Passion. Fear. Enthusiasm. Boredom. Hatred. Lust.
She became a new person with every heartbeat. The voices seemed thrilled by this. They assaulted her, growing to a frenzy. Shallan was a thousand people in a moment.
But which one was her?
All of them. A new voice. Wit’s?
“Wit!” she screamed, surrounded by snapping eels in a dark place. “Wit! Please.”
You’re all of them, Shallan. Why must you be only one emotion? One set of sensations? One role? One life?
“They rule me, Wit. Veil and Radiant and all the others. They’re consuming me.”
Then be ruled as a king is ruled by his subjects. Make Shallan so strong, the others must bow.
“I don’t know if I can!”
The darkness thrummed and surged.
And then … withdrew?
Shallan didn’t feel as if she’d changed anything, but still the darkness retreated. She found herself kneeling on the cold stones outside the control building. The enormous heart became sludge, then melted away, almost seeming to crawl, sending out runners of dark liquid before itself.
“You did it!” Adolin said.
I did?
“Secure that building,” Azure commanded her soldiers. Drehy and Skar glowed nearby, looking grim, fresh blood on their clothing. They’d been fighting.
Shallan stood up on shaky feet. The small, circular structure in front of her seemed insignificant compared to the other monastery buildings, but it was the key to everything.
“This is going to be tricky, Azure,” Adolin said. “We’re going to have to fight back down into the city, push the enemy out. Storms, I hope my father has our armies ready.”
Shallan blinked, dazed. She couldn’t help feeling she’d failed. That she hadn’t done anything.
“The first transfer will be only the control building,” Adolin said. “After that, she’ll swap the entire platform—buildings and all. We’ll want to move our army back into the palace before that happens.” Adolin turned, surveying the path back. “What is taking the king so long?”
Shallan stepped into the control building. It looked much as the one she’d discovered at the Shattered Plains—though better maintained, and its tile mosaics on the floor were of fanciful creatures. An enormous beast with claws, and fur like a mink. Something that looked like a giant fish. On the walls, lanterns shone with gemstones—and between them hung full-length mirrors.
Shallan walked toward the keyhole control device, summoning Pattern as a Blade. She studied him, then looked up at herself in one of the mirrors hanging on the wall.
Someone else stood in the mirror. A woman with black hair that fell to her waist. She wore archaic clothing, a sleeveless, flowing gown that was more of a tunic, with a simple belted waist. Shallan touched her face. Why had she put this illusion on?
The reflection didn’t mimic her motions, but pressed forward, raising hands against the glass. The reflected room faded and the figure distorted, and became a jet-black shadow with white holes for eyes.
Radiant, the thing said, mouthing the words. My name is Sja-anat. And I am not your enemy.
Kaladin’s men charged down the steps in their escape, though the back ranks bunched up in the hallway around the stairwell. Behind, the Queen’s Guard set up and lowered crossbows. Sylspear held high, Kaladin stepped between the two groups and pooled Stormlight into the ground, drawing the bolts downward. He was unpracticed with this power, and unfortunately, some of the bolts still slammed into shields, even heads.
Kaladin growled, then drew in a deep breath of Stormlight, bursting alight—the glow of his skin shining on the walls and ceiling of the palace hallway. The queen’s soldiers shied back before the light as if it were something physical.
Distantly, he heard the screaming spren react to what he’d done. He Lashed himself in precisely the right way to rise a few feet off the ground, then float there. The queen’s soldiers blinked against the light, as if it were somehow too strong for their eyes. At last, the captain of the rearguard called the final withdrawal, and the rest of Kaladin’s men rushed down the stairs. Only Noro’s squad lingered.
Some of the queen’s soldiers began to test forward at him, so he dropped to the floor and started down the steps at a run. Beard and the rest of the squad joined him, followed by the queen’s soldiers, unnaturally silent.
Unfortunately, Kaladin heard something else echoing up the stairwell from down below. The sounds of men clashing, and of familiar singing.
Parshendi songs.
“Rearguard!” Kaladin shouted. “Form up on the steps; orient toward the upper floor!”
His soldiers obeyed, turning and leveling spears and shields at the descending enemy. Kaladin Lashed himself upward and twisted so that he hit the ceiling feet-first. He ducked and ran—passing over the heads of his men in the high stairwell—until he reached the ground floor.
The first ranks of his soldiers clashed with parshman troops in the eastern gallery. But the enemy had penned them into the stairwell, so most of his troops couldn’t get down to the fight.
Kaladin released his Lashing, dropping and twisting to land in a tempest of light before the parshman ranks. Several of his men groaned and cried as they fell, bloodied, to the enemy spears. Kaladin felt his rage flare, and he lowered the Sylspear. It was time to begin the work of death.
Then he saw the face of the parshman in front of him.
It was Sah. Former slave. Cardplayer. Father.
Kaladin’s friend.
Shallan regarded the figure in the mirror. It had spoken. “What are you?”
They call me the Taker of Secrets, the figure said. Or they once did.
“One of the Unmade. Our enemies.”
We were made, then unmade, she agreed. But no, not an enemy! The figure turned humanlike again, though the eyes remained glowing white. It pressed its hands against the glass. Ask my son. Please.
“You’re of him. Odium.”
The figure glanced to the sides, as if frightened. No. I am of me. Now, only of me.
Shallan considered, then looked at the keyhole. By using Pattern in that, she could initiate the Oathgate.
Don’t do it, Sja-anat pled. Listen, Radiant. Listen to my plea. Ashertmarn fled on purpose. It is a trap. I was compelled to touch the spren of this device, so it will not function as you wish.
Kaladin’s will to fight evaporated.
He’d been stoked with energy, ready to enter the battle and protect his men. But …
Sah recognized him and gasped, then grabbed his companion—Khen, one of the others Kaladin knew—and pointed. The parshwoman cursed, and the group of them scrambled away from the steps—leaving dead human soldiers.
In the opening provided, Kaladin’s men pushed down off the steps into the grand hall. They surged around Kaladin as—stunned—he lowered his spear.
The large, pillared hall became a scene of utter chaos. Azure’s soldiers rushed in from the Sunwalk, meeting the parshmen who came up the stairs from the back of the palace—they’d likely broken in through the gardens there. The king held his son, standing amid a group of soldiers in the very center. Kaladin’s men managed to get down off the steps, and behind them rushed the Queen’s Guard.