Chapter Text
-28-
Being Yourself
“Maybe you’re not reading this for you. Maybe someone you love said they’re splitting or a headcase or whatever term came to mind for them, and you want to learn. If so, good on you. They must trust you, and you’ve got a chance to make their life a lot storming easier. Most of us don’t get that chance.”
—Untitled Pamphlet by Unknown Author
Despite the rich carpentry and the hanging reliefs of the Heralds, walking through the corridors of the Pinnacle reminded Shallan more of stormshelter coves than it did the Conclave of Kharbranth.
A palace it may have been, but it was still one only built in recent memory, borne of defensibility first, practicality second, and comfort much further down the list, under things like ‘has lots of fabrials’ or ‘right amount of stairs’.
There were other people scurrying about the grand stone beast’s innards, of course, but most were servants, and the few others of her station Shallan passed had the look of military men, strutting about while taking in reports of... well, whatever it is they cared about. Troop numbers or enemy casualties or the menu for dinner, Shallan supposed.
And with every step, Shallan felt a terrible ache in her slippered soles. Every fall of her slipper-like shoes on the carpet brought out a wince of pain, but that was all she’d give up. After all, she wasn’t alone.
Following just a few steps behind her and to her left, Nesh tilted her head. “Your feet are in pain, Brightness?” she asked, tone professional, yet sweet.
Shallan was too irate at her to be mollified by a sugary voice. I daresay they’re in danger of rebelling against the rest of me due to blatant mistreatment. But the complaint stayed merely a thought, and all she said aloud was, “I’m fine.”
They turned at a side corridor, following the gentle incline down, and Shallan could recognize the surroundings enough to know they were approaching her quarters.
For some time, the master-servant was silent, and the two walked without exchanging a word. But then Nesh broached the subject again, and her words came out softer, with a sense of gentle trepidation, as though expecting to be harshly rebuked.“You’re unhappy with me, aren’t you?”
Yes, Shallan thought. For reasons I cannot fathom, my schedule has been placed into your hands, and you’ve made an utter mess of it. Worse still, you dangle this idea that we’ve met before, that you know my family, right in front of my nose and then you refuse to elaborate.
All of those bitter thoughts sat there, on the tip of Shallan’s tongue, as they approached the quarters she shared with Jasnah and Adolin. Some part of her, rebellious and indignant, pushed for her to loose them like arrows from a bow, but as Shallan turned to face Nesh, light yellow eyes meeting Shallan’s and waiting for an answer, she found herself swallowing the bile instead.
“I’m frustrated,” she admitted instead. “There are better ways to spend my time.”
Nesh inclined her head far enough that Shallan could better see the round bun she’d tied her expanse of red hair into. “I do not dispute that, Brightness. However, the princess has entrusted you to me and asked that I ensure you are prepared for the social expectations of the Alethi court.” For just a moment, that ever-present smile, a simple curving of her lips, disappeared as Nesh sighed. “You were able to be excused for one feast, after all the travel it took to get here, but...”
“But there’s to be another before too long,” Shallan said bitterly.
“According to my sources, it will be held in less than fifteen days.” Nesh shook her head. “You are a foreigner of the fifth dahn, Brightness, and Jasnah Kholin’s ward as well. This would prove bait enough, but there are already rumors circulating of your close ties with Prince Adolin.”
Shallan threw up her hands. “I know! I’ve fallen face-first into high status, or at least the appearance of it, and as befits their reputation, every woman here will be circling around me like predators drawn to the smell of fresh blood! Thus, you push me to attend salons and meals and whatever else so that at least I can begin to catalog my enemies as I would types of cremlings or shalebark!”
The master-servant blinked, evidently caught off-guard by this outburst. “An apt metaphor, Brightness.” Still, she stood at attention, one arm before her, the other behind, each bent at a precise horizontal angle.
