Red carpet… once it was white…

“Your rug,” Shallan said, feeling numb.

“You think I can afford to haul a rug with me when I leave the Shattered Plains?” Tyn asked softly, stepping across the spilled wine, taking Shallan by the arm. “You think we can take any of this? It’s meaningless. You’ve lied to these men. You’ve built yourself up, and tomorrow—when we enter that warcamp—the truth will hit you like a slap in the face.

“You think you can actually get clemency for these men? From a man like Highprince Sadeas? Don’t be an idiot. Even if you get the con going with Dalinar, you want to spend what little credibility we can fake in order to free murderers from Dalinar’s political enemy? How long did you think you could keep this lie going?”

Shallan sat back down on the stool, agitated—both at Tyn and at herself. She shouldn’t be surprised that Tyn wanted to betray Vathah and his men—she knew what Tyn was, and had eagerly let the woman teach her. In truth, Vathah and his men probably did deserve their punishments.

That didn’t mean Shallan was going to betray them. She had told them they could change. She had given her word.

Lies…

Just because you learned how to lie didn’t mean you had to let the lie rule you. But how could she protect Vathah without alienating Tyn? Did she even have that option?

What would Tyn do when Shallan proved to actually be the woman betrothed to Dalinar Kholin’s son?

How long did you think you could keep this lie going…

“Here now,” Tyn said, smiling broadly. “That’s some good news.”

Shallan shook herself from her ruminations, glancing at what the spanreed had been writing.

In regards to your mission in Amydlatn, it read, our benefactors have written to say that they are pleased. They do want to know if you recovered the information, but I think this is secondary to them. They let slip that they’ve found the information they need elsewhere, something about a city they’ve been researching.

For your part, there is no news of the target surviving. It seems that your worry about the mission’s failure is unfounded. Whatever happened aboard the ship, it worked to our favor. The Wind’s Pleasure is reported lost with all hands. Jasnah Kholin is dead.

Jasnah Kholin is dead.

Shallan gaped, jaw dropping. That… it isn’t…

“Maybe those idiots did manage to complete the job,” Tyn said, satisfied. “It looks like I’ll be paid after all.”

“Your mission in Amydlatn,” Shallan whispered. “It was to assassinate Jasnah Kholin.”

“Run the operation, at least,” Tyn said, distracted. “Would have gone myself, but can’t stand ships. Those churning seas turn my stomach inside out…”

Shallan couldn’t speak. Tyn was an assassin. Tyn had been behind the hit on Jasnah Kholin.

The spanreed was still writing.

… some interesting news. You asked after House Davar in Jah Keved. It looks like Jasnah, before leaving Kharbranth, took a new ward…

Shallan reached for the spanreed.

Tyn caught her hand, the woman’s eyes widening as the reed wrote a few last sentences.

… a girl named Shallan. Red hair. Pale skin. Nobody knows much about her. Didn’t seem important news to our informants until I pried.

Shallan looked up just as Tyn did, meeting the woman’s eyes.

“Ah, Damnation,” Tyn said.

Shallan tried to pull free. Instead, she found herself being hauled off the chair.

She couldn’t follow Tyn’s quick motions as the woman slammed her to the ground, face-first. The woman’s boot followed to Shallan’s back, knocking the air from her and throwing a shock through her body. Shallan’s vision fuzzed as she gasped for air.

“Damnation, Damnation!” Tyn said. “You’re Kholin’s ward? Where’s Jasnah? Did she live?”

“Help!” Shallan croaked, barely able to speak as she tried to crawl toward the tent wall.

Tyn knelt on Shallan’s back, pressing the air from her lungs again. “I had my men clear the area around this tent. I was worried about you alerting the deserters that we would turn them in. Stormfather!” She knelt down, head closer to Shallan’s ear. As Shallan struggled, Tyn grabbed her on the shoulder and squeezed hard. “Did. Jasnah. Live?”

“No,” Shallan whispered, tears of pain coming to her eyes.

“The ship, you may have noticed,” Jasnah’s voice said from behind them, “has two very fine cabins which I hired out for us at no small expense.”

Tyn cursed, leaping up and spinning to see who had spoken. It was, of course, Pattern. Shallan didn’t give him a glance, but scrambled toward the tent wall. Vathah and the others were out there, somewhere. If she could just—

Tyn caught her leg, yanking her backward.

I can’t escape, a primal part of her thought. Panic surged within Shallan, bringing with it memories of days spent completely impotent. Her father’s increasingly destructive violence. A family falling apart.

Powerless.

Can’t run, can’t run, can’t run…

Fight.

Shallan pulled her leg free of Tyn and spun, launching herself at the woman. She would not be powerless again. She would not!

Tyn gasped as Shallan attacked with everything she had. A clawing, angry, frantic mess. It wasn’t effective. Shallan knew next to nothing about how to fight, and in moments she found herself croaking in pain a second time, Tyn’s fist buried in her stomach.

Shallan sank to her knees, tears on her cheeks. She tried, ineffectively, to inhale. Tyn cracked her on the side of the head, making her vision go all white.

“Where did that come from?” Tyn said.

Shallan blinked, looking up, vision swimming. She was on the ground again. Her fingernails had left a set of bloody rips across Tyn’s cheek. Tyn reached up, hand coming away red. Her expression darkened, and she reached to the table, where her sword rested in its sheath.

“What a mess,” Tyn growled. “Storm it! I’m going to have to invite that Vathah here, then find a way to blame this on him.” Tyn pulled the sword from its sheath.

Shallan struggled to her knees, then tried to climb to her feet, but her legs were unsteady and the room lurched around her, as if she were still on the ship.

“Pattern?” she croaked. “Pattern?”

She heard something outside. Shouts?

“I’m sorry,” Tyn said, voice cold. “I’m going to have to tie this up tight. In a way, I’m proud of you. You fooled me. You’d have been good at this.”

Calm, Shallan told herself. Be calm!

Ten heartbeats.

But for her, it didn’t have to be ten, did it?

No. It must be. Time, I need time!

She had spheres in her sleeve. As Tyn approached, Shallan breathed in sharply. Stormlight became a raging tempest inside of her and she raised her hand, thrusting out a pulse of Light. She couldn’t form it into anything—she still didn’t know how—but it seemed for a moment to show a rippling image of Shallan, standing proudly like a woman of the court.

Tyn stopped short at the sight of the projection of light and color, then waved her sword out in front of her. The Light rippled, dissipating into smoky trails.