The Way of Kings Prime Page 11

  Jasnah nodded. “I noticed,” she mumbled.

  Balenmar set down the eating spear, half of the cake uneaten, as he moved to rise. “I don’t see how you stand this food—it’s so terribly bland.”

  “It suits us,” Jasnah replied.

  “As you will. Anyway, we should not speak of these things here. I will contact you if my sniffings turn up anything more concrete. Just . . . be wary, Lady Kholin. Your brother’s life is far more at danger in his own bed than it ever was on that battlefield.”

  Jasnah felt a chill, but nodded.

  Balenmar stood on wearied legs. “I should go, my lady. Your brother plans to make some sort of announcement in a few moments.”

  “Announcement?” Jasnah asked.

  Balenmar shrugged. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

  Jasnah frowned as the old man hobbled away. What was Elhokar planning? Why hadn’t he mentioned it to her? It was probably nothing, but . . .

  She sighed, turning back to her letters. There was nothing to do for the moment but find out just how limited her resources were. Shinri returned a few moments later, looking far more formal than before. She had redone her braids and her facepaint, and had exchanged her talla for a gorgeous yellow one with dark blue embroidery. She wore a necklace of ruby to match her hair, and her favorite jade bracelet.

  “Do you intend to sing tonight?” Jasnah asked the girl.

  Shinri glanced toward the balladess stand. “I’m not sure, my lady,” she confessed. “With everything that’s happening . . .”

  “You should,” Jasnah told her. “We need to re-establish ourselves in Ral Eram. It would be good to remind the court what it’s missed in your absence.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Shinri said as Jasnah handed her a pile of letters. The girl moved off to do as commanded.

  Shinri wasn’t the only one running letters. The women of the court saw feasts as a perfect opportunity for correspondence, since replies could be received so quickly. The men paid little heed to the bustling messengers, laughing and feasting, inavah wine flowing freely. Intrigue was the game of their women; if there was anything important to be learned, their wives and daughters would inform them the next day—preferably late in the day, once they’d slept off the payment for their night’s celebrations.

  Jasnah waited patiently for replies to her notes. Eventually, she heard a familiar voice sounding in the hall. Conversations quieted and people glanced toward the balladess pedestal despite the fact that there had been singing, in one form or another, during the entire feast.

  Shinri’s voice was beautiful. She had chosen to sing “Windborn Fate,” a melancholy ballad about a lost love, and its haunting melody drew the attention even of the king, who stopped talking to Meridas long enough to listen.

  Jasnah smiled. Shinri didn’t use her voice to her advantage as much as she should—like politics, singing was one of the prime Feminine Noble Arts. A noblewoman with talent such as Shinri’s could use the renown she earned for great political leverage—people would be more likely to attend a nobleman’s party if they knew that there was a chance that a renowned balladess would be performing.

  Eventually, people returning to their feasting. Shinri sang several more ballads, during which Jasnah received several correspondences, all unrelated to her inquiries. Most of them were welcomes regarding Jasnah’s return, though a few were apologies from women she had invited to sit at her table. She prepared careful replies as she waited—it had been a long time since she’d had to pander to the court women, but it appeared that she was going to have to reacquaint herself with the process.

  Elhokar’s announcement came before any of the women replied to Jasnah’s questions. He raised himself up from the king’s table, pushing his chair out behind him, only a little bit tipsy. The room grew quiet as he cleared his throat, holding forth a hand sparkling with rings. Shinri stopped singing, and took the opportunity to pick her way back toward Jasnah’s table, abandoning the balladess pedestal to another woman.

  “It is certainly good to be among friends in our home country again,” the king said in a firm voice. There were murmurs of approval among the men at this. “We have fought well, and revenged ourselves upon the man who took the life of my father, the king. It has been a difficult war—difficult to leave our families, difficult to see the deaths of our friends. But that is the price of justice.

  “Now, however, is a time for celebration. The land of Pralir—nearly half of the ancient kingdom of Prallah—is ours. There have been spoils won. Many of these have been awarded to those who fought most loyally, others must be retained by the crown for its own reasons. There are some rewards, however, that have not yet been placed.”

