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The winds welcomed Kaladin like a familiar friend as he rose into the sky above the Shattered Plains. He lashed himself a quarter lashing upward so that he rose slowly, taking in the beauty of the day. He watched as Syl zipped off to rise with a group of windspren that were spinning in circles above him. Storms it felt good to be out of the oppressive, warren like system of hallways and caverns that made up Urithiru. Shallan was always talking about different things would feel once they got the fabrials working, but for now it made Kaladin feel like he was living in a den. Out here, the plains stretching before him, the wind blowing his hair-- this felt like freedom.
He grinned as Syl came spinning back towards him, swirling up the length of his body and coming to hover in front of his face. He grinned at her.
“Oh, so we’re grinning now are we? What happened to the storm on your brow?”
“Maybe it’s the company,” Kaladin said.
“I am the most magnificent companion…” Syl followed Kaladin’s eyes below to where Shallan stood, looking skeptical. “Oooh,” she breathed. “Well, that explains things.”
“Dalinar asked that I practice lashing with Shallan, so that we can train before our journey to Thaylenah.”
“And I’m sure you just jumped on that opportunity…”
“Syl,” Kaladin growled, but she only giggled and danced away, free to chase her cousins the windspren across the endless expanse of sky. Kaladin shook his head and lashed himself downwards until he hovered only a foot or so off the ground, where Shallan stood, shielding her eyes from the bright sun, watching thoughtfully as he stood above her.
Although Kaladin had trouble admitting it, Syl was right. He was excited to practice with Shallan. He’d been in Alethkar for weeks and she’d been so busy now that Jasnah was back that he rarely caught more than a glimpse of her. What free time she did have was spent… ‘practicing’ with Adonlin. Kaladin shoved that thought away. This was his time, his domain. Adolin didn’t figure into it.
Shallan looked beautiful, even with her hair pulled back into a tight braid and wearing pants, both of which were more practical for flying.
“What are we waiting for bridgeboy?” she asked, one hand on her hip one still shading her eyes. A sudden gust of wind swirled around both of them, lifting stray strands of Shallan’s hair into a bright halo around her head. “I was lead to understand that you were master of the sky, not the master of broodily floating.” She held out her free hand, as if expecting he would reach out a hand and pick her up, but instead he lashed himself to the side and slid behind her, grasping both of her shoulders before rising into the sky with her. He felt her tense for a moment and then relax as they rose, twenty, fifty, a hundred feet, until the pattern of the broken plains spread before them, the stone below bright in the sun. She reached back and grabbed his arm suddenly. Was she scared? Maybe she was falling? But Shallan just used the leverage to turn herself around, so that they were face to face, rising in the air.
“Kaladin,” she whispered, her eyes bright, face alight with wonder.
She didn’t need to say anything else. He knew exactly what she was feeling. He reached out to touch Shallan’s shoulder and in a sudden burst he lashed them up and forward, launching them across the sky, adding one lashing and then another until they were soaring at an incredible rate. Shallan laughed, the sound of it washing over him like the sunlight. She pushed off against his chest until she was a few feet away from him. He saw her dipping and cupping her body until she started spiraling through the air, like a windspren. She had caught on so fast, with none of the initial awkwardness that most people felt the first time they left the ground. He lashed himself closer to her, touching her arm so that he could lash her up and they flew through the sky together. Kaladin couldn’t resist putting on speed, bursting through the clouds above them, turning to watch Shallan emerge, still laughing. He lashed himself downward and waited until she reached his level then grabbed her free hand and swung her into him. And kissed her.
Her mouth and nose were cold from the wind but as he drew her in she felt so warm and alive. He lashed them up and they fell towards the sun, bodies curved against the wind. He felt her arms around his neck, saw her hair floating free of its braid, bright against his dark curls. She pulled back, searching his eyes, and then leaned forward, touching his face with her safehand. She taken off her glove and he could feel the tips of her fingers trace from his brow and down his jaw. Her hand moved to his jacket, toying with the first button. The wind danced around them, spinning them in a lazy circle as Kaladin took her safehand in his. He felt her shudder as he pressed her hand to his chest then brushed it with his lips.
Kaladin sat up in bed, breathing hard, grateful for the solitude of his own quarters, even if the room he’d been given here in Urithiru didn’t have any windows to the outside. Damnation he thought falling backwards into bed. Damnation. Not this dream again.
