way to the wedding chamber.
Blessed Almighty, Shinri thought, her nervousness returning full-force.
I’m not ready for this!
The ceremony, however, obviously didn’t intend to wait until she was
ready. Her father nodded for her guards to begin the escort, then hurried
off to place himself at the front of the audience.
Shinri walked slowly down the hallway, swords lining her on either side,
feeling a numbness overtake the passion she had felt during the debate with her father. The last few weeks had been a different life, a dream. She didn’t even know what had become of Alethkar. Had Jasnah found the assassins?
What of the tension between Jezenrosh and King Elhokar? Jasnah’s own
marriage to Meridas could very well have happened already—and if it
hadn’t, it would come very soon.
I won’t be able to return to that life, Shinri realized for the last time. My father was right. One way or another, my wardship is over now. I’m not the student any more. I’m on my own.
The doors to the wedding chamber opened, and she felt her first real
hint of terror at what was about to come. She was too young—most women
were at least given until they were eighteen, even in political marriages.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 337
She didn’t know enough, hadn’t learned long enough. She couldn’t even
decide if she enjoyed noble society or was disgusted by it. She looked for something to break, scatter, or twist—but there was nothing. Her ladies
continued to prod her forward, and the waiting crowd watched expectantly.
She barely saw King Ahven—standing in a sharp white uniform, show-
ing none of the idiocy she had seen in him before. She wasn’t certain how
she kept walking, moving forward, until she stood before him. She knelt,
taking her place on the cushion facing him. Only one line of thought kept
her strong.
He looks like a good man. If he really has spent all this time pretending, then he’s clever too—and strong enough to keep his throne when everyone thought he would lose it for certain. He is handsome, now that his eyes are firm and intelligent. He’s calm too. He could be the man I’ve hoped for.
His face was rigid. He gave her no smile, no look of encouragement as
she knelt, but she shouldn’t have expected one. This was a serious occasion, and all reports made him out to be a sober man. He didn’t know her. But she would be his most powerful supporter. She would keep his throne for him,
protect his interests as Jasnah had so deftly taught her. He didn’t realize it yet, but he was getting more than just a simple political union. Far more.
The ceremony passed in a blur. A Vorin monk spoke some words, the
crowd waited politely, and Shinri knelt demurely. At the end, King Ahven
Vedenel reached down, palm forward.
And she took his hand. The ceremony was over.
The next few hours were a dazed mix of congratulations and feasting.
Shinri wanted to speak with the man she had just married, but as the wed-
ding feast began, she was almost immediately pulled away to the queen’s
table. Her table. Women who had barely been civil to Shinri during her
visits to Vedenar searching for Tethren now jostled and vied for a chance
to sit next to her.
Shinri glanced toward the king’s table, letting the women work their
seating out amongst themselves. Ahven Vedenel reigned at his table with
a commanding presence—he had the kind of charismatic aura that took
skill and experience to produce.
It was only then, sitting at the table, being served a meal she was too
nervous to eat, that Jasnah’s training finally kicked in. Why would he pretend to be an idiot for so long? Shinri thought suspiciously. What would it accomplish?
She could think of several advantages. In recent centuries, House Vedenel
had been the weakest of the three Houses, despite its possession of the
throne. A strong king would have been subject to duels from the other
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House leaders. But, by feigning idiocy, Ahven would have been able to
maneuver himself into a position of power before revealing himself.
But what a gamble! Shinri thought, not certain whether to be impressed by his resourcefulness or skeptical of his fortune. How had he learned
leader ship skills when he had spent his days acting the imbecile? How
could he be certain that, even now, he would have the necessary core
group of loyal attendants to secure his rule? A popularity gained through
sensationalism could be lost in a flash of poor luck.
Shinri spent most of the meal pondering these issues. She was still more
than a little stunned by the day’s events—she was no longer Shinri, the
child ward of Jasnah, but Lady Shinri, the woman queen of Vedenar. Her
logical ponderings about Ahven were more a retreat to the familiar than
they were an exercise of true rationality.
By the meal’s end, she had come to only one conclusion: Ahven Vedenel
was a man of superior luck and skill. Great events would mark his reign—
and she had to know what kind of man he was.
The feasting ended, and within moments Shinri found herself alone with
him, a man she still didn’t know, in his chambers. The wedding night was a thing she had barely let herself consider. This moment was to have belonged to Tethren—that she should have to spend it with another seemed wrong,
a violation of the love she had once held.
Tethren is dead, Shinri told herself firmly. You have to make a new life now.
She stood quietly as Ahven closed the door to his bed chamber.
“My lord,” she said humbly, his back still to her. “Though we are now
husband and wife, I find that I barely know of you—let alone know you
personally. What kind of man is it that I have married?”
