his coat to hide that it had been cut through with a Shardblade.
He reached the top. Part of him feared that he’d find everyone dead. The hallways were silent. No shouts, no guards. Nothing. He continued on, feeling alone, until he saw light ahead.
“Stop!” called a trembling voice. Mart, of Bridge Four. “You in the dark! Identify yourself!”
Kaladin continued forward into the light, too exhausted to reply. Mart and Moash stood guard at the door to the king’s chambers, along with some of the men from the King’s Guard. They let out whoops of surprise as they recognized Kaladin. They ushered him into the warmth and light of Elhokar’s quarters.
Here, he found Dalinar and Adolin—alive—sitting on the couches. Eth tended their wounds; Kaladin had trained a number of the men in Bridge Four in basic field medicine. Renarin slumped in a chair near the corner, his Shardblade discarded at his feet like a piece of refuse. The king paced at the back of the room, speaking softly with his mother.
Dalinar stood up, shaking off Eth’s attention, as Kaladin entered. “By the Almighty’s tenth name,” Dalinar said, voice hushed. “You’re alive?”
Kaladin nodded, then slumped down in one of the plush royal chairs, uncaring if he got water or blood on it. He let out a soft groan—half relief at seeing them all well, half exhaustion.
“How?” Adolin demanded. “You fell. I was barely awake, but I know I saw you fall.”
I am a Surgebinder, Kaladin thought as Dalinar looked over at him. I used Stormlight. He wanted to say the words, but they wouldn’t come out. Not in front of Elhokar and Adolin.
Storms. I’m a coward.
“I had a good grip on him,” Kaladin said. “I don’t know. We tumbled in the air, and when we hit, I wasn’t dead.”
The king nodded. “Didn’t you say he stuck you to the ceiling?” he said to Adolin. “They probably floated all the way down.”
“Yeah,” Adolin said. “I suppose.”
“After you landed,” the king said, hopefully, “did you kill him?”
“No,” Kaladin said, “He ran off, though. I think he was surprised we fought back as capably as we did.”
“Capably?” Adolin asked. “We were like three children attacking a chasmfiend with sticks. Stormfather! I’ve never been routed so soundly in my life.”
“At least we were alerted,” the king said, sounding shaken. “This bridgeman . . . he makes a good bodyguard. You will be commended, young man.”
Dalinar stood and crossed the room. Eth had cleaned up his face and plugged his bleeding nose. His skin was split along the left cheekbone, his nose broken, though surely not for the first time in Dalinar’s long military career. Both were wounds that looked worse than they really were.
“How did you know?” Dalinar asked.
Kaladin met his eyes. Behind him, Adolin glanced over, narrowing his eyes. He looked down at Kaladin’s arm and frowned.
That one saw something, Kaladin thought. As if he didn’t have enough trouble with Adolin as it was.
“I saw a light moving in the air outside,” Kaladin said. “I moved by instinct.”
Nearby, Syl zipped into the room and looked pointedly at him, frowning. But it wasn’t a lie. He had seen a light in the night. Hers.
“All those years ago,” Dalinar said, “I dismissed the stories the witnesses told of my brother’s assassination. Men walking on walls, others falling up instead of down . . . Almighty above. What is he?”
“Death,” Kaladin whispered.
Dalinar nodded.
“Why has he come back now?” Navani asked, moving up to Dalinar’s side. “After all these years?”
“He wants to claim me,” Elhokar said. His back was to them, and Kaladin could make out a cup in his hand. He downed the contents, then immediately refilled it from a jug. Deep violet wine. Elhokar’s hand was trembling as he poured.
Kaladin met Dalinar’s eyes. The highprince had heard. This Szeth had not come for the king, but Dalinar.
Dalinar didn’t say anything to correct the king, so Kaladin didn’t either.
“What do we do if he comes back?” Adolin asked.
“I don’t know,” Dalinar said, sitting back down on the couch beside his son. “I don’t know . . .”
Tend his wounds. It was the voice of Kaladin’s father, whispering inside him. The surgeon. Stitch that cheek. Reset the nose.
He had a more important duty. Kaladin forced himself to his feet, though he felt like he was carrying lead weights, and took a spear from one of the men at the door. “Why are the hallways silent?” he asked Moash. “Do you know where the servants are?”
“The highprince,” Moash said, nodding