She giggled.

Storms, lighteyes were annoying. Particularly when they fawned over one another. Their conversation continued, and Kaladin found it blatantly obvious how badly this woman wanted a relationship with Adolin. Well, that wasn’t surprising. Lighteyes were always looking for chances to get ahead—or to stab one another in the back, if they were in that mood instead. His job wasn’t to figure out if this woman was an opportunist. Every lighteyes was an opportunist. He just had to find out if she was an opportunistic fortune hunter or an opportunistic assassin.

They continued talking, and Shallan circled the conversation back toward the day’s activity.

“Now, I’m not saying I mind another winehouse,” Shallan said. “But I do wonder if those are becoming a tad too obvious a choice.”

“I know,” Adolin replied. “But there’s storming little to do out here otherwise. No concerts, no art shows, no sculpture contests.”

Is that really what you people spend your time on? Kaladin wondered. Almighty save you if you don’t have sculpture contests to watch.

“There’s a menagerie,” Shallan said, eager. “In the Outer Market.”

“A menagerie,” Adolin said. “Isn’t that a little . . . low?”

“Oh, come on. We could look at all of the animals, and you could tell me which ones you’ve bravely slaughtered while hunting. It’ll be very diverting.” She hesitated, and Kaladin thought he saw something in her eyes. A flash of something deeper. Pain? Worry? “And I could use some distraction,” Shallan added more softly.

“I actually despise hunting,” Adolin said, as if he hadn’t noticed. “No real contest to it.” He looked to Shallan, who pasted on a smile and nodded eagerly. “Well, something different could be a pleasant change. All right, I’ll tell Wit to take us there instead. Hopefully he’ll do it, instead of driving us into a chasm to laugh at our screams of horror.”

Adolin turned to open the small sliding shutter up to the driver’s perch and gave the order. Kaladin watched Shallan, who sat back, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She had an ulterior motive for going to the menagerie. What was it?

Adolin turned back around and asked after her day. Kaladin listened with half an ear, studying Shallan, trying to pick out any knives hidden on her person. She blushed at something Adolin said, then laughed. Kaladin didn’t really like Adolin, but at least the prince was honest. He had his father’s earnest temperament, and had always been straight with Kaladin. Dismissive and spoiled, but straight.

This woman was different. Her movements were calculated. The way she laughed, the way she chose her words. She would giggle and blush, but her eyes were always discerning, always watching. She exemplified what made him sick about lighteyed culture.

You’re just in an irritable mood, part of him acknowledged. It happened sometimes, more often when the sky was cloudy. But did they have to act nauseatingly cheery?

He kept an eye on Shallan as the ride continued, and eventually decided he was being too suspicious of her. She wasn’t an immediate threat to Adolin. He found his mind drifting back toward the night in the chasms. Riding the winds, Light churning inside of him. Freedom.

No, not just freedom. Purpose.

You have a purpose, Kaladin thought, dragging his mind back to the present. Guard Adolin. This was an ideal job for a soldier, one others dreamed of. Great pay, his own squad to command, an important task. A dependable commander. It was perfect.

But those winds . . .

“Oh!” Shallan said, reaching for her satchel and digging into it. “I brought that account for you, Adolin.” She hesitated, glancing at Kaladin.

“You can trust him,” Adolin said, somewhat grudgingly. “He’s saved my life twice, and Father lets him guard us at even the most important meetings.”

Shallan took out several sheets of paper with notes on them in the scribble-like women’s script. “Eighteen years ago, Highprince Yenev was a force in Alethkar, one of the most powerful highprinces who opposed King Gavilar’s unification campaign. Yenev wasn’t defeated in battle. He was killed in a duel. By Sadeas.”

Adolin nodded, leaning forward, eager.

“Here is Brightness Ialai’s own account of events,” Shallan said. “‘Bringing down Yenev was an act of inspired simplicity. My husband spoke with Gavilar regarding the Right of Challenge and the King’s Boon, ancient traditions that many of the lighteyes knew, but ignored in modern circumstances.

“‘As traditions that shared a relationship to the historical crown, invoking them echoed our right of rule. The occasion was a gala of might and renown, and my husband first entered into a duel with another man.’”

“A what of might and renown?” Kaladin asked.

Both looked at him, as if surprised to hear him speak. Keep forgetting I’m here, do you? Kaladin thought. You prefer to ignore darkeyes.

“A gala of might and renown,” Adolin said. “It’s fancy speak for a tournament. They were common back then. Ways for the highprinces who happened to be at peace with one another to show off.”

“We need a way for Adolin to duel, or at least discredit, Sadeas,” Shallan explained. “While thinking about it, I remembered a reference to the Yenev duel in Jasnah’s biography of the old king.”

“All right . . .” Kaladin said, frowning.

“‘The purpose,’” Shallan continued, holding up her finger as she read further from the account, “‘of this preliminary duel was to conspicuously awe and impress the highprinces. Though we had plotted this earlier, the first man to be defeated did not know of his role in our ploy. Sadeas defeated him with calculated spectacle. He paused the fighting at several points and raised the stakes, first with money, then with lands.

“‘In the end, the victory was dramatic. With the crowd so engaged, King Gavilar stood and offered Sadeas a boon for having pleased him, after the ancient tradition. Sadeas’s reply was simple: ‘I will have no boon other than Yenev’s cowardly heart on the end of my sword, Your Majesty!’”

“You’re kidding,” Adolin said. “Blowhard Sadeas said it like that?”

“The event, along with his words, is recorded in several major histories,” Shallan said. “Sadeas then dueled Yenev, killed the man, and made an opening for an ally—Aladar—to take control of that princedom instead.”

Adolin nodded thoughtfully. “It could work, Shallan. I can try the same thing—make a spectacle of my fight with Relis and the other person he brings, wow the crowd, earn a 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—”