Kelek wiped his brow with a handkerchief from his pocket. “So many questions,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard her request. “Who else knows I’m here? I feel like I’m close to finding a way offworld. Maybe … Maybe I should wait.…”
“I have information that could help you,” Shallan said. “But I want to trade. There isn’t much time for us to—”
She was interrupted as the door slammed open, revealing several honorspren—including Lusintia, the one Shallan had impersonated. She gestured aggressively at Shallan, who stepped back, reaching into her pocket for her gemstone.
It was dun. Somehow, in what she’d done with Veil, she’d used it all up.
“Attempting to influence the course of the trial?” Lusintia demanded. “Colluding with the judge?”
“She was … doing nothing of the sort,” Kelek said, stepping up beside Shallan. “She was bringing me news from the Physical Realm. And I’d have you not barge into my quarters, thank you very much.”
Lusintia stopped, but then looked over her shoulder toward a bearded male honorspren. Shallan recognized him as Sekeir, the one who had acted as prosecutor against Adolin on the first day of the trial. An important spren, perhaps the most important in the fortress. And one of the oldest ones.
“I think, Honored One,” Sekeir said softly, “that you might be having another bout of your weakness. We shall have to sequester you, I’m afraid. For your own good…”
Nevertheless, I’m writing answers for you here, because something glimmers deep within me. A fragment of a memory of what I once was.
I was there when Ba-Ado-Mishram was captured. I know the truth of the Radiants, the Recreance, and the Nahel spren.
Adolin made no effort to arrive early to the last day of the trial. Indeed, each footstep felt leaden as he trudged toward the forum. He could see from a distance that the place was crowded—with even more spren gathered at the top of the steps than yesterday. Nearly every honorspren in the fortress had come to watch him be judged.
Though he didn’t relish facing them, he also couldn’t give up this opportunity. It was his last chance to speak for himself, for his people. He had to believe that some of them were listening.
And if he lost? If he was condemned to imprisonment? Would he let Shallan rescue him, as she’d offered?
If I did, he thought, I would prove what the leaders of the honorspren have been saying all along: Men aren’t worthy of trust. What if the only way to win here was to accept their judgment? To spend years in a cell?
After all, what else are you good for, Adolin? The world needed Radiants, not princes—particularly not ones who had refused the throne. Perhaps the best thing he could do for humanity was become a living testimony of their honor.
That thought troubled him as he reached the crowd. They parted for him, nudging one another, falling silent as he descended.
Storms, I wasn’t built for problems like this, Adolin thought. He hadn’t slept well—and he worried about the way Shallan had been acting lately. She wasn’t sitting in her spot, and neither was Pattern. Was she going to skip this most important day of the trial?
He was about halfway down the steps when he noticed another oddity: Kelek wasn’t there. Sekeir—the aged honorspren with the long beard—had taken his place. He waved for Adolin to continue.
Adolin reached the floor of the forum and walked over to the judge’s seat. “Where is Kelek?”
“The Holy One is indisposed,” Sekeir said. “Your wife went to him in secret and tried to influence the course of the trial.”
Adolin felt a spike of joy. So that was what she’d been up to.
“Do not smile,” Sekeir said. “We discovered a weapon of curious design, perhaps used to intimidate the Holy One. Your wife is being held, and the Holy One is … suffering from his long time as a Herald.
“We have relieved him as High Judge, and I will sit in his place. You will find the documentation on your seat, to be read to you if you wish. The trial will continue under my direction. I am a far lesser being, but I will not be as … lax as he was.”
Great, Adolin thought. Wonderful. He tried to find a way to use this to his advantage. Could he stall? Make some kind of plea? He looked at the audience and saw trouble, division. Perhaps he was a fool, but it seemed like some of them wanted to listen. Wanted to believe him. Those felt fewer than yesterday; so many others watched him with outright hostility.
So how could Adolin reach them?
Sekeir started the trial by calling for silence, something Kelek had never bothered to do. Apparently the hush that fell over the crowd wasn’t enough, for Sekeir had three different spren ejected for whispering to one another.
