Navani had been smiling as Shallan approached, but now that levity was gone. She still had hope for her daughter, Shallan thought as the woman sat down in a nearby seat. I just crushed it.

“I thank you for bringing us this news,” Brightlord Dalinar said. “It is . . . good to have confirmation.”

It felt terrible. Not just to be reminded of the death, but to weigh others down with it as well. “I have information for you,” Shallan said, trying to be delicate. “About the things Jasnah was working on.”

“More about those parshmen?” Navani snapped. “Storms, that woman was too fascinated by them. Ever since she got it into her head that she was to blame for Gavilar’s death.”

What was this? That wasn’t a side of all this that Shallan had ever heard.

“Her research can wait,” Navani said, eyes fierce. “I want to know exactly what happened when you think you saw her die. Precisely as you remember it, girl. No details passed over.”

“Perhaps after the meeting . . .” Dalinar said, resting a hand on Navani’s shoulder. The touch was surprisingly tender. Was this not his brother’s wife? That look in his eyes; was that familial affection for his sister, or was it something more?

“No, Dalinar,” Navani said. “Now. I would hear it now.”

Shallan took a deep breath, preparing to begin, steeling herself against the emotions—and finding herself surprisingly in control. As she gathered her thoughts, she noticed a blond-haired young man watching her. That would likely be Adolin. He was handsome, as rumors indicated, and wore a blue uniform like his father. And yet Adolin’s was somehow more . . . stylish? Was that the right word? She liked how his somewhat unruly hair contrasted with the crisp uniform. It made him seem more real, less picturesque.

She turned back to Navani. “I woke in the middle of the night to shouting and the smell of smoke. I opened my door to unfamiliar men crowded around the doorway to Jasnah’s cabin, across the companionway from my own. They had her body on the floor, and . . . Brightness, I watched them stab her through the heart. I’m sorry.”

Navani tensed, head flinching, as if she’d been slapped.

Shallan continued. She tried to give Navani as much truth as she could, but obviously the things Shallan had done—weaving light, Soulcasting the ship—weren’t wise to share, at least for now. Instead, she indicated that she’d barricaded herself in her cabin, a lie she’d already prepared.

“I heard the men yelling up above as they were being executed, one by one,” Shallan said. “I realized that the only hope I could give them was a crisis for the brigands, so I used the torch I’d taken and set the ship on fire.”

“On fire?” Navani asked, horrified. “With my daughter unconscious?”

“Navani—” Dalinar said, squeezing her shoulder.

“You doomed her,” Navani said, locking eyes with Shallan. “Jasnah wouldn’t have been able to swim, like the others. She—”

“Navani,” Dalinar repeated, more firmly. “This child’s choice was a good one. You can hardly expect her to have taken on a band of men single-handed. And what she saw . . . Jasnah was not unconscious, Navani. It was too late to do anything for her at that point.”

The woman took a deep breath, obviously struggling to keep her emotions in check. “I . . . apologize,” she said to Shallan. “I am not myself at the moment, and I stray toward the irrational. Thank . . . thank you for bringing word to us.” She stood. “Excuse me.”

Dalinar nodded, letting her make a reasonably graceful exit. Shallan stepped back, hands clasped before herself, feeling impotent and strangely ashamed as she watched Navani leave. She hadn’t expected that to go particularly well. And it hadn’t.

She took the moment to check on Pattern, who was on her skirt, practically invisible. Even if he was noticed, he’d be thought an odd part of the fabric design—assuming, that was, he did as she’d ordered and didn’t move or speak.

“I assume your trip here was an ordeal,” Dalinar said, turning to Shallan. “Shipwrecked in the Frostlands?”

“Yes. Fortunately, I met with a caravan and traveled with them this way. We did encounter bandits, I regret to say, but were rescued by the timely arrival of some soldiers.”

“Soldiers?” Dalinar said, surprised. “From what banner?”

“They did not say,” Shallan replied. “I take it they were formerly of the Shattered Plains.”

“Deserters?”

“I have not asked for specifics, Brightlord,” Shallan said. “But I did promise them clemency for previous crimes, in recognition of their act of nobility. They saved dozens of lives. Everyone in the caravan I joined can vouch for the bravery of these men. I suspect they sought atonement and a chance to start over.”

“I will see that the king seals pardons for them,” Dalinar said. “Prepare a list for me. Hanging soldiers always feels like a waste.”

Shallan relaxed. One item dealt with.

“There is another matter of some delicacy we must discuss, Brightlord,” Shallan said. They both turned toward Adolin, loitering nearby. He smiled.

And he did have a very nice smile.

