Yes, I look forward to ruling the humans.

—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days

Shallan sat by candlelight, writing quietly in her notebook. Adolin pulled his chair up beside her. “She looks better,” he said, “than she did when I saw her in the market. But I don’t know, Shallan.”

Shallan put down the pen, then took his hands, glancing to the side where—in their little chamber in Lasting Integrity—her first spren sat on a chair, Pattern standing beside her and humming. Had the limp fibers of her head pattern straightened?

In talking with Pattern, they’d decided upon an Alethi name for Shallan’s previous Cryptic. One that fit, best they could tell, with the meaning of her individual pattern.

“Testament does seem better, Adolin,” Shallan said. “Thank you for speaking with her.”

Maya sat on the floor, cross-legged, in a kind of warrior’s pose. She hadn’t recovered completely, but she was improved. And though she still didn’t say much, Shallan doubted many beings—human or spren—had ever spoken words quite so valuable as Maya had at the trial. One might say, by simple economics, that Maya was one of the best orators who ever existed. If you aren’t going to say much, then you might as well make what you do say mean something.

It gave them hope that whatever Shallan had done to Testament could also be repaired.

“I’ll try to explain everything Maya and I have done,” Adolin said as honorspren bells rang somewhere near. “But the truth is, I don’t think either of us know. And I’m not exactly an expert on all this.”

“Recent events considered? I think you’re the only expert.” Shallan reached up and cupped his face. “Thank you, Adolin.”

“For?”

“Being you. I’m sorry for the secrets.”

“You did tell me,” he said. “Eventually.” He nodded toward the knife with the gemstone, still unused, which rested beside her open notebook on one side of the table. The cube Mraize had sent rested on the other side. “The bells are ringing. Time?”

She removed her hand and situated herself at the desk. Adolin fell silent, waiting and watching as Shallan lifted the top of Mraize’s cube. With help from Kelek, they’d gotten it open without harming the thing inside: a spren in the shape of a glowing ball of light, a strange symbol at the center. No one here recognized the variety of spren, but Wit called it a seon.

“Are you well, Ala?” Shallan asked. It was said like A-lay.

“Yes,” the spren whispered.

“You can come out of the cube. You don’t need to live in there anymore.”

“I’m … supposed to stay. I’m not supposed to talk. To you. To anyone.”

Shallan glanced at Adolin. The odd spren resisted attempts to get it free. It acted … like an abused child.

Another in the list of Mraize’s crimes, Radiant thought.

Agreed, Shallan replied.

Radiant remained. They agreed that once they found the right path, she would eventually be absorbed as Veil had been. For now, Shallan’s wounds were still fresh. Practically bleeding. But what she’d done would finally let her begin to heal. And she knew why Pattern had always been so certain she would kill him. And why he’d acted like a newly bonded spren when she’d begun noticing him on the ship with Jasnah. The simple answer was the true one. He had been newly bonded.

And Shallan had not one Shardblade, but two.

She still had questions. Things about her past didn’t completely align yet, though her memory was no longer full of holes. There was much they didn’t understand. For example, she was certain that, during the years between killing Testament and finding Pattern, her powers had still functioned in some small ways.

Some of this, Kelek said, had to do with the nature of deadeyes. Before the Recreance, they had never existed. Kelek said he thought this was why Mraize was hunting him. Something to do with the fall of the singers, and the Knights Radiant, so long ago—and the imprisoning of a specific spren.

“Contact Mraize please, spren,” she whispered to the ball of light. “It is time.”

The ball floated into the air, and the next part took barely a moment. The globe of light shifted to make a version of his face speaking to her. “Little knife,” the face said in Mraize’s voice. “I trust the deed has been done?”

“I did it,” Shallan said. “It hurt so much. But she is gone.”

“Excellent. That … She, little knife?”

“Veil and I are one now, Mraize,” Shallan said, resting her hand on her notebook—which contained the fascinating things Kelek had told her about other worlds, other planets. Places he desperately wished to see.

Like the other Heralds, Kelek wasn’t entirely stable. He was unable to commit to ideas or plans. However, to one thing he had committed: He wanted off Roshar. He was convinced that Odium would soon take over the world completely and restart torturing all the Heralds. Kelek would do practically anything to escape that fate.

There was a long pause from Mraize. “Shallan,” he finally said, “we do not move against other Ghostbloods.”

