To combine powers would change and distort who Odium is. So instead of absorbing others, he destroys them. Since we are all essentially infinite, he needs no more power. Destroying and Splintering the other Shards would leave Odium as the sole god, unchanged and uncorrupted by other influences.

“I like none of these proposals,” the Stump said, with her spren interpreting for her.

She leaned forward to warm her gnarled hands—out of habit most likely, as this manifested fire gave very little heat. It could be packed up and carried in your pocket. All you had to do was grab the bead. It was more like a painting of a fire that flickered and crackled like the real thing.

Veil sat with Shallan’s sketchbook open, her back to a large chunk of obsidian, pretending to draw as Adolin held counsel with the Radiants. So far, despite doing the worst job sketching, she hadn’t been able to coax Shallan out.

“None of them?” Adolin asked. He stood tall, wearing a black uniform embroidered with silver around the cuffs. The polished buttons perfectly matched the silver of the sheathed side sword he wore on his hip.

He was striking—brilliant, even, as he stood before the fire in a sharply tailored uniform. The fire was cold somehow, though it should have been warm. And he was warm somehow, when a stiff black uniform should have made him seem cold.

Arshqqam, though coming from a very different background, was not timid about speaking her mind to him. Veil liked the old Truthwatcher. Too many people refused to look past a person’s age. To them this woman—as exemplified by her nickname—would be defined by how old she was.

Veil saw more. The way Arshqqam kept her silver hair carefully braided. The engraved ring she wore on her right hand was her only jewelry, and it bore no valuable gemstone, just some milky white quartz. She argued with Adolin—one of the most powerful men in the world—as easily as she might have argued with a water bearer. There was so much to this woman, and yet they barely knew her.

Don’t you want to draw that, Shallan? Veil thought. Don’t you want to come out and do a better job than I am?

Instead, she felt a deep resentment from Shallan. For the things Veil had said to Adolin. The pain they threatened.

The pain of a past best left forgotten.

“Brightlord,” the Stump said to Adolin through her spren, “I understand why you are concerned. Dreaming-though-Awake has read the letters Dalinar and Jasnah sent, then told me the contents. If the honorspren are truly as antagonistic as they seem, then I doubt they will listen to these written pleas. Dreaming-though-Awake says that honorspren can be quite passionate, and would likely respond better to a personal plea.

“However, the arguments you’ve offered tonight aren’t strong enough. Claiming that unless they agree, you’re going to go to the inkspren? They know how badly we need Windrunners, and they undoubtedly know the inkspren are being even more difficult to recruit. Trying to play upon their guilty consciences to provoke them to help? I don’t think they do feel guilty. That’s the problem.”

“I agree,” Godeke said. The solemn Edgedancer clasped his hands before him, seated on an overturned rations box, his squared beard a reminder of his ardent past. “We can’t guilt them into agreeing, Brightlord. Nor can we win them over with threats. We must present our request: that we are in need, and we sincerely wish them to reconsider their lack of support.”

“Zu?” Adolin asked the final Radiant.

The golden-haired woman leaned back and shrugged. “I’m not one for politics. I’ll tell them they’re being storming stupid if they think they can ride this.”

“Your people are trying to ride it,” Godeke said.

“My people are storming stupid,” Zu said, shrugging again.

Behind them, the soldiers packed up camp. It was morning—though that didn’t mean much in Shadesmar—and they were now one day away from Lasting Integrity. It was late in the mission to still be uncertain, and Adolin’s worry was making Veil nervous. If their delegation got turned away, she’d have to find a way to sneak in and locate Restares alone.

Adolin looked down, seeming to wilt. He’d spent a good long time coming up with these plans, and Veil had helped him with some. Unfortunately, he hadn’t shown much confidence in the ideas, and the reactions of the others were further confirmation.

Radiant emerged as Veil searched for a way to bolster his confidence. Unfortunately, Radiant couldn’t think of anything useful—though she did spot someone else sitting by the campfire. “Beryl,” Radiant found herself saying. “What do you think?”

The stately woman was the only one of Shallan’s agents at the campfire meeting; the other two were preparing breakfast. She looked up sharply from where she’d been sitting behind the others.

