What if it went deeper? What if he’d always known inconsistency lurked within him? He couldn’t keep pretending he was the man his father wanted him to be.
Well, it was moot anyway—Alethkar, as a nation, had fallen. He accompanied Ico back out of the captain’s cabin onto the deck, walking over to Shallan, Kaladin, and Azure, who stood by the starboard wale. Each wore a shirt, trousers, and jacket they’d bought off the Reachers with dun spheres. Dun gemstones weren’t worth nearly as much on this side, but apparently trade with the other side did happen, so they had some value.
Kaladin gaped at Adolin, looking down at his boots, then up at the neck scarf, then focusing on the waistcoat. That befuddled expression alone made the work worthwhile.
“How?” Kaladin demanded. “Did you sew that?”
Adolin grinned. Kaladin looked like a man trying to wear his childhood suit; he’d never button that coat across his broad chest. Shallan fit her shirt and jacket better from a pure measurements standpoint, but the cut wasn’t flattering. Azure looked far more … normal without her dramatic breastplate and cloak.
“I’d practically kill for a skirt,” Shallan noted.
“You’re kidding,” Azure said.
“No. I’m getting tired of the way trousers rub my legs. Adolin, could you sew me a dress? Maybe stitch the legs of these trousers together?”
He rubbed his chin, which had begun to sprout a blond beard. “It doesn’t work that way—I can’t magic more cloth out of nothing. It…”
He trailed off as, overhead, the clouds suddenly rippled, glowing with a strange mother-of-pearl iridescence. Another highstorm, their second since arriving in Shadesmar. The group stopped and stared up at the dramatic light show. Nearby, the Reachers seemed to stand up more straight, move about their sailing duties more vigorously.
“See,” Azure said. “I told you. They must feed off it, somehow.”
Shallan narrowed her eyes, then grabbed her sketchbook and stalked over to begin interviewing some of the spren. Kaladin trailed away to join his spren at the prow of the ship, where she liked to stand. Adolin often noticed him looking southward, as if anxiously wishing the ship to move more quickly.
He lingered by the side of the ship, watching the beads crash away below. When he looked up, he found Azure studying him. “Did you really sew that?” she asked.
“There wasn’t much sewing involved,” Adolin said. “The scarf and jacket hide most of the damage I did to the waistcoat—which used to be a smaller jacket.”
“Still,” she said. “An unusual skill for a royal.”
“And how many royals have you known?”
“More than some might assume.”
Adolin nodded. “I see. And are you enigmatic on purpose, or is it kind of an accidental thing?”
Azure leaned against the ship’s wale, breeze blowing her short hair. She looked more youthful when not wearing the breastplate and cloak. Mid-thirties, maybe. “A little of both. I discovered when I was younger that being too open with strangers … went poorly for me. But in answer to your question, I have known royals. Including one woman who left it behind. Throne, family, responsibilities…”
“She abandoned her duty?” That was practically inconceivable.
“The throne was better served by someone who enjoyed sitting on it.”
“Duty isn’t about what you enjoy. It’s about doing what is demanded of you, in serving the greater good. You can’t just abandon responsibility because you feel like it.”
Azure glanced at Adolin, and he felt himself blush. “Sorry,” he said, looking away. “My father and my uncle might have … instilled me with a little passion on the topic.”
“It’s all right,” Azure said. “Maybe you’re right, and maybe there’s something in me that knows it. I always find myself in situations like in Kholinar, leading the Wall Guard. I get too involved … then abandon everyone.…”
“You didn’t abandon the Wall Guard, Azure,” Adolin said. “You couldn’t have prevented what happened.”
“Perhaps. I can’t help feeling that this is merely one in a long string of duties abdicated, of burdens set down, perhaps to disastrous results.” For some reason, she put her hand on the pommel of her Shardblade when she said that. Then she looked up at Adolin. “But of all the things I’ve walked away from, the one I don’t regret is allowing someone else to rule. Sometimes, the best way to do your duty is to let someone else—someone more capable—try carrying it.”
Such a foreign idea. Sometimes you took up a duty that wasn’t yours, but abandoning one? Just … giving it to someone else?
He found himself musing on that. He nodded his thanks to Azure as she excused herself to get something to drink. He was still standing there when Shallan returned from interviewing—well, interrogating—the Reachers. She took his arm, and together they watched the shimmering clouds for a while.
“I look terrible, don’t I?” she finally asked, nudging him in the side. “No makeup, with hair that hasn’t been washed in days, and now wearing a dumpy set of worker’s clothing.”
“I don’t think you’re capable of looking terrible,” he said, pulling her closer. “In all their color, even those clouds can’t compete.”
They passed through a sea of floating candle flames, which represented a village on the human side. The flames were huddled together in patches. Hiding from the storm.
Eventually the clouds faded—but they were supposedly near the city now, so Shallan got excited, watching for it. Finally, she pointed to land on the horizon.
Celebrant nestled not far down its coast. As they drew closer, they spotted other ships entering or leaving the port, each pulled by at least two mandras.
Captain Ico walked over. “We’ll soon arrive. Let’s go get your deadeye.”
Adolin nodded, patting Shallan on the back, and followed Ico down to the brig, a small room far aft in the cargo hold. Ico used keys to unlock the door, revealing the spren of Adolin’s sword sitting on a bench inside. She looked at him with those haunting scratched-out eyes, her string face void of emotion.
“I wish you hadn’t locked her in here,” Adolin said, stooping down to peer through the squat doorway.
“Can’t have them on deck,” Ico said. “They don’t watch where they’re walking and fall off. I’m not going to spend days trying to fish out a lost deadeye.”
She moved to join Adolin, then Ico reached over to shut the cell.
“Wait!” Adolin said. “Ico, I saw something moving back there.”
Ico locked the door and hung the keys on his belt. “My father.”
“Your father?” Adolin said. “You keep your father locked up?”
“Can’t stand the thought of him wandering around somewhere,” Ico said, eyes forward. “Have to keep him locked away though. He’ll go searching for the human carrying his corpse, otherwise. Walk right off the deck.”
“Your father was a Radiant spren?”
Ico started toward the steps up to the deck. “It is rude to ask about such ones.”
“Rudeness doesn’t imply untruth though, right?”
Ico turned and regarded him, then smiled wanly and nodded toward Adolin’s spren. “What is she to you?”
Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)
Brandon Sanderson's books
- The Rithmatist
- Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians
- Infinity Blade Awakening
- The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time #12)
- Mistborn: The Final Empire (Mistborn #1)
- The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4)
- The Emperor's Soul (Elantris)
- The Hero of Ages (Mistborn #3)
- The Well of Ascension (Mistborn #2)
- Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)
- Words of Radiance