The Way of Kings

Danlan was also there, of course. She sat on a chair beside Adolin, keeping proper distance, though she’d occasionally touch his arm with her freehand. Her wine was violet. She did like her wine, though she seemed to match it to her outfits. A curious trait. Adolin smiled. She looked extremely fetching, with that long neck and graceful build wrapped in a sleek dress. She didn’t dye her hair, though it was mostly auburn. There was nothing wrong with light hair. In fact, why was it that they all were so fond of dark hair, when light eyes were the ideal?

Stop it, Adolin told himself. You’ll end up brooding as much as Father.

The other two – Toral and his companion Eshava – were both lighteyes from Highprince Aladar’s camp. House Kholin was currently out of favor, but Adolin had acquaintances or friends in nearly all of the warcamps.

“Wrongness can be amusing,” Toral said. “It keeps life interesting. If we were all right all the time, where would that leave us?”

“My dear,” his companion said. “Didn’t you once claim to me that you were nearly always right?”

“Yes,” Toral said. “And so if everyone were like me, who would I make sport of? I’d dread being made so mundane by everyone else’s competence.”

Adolin smiled, taking a drink of his wine. He had a formal duel in the arena today, and he’d found that a cup of yellow beforehand helped him relax. “Well, you needn’t worry about me being right too often, Toral. I was sure Sadeas would move against my father. It doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he?”

“Positioning, perhaps?” Toral said. He was a keen fellow, known for his refined sense of taste. Adolin always wanted him along when trying wines. “He wants to look strong.”

“He was strong,” Adolin said. “He gains no more by not moving against us.”

“Now,” Danlan said, voice soft with a breathless quality to it, “I know that I’m quite new to the warcamps, and my assessment is bound to reflect my ignorance, but–”

“You always say that, you know,” Adolin said idly. He liked her voice quite a bit.

“I always say what?”

“That you’re ignorant,” Adolin said. “However, you’re anything but. You’re among the most clever women I’ve met.”

She hesitated, looking oddly annoyed for a moment. Then she smiled. “You shouldn’t say such things – Adolin – when a woman is attempting humility.”

“Oh, right. Humility. I’ve forgotten that existed.”

“Too much time around Sadeas’s lighteyes?” Jakamav said, eliciting another tinkling laugh from Inkima.

“Anyway,” Adolin said. “I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“I was saying,” Danlan said, “that I doubt Sadeas would wish to start a war. Moving against your father in such an obvious way would have done that, wouldn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly,” Adolin said.

“So perhaps that is why he held himself back.”

“I don’t know,” Toral said. “He could have cast shame on your family without attacking you – he could have implied, for instance, that you’d been negligent and foolish in not protecting the king, but that you hadn’t been behind the assassination attempt.”

Adolin nodded.

“That still could have started a war,” Danlan said.

“Perhaps,” Toral said. “But you have to admit, Adolin, that the Blackthorn’s reputation is a little less than… impressive of late.”

“And what does that mean?” Adolin snapped.

“Oh, Adolin,” Toral said waving a hand and raising his cup for some more wine. “Don’t be tiresome. You know what I’m saying, and you also know I mean no insult by it. Where is that serving woman?”

“One would think,” Jakamav added, “that after six years out here, we could get a decent winehouse.”

Inkima laughed at that too. She was really getting annoying.

“My father’s reputation is sound,” Adolin said. “Or have you not been paying attention to our victories lately?”

“Achieved with Sadeas’s help,” Jakamav said.

“Achieved nonetheless,” Adolin said. “In the last few months, my father’s saved not only Sadeas’s life, but that of the king himself. He fights boldly. Surely you can see that previous rumors about him were absolutely unfounded.”

“All right, all right,” Toral said. “No need to get upset, Adolin. We can all agree that your father is a wonderful man. But you were the one who complained to us that you wanted to change him.”

Adolin studied his wine. Both of the other men at the table wore the sort of outfits Adolin’s father frowned upon. Short jackets over colorful silk shirts. Toral wore a thin yellow silk scarf at the neck and another around his right wrist. It was quite fashionable, and looked far more comfortable than Adolin’s uniform. Dalinar would have said that the outfits looked silly, but sometimes fashion was silly. Bold, different. There was something invigorating about dressing in a way that interested others, moving with the waves of style. Once, before joining his father at the war, Adolin had loved being able to design a look to match a given day. Now he had only two options: summer uniform coat or winter uniform coat.