wife started, looking toward him.
“Is all well?”
“I was merely thinking,” she said, seeming distant. “About the future. And what it is going to bring. For us.”
“It is going to bring Alethkar new highprinces,” Sadeas said. “Make a report of which among our sworn highlords would be appropriate to take the place of those who will fall on Dalinar’s trip.” He tossed the spyglass back to the messenger. “We do nothing until they’re dead. This will end, it appears, with Dalinar killed by the Parshendi after all. Aladar can go with him, and to Damnation with the lot of them.”
He turned his horse and continued the day’s ride, his back pointedly toward the Shattered Plains.
One danger in deploying such a potent weapon will be the potential encouragement of those exploring the Nahel bond. Care must be taken to avoid placing these subjects in situations of powerful stress unless you accept the consequences of their potential Investiture.
—From the Diagram, Floorboard 27: paragraph 6
Like a river suddenly undammed, the four armies flooded out onto the plateaus. Shallan watched from horseback, excited, anxious. Her little part of the convoy included Vathah and her soldiers, along with Marri, her lady’s maid. Gaz, notably, hadn’t arrived yet, and Vathah claimed to not know where he was. Perhaps she should have looked more into the nature of his debts. She’d been so busy with other things . . . storms, if the man vanished, how would she feel about that?
She would have to deal with that later. Today, she was part of something extremely important—a story that had begun with Gavilar and Dalinar’s first hunting expedition into the Unclaimed Hills years ago. Now came the final chapter, the mission that would unearth the truth and determine the future of the Shattered Plains, the Parshendi, and perhaps Alethkar itself.
Shallan kicked her horse forward, eager. The gelding started to walk, placid despite Shallan’s prodding.
Storming animal.
Adolin trotted up beside her on Sureblood. The beautiful animal was pure white—not dusty grey, like some horses she’d seen, but actually white. That Adolin should have the larger horse was patently unfair. She was shorter than he was, so she should be on the taller horse.
“You purposely gave me a slow one,” Shallan complained, “didn’t you?”
“Sure did.”
“I’d smack you. If I could reach you up there.”
He chuckled. “You said you don’t have a lot of experience riding, so I picked a horse that had a lot of experience being ridden. Trust me, you’ll be thankful.”
“I want to ride in a majestic charge as we begin our expedition!”
“And you can do so.”
“Slowly.”
“Technically, slow speeds can be very majestic.”
“Technically,” she said, “a man doesn’t need all of his toes. Shall we remove a few of yours and prove it?”
He laughed. “As long as you don’t hurt my face, I suppose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I like your face.”
He grinned, Shardplate helm hanging from his saddle so as to not mess up his hair. She waited for him to add a quip to hers, but he didn’t.
That was all right. She liked Adolin as he was. He was kind, noble, and genuine. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t brilliant or . . . or whatever else Kaladin was. She couldn’t even define it. So there.
Passionate, with an intense, smoldering resolve. A leashed anger that he used, because he had dominated it. And a certain tempting arrogance. Not the haughty pride of a highlord. Instead, the secure, stable sense of determination that whispered that no matter who you were—or what you did—you could not hurt him. Could not change him.
He was. Like the wind and rocks were.
Shallan completely missed what Adolin said next. She blushed. “What was that?”
“I said that Sebarial has a carriage. You might want to travel with him.”
“Because I’m too delicate for riding?” Shallan said. “Did you miss that I walked back through the chasms in the middle of a highstorm?”
“Um, no. But walking and riding are different. I mean, the soreness . . .”
“Soreness?” Shallan asked. “Why would I be sore? Doesn’t the horse do all of the work?”
Adolin looked at her, eyes widening.
“Um,” she said. “Dumb question?”
“You said you’d ridden before.”
“Ponies,” she said, “on my father’s estates. Around in circles . . . All right, from that expression, I’m led to believe I’m being an idiot. When I get sore, I’ll go ride with Sebarial.”
“Before you get sore,” Adolin said. “We’ll give it an hour.”
As annoyed as she was at this turn, she couldn’t deny his expertise. Jasnah had once defined a fool as a