know if Malise was still alive, following her screaming and Father’s cold, angry ranting.
Shallan wanted to hide, to hunker down in her closet with blankets wrapped around her, eyes squeezed shut. The words in Jasnah Kholin’s book strengthened her, though in some ways it seemed laughable for Shallan to even be reading it. Highlady Kholin talked about the nobility of choice, as if every woman had such opportunity. The decision between being a mother or a scholar seemed a difficult decision in Jasnah’s estimation. That wasn’t a difficult choice at all! That seemed like a grand place to be! Either would be delightful when compared to a life of fear in a house seething with anger, depression, and hopelessness.
She imagined what Highlady Kholin must be, a capable woman who did not do as others insisted she must. A woman with power, authority. A woman who had the luxury of seeking her dreams.
What would that be like?
Shallan stood up. She walked to the door, then cracked it open. Though the evening had grown late, the two guards still stood at the other end of the hallway. Shallan’s heart thumped, and she cursed her timidity. Why couldn’t she be like women who acted, instead of being someone who hid in her room with a pillow around her head?
Shaking, she slipped from the room. She padded toward the soldiers, feeling their eyes on her. One raised his hand. She didn’t know the man’s name. Once, she’d known all of the guards’ names. Those men, whom she’d grown up with, had been replaced now.
“My father will need me,” she said, not stopping at the guard’s gesture. Though he was lighteyed, she did not need to obey him. She might spend most of every day in her rooms, but she was still of a much higher rank than he.
She walked by the men, trembling hands clenched tight. They let her go. When she passed her father’s door, she heard soft weeping inside. Malise still lived, thankfully.
She found Father in the feast hall, sitting alone with both firepits roaring, full of flames. He slumped at the high table, lit by harsh light, staring at the tabletop.
Shallan slipped into the kitchen before he noticed her, and mixed his favorite. Deep violet wine, spiced with cinnamon and warmed against the chill day. He looked up as she walked back into the feast hall. She set the cup before him, looking into his eyes. No darkness there today. Just him. That was very rare, these days.
“They won’t listen, Shallan,” he whispered. “Nobody will listen. I hate that I have to fight my own house. They should support me.” He took the drink. “Wikim just stares at the wall half the time. Jushu is worthless, and Balat fights me every step. Now Malise too.”
“I will speak to them,” Shallan said.
He drank the wine, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, that would be good. Balat is still out with those cursed axehound corpses. I’m glad they’re dead. That litter was full of runts. He didn’t need them anyway. . . .”
Shallan stepped into the chill air. The sun had set, but lanterns hung on the eaves of the manor house. She had rarely seen the gardens at night, and they took on a mysterious cast in the darkness. Vines looked like fingers reaching from the void, seeking something to grab and pull away into the night.
Balat lay on one of the benches. Shallan’s feet crunched on something as she stepped up to him. Claws from cremlings, pulled free of their bodies one after another, then tossed to the ground. She shivered.
“You should go,” she said to Balat.
He sat up. “What?”
“Father can no longer control himself,” Shallan said softly. “You need to leave, while you can. I want you to take Malise with you.”
Balat ran his hand through his mess of curly dark hair. “Malise? Father will never let her go. He’d hunt us down.”
“He’ll hunt you anyway,” Shallan said. “He hunts Helaran. Earlier today, he ordered one of his men to find our brother and assassinate him.”
“What!” Balat stood. “That bastard! I’ll . . . I . . .” He looked to Shallan in the darkness, face lit by starlight. Then he crumpled, sitting back down, holding his head in his hands. “I’m a coward, Shallan,” he whispered. “Oh, Stormfather, I’m a coward. I won’t face him. I can’t.”
“Go to Helaran,” Shallan said. “Could you find him, if you needed to?”
“He . . . Yes, he left me the name of a contact