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Ulim formed into crackling lightning and zipped down the table leg and along the floor. She took a step after him, attuning the Terrors—but he was gone, out under the door. By the time she looked into the hall, he’d vanished.
She closed the door and found herself breathing heavily. She was alone in the enemy’s stronghold, having snuck into forbidden hallways. What should she do? What could she do?
Wait. Ulim would come back.
He didn’t though. And each moment she stood there attuned to the Terrors was more excruciating than the last. She had to strike out on her own. Perhaps she could sneak back the way she’d come? She ripped up the note, then dumped it out the shaft with the waste. She attuned Determination and slipped from the room.
“You there!”
She cringed, attuning Mourning. One hallway. She hadn’t been able to cross even one hallway.
A human soldier in a glistening breastplate marched up, a long, wicked weapon in his hand—a spear, but with an axe’s head.
“Why are you here?” he asked her in the Alethi tongue.
She played dumb, speaking in her own language. She pointed toward the steps. Perhaps if he thought she couldn’t speak Alethi, he’d simply let her go?
Instead he took her roughly by the arm and marched her along the hallway. Each time she tried to pull away he yanked harder, leading her down the steps and through this maze of a palace. He eventually deposited her in a room where several women were writing with spanreeds—Venli still wished her people knew how to make those. A gruff older soldier with a proper beard took reports.
“Found this one on the top floor,” the guard said, pushing Venli into a seat. “She was poking around in a suspicious way.”
“Does she speak Alethi?” asked the man with the beard.
“No, sir,” the man said. He saluted, then returned to his post.
Venli sat quietly, trying not to attune rhythms with too much dread. Surely this wouldn’t look too bad. She could complain she got lost. And wandered up several flights of stairs … And snuck past guards … When they’d been told several times to stay away …
When I find Ulim again, she thought, attuning Betrayal, I will … What? What could she do to a spren? What was she without him and his promises? She suddenly felt very, very small. She hated that feeling.
“You look like one of their scholars,” the older man said, his arms folded. “You really can’t speak Alethi? Or were you playing dumb?”
“I … was playing dumb.” She immediately regretted speaking. Why had she exposed herself?
The man grunted. Their version of attuning Amusement, she thought. “And what were you doing?”
“Looking for the privy.”
Dead flat stare. The human version of attuning Skepticism.
“I found it,” she said to Reconciliation. “Eventually. Room with all the pots.”
“I’m going to note this,” he said, nodding to one of the scribes, who began writing. “Your name?”
“Venli,” she said.
“If you were a human, I’d lock you up until someone came for you—or I’d give you to someone who could get me answers. But that treaty is being signed tonight. I don’t want to cause any incidents. Do you?”
“No, sir,” she said.
“Then how about this? You sit here, in this room with us, for the next four hours. Once the feast happens and the treaty is signed, we’ll see. Everything happens without a problem, and you can go in for the after-feast. Something goes wrong … well, then we’ll have another conversation, won’t we?”
Venli attuned Disappointment, but nothing was going to happen. She’d probably suffer nothing more than a talking-to from her sister. Part of her would rather be locked up.
She nodded anyway. In truth, she found the man’s actions surprisingly rational. Keeping her close would stop anything she might have planned—and if she truly was a lost guest, he wouldn’t be in any real trouble for holding her for a few hours.
She contemplated insisting she was too important for this. She discarded that idea. Caught so quickly after being abandoned by Ulim … Well, it was hard to keep pretending she was strong. The feeling of smallness persisted.
The soldier left her to go talk quietly to the women, and Venli made out some of their conversation. He had them report to other guard stations in the palace, informing them he’d picked up a wandering “Parshendi” and asking if anyone else had seen individuals entering forbidden or suspicious locations.
Venli found herself attuning Praise unexpectedly. It was … nice to be alone. Lately, Ulim had always been around. She began thinking about how she could clean this up. Go talk to the Five. Maybe—despite how much it hurt to admit it—go ask Eshonai for advice.
Unfortunately, Ulim soon zipped in through the open door as a trail of red lightning. She hummed Confusion, then Betrayal, as he moved up her chair leg and formed into a person on her armrest.
“We have a big problem,” Ulim said to her.
She hummed a little louder.
“Oh, get over yourself, girl,” he said. “Listen, there are Heralds in the palace tonight.”
“Heralds?” she whispered. “Here? They’re dead!”
“Hush!” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the humans. “They’re not dead. You have no idea how royally, colossally, incredibly ruined we are. I saw Shalash first and followed her—then ran across not only Kalak, but Nale. I think he saw me. He shouldn’t have been able to, but—”
A figure darkened the doorway to the guard post. The bearded soldier looked up. Venli turned slowly, attuning Anxiety. The newcomer was an imposing figure with deep brown skin and a pale mark on his cheek, almost like a listener might have as part of their skin pattern. He was in uniform, though it wasn’t of the cut the Alethi wore.
He looked at Venli, then pointedly at Ulim—who groaned. Then the man finally looked over at the soldier.
“Ambassador?” the guardsman asked. “What do you need?”
“I heard a report that you are holding one of the thinking parshmen here,” the newcomer said. “Is this her?”
“Yes,” the guardsman said. “But—”
“I request,” the man said, “to have this prisoner released into my care.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Ambassador,” the guardsman said, glancing at the scribes for confirmation. “You … I mean, that is a very unusual request.”
“This femalen is important to this night’s activities,” the man said. He stepped forward, placing something on the nearest scribe’s desk. “This is a seal of deputation. I have legal jurisdiction in this land, as granted by your king. You will authenticate it.”
“I’m not sure…” the scribe woman said.
“You will authenticate it,” the man repeated. Perfectly void of emotion or rhythm. He made Venli feel cold. Particularly as he turned toward her.
Behind him, the scribes began scribbling with their spanreeds. The newcomer blocked most of Venli’s view of them.
“Hello, Ulim,” the man said in a soft, steady voice.
“Um … hello, Nale,” the spren said. “I … um. I didn’t expect to see you here. Um, today. Anytime, actually … Ever … How is, ah, Shalash?”
