Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,495

this last gift, the gift of winning here in Lasting Integrity. She owed the memory of Shallan that much.

I know what you’re doing, Veil whispered. I’ve finally figured it out.

Formless froze. She checked on Radiant—tucked into the prison of her mind, trying to break free but unable to speak. So why could Veil?

Well, she could ignore a voice or two. Formless sat at the desk and sketched the layout of the judge’s home. They’d paced it off yesterday, and peeked in windows. With her talent for spatial awareness, this floor plan should be accurate.

You aren’t a new persona, Veil thought. If you were, you couldn’t draw like that. You can lie to yourself, but not me.

Formless froze again. Was this what she wanted? What she really wanted? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

There were so many questions. Why was Veil able to talk? Who had killed Ialai? How would she extricate herself from Adolin, from the Radiants? Was that the life she desired?

Formless steeled herself, quieting the questions. She placed a hand on her forehead, breathing deeply.

Pattern stepped over, so Formless closed the sketchbook and slid it into her satchel.

“… Veil?” Pattern asked. “What are you doing?”

“It has to happen today,” Formless said. She checked the clock. “Soon. Before the judge leaves his quarters.” She gripped the gemstone she’d hidden in her pocket.

“Veil,” Pattern said. “This is not a good idea.”

He is right, Veil thought. He is right, Shallan.

I am Formless, she thought back.

No you’re not, Shallan.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to tell me what is right and wrong, Pattern,” Formless said to him. “We still haven’t dealt with your betrayal and your lies. Perhaps you aren’t the best judge of morality, and should leave that to me.”

His pattern slowed and his shoulders slumped, and he stepped backward as if he wanted to vanish into the shadows.

Formless drew out a little Stormlight, savoring the sensation of it inside her veins. Then she performed a Lightweaving.

It worked. Formless was a composite of the three—a single person with Shallan’s drawing and Lightweaving abilities, Radiant’s determination and ability to get things done, and Veil’s ability to push aside the pain. Veil’s ability to see the truth.

The best of all three of them.

Lies, Shallan, Veil thought. Storms. I should have seen this. I should have known.…

She glanced at herself in the mirror, and found the Lightweaving to be perfect. She looked exactly like Lusintia, the honorspren woman. She even gave off the same faint glow. This was going to be so easy.

Formless packed her drawing tools in case she needed to quickly sketch a new face. A Lightweaving disguised her satchel as a cloth bag like the ones the honorspren used.

Bells from below announced that it was about an hour until the trial. She crossed the room, passing Pattern, who had withdrawn to the corner. He stood in the shadows, his pattern moving lethargically.

“What’s happening?” he said. “Something is very wrong with you, Shallan. I have handled this so poorly. I talked to Wit yesterday, and he—”

“You’re still doing that?” Formless said. “You’re still disobeying me?”

Pattern pulled away further.

“I’ve had enough of you,” Formless hissed. “Stay here and cover for me with Adolin. We’ll talk about this at length after the trial.”

She took a deep breath and peeked out to make sure no one was watching—they might wonder why Lusintia had been in Shallan’s house—then slipped out and began crossing the southern plane. The fortress was quiet. Spren didn’t sleep, but they did have less active periods. They would congregate at “night” in the homes of friends, leaving the walkways of the fortress relatively unwatched.

A few leaves fluttered through the open air between the four sides. Formless tried not to look at the other three planes, three cities making an impossible box around her. She wasn’t good at—

“Veil,” a voice said behind her. “I need to explain. I must tell you the truth. Mmm…”

She groaned and turned. Pattern was following her like a barely weaned axehound pup.

“You’ll give away my disguise!” she snapped at him.

He stopped, his pattern slowing.

“You must know what Wit said,” Pattern replied. “He is so wise. He seems to like you and hate everyone else. Ha ha. He made fun of me. It was very funny. I am like a chicken. Ha ha.”

Formless closed her eyes and sighed.

“He said to tell you that we trust you,” Pattern said. “And love you. He said I should tell you that you deserve trust and love. And you do. I’m sorry I’ve been