“Getting into a shouting match with the head of Highprince Dalinar’s guard?” he whispered to her. “Was that wise?”
“We created an incident,” she said, calming herself. “Now Dalinar Kholin will hear of this one way or another. That guardsman won’t be able to keep my arrival secret from him.”
Vathah hesitated. “So it was part of the plan.”
“Hardly,” Shallan said. “I’m not nearly that clever. But it should work anyway.” She looked to Gaz, who was released by Kaladin’s guards so he could join the two of them, though all were still under careful watch.
“Even for a deserter,” Vathah said under his breath, “you’re a coward, Gaz.”
Gaz just stared at the ground.
“How do you know him?” Shallan asked.
“He was a slave,” Gaz said, “at the lumberyards where I used to work. Storming man. He’s dangerous, Brightness. Violent, a troublemaker. I don’t know how he got to such a high position in such a short time.”
Kaladin hadn’t entered the conference chamber. However, the doors cracked a moment later. The meeting appeared to be over, or at least on break. Several aides rushed in to see if their highprinces needed anything, and chatter started up among the guards. Captain Kaladin shot her a glance, then reluctantly entered, carrying her sheet of paper.
Shallan forced herself to stand with hands clasped before her—one sleeved, the other not—to keep herself from looking nervous. Eventually, Kaladin stepped back out, a look of annoyed resignation on his face. He pointed at her, then thumbed over his shoulder, indicating she could enter. His guards let her pass, though they restrained Vathah when he tried to follow her.
She waved him back, took a deep breath, then strode through the moving crowd of soldiers and aides, entering the king’s conference chamber.
Now, as each order was thus matched to the nature and temperament of the Herald it named patron, there was none more archetypal of this than the Stonewards, who followed after Talenelat’Elin, Stonesinew, Herald of War: they thought it a point of virtue to exemplify resolve, strength, and dependability. Alas, they took less care for imprudent practice of their stubbornness, even in the face of proven error.
—From Words of Radiance, chapter 13, page 1
The meeting finally reached a break. They weren’t done—Stormfather, it didn’t seem like they’d ever be done—but the arguing was over for the moment. Adolin stood, wounds along his leg and side protesting, and left his father and aunt to speak in hushed tones as the large chamber filled with a buzz of conversation.
How did Father stand it? A full two hours had passed, according to Navani’s fabrial clock on the wall. Two hours of highprinces and their wives complaining about the Assassin in White. Nobody could agree on what should be done.
They all ignored the truth stabbing them in the face. Nothing could be done. Nothing other than Adolin staying alert and practicing, training to face the monster when he returned.
And you think you can beat him? When he can walk on walls and make the very spren of nature obey him?
It was a discomforting question. At his father’s suggestion, Adolin had reluctantly changed out of his Plate and into something more appropriate. We need to project confidence at this meeting, Dalinar had said, not fear.
General Khal wore the armor instead, hiding in a room to the side with a strike force. Father seemed to think it unlikely the assassin would strike during the meeting. If the assassin wanted to kill the highprinces, he could take them much more easily alone, in the night. Attacking them all together, in the company of their guards and dozens of Shardbearers, seemed like it would be an imprudent decision. Indeed, there were Shards aplenty at this meeting. Three of the highprinces wore their Plate, and the others had Shardbearers in attendance. Abrobadar, Jakamav, Resi, Relis . . . Adolin had rarely seen so many collected together at once.
Would any of it matter? Accounts had been flooding in from around the world for weeks. Kings slaughtered. Ruling bodies decapitated all across Roshar. In Jah Keved, the assassin had reportedly killed dozens of soldiers bearing half-shard shields that could block his Blade, as well as three Shardbearers, including the king. It was a crisis that spanned the entire world, and one man was behind it. Assuming he was even a man.
Adolin found himself a cup of sweet wine at the edge of the room, poured by an eager servant in blue and gold. Orange wine, basically just juice. Adolin downed an entire