“Just because I can understand the necessity of spending my morning listening to Janala butcher a poetic analysis in that insipid voice of hers, only to then suffer through Malasha’s whining about being kept away from the battlefield while I try to eat my lunch, does not mean I have to enjoy it.” All of that said, Shallan let out a ragged breath, and fixed Nesh with what she hoped was an unyielding look, and not simply a childish pout.
It was impossible to say, really, because Nesh didn’t react other than to nod her head again and acquiesce. “I am at your command, Brightness. If you wish to be rid of me for a day or two, I can oblige that request easily.”
Shallan could not miss the implication: despite being Shallan’s attendant, supposedly her servant, Nesh was only willing to set aside these duties for a limited time, even should Shallan demand otherwise. She’s Jasnah’s creature, not mine, Shallan knew. Though how exactly Jasnah came to earn her loyalty, I would certainly love to know. She’d asked, but Jasnah had evaded the question.
“The rest of today, as well as all of tomorrow?” Shallan tried to confirm. “Not a single appointment?” It would certainly give her the time she desired.
Nesh’s smile grew by degrees. “Just so.” Then, she gave a small, tittering laugh, covering her mouth with her white safehand sleeve as she did. “If I may be honest, Brightness, I was hoping you’d be amenable to such an idea anyway.” Then she pulled her sleeve away, and for the first time since meeting her, Shallan noticed a sense of fatigue in those bright yellow eyes. “I too have much to do, and only so much time in which to do it.”
Wait, did I talk her into this, Shallan wondered, or did she lead me to it? Shallan wasn’t sure how much she cared for the latter, but it left her with the freedom she coveted, so was it right of her to complain? “It’s decided then. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Indeed,” Nesh agreed, though before she departed, she had one last snarlbrush to plant in Shallan’s path. “Speaking of, the day after tomorrow was when Brightness Morakotha was interested in a private breakfast, one just between the two of you. Should I send word that you’re amenable to this outing?”
That name sounded vaguely familiar from the lists Nesh had given her, but it took a moment for Shallan to recall the exact woman in question. “Danlan?” Nesh nodded. From what I recall, the notes suggested she seemed of low risk, and if she requested to see me privately... “Yes, I think I can stomach such a meal.” With that settled, Nesh took a bow and left, allowing Shallan to finally retreat.
In many ways, the quarters Shallan had been given were similar to those she shared with Jasnah in Kharbranth. A central room, with space to take meals or relax by the fire, along with several private bedrooms for all involved.
Yet here, the rich excesses of the Alethi monarchy made themselves clear. A heating fabrial instead of a true fire, several bookcases with a collection of knowledge between them that outstripped Shallan’s family collection by several orders of magnitude, and enough furnishings that Shallan was vaguely sure that selling the contents of just this one room would have been enough to pay off her family’s debts, then and there.
My family... Shallan crossed her arms before her, feeling that familiar fear strike her. No amount of spheres can save them now. Not with Jah Keved in turmoil, my actions bringing the wrath of a king down upon them, and the Ghostbloods still looking to take what they are owed.
But then something welled up in her, a confidence to keep the terror at bay. Jasnah said she’ll do all to guarantee their safety. I trust her.
Of course, but... The absurdity of that train of thought made Shallan want to laugh, the momentary bravado disappearing like a petal in a breeze. Jasnah’s still a person. She’s fallible, and just because Kaladin’s parents could be safely escorted here, it doesn’t mean the same for my brothers.
This was a topic in which Shallan could argue in a circle with herself, without any end in sight. It was one cloud among an overcast sky. The impending threat of the Voidbringers, the search for an Oathgate to Urithiru, the practice of powers lost for millenia, the strange gaps forming in Shallan’s memory, the protection of Adolin until Kaladin could return...
Overwhelming.
And so Shallan retreated to Adolin’s room, and sat on the bed with them, Pattern vibrating at her feet.
Instead of talking with their friend of how the morning had gone, Shallan focused both of their attentions on something else.
“Incredible,” Adolin breathed, a smile forming on their lips while an awespren burst around their head.
