for games! Stop being a child, and start being a soldier! You’ll go to prison, and you’ll go happily. That’s an order. Do you listen to orders anymore?”
“I . . .” Kaladin found himself stammering.
Dalinar stood up, rubbing his hands on his temples. “I thought we had Sadeas cornered, there. I thought maybe we’d be able to cut his feet out from under him and save this kingdom. Now I don’t know what to do.” He turned and walked to the door. “Thank you for saving my sons.”
He left Kaladin alone in the cold stone room.
* * *
Torol Sadeas slammed the door to his quarters. He walked to his table and leaned over it, hands flat on the surface, looking down at the slice through the center he’d made with Oathbringer.
A drop of sweat smacked the surface right beside that slot. He’d kept himself from trembling all the way back to the safety of his warcamp—he’d actually managed to paste on a smile. He’d shown no concern, even as he dictated to his wife a response to the challenge.
And all the while, in the back of his mind a voice had laughed at him.
Dalinar. Dalinar had almost outmaneuvered him. If that challenge had been sustained, Sadeas would quickly have found himself in the arena with a man who had just defeated not one, but four Shardbearers.
He sat down. He did not look for wine. Wine made a man forget, and he didn’t want to forget this. He must never forget this.
How satisfying it would be to someday ram Dalinar’s own sword into his chest. Storms. To think he’d almost felt pity for his former friend. Now the man pulled something like this. How had he grown so deft?
No, Sadeas told himself. This was not deftness. It was luck. Pure and simple luck.
Four Shardbearers. How? Even allowing for the help of that slave, it was now obvious that Adolin was at last growing into the man his father had once been. That terrified Sadeas, because the man Dalinar had once been—the Blackthorn—had been a large part of what had conquered this kingdom.
Isn’t this what you wanted? Sadeas thought. To reawaken him?
No. The deeper truth was that Sadeas didn’t want Dalinar back. He wanted his old friend out of the way, and it had been such for months now, no matter what he wanted to tell himself.
A while later, the door to his study opened and Ialai slipped in. Seeing him lost in thought, she stopped by the door.
“Organize all of your informants,” Sadeas said, looking up at the ceiling. “Every spy you have, every source you know. Find me something, Ialai. Something to hurt him.”
She nodded.
“And after that,” Sadeas said, “it will be time to make use of those assassins you’ve planted.”
He had to ensure that Dalinar was desperate and wounded—had to guarantee that the others viewed him as broken, ruined.
Then he’d end this.
* * *
Soldiers arrived for Kaladin a short time later. Men that Kaladin didn’t know. They were respectful as they unchained him from the chair, though they left the chains binding his hands and feet. One gave him a lifted fist, a sign of respect. Stay strong, the fist said.
Kaladin bowed his head and shuffled with them, led through camp before the watching eyes of soldiers and scribes alike. He caught a glimpse of Bridge Four uniforms in the crowd.
He reached Dalinar’s camp prison, where soldiers did time for fighting or other offenses. It was a small, nearly windowless building with thick walls.
Inside, in an isolated section, Kaladin was placed in a cell with stone walls and a door of steel bars. They left the chains on as they locked him in.
He sat down on a stone bench, waiting, until Syl finally drifted into the room.
“This,” Kaladin said, looking at her, “is what comes of trusting lighteyes. Never again, Syl.”
“Kaladin . . .”
He closed his eyes, turning and lying down on the cold stone bench.
He was in a cage once again.
THE END OF
Part Three
Lift had never robbed a palace before. Seemed like a dangerous thing to try. Not because she might get caught, but because once you robbed a starvin’ palace, where did you go next?
She climbed up onto the outer wall and looked in at the grounds. Everything inside—trees, rocks, buildings—reflected the starlight in an odd way. A bulbous-looking building stuck up in the middle of it all, like a bubble on a pond. In fact, most of the buildings were that same round shape, often with