78. THE HIGH JUDGE

So, words. Why words, now? Why do I write?

Shallan hurried into the room she shared with Adolin, putting the strange experience with Sixteen behind her. No need to think about … that other spren. The Cryptic deadeye. Stay focused, and don’t let Radiant slip out again.

Pattern shadowed her, closing the door with a click. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Adolin right now?”

“Yes,” Shallan said, kneeling beside the bed and pulling out her trunk. “That makes this the best time to contact Mraize, as we don’t risk Adolin walking in on us.”

“He will wonder where you are.”

“I’ll make it up to him later,” Shallan said, unlocking the trunk and looking in.

“Veil?” Pattern said, walking up.

“No, I’m Shallan.”

“Are you? You feel wrong, Shallan. Mmm. You must listen. I did use the cube. I have a copy of the key to your trunk. Wit helped me.”

“It’s no matter,” Shallan said. “Done. Over. Don’t care. Let’s move on and—”

Pattern took her hands, kneeling beside her. His pattern, once so alien to her eyes, was now familiar. She felt as if by staring at its shifting lines, she could see secrets about how the world worked. Maybe even about how she worked.

“Please,” Pattern said. “Let me tell you. We don’t have to talk about your past; I was wrong to try to force you. Yes, I did take the cube. To talk to Wit. He has a cube like it too, Shallan! He told me.

“I was so worried about you. I didn’t know what to do. So I went to him, and he said we could talk with the cube, if I was worried. Mmm … About what was happening with you. He said I was very funny! But when I talked to him last, he warned me. He’s been spied on by the Ghostbloods. The things I told him, another heard. That was how Mraize knew things.”

“You talked to Wit,” Shallan whispered. “And a spy overheard? That … That means…”

“None of your friends are traitors,” Pattern said. “Except me! Only a little though! I am sorry.”

No spy. And Pattern …

Was this another lie? Was she getting so wrapped up in them that she couldn’t see what was true? She gripped his too-long hands. She wanted so badly to trust again.

Your trust kills, Shallan, the dark part of her thought. The part she named Formless. Except it wasn’t formless. She knew exactly what it was.

For now, she retreated—and released Veil and Radiant. Veil immediately took control and gasped, putting her hand to her head. “Storms,” she whispered. “That was a … strange experience.”

“I have made things worse,” Pattern said. “I am very foolish.”

“You tried to help,” Veil said. “But you should have come to me. I’m Veil, by the way. I could have helped you.”

Pattern hummed softly. Veil got the sense that he didn’t trust her completely. Well, she wasn’t certain she trusted her own mind completely, so there was that.

“There’s a lot to think about in what you said,” Veil said. “For now, please don’t keep anything more from us. All right?”

Pattern’s pattern slowed, then quickened, and he nodded.

“Great.” Veil took a deep breath. Well, that was over.

Who killed Ialai? Shallan whispered from inside.

Veil hesitated.

Perhaps Pattern was the one who moved the cube all those times, Shallan said. And he’s the reason Mraize knew about the seed we planted about the corrupted spren. But someone killed Ialai. Who was it?

Storms. There was more to this mess. A lot more. Veil, however, needed time to digest it. So for now, she put all of that aside and picked up the communication cube. She repeated the incantation. “Deliver to me Mraize, cube, and transfer my voice to him.”

It took longer this time than others; she didn’t know what the difference was. She sat there some ten minutes before Mraize finally spoke.

“I trust you have only good news to report, little knife,” his voice said.

“It’s bad news—but you’re getting it anyway,” she said. “This is Veil, with Pattern here. We’ve eliminated the final human in Lasting Integrity from consideration. Either Restares has learned to disguise himself beyond my ability to spot him, or he’s not here.”

“How certain are you of this?” Mraize said, calm. She’d never seen him get upset at bad news.

“Depends,” she said. “Like I said, he could have disguised himself. Or maybe your intel is wrong.”