The Alethi royal was watching what appeared to be a skittering cremling on the ground, its movements close enough to the real thing for the average person to believe the lie. But there was no carapace, only Light bound to Pattern, replicating a series of sketches Shallan had made on the journey to the Plains, when she’d been able to find the attention and interest in her favorite activity.
Brushing a lock of red hair behind her ear, Shallan tried to ignore the warmth in her cheeks and the pride in her heart. “It’s nothing, really.” She pointed as Pattern buzzed around, the illusion following along. “Do you see the way the legs reset to their starting positions after the third step? I could do better.”
“Better?” Adolin gave Shallan a look that was half amusement and half rebuke. “Shallan, you made a cremling. Out of nothing.”
“That,” Pattern hummed, his buzzing voice sounding more alert and alive by the day, “is not true. Mmm. The cremling is a lie, and yet, it is a good lie.” The spren moved closer to Shallan, approaching the bed, and she could have sworn the illusory cremling actually lifted its head to look at her.
The powers of expectation, she supposed. “There’s no sound,” Shallan complained, trying to turn and hide from the compliments. “And Pattern says I should be capable of that.”
“Mmhmm,” Adolin replied, though Shallan found herself confident that they weren’t actually agreeing with her. “You’re right. By the way, Shallan, how long have you had to practice your Surgebinding? I can’t remember.”
For just a moment, the question brought to mind a familiar garden, a pattern in the dust, light that moved however she wanted it to.
It was gone a moment later, stuffed down as far and as deep as Shallan could force it. When she tried to talk, tried to pretend nothing happened, her throat was so tight that nothing intelligible came out.
But with a breath, slow and precise, she was able to manage a few words. “The ship, then... the last few days.” In New Natanatan, she hadn’t... reasons failed her as she tried to think back to that time, a blur of sight and sounds and sensations but no true recollections, and in the carriage, there hadn’t been the privacy necessary for this sort of practice. All she’d been able to do was draw.
“Maybe a few weeks of time, then? If we’re being generous.”
Shallan nodded, all the while turning farther away from Adolin, her pout reaching near-Kaladin proportions.
An arm encircled her waist, and if its twin still lived, Shallan was sure there would be two. “Were you able to accomplish all you can with paints and charcoal and... I don’t know, art stuff? In the same time? Or did it take a little longer to completely master?”
“You’re infuriating,” Shallan said.
“I’m right.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Shallan noticed as the illusion dissipated into fading Light, the power sustaining it having finally run out. “You could be.” It was traitorous, the way her indignation could barely be heard in her voice under the embarrassed glee.
Adolin rested their forehead against the back of Shallan’s neck, and said, so quietly that even were there others present, they’d have heard nought. “What else is going on? Talk to me.”
“My feet are killing me,” Shallan admitted. She could have kept quiet, obfuscated, but something about the moment, or perhaps simply Adolin themself, was able to bypass such defenses. “I’ve spent most of my day thus far with people I can’t stand. Literally, that awful salon with Janala didn’t have any chairs, and now I’m afraid I’ll never be able to stand again.” She was catastrophizing, exaggerating, but it helped to cover her deeper concerns.
It had been fun to discuss poetry, to spend time with other women around her age. A few years ago, Shallan would have ached for such an opportunity.
But now, even as she laughed with them and made her own ridiculous witty comments, Shallan couldn’t stop wondering how much of her these women could see. Were they able to look beyond the mask she wore? Could they tell she was a monster, a simulacrum of the woman Shallan should have been?
At least she knew Adolin didn’t see that. If they could, they wouldn’t be embracing in their private bedroom.
If they could, Adolin wouldn’t want to think about Shallan, let alone touch her.
“...it feels silly to say, after your complaining, but I wish I had your problems,” Adolin said, after a silence that Shallan had nearly missed as she withdrew into her own head. Shamespren fell around them at their words. “I’ve barely left the palace since we got here,” and Shallan felt like all Ten Fools at once, of course issues like too much walking would hit Adolin that way, “and my friends...”
“They can burn in Damnation,” Shallan hissed, trying to use righteous anger to ignore her own embarrassment. “Barely replying to any of your letters, and now that you’re here, have any of them come to see you?”