  Elhokar gestured toward the back of the room, where several noblemen entered, pulling a small cloth-draped cart between them. One threw off the cloth, exposing five gleaming weapons. Shardblades.

  There was a hiss from the king’s table, and Jasnah glanced back toward it. Dalenar’s visage had turned notably hostile, though he contained himself. Renarin’s Shardblade was among the five.

  “These weapons have no claimant,” Elhokar explained. “Several were won by the eyes of keen archers, who felled enemy Shardbearers from a distance. Others came from our own men, who died with no heir. Others . . .” Elhokar paused, not looking at Dalenar. “Came from other sources. While all Blades that were not won in single combat and are without heir are traditionally mine to bestow, I have set aside these five to be special rewards.

  “Lords and ladies, we shall have a dueling competition—a competition such as they had in the days of my grandfather, before the wars and pain of my time. The winners shall not only carry away honor, but shall earn themselves Shardblades and the title that goes with them.”

  This caused an excited stir. Normally, there were only three ways to get a Blade: inherit it, earn it from the king, or defeat a Shardbearer in combat. The three methods were increasingly unlikely, and even the first was a hopeless dream for most men. The opportunity Elhokar proposed was rare indeed.

  Jasnah sat thoughtfully as the hall burst with discussions. It was an interesting move, but a potentially brilliant one. Years of warfare had depressed the kingdom and strained allegiances—a chance for such festivities would enhance Elhokar’s popularity. There were few things the people of Roshar—noble and citizen alike—liked more than an exciting duel.

  “Any man of noble rank or of First Citizen status may participate,” Elhokar continued. “Traveling duelists or duelists from the countries of our allies—Jah Keved and Thalenah—may participate in the festivities and the lesser events, though they may not win a Blade. The competition will occur in sixty days, and I wish it to be well-attended—in fact, I demand it. Every nobleman of Fifth rank or above is hereby commanded to come to Ral Eram for the festival, though he need not participate himself. Most especially, every Shardbearer in my realm must attend. Let the news be spread.”

  Jasnah frowned. A nobleman would be a fool to miss a social opportunity such as this one; Elhokar didn’t need to command them to attend. Jasnah eyed Meridas, who seemed far less tipsy than the other men, then shot a glance at Nanavah, who sat speaking with the women of her table. Finally she looked back up at Elhokar, who had seated himself once again.

  What are you planning, Brother? What is it you aren’t telling me?

  Several moments later, replies to Jasnah’s questions began to arrive. Shinri watched the deliveries eagerly, and Jasnah reluctantly turned her attention from her brother to the communiqués.

  At least they had the courtesy to respond, Jasnah thought, opening the messages and scanning their contents. She had feared that the letters would be terse and uninformative, but apparently she retained enough political might to ensure her requests were taken seriously. The women she had contacted were expert politicians—the wives of Third and Fourth Lords. They knew better than to alienate the king’s sister—at least, they knew better than to do it while that sister was still a potential
force in the court.

  The news was not explicit—the women had only shared enough to make it appear that they were helping her. Still, she was able to glean some information from the pile of letters. Nanavah had taken special care to befriend and reward Jasnah’s former allies. The queen had set up her own special dining clubs, and to be invited had become the grandest of courtly honors. What’s more, Nanavah had somehow gained access to the royal treasury.

  The queen wasn’t giving away Elhokar’s money—she was apparently too savvy for that. However, when a woman allied with Nanavah, the roads to her husband’s city somehow got repaired more frequently, or patrolled more extensively. Both encouraged merchants to travel to the city and, more importantly, citizens to move into the city. Everyone knew that the ten-year census was approaching, and with it city ranks would be revised. Those who ruled well, and whose cities grew, would be rewarded with increased ranks—and the taxation benefits, political power, and military support that came with them.

  While the tactics were as old as female politics, Jasnah was still impressed. Most women played the game, but few—even those with Nanavah’s access—did it successfully. Hers would be a difficult hold to break.