“It’s possible,” Mraize admitted. “Communication between realms is difficult, and information travels slowly. Have you asked if any humans left the fortress recently?”

“They claim the last human who left was five months ago,” she said. “But that was Azure, not Restares. I know her. I’ve described our quarry to several honorspren, but they say the description is too vague, and that many humans look alike to them. I’m inclined to think they’re telling the truth. They completely neglected to mention that Sixteen—the person I’ve spent the last few days planning to intercept—was Shin.”

“Troubling,” Mraize said.

“You’ve been vague in your answers to me,” Veil said. “Let me ask clearly. Could Restares have become a Lightweaver? Cryptics have different requirements for bonding than most Radiants.”

“I highly doubt Restares would have joined any Radiant order,” Mraize said. “It’s not in his nature. I suppose, however, that we can’t discount the possibility. There are variations on Lightweaving in the cosmere that do not require a spren—plus the Honorblades exist and are poorly tracked these days, even by our agents.”

“I thought they were all in Shinovar, except the one Moash wields.”

“They were.” Mraize said it simply, directly, with an implication: She wasn’t getting any more information on that topic. Not unless she finished this mission, whereupon he had promised to answer all her questions.

“You should equip yourself with Stormlight,” Mraize suggested. “If you have not found Restares, there is a chance he knows you are there—and that could be dangerous. He is not the type to fight unless cornered, but once pushed, there are few beings as dangerous on this planet.”

“Great, wonderful,” Veil said. “Nice to know I have to start sleeping with one eye open. You could have warned me.”

“Considering your paranoia, would you have done anything differently?” Mraize sounded amused.

“You’re probably right about the Stormlight,” Veil said. “The honorspren do have a store of it; they let us use it to heal Adolin. Makes me wonder where they obtained all the perfect gemstones to hold it for so long.”

“They’ve had millennia to gather them, little knife,” Mraize said. “And they love gemstones, perhaps for the same reason we admire swords. During the days of the Radiants, some even believed the stories of the Stone of Ten Dawns, and spent lifetimes hunting it. How will you obtain Stormlight from these honorspren?”

“I’ll begin working on a plan,” she said.

“Excellent. And how is your … stability, little knife?”

She thought about Shallan taking control, locking Veil and Radiant away somehow. “Could be better,” she admitted.

“Answers will help free you,” Mraize said. “Once you’ve earned them.”

“Perhaps,” Veil said. “Or perhaps you’ll be surprised at what I already know.” The trouble wasn’t getting answers. It was finding the presence of mind to accept them.

Now, was there a way she could confirm what Pattern had said? About Wit, and the Ghostbloods spying on him? She toyed with the idea, but decided not to say anything. She didn’t want to tell Mraize too much.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of people shouting. That was uncommon here in honorspren territory.

“I need to go,” she told Mraize. “Something’s happening.”

*   *   *

The honorspren had a multitude of reasons for delaying Adolin’s trial. Their first and most obvious excuse was the need to wait for the “High Judge,” a spren who was out on patrol. Adolin had spent weeks assuming this was the Stormfather, because of things they’d said. Yet when he’d mentioned that the other day, the honorspren had laughed.

So now he had no idea who or what the High Judge was, and their answers to him were strange. The High Judge was some kind of spren, that seemed clear. But not an honorspren. The judge was of a variety that was very rare.

In any case, waiting for the High Judge to return gave the honorspren time to prepare documentation, notes, and testimonies. Had that all been ready, though, they wouldn’t have allowed the trial to proceed yet. Because Adolin, they explained, was an idiot.

Well, they didn’t say it in so many words. Still, he couldn’t help but suspect that was how they felt. He was woefully ignorant of what they considered proper trial procedure. Thus he found himself in today’s meeting. Every two days he had an appointment for instruction. The honorspren were quite clear: His offer, worded as it had been, let them condemn him as a traitor and murderer. Though that hadn’t completely been his intent, this trial would let them pin the sins of the ancient Radiants on him. Before they did so, they wanted him to understand proper trial procedure. What strange beings.