“I … I really don’t know,” she said, glancing back at her feet and blushing as everyone turned toward her.

“You’re a knight,” Radiant said. “At least one in training. This is our mission as much as it is that of Highprince Adolin. You should have an opinion. Should we present the letters, or should we attempt something more dramatic?”

“It’s … so outside my realm of experience, Brightness. Please.”

It’s not her, Veil thought. It simply can’t be.

“I’ll work on these ideas some more,” Adolin said. “Beryl, thank you.”

“Highprince Adolin,” Arshqqam said. “There is something none of these proposals do properly that I think you should consider. How can you appeal to their honor? Are they not spren of this attribute? I suspect any success we have will relate to that.”

Adolin nodded slowly, and Radiant cocked her head. Jasnah’s proposal tried to do as the Stump said, but Shallan had sensed something off about the arguments.

Honor, Radiant thought. Yes. Jasnah thinks like a scholar, but not a soldier. There was something wrong about her lofty words and sweeping conclusions.

Honor. How to appeal to the honor of these spren?

Adolin dismissed everyone to get breakfast. He walked over to take another report from the soldier he had keeping watch over that strange band of Tukari humans, who continued keeping pace behind them.

Beryl stood up, wearing a flowing dress—not a traditional havah, but something of an older classical style that covered both her hands in voluminous sleeves. She walked up to Radiant, who still sat with her back to the rock.

Radiant quickly snapped closed the sketchbook; it wouldn’t do for someone to see how terrible Veil’s drawings were.

“Why did you ask me to come to this meeting, Brightness?” Beryl asked.

“You have to get used to playing a role in important events. I want you to gain experience with the politics of our current problem. Besides, you asked to come on this mission when Stargyle proved unavailable.”

“I wanted to see Shadesmar,” she said. “But Brightness, I’ve barely had time to get used to the idea of being a Lightweaver. I’m no politician.” She folded her arms, and suddenly looked cold as she glanced at the rest of the camp. “I don’t belong here, do I? I’m not ready.”

Radiant tapped the top of Shallan’s sketchpad with her pencil, trying to judge whether this woman was lying. But this was Veil’s area of expertise. She’d spent over a decade being a spy.

Be careful, Shallan thought. Remember that decade of experience is imagined.

True. It was hard to remember.

Yeah … Veil thought. My empty past … being nothing back then … unnerves me.

Radiant didn’t miss noting Shallan’s interjection. That was the most they’d gotten out of her in a few days.

“Beryl,” Radiant said, “I want you to practice being around important people. You don’t need to solve Adolin’s problems; you just need experience giving your opinion in a place where it’s safe for you to fail.”

“Yes, Brightness,” she said, relaxing visibly. “Thank you, Brightness.” She bowed and ducked away to go help with breakfast.

I am not the expert, Radiant thought. But I increasingly agree with Veil’s skepticism.

Shallan, lurking deep inside, started to budge. It would be painful to acknowledge that one of her friends, instead of Beryl, might actually be the spy. But it was better than insisting on believing the lie. No matter how expert they were at that particular trick.

Adolin walked over. Radiant tucked her sketchbook under her arm as she stood up, noting the frown on Adolin’s lips.

“The Tukari are still back there?” she guessed.

He nodded. “They turn away any messenger I send, but they’re obviously following us.”

“We could outrun them,” Radiant said. “It would involve putting the Stump and Maya on horseback, then pushing hard to reach the stronghold.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “I kind of need another day to come up with something.…” He handed her a small bar of crushed lavis held together with sugar.

A ration bar? She took it with a frown.

“I thought we’d take a walk,” he said. “While the others eat breakfast. It feels strange to say this, but I feel like we haven’t had any time together since the boat ride.”

Radiant nodded. Fine with her, though she gave way to Veil—who enjoyed conversation more. She tucked her sketchbook into her satchel and slung it over her arm. She wore her rugged travel clothing, with the darker coat and a nice solid pair of boots. Ones that fit her far better than the pair Shallan had stolen from Kaladin.

Adolin waved to his men, then pointed. They waved back, and he started out of camp with Veil following. They didn’t get far before a glowing figure approached, riding on something incredible.