  One thing, however, confused Jasnah. Emeralds. Several sources mentioned Nanavah’s involvement in the emerald trade—they suspected she was stockpiling them. But why? To drive the price up, then sell? The merchants would never fall for such a ploy. Perhaps she had been trying to gather more resources in case her husband’s war continued. In the economy of Awakening, emeralds meant food. Assuming one had talented Awakeners, the Polestone could be used to create grain.

  “My lady?” Shinri asked hesitantly.

  Jasnah paused, looking up from the letters.

  “Did they say anything about Tethren?”

  Jasnah glanced at the letters. She had indeed asked about the man, but none of the sources had anything to say. “No,” she admitted. “But that means nothing, Shinri. This court has little heed for the workings of the Three Houses. You need to ask in Jah Keved.”

  Shinri nodded. “Of course. You’re right. Thank you for asking, my lady. I think that—”

  The oak doors at the back of the room burst open, slamming back against the walls with a sudden snapping sound. The room fell sharply silent as a figure strode into the hall.

  Jasnah had rarely seen such a wild, unkempt man. His hair was savage and disheveled, dripping wet from a recent highstorm. His beard was matted and stained dark with crom. He wore only a tangled loincloth, apparently crafted with haste from the bark of a shennah plant. He was tall, towering nearly a head over the guards who stood apprehensively behind him, and his exposed body was lean and muscular.

  And he carried a Shardblade.

  The people of the room cried out in surprise, several of the men standing, their hands held to the side as they began summoning their Blades. Elhokar slammed his palms on his table, rising with a dark look.

  “Who—”

  “King of Alethkar!” the wild man barked, speaking in a clipped, rural accent, similar to that of a man from Riemak to the west. The stranger strode forward, stopping in the middle of the room, amidst the women’s tables.

  “I am he,” Elhokar replied.

  “I was under the impression that Ral Eram was a city of Ten Kingdoms!” the wild man announced. “Why is it that I find only one king here, ruling over the entire city as if its emperor?”

  Elhokar flushed. “What is your business here, stranger?”

  “I am no stranger,” the wild man said. “I am Talenel Elin, Herald of the Almighty. I have come to bring warning of the Return, and of the danger you face—though, from appearances, it seems you are enough of a danger to yourselves. Is it true that you are recently returned from an invasion of Prallah, your once ally against the tide of the Khothen?”

  “Bah!” Elhokar said, looking at the guards. “Why in the blessed name of the Almighty would you let this fool interrupt my feasting?”

  “Your men did as your own ancestors required,” the wild man said, holding forth his Shardblade, causing several of the women to shy away in fear. “They acted by laws preserved in your ballads, laws I helped establish so that the proper proof could be provided. Behold!” the man said, thrusting forth his hand in a dramatic gesture. “Witness the Sign of the Return!”

  Nothing happened.

  The room sat in silence, regarding the strange man. The would-be-Elin looked down at his hand with concern, then thrust it forward again. Again, nothing happened. Suddenly, the man wavered, looking disoriented, his eyes unfocused, his hand going to his head. At that exact moment, eight guards tackled him from behind.

  Women cried out and men ducked as the soldiers brought the strange man to the ground. Two of them focused only on the madman’s arm, mindful of the Shardblade and its supernaturally-sharp edge. The guards and he fell in a heap, pinning the madman to the ground.

  Lords jumped from their seats, joining the group of guards who struggled to control the man. Whoever he was, he must have been incredibly strong, for he nearly rose to his feet with six men holding him down. Finally, he seemed to lose his resolve, and he slumped to the floor, allowing himself to be held motionless.

  Assured they were in control, the soldiers carefully pulled the madman to his feet, six of them holding him tightly, another four standing with drawn swords. One grabbed the madman’s Shardblade and ran it forward to Elhokar’s table.

  “Captain,” Elhokar said, face bright with anger, “your incompetence has embarrassed me at my own homecoming feast!”