When Jasnah had first explained the causal to her, Shallan’s interest had been completely abstract. Marriage into a powerful Alethi house? Allies for her brothers? Legitimacy, and a way to continue working with Jasnah for the salvation of the world? These had seemed like wonderful things.

Looking at Adolin’s grin, however, she didn’t consider any of those advantages. Her pains of speaking of Jasnah didn’t fade completely, but she found it much easier to ignore them when looking at him. She found herself blushing.

This, she thought, could be dangerous.

Adolin stepped up to join them, the hum of conversation all around giving them some privacy within the crowd. He had found a cup of orange wine for her somewhere, which he held out. “Shallan Davar?” he asked.

“Um . . .” Was she? Oh, right. She took the wine. “Yes?”

“Adolin Kholin,” he said. “I am sorry to hear of your hardships. We will need to speak to the king of his sister. I can spare you that task, if I might go in your place.”

“Thank you,” Shallan said. “But I would prefer to see him myself.”

“Of course,” Adolin said. “As for our . . . involvement. It did make a lot more sense when you were Jasnah’s ward, didn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“Though, now that you’re here, perhaps we should go for a walk and just see how things feel.”

“I like to walk,” Shallan said. Stupid! Quick, say something witty. “Um. Your hair is nice.”

A part of her—the part trained by Tyn—groaned.

“My hair?” Adolin said, touching it.

“Yes,” Shallan said, trying to get her sluggish brain working again. “Blond hair isn’t often seen in Jah Keved.”

“Some people see it as a mark of my bloodline being impure.”

“Funny. They say the same about me because of my hair.” She smiled at him. That seemed the right move, since he smiled back. Her verbal recovery hadn’t been the deftest of her career, but she couldn’t be doing too poorly, so long as he was smiling.

Dalinar cleared his throat. Shallan blinked. She’d completely forgotten that the highprince was there.

“Adolin,” he said, “fetch me some wine.”

“Father?” Adolin turned to him. “Oh. All right, then.” He walked off. Ash’s eyes, that man was handsome. She turned to Dalinar who, well, wasn’t. Oh, he was distinguished, but his nose had been broken at some point, and his face was a tad unfortunate. The bruises didn’t help either.

In fact, he was downright intimidating.

“I would know more of you,” he said softly, “the precise status of your family, and why you are so eager to be involved with my son.”

“My family is destitute,” Shallan said. Frankness seemed the right approach with this man. “My father is dead, though the people to whom we owe money do not yet know it. I had not considered a union with Adolin until Jasnah suggested it, but I would seize it eagerly, if allowed. Marriage into your house would provide my family with a great deal of protection.”

She still didn’t know what to do about the Soulcaster her brothers owed. One step at a time.

Dalinar grunted. He wouldn’t have expected her to be so direct. “So you have nothing to offer,” he said.

“From what Jasnah said to me of your opinions,” Shallan said, “I did not assume that my monetary or political offerings would be your first consideration. If such a union was your goal, you’d have had Prince Adolin married off years ago.” She winced at her forwardness. “With all due respect, Brightlord.”

“No offense taken,” Dalinar said. “I like it when people are direct. Just because I want to let my son have a say in the matter doesn’t mean I don’t want him to marry well. A woman from a minor foreign house who professes her family is destitute and who brings nothing to the union?”

“I did not say I could offer nothing,” Shallan replied. “Brightlord, how many wards has Jasnah Kholin taken in the last ten years?”

“None that I know of,” he admitted.

“Do you know how many she has turned away?”

“I’ve an inkling.”

“Yet she took me. Might that not constitute an endorsement of what I can offer?”

Dalinar nodded slowly. “We will maintain the causal for now,” he said. “The reason I agreed to it in the first place still stands—I want Adolin to be seen as unavailable to those who would manipulate him for political gain. If you can somehow persuade me, Brightness Navani, and of course the lad himself, we can progress the causal to a full betrothal. In the meantime, I’ll give you a position among my lesser clerks. You can prove yourself there.”

The offer, though generous, felt like ropes tightening about her. The stipend of a lesser clerk would be enough to live on, but nothing to brag about. And she had no doubt that Dalinar would be watching her. Those eyes of his were scarily discerning. She wouldn’t be able to move without her actions being reported to him.

His charity would be her prison.

“That is generous of you, Brightlord,” she found herself saying, “but I actually have—”

“Dalinar!” one of the others in the room called. “Are we going to start this meeting again sometime today, or am I going to have to order in a proper dinner!”

Dalinar turned toward a plump, bearded man in traditional clothing—an open-fronted robe over a loose shirt and warrior’s skirt, called a takama. Highprince Sebarial, Shallan thought. Jasnah’s notes dismissed him as obnoxious and useless. She’d had kinder words even for Highprince Sadeas, whom she had noted was not to be trusted.