Veil had grown accustomed to the wonders of this place. The way gloryspren would sail overhead in formations, or the way that their evening conversation last night had drawn a large joyspren—which manifested here as a spinning cyclone of color.

Every now and then though, something came along that shocked away even Veil’s deliberate cynicism. Notum’s grand white steed was almost a horse, though it was more graceful and supple, with long legs and a neck that bent in a way no physical spine could manage. It had large eyes but seemingly no mouth, and its hair waved in a phantom wind, like long glowing ribbons. Shallan thought she had never in her life seen something so graceful. She didn’t deserve to see something so divine. As if merely by gazing at it, she sullied it with the cares of a world that it should never touch.

Notum pulled up, controlling the grand spren with a simple bridle of twisted threads. “Human prince,” he said to Adolin, “it is here where I must turn another way. I am forbidden to approach Lasting Integrity. I’ll patrol along to the south, instead of continuing west.”

They’d invited the honorspren to join them, since his patrol had been going along the coast nearby. He’d refused every invitation.

“I wish you the best then, Notum,” Adolin said. “It was good to see you again. Thanks for your advice.”

“I would prefer you take that advice. I assume you have not reconsidered your imprudent quest?”

“I’ve reconsidered plenty,” Adolin said. “I’m still going to try it though.”

“As you wish,” Notum said, then saluted. “If I don’t see you after you’re turned away, give my best to the Ancient Daughter. It is … well that she is not trapped in the stronghold. It would not suit her.”

The honorspren turned to go.

“Notum,” Adolin called. “That spren you ride. It’s strikingly similar to a horse.”

“Is that odd?” he asked.

“Most spren appear nothing like creatures from our world.”

Notum smiled, a rare expression on the spren’s face, then gestured to himself. “Do we not?”

“The humanoid ones, yes,” Adolin said. “I’ve never seen one in the shape of a horse.”

“Not all spren were imagined by men, Adolin Kholin,” Notum called to him. “Farewell.”

As he turned and rode his graceful animal away, Shallan nearly emerged to sketch the thing.

“Storms,” Adolin said. “He’s so cold, and he’s one of the spren who seem to like us. I’m not feeling good about this entire mission.”

“Maybe I can sneak in,” Veil said. “If they do turn us away.”

“What would that accomplish?” Adolin asked.

“I could see if all the honorspren feel the same way, perhaps. Or if there are a few tyrants in charge who refuse to listen to reason.”

“That doesn’t feel like the way spren work, Veil. I have a terrible feeling this is going to go all wrong. And I’ll have come all this way, only to need to slink back to Father and tell him I failed. Again.”

“Through no fault of your own, Adolin.”

“Father talks about the importance of the journey, Veil, but he’s always been equally focused on results. He’s always able to get them himself, so it baffles him why everyone else always seems so incompetent.”

Adolin had an unrealistic view of Dalinar. The Blackthorn had an enviable reputation, yes, but he’d clearly suffered his own failures—not the least of which had been letting his brother be assassinated. He’d certainly done less to help in that attack than Adolin had in trying to get Elhokar out of Kholinar as it fell.

Arguing was, of course, useless. Adolin should know his father’s failings better than anyone. He wasn’t going to suddenly recognize them because Veil said something now.

“Any luck getting Shallan to come out?” he asked her.

“I got a thought from her a little earlier,” Veil said. “But other than that … no. I even did a sketch of you. A terrible one, I’ll note. I particularly liked the buck teeth.”

Adolin grunted. And together they continued their walk. He led the way through a hollow in the obsidian, where the strange rock mimicked a rolling wave. The constant sound of clacking beads became a quiet hum as they moved farther from the shore, and Shallan stirred again. The landscape here was so interesting.

Plants grew like frost here, coating much of the obsidian—and they crackled wherever she and Adolin stepped, breaking and tinkling to dust. Larger plants grew like cones, with spirals of color in their translucent skin, as if crafted by a master glassblower. She touched one, expecting it to be fragile like many other Shadesmar plants, but it was sturdy and thick.

Tiny spren watched them from beneath the leaves of small clumping trees. Jagged lightning branches made of something that wasn’t quite glass—for it was too rough to the touch—sprouted silvery leaves that felt metallic and cold. The spren hopped from one branch to another, little more than shadows of swirling smoke with large eyes.

