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Radiant marched through a chamber deep beneath Urithiru, listening to the crashing sound of the waterworks and worrying about the mission Shallan had agreed to undertake. Volunteering to visit the honorspren? Traveling into Shadesmar?
That positioned them to do as Mraize had tasked them. Again.
Radiant did not like Mraize, and she certainly didn’t trust him. However, she would keep to the agreement: the will of two should be respected. Veil wished to participate in the Ghostbloods wholeheartedly. Shallan wanted to work with them long enough to find out what they knew. So Radiant would not go to Dalinar and Jasnah. The compact meant harmony, and harmony meant the ability to function.
Mraize wants something out of this Restares person, Veil thought. I can feel it. We need to find out what that secret is, then use it. We can’t do that from here.
A valid enough point. Radiant clasped her hands behind her back and continued her walk along the edge of the vast reservoir as her Lightweavers trained nearby. She had chosen to wear her vakama, the traditional Veden warrior’s clothing. It was similar to the Alethi takama, but the skirt was pleated instead of straight. She wore a loose matching coat with a tight vest and shirt beneath.
The bright clothing featured vibrant blues embroidered over reds with gold woven between, and it had trim on the skirt. She’d noticed the Alethi doing double takes—both for the variegated colors, and because she wore what was traditionally a man’s outfit. But a warrior was who she was, and Jah Keved was her heritage. She would convey both.
The room echoed with a low roar. Openings high in the walls on the other side of the reservoir let streams gush down and crash into the basin. The noise was distant enough to not disturb conversation, and the longer she practiced here, the more comforting she found the sound of rushing water. It was a natural thing, but contained, restrained. It seemed to represent humankind’s mastery over the elements.
So we must master ourselves, Radiant thought—and Veil approved. Radiant was careful not to think poorly of Veil. Though their methods differed, they both existed to protect and help Shallan. Radiant respected Veil’s efforts there. She had accomplished things Radiant could not.
Indeed, perhaps Veil could have been persuaded to talk to Dalinar and Jasnah. But Shallan … the idea frightened Shallan.
That deep wound had surprised Radiant as it began to emerge this last year. Radiant was pleased with the improvement they’d made in working together, but this wound was impeding further progress. It seemed similar to what often happened with strength training. You eventually reached a plateau—and sometimes getting to new heights required more pain first.
They’d get through this. It might seem like regression, but Radiant was certain this last knot of agony was the final answer. The final truth. Shallan was terrified that the ones she loved would turn on her when they found out the extent of her crimes. But she needed to confront her truths.
Radiant would do what she could to help ease that burden. Today, that meant helping prepare for the mission into Shadesmar. Veil could fulfill Mraize’s demand and find this Restares person. Radiant would instead make certain the official side of their journey—speaking to the honorspren and pleading for them to join the war—was handled competently.
She turned and inspected her Lightweavers. She brought them to this chamber under the tower because they didn’t like to train in the standard sparring halls. Though Radiant would have preferred them to associate with other soldiers, she had reluctantly agreed to find them a more private place. Their powers were … unusual, and could be distracting.
Nearby, Beryl and Darcira—two of her newer Lightweavers—changed faces as they fought. Diversions, to put their opponent off guard. Curiously, when wearing new faces, both women attacked more recklessly. Many Lightweavers, when offered a part to play, threw themselves into it wholeheartedly.
It didn’t seem they had the same mental crisis as Shallan, fortunately. They just liked acting, and sometimes took it too far. If given a helmet, they’d stand up and shout orders like a battle commander. Wearing the right face they’d argue politics, stand in front of a crowd, even lob insults at the mighty. But catch either of these two women alone, wearing her own face? They’d speak in muted voices and avoid crowds, seeking to curl up quietly and read.
“Beryl, Darcira,” Radiant said, interrupting the women. “I like how you are learning to control your powers—but today’s task is to practice the sword. Try to watch your footwork more than your transformations. Darcira, when you wear a male face, you always lose your stance.”
“Guess I feel more aggressive,” Darcira said, shrugging as her Lightweaving puffed away, revealing her normal features.
“You must control the face rather than let it control you,” Radiant said. Inside she felt Shallan forming a wisecrack—the Three had their own trouble with that idea. “When you’re fighting, and you intend to distract someone, don’t let that distract you as well.”
“But Radiant,” Beryl said, waving toward her side sword, “why do we even have to learn to fight? We’re spies. If we have to pick up our swords, haven’t we already lost?”
“There may be times when you will need to pretend to be a soldier. In that case, using the sword could be part of your disguise. But yes, fighting is our last resort. I would have it be a viable last resort—if you need to break disguise and abandon your cover, I want you to survive and return to us.”
The young woman thought on that. She was a few years older than Shallan, but a few years younger than how Radiant saw herself. Beryl claimed to have forgotten her real name, she’d lived so many different lives. Veil had found her after hearing rumors of a prostitute working in the warcamps whose face changed to match that of people her clients most loved.
A hard life, but not an uncommon story for the Lightweavers. Half of Radiant’s band of twenty included the deserters Shallan had first recruited. Those men might not have forgotten their former lives, but there were certainly parts in the middle they’d rather not discuss.
Beryl and Darcira took Radiant’s tips—which were really Adolin’s tips, drilled into her brain over many nights practicing—and returned to their sparring.
“I couldn’t spot her Cryptic,” Radiant said as she walked away to inspect the others.
“Mmm?” Pattern said, riding on her back, right below her collar. “Pattern? She usually rides on the inside of Beryl’s shirt, near her skin. Pattern doesn’t like to be seen.”
“I’d prefer if you used the Cryptic’s other name,” Radiant said. “It’s confusing, otherwise.” After being pressured, each of the other Cryptics had picked individual names for the humans to use.
“I don’t understand why,” he said. “Our names are already all different. I am Pattern. She is Pattern. Gaz has Pattern.”
“Those … are the same words, Pattern.”
“But they’re not,” he said. “Mmm. I could write the numbers for you.”
“Humans can’t speak equations as intonations,” Radiant said.
Like most of Shallan’s team, Beryl and Darcira already had their own spren—though they had yet to earn their swords. That meant they weren’t squires according to the Windrunner definition. Cryptics weren’t as uptight as honorspren, and didn’t wait as long to start bonds. Everyone in her team had one at this point, and newcomers got them quickly.