He stepped softly through the library, a long flat building on the northern plane of Lasting Integrity. Honorspren liked their books, judging by the extensive collection—but he rarely saw them in here. They seemed to enjoy owning the books, treating them like relics to be hoarded.

His tutor, on the other hand, was a different story. She stood on a step stool, counting through books on an upper shelf. Her clothing, made of her substance, was reminiscent of a Thaylen tradeswoman’s attire: a knee-length skirt with blouse and shawl. Unlike an honorspren, her coloring was an ebony black, with a certain sheen in the right light. Like the variegated colors oil made on a sword blade.

She was an inkspren; Jasnah had bonded one, though Adolin had never seen him. This one called herself Blended—a name that felt peculiar to him.

“Ah, Highprince,” she said, noting him. “You are.

“I am,” he said. During their weeks talking together, he’d grown mostly accustomed to her distinctive style of speaking.

“Good, good,” she said, climbing down the steps. “Our time nearly is not. Come, we must talk.”

“Our time nearly is not?” Adolin said, hurrying alongside her. She was shorter than most honorspren, and wore her hair—pure black like the rest of her—pinned up in something that wasn’t quite a braid. Though her skin was mostly monochrome black, faint variations outlined her features, making her round face and small nose more visible.

“Yes,” she said. “The honorspren have set the date for your trial. It is.”

“When?”

“Three days.”

“The High Judge is here, then?” Adolin asked as they reached their study table.

“He must be returning soon,” she said. “Perhaps he already is in this place. So, we must make decisions.” She sat without ceasing her torrent of words. “You are not ready. Your progress is not, Highprince Adolin. I do not say this to be insulting. It simply is.”

“I know,” he said, sitting down. “Honorspren law is … complex. I wish you could speak for me.”

“It is not their way.”

“It seems designed to be frustrating.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “This is unsurprising, as it was devised by a stuck-up bunch of prim, overly polished buttons.”

There was no love lost between inkspren and honorspren. And Blended was supposedly among the more diplomatic of her type—she was the official inkspren emissary to Lasting Integrity.

“I know an honorspren in my realm,” Adolin said. “She can be … interesting at times, but I wouldn’t call her prim.”

“The Ancient Daughter?” Blended asked. “She’s not the only one whose personality is as you speak. Many honorspren used to be like that. Others still are. But Lasting Integrity, and those who here are, have had a strong effect on many honorspren. They preach isolation. Others listen.”

“It’s so extreme,” Adolin said. “They must see there is a better way of dealing with their anger at humans.”

“Agreed. A better solution is. I would simply kill you.”

Adolin started. “… Excuse me?”

“If a human tries to bond me,” Blended said, flipping through the books in her stack, “I will attack him and kill him. This better solution is.”

“I don’t think Radiants force bonds,” Adolin said.

“They would coerce. I would strike first. Your kind are not trustworthy.” She set aside one of her books, shaking her head. “Regardless, I am worried about your training. It is weak, through no fault of yours. The honorspren will use the intricacies of their laws against you, to your detriment. You will be as a child trying to fight a duel. I believe trials among your kind are more direct?”

“Basically, you go before the lighteyes in charge and plead your case,” Adolin said. “He listens, maybe confers with witnesses or experts, then renders judgment.”

“Brief, simple,” she said. “Very flawed, but simple. The honorspren of this region like their rules. But perhaps a better solution is.” She held up one of the books she’d been looking through when he arrived. “We can motion for a trial by witness. A variety more akin to what you know already.”

“That sounds great,” Adolin said, relaxing. If he had to listen to one more lecture including terms like “exculpatory evidence” and “compensatory restitution,” he would ask them to execute him and be done with it.

Blended took notes as she spoke. “It is well I spent these weeks training you in basics. This will prepare you for your best hope of victory, which is this format. Therefore, before I explain, recite to me your general trial strategy.”

