keep blaming yourself for Tien’s death.”
“Would he be dead if I hadn’t spent all those years defying Roshone? If I hadn’t picked a fight?”
“We can’t change the past. But if you continue like this, you’ll lose another son.”
He looked up, then shifted his eyes away immediately at Hesina’s cold glare. “I wouldn’t have let him die,” Lirin said. “If they hadn’t decided to go get that Edgedancer, I’d have gone to Kaladin like they asked.”
“I know that. But would you have insisted on bringing him here?”
“Maybe. He could have needed extended care, Hesina. Isn’t it better to bring him here, where I can watch him? Better than letting him go on fighting an impossible battle, getting himself and others killed in this foolish war.”
“And would you have done that to another soldier?” she pressed. “Say it wasn’t your son who was wounded. Would you have brought that boy here and risked him being imprisoned, maybe executed? You’ve healed soldiers before, sending them back out to fight. That’s always been your conviction. Treat anyone, no strings attached, no matter the circumstances.”
“Maybe I need to rethink that policy,” he said. “Besides, Kaladin has told me many times that he’s not my son any longer.”
“Great. I’m glad we could chat so I could persuade you to be more stubborn. I see that your thoughts and feelings are evolving on this topic—and because you’re you, they’re going the absolute wrong direction.”
Lirin sighed. He stood and grabbed the stack of bandages, then turned to leave their little draped-off chamber.
Storm it, she wasn’t done with him yet. Hesina rose, surprised at the depth of her frustration. “Don’t you leave,” she snapped, causing him to stop by the drapes.
“Hesina,” he said, sounding tired. “What do you want from me?”
She stalked over to him, pointing. “I left everything for you, Lirin. Do you know why?”
“Because you believed in me?”
“Because I loved you. And I still love you.”
“Love can’t change the realities of our situation.”
“No, but it can change people.” She seized his hand, less a comforting gesture and more a demand that he remain there with her, so they could face this together. “I know how stressed you feel. I feel it too—feel like I’m going to get crushed by it. But I’m not going to let you continue to pretend Kaladin isn’t your son.”
“The son I raised would never have committed murder in my surgery room.”
“Your son is a soldier, Lirin. A soldier who inherited his father’s determination, skill, and compassion. You tell me honestly. Who would you rather have out there fighting? Some crazed killer who enjoys it, or the boy you trained to care?”
He hesitated, then opened his mouth.
“Before you say you don’t want anyone fighting,” Hesina interrupted, “know that I’ll recognize that as a lie. We both know you’ve admitted that people need to fight sometimes. You simply don’t want it to be your son, despite the fact that he’s probably the best person we could have chosen.”
“You obviously know the responses you want from me,” Lirin said. “So why should I bother speaking?”
Hesina groaned, tipping her head back. “You can be so storming frustrating.”
In return, he squeezed her hand gently. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer. “I’ll try to listen better, Hesina. I promise.”
“Don’t just listen better,” she said, pulling him out of the draped-off section and waving toward the larger room. “See better. Look. What do you see?”
The place was busy with humans who wanted to care for the Radiants. Hesina had instituted a rotation so that everyone got a chance. Beneath the gaze of two watching stormform Regals, people of all ethnicities—and wearing all kinds of clothing—moved among the comatose Radiants. Administering water, changing sheets, brushing hair.
Hesina and Lirin used a more carefully cultivated group—mostly ardents—to handle delicate matters like bathing the patients, but today’s caregivers were common inhabitants of the tower. Darkeyes made up the majority of these, but each and every one wore a shash glyph like Kaladin’s painted on their forehead.
“What do you see?” Hesina whispered again to Lirin.
“Honestly?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I see fools,” he said, “refusing to accept the truth. Resisting, when they’ll just get crushed.”
She heard the words he left off: Like I was.
She towed him by his arm to one side of the room, where a man with only one arm sat on a stool, painting the glyph on a young girl’s head. She ran off to her duty as Lirin and Hesina arrived. The man stood respectfully. Bearded, wearing a buttoned shirt and trousers,