He didn’t answer—in fact, he acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He turned,
and began to disrobe with careful, almost emotionless, functionality. He
paused only once, looking up, his expression explaining that it was time
for her to do what was expected of a wife.
He took her quickly, without speaking. Resigned to her place as his wife,
Shinri accepted it.
Until she saw those eyes.
Focused in the wan light above her, more powerful than the passion,
pain, and confusion, were those eyes. She saw a depth of rage and anger
within them, a hatred that made her want to curl up in horror. They were
not the eyes of a lover. They were not the eyes of a noble lord. They were the eyes of a monster, released from their mask during those moments when
all emotions became bare.
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 339
Then she understood. He climbed off of her, stepping away from the bed,
his face and motions returning to their previous level of control. Shinri sat back, shivering as she pulled the blankets up around her naked body. A
sudden and sickening terror drove her. She wanted to hide from those eyes.
“It was you,” she whispered—silently enough that she was certain he
wouldn’t be able to hear her.
“What was me?” he asked firmly, his voice oddly accented, his eyes
focused on her face.
“You,” she repeated. “You killed them, or had them killed. The people in
the succession line before my father. You assassinated them.”
And he smiled. A cold, terrible smile. “Yes.”
“Why?” she whispered.
King Ahven shrugged. “Your father was the only one ambitious enough
to take the House throne, yet weak enough to hesitate when the time
came to kill me and take my place.” He paused, looking at her and smiling
again. “And he was the only one with an unmarried daughter of age—or,
at least, near enough.”
The chill in Shinri’s breast became ice, and it begged her not to ask the
next question. Yet, like an onlooker drawn to a scene of carnage, she could not stop herself. “But,” she whispered, “I was engaged to another.”
Ahven’s smile deepened.
“How?” she whispered.
“I’m amazed that you never noticed,” Ahven said, continuing to dress.
“The man Tethren never loved you, not really. He wanted my sister Nanavah
with the deep, foolish love men reserve for something unattainable. You
should have paid more attention to the ballads he listened to. ‘The Song
of a Hundred Lovers,’ ‘The Blessing of Minalah,’ ‘Windborn Fate’ . . .
These are the songs of a hopeless romantic. All I had to do was promise
him Nanavah’s hand, and he was willing to risk his honor . . . his life . . .
everything. You see, Prince Tethren could never have loved you. You were
given to him freely.”
Numbness. Just let yourself be numb. No feeling. Don’t think about what just happened. Don’t think of that . . . thing touching you.
Ahven tossed her dress onto the bed, its fine seasilk now wrinkled. “Put
that back on.”
Shinri didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Ahven regarded her. He displayed no hints of anger as he walked to the
door and threw it open. He pointed to the guards outside. “You four,” he
said. “Go and dress my wife.”
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Shinri felt her eyes widen in reflexive horror. He wouldn’t dare . . .
Ahven stepped over and ripped the blanket free from the bed, leaving
her exposed.
“Now!” he snapped to the guards.
He would.
Despite the direct command, the guards stood uncertainly. Shinri reacted
first, the air cold on her skin as she scrambled off the bed and picked up the dress. The guards eventually stepped forward, making perfunctory efforts at helping as she hastily, embarrassedly, struggled to don the dress. She tried to ignore the faces poking in through the door, though she couldn’t help
blushing as they saw her nudity. The dress’s tassels and exaggerated train made the dressing difficult, especially since the soldiers did their best to look anywhere but at her as they helped.
As she finally got the dress to cover the more embarrassing sections of
skin, Ahven stepped forward, grabbing her chin and lifting her eyes from
the floor to meet his. “Your father is a fool,” he whispered. “We both realize that. Now we both also realize that I won’t indulge spoiled women, as he
once did.”
That was a mistake. It gave her a focus for her shame and anger. It let
her see into those eyes again, and gather what strength she had. When he
released her chin, it remained held up.
“Good enough,” he told the guards. Her dress was disheveled and
improperly tied, but she was at least decent.
“Come,” Ahven said—both to her and the guards—as he strode from the
room. Shinri followed, not because she was beaten, but because she knew
there was no use to fighting at the moment. He had just proven his control.
She couldn’t fight him, not yet.
Her father joined the group as it strode down the palace hallways. He
gave Shinri barely a look, though he did flush slightly at the sight of her with her hair unraveled and hanging freely, her dress rumpled.
“What is this?” Ilhadal asked. “Why are the troops gathering outside?”
“It’s time for you to have your proof, Ilhadal,” Ahven replied. “As prom-
ised. We begin our plans this afternoon.”
“Now?” Ilhadal said. “But the gate . . .”
“Come,” Ahven said simply.