They’d gone over this dozens of times, to the point that Adolin could have said it backward. He didn’t mind; you drilled your soldiers in battle formations until they could do maneuvers in their sleep. And this trial would be like a battle; Blended had repeatedly warned him to be wary of verbal ambushes.

“I need to persuade them that I cannot be held accountable for the actions of the ancient Radiants,” Adolin said. “That they cannot shun me or my father because of things done by ancient humans. In order to accomplish this, I will prove my character, I will prove that the modern Radiants are unconnected to the old orders, and I will prove that our actions in the face of the current crisis are proof of the honor men display.”

Blended nodded. “We will choose a trial by witness. Assuming your motion is accepted, the trial will happen in three phases over three days. The first day, the High Judge is presented with three testimonies against your cause. The next day, you give your testimony. The final day, accusers are allowed one rebuttal, then judgment is requested. This format is not often chosen, because it allows so much weight of testimony against you. However, factoring in how weak your grasp of legal systems is, well … this choice is best.”

Adolin felt a tremble deep inside. He wished for a fight he could face with sword in hand—but that was the trouble. Any given Radiant could do better than he at such a fight, so his expertise with the sword was effectively obsolete. He could not train himself to the level of a Radiant; they could heal from wounds and strike with supernatural grace and strength. The world had entered an era where simply being good at swordplay was not enough.

That left him to find a new place. Father always complained about being unsuited for diplomacy; Adolin was determined not to make the same complaint. “If I may plead my case on the second day,” he said, “then I’m for it. The other methods you suggested would require me to understand too much of their law.”

“Yes,” Blended said. “Though I worry that in giving testimony, you will incriminate yourself. Worse, you risk asking questions of the audience, presenting an opening for their condemnations. You could end up one man facing a crowd of experts in the law and rhetoric.”

“I have to speak for myself though,” Adolin said. “I fail to see how I can achieve what I want without talking to them. I need to prove myself and appeal to their honor.”

Blended flipped through pages of notes. He’d noticed that when she wouldn’t look at him, it meant she had something difficult to say.

“What?” Adolin asked her.

“You believe much in their honor, Prince Adolin. Your sense of justice … is.”

“They are honorspren,” he said. “Don’t they basically have to be honorable?”

“A conundrum is in this thing,” Blended said. “Yes, they are honorspren. But honor … isn’t something that … that is.

“What do you mean?”

“Men define honor,” Blended said. “And no god can enforce it, no longer. Beyond that, spren like us are not mindless things. Our will is strong. Our perceptions mold our definitions of concepts such as honor and right and wrong. Just as with humans.”

“You’re saying that what they perceive as honorable might not be what I perceive as honorable. Syl warned me as much.”

“Yes,” she said. “What they are defines honor to them. Whatever they are.”

“That’s … frightening,” Adolin admitted. “But there is goodness to them. They care for the deadeyes, even Maya, with great concern and attention.”

“Hmmm, yes,” Blended said. “That one. Did another spren tell you her name?”

“No, she told me herself.”

“Deadeyes don’t speak. This is.”

“You all keep saying that, but you’re wrong,” Adolin said. “I heard her in my mind. Only once, true, but she said her name. Mayalaran. She’s my friend.”

Blended cocked her head. “Curious. Very curious…”

“Deep down, the honorspren must want to help. Surely they’ll listen to me. Surely I can make them see.”

“I will give you the best chance I can,” she said. “But please understand. Spren—all spren—fear you with good reason. In order to prove you wrong, they need only prove that bonding men is a risk. That past failings of men justify wariness.”

“Everything is a risk,” Adolin said.

“Yes. Which is why this trial … is not strong for you. This truth is, Prince Adolin.”

“To hear you say it like that,” he said, trying to laugh about it, “it sounds like I have no chance!”

She closed her book. And did not respond.

He took a deep breath. “All right. How do we proceed?” he asked.

