held up his arm as the chicken returned, fluttering its wings as it landed, its talons clutching his coat. The chicken was one of the strangest varieties Veil had ever seen, with that large hooked beak and those bright green feathers. It carried something in its mouth, a small furry creature. It could have been a rat, but the look was wrong.
“What is that?” Veil asked. “What did it catch?”
“A mole,” Mraize said.
“A what?”
“Like a rat, but different. You know the word, ‘mole’? An informant? Comes from these creatures, which live in Shinovar and dig into places they’re not wanted. They’ve made their way across Azir over the centuries, then into the mountains.”
“Whatever,” Veil said.
The scarred man eyed her, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Shallan will find this interesting, Veil. Do you not want to ask, for her sake? An invasive species from Shinovar, slowly making a home in the mountains? Where Rosharan creatures cannot live. They lack the fur, the adaptations, you see.”
Shallan emerged as he said it, so she took a Memory. She needed to draw the little beast. How did it survive in this cold? Surely there wasn’t anything to eat up here.
“A hunter knows the advantages his prey relies upon to hide and to thrive,” Mraize said. “Shallan understands this; she seeks to understand the world. You should not dismiss this kind of knowledge so quickly, Veil. It has applications you may not anticipate, but which will serve you both well.”
Damnation. Shallan hated talking with him. She found herself wanting to nod, to agree with him, to learn from him. Radiant whispered truth: Shallan had lived her childhood with a father who had been paternal in all the wrong ways and none of the right ones. In Mraize, a part of her saw a substitute. Strong, confident, and—most importantly—willing to offer praise.
His chicken held its prey with one foot, eating almost like a person did with their hands. The thing was so strange, so alien. It stood upright, like no other beast Shallan had studied. When it chirped at Mraize, it sounded almost like it was talking, and she swore she could occasionally make out words. It was like a tiny parody of a person.
She glanced away from the brutal display of the feasting chicken, though Mraize watched the creature with an air of approval.
“I can’t join the Ghostbloods fully,” she said, “unless I know what it is you’re trying to accomplish. I don’t know your motivations. How can I align with you until I do?”
“Surely you can guess,” Mraize said. “It’s about power, obviously.”
She frowned. So … was it really that simple? Had she imagined depths to this man that weren’t there?
Mraize continued to hold his chicken on one arm, fishing in his pocket with the other hand. He took out a diamond broam, then handed it to her, wrapping her fingers around it. Her fist shone from within.
“Power,” Mraize said. “Portable, easily contained, renewable. You hold the energy of a storm in your hand, Veil. That raw energy, plucked from the heart of the raging tempest. It is tamed—not only a safe source of light, but of power that those with … particular interests and abilities can access.”
“Sure,” Veil said, emerging again. “At the same time it’s practically worthless—because anyone can get it. The gemstones are the valuable part.”
“That’s small thinking,” Mraize said. “The stones are but containers. No more valuable than a cup. Important, yes, if you wish to carry liquid across the dry expanse. But the value comes solely from what it contains.”
“What kind of ‘dry expanse’ would you cross?” Veil asked. “I mean, you can always simply wait for a storm.”
“Locked into your conditioned way of thinking,” Mraize said, shaking his head. “I thought you’d be able to see bigger, to dream bigger. Tell me, when you traveled Shadesmar, how valuable was a little Stormlight?”
“Very,” she said. “So … this is about bringing Stormlight to Shadesmar? What do the spren have that you want?”
“That, little knife, is the wrong question.”
Blast. Veil felt her temper rising. Hadn’t she proven herself? How dare he treat her as if she were some lowly apprentice.
Fortunately, they had Radiant to guide them here. She learned lessons Veil refused to. Radiant didn’t mind being treated like an apprentice; Radiant liked learning. She had Shallan bleed their hair to blonde, though they were still wearing a man’s face, and folded her hands behind her back, standing up straighter.
Ask a better question. “Nalathis,” Radiant said. “Scadarial.