I have reached out to the others as you requested, and have received a variety of responses.

Over the last week, Adolin had tasked his soldiers with making the transfer to Shadesmar several times. He’d even sent the horses in and out to make certain they wouldn’t panic. So most everyone was ready for what they saw. Nevertheless, they all—Adolin included—fell silent, struck by the incredible sights.

The sky was black as midnight, only without stars. The sun seemed too distant, too frail, to properly light the place, though he wasn’t in darkness. He could easily see the small platform around them, which was the size of the control room. The sunlight illuminated the landscape, but strangely didn’t light the sky.

The control room hadn’t come with them. Instead, two enormous spren stood in the air nearby: the attendants of this gateway, thirty or forty feet tall, one marble white and the other onyx.

Adolin raised a hand toward them as he stepped across the platform. “Thank you, Ancient Ones!” he called.

“It is done as the Stormfather requires,” the marble one replied, voice booming. “Our parent, the Sibling, has died. We will obey him instead.”

Long ago, a mysterious spren named the Sibling had lived in Urithiru. It was now dead. Or sleeping. Or maybe that was the same thing. Spren answers about the Sibling contradicted one another. In any case, before dying, the Sibling had commanded these sentries to stop allowing people into Shadesmar.

Many of the gatekeepers maintained this rule. However, a few had listened to the Stormfather’s request. They said that in the absence of other Bondsmiths, Dalinar and the Stormfather were worthy of obedience—even in contradiction of ancient orders.

That was fortunate, for while Shallan could slip into Shadesmar using her powers, she couldn’t take anyone with her—and she couldn’t return on her own. Even Jasnah, whose powers supposedly allowed it, had trouble bringing herself back from Shadesmar.

This platform was one of ten set upon tall pillars here, rising in a pattern similar to the one the Oathgates made in front of Urithiru. Adolin could see the other sentries hanging above them.

Each pillar had a long spiraling ramp around it, leading down to the bead ocean far below. But the tower itself was far more majestic than any other sight. Adolin turned around, gazing up at the shimmering mountain of light and colors. The mother-of-pearl radiance didn’t exactly mimic the shape of the tower, but had a more crystalline feel to it. Except it wasn’t physical, but light. Radiant, resplendent, and brilliant.

The tower was the same color the sky turned in Shadesmar when a highstorm was passing over Roshar. And the place was positively swarming with emotion spren on this side. They soared through it in great swarms, taking a variety of shapes—most distant enough that Adolin saw them only as small bits of color, though he knew they had strange shapes here. More organic, more beastly. They flew, crawled, and climbed across and through the tower’s shimmering light, making it look like a hive. It wasn’t until coming here that Adolin had realized just how many spren the humans of Urithiru attracted.

Some of those could be dangerous on this side, but they’d been told the nature of the tower offered protection from that. Spren here were glutted on emotions, and were calmer.

Everyone took a few minutes to absorb the stunning vista—the mountain of iridescent colors, the sentinels, the spren, and the long drop to the ocean below. Adolin finally tore his eyes away to do a quick recount of their numbers, as the Radiants had been joined by their personal spren.

Pattern stood near Shallan; he was a tall figure in too-stiff robes with a changing symbol for a head. Adolin felt he could tell Pattern from the other Cryptics. There was a spring to Pattern’s step; he bounced when the other three Cryptics glided. Their symbols were also slightly … different.

Adolin cocked his head, trying to decide why he should think that, as the symbols were always changing, never repeating that he could see. Yet the speed at which they changed, and the general feel of each one, was distinct.

Zu—the closest Radiant to Adolin—leaped up and grabbed her tall spren in a hug. “Ha!” said the golden-haired Stoneward. “You’re a mountain on this side, Ua’pam!”

Her spren’s skin appeared as if it were made of cracked rock, and it was glowing from within as if molten. Otherwise, he had generally humanlike features. Ua’pam wore fur-lined clothing on this side, like one might expect from one who lived high in the mountains. Adolin wasn’t certain how all that worked. Did spren get cold?

Godeke was an Edgedancer, so his spren was a cultivationspren, a type Adolin had seen many times before: shaped roughly like a short woman, she was composed entirely of vines. Those vines wound tightly together into a face that had two crystals for eyes. Crystal hands, incredibly fine and delicate, emerged from the sleeves of her robe, and she had an aloof air as she looked around.

