up completely—his Plate out of Stormlight. The dozens of small cracks Adolin had put in the man’s armor had finally added up.
Then, Adolin strolled forward, placed a hand against Elit’s chest, and shoved him over. He crashed to the ground.
Adolin looked up at Brightlady Istow, highjudge.
“Judgment,” the highjudge said with a sigh, “again goes to Adolin Kholin. The victor. Elit Ruthar forfeits his Plate.”
The crowd didn’t much like it. Adolin turned to face them, sweeping his Blade a few times before dismissing it to mist. He removed his helm and bowed to their boos. Behind, his armorers—whom he’d prepared for this—rushed out and pushed away those of Elit. They pulled off the Plate, which now belonged to Adolin.
He smiled, and when they were done, followed them into the staging room beneath the seats. Renarin waited by the door, wearing his own Plate, and Aunt Navani sat by the room’s brazier.
Renarin peeked out at the dissatisfied crowds. “Stormfather. The first duel like this you did, you were done in under a minute, and they hated you. Today you were at it for the better part of an hour, and they seem to hate you more.”
Adolin sat down with a sigh on one of the benches. “I won.”
“You did,” Navani said, stepping up, inspecting him as if for wounds. She was always worried when he dueled. “But weren’t you supposed to do it with great fanfare?”
Renarin nodded. “That’s what Father asked for.”
“This will be remembered,” Adolin said, accepting a cup of water from Peet, one of the bridgeman guards for the day. He nodded thankfully. “Fanfare is about making everyone pay attention. This will work.”
He hoped. The next part was as important.
“Aunt,” Adolin said as she started writing a prayer of thanks. “Have you given any thought to what I asked?”
Navani kept drawing.
“Shallan’s work really does sound important,” Adolin said. “I mean—”
A knock came at the door to the chamber.
So quickly? Adolin thought, rising. One of the bridgemen opened the door.
Shallan Davar burst in, wearing a violet dress, red hair flaring as she crossed the room. “That was incredible!”
“Shallan!” She wasn’t the person he’d been expecting—but he wasn’t unhappy to see her. “I checked your seat before the fight and you weren’t there.”
“I forgot to burn a prayer,” she said, “so I stopped to do so. I caught most of the fight, though.” She hesitated right before him, seeming awkward for a moment. Adolin shared that awkwardness. They had only been officially courting for little more than a week, but with the causal in place . . . what was their relationship?
Navani cleared her throat. Shallan spun and raised her freehand to her lips, as if having only just noticed the former queen. “Brightness,” she said, and bowed.
“Shallan,” Navani said. “I hear only good things from my nephew regarding you.”
“Thank you.”
“I will leave you two, then,” Navani said, walking toward the door, her glyphward unfinished.
“Brightness . . .” Shallan said, raising a hand toward her.
Navani left and pulled the door closed.
Shallan lowered her hand, and Adolin winced. “Sorry,” Adolin said. “I’ve been trying to talk to her about it. I think she needs a few more days, Shallan. She’ll come around—she knows that she shouldn’t be ignoring you, I can sense it. You just remind her of what happened.”
Shallan nodded, looking disappointed. Adolin’s armorers came over to help him remove his Plate, but he waved them away. It was bad enough to show her his sloppy hair, plastered to his head from being in the helm. His clothing underneath—a padded uniform—would look awful.
“So, uh, you liked the duel?” he asked.
“You were wonderful,” Shallan said, turning back to him. “Elit kept jumping at you, and you just brushed him off like an annoying cremling trying to crawl up your leg.”
Adolin grinned. “The rest of the crowd didn’t think it was wonderful.”
“They came to see you get stomped,” she said. “You were so inconsiderate for not giving that to them.”
“I’m quite stingy in that regard,” Adolin said.
“You almost never lose, from what I’ve discovered. Awfully boring of you. Maybe you should try for a tie now and then. For variety.”
“I’ll consider it,” he said. “We can discuss it, perhaps over dinner this evening? At my father’s warcamp?”
Shallan grimaced. “I’m busy this evening. Sorry.”
“Oh.”
“But,” she said, stepping closer. “I might have a gift for you soon. I haven’t had much time to study—I’ve been working hard to reconstruct Sebarial’s house ledgers—but I might have stumbled upon something that can help you. With your duels.”
“What?” he