That done, the overstuffed spren stood up and read off a prepared speech. And storms, did it go on. Windy passages about how Adolin had brought this upon himself, about how it was good that humans finally had a chance to pay for their sins.
“Do we need this?” Adolin interrupted as Sekeir paused for effect. “We all know what you’re going to do. Be on with it.”
The new High Judge waved to the side. A spren stepped up beside Adolin, a white cloth in her hands. A gag. She pulled it tight between her hands, as if itching for a chance.
“You may speak during the questioning of the witness,” Sekeir said. “The defendant is not allowed to interrupt the judge.”
Fine. Adolin settled into parade rest. He didn’t have an enlisted man’s experience with standing at attention, but Zahel had forced him to learn this stance anyway. He could hold it. Let them see him bear their lashes without complaint.
His determination in that regard lasted until Sekeir, at long last, finished his speech and called for the final witness to be revealed.
It was Maya.
Amuna led her by the hand, forcing back the watching honorspren. Though Adolin had gone to see Maya each morning—and they’d let him do his exercises with her—bars had separated them. They hadn’t otherwise allowed him to interact with her, claiming deadeyes did best when it was quiet.
If so, why were they dragging her into the middle of a crowd? Adolin stepped forward, but the honorspren at his side snapped the gag in warning. He forced himself back into parade rest and clenched his jaw. Maya didn’t seem any worse for the attention. She walked with that customary sightless stare, completely oblivious to the whispering crowd.
Sekeir didn’t hush them this time. The bearded honorspren smiled as he regarded the stir Amuna and Maya made. They placed Maya on her podium, and she turned and seemed to notice Adolin, for she cocked her head. Then, as if only now aware of it, she regarded the crowded audience. She shrank down, hunching her shoulders, and glanced around with quick, jerky motions.
He tried to catch her gaze and reassure her with a smile, but she was too distracted. Damnation. Adolin hadn’t hated the honorspren, despite their tricks, but this started him seething. How dare they use Maya as part of their spectacle?
Not all of them, he reminded himself, reading the mood of the crowd. Some sat quietly, others whispered. And more than a few near the top wore stormy expressions. No, they didn’t care for this move either.
“You may speak now, prisoner,” Sekeir said to Adolin. “Do you recognize this deadeye?”
“Why are you questioning me?” Adolin said. “She is supposed to give witness, and I’m supposed to question her. Yet you’ve chosen a witness who cannot answer your questions.”
“I will guide this discussion,” Sekeir said. “As is my right as judge in the case of a witness too young or otherwise incapable of a traditional examination.”
Adolin sought out Blended, a single black figure in a sea of glowing white ones. She nodded. This was legal. There were so many laws she hadn’t had time to explain—but it wasn’t her fault. He suspected he couldn’t have understood every detail of the law even with years of preparation.
“Now,” Sekeir said, “do you know this spren?”
“You know I do,” Adolin snapped. “That is Mayalaran. Sh
e is my friend.”
“Your ‘friend,’ you say?” Sekeir asked. “And what does this friendship entail? Do you perhaps have dinner together? Participate in friendly chats around the campfire?”
“We exercise together.”
“Exercise?” Sekeir said, standing from his seat behind the judge’s table. “You made a weapon of her. She is not your friend, but a convenient tool. A weapon by which you slay other men. Your kind never asks permission of Shardblades; you take them as prizes won in battle, then apply them as you wish. She is not your friend, Adolin Kholin. She is your slave.”
“Yes,” Adolin admitted. He looked to Maya, then turned away. “Yes, storm you. We didn’t know they were spren at first, but even now that we do … we use them. We need to.”
“Because you need to kill,” Sekeir said, walking up to Adolin. “Humans are monsters, with a lust for death that can never be sated. You thrive upon the terrible emotions of the Unmade. You don’t fight Odium. You are Odium.”
“Your point is made,” Adolin said more softly. “Let Maya go. Pass your judgment.”
