the storm is almost upon us, then run into that other room and take shelter. I’ve wanted to come for weeks now, and only just managed to convince my minders that I’d be safe here.” He said that last part somewhat bitterly. “We can go move into the safe room now, if you want.”
“No,” Shallan said, forcing herself to pry her fingers from the table edge. “I’m fine.”
“You look pale.”
“It’s natural.”
“Because you’re Veden?”
“Because I’m always at the edge of panic these days. Oh, is that our wine?”
Poised, she reminded herself yet again. She pointedly did not look eastward.
The servant had brought them two cups of brilliant blue wine. Adolin picked his up and studied it. He smelled it, sipped it, then nodded in satisfaction and dismissed the servant with a parting smile. He watched the woman’s backside as she retreated.
Shallan raised an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t seem to notice that he’d done anything wrong. He looked back at Shallan and leaned in again. “I know you’re supposed to swish the wine about and taste it and things,” he whispered, “but nobody has ever explained to me what I’m looking for.”
“Bugs floating in the liquid, perhaps?”
“Nah, my new food taster would have spotted one of those.” He smiled, but Shallan realized he probably wasn’t joking. A thin man who didn’t wear a uniform had walked over to chat with the bodyguards. Probably the food taster.
Shallan sipped her wine. It was good—slightly sweet, a tad spicy. Not that she could spare much thought for its taste, with that storm—
Stop it, she told herself, smiling at Adolin. She needed to make sure this meeting went well for him. Get him to talk about himself. That was one piece of advice she remembered from books.
“Plateau runs,” Shallan said. “How do you know when to begin one, anyway?”
“Hmm? Oh, we have spotters,” Adolin said, lounging back in his chair. “Men who stand atop towers with these enormous spyglasses. They inspect every plateau we can reach in a reasonable time, watching for a chrysalis.”
“I hear you’ve captured your share of those.”
“Well, I probably shouldn’t talk about it. Father doesn’t want it to be a competition anymore.” He looked at her, expectant.
“But surely you can talk about what happened before,” Shallan said, feeling as if she were filling an expected role.
“I suppose,” Adolin said. “There was one run a few months back where I seized the chrysalis basically by myself. You see, Father and I, we would usually jump the chasm first and clear the way for the bridges.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Shallan asked, dutifully looking at him with widened eyes.
“Yes, but we’re Shardbearers. We have strength and power granted by the Almighty. It’s a great responsibility, and it’s our duty to use it for the protection of our men. We save hundreds of lives by going across first. Lets us lead the army, firsthand.”
He paused.
“So brave,” Shallan said, in what she hoped was a breathy, adoring voice.
“Well, it’s the right thing to do. But it is dangerous. That day, I leaped across, but my father and I got pushed too far apart by the Parshendi. He was forced to jump back across, and a blow to his leg meant that when he landed, his greave—that’s a piece of armor on the leg—cracked. That made it dangerous for him to jump back again. I was left alone while he waited for the bridge to lock down.”
He paused again. She was probably supposed to ask what happened next.
“What if you need to poop?” she asked instead.
“Well, I put my back to the chasm and laid about me with my sword, intending to . . . Wait. What did you say?”
“Poop,” Shallan said. “You’re out there on the battlefield, encased in metal like a crab in its shell. What do you do if nature calls?”
“I . . . er . . .” Adolin frowned at her. “That is not something any woman has ever asked me before.”
“Yay for originality!” Shallan said, though she blushed as she said it. Jasnah would have been displeased. Couldn’t Shallan mind her tongue for a single conversation? She’d gotten him talking about something he liked; everything had been going well. Now this.
“Well,” Adolin said slowly, “every battle has breaks in the flow, and men rotate in and out of the front lines. For every five minutes you’re fighting, you often have almost as many resting. When a Shardbearer pulls back, men inspect his armor for cracks, give him something to drink or eat,