“I’m not one of the Ghostbloods,” Shallan said. “None of us ever were, not fully. And now we are stepping away.”

“Don’t do this. Think of the cost.”

“My brothers? Is that what you’re referencing? You must know by now that they are no longer in the tower, Mraize. Pattern and Wit got them out before the occupation even occurred. Thank you for this seon, by the way. Wit says that unbound ones are difficult to come by—but they make for extremely handy communication across realms.”

“You will never have your answers, Shallan.”

“I have what I need, thank you very much,” she said as Adolin put a comforting hand on hers. “I’ve been speaking to Kelek, the Herald. He seems to think the reason you’re hunting him is because of an Unmade. Ba-Ado-Mishram? The one who Connected to the singers long ago, giving them forms of power? The one who, when trapped, stole the singers’ minds and made them into parshmen?

“Why do you want the gemstone that holds Ba-Ado-Mishram, Mraize? What are you intending to do with it? What power do the Ghostbloods seek with a thing that can bind the minds of an entire people?”

Mraize didn’t respond. The seon, imitating his face, hovered in place. Expressionless.

“I’ll be returning to the tower soon,” Shallan said. “Along with those honorspren who have decided—in light of recent revelations—to bond with humans. When I do, I expect to find you and yours gone. Perhaps if you cover yourself well, I won’t be able to track you down. Either way, I am going to find that gemstone before you do. And if you get in my way … well, it will be a fun hunt. Wouldn’t you say?”

“This will not end well for you, Shallan,” Mraize said. “You make an enemy of the most powerful organization in all the cosmere.”

“I think we can handle you.”

“Perhaps. Can you handle my master? Can you handle her master?”

“Thaidakar?” Shallan guessed.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of him?”

“The Lord of Scars, Wit calls him. Well, when you next meet this Lord of Scars, give him a message from me.”

“He comes here in avatar only,” Mraize said. “We are too far beneath his level to be worthy of more.”

“Then tell his avatar something for me. Tell him … we’re done with his meddling. His influence over my people is finished.” She hesitated, then sighed. Wit had asked nicely. “Also, Wit says to tell him, ‘Deal with your own stupid planet, you idiot. Don’t make me come over there and slap you around again.’”

“So it must be,” Mraize said. “Know that in doing this, you have moved against the Ghostbloods in the most offensive of ways. We are now at war, Shallan.”

“You’ve always been at war,” Shallan said. “I’ve finally picked a side. Goodbye, Mraize. End contact.”

The floating spren molded into a globe instead of Mraize’s face. Shallan sat back, trying not to feel overwhelmed.

“Whoever they are,” Adolin said, “we can handle them.”

Ever optimistic. Well, he had good reason. With the leaders of the honorspren in disgrace, and Lasting Integrity open again to all who would visit, he had accomplished his mission. He’d been correct all along, both about the honorspren and about Shallan herself.

Shallan reached forward and flipped to the next page in her notebook, where she’d done a drawing using Kelek’s descriptions. It showed a pattern of stars in the sky, and listed the many worlds among them.

Shallan had kept her head down too long. It was time to soar.

*   *   *

The listeners raised bows toward Venli as she walked up to their camp, alone, after insisting that the others stay back a few hundred feet.

She didn’t blame the listeners for turning weapons against her. They assumed she had come to finish the job she’d started. So she raised her hands and hummed to Peace, waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Finally, Thude himself emerged from behind their fortification of piled rocks. Storms, it was good to see him. By the counts they’d done from the air, almost all of them must have made it through the narrows and out this side. A thousand listener adults, along with many children.

Thude approached, wearing warform, but he stopped short of striking range. Venli continued to stand and hum, feeling a hundred bows focused on her. This eastern plain beyond the hills was a strange place—so open, and full of a surprising amount of grass.

“Storms. Venli?” Thude turned to dash back behind the fortifications.

She realized he must have just now seen her patterns. She was wearing a form he’d never known, so of course he hadn’t recognized her from a distance. “Thude!” she called out, taking in enough Stormlight to glow in the daylight. “Thude, please!”

He stopped, seeing her Light.

“Did my mother make it?” she asked to Longing. “Is she alive?”

“She is,” he called. “But her mind is gone.”

“I think I might have a way to heal her.”

