three silversmith shops in Kholinar, one of which was across from my grandparents. He never did like the competition. This was a year or so before the old king died, and Elhokar was left in charge of the kingdom while Gavilar was out at the Plains. Anyway, Elhokar was good friends with the lighteyes who was in competition with my grandparents.
“So, he did his friend a favor. Elhokar had Ana and Da dragged in on some charge or another. They were important enough to demand a right to trial, an inquest before magistrates. I think it surprised Elhokar that he couldn’t completely ignore the law. He pled lack of time and sent Ana and Da to the dungeons to wait until an inquest could be arranged.” Moash dipped the ladle back into the barrel. “They died there a few months later, still waiting for Elhokar to approve their paperwork.”
“That’s not exactly the same as killing them.”
Moash met Kaladin’s eyes. “You doubt that sending a seventy-five-year-old couple to the palace dungeons is a death sentence?”
“I guess . . . well, I guess you’re right.”
Moash nodded sharply, tossing the ladle into the barrel. “Elhokar knew they’d die in there. That way, the hearing would never go before the magistrates, exposing his corruption. That bastard killed them—murdered them to keep his secret. I came home from my trip with the caravan to an empty house, and the neighbors told me my family was already two months dead.”
“So now you’re trying to assassinate King Elhokar,” Kaladin said softly, feeling a chill to be speaking it. Nobody was close enough to hear, not over the sounds of weapons and shouting common to sparring grounds. Still, the words seemed to hang in front of him, as loud as a trumpeter’s call.
Moash froze, looking him in the eye.
“That night on the balcony,” Kaladin said, “did you make it look like a Shardblade cut the railing?”
Moash took him by the arm in a tight grip, looking about. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
“Stormfather, Moash!” Kaladin said, the depth of it sinking in. “We’ve been hired to protect the man!”
“Our job,” Moash said, “is to keep Dalinar alive. I can agree with that. He doesn’t seem too bad, for a lighteyes. Storms, this kingdom would be a lot better off if he were king instead. Don’t tell me you think differently.”
“But killing the king—”
“Not here,” Moash hissed through clenched teeth.
“I can’t just let it go. Nalan’s hand! I’m going to have to tell—”
“You’d do that?” Moash demanded. “You’d turn on a member of Bridge Four?”
They locked gazes.
Kaladin turned away. “Damnation. No, I won’t. At least, not if you’ll agree to stop. You may have a grudge with the king, but you can’t just try to . . . you know . . .”
“And what else am I supposed to do?” Moash asked softly. By now, he’d pulled right up to Kaladin. “What kind of justice can a man like me get on a king, Kaladin? Tell me.”
This can’t be happening.
“I’ll stop for now,” Moash said. “If you’ll agree to meet with someone.”
“Who?” Kaladin asked, looking back to him.
“This plan wasn’t my idea. Some others are involved. All I had to do was throw them a rope. I want you to listen to them.”
“Moash . . .”
“Listen to what they have to say,” Moash said, grip tightening on Kaladin’s arm. “Just listen, Kal. That’s all. If you don’t agree with what they tell you, I’ll back out. Please.”
“You promise not to do anything else against the king until we’ve had this meeting?”
“On my grandparents’ honor.”
Kaladin sighed, but nodded. “All right.”
Moash relaxed visibly. He nodded, scooping up his mock sword, then ran back to do some more practice with the Shardblade. Kaladin sighed, turning to grab his sword, and came face-to-face with Syl hovering behind him. Her tiny eyes had gone wide, hands as fists to her sides.
“What did you just do?” she demanded. “I only heard the last part.”
“Moash was involved,” Kaladin whispered. “I need to follow this through, Syl. If someone is trying to kill the king, it’s my job to investigate them.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I felt something. Something else.” She shook her head. “Kaladin, this is dangerous. We should go to Dalinar.”
“I promised Moash,” he said, kneeling and untying his boots and removing his socks. “I can’t go to Dalinar until I know more.”
Syl followed him as a ribbon of light as he took the fake Shardblade and walked out into the sands of the dueling grounds. The