“I’m not fussing. I’m strategizing.” He tossed another jacket onto the bed. No. Too outdated. “Don’t give me that look. Are we ready?”

“Pattern’s run off to say goodbye to Wit for some reason,” she said. “Said it was very important—but I suspect that he’s misunderstood some joke Wit made. Other than waiting on him, everything is ready. We just need you.”

Supplies were gathered, transportation secured, and traveling companions chosen. Adolin had packed for the trip quickly and efficiently, and his trunks were already loaded. Those choices had been easy. But today’s jacket …

“So…” Shallan said. “Shall I tell them two more hours or three?”

“I’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” he promised, checking the fabrial clock set in the leather bracer Aunt Navani had given him. Then he eyed Shallan. “Maybe thirty.”

“I’ll tell them an hour,” Shallan said, with a grin. She trailed out, tossing her satchel over her shoulder.

Adolin put his hands on his hips and surveyed his options. None of them were right. What was he looking for?

Wait. Of course.

He emerged from his room a few minutes later wearing a uniform he hadn’t put on in years. It was Kholin blue, still a military outfit, but cut for a more relaxed fit. Though not specifically trendy, it had a more stylized set of glyphs on the back and thicker cuffs and collar than a standard uniform.

Many would have simply assumed it to be an ordinary Kholin uniform. Adolin had designed it himself four years earlier. He’d wanted to create something that would look sharp while satisfying his father’s requirements to be in uniform. The project had excited him for weeks; it had been his first—and only—real attempt at clothing design.

The first day he’d worn it, Dalinar had chewed him out. So it had gone into the trunk, tucked away. Forgotten.

Father probably still wouldn’t approve, but these days Dalinar didn’t approve of Adolin in general. So what was the harm? He replaced his arm bracer, strapped on his side sword, and entered the hallway. Then he hesitated.

Shallan had given him an hour, and there was something else Adolin wanted to check off his list before leaving. So he turned the other direction and climbed the steps toward the sixth floor.

* * *

Adolin was surprised to find a line at the clinic. The sixth floor wasn’t particularly well populated, but news had apparently spread. None of the waiting patients seemed too unfortunate—children cradling scrapes, with hovering parents nearby. A line of women with coughs or aches. Anything serious would warrant the attention of an Edgedancer or a Truthwatcher.

Some bowed to Adolin as he slipped into the front room, where Kaladin’s mother was greeting each patient and recording their symptoms. She smiled at Adolin, holding up two fingers, and waved him down the hallway beyond.

Adolin went that direction. The first room he passed had the door cracked, revealing Kaladin’s father seeing a young man. A town girl stood next to him, reading aloud the notes Lirin’s wife had taken.

The second room along the hallway was a similar—but empty—exam room. Adolin slipped in, and Kaladin entered a few minutes later, drying his hands on a cloth. It was odd to see him in simple brown trousers and a white buttoned shirt—in fact, had Adolin ever seen Kaladin out of uniform? Honestly … Adolin had assumed the man slept in the thing. Yet here he was, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a tail.

Kaladin stopped when he saw Adolin. “You can go to your brother for healing, Adolin. I have real patients that need help.”

Adolin ignored the comment and glanced out into the hallway, looking toward the waiting room. “You’re a popular fellow, bridgeboy.”

“I’m convinced half of them are here to get a peek at me,” Kaladin said, with a sigh. He tied on a white surgeon’s apron. “I fear my notoriety could overshadow the clinic’s purpose.”

Adolin chuckled. “Be careful. Now that I’ve vacated the position, you’re Alethkar’s most eligible bachelor. Shardbearer, Radiant, Landed, and single? I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that half the young ladies in the kingdom are suddenly coming down with headaches.…” He trailed off as he noticed Kaladin’s frown.

“It’s already happened, hasn’t it!” Adolin said, pointing.

“I … had wondered why so many lighteyed women suddenly needed medication,” he said. “I’d thought that maybe their personal surgeons had been recruited into the war.…” He glanced at Adolin, then blushed.

“You can be deliciously naive sometimes, Kal,” Adolin said. “You need to use this angle. Work it.”

“That would betray the ethics of the surgeon-patient relationship,” Kaladin said, closing the door—preventing Adolin from counting the suspiciously well-dressed young women in the waiting room. “Have you come to torment me, or is there an actual purpose behind this visit?”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Adolin said. “See how retirement is going.”

Kaladin shrugged. He walked over to begin arranging the medications and bandages on the shelf, where sphere lanterns glowed with a pure white light.

Syl winked into existence beside Adolin’s head, forming from luminous mist, as if she were a Shardblade. “This is good for him,” she said, leaning in. “He’s actually relaxing for once.”

“There aren’t many serious cases,” Kaladin said, his back to them. “It can be grueling with so many people in line, but … it isn’t as tense as I worried it would be.”

“It’s working,” Syl continued, landing on Adolin’s shoulder. “His parents are always around, so he’s almost never alone. He still has nightmares, but I think he’s getting more sleep.”

Adolin watched Kaladin fold bandages, then noticed how Kaladin glanced at the surgery knives laid out in a row. He shouldn’t keep them out like that, should he?

Adolin made a sudden motion, standing up straight from where he’d been leaning against the door, his feet scraping the stone. Kaladin immediately reached for the knives, then glanced back, and—seeing nothing was wrong—relaxed.

Adolin walked over and put his hand on Kaladin’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “It chases us all. Including me, Kal.” He fished in his pocket, then brought out a metal disc about an inch across. He held it toward Kaladin. “I dropped by to give you this.”

“What is it?” Kaladin asked, taking the disc. One side was engraved with a picture of a divine figure in robes, while the other side bore the same figure in battle gear. Both were surrounded by strange foreign glyphs. It had been coated with some colored enamel at one point, but that had mostly worn off.

“Zahel gave it to me when I finished my training with him,” Adolin said. “Says it’s from his homeland—they use these things as money. Weird, eh?”

“Why don’t they use spheres?”

“Maybe they don’t have enough gemstones? He’s from somewhere to the west. He doesn’t look like a foreigner though, so I’m guessing it must be Bavland.”

“This side might be a Herald,” Kaladin said, squinting at the strange glyphs. “What does it say?”