What could Kaladin say? Storms.

“I appreciate your help when we were scavenging. I know it was difficult for you to see what we did down there sometimes.”

Shen waited, still squatting, listening. He regarded Kaladin with those impenetrable, solid black parshman eyes of his.

“I can’t start arming parshmen, Shen,” Kaladin said. “The lighteyes barely accept us as it is. If I gave you a spear, think of the storm it would cause.”

Shen nodded, face displaying no hint of his emotions. He stood up straight. “A slave I am, then.”

He withdrew.

Kaladin knocked his head back against the stone behind him, staring up at the sky. Storming man. He had a good life, for a parshman. Certainly more freedom than any other of his kind.

And were you satisfied with that? a voice inside him asked. Were you happy to be a well-treated slave? Or did you try to run, fight your way to freedom?

What a mess. He mulled over those thoughts, digging into his stew. He got two bites down before Natam—one of the men who’d been guarding at the palace—came stumbling into their camp, sweating, frantic, and red-cheeked from running.

“The king!” Natam said, puffing. “An assassin.”

Nightform predicting what will be,

The form of shadows, mind to foresee.

As the gods did leave, the nightform whispered.

A new storm will come, someday to break.

A new storm a new world to make.

A new storm a new path to take, the nightform listens.

—From the Listener Song of Secrets, 17th stanza

The king was fine.

One hand on the doorframe, Kaladin stood gasping from his run back to the palace. Inside, Elhokar, Dalinar, Navani, and both of Dalinar’s sons spoke together. Nobody was dead. Nobody was dead.

Stormfather, he thought, stepping into the room. For a moment, I felt like I did on the plateaus, watching my men charge the Parshendi. He hardly knew these people, but they were his duty. He hadn’t thought that his protectiveness could apply to lighteyes.

“Well, at least he ran here,” the king said, waving off the attentions of a woman who was trying to bandage a gash on his forehead. “You see, Idrin. This is what a good bodyguard looks like. I bet he wouldn’t have let this happen.”

The captain of the King’s Guard stood near the door, red-faced. He looked away, then stalked out into the hallway. Kaladin raised a hand to his head, bewildered. Comments like that one from the king were not going to help his men get along with Dalinar’s soldiers.

Inside the room, a mess of guards, servants, and members of Bridge Four stood around, looking confused or embarrassed. Natam was there—he’d been on duty with the King’s Guard—as was Moash.

“Moash,” Kaladin called. “You’re supposed to be back in the camp asleep.”

“So are you,” Moash said.

Kaladin grunted, trotting over, speaking more softly. “Were you here when it happened?”

“I’d just left,” Moash said. “Finishing my shift with the King’s Guard. I heard yelling, and came back as quickly as I could.” He nodded toward the open balcony door. “Come have a look.”

They walked out onto the balcony, which was a circular stone pathway that ran around the peak rooms of the palace—a terrace cut into the stone itself. From such a height, the balcony offered an unparalleled view overlooking the warcamps and the Plains beyond. Some members of the King’s Guard stood here, inspecting the balcony railing with sphere lamps. A section of the ironwork structure had twisted outward and hung precariously over the drop.

“From what we’ve figured,” Moash said, pointing, “the king came out here to think, as he likes to do.”

Kaladin nodded, walking with Moash. The stone floor beneath was still wet from highstorm rain. They reached the place where the railing was ripped, several guards making way for them. Kaladin looked down over the side. The drop was a good hundred feet onto the rocks below. Syl drifted through the air down there, making lazy glowing circles.

“Damnation, Kaladin!” Moash said, taking his arm. “Are you trying to make me panic?”

I wonder if I could survive that fall. . . . He’d dropped half that once before, filled with Stormlight, and had landed without trouble. He stepped back for Moash’s sake, though even before gaining his special abilities, heights had fascinated him. It felt liberating to be up so high. Just you and the air itself.

He knelt down, looking at the places where the footings of the iron railing had been mortared into holes in the stone. “The railing pulled free of its mountings?” he asked, poking his finger into a hole, then pulling it out with mortar dust on his fingers.

“Yeah,” Moash said, several of the men of the king’s guard nodding.

“Could just be a flaw in the design,” Kaladin said.

“Captain,” said one of the guardsmen. “I was here when it happened, watching him on the balcony. It fell right out. Barely a sound. I was standing here, looking out at the Plains and thinking to myself, and next I knew His Majesty was hanging right there, holding on for his life and cursing like a caravan worker.” The guard blushed. “Sir.”

Kaladin stood, inspecting the metalwork. So the king had leaned against this section of the railing, and it had bent forward—the mountings at the bottom giving way. It had almost come free completely, but fortunately one bar had held tight. The king had grabbed hold and clung to it long enough to be rescued.