Adolin rested their head on Shallan’s shoulder, and made a sound that broke her heart. “Jakamav did. He brought a few others.” And that had been the day after they’d arrived. As far as Shallan knew, there’d been none since.
They feel isolated, Shallan knew, though she was less aware of how she could even begin to help.
While she brooded on that question, Adolin yawned. “I need to rest.” Then they paused, their tone turning bashful once they continued. “If you want... you could join me? It seems like you could use it.”
“That...” Shallan shivered, and did nothing to try and repress it. We can’t, I mean... just because Kaladin wants to be with both of us, that doesn’t mean we can... “Yes. Please.”
To Shallan’s relief and disappointment, all Adolin had been inviting her to was lying side by side in their bed as the beautiful royal napped. Of course, Shallan was supposed to be doing the same, but despite her earlier exhaustion, sleep refused to even approach.
That isn’t necessarily a problem, Shallan thought, slipping from bed. Doing her utmost not to disturb Adolin’s rest, she took her sketchpad, a few clothes from Adolin’s wardrobe, and with Pattern hot on her heels, she fled the room to reach her own.
It was time.
Walking towards her room’s mirror, Shallan retrieved a sketch she’d folded safely in her safehand pouch, anticipationspren bursting around her feet like red streamers to announce her intentions.
“Shallan?” Pattern asked.
Focusing her mind on what she’d rendered with careful application of ink on paper, Shallan took in a deep breath, sucking in some Stormlight from the lighting sconce of her room, plunging her surroundings into dimness.
Whatever fatigue and soreness she’s started to develop from her many appointments faded away, cured by the Light. That left the rest of the storm raging inside of her veins free for a greater purpose.
Eyes on her reflection, Shallan saw the Light rising from her skin, like vapor off a boiling pot. It was rare for her to smile at the sight of herself, and perhaps it was the Stormlight pushing her thoughts in new directions, but at the moment, all she could do was grin. “With my abilities,” she said, “I can look like anyone. Go anywhere.” Freedom. After a lifetime in a gilded cage, the idea was more intoxicating than violet wine. Or at least, she assumed as much, having never yet had the chance to drink it. “I can’t just make cremlings, Pattern. I need to practice being someone else.”
“A new lie...” Pattern said, his voice abuzz with interest.
Not wanting to wait a moment longer, Shallan breathed out the Light, and became someone new.
No dead parents. No blood on her hands. No rules to live by.
It had been so simple.
With brown eyes, black hair, and the uniform of a Kholin scout, no one had tried to stop her from leaving the palace.
Why would they? Darkeyed scouts were always moving to and fro, all over the warcamps, and so long as they didn’t draw undue notice, there was no reason to pay them any mind at all.
This is incredible. But she couldn’t show that emotion. After all, for anyone like her, going about unnoticed should be the norm. I’m not Shallan, she thought, and with every repetition the easier it came, the more true it felt.
Who she actually was, she didn’t know.
On the walk from the Pinnacle to the Outer Market, she had tried to think of a new name, but she simply couldn’t settle on one for longer than a few seconds. It doesn’t really matter though, does it? she thought to herself, an easy grin finding its way to her mouth. If anyone asks, I can say anything. I never have to wear this face again if I don’t want to.
Was this what it felt like to be powerful? Others may have spheres, or strength of arms, but could anyone else in all of Roshar share in her complete anonymity?
No. And that knowledge rested like a burning coal beneath her breast, the flames swelling with her ego.
When she walked into the Outer Market, she did it with hands lazily stuffed into the pockets on the trousers Shallan had snatched from Adolin’s room, matched with an old jacket to better fit the illusion of the uniform she feigned to wear.
There were guards prowling about, keeping an eye for anything untoward, all of them draped in the colors and symbols of the Kholins. But not a single one gave her as much as a glance. It didn’t take any effort to blend into the crowd, nothing but following the stream of people heading into the market.