The last spren was the oddest to Adolin. She seemed to be made entirely from mist, all save for the face, which hovered on the front of the head in the shape of a porcelain mask. That mask had a kind of twinkling reflection to it, always catching the light—in fact, he could have sworn that from some perspectives it was made of translucent crystal. The spren seemed to be female, or at least had a feminine figure and voice.

This would be the spren of Arshqqam, the Truthwatcher. The spren wore a vest and trousers, both of which somehow floated and encapsulated the body made entirely of white fog. Her hands ended in gloves. Was it mist inside there, moving her fingers?

“Do you like staring at me, human?” she asked with a delicate voice that tinkled like cracking glass. The mask’s lips didn’t move when she spoke. “We mistspren can choose our forms, you know. We usually choose a shape like a person, but we don’t need to. You seem so fascinated. Do you think me pretty, or do you think me a monster?”

“I…” Adolin said.

“Answer not,” Zu’s peakspren—Ua’pam—said with a grinding voice. “You. Tease not.”

“I’m not teasing,” she replied. “Merely questioning. I like to know how minds think.”

“A worthy enough goal,” Adolin said, searching around again. All of the Radiant spren were there, but where was she?

Shallan caught his eyes and nodded toward the ramp down, so he hurried over, stopping at the top as he found a final spren sitting there waiting. She was another cultivationspren, with cordlike vines making up her face. But her vines were a dull brown and they pulled tighter—giving her features a sunken-in cast.

Maya still wore the same dull brown rags. However, he saw hints of what they’d once been. Not robes as Godeke’s spren wore. This had been a uniform.

Her most unnerving feature was her scratched-out eyes. It seemed as if someone had taken a knife to her face, except she hadn’t bled or been scarred by the cuts. She’d been erased. Ripped apart. Removed from existence. When she looked at Adolin, she seemed like a painting that had been vandalized.

She sat huddled on the ramp. She didn’t speak; she never did—except one time over a year ago when she’d told him her name. She was his Shardblade. And, he hoped, his friend.

“Mayalaran,” he said, holding out his hand toward her.

She regarded the hand, then cocked her head. As if it were some strange alien object for which she could determine no use. Adolin moved down the ramp and lightly took her hand, then put it into his. The coiled cords of her skin had a firm, smooth texture. Like a good hogshide hilt.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me introduce the others.”

He tugged on her hand and she followed, standing up and wordlessly joining him on the top of the platform.

“That’s Shallan,” Adolin said, pointing. “My wife. You remember her and Pattern, right? There’s Godeke—he was once an ardent. Arshqqam is our Truthwatcher; she used to take care of orphans. And Zu, she’s…” Adolin hesitated. “Zu, what did you used to do?”

“Make trouble, mostly,” the Iriali woman said. She pulled off her thick coat, letting out a deep sigh. Underneath she wore a tight wrap around her upper torso, a little like a warrior’s sarashi. She had bronze skin that seemed metallic to Adolin, and her hair wasn’t like his own blond—it was too golden. Though his mother had been from Rira, near Iri, the two peoples were distinct.

“Come on, Ua’pam!” she said. “Let’s see what’s at the bottom of this ramp!”

“Be careful,” the peakspren said as Zu put her coat over her shoulder and strolled to the side of the ramp.

“Well,” Adolin said to Maya, “that’s Zu. Those other six are Shallan’s Lightweavers and their spren. Here, meet my soldiers.…”

As he pulled Maya over to introduce her to Felt, the mistspren walked over beside him. “There is no use talking to a deadeye,” the creature said with unmoving lips. “Do you not understand this? What about you makes you wish to talk to something that cannot understand you?”

“She understands,” Adolin said.

“You think that she does. This is curious.”

Adolin ignored the odd spren, instead introducing Maya to his team. He’d told them to expect her, so they each bowed respectfully and didn’t stare at her strange eyes too much. Ledder even complimented her appearance as a Blade, saying he’d always admired her beauty.

Maya took it all with her characteristic mute solemnity. She didn’t cock her head; she simply stood by Adolin, looking at whoever was speaking.

She did understand. He’d felt her emotions through the sword; in fact, he felt like he’d always been able to sense her encouraging him.

Shallan came over and took him by the arm. “We should be moving on,” she said. “See if the ship has arrived.”

“Right, right,” he said. “Here, watch Maya a moment. I need to check on Gallant.”

He hurried over to the horse, and by the time he arrived he already knew to expect some bad news. Humans in the Physical Realm were represented here as lights like floating candle flames. A group of them gathered near the horse and were interacting with some shimmering, glowing blue colors.

