Veil’s entrance drew glances, but not stares. Women were allowed in such common rooms, though few came. Little sounded less appealing to a woman being courted than, “Hey, let’s go sit in the barracks common room and watch men grunt and scratch themselves.”

She sauntered over to where Vathah and his men had set up at a round wooden table. Furniture was finally trickling down to the ordinary men; Shallan even had a bed now. Veil settled down in a seat and leaned back, tipping the chair so it clicked against the stone wall. This large common room reminded her of a wine cellar. Dark, unadorned, and filled with a variety of unusual stenches.

“Veil,” Vathah said, nodding to her. Four of them were playing at this table: Vathah, one-eyed Gaz, lanky Red, and Shob. The latter wore a glyphward wrapped around one arm and sniffled periodically.

Veil leaned her head back. “I seriously need something to drink.”

“I’ve got an extra mug or two on my ration,” Red said cheerfully.

Veil eyed him to see if he was hitting on her again. He was smiling, but otherwise didn’t seem to be making a pass. “Right kind of you, Red,” Veil said, digging out a few chips and tossing them to him. He tossed over his requisition chit, a little piece of metal with his number stamped on it.

A short time later she was back in her place, nursing some lavis beer.

“Tough day?” Vathah said, lining up his pieces. The small stone bricks were about the size of a thumb, and the men each had ten of them that they arranged facedown. The betting started soon after. Apparently, Vathah was the mink for this round.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Shallan’s been an even bigger pain than usual.”

The men grunted.

“It’s like she can’t decide who she is, you know?” Veil continued. “One moment she’s cracking jokes like she’s sitting in a knitting circle with old ladies—the next she’s staring at you with that hollow gaze. The one that makes you think her soul has gone vacant…”

“She’s a strange one, our mistress,” Vathah agreed.

“Makes you want to do things,” Gaz said with a grunt. “Things you never thought you’d do.”

“Yeah,” Glurv said from the next table over. “I got a medal. Me. For helping find that mess hiding in the basement. Old Kholin himself sent it down for me.” The overweight soldier shook his head, bemused—but he was wearing the medal. Pinned right to his collar.

“It was fun,” Gaz admitted. “Going out carousing, but feeling like we were doing something. That’s what she promised us, you know? Making a difference again.”

“The difference I want to make,” Vathah said, “is filling my pouch with your spheres. You men betting or not?”

The four players all tossed in some spheres. Pieces was one of those games that the Vorin church grudgingly allowed, as it involved no randomization. Dice, drawing from a deck of cards, even shuffling up the pieces—betting on such things was like trying to guess the future. And that was so deeply wrong, thinking of it made Veil’s skin crawl. She wasn’t even particularly religious, not like Shallan was.

People wouldn’t play games like those in the official barracks. Here, they played guessing games. Vathah had arranged nine of his pieces in a triangle shape; the tenth one he set to the side and flipped over as the seed. It, like the hidden nine, was marked with the symbol of one of the Alethi princedoms. In this case, the seed was Aladar’s symbol, in the form of a chull.

The goal was to arrange your ten pieces in a pattern identical to his, even though they were facedown. You’d guess which were which through a series of questions, peeks, and inferences. You could force the mink to reveal pieces just to you, or to everyone, based on certain other rules.

In the end, someone called and everyone flipped over their pieces. The one with the most matches to the mink’s pattern was declared winner, and claimed the pot. The mink got a percentage, based on certain factors, such as the number of turns it took before someone called.

“What do you think?” Gaz asked, as he tossed a few chips into the bowl at the center, buying the right to peek at one of Vathah’s tiles. “How long will Shallan go this time before she remembers we’re here?”

“Long time, I hope,” Shob said. “Oi think Oi might be comin’ down with somethin’.”

“So all is normal, Shob,” Red said.

“It’s big this time,” Shob said. “Oi think Oi might be turnin’ into a Voidbringer.”

“A Voidbringer,” Veil said flatly.

“Yeah, look at this rash.” He pulled back the glyphward, exposing his upper arm. Which looked perfectly normal.

Vathah snorted.

“Eh!” Shob said. “Oi’m likely to die, Sarge. You mark me, Oi’m likely to die.” He moved around a few of his tiles. “If Oi do, give my winnings to dem orphans.”

“Them orphans?” Red asked.

“You know, orphans.” Shob scratched his head. “There’s orphans, right? Somewhere? Orphans that need food? Give them mine after I die.”

“Shob,” Vathah said, “with the way justice plays out in this world, I can guarantee you’ll outlive the rest of us.”

“Ah, that’s nice,” Shob said. “Right nice, Sarge.”

The game progressed only a few rounds before Shob started flipping over his tiles.

“Already!” Gaz said. “Shob, you cremling. Don’t do it yet! I don’t even have two lines!”

“Too late,” Shob said.

Red and Gaz reluctantly started flipping their tiles.

“Sadeas,” Shallan said absently. “Bethab, Ruthar, Roion, Thanadal, Kholin, Sebarial, Vamah, Hatham. With Aladar as the seed.”

Vathah gaped at her, then flipped the tiles over, revealing them exactly as she’d said. “And you didn’t even get any peeks … Storms, woman. Remind me never to play pieces with you.”

“My brothers always said the same thing,” she said as he split the pot with Shob, who had gotten them all right but three.

“Another hand?” Gaz asked.

Everyone looked at his bowl of spheres, which was almost empty.

“I can get a loan,” he said quickly. “There’s some fellows in Dalinar’s guard who said—”

“Gaz,” Vathah said.

“But—”

“Seriously, Gaz.”

Gaz sighed. “Guess we can play for ends, then,” he said, and Shob eagerly got out some drops of glass shaped roughly like spheres, but without gemstones at the center. Fake money for gambling without stakes.

Veil was enjoying her mug of beer more than she’d expected. It was refreshing to sit here with these men and not have to worry about all Shallan’s problems. Couldn’t that girl just relax? Let it all blow past her?

Nearby some washwomen entered, calling that laundry pickup would be in a few minutes. Vathah and his men didn’t stir—though by Veil’s estimation, the very clothing they were wearing could use a good scrub.

Unfortunately, Veil couldn’t completely ignore Shallan’s problems. Mraize’s note proved how useful he could be, but she had to be careful. He obviously wanted a mole among the Knights Radiant. I need to turn this around on him. Learn what he knows. He’d told her what the Skybreakers and the Sons of Honor had been up to. But what about Mraize and his cohorts? What was their objective?