“I suspect the best thing is to discover if the High Judge’s return is.” Blended stood up, leaving the books on the table as she strode toward the doors. Adolin was expected to keep up. She claimed to hate the honorspren because of an ancient rivalry, but she sure did act like them. Neither gave much deference to human titles, for example. Adolin didn’t consider himself stuck-up, but couldn’t they treat him with a little more respect?

Outside, as always, he had that moment of jarring disconnect—his brain trying to reconcile that down wasn’t down and up wasn’t up. That people walked along all four faces inside the rectangular tower.

He doubted he could ever feel at ease in this place. The spren claimed it was not Surgebinding that let them walk on the walls here; the long-standing presence of the honorspren instead allowed the tower to choose a different type of natural law. Perhaps that sort of talk made sense to Shallan. Where was she anyway? She was often late to these tutoring meetings, but she usually showed up.

Blended led him across to the corner where the northern plane met the western plane; most of the official buildings were on the western one. Adolin always found this part curious; he had to step out and put one leg on the wall. He followed that by leaning back as he lifted his other leg, feeling like he was about to fall. Instead everything seemed to rotate, and he found himself standing on another plane.

“You do that better than most humans,” Blended noted. “They often seem nauseated by the process.”

He shrugged, then followed as she walked him toward a row of short buildings clustered near the base of the tower. Most buildings in Lasting Integrity were only one story. He wasn’t certain what happened if they got too tall; were you in danger of falling off?

They passed groups of honorspren, and he thought about what Blended had said regarding their natures. Not simply of honor—of honor as defined by the spren themselves. Well, maybe they weren’t all as stuffy as they seemed. He’d catch laughter or a hint of a mischievous grin. Then an older uniformed honorspren would walk past—and everyone would grow solemn again. These creatures seemed trapped between an instinct for playfulness and their natures as the spren of oaths.

He anticipated another tedious discussion with the honorspren who managed his case—but before Adolin and Blended entered the building of justice, she stopped and cocked her head. She waved for him to follow in another direction, and he soon saw why. A disturbance was occurring on the ground plane, near the gates into the city. A moment of panic made him wonder if his friends had decided to rescue him against his wishes—followed by a deeper worry that all those deadeyes outside had snapped and decided to rush the fortress.

It was neither. A group of spren crowded around a newly arrived figure. “The High Judge?” Adolin guessed.

“Yes,” Blended said. “Excellent. You can make your petition to him.” She walked that direction, down along the face of the western plane.

Adolin followed until he saw the details of the figure everyone was making such a fuss over.

The High Judge, it appeared, was human.

*   *   *

“Human?” Veil said, stopping in place. “That’s impossible.”

She squinted at the figure below, and didn’t need to get close to see what her gut was already telling her. A short Alethi man with thinning hair. That was him, the one she’d been hunting. The High Judge was Restares.

“Mmm…” Pattern said. “They did say the High Judge was a spren. Perhaps the honorspren lied? Mmm…”

Veil stepped up to a small crowd of honorspren who had gathered on the southern plane to gawk at the newcomer. One was Lusintia, the honorspren assigned to show Veil around on her first day in the fortress. She was a shorter spren, with hair kept about level with the point of her chin. She didn’t wear a uniform, but the stiff jacket and trousers she preferred might as well have been one.

Veil elbowed her way over to Lusintia, earning shocked glances from the honorspren, who generally didn’t crowd in such a way. Pattern followed in her wake.

“That can’t be the High Judge,” Veil said, pointing. “I specifically asked if the High Judge was human.”

“He’s not,” Lusintia said.

“But—”

“He might have the form of a man,” Lusintia said. “But he is an eternal and immortal spren who blesses us with his presence. That is Kalak, called Kelek’Elin among your people. Herald of the Almighty. He commanded us not to tell people he was here—and ordered us specifically to not speak of him to humans, so we were not allowed to answer your questions until you saw him for yourself.”

One of the Heralds. Damnation.

The man Mraize had sent her to find—and, she suspected, the man he wanted her to kill—was one of the Heralds.