keep pretending she was strong. The feeling of smallness persisted.

The soldier left her to go talk quietly to the women, and Venli made out some of their conversation. He had them report to other guard stations in the palace, informing them he’d picked up a wandering “Parshendi” and asking if anyone else had seen individuals entering forbidden or suspicious locations.

Venli found herself attuning Praise unexpectedly. It was … nice to be alone. Lately, Ulim had always been around. She began thinking about how she could clean this up. Go talk to the Five. Maybe—despite how much it hurt to admit it—go ask Eshonai for advice.

Unfortunately, Ulim soon zipped in through the open door as a trail of red lightning. She hummed Confusion, then Betrayal, as he moved up her chair leg and formed into a person on her armrest.

“We have a big problem,” Ulim said to her.

She hummed a little louder.

“Oh, get over yourself, girl,” he said. “Listen, there are Heralds in the palace tonight.”

“Heralds?” she whispered. “Here? They’re dead!”

“Hush!” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the humans. “They’re not dead. You have no idea how royally, colossally, incredibly ruined we are. I saw Shalash first and followed her—then ran across not only Kalak, but Nale. I think he saw me. He shouldn’t have been able to, but—”

A figure darkened the doorway to the guard post. The bearded soldier looked up. Venli turned slowly, attuning Anxiety. The newcomer was an imposing figure with deep brown skin and a pale mark on his cheek, almost like a listener might have as part of their skin pattern. He was in uniform, though it wasn’t of the cut the Alethi wore.

He looked at Venli, then pointedly at Ulim—who groaned. Then the man finally looked over at the soldier.

“Ambassador?” the guardsman