At least Adolin hadn’t shown up this time, somehow also a Windrunner in the world of Kaladin’s mind, demanding an explanation in his cultured voice, pulling Shallan away, leaving Kaladin alone above the plains.
At least this time it had just been him and Shallan and the wind. Kaladin lay back in bed, waiting for the dream to fade, feeling the brush of invisible fingers on his cheek.
Shallan knew that her Lightweaving was supposed to be for fighting voidbringers and all the forces of Odium, made and unmade, but sometimes she just needed to cover a spill on her dress. She hadn’t been at the celebration for Ruthar's daughter's engagement for more than five minutes when someone bumped her from behind and she spilled a cup of wine on the front of her silk, deepening the purple silk of her havah to a bloody maroon. As she dabbed at the wine in frustration, Shallan saw Jasnah frowning at her from across the room, across Paloma’s shoulder. Shallan shuddered inwardly. Today was definitely an event she would have skipped before Jasnah’s reappearance, probably running off as Veil. Although Shallan was sure that Jasnah didn’t know about either of her identities, she didn’t want to take too many risks; she'd also been sure that Jasnah wouldn’t come back from the dead, and in that she had been proven utterly wrong.
It was never wise to assume too that you knew too many things about Jasnah Kholin. And it was probably wise to stay out of her way. Using a small amount of stormlight to cover the stain, Shallan hurriedly took a new cup of wine and moved across the long room with purpose. If she could look like she was talking to people and gathering information then maybe Jasnah would leave her alone.
As she walked, Shallan felt the piece of paper in her safehand pouch. Adolin had given her a poem this morning, one translated from Iriali, that he said his mother had loved. He could be so surprising and sweet. She thought about reading it now, but the thought of Jasnah's glare kept her moving. If she had to be here, the least she could do would be to get some useful information. Near the far end of the room stood a group of young women Shallan’s age. She recognized at least two in the group from Ruthar’s household, but there was also a woman from Aladar’s household, two scribes from Roion’s camp, and three other woman she didn’t recognize. It looked like an unusual group to be conversing so animatedly, so Shallan wandered over, drink in hand. As she got closer, Shallan recognized the woman from Aladar’s house. Reala, she thought her name was.
Slipping into the circle next to Reala, Shallan turned to the taller of the two women from Ruthar’s household, who was gesturing with her hands, one tucked in her safe pouch, the other holding a cup of wine.
“So then he says that he wants to go on a horseback ride, which I thought was going to be romantic, until I realize that he’s also doing it to review fortifications throughout the camps and he needs me to scribe for him! I almost might have forgiven him if he hadn’t finished our ride by stopping to apologize to another girl he had insulted the week before. That was enough for me.” The whole group laughed sympathetically. Reala seemed to notice Shallan for the first time and frowned.
“Shallan,” she whispered, tugging at Shallan to pull her out of the circle. “I mean, Brightness Radiant. I think this may not be the best place for you.” Shallan ignored her, leaning forward as the next woman one of the two from Roion’s camp, drew the attention of the others. She was shorter and plumper than the first speaker, her Alethi hair mixed with a few red strands,
“At least you figured it out early Mellena. It took me two months before I realized that he was secretly sending letters to another girl, in the same warcamp. I had even scribed some of them, thinking that they were for someone else. It makes my blood boil to think of those months I wasted with him. Storm those beautiful eyes.” Everyone in the circle nodded. Shallan heard Reala sigh, actually sigh. Who was this man that seemed to be the only common bond between these women? With the state of the world the way it was, Shallan had expected more politics or scheming, but instead these women seemed intent on airing grievances.
Another woman stepped forward, taking a deep drink from her glass. Her hair was piled high in intricate braids. She was one of the women that Shallan hadn’t recognized at first, but now she realized that she was one of Navani’s scribes.
“We’ve all been played for fools, more’s the pity. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to scribe out that dreadful Iriali poem for him for whichever woman he’s currently courting. And to think that it actually works on them, believing that he’s had it written out especially for them. He probably keeps a stack of copies in his rooms.”