Okay, well, perhaps it wasn’t all easy. Part of being a nobody meant no one was interested in showing her any deference, so if she didn’t get out of someone’s way, they’d bump into her without a second thought. The third person to step on her foot at least noticed the uniform and murmured an apology afterwards, but it came with a look that plainly stated the fault lay with her.
Buying something didn’t go well either. The smallest sphere she had on her was a firemark, taken from a cache Jasnah had given to Shallan so she could practice with them, and the look she got for trying to spend it on chouta immediately centered a lot of attention on her.
Those mistakes made her feel a fool, like she was just Shallan playing dress-up, but as she disappeared into an alley with white and red shamespren petals drifting behind her, she stuffed down those insecurities, told them to storm off, and did her best to emulate Kaladin. She didn’t have the surgeon’s height, sure, but if she wanted to try and feel like a pretty but tough darkeyed girl, there was no one better to cheat off of. Or at least, she didn’t have one yet. Maybe, with time, she’d find a better role model.
Maybe she could find inspiration in the backstreets.
She passed by a few children, playing with rags and sticks like they were prized toys. She saw someone trying to sleep in the shadow of an alley, curled up to hide from the world, smelling of something pungent. She came upon a few men talking in hushed voices, which fell into silence once they saw a Kholin scout approaching, and didn’t start up again until after she was too far to make out their words.
Maybe these sorts of things would have gotten some sort of a reaction from Shallan. No, they definitely would, she thought. She’d try and help the kids, she’d cringe away from the sleeping man, she’d try and find some way to spy on those chattering idiots. But whoever she was, she didn’t really care to do any of that.
Sure, it’d be nice to help people who needed it, but even broaching that sort of thought made her think of that look on the Herdazian street vendor’s face when he’d seen the inside of her spherepouch.
What point was there in trying to help others when she couldn’t even help herself?
Before she could take those thoughts any further, she heard music drifting on the wind. Distant, at first, but it wasn’t hard to track, and before long she was walking up to the one performing it.
Sitting on an overturned box was Shallan’s personal assistant. Nesh wasn’t wearing the black-and-white of her uniform as she had when Shallan had last seen her, and instead was clad in a navy skirt, layered and voluminous, paired with a blouse cut in a more masculine fashion with buttons down the sides, her safehand covered in a hardy glove. Her hair was still in a bun, but that soft face was tuned to utter concentration as she worked.
The instrument looked vaguely familiar, like something Shallan had seen before, years ago, with a circular base and a long neck. Metal wires, thin and made taut, were tuned to what sounded like perfection, and Nesh’s freehand glided across them with a wooden pick held between her fingers, her gloved safehand alternating between tensing different spots high on the instrument’s neck.
A throng of people gathered around Nesh so they could listen. Near the front were a gaggle of children, but those closer to Shallan were a more diverse crowd. Destitute travelers and aging mothers and crippled soldiers all gave Nesh their ears, and Shallan couldn’t help but do the same.
Her playing had a gentle, flowing melody to it, like a river several days after the highstorm that brought its water. It wasn’t simple, Shallan had enough of an ear for music to tell that, but it sounded effortless. With it came words, in Alethi, telling a tale of... well, Shallan wasn’t entirely sure. It was something to do with love, but it sounded almost mournful. Not grieving, there was no sign in the lyrics that the narrator’s partner had died, but... perhaps, their relationship had.
Using metaphors of plants untended and food gone rotten, it made Shallan think of a love wasting away, kept alive only out of a refusal to accept what was obvious.
Arms crossed before her, leaning against an alley wall, Shallan felt sick to her stomach and fought hard to keep herself from crying. How can anyone sing so sweetly about such a thing? Shallan thought.
And then, just as Shallan considered walking away, Nesh made eye-contact with her, still singing, the words and music not losing their tempo for even a moment, and it felt as though the scholar’s heart would stop beating entirely.
