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“Pattern, have you lied to us?”
His pattern wilted. “… Yes.”
Radiant took a deep breath. “And have you been spying on us? Have you been using the cube Mraize gave us, in secret?”
“I’m sorry, Radiant,” he said softly. “I couldn’t think of another way.”
“Please answer the questions.”
“I have,” he said, his pattern growing even smaller.
There, Radiant thought. Was that so hard? We should have asked him right away, Veil.
It was only then that she noticed, deep inside, that Shallan was seething. Twisting about herself, trembling, fuming, alternating between terror and anger.
That … didn’t seem good.
Pattern’s pattern swirled small and tight. “I try to be worthy of trust. That is not a lie. But I have brought someone for Shallan to meet. I think it is important.”
He stood with a smooth inhuman motion, then gestured behind him with one long-fingered hand. Radiant frowned and glanced over her shoulder. Leaves from the trees farther up the plane lazily drifted down the central corridor. A faint shimmer dusted the air, and a small crystal tree started to grow in miniature on the bench beside her hand.
Standing near a statue behind them was a dark figure wearing a stiff robe. Like Pattern’s, but dustier. And a head trapped in shadow. Twisted and wrong.
Damnation, Veil thought.
Shallan emerged. She grabbed Radiant, shoved her away someplace dark and small, and slammed the door shut.
Shallan … Veil thought, then her voice crumpled. She should remain sectioned away. In the past, they hadn’t talked to one another this way. They’d simply taken turns being in control, as they were needed.
Shallan was in control. The other two became whispers. “No,” she said to Pattern. “We are not doing this.”
“But—” he said.
“NO,” she said. “I want nothing from you, Pattern. You are a traitor and a liar. You have betrayed my trust.”
He wilted, flopping onto the bench. Shallan saw movement from the corner of her eye and spun, her heart thundering in her ears. The small building she’d come here to watch—Sixteen’s home—had opened, and a furtive figure had emerged. Hunched over, face hidden in the cowl of a cloak, the figure hurried through the statue park.
Excellent. It was time to fulfill Mraize’s mission.
Shallan … Veil whispered.
She ignored the voice and settled down on the bench, acting nonchalant as she opened her notebook. Veil’s plan had included wandering through the statue park, idly flipping through her notebook, then bumping into Sixteen—hopefully getting a good look at his face.
Unfortunately, Shallan wasn’t in position yet to do that. She’d been distracted by Pattern and his lies. She stood and meandered toward the statue garden, trying to appear nonthreatening. She needed to determine for certain that Sixteen was her target. Then …
Then what.
Kill him.
What are you doing? Veil thought. Such a distant, annoying voice. Couldn’t she quiet it entirely?
You were the one who wanted to go forward with Mraize’s plan, Shallan thought. Well, I agree. So two of us have decided.
I wanted to gather information, Veil thought. I wanted to use it against him. Why are you suddenly so aggressive?
Because this was exactly who Shallan was. Who she’d always been. She stalked toward the statue garden. Radiant was, of course, screaming and railing at her—but she was outvoted.
Shallan had been watching and learning these last months, and she’d picked up some things from Veil. She knew to get into Sixteen’s blind spot, then stop and appear like she was sketching a statue—so when he turned to glance around, she seemed unremarkable.
She knew to glide forward when he turned away. She knew to step carefully, putting the heel of her foot down first and rolling toward the toe. She knew to walk on the sides of her feet as much as possible, not letting the flats slap.
She got right up behind Sixteen as he hunched over, fiddling with some notes. She grabbed him by the shoulder, then spun him around. His hood fell, revealing his face.
He was Shin; there was no mistaking that pale, almost sickly skin and those childlike eyes. Restares was a short Alethi man with wispy hair. This man was short, yes, but completely bald, and was not Alethi. So unless Mraize was wrong and Restares was a Lightweaver, this was not her man.
He shouted and said something to her in a language she didn’t recognize. She released him, and he fled toward his home. Her heart thumping in her chest, she pulled her hand out of the satchel. She hadn’t even realized she’d reached into that, for a weapon.
She didn’t need it. This wasn’t him.
Pattern walked up, having recovered some of his characteristic perkiness. There was no sign of the other spren he’d wanted her to meet.
“Well!” he said. “That was exciting. But this is not him, is it?”
“No,” Shallan said. “It’s not.”
“Shallan, I need to explain to you. What I’ve been doing.”
“No,” Shallan said, covering her pain. “It is done. Let’s move forward instead.”
“Mmm…” Pattern said. “I … What has happened to you? Something has changed. Are you … Veil?”
“No,” Shallan said. “I’m me. And I’ve finally made a difficult decision that was a long time coming. Come on, we need to report to Mraize. His intel was wrong—Restares is not in this fortress.”
Such skills, like my honor itself, are now lost to time. Weathered away, crushed to dust, and scattered to the ends of the cosmere. I am a barren tree of a human being. I am the hollow that once was a mighty peak.
The Sibling refused to speak to Navani.
She lowered her hand and stared at the garnet vein in the wall. Such a wonderful secret. In plain sight, surrounding her all this time. So common your eyes passed over it, and if you noticed it at all, you remarked only briefly. Simply another pattern in the strata.
The soul of Urithiru had been watching her all along. Perhaps if Navani had discovered it sooner, they could have achieved a different result.
She replaced her hand on the vein. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please know that I’m sorry. Truly.”
For the briefest moment, she thought the Sibling would respond this time. Navani felt something, faint as the movement of a shadow deep within the ocean. No words came.
With a sigh, Navani left the crystal vein and wound her way through the shelves of the small library to reach her desk beside the door. Today, in addition to the guard, Raboniel’s daughter—with the topknot and the vacant eyes—sat on the floor right inside.
Navani settled onto her seat, trying to ignore the insane Fused. Notes and half-finished experiments cluttered her desk. She didn’t have the least bit of interest in continuing them. Why would she? Everything she’d attempted so far had been a sham. She wrote out her daily instructions to the scholars—she was having them perform tests on Voidspren fabrials, which Raboniel had delivered before everything went wrong. She gave this to a messenger, then sat there staring.
Eventually Raboniel herself made an appearance, wearing an Alethi havah that fit her surprisingly well. Clearly a good dressmaker had tailored it to the Fused’s taller, more broad-shouldered frame. One might have thought her form would make her unfeminine, particularly with the unpronounced bust common to most singer femalens. Instead—with the excellent cut and the confidence of her stride—Raboniel wore the dress as if it had always been designed to accentuate someone of height, power, and poise. She had made this fashion her own. Adolin would have approved.