“And it’s not just poems he’s offering,” the shorter woman from Ruthar’s household said in a whisper, the others bending to hear what she said. “Janala swears ten different ways that he took her swimming near the war camps during the Weeping last year and that they weren’t wearing…” she trailed off as Shallan pushed further into the circle, realization dawning in her eyes as she connected Shallan’s long red hair with the description of Adolin’s current betrothed. Shallan saw Reala cringe as she walked towards the woman who had been talking about Janala.
“I’m sorry,” Shallan said, looking the woman up and down. She sucked in stormlight, not enough to blaze, but enough to start glowing faintly, even in the afternoon light streaming in through the open windows. She felt the other women step backwards and saw one or two put safehands to their mouths. Shallan momentarily contemplated summoning Pattern but remembered that Jasnah was in the room and thought better of it.
“I was not aware that speaking such slander against High Prince Adolin Kholin was a common topic of conversation in polite society. But then I must be mistaken. Surely this is not polite society, but an impolite gathering of petty women. Before I came to the Shattered Plains I was under the impression that the court was dangerous. I had not thought to find the only danger would be the lack of intelligent conversation and propriety.” The woman in front of Shallan opened and closed her mouth a few times and then bobbed a small curtsey. The woman with the braids, Navani’s scribe, was not as easily cowed however, and stepped smoothly over to Shallan.
“Why if it isn’t Shallan Davar,” she said, as if Shallan had not just stormed into the middle of their conversation and insulted them. “A small daughter of a small house from a small kingdom, coming to the court of the most powerful country of the world. I believe you have underestimated your position here at court, young one.”
“And I believe that you have overestimated the amount of patience I have for slander.” The woman merely waved her hand and continued. “The truth cannot be slander. Adolin will grow tired of you as he did with all of us here in this circle. And as he did with her, and her, and her,” the woman said, pointing out women across the room. Like most Alethi, she had enough height on Shallan that looking down her nose at her seemed almost natural.
“I would suggest, Brightness Radiant,” the woman continued, “that you focus on what you know. Elsecalling, or whatever it is. You are simply another link in a long chain of Adolin Kholin’s conquests. Although, I must say you two are rather a good match. He can be such a child and at least you can provide him company his own age.”
Shallan had pushed out her hand to summon Pattern when she heard Jasnah call her across the room. She dropped her hand and looked carefully around the circle. “It seems,” she said, “that the king’s sister is summoning me. I would suggest that you change the topic of conversation.”
Attending to Jasnah only took a few minutes and Shallan was soon free, but she had lost the already small appetite she’d had for conversation today and then more. Shallan stepped carefully out of the room, nodding to those she passed, and smiling and pressing Ruthar’s daughter’s hand on her way out. As soon as she was in the corridor though she practically ran for her rooms, the strata on either side of the corridor a blur as she kept her head down. It was stupid to cry at something as small as this. She had known that Adolin had courted other women. Many other women. But the way they had talked about him! Storms, such derision.
And worse, now Shallan could feel the poem inside her safehand pouch which just an hour before had sent such a thrill through her. It had seemed such a romantic gesture, but now seemed so calculated. What other things had Adolin done for her that were simply part of his ‘routine’ with women? She crumpled it in her fingers, holding it so tightly that when she finally to her room and shredded it into a handful of pieces which she dropped into the small brazier in the corner of the room that she had bloody fingernail marks on her palm. She didn’t suck in stormlight to heal them either. She wanted them on her palm tonight when Adolin came to her room so that she could remember exactly how she felt at her moment of humiliation.
Shallan wouldn’t be there when Adolin’s knock came at the door later that night, but Radiant would. She didn’t mind confrontation; Radiant was cool, collected. She was the perfect choice to confront Adolin about the accusations the women had made. About the poem that he had given her. About all of the times she had seen his eyes straying. Storms, that man would watch any woman, light-eyed or dark, as long as she smiled at him. Shallan sat on her bed and let a few tears trickle down her face before standing and pacing, thinking about tonight.
Adolin felt the weariness leave his step as he walked the last few paces and knocked on Shallan’s door. He hoped she was still awake as the meeting had gone on longer than planned. He treasured these moments with Shallan at the end of the day. They were rarer, now that she was so busy being a Radiant.