And they move a little like smoke too, Shallan thought. Curling in the vectors of heat above a fire, alive like the soul of a flame long extinguished remembering its former light …

Veil normally reviled such poetic nonsense, but sometimes she could see the world as Shallan did. And it became a brighter place. As they passed a larger stand of the trees, Adolin reached down to take her hand and help her up onto a ridge. Touching her freehand to his skin made something spark.

His touch is a flame never extinguished. Bright and alive, and the only smoke is in his eyes …

They walked along the ridge, and she could pick out the camp below, where the others were packing up their things. Was anyone lingering near her trunk?

Thinking of that almost pushed Shallan away to hide again. Veil, however, had a thought. They needed to leave the device unguarded in a non-suspicious way, then catch who used it. Out here in the caravan, rather than cooped up on the barge, she should be able to make the opportunity extremely appealing. She could perhaps pretend to get drunk. As she had the evening before the last time she knew for certain the spy had moved the device.

“I saw you in there, Shallan,” Adolin said, gripping her hand as they stood on the ridge. “Just now. I’m sure of it.”

Veil glanced away. Feeling like she was intruding.

He squeezed her hand. “I know it’s still you, Shallan. That they’re all you. I’m worried though. We’re worried. Veil says you feel like you need to hide from me. But you don’t. I won’t leave, no matter what you’ve done.”

“Shallan is weak,” Shallan whispered. “She needs Veil to protect her.”

“Was Shallan too weak to save her brothers?” Adolin asked. “To protect her family against her own parents?”

She squeezed her eyes closed.

He pulled her closer. “I don’t know the perfect words, Shallan. I just want you to know that I’m here, and I’m trying.” Then he gestured, leading her farther along the ridge.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “This isn’t some casual stroll, is it?”

“Ua’pam has walked this caravan route before,” Adolin replied. “He mentioned the view up along here is gorgeous.”

Veil narrowed her eyes, but really, was she going to be suspicious of Adolin? She forced her attention back to the spy problem as she followed him, but storms, he was right. The view up here was breathtaking. The endless sea of beads reflected distant sunlight from a million different spheres. They caught the light, and for a moment she thought the entire ocean had caught fire.

Her hand twitched on the strap of her satchel, to reach for her sketchbook, but she remained firm and left it alone. Instead she walked with Adolin to the end of the ridge where the obsidian rose in a low spire, overgrown with a type of delicate plant. Flowering blooms that looked almost fungal, though they glowed with their own inner light, red like molten rock.

I should sketch those.…

Then, overhead, the strange Shadesmar clouds began to churn. She gasped as something emerged from them high above: an incredible beast with an ashen carapace and a long neck. It resembled a greatshell, faintly echoing the sinuous look of a chasmfiend, but flew somehow on enormous insect wings—seven sets of them. It trailed clouds behind it, emerging as if from a shroud of dust. Others clung to its chin, giving it a beard made of clouds.

She stared as it passed directly overhead, and she noticed sparkling lights along its wings and legs. They glowed beneath its skin or shell—like they were points on a constellation, marking its joints and outline.

“Ash’s brush of endless paint…” Shallan said. “Adolin, it’s a starspren. That’s a starspren!”

He grinned, taking in its majesty.

“Holy halls!” Shallan said, scrambling to get out her sketchbook. “I have to draw it. Hold this.” She handed him her satchel and pulled out the sketchbook and charcoal. She could take a Memory—she took several as it passed—but she wanted to capture the moment, the grace, the majesty.

“You knew,” she said, sitting to better brace the sketchbook.

“Ua’pam told me,” Adolin said. “There are certain places where you can see them emerge. From other angles they’re invisible. This place is … a little weird.”

“A little? Adolin dear, I’m a little weird. This place is downright bizarre.”

“Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Shallan grinned, getting down some sweeping lines of the thing as it landed on a different section of clouds above. A few creationspren peeked out of her satchel, little swirling bits of color. When had those hidden in there?