To be certain, Adolin checked Gallant’s armor trunks. The Shardplate hadn’t made the trip. Adolin had hoped … well, it meant his armor wasn’t different from any of the others. It couldn’t be brought into Shadesmar. The lights on the other side were his armorers collecting the Plate, which would have dropped to the platform on the other side.

“Ah well,” he said, unhooking the now-empty armor trunks. “Let’s get these off you.”

Gallant blew out in a way that Adolin chose to interpret as sympathetic. Adolin redistributed the weight, then checked the weapons in Gallant’s sheaths—including the massive greatsword that had almost the bulk of a Shardblade.

They started walking toward the ramp, but Adolin paused, cocking his head. When Gallant moved, he trailed a faint shadow of light. It was almost imperceptible. When the horse shook his head from side to side, there was a distinct impression of an afterimage the shape of the head, but glowing.

“Didn’t expect you to be different here,” Adolin said to the horse.

Gallant blew out again. His version of a shrug. Then he nibbled at Adolin’s coat pocket.

Adolin chuckled and dug out the other fruit he’d hidden there—wrapped in a handkerchief, naturally. Wouldn’t do to stain his coat. He gave it to the horse with a pat on the neck. “Well, at least you won’t need to haul that Plate around.”

It made Adolin feel exposed. No Blade, no Plate, and the Radiants would be limited—for while they brought plenty of infused gemstones, they couldn’t renew them.

He called for the group to begin carefully making its way down the ramp. With the railing, it wasn’t too dangerous—but the walk was a long one. Urithiru was high in the mountains, and they needed to hike down to sea level. Strangely, Shallan told him they’d done measurements, and the path wasn’t nearly as long as it would be in the Physical Realm. Space wasn’t a one-to-one correlation in Shadesmar. Things seemed more compressed here, specifically in the vertical dimension. Isasik the mapmaker thought the place was incredible for reasons Adolin hadn’t been able to grasp, despite having it explained to him three times.

At any rate, the hike would take several hours. They started out, and Shallan joined him, watching Maya walk with Gallant ahead.

Adolin put his arm around his wife. “Do you think she was happy to see me? I hope she enjoys being around us. It has to be better than simply walking around on this side, haunting wherever I happen to be going.”

“I’m sure she’s happy,” Shallan said.

“You don’t … think I’m crazy, do you? To treat her as I do?”

“I find it endearing,” Shallan said.

“Even if you tease me about it?”

“That’s how you know.” She smiled and stopped him, then went up on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I like the outfit too. You chose well.”

“Thanks, I…” Adolin trailed off as someone else put their arm around him, then around Shallan. Adolin twisted his head to find Pattern standing behind them, giving both of them a hug. His clothing was stiff, like it was made out of glass, and his collar pressed uncomfortably against Adolin’s ear.

“Mmm…” Pattern said. “I like having arms. If Maya does not speak, and you want to hear someone speak, I am very good at talking. I can say words about many kinds of things.”

“Um, thanks?” Adolin said.

“You are welcome. Should we not walk? On our feet? The ones I now have again? I do like my feet. They are befittingly perambulatory.” He held up his leg, and showed bare feet beneath his robe. Curious. Adolin had always assumed they didn’t have feet. Pattern moved off, humming delightedly to himself.

*   *   *

An hour later, Adolin could still see Urithiru shimmering above. A bonfire of colors and light, though oddly it didn’t cast shadows. Many sources of light in Shadesmar didn’t. And those that did sometimes cast them in the wrong direction.

They ate field rations, continuing steadily downward in a spiral around the enormous pillar. Eventually he was able to pick out the ocean below. In Shadesmar, land and sea were reversed—so here, the continent was manifest as a vast ocean of beads. They’d find ground where rivers ran after highstorms or at the edges of the continent, where the oceans began in the real world.

All things in Roshar manifested in Shadesmar. Most objects became beads, while living people and animals became little flames of light like the ones he’d seen above. They passed some of those as they walked, hovering off in the distance. Adolin assumed those were the guards who watched over the complex of tunnels and caverns beneath Urithiru. Indeed, there were more lights than he’d expected; Aunt Navani must have gotten her wish to have the caverns better guarded.

Eventually those vanished above, and he was left with only the endless view of the ocean. It bent his mind to think about those beads. The souls of all the objects that made up the physical world. Churning and mixing together, forming waves and surging tides, each composed of small beads no wider than his index finger.

