“I suspect that’s all I will ever be up to, unfortunately.”
“Five foot . . .” Adolin said, frowning.
“Yes,” Shallan said, scanning the practice grounds. “I thought it was a good height, then I came here. You Alethi really are freakishly tall, aren’t you? I’d guess everyone here is a good two inches taller than the Veden average.”
“No, that’s not . . .” Adolin frowned. “You’re here because you want to watch me spar. Admit it. The sketching is a ruse.”
“Hmmm. Someone has a high opinion of himself. Comes with being royalty, I suppose. Like funny hats and a fondness for beheadings. Ah, and it’s our captain of the guard. Your boots are on the way to your barracks via courier.”
Kaladin started as he realized she was talking to him. “Is that so?”
“I had the soles replaced,” Shallan said. “They were terribly uncomfortable.”
“I liked how they fit!”
“Then you must have stones for feet.” She glanced down, then cocked an eyebrow.
“Wait,” Adolin said, frowning more deeply. “You wore the bridgeboy’s boots? How did that happen?”
“Awkwardly,” Shallan replied. “And with three pairs of socks.” She patted Adolin’s armored arm. “If you really want me to sketch you, Adolin, I will. No need to act jealous, though I do still want that walk you promised me. Oh! I need to get that. Excuse me.”
She strode toward where Renarin was taking hits on his armor from Zahel, presumably to get him used to taking a beating while wearing Plate. Shallan’s green gown and red hair were vibrant slashes of color on the grounds. Kaladin inspected her, wondering just how far she could be trusted. Probably not far.
“Insufferable woman,” Adolin growled. He glanced at Kaladin. “Stop leering at her backside, bridgeboy.”
“I’m not leering. And what do you care? You just said she was insufferable.”
“Yeah,” Adolin said, looking back toward her with a wide grin. “She all but ignored me, didn’t she?”
“I suppose.”
“Insufferable,” Adolin said, though he seemed to mean something completely different. His smile widened and he strode after her, moving with the grace of Shardplate that was so discordant with its apparent bulk.
Kaladin shook his head. Lighteyes and their games. How had he found himself in such a position that he had to spend so much time around them? He walked back to the barrel and got another drink. Soon after, a practice sword crunching to the sand announced Moash joining him.
Moash nodded gratefully as Kaladin handed over the ladle. Teft and Yake were having a turn facing down the Shardblade.
“She let you go?” Kaladin asked, nodding toward their trainer.
Moash shrugged, gulping water. “I didn’t flinch.”
Kaladin nodded appreciatively.
“What we’re doing here is good,” Moash said. “Important. After the way you trained us in those chasms, I thought I didn’t have anything left to learn. Shows how much I knew.”
Kaladin nodded, folding his arms. Adolin displayed several dueling stances for Renarin, Zahel nodding approvingly. Shallan had settled down to sketch them. Was this all an excuse to get her close, so she could wait for the right time to slide a knife into Adolin’s gut?
A paranoid way to think, perhaps, but that was his job. So he kept an eye on Adolin as the man turned and began sparring with Zahel, to give Renarin some perspective on how to use the stances.
Adolin was a good swordsman. Kaladin would give him that much. So was Zahel, for that matter.
“It was the king,” Moash said. “He had my family executed.”
It took Kaladin a moment to realize what Moash was talking about. The person that Moash wanted to kill, the person he had a grudge against. It was the king.
Kaladin felt a shock spike through him, as if he’d been punched. He turned on Moash.
“We’re Bridge Four,” Moash continued, staring off to the side at nothing in particular. He took another drink. “We stick together. You should know about . . . why I am the way I am. My grandparents were the only family I ever knew. Parents died when I was a child. Ana and Da, they raised me. The king . . . he killed them.”
“How did it happen?” Kaladin asked softly, checking to make sure none of the ardents were close enough to hear.
“I was away,” Moash said, “working a caravan that ran out here, to this wasteland. Ana and Da, they were second nahn. Important for darkeyes, you know? Ran their own shop. Silversmiths. I never picked up on the trade. Liked to be out walking. Going somewhere.
“Well, a lighteyed man owned two or