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During these last few weeks, she’d found herself thinking of him in ways that would better have been avoided.
“Have you considered,” he noted, “what kind of person you declare yourself to be by preferring simberry jam?”
“I wasn’t aware that my taste in jams could be that significant.”
“There are those who have studied it,” Kabsal said, slathering on the thick red jam and handing her the slice. “You run across some very odd books, working in the Palanaeum. It’s not hard to conclude that perhaps everything has been studied at one time or another.”
“Hum,” Shallan said. “And simberry jam?”
“According to Palates of Personality—and before you object, yes it is a real book, and that is its title—a fondness for simberries indicates a spontaneous, impulsive personality. And also a preference for—” He cut off as a wadded-up piece of paper bounced off his forehead. He blinked.
“Sorry,” Shallan said. “It just kind of happened. Must be all that impulsiveness and spontaneity I have.”
He smiled. “You disagree with the conclusions?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve had people tell me they could determine my personality based on the day I was born, or the position of Taln’s Scar on my seventh birthday, or by numerological extrapolations of the tenth glyphic paradigm. But I think we’re more complicated than that.”
“People are more complicated than the numerological extrapolations of the tenth glyphic paradigm?” Kabsal said, spreading jam on a piece of bread for himself. “No wonder I have such difficulty understanding women.”
“Very funny. I mean that we’re more complex than mere bundles of personality traits. Am I spontaneous? Sometimes. You might describe my chasing Jasnah here to become her ward that way. But before that, I spent seventeen years being about as unspontaneous as someone could be. In many situations—if I’m encouraged—my tongue can be quite spontaneous, but my actions rarely are. We’re all spontaneous sometimes, and we’re all conservative sometimes.”
“So you’re saying that the book is right then. It says you’re spontaneous; you’re spontaneous sometimes. Ergo, it’s correct.”
“By that argument, it’s right about everybody.”
“One hundred percent accurate!”
“Well, not one hundred percent,” Shallan said, swallowing another bite of the sweet, fluffy bread. “As has been noted, Jasnah hates jam of all kinds.”
“Ah yes,” Kabsal said. “She’s a jam heretic too. Her soul is in more danger than I had realized.” He grinned and took a bite of his bread.
“Indeed,” Shallan said. “So what else does that book of yours say about me—and half the world’s population—because of our enjoyment of foods with far too much sugar in them?”
“Well, a fondness for simberry is also supposed to indicate a love of the outdoors.”
“Ah, the outdoors,” Shallan said. “I visited that mythical place once. It was so very long ago, I’ve nearly forgotten it. Tell me, does the sun still shine, or is that just my dreamy recollection?”
“Surely your studies aren’t that bad.”
“Jasnah is inordinately fond of dust,” Shallan said. “I believe she thrives on it, feeding off the particles like a chull crunching rockbuds.”
“And you, Shallan? On what do you thrive?”
“Charcoal.”
He looked confused at first, then glanced at her folio. “Ah yes. I was surprised at how quickly your name, and pictures, spread through the Conclave.”
Shallan ate the last of her bread, then wiped her hands on a damp rag Kabsal had brought. “You make me sound like a disease.” She ran a finger through her red hair, grimacing. “I guess I do have the coloring of a rash, don’t I?”
“Nonsense,” he said sternly. “You shouldn’t say such things, Brightness. It’s disrespectful.”
“Of myself?”
“No. Of the Almighty, who made you.”
“He made cremlings too. Not to mentions rashes and diseases. So being compared to one is actually an honor.”
“I fail to follow that logic, Brightness. As he created all things, comparisons are meaningless.”
“Like the claims of your Palates book, eh?”
“A point.”
“There are worse things to be than a disease,” she said, idly thoughtful. “When you have one, it reminds you that you’re alive. Makes you fight for what you have. When the disease has run its course, normal healthy life seems wonderful by comparison.”
“And would you not rather be a sense of euphoria? Bringing pleasant feelings and joy to those you infect?”
“Euphoria passes. It is usually brief, so we spend more time longing for it than enjoying it.” She sighed. “Look what we’ve done. Now I’m depressed. At least turning back to my studies will seem exciting by comparison.”
He frowned at the books. “I was under the impression that you enjoyed your studies.”
“As was I. Then Jasnah Kholin stomped into my life and proved that even something pleasant could become boring.”
“I see. So she’s a harsh mistress?”
“Actually, no,” Shallan said. “I’m just fond of hyperbole.”
“I’m not,” he said. “It’s a real bastard to spell.”
“Kabsal!”
“Sorry,” he said. Then he glanced upward. “Sorry.”
“I’m sure the ceiling forgives you. To get the Almighty’s attention, you might want to burn a prayer instead.”
“I owe him a few anyway,” Kabsal said. “You were saying?”
“Well, Brightness Jasnah isn’t a harsh mistress. She’s actually everything she’s said to be. Brilliant, beautiful, mysterious. I’m fortunate to be her ward.”
Kabsal nodded. “She is said to be a sterling woman, save for one thing.”
“You mean the heresy?”
He nodded.
“It’s not as bad for me as you think,” she said. “She’s rarely vocal about her beliefs unless provoked.”
“She’s ashamed, then.”
“I doubt that. Merely considerate.”
He eyed her.
“You needn’t worry about me,” Shallan said. “Jasnah doesn’t try to persuade me to abandon the devotaries.”
Kabsal leaned forward, growing more somber. He was older than she—a man in his mid-twenties, confident, self-assured, and earnest. He was practically the only man near her age that she’d ever talked to outside of her father’s careful supervision.
But he was also an ardent. So, of course, nothing could come of it. Could it?
“Shallan,” Kabsal said gently, “can you not see how we—how I—would be concerned? Brightness Jasnah is a very powerful and intriguing woman. We would expect her ideas to be infectious.”
“Infectious? I thought you said I was the disease.”
“I never said that!”
“Yes, but I pretended you did. Which is virtually the same thing.”
