boon from the king and demand a Right of Challenge to Sadeas himself.”
“It has a certain charm to it,” Shallan agreed. “Taking a maneuver that Sadeas himself employed, then using it against him.”
“He’d never agree,” Kaladin said. “Sadeas won’t let himself be trapped like that.”
“Perhaps,” Adolin said. “But I think you underestimate the position he’d be in, if we do this correctly. The Right of Challenge is an ancient tradition—some say the Heralds instituted it. A lighteyed warrior who has proven himself before the Almighty and the king, turning and demanding justice from one who wronged him . . .”
“He’ll agree,” Shallan said. “He’ll have to. But can you be spectacular, Adolin?”
“The crowd expects me to cheat,” Adolin said. “They won’t come thinking much of my recent duels—that should work to my favor. If I can give them a real show, they’ll be thrilled. Besides, defeating two men at once? That alone should give us the attention we need.”
Kaladin looked from one to the other. They were taking this very seriously. “You really think this could work?” Kaladin said, growing thoughtful.
“Yes,” Shallan said, “though, by this tradition, Sadeas could appoint a champion to fight on his behalf, so Adolin might not get to duel him personally. He’d still win Sadeas’s Shards, though.”
“It wouldn’t be quite as satisfying,” Adolin said. “But it would be acceptable. Beating his champion in a duel would cut Sadeas off at the knees. He’d lose immense credibility.”
“But it wouldn’t really mean anything,” Kaladin said. “Right?”
The other two looked at him.
“It’s just a duel,” Kaladin said. “A game.”
“This would be different,” Adolin said.
“I don’t see why. Sure, you might win his Shards, but his title and authority would be the same.”
“It’s about perception,” Shallan said. “Sadeas has formed a coalition against the king. That implies he is stronger than the king. Losing to the king’s champion would deflate that.”
“But it’s all just games,” Kaladin said.
“Yes,” Adolin said—Kaladin hadn’t expected him to agree. “But it’s a game that Sadeas is playing. They are rules he’s accepted.”
Kaladin sat back, letting it sink in. This tradition might be an answer, he thought. The solution I’ve been looking for . . .
“Sadeas used to be such a strong ally,” Adolin said, sounding regretful. “I’d forgotten things like his defeat of Yenev.”
“So what changed?” Kaladin asked.
“Gavilar died,” Adolin said softly. “The old king was what kept Father and Sadeas pointed in the same direction.” He leaned forward, looking at Shallan’s sheets of notes, though he obviously couldn’t read them. “We have to make this happen, Shallan. We have to yank this noose around that eel’s throat. This is brilliant. Thank you.”
She blushed, then packed away the notes in an envelope and handed it to him. “Give this to your aunt. It details what I’ve found. She and your father will know better if this is a good idea or not.”
Adolin accepted the envelope, and took her hand in his as he did so. The two shared a moment, melting over one another. Yes, Kaladin was increasingly convinced that the woman wasn’t going to be of immediate danger to Adolin. If she was some kind of con woman, she wasn’t after Adolin’s life. Just his dignity.
Too late, Kaladin thought, watching Adolin sit back with a stupid grin on his face. That’s dead and burned already.
The carriage soon reached the Outer Market, where they passed several groups of men on patrol in Kholin blue. Bridgemen from the various bridges other than Bridge Four. Being guardsmen here was one of the ways Kaladin was training them.
Kaladin climbed out of the carriage first, noting the lines of stormwagons set up in rows nearby. Ropes on posts blocked off the area, ostensibly to keep people from sneaking in, though the men with cudgels lounging beside some of the posts probably did a better job of that.
“Thanks for the ride, Wit,” Kaladin said, turning. “I’m sorry again about that flute you—”
Wit was gone from the top of the carriage. Another man sat there instead, a younger fellow in brown trousers and a white shirt, a cap on his head. He pulled that off, looking embarrassed.
“Oi’m sorry, sir,” the man said. He had an accent Kaladin didn’t recognize. “He paid me well, he did. Said exactly where Oi was to stand so we could swap places.”
“What’s this?” Adolin said, climbing from the carriage and looking up. “Oh. Wit does this, bridgeboy.”
“This?”
“Likes to vanish mysteriously,” Adolin said.
“It weren’t so mysterious, sir,” the lad said, turning and pointing. “It was joust