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But they had two weeks of travel ahead of them. So today, she could relax. Because she was on a barge full of spren, and they were all so fascinating. Storms, how had she let herself retreat at a time like this? And for Veil to give up so willingly …
I’m sorry, Veil thought. I’ll do better. And we can work on the spy another time.
Right, then. Shallan pointedly ripped up the sketch of Adolin and stuffed the pieces in her satchel, then gripped her charcoal pencil and allowed herself to just draw.
* * *
Adolin found her five hours later, still sitting on the deck, her back to the railing, sketching furiously. He’d brought her food—warm curry and lavis, from the smell of it. That would be some of the last “real” food they’d have for a while. A part of her acknowledged the way the scents made her stomach growl. But for the moment, she remained mesmerized as she worked on her sketches of the peakspren.
It felt so good to let go and draw. To not worry about a mission, or her own psychosis, or even about Adolin. To become so wrapped up in the art that nothing else mattered. There was an infinite sensation to creation, as if time smeared like paint on a canvas. Mutable. Changeable.
When she finally drifted out of it to the scent of sweet curry and the sight of Adolin smiling as he sat down beside her, she felt worlds better. More whole. More herself than she’d been in months.
“Thanks,” she said, handing him the sketchbook and taking the food. She leaned against him as she began to eat, watching Arshqqam and her mistspren pass—Shallan needed to do a sketch of that strange spren at some point.
“Have you made any progress on that book of Ialai’s?” Adolin asked.
“I’ve figured out nearly the entire thing,” Shallan said. “It’s filled with conjectures, though, and not much substance. The Ghostbloods seem to be searching for Ba-Ado-Mishram, one of the Unmade. But I can’t determine for certain what they intend to do once they find her.”
Adolin grunted. “And the spy? Among our numbers?”
“Still working on it,” she said. “But I’d rather not talk about that today. I need some time to mull it over.” She took another bite, feeling his chest against her back. “You’re tense, Adolin. Aren’t we supposed to be able to relax, this part of the trip?”
“I’m worried about the mission.”
“Because of what Syl said? About the honorspren being unlikely to listen?”
He nodded.
“If they turn us away, they turn us away,” she said. “But you can’t blame yourself for things that haven’t happened yet. Storms, who knows what will change between now and the time we arrive.”
“I suppose,” he said.
She took a spoonful of lavis and felt the individual grains with her tongue, plump and saturated with sweet curry making a mush in her mouth—gross, but wonderful. Pattern always talked about how strange humans were, surviving off the things they destroyed.
“When I left my homeland,” she said to Adolin, “I thought I knew what I was heading into. But I had no idea what would happen to me. Where I’d end up.”
“You had a pretty good idea,” Adolin said. “You set out to be Jasnah’s ward, and you managed it.”
“I set out to rob her,” Shallan said softly. She felt Adolin shift, looking toward her. “My family was impoverished, threatened by creditors, my father dead. We thought maybe I could rob that heretic Alethi woman, steal her Soulcaster—then we could use it to become rich again.”
She braced herself for the criticism. The shock.
Instead, Adolin laughed. Bless him, he laughed. “Shallan, that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
“Isn’t it though?” she said, twisting and grinning at him.
“Robbing Jasnah.”
“Yes.”
“Robbing Jasnah.”
“I know!”
He eyed her, then his grin broadened. “She’s never mentioned this, so I bet you did it, didn’t you? At least, you fooled her for a little while?”
Storms, I love this man, she thought. For his humor, his brightness, his genuine goodness. With that smile, brighter than the cold Shadesmar sun, she became Shallan. Deeply and fully.
“I totally did,” she whispered to him. “I swapped it for a fake one, and almost escaped. Except, you know, she’s Jasnah.”
“Yes, the big flaw in your plan. You’d probably have managed it against a normal person.”
“Well, the Soulcaster was always a dummy, so I was doomed from the start. Even if it had been real … I had this overinflated idea of how great a thief I could be. It’s funny to remember I had those same silly inclinations before Veil.”
“Shallan,” he said. “You don’t need to feel insecure any longer. The mission in the warcamps? You executed that perfectly.”
“Until someone else executed Ialai. Perfectly.” She looked at him, then smiled. “Don’t worry. I don’t struggle with feelings of insecurity any longer.”
“Good.”
“I’d say I’m pretty good at them.”
“Shallan…”
She grinned again, letting him know she was feeling all right despite the comment. He stared into her eyes, then grinned himself. And somehow she knew what was coming.
“Well, I’d say you’re a pretty good thief…” he began.
“Oh, don’t you dare.”
“… because you stole my heart.”
She groaned, leaning her head back. “You dared.”
“What? You’re the only one who can make bad jokes?”
“My jokes are not bad. They’re incredible. And they take a ton of work to create on the spot for the exact perfect situation.”
“A ton of work. To create on the spot. As if you don’t prepare them ahead of time?”
“Never.”
“Yeah? I’ve noticed you often seem to have one ready when you meet someone.”
“Well, of course. That kind of joke is a great greeting. They’re supposed to be hilarious.”
He frowned.
“As in,” she added, “not goodbyelarious.”
He stared at her. Then he went a little cross-eyed.
Ha! Veil thought. HA!
“Oh dear,” Shallan said. “Did I break you?”
“But … ‘hilarious’ doesn’t start with a ‘hi’ sound.… It doesn’t make sense.…”
“It was a stealth joke,” Shallan said. “Hiding in plain sight, like a Lightweaver. That’s what makes it genius.”
“Genius? Shallan, that was awful.”
“You’re full of awe,” she said. “Got it.” She smiled and snuggled against him, relaxing as she set down her bowl and took her sketchbook from him. She would finish her meal after she drew a little more. The moment demanded it.
Adolin put his arm around her and watched, then whistled softly. “Those sketches are really good, Shallan. Even for you. Have you done any others?”
Feeling warm, she turned the page to show off the cultivationspren she’d drawn. “I’d like to find both male and female subjects for each variety of spren. There might not be time for it on this trip, but it occurred to me that no one, at least not in the modern era, has ever done a natural history of the Radiant spren.”