He passed the time trying to get to know the members of his team. Zu liked to run off ahead, her spren often advising caution—and as often ignored. Zu had worked as a guide in the Reshi Isles for years, after fleeing there to find a place where people wouldn’t, as she put it, “keep making rules about how I should live.” She’d been glad to come on the mission and get away from the tower, which she considered stuffy.

She admitted to some brief combat experience. Her spren didn’t speak much, and often in short sentences when he did, but Adolin liked the defensive implications of having a spren that was literally made of stone.

As she ran off again to scout ahead, Adolin fell into line beside Godeke. The Edgedancer kept staring at the sky, grinning like a child with a new sword. “The works of the Almighty are wondrous,” he said. “To think, this beauty was always here with us. Look, are those a new kind of spren?”

He pointed at some that drifted by in the air—they resembled chickens, with flapping wings and bulbous bodies.

“I think those are gloryspren,” Adolin said. “Emotion spren are like this world’s animals. They get pulled through to our side when they sense some kind of strong emotion, and we see them in distorted ways.”

“Amazing,” Godeke said. “Thank you for bringing me on this trip, Brightlord. Archinal has told me of this place at length, but I never thought I’d experience it. I will burn prayers of thanks tonight … if we have a fire, that is. I’m still not sure how all this works!”

“You … continue to follow the Almighty then?” Adolin asked. “Vorinism and all that? Despite finding out that the Heralds betrayed us?”

“The Heralds are not God, but His servants,” Godeke said. “Storms know, I’ve failed Him more than once myself.” He adopted a distant expression. “I don’t think we can blame them for eventually wearing out. Rather, I think about how remarkable it is that they worked for so long to keep us safe.”

“And the fact that they confirmed the death of the Almighty?”

“The death of Honor,” Godeke said. “One aspect of the Almighty.” He smiled. “It’s all right, Brightlord. I can understand someone questioning now, of all times. Remember though, the church taught that we are all aspects of the Almighty—that He lives in us. As He lived in the being called Honor, who was tasked with protecting men.

“The Almighty cannot die. People can die. Heralds can die. Even Honor could die. But Honor, people, and Heralds will all live again—transformed, Soulcast through His power.” Godeke glanced back at his packhorse, which his spren was riding. Stuffed into the saddlebags and peeking out were several books. “I’m still learning. We all are. The Book of Endless Pages cannot be filled … though your father made a very nice addition to the text.”

“You’re okay with a man writing then?” Adolin said, frowning.

“Your father is not simply a man, Adolin,” Godeke said.

“He—”

“Your father is a holy man. As I was, before taking up this new role.” Godeke shook his head. “All my life I lived with a deformity—and then in an instant I was transformed and healed. I became what I’d always seen myself as being. Your father has undergone a more vibrant transformation. He is as divine as any ardent.

“And … I must admit some of what he says makes sense. How can it be forbidden for a person to see the holy words of the Almighty, solely because that person is male? Makes me wonder whether we’ve misinterpreted all along. Whether we’ve been selfish, wanting to keep all this for ourselves.

“I don’t accept the conclusions your father came to—but I’m glad people are talking about the church rather than merely going about their lives, assuming the ardents will take care of everything. Many people only thought of religion when it was time for one of their Elevations.” He grinned as another group of gloryspren sailed past. “I cannot wait to write of this to the others of my devotary. When they hear what wonders the Almighty has created here…”

Adolin wasn’t certain it all made sense as Godeke explained, but at the same time it was nice to hear someone being so positive. He left Godeke to his excitement, and went to chat with Arshqqam, translated by her spren. She felt much as he had on his first time in Shadesmar. Overwhelmed.

“I used to think my life made sense,” the woman said through the spren. “I used to think I knew how it would end. I didn’t want to leave Tashikk. There my life was hard, but it was clear.”

“Why did you leave, then?”

She studied him with a piercing gaze, unwavering. “How could I stay? I still don’t know why I was chosen. A woman at the end of her life? But if a child could answer the call, then I certainly could find no excuse.”

The child she referenced was Lift—who had recruited this woman, along with several others, over the past year. The teen seemed to have a knack for locating others who were manifesting powers.

“What do you think of her?” Adolin asked. “Lift? She acts strange sometimes, even for a Radiant.”

Arshqqam grimaced, lips drawn to a distasteful line. “She is what I needed, though I knew it not. And I would not have you tell her of my fondness for her, please. She needs a firm hand.”