This should never have been possible. The thing looked as if it had been constructed of wood and rope first, then Soulcast into iron. Shaking another section, he found it incredibly secure. Even a few footings giving out shouldn’t have let the whole thing fall off—the metal pieces would have had to come apart.

He moved to the right, inspecting some of those that had ripped free of one another. The two pieces of metal had been sheared at a joint. Smoothly, cleanly.

The doorway into the king’s chamber darkened as Dalinar Kholin stepped out onto the balcony. “In,” he said to Moash and the other guards. “Close the door. I’d like to speak to Captain Kaladin.”

They obeyed, though Moash went reluctantly. Dalinar walked up to Kaladin as the windows closed, giving them privacy. Despite his age, the highprince’s figure was an intimidating one, wide shouldered, built like a brick wall.

“Sir,” Kaladin said. “I should have—”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Dalinar said. “The king wasn’t under your care. Even if he was, I wouldn’t reprimand you—just as I won’t reprimand Idrin. I wouldn’t expect bodyguards to inspect architecture.”

“Yes, sir,” Kaladin said.

Dalinar knelt down to inspect the mountings. “You like to take responsibility for things, don’t you? A commendable attribute in an officer.” Dalinar rose and looked at the place where the rail had been cut. “What is your assessment?”

“Someone definitely chipped at the mortar,” Kaladin said, “and sabotaged the railing.”

Dalinar nodded. “I agree. This was a deliberate attempt on the king’s life.”

“However . . . sir . . .”

“Yes?”

“Whoever tried this is an idiot.”

Dalinar looked to him, raising an eyebrow in the lantern light.

“How could they know where the king would lean?” Kaladin said. “Or even that he would? This trap could easily have caught someone else, and then the would-be assassins would have exposed themselves for nothing. In fact, that is what happened. The king survived, and now we’re aware of them.”

“We’ve been expecting assassins,” Dalinar said. “And not just because of the incident with the king’s armor. Half the powerful men in this camp are probably contemplating some kind of assassination attempt, so an attempt on Elhokar’s life doesn’t tell us as much as you’d think. As to how they knew to catch him here, he has a favorite spot for standing, leaning against the rail and looking out over the Shattered Plains. Anyone who watches his patterns would have known where to apply their sabotage.”

“But sir,” Kaladin said, “it’s just so convoluted. If they have access to the king’s private chambers, then why not hide an assassin inside? Or use poison?”

“Poison is as unlikely to work as this was,” Dalinar said, waving toward the railing. “The king’s food and drink is tasted. As for a hidden assassin, one might run into guards.” He stood up. “But I agree that such methods would probably have had a greater chance at success. The fact that they didn’t try it that way tells us something. Assuming these are the same people who planted those flawed gemstones in the king’s armor, they prefer nonconfrontational methods. It’s not that they’re idiots, they’re . . .”

“They’re cowards,” Kaladin realized. “They want to make the assassination look like an accident. They’re timid. They may have waited this long so that suspicion would die down.”

“Yes,” Dalinar said, rising, looking troubled.

“This time, though, they made a big mistake.”

“How?”

Kaladin walked to the cut section he had inspected earlier and knelt down to rub the smooth section. “What cuts iron so cleanly?”

Dalinar leaned down, inspecting the cut, then took out a sphere for more light. He grunted. “It’s supposed to look like the joint came apart, I’d guess.”

“And does it?” Kaladin asked.

“No. That was a Shardblade.”

“Narrows down our suspects a tad, I’d think.”

Dalinar nodded. “Don’t tell anyone else. We’ll hide that we noticed the Shardblade cut, maybe gain an edge. It’s too late to pretend that we think this was an accident, but we don’t have to reveal everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The king is insisting that I put you in charge of guarding him,” Dalinar said. “We might have to move up our timetable for that.”

“I’m not ready,” Kaladin said. “My men are stretched thin with the duties they already have.”

“I know,” Dalinar said softly. He seemed hesitant. “This was done by someone on the inside, you realize.”

Kaladin felt cold.

“The king’s own chambers? That means a servant. Or one of his guards. Men in the King’s Guard might have had access to his armor, too.” Dalinar looked at Kaladin, face lit by the sphere in his hand. A strong face, with a nose that had once been broken. Blunt. Real. “I don’t know whom I can trust these days. Can I trust you, Kaladin Stormblessed?”

“Yes. I swear it.”

Dalinar nodded. “I’m going to relieve Idrin of this post and assign him to a command in my army. It will sate the king, but I’ll make certain Idrin knows he isn’t being punished. I suspect he’ll enjoy the new command more anyway.”