But the feeling of danger passed, and she remembered something important. Right now, I’m not Shallan. I’m nobody. It was a huge relief, but she forced herself not to sigh with the emotion. She has no idea who I am. How could she? Any sense that Nesh held her gaze longer than she did with any of her other listeners was nothing but paranoia talking.
It was only once any Shallan-ness was safely sunk to the bottom of whatever passed for her soul that she noticed there was someone behind Nesh, standing closer than any of the others. A lighteyed woman, seemingly Alethi but without much of their characteristic height, clad in a long coat and trousers. She was looking at the master-servant like a merchant who was appraising a good and happy with what they found.
And while she focused on this mysterious woman, Nesh ended her song, setting the instrument on her knees and giving her crowd a smile that felt more honest than any she’d ever directed at Shallan. “Thank you for your time,” Nesh said, voice clear as a bell.
“Is that all?” asked one of the children.
“My fault,” said the woman from behind Nesh, who didn’t sound apologetic in the slightest. “I’ve come to steal her away from you.” The words brought on a chorus of sighs and chuckles, and slowly the crowd dispersed.
But not all of them. One soldier in the red and green of Sadeas’s army approached on wobbling legs, and Nesh spoke with him in quiet tones. “Chair” and “soon” were all the words she managed to hear from Nesh’s lips, but whatever it had been, it earned her a tight hug from the man. Then came a woman, and at that point the girl stopped trying to eavesdrop.
She was ready to turn and walk off herself, but then Nesh stepped forward, her tan-eyed companion now standing by her side. “Enjoying an afternoon in the market?”
“Y-yeah,” she said and tried not to sweat more than she usually did, as if that was somehow inside her control. “It’s nice enough.” Before, the few times she’d talked in the market, she’d tried to sound a little gruffer, something fitting a woman in the military. Now, she forced it out almost as a growl, something lower than she was used to. Storms, I hope that didn’t sound like chull-dung.
“I’m Nesh, and this is Tyn,” came the introductions, though all this ‘Tyn’ woman did was nod in her direction.
Then they both started looking at her, expectant. Kelek’s breath! She wants a name! In a rush, no time to properly consider, she didn’t second-guess the first one that came to mind. “Veil.” Okay, not a normal name, but it’ll have to do.
Smile brightening, Nesh looked as though Veil had just told her that she was being elevated three dahn. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Veil!” She looked the disguised woman up and down, considering, before saying, “I do hope you’re enjoying the afternoon. It’s always important to find time to be yourself, when you can.” Something about the way she stressed those words made it seem like she was trying to pass along an unsaid message, but Veil couldn’t figure out what it was for the life of her.
“Yeah, sure,” Veil replied, trying not to overdo it on the gruffness this time. To her satisfaction, it came out a lot more naturally this time around.
It was then, with a confidence that was as casual as it was possessive, Tyn turned Nesh towards her and pulled her down by the collar for a quick but fiery kiss, then threw a smirk in Veil’s direction. “Nice meeting you, but we have things to do.” If Nesh had any complaints with the public display of affection or the blunt dismissal, she didn’t give it, instead seeming to melt into Tyn’s side.
Passionspren starting to fall around them like snow, they left Veil to herself, and when she caught sight of one of their hands reaching towards the other’s behind for a quick squeeze, Veil decided to follow their example and stalk off, cheeks ablaze.
What I wouldn’t give to be able to do that, she found herself thinking as she started back towards the lively center of the market.
An image came to her mind of Veil in that Tyn woman’s place, Kaladin in Nesh’s. Storms, what I wouldn’t give for her to just be back already.
In her imagination, Veil was still in an illusion, looking like any darkeyed Alethi woman, if a bit on the short side, leaner and more down-to-earth than Shallan could ever be. I should show her this sometime, she resolved. Adolin would worry, Adolin would try to butt in, but Kaladin? Veil couldn’t imagine her doing anything but celebrating at the reprieve from Shallan.
Regardless, that was all a matter for another day.
Veil didn’t want to think about the future. Unlike a certain red-head, her skies were unburdened by depressing clouds.
Instead, she decided to try getting drunk, and started to search for a bar.