“Well, yeah,” Lopen said. “But, sure, there’s got to be a portion of it nobody ever stepped on, right?”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” he said. “Considering how long the Epoch Kingdoms stood and the expected population numbers.”

“Fine,” Lopen said, pointing forward heroically, with Rua copying him. “Onward we go, to step foot on a land no person has visited in centuries!”

“Except the crew of that other ship,” Huio said. “Who probably landed on the island, since they weren’t found on their ship. And others who presumably killed those people. We’ll be the first, except for all those.”

Lopen sighed and glanced at Rua, who rolled his head from one shoulder to another in annoyance, then made it fall off. “Cousin,” Lopen said, “do you know why it is that people stick you to the wall so often?”

“To judge the relative strength of Radiants by oath level, measuring the duration of Lashings against the Stormlight expended.”

“It’s because you’re no fun.”

“Nah, I decided to let it be fun. You get an entirely new perspective on life when hanging from the wall.” Huio grinned, then both of them turned sharply. The shadow under the ocean had changed direction, slipping away back toward deeper waters. Apparently it didn’t want to rise up high enough to let them get a good look at it.

Lopen’s Lashing ran out right as the boat ground against the stones and beached itself. As it jerked to a halt, he used the momentum to tip forward and step straight onto the shore. Now that was style. He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. Too bad Cord was on the ship, waiting until the sailors had scouted the region.

Sailors jumped out of the other large rowboats, then had to wade through the water to pull them ashore. Rua watched that with sadness.

“You could go run through the water if you want, naco,” Lopen said.

Rua glanced at him, still sitting on Lopen’s shoulder in his small form, then cocked his head.

“Well, yes,” Lopen said. He always knew what Rua meant. It was the way things were. “Just because I have style landing with elegant dignity and control doesn’t mean those fellows lack style when running through the waves. They have sailor style, while I’ve got the Lopen style.” He tapped Rua on the nose. “Don’t let people tell you that style is limited, pretending it will run out like Stormlight. Style is the best resource in the world, because we can make as much of it as we want—and there’s plenty, sure, for everybody.”

He put his hands on his hips and studied the beach, then ran over to help Rushu get out of her boat, because ardent style—with all those pieces of paper—did not involve getting wet.

“Thank you, Radiant Lopen,” she said as she tucked her notebook under her arm. A sailor who climbed out after her carried her spanreed and other equipment. “So, what do we make of this?”

“There’s money,” Lopen said, waving toward the diamond gemhearts with his spear, “lying on the storming ground.”

“Yes, curious,” Rushu said.

“Dead . . . place?” Huio said. “Place of dead?” He cursed softly in Herdazian, trying to find the right Alethi words.

“Oh!” Rushu said. “I’ll bet this is a place where greatshells come to die. I’ve read of that sort of thing. I’ll have to write to Brightness Shallan; she studies greatshell life cycles.”

Kstled walked up, his back straight as the ship’s mast, a barbed spear over his shoulder and a shortsword at his waist. “I suppose,” he said, gesturing to the riches, “these are cursed, and I should forbid my men from indulging?”

“Don’t be silly,” Rushu said, writing something in her notebook. “We’re here to loot the place, armsman Kstled. Have the men heave ho or whatever and get on with it. I want to sleep in a bed of boundless lucre tonight.”

“Aren’t you . . . an ardent?” Kstled asked. “And therefore forbidden personal possessions?”

“Doesn’t mean a lady can’t lie on a big heap of gemstones,” Rushu said. “They talk about it in the stories. I’ve always wondered how uncomfortable it would be.”

She looked up from her notebook, wide-eyed as she regarded them all. “What? I’m serious. Go! Gather it all up! We were sent to collect artifacts from this place, and those gemstones absolutely count. Though perhaps remind the sailors that they’ll get their traditional percentage share from this salvage, so they’ll all be rich when we return—assuming they don’t try to hide anything or steal from the others.”

“Assign me several of your best, Kstled,” Lopen said. “Once Brightness Rysn approves, I’ll take them and the ardent and scout inward. See what we find off the beach.”

Well, see if they could locate the Oathgate. But he wasn’t supposed to talk about that part. Rushu said the queen wanted it quiet, though Rysn apparently knew about it.

Everyone was pretty worried about the presence of an Oathgate out here, where who-knows-what could access it. They could keep the side at Urithiru locked, of course, so it wasn’t an immediate danger. But still . . .

Lopen wasn’t exactly certain what they were supposed to do about the thing if they did find it. He didn’t have a living Blade, and neither did Huio. He’d suggested that Kaladin send Teft along, and the answer had surprised him.

I suggested that to Navani as well, Kaladin had said. And she replied that if this Oathgate was in the hands of enemies, she didn’t fancy sending them a key. Your job is to see if it’s there, scout for an enemy presence, then return. We’ll decide if occupying the place is worth the difficulty after we know for certain whether the Oathgate is there.

He stepped over to Rushu, who was doing some quick sketches of how the exoskeletons were laid out and how the gemhearts had fallen. The region felt so empty. Quiet as a home with no cousins. But after flying up a little, he could see that Huio was right; there had once been a small city at the center.

It took Lopen a while to realize something else felt eerie about the place—as if that carapace and all this unnatural silence weren’t enough. No crem. Everywhere else he’d been, you could tell old things by the crem buildup. Over time, buildings became lumps in the landscape.

Not here. Nothing on the beach—the carapaces, those gemhearts—had a crust on it. No dust either. The place was, sure, cleaner than a soldier’s bunk on inspection day. He lowered down and picked up a small diamond gemheart. Like the others, it wasn’t glowing. He should have realized what that meant.

Highstorm water doesn’t fall here, he thought, scanning the dark clouds. Maybe the strange winds blow highstorms away?

He tucked the gemheart in his pocket and strolled over to Rushu, then peeked over her shoulder—to her annoyance, which was fun—at the pictures she’d drawn. They were storming good, considering how quickly she’d done them.

“I once ate twelve chouta wraps in under two hours,” he said to her. “It was, sure, kind of the same thing.”

She gave him a baffled look. Maybe she didn’t like chouta.

“Punio bet me three clearchips I couldn’t do it,” he explained. “So it was a matter of knightly honor.”