Words.

I used to be good with words.

I used to be good at a lot of things.

Venli tried to attune the Rhythm of Conceit as she walked the halls of Urithiru. She kept finding the Rhythm of Anxiety instead. It was difficult to attune an emotion she didn’t feel; doing so felt like a worse kind of lie than she normally told. Not a lie to others, or to herself. A lie to Roshar.

Timbre pulsed comfortingly. These were dangerous times, requiring dangerous choices.

“That sounds an awful lot like the things Ulim told me,” Venli whispered.

Timbre pulsed again. The little spren was of the opinion that Venli couldn’t be blamed for what she’d done, that the Voidspren had manipulated her mind, her emotions, her goals.

Timbre, for all her wisdom, was wrong in this. Ulim had heightened Venli’s ambitions, her arrogance, but she’d given him the tools to work with. A part of her continued to feel some of those things. Worse, Ulim had occasionally left her gemheart during those days, and she’d still gone through with those plans, without his influence.

She might not bear full blame for what had happened. But she’d been a willing part of it. Now she had to do her best to make up for it. So she kept her head high, walking as if she owned the tower, trailed by Rlain, who carried the large crate as if on her orders. Everyone needed to see her treating him as a servant; hopefully that would quash some of the rumors about the two of them.

He hurried closer as they entered a less populated section of the tower. “The tower does feel darker now, Venli,” he said to the Rhythm of Anxiety—which didn’t help her own mood. “Ever since…”

“Hush,” she said. She knew what he’d been about to say: Ever since the fight in the market.

The whole tower knew by now that Kaladin Stormblessed, Windrunner and champion, fought. That his powers still functioned. The Fused had worked hard to spread a different narrative—that he’d been faking Radiant powers with fabrials, that he’d been killed during a cruel attack on innocent singer civilians in the market.

Venli found that story far-fetched, and she knew Stormblessed only by reputation. She doubted the propaganda would fool many humans. If Raboniel had been behind it, the message would have been more subtle. Unfortunately, the Lady of Wishes spent most of her time with her research, and instead let the Pursuer lead.

His personal troops dominated the tower. Already there had been a half dozen instances of singers beating humans near to death. This place was a simmering cauldron, waiting for the added bit of fuel that would bring it to a boil. Venli needed to be ready to get her people out when that happened. Hopefully the crate Rlain carried would help with that.

Head high. Hum to Conceit. Walk slowly but deliberately.

By the time they reached the Radiant infirmary, Venli’s nerves were so tight she could have played a rhythm on them. She shut the door after Rlain—they’d recently had it installed by some human workers—and finally attuned Joy.

Inside the infirmary, the human surgeon and his wife cared for the comatose Radiants. They did a far better job of it than Venli’s staff; the surgeon knew how to minimize the formation of sores on the humans’ bodies and how to spot signs of dehydration.

When Venli and Rlain entered, the surgeon’s wife—Hesina—hurried over. “Is this them?” she asked Rlain, helping him with the crate.

“Nah, it’s my laundry,” he said to Amusement. “Figured Venli here is so mighty and important, she might be able to get someone to wash it for me.”

Joking? Now? How could he act so indifferent? If they were discovered, it would mean their executions—or worse.

The human woman laughed. They carried the box to the back of the room, away from the door. Hesina’s son put down the shoestrings he’d been playing with and toddled over. Rlain ruffled his hair, then opened the crate. He moved the decoy papers on top, revealing a group of map cases.

Hesina breathed out in a human approximation of the Rhythm of Awe.

“After Kal and I parted,” Rlain explained, “and the queen surrendered, I realized I could go anywhere in the tower. A little black ash mixed with water covered my tattoo, blending it into my pattern. Humans were confined to quarters, and so long as I looked like I was doing something important, the singers ignored me.

“So I thought to myself, ‘What can I do to best undermine the occupation?’ I figured I had a day at most before the singers got organized and people started asking who I was. I thought about sabotaging the wells, but realized that would hurt too many innocents. I settled on this.”

