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“I had not thought you knew my people that well,” Cord said. “I will take this vow.” She then spoke it in her own tongue.
“Our accommodation is reached?” Rysn asked, hopeful.
“Yes,” he said. “There will be smaller details to arrange at a later date. But we give our agreement to your terms, Rysn Ftori bah-Vstim. Your life for being honorable. These Soulcasters and Plate for the promise to train and help us.”
She felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Never, when listening to Vstim’s lessons, had she imagined she might one day need them to bargain for her life. And perhaps more.
“So, Rysn is a Shardbearer now?” Cord asked. “A . . . Dawnshardbearer?”
“No,” Nikli said. “She bears nothing. She is the Dawnshard now. That is how it works.” He bowed to Rysn. “We will speak again.”
Rysn braced herself on the bench, then bowed back.
Storms, she thought. What have I done?
What you needed to, another part of her thought. You have adapted. You have Remade yourself.
It was then that she grasped, in the smallest way, the nature of the Command inside her. The will of a god to remake things, to demand they be better.
The power to change.
Epilogue
Lopen patted the rocks fondly. “I will never forget you,” he said to them. “Or the time we shared together.”
Rushu tucked away her notepad, apparently having finished her final sketch of the broken city. They were doing one last round of the place, some hours after the battle.
“It was a brave thing you did,” Lopen said to the rocks. “Though I know you are only rocks and cannot listen to me—because you are dead, or really were never alive—you must hear that I appreciate your sacrifice.”
“Could you be . . . less weird maybe?” Rushu asked. “For a day at least. To try it out? Experience the world the way the rest of us do?”
“You saw what these rocks did.”
“I saw one of the monsters trip,” Rushu said, “if that’s what you mean.”
They’d made it all the way to the city ruins—Lopen on Huio’s back—before the monsters had caught up to them. He remembered huddling in one of the fallen buildings—Rushu had scouted a location for them that had a roof—waiting for the end to come. And then one of the monsters had stumbled.
Of course, sure, five minutes later the things had all turned around and returned to the ocean. Lopen hadn’t known it at the time, but this was because Brightness Rysn had negotiated peace. Still, that time the monster had tripped on the rocks had bought at least ten seconds.
“Didn’t your cousin literally save your life?” Rushu said, joining Lopen as they walked to the beach.
“Yeah, he did,” Lopen said.
Thanking Huio was going to be harder than thanking a bunch of rocks. So Lopen had wanted to practice.
At the beach, Kstled waited with two rowboats to take them to the Wandersail. They’d somehow transitioned from near death to leaving with a ridiculous haul. Shardplate, a mountain of gemstones—real this time—and some Soulcasters?
“Remind me never to cross Brightness Rysn,” Lopen said. “I don’t know what those challenges are she passed, but I can’t believe it ended with us so rich. And so, well, alive.”
“Yes, I agree,” Rushu said. “There is something strange about all this, isn’t there?” She tapped her pen against her lips, then shook her head and walked down to climb into a boat. They were leaving for Thaylenah—they’d been offered the chance to stay, now that the mysterious trials were done, but nobody wanted to hang around. Why tempt fate?
At the beach, Lopen nodded to Kstled, who got into the boat with Rushu, leaving Lopen and Huio alone in the other one. Huio seemed surprised by this, but Lopen had arranged it. He settled into the seat and began rowing. Wasn’t too difficult, so long as you had two arms.
“Can’t believe we’re getting away,” Huio said, watching the island retreat. “What do you suppose happened in that cavern underneath?”
“None of our business, I think,” Lopen said.
Huio grunted. “Wise words, younger-cousin. Sure. Wise words.”
They sat quietly for a time, Lopen navigating the boat toward the Wandersail. “So,” Lopen finally said. “Third Ideal, eh? Congratulations, older-cousin.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s . . . the ideal where you agree to protect people you hate. Least it was for Kaladin, Teft, and Sig.”
“Yeah,” Huio said.
“And you looked right at me,” Lopen said softly, “before you achieved it.”
“Doesn’t have to mean what you think,” Huio said. “You heard Teft tell us about his oath. For him, it meant coming to realize he couldn’t keep hating himself.”
“Was it the same for you, then?” Lopen asked, slowly pulling the oars. One stroke after another. When Huio didn’t respond, he continued more softly, “It’s okay, Huio. I can hear it. I need to.”
“I don’t hate you, Lopen,” Huio said. “Who could hate you? It would take a special kind of bitter soul.”
“That statement, like the Lopen himself, sounds like it comes with a quite spectacular butt attached.”
Huio smiled, then leaned forward. He was so often solemn, Lopen’s older-cousin. Built like a boulder and kind of resembling one, with that balding head. Everyone misunderstood Huio. Maybe even the Lopen himself.
“I don’t hate you,” Huio said. “But you can be a pain, younger-cousin. Me, Punio, Fleeta, even Mama Lond. The way you joke can sometimes hurt us.”
“I joke with the people I love. It’s how I am.”
“Yes, but does it have to be?” Huio asked. “Could you, sure, tease a little less?”
“I . . .”
Storms. Was it true? Was that how they thought of him? Lopen pasted a smile on and nodded to Huio, who seemed relieved that the conversation had gone so well.
They reached the ship, and Rua hovered about Lopen’s head as he laughed with the sailors he met—but he slowly made his way to the small cabin he shared with Huio. For now, Huio gave him space to go in. Sit down. And stare.
“Do . . . others complain about me?” Lopen asked Rua, who settled onto the table. “Do my jokes . . . actually hurt people?”
The little spren shrugged. Then nodded. Sometimes they did.
“Stormfather,” Lopen whispered. “I just want people to be happy. That’s what I try to do. Make them smile.”
Rua nodded again, solemn.
Lopen felt a sudden sharp pain in his breast, accompanied by shamespren sprinkling around him like red flower petals. It threatened to spread, to encompass him. It made him want to curl up and never say another word. Maybe they’d like that. A quiet Lopen.
Storm it, he thought. No. No, I gotta take this like Bridge Four. Arrow straight to the heart, but I can pull it out and heal. Huio could have held the truth back, laughed everything off. But he’d trusted Lopen with this wound.
“I’ll do it, then,” Lopen said, standing up. “I’ve got to protect people, you know? Even from myself. Gotta rededicate to being the best Lopen possible. A better, improved, extra-incredible Lopen.”