That was fondness?

“Stump,” Arshqqam said through her spren, seeming wistful. “That is what the children called me. A nickname. The only other person who ever gave me a term of endearment was my father. The children see me as a person, when so many others have trouble. So the Stump I am. A glorious title, to come from children.”

What an odd woman. But there was a calm solidity to her, and Adolin was glad to have her along. Once the conversation fell off, Adolin moved to walk with Shallan. They again went over the plans that Jasnah had drawn up for them. Working with the support of the collected monarchs, she’d left Adolin what seemed like an entire book’s worth of instructions. Fortunately, he felt he could execute them. He might not be able to grasp why the shape of Shadesmar was so fascinating to a mapmaker, but acting as a dignitary and an emissary? He’d been trained for this role since his youth.

The basic plan was to present the honorspren with gifts along with written requests to begin relations. Nothing too pushy. An essay written by Jasnah, another written by Dalinar with Queen Fen’s advisement, and a third from the Azish imperial court. Adolin was to request admittance to the honorspren fortress, stay a few days to get them used to the idea of talking to humans, then leave with a promise that they’d speak more in the future.

Some of the Windrunner spren thought this would be enough, but Syl—in a rare appearance when Kaladin wasn’t around—had come to him the day before.

“I worry that this isn’t going to work, Adolin,” she’d said. “I don’t think they’ll even let you in. They aren’t like honorspren used to be. They’re afraid and they’re angry. I’m glad you want to try, but … be prepared for disappointment. And don’t let them try to blame you for what Radiants did before.”

Ua’pam spotted the ship first. He waved to Adolin, then pointed over the side of the railing toward the rolling beads that were now only a hundred or so feet below. There, docked at the small patch of ground at the base of the pillar, was a flat ship. A barge. The front portion had a small raised deck, from which to steer its flying mandras.

There was no sign of cabins or a hold—far less luxurious than the vessels they’d taken the last time. Of course, he wouldn’t care to repeat much about that particular experience. He’d gladly take a barge if it meant a peaceful voyage instead.

“My cousin,” Ua’pam said, pointing to a figure on the barge waving a light. “Like him!”

“I’ll try.”

“You will!” Ua’pam said.

“Another peakspren?” Adolin asked, squinting.

“Yes!”

“We saw some of those on our last trip,” Adolin said. “They left us stranded at Celebrant.”

“Kasiden peakspren, from the east? They are fools! Forget them.”

“You have … different nationalities?”

“Obviously! Silly man. You will learn.” The creature clapped Adolin on the back with a firm strength. Though his stone hand was warm to the touch, it wasn’t hot like Adolin might have expected from the glowing light coming from the cracks.

They made the last few rotations around the column before—at long last—arriving at sea level. There was a little stone building built up against the pillar underneath the ramp here, though scouts sent into Shadesmar had reported it empty.

Adolin sent two men to search it anyway, then walked forward to meet Ua’pam’s cousin. He was bald, like other peakspren Adolin had met—though they tended to have more cracks on the head than on other parts of the body. He wore a hat not unlike the one Veil favored. He replaced that after bowing to them.

“Welcome, human prince!” he said with an affable voice. “You will present payment!”

Adolin held up a small bag of glowing spheres. “How long do you think it will take to get to the southern bank?”

“Two weeks, perhaps,” he said, waving for Adolin’s men to lead the horses onto the long barge, which was around forty feet wide and a hundred feet long. A few other peakspren worked on board, moving boxes to make room for the newcomers. “Easy sailing lately. Few ships. You will be happy and relaxed!”

“Few ships?”

“Fused to the east,” the peakspren captain said, pointing. “Strange things in Shinovar. Honorspren acting uppity. Nobody wants to travel.”

They’d tried to find a spren captain who would sail them straight to Lasting Integrity, the honorspren stronghold. Unfortunately, their options were limited—and all the spren they’d spoken to refused. They said that the honorspren didn’t like ships to sail too close.

Most agreed that the safest path for Adolin’s group was to sail almost directly south until they hit land. From there, they could caravan southwest—along the Tukari coastline in the real world—until they reached Lasting Integrity.

Adolin walked Gallant aboard, then set to unhooking the animal’s burdens. It wasn’t long before everyone was settled and looking happy to be done with the hike. He’d thought that going downhill the entire way would make it easy, but his calves ached and his knees hurt from the unnatural motion of stepping constantly on a slope.