“Traitor,” he shouted. “You think I believe you? You would have had us killed!”

“I understand,” she said softly to Consolation. “I deserve everything you can call me, and more. But I’m trying as I never did before. Please, listen to what I have to say.”

He wavered, then crossed the stone to meet her. “Do the others know where we are? Does the enemy know?”

“I’m not sure,” Venli said. “The humans found you. One Fused knew of you, but she is dead now. I don’t know who she told.”

“What is a Fused?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Venli said. “Our gods have returned, terrible as warned. I was largely responsible for this, even if Rlain says he’s certain they would have found their way back anyway.”

Thude perked up at Rlain’s name.

“We’re going to have to do something to protect ourselves,” Venli said. “Something to make everyone leave us alone.” She held out her hand, and a little spren in the shape of a comet flew up from the grass and started circling it. “She’s new to this realm and a little confused. But she’s seeking someone to bond and make into a Radiant. Like me and my friends.”

“You came to us last time with a spren who wanted a bond,” Thude said to Reprimand. “And what happened?”

“This will be different,” Venli said, alight with Stormlight. “I’ve changed. I promise you all the time you need to test my words. To decide without being pushed. For now, please let me see my mother.”

He hummed to Winds at last, a sign for her to follow, as he started walking back to camp. Venli attuned Joy.

“There are more of these spren that will make listeners into Radiants?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“How many?”

“Hundreds,” she said.

The Rhythm of Joy grew loud inside Venli as she entered the camp—though many who saw her hummed to Anxiety. She cared for only one sight. An old singer woman sitting by a tent made from woven reeds.

Venli’s heart leaped, and the rhythms sounded more pure. More vibrant. Jaxlim really was alive. Venli rushed forward, collapsing to her knees before Jaxlim, feeling as if she were again a child. In the good way.

“Mother?” she asked.

Jaxlim looked up at her. There was no recognition in the old listener’s eyes.

“Without her,” Thude said, stepping up beside Venli, “we’re losing the songs. Nobody else who knew them escaped.…”

“It’s all right,” Venli said, wiping her tears. “It’s going to be all right.” Timbre, within Venli, let out a glorious song.

Venli held out her hand, and the little lightspren inched into the air, then began spinning around Venli’s mother. The Reachers were searching for people who exemplified their Ideal: freedom. And the listeners were the perfect representation.

However, a Radiant bond required volition, and her mother couldn’t speak Ideals—though the Reachers indicated that the start of the bonding process didn’t require that. They also thought becoming Radiant would heal her mother, though they couldn’t say for certain. Mental wounds were difficult, they explained, and healing depended greatly on the individual.

Jaxlim could still want this, couldn’t she? She could still choose? “Listen, Mother,” Venli pled to Peace. “Hear me. Please.” Venli began singing the Song of Mornings. The first song she’d learned. Her mother’s favorite. As she sang, listeners gathered around, lowering their weapons. They started humming rhythms to match hers.

When she finished, Thude knelt beside her. The little spren had slipped into Jaxlim’s body to seek her gemheart, but no change had happened yet. Venli took out a Stormlight sphere, but her mother did not drink it in.

“It was beautiful,” Thude said. “It’s been too long since I heard one of the songs.”

“I will restore them to you,” Venli whispered, “if you’ll have me. I understand completely if you won’t—but I’ve brought other Radiants with me, my friends. Along with some of the enemy who have chosen to defect and become listeners.”

Thude hummed to Skepticism.

“Again, if you turn me aside, that is understandable,” Venli said. “But at least listen to my friends. You’re going to need allies to survive in this new world, a world of Surgebinders. We can’t go alone as we did before.”

“We’re not alone,” Thude said. “I think you’ll find that things have changed for us, as they have for you.”

Venli hummed to Consideration. Then she heard a scraping sound, like rock on rock. Or … claws on rock?

A shadow fell over Venli, and she started, staring up at a powerful long neck with a wicked arrowhead face on the end. A chasmfiend. Here. And no one was panicking.

Storms. “That’s…” she whispered. “That’s how you got out of the chasms that night, during the storm?”

Thude hummed Confidence.

Before she could demand answers, something else interrupted her. A voice.

“Venli? Venli, is that you?”

Venli looked down to see that her mother’s eyes had focused, seeing her.

Your Words, Venli, a distant femalen voice said in her mind, are now accepted.