“It’s me, Shallan,” he called, then blushed at the eagerness in his voice. Storms, he embarrassed himself sometimes. At least he’d sent his guards away before he made a fool of himself. And Shallan never seemed to look down on him, as some of his other love interests had. Shallan didn’t respond immediately, so he rested his head on the cool stone outside her door, tempted to push aside the blanket hanging in the door frame, but managing to resist. How long had they been courting now? Four months, or close to it. Adolin had only had one relationship that had gone on longer--he had courted Janala for slightly longer than four months last year before everything had collapsed around him, as it always seemed to.
He didn’t like thinking about it. He could still see Janala standing in the winehouse, looking down imperiously as he sat at the table looking up at her. She’d clearly been crying, and he knew that if Janala hated one thing, it was to ever appear as less than absolutely composed. “You are a little boy,” she had hissed. “You may be a man on the battlefield, but you treat women like toys, to be discarded when you are bored.” And she had walked away before Adolin could ask what he had done. He hated that--even when he ended things he wanted them to end on good terms, and Janala walking away like that had been a slap to his pride. At least today she had seemed to have forgotten the past. She’d seemed intrigued by his story about the battle of Narak.
While the four months with Janala had seemed like an eternity, his four months with Shallan had passed in a blur of happiness. Well, happiness punctuated with the occasional battle to stop the next Desolation, but that wasn’t Shallan’s fault. He was always hungry for more time with her, eager to listen to her research, to practice with her shardblade, to hold her in his arms. He’d never felt so optimistic about a relationship.
“Shallan?” he called again. She replied at last and he pushed aside the blanket. They needed to get her a real door, he thought. There were so many more...possibilities when there wasn’t only a thin cloth separating him and Shallan from the rest of the household .
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said as he entered the room. Shallan was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she was in the small room to the side that she used for her studies?
“I got stuck in that storming meeting for three hours.” He dropped the wrapped wine bottle on Shallan’s table and started loosening his cravat. “I know it’s important to work out a better system for prioritizing who gets to use the Oathgates, but that doesn't make it interesting.”
At last. Shallan stepped out from the backroom. Her hair was up in a bun on top of her head and she wore a glove on her safehand. She stood tall, like a soldier. He couldn’t quite read the expression on her face.
“It's good preparation for when you become high prince.” He’d been expecting a quip, but Shallan looked like she was in a somber mood tonight.
“Don't remind me,”Adolin moaned, shrugging out of his jacket and crossing to where stood, her arms folded across her chest. He wanted to run his hands down her body, from top to bottom. He wanted to kiss her until she glowed with satisfaction. He wanted to feel her body rise to meet his…
He thought of Dalinar, and the high princedom waiting for him, and he settled for taking her in his arms. “You look absolutely... radiant,” he said, grinning, wrapping Shallan in his arms. She stood stiffly, not moving to embrace him or unfold her arms. “I know that one wasn’t very good, but you know that I'm not very good at puns. Not even a pity laugh for me?”
She stayed silent, looking as if she was choosing her words carefully, looking over his shoulder into the distance. Or, well, around his shoulder. She was a lot shorter than the other women he had dated. It made him want to pick her up and spin her around more often than was absolutely necessary.
Adolin, cupped her cheek in his hand, raising her face to his. He finally recognized the expression on her face. Disappointment. He shut his eyes and took a breath. No! He thought. By all the Heralds, don’t let me fail at this. He’d had that thought before, too many times, but as he looked into Shallan’s blue eyes a new thought rose unbidden. Stormfather, don’t let me fail her.
He saw the grief in her face, sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, a pain that lay too deep for words. She’d never shared it, and he’d never asked, only put his arm around her, or moved a step closer. He knew that he didn’t have the right words to say, but he could be there for her. Her eyes reminded him of the way Renarin’s looked as they hid outside their mother’s room, listening to Dalinar shout and rage as she wept. He wouldn’t be the one to add more pain to the load that Shallan already bore.
“What did I do this time?” he asked, knowing as soon as the words came out of his mouth that they were the wrong ones. He was one of the ten fools.
“This time?” Shallan said sharply, pulling away from him.
“I didn’t mean it that way at all, Shallan. I’ve just never seen you so solemn, and I’m worried it was something I did.”
“How astute,” Shallan said. “Adolin, have you never thought that the only common thread in all of your failed relationships is you?” Her words were as bad a blow to the chest, taking his breath away.