He waved his hand over the round tubes filling the crate. Hesina took one out and unrolled the map inside. It depicted the thirty-seventh floor of the tower, meticulously mapped.

“So far as I know,” Rlain said, “guard posts and master-servant quarters just contain maps of the lower floors. The upper-level maps were kept in two places: the queen’s information vault and the map room. I stopped by the map room and found it burned out, likely at the queen’s order. The vault was on the ground floor, far from where her troops could have reached. I figured it might still be intact.”

Rlain shrugged a human shrug. “It was shockingly easy to get in,” he continued to Resolve. “The human guards had been killed or removed, but the singers didn’t know the value of the place yet. I walked right through a checkpoint, stuffed everything I could into a sack, and wandered out. I said I was on a search detail sent to collect any form of human writing.”

“It was brave,” Lirin the surgeon said, stepping over and folding his arms. “But I don’t know how useful it will be, Rlain. There’s not much they’d want on the upper floors.”

“It might help Kaladin stay hidden,” Rlain said.

“Maybe,” Lirin said. “I worry you put yourself through an awful lot of effort and danger to accomplish what might add up to a mild inconvenience for the occupation.”

The man was a pragmatist, which Venli appreciated. She, however, was interested in other matters. “The tunnel complex,” she said. “Is there a map here of the tunnels under the tower?”

Rlain dug for a moment, then pulled out a map. “Here,” he said. “Why?”

Venli took it reverently. “It’s one of the few paths of escape, Rlain. I came in through those tunnels—they’re a complicated maze. Raboniel knew her way through, but I doubt I could get us out on my own. But with this…”

“Didn’t the enemy collapse those tunnels?” Lirin asked.

“Yes,” Venli said. “But I might have a way around that.”

“Even if you do,” Lirin said, “we’d have to travel through the most heavily guarded section of the tower—where the Fused are doing their research on the tower fabrials.”

Yes, but could she use her powers to form a tunnel through the stone? One that bypassed Raboniel’s workstation and the shield, then intersected with these caverns below?

Perhaps. Though there was still the greater problem. Before they could run, she had to ensure the Fused wouldn’t give chase. Escaping the tower only to die by a Heavenly One’s hand in the mountains would accomplish nothing.

“Rlain,” Hesina said. “These are wonderful. You did more than anyone could have expected of you.”

“I might have been able to do more, if I hadn’t messed up,” Rlain said to Reconciliation. “I was stopped in the hallway, asked to give the name of the Fused I was operating under. I should have played dumb instead of using the name of one I’d heard earlier in the day. Turns out that Fused doesn’t keep a staff. She’s one of the lost ones.”

“You could have locked yourself in a cell the moment the tower fell,” Lirin said, “and pretended to be a prisoner. That way, the Fused could have liberated you, and no one would be suspicious.”

“Every human in the tower knows about me, Lirin,” Rlain said. “The ‘tame’ Parshendi your son ‘keeps.’ If I’d tried a ploy like that, the singers would have found me eventually, and I’d have ended up in a cell for real.” He shrugged again. “Did anyway though.”

He and Hesina began digging through the maps, Rlain chatting with them as they did. He seemed to like these humans, and looked more comfortable around them than he was with her. Beyond that, the way he used human mannerisms to exaggerate his emotions—the way the rhythms were a subtle accent to his words, rather than the driving power behind them—it all seemed a little … pathetic.

Lirin returned to his work tending the unconscious. Venli strolled over to him, attuning Curiosity. “You don’t like what they’re doing,” Venli said, nodding toward the other two.

“I’m undecided,” Lirin said. “My gut says that stealing a few maps won’t hurt the occupation. But perhaps if we turned the maps in and claimed we found them in a forgotten room, there’s a good chance it would earn us favor with the Fused. Perhaps it would prove Hesina and I aren’t malcontents, so we could come out of hiding.”