The shame of being forced to leave the palace and walk without a litter
in her current state would have mortified the Shinri of a few hours before.
Now the gawking citizens seemed like nothing.
He killed Tethren, she thought. Somehow, Ahven convinced Tethren to ride
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 341
to certain death, just so that I would be unengaged at the proper time. He found a way to slaughter the Davar line of succession so that my father would take the House throne.
She had to keep a tight hold on her terror as they approached the
Oathgate dome, lest she begin to worry about what he would do next.
Unpredictable indeed. Unpredictable and terrible.
Soldiers were gathered inside the city. This was odd enough to give
Shinri pause—she had expected there to be an army outside the city,
for she had heard some minor explanations of how Talshekh’s force was
now commanded by the Idiot King. But these men were inside the city
itself—thousands of them, spearmen, swordsmen, and archers standing in
neat ranks, waiting for something.
Ahven led her past the rows of men toward the Oathgate dome. Inside
the red-painted structure waited another squadron of soldiers.
These men wore blue uniforms. Aleth uniforms.
Shinri couldn’t contain a laugh. “That’s why you kept me imprisoned,”
she realized. “You think to take Ral Eram! You feared my loyalties to house Kholin!”
Her father started, but Ahven acted as if he hadn’t even heard the comment.
The king walked forward, inspecting the blue-uniformed troops.
“You won’t get through the gate,” Shinri said, catching the king’s eye.
“King Elhokar isn’t that great a fool. The gates are locked from the Aleth side except when there are plenty of troops present.”
Ahven didn’t respond, but instead turned back to his inspection.
“This? ” Shinri asked of her father. “This is what you were preparing for?
This is your great plan? You think the Aleths aren’t aware of the danger
the Oathgates provide? You won’t be able to go through until they decide to open their end, and they’re always wary of an attack when they do so. You’ll never take the city this way.”
Her father shifted uncomfortably. “He says he has a way to open the
gates even if one side is locked,” Ilhadal mumbled weakly.
Shinri laughed. “Then he is the Idiot King after all!”
A hand grabbed her neck. “You can do this with or without the dress
on, my queen,” Ahven whispered in her ear. “You may choose. If you say
another word this day without first being told to do so, I will take it as a sign that you’ve decided to give the men a show.”
Shinri flushed, and Ahven pulled her by the neck over to the Oathgate.
He paused for a moment, eyes deep with concentration, and she thought
she saw him take a breath—as if in preparation for some great task.
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Or some great gamble.
“Touch it,” he said, nodding to the large opal set in the side of the
Oathgate.
“What?” Shinri asked.
He nodded to the opal again. “Touch it,” he commanded.
Shinri sighed, and reached out to the shimmering, palm-sized stone.
Everything stopped.
It was as if a hundred different pathways suddenly opened
to her. An
offering, made before her fatigued conscience—sudden and amazing
refreshment. Pure and beautiful fulfillment of problems she hadn’t known
she had. Distant locations appeared—not actual images, but tantalizing
offerings, things formless yet encouraging. Just walk. Go. Find us. Leave.
Through the images and longing, she somehow saw a haze of white
mist stream down from the top of the Oathgate, obscuring its center and
indicating that it had been opened.
Ahven pushed her away from the gate, and her link was broken. Suddenly,
she couldn’t remember what she had sensed or seen, and was left only with
a hurtful desire.
What . . . what was that?
Ahven spun, smiling broadly and waving his hand toward the Oathgate.
“Well?” he demanded of the stunned guards and collected noblemen. “Get
moving!”
Shinri stood quietly as the soldiers in blue rushed forward, piling through the now-open Oathgate.
“Secure the palace!” Ahven ordered. “You must not let anyone out to raise warning. Kill any you see; I don’t care who they are. The future of the Three Houses depends on your courage! A living servant is one who can
escape and warn King Elhokar—an event that would result in the deaths
of yourselves and your brother soldiers!”
Shinri stumbled away, but a guard caught her, holding her by the shoul-
ders as Ahven continued to encourage the men to their grisly task. He
would massacre the entire palace staff just to keep his invasion secret.
He was worse than a monster. He was a thing for which Shinri had no
words.
And I’m married to him.
Jasnah would probably tell her to stay with him. The position of power
as Ahven’s wife would, in Jasnah’s eyes, provide the greater opportunity
to protect lives and keep Alethkar safe. Though Ahven seemed harsh, he
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 343
had . . . enjoyed bedding her. She could use that against him, forcing him to spare lives and be merciful.
But I am not Jasnah. The revelation came as if a stark and sudden break in the clouds. And I never will be. She would be right—staying with him would serve the most good. It is the logical, and perhaps moral, choice. But I cannot do it.
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 47