“I know I’ve courted a lot of women, but Shallan, I’ve never courted someone like you. Storms, I’ve never known someone like you. You’re smart and beautiful and you even have pretty good form with your shardblade, for a beginner.” Shallan drew back her lips in a grimace and walked away from him. He’d just said what he felt--why was this going so wrong?
“What a neat little speech. Do you vary the last part, about the shardblade? I’m assuming you do as I’m the only woman you’ve ever courted who has one. At least that I know of.”
“What happened, Shallan? We were fine when I saw you this morning.” She closed her eyes. “Adolin, I know about the poem. You give it to all the girls you court, not just me. It made me wonder if what we have is even real.”
“Of course, it is,” he breathed out. Was that all? “I’m sorry, Shallan. I never want you to think that I’m going through the motions with you. I want this to work.”
“I do to, Adolin.” He could see that she was clenching and unclenching her safe hand in its pouch.
“What can I do to show you this will work?” he asked. Adolin thought that was maybe a question he should have asked more often. Shallan shook her head.
“I need time to think.” Adolin could respect that, no matter how much he ached to hold her, to comfort her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, for practice,” she said, walking to her door. Damnation. Adolin felt desperate, but he didn’t trust himself not to say anything else stupid, so he grabbed his jacket and crossed the room, kissing her lightly on the cheek on his way out. She turned her face away as he pushed the blanket aside.
Adolin walked quickly down the hallways of Urithiru, a flush rising past the edge of his collar. He was an idiot. A fool. He crossed several corridors and came to a staircase that lead to the level he shared with Dalinar’s household. The guards nodded as he passed.
If he loved her so much, why couldn’t he just say it? She wouldn’t believe me anyway. But at least I could have tried. He let out a growl of frustration and turned about, jogging back the way he had come, ignoring the looks of the guards. He shouldn’t have given up so easily.
“Shallan?” he called out as he arrived back at her door only a few minutes later. “Shallan?” There was no answer. “I’m so sorry, Shallan. I should never have left.” He pitched his voice low, willing it to carry to her. “You mean to much for me to let go. If you need space, I can give you that, but you have to know how much you mean to me. Storms, I’ve never been so happy. The only reason I’m not scared out of my mind about everything going on is that I know you’ll be there with me.” The room beyond was silent. Adolin lifted his hand and then pulled aside the curtain The room was empty and dark. Shallan must have taken her spheres.
But where had she gone?
Damnation. Everything was falling apart. Shallan. Sadeas. Becoming High Prince. The thoughts swirled in his mind as Adolin, overwhelmed and exhausted, trudged back to his rooms, all of his earlier excitement drained from him like a dun sphere.
He was almost to his room when he heard loud laughter down the hall from him. Some of the lighteyes in Dalinar’s camp were probably up late, drinking and playing games. If they’d wanted a rowdier time, they would have gone down to the main marketplace, but as it was the sounds of cheer coming a few rooms down only made Adolin feel worse. As he turned to push his door open, two women walked out of the room laughing, their color high, one in orange and one in brilliant crimson, her stylish havah buttoned down the side with small rubies and garnets.
“Prince Adolin,” the one in crimson called. It was Janala, her dark hair in immaculate braids, the flush on her face making her eyes seem to sparkle even more. “We just stepped out for some fresh air. But you must join us. We’ve got plenty of wine, but not enough of your company.”
Shallan. Sadeas. Becoming High Prince.
“I’d love to,” he said. His voice sounded faint and broken. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’d love to,” he said confidently, walking down the hall and taking Janala’s arm while holding the door for the other woman who passed on through to the room beyond.
Shallan. Sadeas. Enough. Janala pressed close and Adolin put his arm around her as he walked into the room. A distraction. That was what he needed.
Kaladin sat at an outdoor tavern, sipping on a mug of lavis beer and shaking his head at the scene before him. Well, outdoor wasn't quite correct. The roof of the main cavern of Urithiru stretched into the distance above him, stone some vanishing into obscurity. It felt like being outside, almost. Kaladin could tell that the wind in here had been cycled through before; the faint breeze touching his face tasted of long buried stone.