  “I’m sorry, my lord,” the lead guard said. “But, he had a Blade, and . . . well, the ballads do say we have to allow anyone to perform the Sign . . .”

  “Not in the middle of a feast, you fool!” Elhokar snapped. “Take him from here and have him executed.”

  “Executed?” the captain asked.

  “He’s so fond of the Law of the Sign,” Elhokar said, waving toward the man, “let him suffer the punishment for it. I know the ballads too, and I saw no sign of his divinity.”

  “My lord . . .” the captain said. “He obviously has no wit to—”

  “Do not question your king!” Elhokar screamed.

  The captain bowed, flushing at the command. Jasnah eyed the poor wildman, pity stirring within her. He stood slumped in the guards’ grasp, his head down, and he seemed to be whispering something to himself. This was not Shinavar—the people of Alethkar expected civility and honor from their rulers. Executing madmen simply for being insane was an act of barbarity.

  Perhaps this man’s cause could serve her as well. It was a risk, but . . .

  Jasnah stood, drawing the room’s attention. “My lord, I ask mercy.”

  “On what grounds?” Elhokar spat, sitting.

  “He carried a Shardblade,” Jasnah pointed out. “That makes him a nobleman.”

  “Or the murderer of a nobleman,” Elhokar replied.

  “We don’t know that, my lord,” Jasnah said.

  “I am not in a mood for argument, Jasnah,” Elhokar said. “Do not rouse my anger further. This man has interrupted my feast and threatened me before my court.”

  Jasnah dropped to the ground and bowed her head to the marble floor. “Please, my lord,” she pled. “Take his Blade, add it to the pile of those to be won at the competition, and spare this man his life. You have shown the world your honor already. Now show them your mercy.”

  Elhokar paused, regarding his sister. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “If you wish to take responsibility for him, Sister, then he is yours. Just take him from my sight.”

  Jasnah rose, waving Kemnar over from the side of the room, where he stood with the other personal guards. “Take him to Mercyhome monastery and put him under the care of the monks there,” she said quietly. “Make certain he’s clothed and bathed, and give them a few gems as payment.”

  “And if he gives me trouble?” Kemnar asked, eyeing the stranger. The man had yet to look up from
his mumblings.

  “He seems to have lost his spirit,” she said, “and he no longer has a Blade. He shouldn’t be any trouble for you.”

  “I didn’t imply that he would,” Kemnar replied.

  “The monks will know what to do with him,” she said. “You can leave a few guards with them if it looks like he might act up again.”

  Kemnar nodded, waving for a few of the palace guardsmen to join him in leading the madman away. Jasnah moved back to her seat, brushing off her talla and seating herself again. The men of the court turned back to their meals, their laughter forced as they intentionally tried to forget the incident. The women, however, watched Jasnah. She had shown them something, something that they would not quickly forget. She still had power over her brother, power to save a man’s life even when the king’s infamous temper had been stoked.

  Jasnah met the queen’s eyes through the crowd. The woman’s mouth was a line of displeasure—calling for mercy should have been her place, but she had not acted. Jasnah had, and the king had listened to her. It set an uncomfortable precedent.

  Jasnah turned away from the woman, lightly picking up her brushpen and scribing thankful replies to those women who had answered her questions.

  chapter 10

  Jek 2

  Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, knelt in the darkness and laid a quiet hand on the granite, mouthing the fourteen curses against a people who forced him to desecrate holy stone.

  Yet there was no other way. It shamed him, but he barely even noticed any more. When he had first come to the lands of the east, he had tried to find ways to keep from walking on the stone. He would stand on rugs and ride in hand-drawn carriages. Eventually, he had been forced to admit his hypocrisy. Beneath the rug was stone. Beneath that stone, more stone. Wherever he walked, whether it be inside or outdoors, his feet desecrated the rock. There was no regular soil in this blighted land.

  Jek stood. The night was cool, yet still arid. He longed for the enfolding humidity of his homeland. That was not to be, however. He was Truthless—his lot was to walk the stones, knowing every step brought him damnation. And so it would be.