Shallan took her hand.

Memories flooded her. Playing in the gardens as a child, meeting a Cryptic. A beautiful, spiraling spren that dimpled the stone. Wonderful times, spent hidden among the foliage in their special place. The Cryptic encouraged her to become strong enough to help her family, to stand against the terrible darkness spreading through it.

Such a blessed time, full of hope, and joy, and truths spoken easily with the solemnity and wonder of a child. That companion had been a true friend to an isolated child, a girl who suffered parents who constantly fought over her future.

Her spren. A spren who could talk. A spren she could confide in. A companion.

And that companion had not been Pattern. It had been a different Cryptic. One who … One who …

Shallan fell to her knees, arms wrapped around herself, trembling. “Oh storms … Oh, God of Oaths…”

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Shallan,” Veil whispered. “It’s all right.”

“I know what you are,” Shallan whispered. “You’re the blankness upon my memories. The part of me that looks away. The part of my mind that protects me from my past.”

“Of course I am,” Veil said. “I’m your veil, Shallan.” She squeezed Shallan’s shoulder, then turned toward the closed door. Had Kelek heard them talking … or … had they even spoken out loud?

Shallan surged to her feet. No. It hurt too much. Didn’t it make more sense to become what Mraize wanted? Adolin would hate her for what she did. Dalinar would hate her. Shallan represented the very thing they all said they would never do. The thing they blamed for all of their problems. The thing that had doomed humankind.

She … she was worthless. She reached for the doorknob.

You can bear it, Radiant whispered.

No. She could become Formless and join the Ghostbloods wholeheartedly. Become the woman she’d created for herself, the strong spy who lived a double life without it bothering her. She could be confident and collected and painless and perfect.

Strength before weakness, Radiant said.

Not a woman who had … who had …

Be strong.

Shallan turned, breathing out, and Stormlight exploded from her like her life’s own blood. It painted the room before her, coloring it, changing it to a lush garden. Covered in bright green vines and shalebark of pink and red.

Within it, a hidden place where a girl cried. The girl wept, then screamed, then said the terrible words.

“I don’t want you! I hate you! I’m done! You never existed. You are nothing. And I am finished!”

Shallan didn’t turn away. She wouldn’t. She felt the ripping sensation again. The terrible pain, and the awful horror.

She hadn’t known what she was doing, not truly. But she had done it.

“I killed her,” Shallan whispered. “I killed my spren. My wonderful, beautiful, kindly spren. I broke my oaths, and I killed her.”

Veil stood with her hands clasped before her. “It’s going to hurt,” Veil warned. “I’m sorry for the pain, Shallan. I did what I could—but I did it for too long.”

“I know,” Shallan said.

“But I have no strength that you do not, Shallan,” Veil said. “You are me. We are me.”

Veil became Stormlight, glowing brightly. The color faded from her, becoming pure white. Her memories integrated into Shallan’s. Her skills became Shallan’s. And Shallan recognized everything she had done.

She remembered preparing the needle hidden in her satchel to kill Ialai. She saw her past, and her growing worry in all its self-destructive horror. Saw herself growing into the lie that she could never belong with Adolin and the Radiants, so she began searching for another escape.

But that escape wasn’t strength. This was strength. She closed her eyes, bearing the burden of those memories. Not only of what she’d done recently, but what she’d done in the garden that day. Terrible memories.

Her memories.

As there was nothing left for Veil to protect Shallan from feeling, she began to fade. But as she faded, one last question surfaced: Did I do well?

“Yes,” Shallan whispered. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

And then, like any other illusion that was no longer needed, Veil puffed away.

Shallan took a deep breath, her pain settling in. Storms … Pattern was here. Not her new Pattern, the first one. The deadeye. Shallan needed to find her.

Later. For now, she had a job to do. As she gathered herself, the door to the study clicked open, and light spilled around a figure. An Alethi man with wispy hair and weary eyes. Shallan knew that expression well.

“I see,” Kelek said. “So you are the one sent to kill me?”

“I was sent for that purpose,” she said, holding up the knife. She set it on a nearby table. “Sent by someone who didn’t realize I’d be strong enough to say no. You’re safe from me, Kelek.”

He walked over and picked up the knife in timid fingers. “So this is like the one they used on Jezrien?”

“I don’t know,” Shallan said honestly. “A group called the Ghostbloods wanted me to use that on you.”

“Old Thaidakar has always wanted my secrets,” Kelek said. “I thought it would be the man, your husband, who came for me. I wonder if he knows I’ve had trouble fighting these days. It’s so hard to decide. To do anything really…”

“Is that why you’ve been so hard on Adolin?” Shallan asked. “At the trial?”

Kelek shook his head. “You two stumbled into a little war of ideologies. The older honorspren—they’re so frightened of what happened to their predecessors. But the young ones want to go fight.”

“I can tell you about the people who sent me,” Shallan said. “We can share information. But first I have a request. You’re about to convict my husband in this sham of a trial. I’d like you to reconsider.”

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.