The tavern itself was simply a roped off space with boxes piled to make a bar, right next to the main thoroughfare. It gave Kaladin an excellent view of the Horneater musicians who had set up nearby, playing their strange pipes and drums. Kaladin thought the music sounded like sky eels shrieking, but Rock had jumped up, almost knocking over his beer when they had started playing.
And then the dancing had started. The musicians struck up a particularly screechy tune and Rock roared, throwing himself into the center of the audience gathered around the musicians and kicking his heels up. The musicians responded by playing even louder and the crowd started clapping as Rock spun and jumped, surprisingly agile. Kaladin recognized in his movements the grace of muscles accustomed to rough training. Well, Rock would tell Kaladin his tale when the time was right. On his second time around the circle, Rock grabbed Peet and Drehy, pulling them into the dance. They were all a couple beers into the night and the men stumbled and laughed as they tried to follow Rock’s steps. A few brave souls joined in and soon there was a large circle of men and women following Rock, laughing and dancing, attracting a few spren that Kaladin didn't recognize, like small green spirals that tumbled down among the dancers.
“We call them sharespren, where I'm from,” a voice said from behind him. A dark-eyed and dark haired woman dressed in a white coat and pants slid onto a stool next to him. “Don't know if that's what they call ‘em out here though. Always see them at parties, weddings, whenever everyone’s feeling connected.”
Kaladin grunted and took another sip. He’d come out tonight so that he didn't have to sit alone in his room, wondering what Shallan and Adolin were doing. He didn’t really feel like talking to this stranger, even if she was attractive, and sitting nearer to him than strictly necessary. He thought Syl might have encouraged him, but she was off somewhere, so he kept his eyes on the dancing.
“Not a talker?” The woman asked. “That's alright. Sometimes I think the world would be better off if we all talked less.”
Well, at least he could agree with that. Kaladin nodded and they drank together in silence. The woman put down her mug and pulled out a small wooden stick, that looked like it was carved out of dark heavy wood about the length of a handspan. She began to idly twist it through her fingers, twisting and flipping it over each of her fingers and knuckles in a mesmerizing pattern. She did it without looking, still watching the dancing. She looked a little older than him, Kaladin thought, but the look on her face was one he recognized all too well. Wearniess and stubbornness, a certain type of loneliness that came with responsibility. He didn't know this woman, had never met her, but there was something about her….
“I'm Kaladin,” he said at last, turning to look at her. She looked over his face and widened her eyes.
“I’m Veil. And you’re a dark-eyed captain. Now that's not something you see everyday. She raised her glass and toasted him. “I'll drink to that. You must be here to take a break from all that flying around. Or are you meeting up with someone? Bet women love that flying stuff.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” Kaladin mused, thinking. “Actually, mostly men say that. I’m starting to think that men are into flying, and women are… well, they’re whatever they’re into it’s not what I’m offering.”
“So you are offering?” Veil asked with a sly smile. Kaladin chuckled. “Not exactly.” “Then there is someone for you?” Kaladin stared at the small piece of wood and the woman’s clever fingers as she wove and spun it around her hands. Something tickled in the back of his mind. “Someone to take you home with them?”
“Sure,” said Kaladin, gesturing to Rock, who was taking a bow as the rest of the crowd clapped. “A very large Horneater and a couple of drunk soldiers. That’s who I spend my nights with.” The woman gave a small laugh and grinned at him. Her eyes lit up a for a moment and Kaladin realized what had been bothering him.
With the dancing at an end Rock clapped the musicians on their backs and dropped a few spheres in the basket at their feet. Peet and Drehy did the same before looking around and seeing Kaladin at the bar.
“I better go,” he said. “But thanks for the company, Brightness Radiant.” He nodded at the woman in white and headed back to his friends, who were breathless from dancing and laughing.
She was waiting for him in his rooms when he got back. They’d taken the long way home, roaming through the market, walking off some of the beer and buying a couple of chouta. There were stalls selling them everywhere now.
When Kaladin pushed open his door the light from the hallway showed Veil sitting on the hard wooden chair he kept by his bed. Closing the door behind him, Kaladin dropped some spheres in a bowl by the foot of his bed and nodded at her.
“Evening, Shallan,” he said, stretching and taking his coat off, crossing the room to hang it up. She glared at him. Well, he knew how to deal with that. He ignored her, pouring some water into a basin to wash his face, and then drying it with a towel. She didn’t say anything, even after he’d scrubbed his teeth and sat down on his bed.
