to her friends . . .
An armorer set out his boots, and Adolin stepped into them, feeling them click into place. The armorers quickly affixed the greaves, then moved upward, covering him in too-light metal. Soon, all that remained were the gauntlets and the helm. He knelt down, placing his hands into the gauntlets at his side, fingers in their positions. In the strange manner of Shardplate, the armor constricted on its own, like a skyeel curling around its rat, pulling to comfortable tightness around his wrists.
He turned and reached for his helm from the last armorer. It was Renarin.
“You ate chicken?” Renarin asked as Adolin took the helm.
“For breakfast.”
“And you talked to the sword?”
“Had an entire conversation.”
“Mother’s chain in your pocket?”
“Checked three times.”
Navani folded her arms. “You still hold to those foolish superstitions?”
Both brothers looked at her sharply.
“They’re not superstitions,” Adolin said at the same time Renarin said, “It’s just good luck, Aunt.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I haven’t done a formal duel in a long time,” Adolin said, pulling on the helm, faceplate open. “I don’t want anything to go wrong.”
“Foolishness,” Navani repeated. “Trust in the Almighty and the Heralds, not whether or not you had the right meal before you duel. Storms. Next thing I know, you’ll be believing in the Passions.”
Adolin shared a look with Renarin. His little traditions probably didn’t help him win, but, well, why risk it? Every duelist had his own quirks. His hadn’t let him down yet.
“Our guards aren’t happy about this,” Renarin said softly. “They keep talking about how hard it’s going to be to protect you when someone else is swinging a Shardblade at you.”
Adolin slammed down his faceplate. It misted at the sides, locking into place, becoming translucent and giving him a full view of the room. Adolin grinned, knowing full well Renarin couldn’t see the expression. “I’m so sad to be denying them the chance to babysit me.”
“Why do you enjoy tormenting them?”
“I don’t like minders.”
“You’ve had guards before.”
“On the battlefield,” Adolin said. It felt different to be followed about everywhere he went.
“There’s more. Don’t lie to me, Brother. I know you too well.”
Adolin inspected his brother, whose eyes were so earnest behind his spectacles. The boy was too solemn all the time.
“I don’t like their captain,” Adolin admitted.
“Why? He saved Father’s life.”
“He just bothers me.” Adolin shrugged. “There’s something about him that is off, Renarin. That makes me suspicious.”
“I think you don’t like that he ordered you around, on the battlefield.”
“I barely even remember that,” Adolin said lightly, stepping toward the door out.
“Well, all right then. Off with you. And Brother?”
“Yes?”
“Try not to lose.”
Adolin pushed open the doors and stepped out onto the sand. He’d been in this arena before, using the argument that though the Alethi Codes of War proscribed duels between officers, he still needed to maintain his skills.
To placate his father, Adolin had stayed away from important bouts—bouts for championships or for Shards. He hadn’t dared risk his Blade and Plate. Now everything was different.
The air was still chill with winter, but the sun was bright overhead. His breath sounded against the plate of his helm, and his feet crunched in sand. He checked to see that his father was watching. He was. As was the king.
Sadeas hadn’t come. Just as well. That might have distracted Adolin with memories of one of the last times that Sadeas and Dalinar had been amiable, sitting together up on those stone steps, watching Adolin duel. Had Sadeas been planning a betrayal even then, while laughing with his father and chatting like an old friend?
Focus. His foe today wasn’t Sadeas, though someday . . . Someday soon he’d get that man in the arena. It was the goal of everything he was doing here.
For now, he’d have to settle for Salinor, one of Thanadal’s Shardbearers. The man had only the Blade, though he’d been able to borrow a set of the King’s Plate for a bout with a full Shardbearer.
Salinor stood on the other side of the arena, wearing the unornamented slate-grey Plate and waiting for the highjudge—Brightlady Istow—to signal the start of the bout. This fight was, in a way, an insult to Adolin. In order to get Salinor to agree to the duel, Adolin had been forced to bet both his Plate and his Blade against just Salinor’s Blade. As if Adolin weren’t worthy, and had to offer more potential spoils to justify bothering Salinor.
As expected, the arena was overflowing with lighteyes. Even if it was speculated that