Sekeir stepped up to him, meeting his eyes.
“Look at her,” Adolin said, gesturing. “She’s terrified.”
Indeed, Maya had shrunk down further and was twisting about, as if to try to watch all the members of the audience at once. She turned so violently, in fact, that Amuna and another honorspren stepped up to take her arms, perhaps to prevent her from fleeing.
“You want this to be easy, do you?” Sekeir asked Adolin, speaking in a softer voice. “You don’t deserve easy. I had this fortress working in an orderly, organized manner before you arrived. You have no idea the frustration you have caused me, human.” The honorspren stepped away from Adolin and faced the crowd, thrusting his hand toward Maya.
“Behold this spren!” Sekeir commanded. “See what was done to her by humans. This Kholin asks us to offer ourselves for bonds again. He asks us to trust again. It is vital, then, that we examine carefully the results of our last time trusting men!”
Maya began to thrash, a low growl rising in her throat. She did not like being constrained.
“This is a trial by witness!” Adolin shouted at Sekeir. “You are interfering, and go too far.”
Blended nodded, and other honorspren in the crowd had stood up at the objection. They agreed. Whatever the law was, Sekeir was stretching it here.
“This witness,” Sekeir said, pointing at Maya again, “lost her voice because of what your people did. I must speak for her.”
“She doesn’t want you to speak for her!” Adolin shouted. “She doesn’t want to be here!”
Maya continued to push against her captors, increasingly violent. Some of the crowd responded with jeers toward Adolin. Others muttered and gestured toward Maya.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Sekeir demanded of Adolin. “Convenient, now, for you to care about what she wants. Well, I can read her emotions. That thrashing? It is the pain of someone who remembers what was done to her. She condemns you, Adolin Kholin.”
Maya’s cries grew louder. Frantic, guttural, they weren’t proper shouts. They were the pained anguish of someone who had forgotten how to speak, but still needed to give voice to her agony.
“This poor creature,” Sekeir shouted over the increasing din, “condemns you with each groan. She is our final witness, for hers is the pain we must never forget. Listen to her demand your punishment, Adolin Kholin! She was innocent, and your kind murdered her. Listen to her cry for blood!”
Maya’s shouts grew louder and more raw. Some honorspren in the crowd pulled back, and others covered their ears, wincing. Adolin had heard that scream before, the time he’d tried to summon her as a Blade while in Shadesmar.
“She’s in pain!” Adolin shouted, lunging forward. The spren watching him, however, had been waiting for this. They grabbed him and held him tight. “Let her go, you bastard! Your point is made!”
“My point cannot be made strongly enough,” Sekeir shouted. “It must be repeated over and over. You will not be the only traitor who comes with a smile, begging to exploit us. My people must stay firm, must remember this moment, for their own good. They need to see what humans did!”
Maya’s voice grew louder, gasping breaths punctuated by ragged howls. And in that moment, Adolin … felt her pain somehow. A deep agony. And … anger?
Anger at the honorspren.
“They trusted you,” Sekeir said, “and you murdered them!”
She clawed at the hands, trying to free herself, her teeth flashing as she twisted her scratched-out eyes one way, then the other. Yes, Adolin could feel that agony as if it were his own. He didn’t know how, but he could.
“Listen to her!” Sekeir said. “Accept her condemnation!”
“LET HER GO!” Adolin shouted. He struggled, then went limp. “Storms. Just let her go.”
“I refuse judgment!” Sekeir said. “I don’t need to give it. In the end, her testimony is the only one needed. Her condemnation is all we ever needed. Listen to her shouts; remember them as you rot, Adolin Kholin. Remember what your kind did to her. Her screams are your judgment!”
Maya’s howls came to a crescendo of anguish, then she fell silent, gasping for breath. Weak. Too weak.
Take it, Adolin thought to her. Take some of my strength.
She looked right at him, and despite her scratched-out eyes, she saw him. Adolin felt something, a warmth deep within him. Maya drew in air, filling her lungs. Her expression livid as she gathered all of her strength, she prepared to shout again. Adolin braced himself for the screech. Her mouth opened.