“Last chance,” he said, pulling his boots off and lining them up on the floor. “I’d like to go to bed and I’ve been told it’s rude to undress in front of other people’s betrothed.”
Veil sighed and waved her hand. Kaladin saw a small puff of stormlight rise from her and then Shallan was sitting there, still in the white clothes, her red hair bright against the cloth. She was the most beautiful person he’d ever met. She looked like she wanted to murder him.
“How did you know, bridgeboy?” He didn't respond, just started unbuttoning his overshirt. “You’re life seems hard enough living with half a wit. I can’t imagine if you went deaf as well.”
“My name’s not bridgeboy. Not here, in my own room.”
“Fine. How did you know, Kaladin?” He didn’t respond. How could he tell her that he would know her anywhere, no matter how she changed herself? That there was something so essentially...Shallan about her that would shine through every disguise and trick, like the sun behind the clouds. He would always know her.
“I got lucky.”
“Is that...like a pickup line you use? Asking women who come drinking with you if they’re Knights Radiant in disguise? I knew you didn’t have a lot of luck with women, but I guess now I know why.”
“I didn’t assume anything,” he said through gritted teeth. “I knew it was you. I can’t explain it. I’m not sure why you’re sneaking around at night, but it’s not my business. I promise I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t think anyone would believe me anyways. It’s a good disguise.”
“Not good enough, obviously, if a bridgeboy can see through it.” She got up and started pacing his room. “Storms, I’ve worn this face in front of Jasnah Kholin and she didn’t bat an eye. Tell me what gave it away. This...Veil is important to me. I need to make sure she works.” He could hear the sincerity and the fear in her voice.
“She will. Like I said, it’s a good persona.”
“Good isn’t enough, Kaladin.” She turned, looking exasperated. “My life may or may not depend on this, so think hard, if you can.”
“No one will figure it out, Shallan, so can I go to bed now?” He counted silently in his head. “I have to be at that meeting with Dalinar in six hours.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“You won’t like my answer.”
“Knowledge is the most powerful thing we can have. It doesn’t matter if I ‘like’ it or not. That’s completely irrelevant.” Could she not leave well enough alone? Fine. Maybe if he told her it would make the dreams stop. Maybe he could stop watching around every corner for her. Maybe he could stop hurting every time he saw Adolin gather her in his arms.
“I knew because I love you Shallan.” He’d thought about telling her, had pictured this so differently. He’d pictured feeling happy, free. Instead he just felt tired.
“I’d know you anywhere,” he whispered, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see the rejection that he was sure would be on her face. What did he have to offer her, after all? Not a princedom, not a life of ease. Just his broken self. “It was your eyes,” he continued. “When you laughed. It breaks my heart every time, because it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I can’t have you.”
Shallan didn’t say anything, but Kaladin thought he heard a faint buzzing noise that he could have sworn sounded like “truth.” He heard her walk to the door and heard it open and shut. At least it was over. He opened his eyes and leaned over to cover the spheres by the foot of the bed so he could sleep, only to find Shallan still there. She was crying. Stormfather, but he had a way with women.
“I just wanted to see if anyone was outside,” she said.
He jumped up, suddenly sorry. “Shallan, please. I--”
“Did you mean it?” He looked at her and frowned.
“By every ideal I’ve sworn. Come chasmfiend and highstorm, I love you Shallan Davar.”
“Good,” she said softly, wiping a few tears from her face. And then she smiled. He’d been wrong. It was better than the sun through clouds. Her smile was like the wind, lifting him into the freedom of the skies, pulling him forward until his hands were in her hair and he was kissing her, so warm and so real in his arms. He pulled back after a moment, touching her face in disbelief, wiping her tears away.
“Kaladin,” she whispered. He kissed her again, hands on her waist under her coat, suddenly aware of how thin the fabric of her shirt was. Shallan was holding his face with both her hands and her lips were on his mouth, his ears, his neck. He pulled her onto the bed next to him and he pressed his hand down the buttons of her shirt. Kaladin heard her intake of breath and he grinned, pulling her closer, tasting the sweetness of her lips. And for a moment, Kaladin Stormblessed felt joy.