But storms, it was either this or start killing again. He raised the bottle to his lips.

Moelach is very similar to Nergaoul, though instead of inspiring a battle rage, he supposedly granted visions of the future. In this, lore and theology align. Seeing the future originates with the Unmade, and is from the enemy.

—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 143

Adolin tugged at the jacket, standing in Captain Ico’s cabin. The spren had lent the room to him for a few hours.

The jacket was too short, but was the biggest the spren had. Adolin had cut off the trousers right below the knees, then tucked the bottoms into his long socks and tall boots. He rolled the sleeves of the jacket up to match, approximating an old style from Thaylenah. The jacket still looked too baggy.

Leave it unbuttoned, he decided. The rolled sleeves look intentional that way. He tucked his shirt in, pulled the belt tight. Good by contrast? He studied it in the captain’s mirror. It needed a waistcoat. Those, fortunately, weren’t too hard to fake. Ico had provided a burgundy coat that was too small for him. He removed the collar and sleeves, stitched the rough edges under, then slit it up the back.

He was just finishing it up with some laces on the back when Ico checked in on him. Adolin buttoned on the improvised waistcoat, threw on the jacket, then presented himself with hands at his sides.

“Very nice,” Ico said. “You look like an honorspren going to a Feast of Light.”

“Thanks,” Adolin said, inspecting himself in the small mirror. “The jacket needs to be longer, but I don’t trust myself to let down the hems.”

Ico studied him with metal eyes—bronze, with holes for the pupils, like Adolin had seen done for some statues. Even the spren’s hair appeared sculpted in place. Ico could almost have been a Soulcast king from an age long past.

“You were a ruler among your kind, weren’t you?” Ico asked. “Why did you leave? The humans we get here are refugees, merchants, or explorers. Not kings.”

King. Was Adolin a king? Surely his father would decide not to continue with the abdication, now that Elhokar had passed.

“No answer?” Ico said. “That is fine. But you were a ruler among them. I can read it in you. Highborn status is important to humans.”

“Maybe a little too important, eh?” Adolin said, adjusting the neck scarf he’d made from his handkerchief.

“That is true,” Ico said. “You are all human—and so none of you, regardless of birth, can be trusted with oaths. A contract to travel, this is fine. But humans will betray trust if it is given to them.” The spren frowned, then seemed to grow embarrassed, glancing away. “That was rude.”

“Rudeness doesn’t necessarily imply untruth though.”

“I did not mean an insult, regardless. You are not to be blamed. Betraying oaths is simply your nature, as a human.”

“You don’t know my father,” Adolin said. Still, the conversation left him uncomfortable. Not because of Ico’s words—spren tended to say odd things, and Adolin didn’t take offense.

More, he felt his own growing worry that he might actually have to take the throne. He’d grown up knowing it could happen, but he’d also grown up wishing—desperately—that it never would. In his quiet moments, he’d assumed this hesitance was because a king couldn’t apply himself to things like dueling and … well … enjoying life.

What if it went deeper? What if he’d always known inconsistency lurked within him? He couldn’t keep pretending he was the man his father wanted him to be.

Well, it was moot anyway—Alethkar, as a nation, had fallen. He accompanied Ico back out of the captain’s cabin onto the deck, walking over to Shallan, Kaladin, and Azure, who stood by the starboard wale. Each wore a shirt, trousers, and jacket they’d bought off the Reachers with dun spheres. Dun gemstones weren’t worth nearly as much on this side, but apparently trade with the other side did happen, so they had some value.

Kaladin gaped at Adolin, looking down at his boots, then up at the neck scarf, then focusing on the waistcoat. That befuddled expression alone made the work worthwhile.

“How?” Kaladin demanded. “Did you sew that?”

Adolin grinned. Kaladin looked like a man trying to wear his childhood suit; he’d never button that coat across his broad chest. Shallan fit her shirt and jacket better from a pure measurements standpoint, but the cut wasn’t flattering. Azure looked far more … normal without her dramatic breastplate and cloak.

“I’d practically kill for a skirt,” Shallan noted.

“You’re kidding,” Azure said.

“No. I’m getting tired of the way trousers rub my legs. Adolin, could you sew me a dress? Maybe stitch the legs of these trousers together?”

He rubbed his chin, which had begun to sprout a blond beard. “It doesn’t work that way—I can’t magic more cloth out of nothing. It…”

He trailed off as, overhead, the clouds suddenly rippled, glowing with a strange mother-of-pearl iridescence. Another highstorm, their second since arriving in Shadesmar. The group stopped and stared up at the dramatic light show. Nearby, the Reachers seemed to stand up more straight, move about their sailing duties more vigorously.

“See,” Azure said. “I told you. They must feed off it, somehow.”

Shallan narrowed her eyes, then grabbed her sketchbook and stalked over to begin interviewing some of the spren. Kaladin trailed away to join his spren at the prow of the ship, where she liked to stand. Adolin often noticed him looking southward, as if anxiously wishing the ship to move more quickly.

He lingered by the side of the ship, watching the beads crash away below. When he looked up, he found Azure studying him. “Did you really sew that?” she asked.

“There wasn’t much sewing involved,” Adolin said. “The scarf and jacket hide most of the damage I did to the waistcoat—which used to be a smaller jacket.”

“Still,” she said. “An unusual skill for a royal.”

“And how many royals have you known?”

“More than some might assume.”

Adolin nodded. “I see. And are you enigmatic on purpose, or is it kind of an accidental thing?”

Azure leaned against the ship’s wale, breeze blowing her short hair. She looked more youthful when not wearing the breastplate and cloak. Mid-thirties, maybe. “A little of both. I discovered when I was younger that being too open with strangers … went poorly for me. But in answer to your question, I have known royals. Including one woman who left it behind. Throne, family, responsibilities…”

“She abandoned her duty?” That was practically inconceivable.

“The throne was better served by someone who enjoyed sitting on it.”

“Duty isn’t about what you enjoy. It’s about doing what is demanded of you, in serving the greater good. You can’t just abandon responsibility because you feel like it.”

Azure glanced at Adolin, and he felt himself blush. “Sorry,” he said, looking away. “My father and my uncle might have … instilled me with a little passion on the topic.”

“It’s all right,” Azure said. “Maybe you’re right, and maybe there’s something in me that knows it. I always find myself in situations like in Kholinar, leading the Wall Guard. I get too involved … then abandon everyone.…”