“It isn’t the hiding that protects you,” Venli said, “it is Lady Leshwi’s favor. Without it, the Pursuer would kill you, no matter what you did to prove yourself. He’d kill other Fused, if he thought it would let him fulfill his tradition. And the others would applaud him.”

Lirin grunted—a human version of Derision, she thought—as he knelt beside a Radiant and lifted her eyelids to check her eyes. “Nice to know your government has its idiocies too.”

“You really don’t want to resist, do you?” Venli said to Awe. “You truly want to live with the occupation.”

“I resist by controlling my situation,” Lirin said. “And by working with those in power, rather than giving them reason to hurt me and mine. It’s a lesson I learned very painfully. Fetch me some water.”

Venli was halfway to the water station before she realized she’d done what he said, despite telling him—several times—that he needed to show her more respect. What a strange man. His attitude was so commanding and in charge, but he used it to reinforce his own subservience.

Timbre thrummed as Venli returned to him with the water. She needed to practice her powers some more—particularly if she might be required to tunnel them down through many feet of rock to reach an exit. She took the tunnel map and gave it to Jial, one of her loyalists. Jial folded it and placed it into her pocket as a knock sounded at the door.

Venli glanced toward Rlain and Hesina, but they’d apparently heard, for they covered up the crate of maps. It still looked suspicious to Venli, but she went to the door anyway. Fused wouldn’t knock.

Accordingly, she opened the door and let in a group of humans who bore water jugs on poles across their shoulders. Six workers—the same ones as always. That was good, for although Venli had permission from Raboniel to bring a human surgeon in to care for the fallen Radiants, she had lied in saying she’d gone to the clinic to recruit him.

Eventually, Lirin and Hesina would be recognized—but best to limit their exposure to as few people as possible. The water carriers delivered their burdens to the room’s large troughs, then helped with the daily watering of the patients. It demanded near-constant work to give broth and drink to so many unconscious people.

Venli checked the time by the Rhythm of Peace. She needed to visit Raboniel for translation duty soon—there were books in Thaylen that the Lady of Wishes wanted read to her.

She doesn’t care about anything other than her research, Venli thought. What could be so important?

“You there,” Lirin said. “What is that on your head?”

Venli turned to find the surgeon confronting one of the water bearers. Lirin pushed back the hair on the man’s head and pointed. She hummed to Irritation—the surgeon was generally calm, but once in a while something set him off. She strode over to settle the situation, to find that the water bearer—a short man with far too much hair on his body—had painted his forehead with some kind of ink.

“What is that?” Venli asked.

“Nothing, Brightness,” the man said, pulling out of Lirin’s grip. “Just a little reminder.” He moved on, but one of the other water carriers—a female this time—had a similar marking on her forehead.

“It’s a shash glyph,” Lirin said.

As soon as Venli knew it was writing, her powers interpreted it. “Dangerous? Why do they think they’re dangerous?”

“They don’t,” Lirin said—wearing his upset emotions on his face. “They’re fools.”

He turned to go, but Venli caught him by the arm and hummed to Craving. Which of course he couldn’t understand. So she asked, “What does it mean?”

“It’s the brand on … on the forehead of Kaladin Stormblessed.”

Ah … “He gives them hope.”

“That hope is going to get them killed,” Lirin said, lowering his voice. “This isn’t the way to fight, not with how brutal the Regals in the tower have started acting. My son may have gotten himself killed resisting them. Heralds send it isn’t true, but his example is going to cause trouble. Some of these might get the terrible idea of following in his steps, and that will inevitably provoke a massacre.”

“Maybe,” Venli said, letting him go. Timbre pulsed to an unfamiliar rhythm that echoed in her mind. What was it? She could swear she’d never heard it before. “Or maybe they simply need something to keep them going, surgeon. A symbol they can trust when they can’t trust their own hearts.”

The surgeon shook his head and turned away from the water carriers, instead focusing on his patients.