He’d noticed some of the Radiants using Stormlight to keep their energy up, but he hadn’t complained. Though their Stormlight resources couldn’t be renewed, the smaller spheres would start running out even before the ocean trip was over. The real reserves—the ones they needed to preserve—were all larger gemstones that would keep their Light much longer.

Ua’pam joined his cousin in unhooking the ropes from the dock and helping the crew prepare the barge for sailing. This included harnessing up four very large mandras—long flying spren with several sets of filmy, undulating wings—that had been hovering about lazily on leashes.

As soon as the mandras were hooked to the vessel, it rose a little higher in the beads. With that they were off—Adolin’s soldiers making camp on the barge deck, where they began arranging boxes to form walls and using tarps to make a kind of shelter. The barge didn’t move quickly, but there was a relaxing rhythm to the way it rolled over the beads. The previous ships had cut through them with great crashes. Here the sound of the beads was more peaceful, a quiet clicking.

Adolin helped Shallan settle her things, including several trunks full of supplies—and she gracefully refrained from joking about how many more trunks Adolin had brought than her. It didn’t seem the boat would be moving quickly enough to require them to lash things down, so once her trunks were piled, he brushed his hands off—then paused, noticing his wife. She knelt in front of one of the trunks, which she’d opened to inspect. Her eyes were wide.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just some of my paints spilling. That’s going to be a mess to clean.” She shut the lid with a sigh, shaking her head as he offered to help. “No, I can do it.”

Well, Adolin didn’t want to rest while his men were working. So he walked over to Gallant, who deserved a brushing after carting Adolin’s things down that ramp.

He set to work, enjoying the familiar motions of the grooming. Gallant kept glancing at Adolin’s luggage, where he’d hidden some fruit.

“Not yet,” Adolin said.

The horse blew out in annoyance, then looked at Adolin’s brush.

“Yes,” Adolin replied. “I brought all three. You think I’d bring seven different swords but forget your brushes?”

The horse made a kind of clicking sound with his mouth, something Sureblood had never done. Adolin wasn’t certain how to interpret it. Mirth?

“I’ll give you the fruit,” Adolin promised, continuing to brush, “but only after…”

He trailed off as he noticed Maya standing nearby. He’d settled her near the others earlier, but she’d apparently decided not to stay there.

Adolin continued brushing. She watched for a time. Then she tentatively held out her palm. Adolin handed her the brush and she stared at it. She seemed so baffled that he figured he must have misunderstood what she wanted.

Then she started brushing the horse as he had. From the top down the side, with the same exact motion Adolin had used.

Adolin chuckled. “You have to brush more than one section, Maya, or he’ll get annoyed.”

He showed her, brushing along Gallant’s flank in the direction of the hair growth. Long, slow, careful strokes. She soon got the hang of it, and Adolin stepped back to get a drink. He found two of the peakspren sailors watching him.

“Your deadeye,” one said, scratching at his stone head with a sound of rock on rock. “I’ve never seen one trained so well.”

“She’s not trained,” Adolin said. “She wanted to help, so I showed her how.”

One sailor looked to the other, then shook his head. They said something in a language Adolin didn’t understand, but they seemed unnerved by Maya, giving her a wide berth as they continued about their duties.

Adolin sipped from his canteen, watching as the pillar retreated. He could barely make out the glow of the tower city far above, dwindling as they moved.

I’ll do my part, Father, Adolin thought. I’ll give them your letters, but I’ll do more. I’ll find a way to persuade them to help us. And I’ll do it my way.

The trick, of course, was to discover what his way was in the first place.

*   *   *

Shallan knelt before her trunk as everyone else unpacked and Adolin brushed his horse. She tried not to panic. She failed. So she settled for seeming like she wasn’t panicking.

While packing her things, she’d taken a Memory of Mraize’s communication cube, packed away in her trunk. With her uncanny abilities, she could picture it precisely where she’d placed it. She’d wanted to be extra careful, but she hadn’t thought the Memory would be relevant so quickly.

Because the cube had been moved. Not just shifted in among her things; it had been picked up and rotated. The face that had been up when she’d packed had a few faint scratches on it. That face was now to the side. An imperceptible difference; someone without her abilities would never have noticed.

Someone had moved the cube. Somehow, between packing and arriving on the barge, someone had rifled through her things and used the cube.

She could come to only one conclusion. The spy was indeed on this mission—and they were using this very device to report to Mraize.