and help him with . . . what you just mentioned. It’s not something that makes a good topic of conversation, Brightness. We don’t really talk about it.”
“That’s precisely what makes it a good topic of conversation,” she said. “I can find out about wars and Shardbearers and glorious killing in the official accounts. The grimy details, though—nobody writes those down.”
“Well, it does get grimy,” Adolin said with a grimace, taking a drink. “You can’t really . . . I can’t believe I’m saying this . . . you can’t really wipe yourself in Shardplate, so someone has to do it for you. Makes me feel like an infant. Then, sometimes, you just don’t have time . . .”
“And?”
He inspected her, narrowing his eyes.
“What?” she asked.
“Just trying to determine if you’re secretly Wit wearing a wig. This is something he would do to me.”
“I’m not doing anything to you,” she said. “I’m just curious.” And honestly, she was. She’d thought about this. Perhaps more than it deserved consideration.
“Well,” Adolin said, “if you must know, an old adage on the battlefield teaches that it’s better to be embarrassed than dead. You can’t let anything draw your attention from fighting.”
“So . . .”
“So yes, I, Adolin Kholin—cousin to the king, heir to the Kholin princedom—have shat myself in my Shardplate. Three times, all on purpose.” He downed the rest of his wine. “You are a very strange woman.”
“If I must remind you,” Shallan said, “you are the one who opened our conversation today with a joke about Sebarial’s flatulence.”
“I guess I did at that.” He grinned. “This is not exactly going the way it’s supposed to, is it?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” Adolin said, then his grin widened. “Actually, it’s kind of refreshing. Do you know how many times I’ve told that story about saving the plateau run?”
“I’m sure you were quite brave.”
“Quite.”
“Though probably not as brave as the poor men who have to clean your armor.”
Adolin bellowed out a laugh. For the first time it seemed like something genuine—an emotion from him that wasn’t scripted or expected. He pounded his fist on the table, then waved for more wine, wiping a tear from his eye. The grin he gave her threatened to bring out another blush.
Wait, Shallan thought, did that just . . . work? She was supposed to be acting feminine and delicate, not asking men what it’s like to have to defecate in battle.
“All right,” Adolin said, taking the cup of wine. He didn’t even glance at the serving woman this time. “What other dirty secrets do you want to know? You’ve got me laid bare. There are tons of things the stories and official histories don’t mention.”
“The chrysalises,” Shallan said, eager. “What do they look like?”
“That’s what you want to know?” Adolin said, scratching his head. “I thought for sure you’d want to know about the chafing. . . .”
Shallan got out her satchel, setting a piece of paper on the table and starting a sketch. “From what I’ve been able to determine, nobody has done a solid study on the Chasmfiends. There are some sketches of dead ones, but that’s it, and the anatomy on those is dreadful.
“They must have an interesting life cycle. They haunt these chasms, but I doubt they actually live here. There’s not enough food to support creatures of their size. That means they come here as part of some migratory pattern. They come here to pupate. Have you ever seen a juvenile? Before they form the chrysalis?”
“No,” Adolin said, scooting his chair around the table. “It often happens at night, and we don’t spot them until morning. They’re hard to see out there, colored like rock. Makes me think that the Parshendi must be watching us. We end up fighting over plateaus so often. It might mean they spot us mobilizing, then use the direction we’re going to judge where to find the chrysalis. We get a head start, but they move faster over the Plains, so we arrive near the same time. . . .”
He trailed off, cocking his head to get a better look at her sketch. “Storms! That’s really good, Shallan.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I mean really good.”
She’d done a quick sketch of several types of chrysalises she had read about in her books, along with quick depictions of a man beside them for size reference. It wasn’t very good—she’d done it for speed. Yet Adolin seemed genuinely impressed.
“The shape and texture of the chrysalis,” Shallan said, “could help place the chasmfiends