Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,60

instructions for them to be brought to Narak for questioning. Adolin and Shallan requisitioned a carriage, and left the rest of the troops to make their way back more slowly.

Shallan passed the time looking out the carriage window, listening to the clopping of the horses and watching the fractured landscape of plateaus and chasms. Once this had all been so difficult to traverse. Now she did it in a plush carriage, and considered that inconvenient compared to being flown about by a Windrunner. How would it be once Navani got her flying devices working efficiently? Would flying by Windrunner be the inconvenience then?

Adolin scooted over beside her, and she felt his warmth. She closed her eyes and melted into him, breathing him in—as if she could feel his soul brushing against her own.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s not so bad. Really. Father knew this plan might come to fighting. If Ialai had been willing to quietly rule in the warcamps, we’d have left her alone. But we couldn’t ignore someone sitting in our backyard raising an army to depose us.”

Shallan nodded.

“That’s not what you’re worried about, is it?” Adolin asked.

“No. Not completely.” She turned and pressed her face into his chest. He’d removed his jacket, and the shirt beneath reminded her of when he came to their rooms after sparring. He always wanted to bathe immediately, and she … well, she rarely let him. Not until she was done with him, at least.

They rode in silence for some time, with Shallan snuggled against him. “You never push,” she eventually said. “Though you know I keep secrets from you.”

“You’ll tell me eventually.”

She gripped his shirt tight between her fingers. “It bothers you though, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t reply at first, which was different from his normal cheery assurances. “Yeah,” he finally said. “How could it not? I trust you, Shallan. But sometimes … I wonder if I can trust all three of you. Veil especially.”

“She’s trying to protect me in her own way,” Shallan said.

“And if she does something you or I wouldn’t want her to? Gets … physical with someone?”

“That’s not a worry,” Shallan said. “I promise, and she will too if you ask her. We have an understanding. I’m not worried about you and me, Adolin.”

“What are you worried about, then?”

She pulled closer, and couldn’t help imagining it. What he would do if he knew the real her. If he knew all the things she’d actually done.

It wasn’t just about him. What if Pattern knew? Dalinar? Her agents?

They would leave, and her life would become a wasteland. She’d be alone, as she deserved. Because of the truths she hid, her entire life was a lie. Shallan, the one they all knew best, was the fakest mask of them all.

No, Radiant said. You can face it. You can fight it. You imagine only the worst possible outcome.

But it’s possible, isn’t it? Shallan asked. It’s possible that they would leave me if they knew.

Radiant had no reply. And deep within Shallan, something else stirred. Formless. She had told herself that she would never create a new persona, and she wouldn’t. Formless wasn’t real.

But the possibility of it frightened Veil. And anything that frightened Veil terrified Shallan.

“I will explain someday,” Shallan said softly to Adolin. “I promise. When I’m ready.”

He squeezed her arm in reply. She didn’t deserve him—his goodness, his love. That was the trap she’d found herself in. The more he trusted her, the worse she felt. And she didn’t know how to get out. She couldn’t get out.

Please, she whispered. Save me.

Veil reluctantly emerged. She sat up, not pulling against Adolin any longer—and he seemed to understand, shifting his position in the seat. He had an uncanny ability to tell which of her was in control.

“We’re trying to help,” Veil said to him. “And we think that this year has been good for Shallan, overall. But right now, it’s probably better if we discuss another topic.”

“Sure,” Adolin said. “Can we talk about the fact that Ialai was more frightened of capture than death?”

“She … didn’t kill herself, Adolin,” Veil said. “We are reasonably certain she died from a pinprick of poison.”

He sat up straight. “So you’re saying someone in our team did it? One of my soldiers or one of your agents?” He paused. “Or … did you do it, Veil?”

“I didn’t,” Veil said. “But would it have been so bad if I had? We both know she needed to die.”

“She was a defenseless woman!”

“And it’s that different from what you