some men in Shardplate—getting out of Dalinar’s direct line of sight, just in case he noticed her and decided to eject her.
Brightlady Jayla Ruthar spoke first, leaning forward over clasped hands. “Your Majesty,” she said, “I fear that our conversation this day has run in circles, and that nothing is being accomplished. Your safety is, of course, our greatest concern.”
Across the circle of highprinces, Sebarial snorted loudly as he chewed on slices of melon. Everyone else seemed to pointedly ignore the obnoxious, bearded man.
“Yes,” Aladar said. “The Assassin in White. We must do something. I will not wait in my palace to be assassinated.”
“He is murdering princes and kings all across the world!” Roion added. The man looked like a turtle to Shallan, with those hunched shoulders and that balding head. What had Jasnah said about him . . . ?
That he’s a coward, Shallan thought. He always chooses the safe option.
“We must present a unified Alethkar,” Hatham said—she recognized him immediately, with that long neck and refined way of speaking. “We must not allow ourselves to be attacked one at a time, and we must not squabble.”
“That’s precisely why you should follow my commands,” the king said, frowning at the highprinces.
“No,” Ruthar said, “it is why we must abandon these ludicrous restrictions you have placed upon us, Your Majesty! This is not a time to look foolish before the world.”
“Listen to Ruthar,” Sebarial said dryly, leaning back in his chair. “He’s an expert at looking like a fool.”
The arguing continued, and Shallan got a better feel for the room. There were actually three factions. Dalinar and the king, the team with Sadeas, and what she dubbed the peacemakers. Led by Hatham—who seemed, when he spoke, the most natural politician in the room—this third group sought to mediate.
So that’s what it’s really about, she thought, listening as Ruthar argued with the king and Adolin Kholin. They’re each trying to persuade these neutral highprinces to join their faction.
Dalinar said little. The same for Sadeas, who seemed content to let Highprince Ruthar and his wife speak for him. The two watched each other, Dalinar with a neutral expression, Sadeas with a faint smile. It seemed innocent enough until you saw their eyes. Locked on to one another, rarely blinking.
There was a storm in this room. A silent one.
Everyone seemed to fall into one of the three factions except for Sebarial, who kept rolling his eyes, occasionally throwing out commentary that bordered on the obscene. He obviously made the other Alethi, with their haughty airs, uncomfortable.
Shallan slowly picked apart the conversation’s subtext. This talk of prohibitions and rules placed by the king . . . it wasn’t the rules themselves that seemed to matter, but the authority behind them. How much would the highprinces submit to the king, and how much autonomy could they demand? It was fascinating.
Right up to the moment when one of them mentioned her.
“Wait,” said Vamah—one of the neutral highprinces. “Who is that girl over there? Does someone have a Veden in their retinue?”
“She was speaking with Dalinar,” Roion said. “Is there news of Jah Keved that you’re keeping from us, Dalinar?”
“You, girl,” said Ialai Sadeas. “What can you tell us of your homeland’s succession war? Do you have information on this assassin? Why would someone in the employ of the Parshendi seek to undermine your throne?”
All eyes in the room turned toward Shallan. She felt a moment of sheer panic. The most important people in the world, interrogating her, their eyes drilling into her—
And then she remembered the drawing. That was who she was.
“Alas,” Shallan said, “I will be of little use to you, Brightlords and Brightladies. I was away from my homeland when that tragic assassination occurred, and I have no insight into its cause.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Hatham asked, polite, but insistent.
“She’s watching the zoo, obviously,” Sebarial said. “The lot of you making fools of yourselves is the best free entertainment to be found in this frozen wasteland.”
It probably was wise to ignore that one. “I am the ward of Jasnah Kholin,” Shallan said, meeting Hatham’s eyes. “My purpose here is of a personal nature.”
“Ah,” Aladar said. “The phantom betrothal I’ve heard rumors of.”
“That’s right,” Ruthar said. He had a decidedly oily look about him, with dark slicked hair, burly arms, and a beard around the mouth. Most disturbing, however, was that smile of his—a smile that seemed far too predatory. “Child, what would it take for you to visit my warcamp and speak