Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive, #3.5)(60)
The larkin chirped encouragingly. And it was incredible how much better that made her feel. Rysn used her arms to scoot her body along the bench and poured some tea. At last she felt relaxed enough to read through the responses from the monarchs. Mostly confirmations of what she’d sent. They would want to speak to her in person to get the details. There, she would confide in them the second half-lie. That she had agreed to train the Sleepless.
Storms. Was it her, or did this tea taste extra good? She inspected it, then glanced at the sunlight pouring through the porthole. Was it . . . brighter than usual? Why did the colors in her room look so exceptionally vivid all of a sudden?
A knock came at her door.
“Come in,” she said, taking another sip of the wonderful tea.
Captain Drlwan entered, then bowed. Outside, Cord continued her vigil of guarding Rysn’s door—wearing full Shardplate. “You’re really going to let her keep it?” Drlwan said softly as she came up from her bow.
“Cord discovered it,” Rysn said. “It’s traditional to let the one who first claims a Shard keep it.” The Command pulsed with warmth as she said that. “Besides, Cord saved my life.”
“The Alethi won’t be happy,” Drlwan said. “They have a history of laying dubious—but strongly enforced—claim to Shards.”
“They’ll deal with the pain of losing this one,” Rysn said. “They’re getting three Soulcasters, after all.”
Drlwan smiled at that. Five of the new Soulcasters would go to Thaylenah. For years the Alethi had possessed a near monopoly on food-creating Soulcasters, but Thaylenah would now possess two—along with one that could form metals, one that created smoke, and another focused on wood, matching the one that the city had used for ages to make the best seafaring lumber.
A true wealth that would benefit Thaylenah for generations. And with the gemstones found in the caverns, the crew would have their promised riches, in compensation for the danger they’d undertaken.
She still mourned the three men she’d lost. It seemed such a waste of their lives when an agreement had been reached so soon after. She wondered if generals ever grieved for the last people who died before a treaty was signed.
Captain Drlwan settled down in the seat beside the desk. She didn’t speak for a long moment, instead looking past Rysn at the sunlight streaming in through the porthole.
“I didn’t think we’d see the sun again,” Drlwan finally said. “Not once those . . . things arrived. Even after you returned, I expected them to make some beast sink the Wandersail as it was leaving, then blame it on the storm.”
“I’ll admit,” Rysn said, “those same fears occurred to me.”
“What are they, Rysn?” the captain asked. “Truly? They seem like monsters of nightmare and the Void.”
“Most people who are different from us are frightening at first,” Rysn said. “But one thing Vstim taught me was to see past my own expectations. In this case, it meant looking past what I assumed made someone a person, and seeing the humanity—and the fear—in what appeared to be a nightmare.”
“They told me,” the captain said, “what you did.”
Rysn felt a spike of alarm, cup held halfway to her lips. What? They’d talked about the Dawnshard, after all this?
“As the ones on the ship were leaving,” Drlwan said. “Before you returned. They told me you had a chance to bargain for your own life. They said you would not enter into a negotiation unless it included the safety of the entire crew.”
Ah. That part. Rysn’s anxiety faded. “I did what any rebsk would do.”
“Pardon,” the captain said. “But you did what any good rebsk would do. A rebsk worthy of this crew.”
They shared a look, then Rysn nodded her thanks.
“After we leave port on our third journey,” Drlwan said, standing, “it would be good for the crew to see you steer the ship for a short time, would it not?”
“I would be honored,” Rysn said, her voice catching as she said it. “Truly.”
Drlwan smiled. “Let us hope the next one is a more . . . traditional voyage.”
Rysn’s eyes flicked to a purple hordeling hiding on the wall, near where it met the ceiling, shadowed. Strange, how she saw the contrast of shadows much more starkly now. And . . . why did Drlwan’s voice sound more musical?
“I think,” Rysn said, “I shall select the most boring, most mundane trade expedition I can find, Captain.”
That satisfied Drlwan. Rysn settled back—a single gloryspren fading overhead—and thought upon those words. Mundane. Boring. She had an inkling that neither would ever accurately describe her life again.
Brandon Sanderson grew up in Lincoln, Nebraska. He lives in Utah with his wife and children and teaches creative writing at Brigham Young University. In addition to completing Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time, he is the author of such bestsellers as the Mistborn? saga, Warbreaker, The Stormlight Archive? series beginning with The Way of Kings, The Rithmatist, the Skyward series, The Reckoners? series beginning with Steelheart, and the Alcatraz vs. the Evil Librarians series. He won the 2013 Hugo Award for The Emperor’s Soul, a novella set in the world of his acclaimed first novel, Elantris. For behind-the-scenes information on all his books, visit brandonsanderson.com.