And she spoke.
“We! CHOSE!”
The two words rang through the forum, silencing the agitated honorspren. Sekeir, standing with his back to her, hesitated. He turned to see who had interrupted his dramatic speech.
Panting, hunched forward in the grip of her captors, Maya managed to repeat her words. “We … We chose.…”
Sekeir stumbled away. The hands holding Adolin went slack as the honorspren stared in shock.
Adolin pulled free and crossed the stage. He shoved aside the startled Amuna and supported Maya, putting her arm across his shoulder to hold her up as he would a wounded soldier. She clung to him, stumbling as she struggled to remain upright.
Even as she did, however, she whispered it again. “We chose,” she said, her voice ragged as if she had been shouting for hours. “Adolin, we chose.”
“Blood of my fathers…” Adolin whispered.
“What is this?” Sekeir said. “What have you done to her? The sight of you has caused her to rave in madness and—”
He cut off as Maya pointed at him and released a terrifying screech, her jaw lowering farther than it should. Sekeir put his hand to his chest, eyes wide as her screech transformed into words.
“You. Cannot. Have. My. SACRIFICE!” she shouted. “Mine. My sacrifice. Not yours.” She pointed at the crowd. “Not theirs.” She pointed at Adolin. “Not his. Mine. MY SACRIFICE.”
“You knew what was going to happen when the Radiants broke their oaths,” Adolin said. “They didn’t murder you. You decided together.”
She nodded vigorously.
“All this time,” Adolin said, his voice louder—for the audience. “Everyone assumed you were victims. We didn’t accept that you were partners with the Radiants.”
“We chose,” she hissed. Then, belting it loud as an anthem, “WE CHOSE.”
Adolin helped her step over to the first row of benches, and the honorspren sitting there scrambled out of the way. She sat, trembling, but her grip on his arm was fierce. He didn’t pull away; she seemed to need the reassurance.
He looked around at the crowd. Then toward Sekeir and the other eldest honorspren seated near the judge’s bench.
Adolin didn’t speak, but he dared them to continue condemning him. He dared them to ignore the testimony of the witness they’d chosen, the one they’d pretended to give the power of judgment.
He let them mull it over. He let them think.
Then they began to trail away. Haunted, perhaps confused, the honorspren began to leave. The elders gathered around Sekeir, who remained standing, dumbfounded, staring at Maya. They pulled him away, speaking in hushed, concerned tones.
They didn’t touch Adolin. They stayed far from him, from Maya. Until eventually a single person remained in the stands. A female spren in a black suit, her skin faintly tinged with an oily rainbow. Blended stood up, then picked her way down the steps.
“I should like to take credit,” she said, “for your victory in what everyone assumed was an unwinnable trial. But it was not my tutelage, or your boldness, that won this day.”
Maya finally let go of Adolin’s arm. She seemed stronger than before, though her eyes were still scratched out. He could feel her curiosity, her … awareness. She looked up at him and nodded.
He nodded back. “Thank you.”
“Stren…” she whispered. “Stren. Be…”
“Strength before weakness.”
She nodded again, then turned her scratched-out gaze toward the ground, exhausted.
“I don’t intend to forget that you testified against me,” Adolin said to Blended. “You played both sides of this game.”
“It was the best way for me to win,” she said, inspecting Maya. “But you should know that I suggested to the honorspren elders that they use your deadeye as a witness. They were unaware of the legal provision that allowed them to speak for her.”
“Then her pain is your fault?” Adolin demanded.
“I did not suggest they treat her with such callousness,” Blended said. “Their act is their own, as is their shame. But admittedly, I knew how they might act. I wanted to know if a truth exists—the one you said to me.”
Adolin frowned, trying to remember.
“That she spoke,” Blended reminded him. “To you. That friendship exists between you. I sought proof, and found that her name—recorded in old documents of spren treaties—is as you said. A curious fact to find. Indeed.”
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