Storms … she felt as if she could see the starspren’s every detail, though it was distant. As it reclined on the cloud, it leaned over—as if looking straight at her. Then it threw its head back, arching its neck, and held the position.

“Storms!” she said. “It’s posing. Vainglorious spren monster. Here, hand me that smaller charcoal pencil. I need to do some detail.”

He handed it to her, then settled on the ground beside her. “It’s good to see you drawing.”

“You knew what this would do to me,” she said. “You deliberately put me in a position where I’d have to start sketching. And here I was thinking how ingenuous you are.”

“I only wanted to see you enjoy yourself,” he said. “You’ve been so serious these last few weeks.”

She sketched by instinct, absorbing the sight and bleeding it out on the paper. It wasn’t a completely automatic process, but it did leave her mind free.

What she found, with barely any effort, left her feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just … I’m dealing with some difficult things.”

He nodded and didn’t push her. Wonderful man.

“Veil is really coming around to you lately,” she noted. “And Radiant always liked you.”

“That’s great,” he said. “I still worry you’ve been … odd these last few weeks. And uncommonly unlike yourself.”

“Veil is part of my self, Adolin. So is Radiant. We have a balance.”

“Are you sure that’s the right word?”

She didn’t particularly want to argue. She’d been Veil more lately because there was more for Veil to do. In Urithiru, she was Shallan or Radiant a much larger portion of the time.

Nevertheless, it was good to … let go. Maybe she ought to break out the last of the wine and force some relaxation into their stomach. The way Adolin had been pacing so much, he could probably use a nice diverting evening in her arms.

“I feel like he’s watching me,” Adolin said, gazing up at the majestic starspren.

“That’s because it is,” Shallan said. “Spren notice when they’re being watched. Recent scholarly reports indicate spren will change based on direct individual perception. Like, you can be in another room and think about the spren, and it will respond.”

“Now that’s bizarre,” Adolin said.

“And somehow normal at the same time,” Shallan said.

“Like you?” Adolin said.

She glanced at him and caught a grin on his face, then found herself smiling in return. “Like every person, I think. We’re all strangely normal. Or normally strange.”

“Not my father.”

“Oh, especially your father. Do you think it’s normal for a person to look as if their parentage involved an anvil and an uncommonly stern stormcloud?”

“So … what are you saying about me?”

“That you take after your mother, obviously.” She drew a bold stroke, finishing off her sketch. She sprayed lacquer on it, then set it aside and started another one immediately. This was not a one-sketch experience.

As soon as she put charcoal to paper, however, she found herself drawing Adolin as he stared up at the sky.

“How in the world,” she said, “did I get lucky enough to grab you, Adolin Kholin? Someone should have snatched you up years ago.”

He grinned. “They tried. I ruined it quite spectacularly each time.”

“At least your first crush didn’t try to kill you.”

“I recall you saying he tried to avoid killing you, but failed. Something about jam.”

“Mmm…” she said. “I’m sick enough of rations, I’d probably eat some jam on Thaylen bread even if it was poisoned.”

“My first crush didn’t try to kill me,” Adolin said, “but I probably could have died of embarrassment from the interaction.”

She leaned forward immediately, opening her eyes wide. “Oooh…”

He glanced at her, then blushed. “Storms. I really shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Can’t stop now,” she said, poking him in the side with her foot. “Go on. Talk.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Tough.” She poked him again. “I can keep going. I’m a storming Knight Radiant. I have legendary endurance for annoying people. If I have to use up every last gemstone on this fight, I’ll—”

“Ow,” he said. “Look, it’s not even that good a story. There was this girl, Idani, a cousin to the Khal boys. She was … uncommonly well put together for a fourteen-year-old. She was a bit older than I was, and let’s just say she understood the world better than I did.”

Shallan cocked her head. “What?”

“Well, she kept talking about how she loved swords. And how I was supposed to have a great sword. And how she wanted to see me wield my sword. And…”

“And what?”

“I bought her a sword,” he said, shrugging. “As a gift.”

“Oh Adolin.”

“I was fourteen!” he said. “What fourteen-year-old understands innuendo? I thought she actually wanted a sword!”

