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“In the garden, with Balat meeting someone wearing a mask…” Pattern said.
“An important moment,” Veil said. “You were there. I can remember you being with Shallan.”
“Um … Yes!” he said. “I remember now. Ha ha. Yes, that happened. Balat and a mysterious figure. You have made my memory start to return, Veil! We were together then. And maybe Balat is a spy. My my. That is very naughty of him.”
From deep inside, Shallan whimpered again. But Veil, Veil had been created to soldier through moments like this. She ignored the profound sickening feeling. Pattern was lying to her.
Pattern was lying.
Veil couldn’t take anything for granted any longer. She couldn’t assume anyone was trustworthy. She had to be careful, redouble her defenses, and keep Shallan safe.
“Veil?” Pattern asked. “Are you well? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m merely thinking,” Veil said. “Have you seen any strange spren watching us?”
“The corrupted gloryspren?” he asked. “Like you said to watch out for? No, I have not. Mmm…”
She saw something ahead, a small group of riders glowing a faint blue-white. The honorspren had seen them approaching, and had sent a contingent to engage them.
Adolin halted the column, dismounting and telling his soldiers to water the horses and settle everyone. Then he stepped forward, still wearing the bloodied uniform, his side bandaged.
Veil moved to follow. “Keep your eyes—or whatever it is you have—open,” she said to Pattern as he ambled along beside her. “These are dangerous times, Pattern. We have to always be on the watch. Careful, lest we be taken advantage of…”
“Yes, truly.”
Shallan grew very small, very quiet. It’s all right, Veil thought. I’ll figure it out. I’ll find a way to keep you safe. I promise.
* * *
Adolin stopped in front of his caravan, Shallan at his side. The pain medication he’d taken was working, and he felt only a small ache from his gut wound. And the march here—during which he’d admitted he needed to ride, letting him rest—had helped with his light-headedness.
He still required sleep and time to recover. This wound wouldn’t be debilitating, unless it started to rot. But he also wouldn’t be in fighting shape for weeks at least.
For now, he kept a strong front. He had Notum stay back, though he was certain the three approaching honorspren had seen him. They rode on those same graceful not-horses that Notum had been riding earlier. His had run off in a panic when he’d been attacked, and they hadn’t been able to locate it.
These newcomers wore sharp field uniforms after an unfamiliar style—long sweeping coats that trailed almost to the knees, with high collars. They wore crowns on their heads, and carried long swords at their sides, slim and beautiful. The swords were the only things they wore that weren’t made of their own substance—coats, crowns, shirts, all were simply created by the honorspren.
A woman at the front had the highest collar of the three. She wore her hair up, tight save for one small tail of it pouring out the back. That, like the uniforms, was a fashion style unfamiliar to Adolin.
She pulled her not-horse to a halt about five paces from him. “Human,” she said. “You’ve been recognized by our scouts. Are you Adolin Kholin, as we have surmised?”
“Your intelligence is good,” he said to her, hand resting on his sheathed sword. “I’ve come by order of the Bondsmith, my father, to visit your lands and deliver a message on his behalf. I bring with me Knights Radiant of four different orders, all of whom work in concert against the rising Everstorm. Proof that men and spren once again need their bonds of old.”
“Lasting Integrity is not accepting visitors or emissaries, regardless of their pedigree,” the woman said, her tone sharp, each word a barked order. “You are to leave. We are not interested in bonds with murderers and traitors.”
Adolin took out the letters he’d been given, proffering them. He waited, sweating, hoping. One of the honorspren urged its mount forward, then took the letters.
Adolin felt a wave of relief as the honorspren returned to the other two. “Those letters explain our position,” Adolin said. “My father hopes that we can forge a new—”
He was interrupted as the spren deliberately ripped the letters in half. “We will not accept,” the woman said, “a contract from you.”
“It’s not a contract!” Adolin said, stepping forward, ignoring a spike of pain from his side. “They’re just letters! At least read them!”
“By reading these, we imply there is an argument you could make to persuade us,” the woman said as the other honorspren further shredded the letters. “You will withdraw from these lands and take with you the traitor Notum. Inform him that we now know his complicities run deeper than anticipated. His exile is complete.”
Adolin gritted his teeth. “He was attacked,” he said. “Nearly killed before we could get there! The world is changing. Barricading yourselves in your fortress won’t stop the change, but it might leave you completely without allies when you finally realize you need to do something!”
The honorspren unsheathed her sword and pointed it at him. “This is our realm. Our sovereign land. So you will leave as ordered. Humans never respect that, never accept that spren can own anything. We are possessions to you.”
“I don’t—”
“You will leave,” she said. “We reject your offer! We reject your bonds!”
Adolin took a deep breath, each of his arguments dying like shriveled plants starved for rainwater. Until only one dangerous possibility remained. A plan he had barely dared consider, let alone suggest to the others.
When he spoke, it was with the same brashness—but the same sense of instinctive rightness—that had led him to attack Sadeas. “You mistake me!” he snapped at the honorspren. “I didn’t come to offer you bonds with Radiants.”
“What, then?” she demanded.
“I’ve come,” Adolin said, “to face your judgment. You’ve named us murderers, traitors. I reject this, and vow to prove it. Take me, as a representative of the Kholin house and the new government of Urithiru. I am a highprince of Alethkar and the son of the Bondsmith. I will stand in the place of those humans whom you say betrayed you. You wish to reject us because of what they did? Prove, through judgment, that I deserve this treatment.”
The lead honorspren fell silent, then she leaned to the side and whispered quickly to her companions. They seemed equally baffled. Behind, Shallan took Adolin by the arm on his good side, her face concerned.
He stood firm. Not because he was confident, but because he was angry. They wanted to call him a traitor? They wanted to blame him for what had been done to Maya? Well, they were honorspren. He suspected they wouldn’t be able to resist a chance to formally defend their honor—as they saw it.
“You would stand trial?” the honorspren said at last. “For your ancestors?”
“I will stand trial for myself. In turning me away, you insult my sense of dignity, my integrity. You say I am not worthy, when you do not know me?”
“We know humans,” one said.