“What is a girl going to do with a sword? A real one, mind you. This conversation could quickly get off track.…”

“I don’t know!” he said. “I figured she thought they were nifty. Who doesn’t think they’re nifty?” He rubbed his side, where Shallan had been poking him. “It was a really nifty sword, too. Classic antique ulius, the style used in lighteyed challenges of honor during the Sunmaker’s reign. Had a little nick in it from the Velinar/Gulastis duel.”

“I assume you told poor Idani about all this, at length?”

“I went on for like an hour,” Adolin admitted. “She finally grew bored and drifted off. Didn’t even take her storming gift.” He glanced at Shallan, then grinned. “I got to keep the sword though. Still have it.”

“Did you ever figure it out? What she was saying?”

“Eventually,” he said. “But by then … things had changed.”

She cocked her head, pausing in her sketch.

“I overheard her making fun of Renarin to her friends,” Adolin said. “She said some … nasty things. That ruined something in me. She was gorgeous, Shallan. At the time, my little mind figured she must be the most divine thing that ever walked the land.

“Then I heard her saying those things. I don’t think I’d ever realized, until that moment, that a person could be beautiful and ugly at the same time. When you’re a teenage boy, you want the beautiful people to be truly beautiful. It’s hard to see otherwise, stupid as it sounds. I guess I owe her for that.”

“It’s a lesson a lot of people never learn, Adolin.”

“I suppose. Thing is, there’s more to it. She was newly moved into the city, and was desperate to find a place. So her joking about Renarin was crass, yes, but she was trying so hard to find acceptance. I don’t see an evil child in her now. The others were unkind to Renarin, and she figured she could bond by doing likewise.”

“Doesn’t excuse that kind of behavior.”

“You used to think he was weird too,” Adolin noted.

“Maybe,” Shallan said, as it was uncomfortably true. “But I came around, and I never gossiped about him. It merely took you showing me that while he was weird, it was the good kind. As an expert on weird, I’m uniquely qualified to know.” She returned to her sketch of Adolin, focusing on his eyes. There was so much in his eyes.

“I don’t excuse the things Idani said,” Adolin said. “I simply feel it’s important to recognize that she might have had reasons. We all have reasons why we fail to live up to what we should be.…”

Shallan froze, pencil hovering above the sketchbook page. So. That was what he was about. “You don’t have to live up to what your father wants you to be, Adolin.”

“No one ever accomplished anything by being content with who they were, Shallan,” Adolin said. “We accomplish great things by reaching toward who we could become.”

“As long as it’s what you want to become. Not what someone else thinks you should become.”

He continued staring at the sky, stretched out, somehow making it seem comfortable to be lying with his head on a rock. Wonderfully messy hair, blond peppered black, impeccable uniform. And that face in between. Not messy, not impeccable, just … him.

“It wasn’t long ago,” Adolin said, “that all I wanted was for everyone to respect my father again. We thought he was aging, losing his senses. I wanted everyone else to see him as I did. How did I lose that, Shallan? I mean, I’m proud of him. He’s becoming someone who deserves love, and not merely respect.

“But storms, these days I can’t stand to be around him. He’s become everything I wanted him to be, and that transformation shoved us apart.”

“It wasn’t what you found out he’d done? To … her?”

“That’s part of it,” Adolin admitted. “It hurts. I love him, but can’t yet forgive him. I think I will, with time. There’s more though. Straining our relationship. He has this misguided notion that I’ve always been better than him.

“To Father, I’m some pristine remnant of my mother—this noble little statue who got all of her goodness and none of his coarseness. He doesn’t want me to be me, or even him. He wants me to be this imagined perfect child who was born better than he ever could be.”

“And that makes you not a person,” Shallan said, nodding. “It erases your ability to make choices or mistakes. Because you’re perfect. You were born to be perfect. So you can never earn anything on your own.”

He reached over, putting his hand on her knee, and met her gaze—almost teary-eyed. Because she understood. And storms, she did. She rested her hand on his, then pulled him closer. Feeling his breath on her neck as he drew close. She kissed him then, and as she did, she caught a glimpse of the sky. The majestic spren had started to fade into the cloud—perhaps feeling ignored now that her attention was on someone else.

Well, it wasn’t the spren’s fault.

It simply couldn’t compete.