“I recognize you,” Kaladin said. “One of Dalinar’s clerks.”

She watched him, careful, though she tried to appear relaxed.

“Danlan is a member of the highprince’s retinue,” Graves said. “Please, Kaladin. Sit. Have some wine.”

Kaladin sat down, but did not pour a drink. “You are trying to kill the king.”

“He is direct, isn’t he?” Graves asked Moash.

“Effective, too,” Moash said. “It’s why we like him.”

Graves turned to Kaladin. “We are patriots, as I said before. Patriots of Alethkar. The Alethkar that could be.”

“Patriots who wish to murder the kingdom’s ruler?”

Graves leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. A bit of the humor left him, which was fine. He’d been trying too hard anyway. “Very well, we shall be on with it. Elhokar is a supremely bad king. Surely you’ve noticed this.”

“It’s not my place to pass judgment on a king.”

“Oh please,” Graves said. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen the way he acts? Spoiled, petulant, paranoid. He squabbles instead of consulting, he makes childish demands instead of leading. He is blowing this kingdom to the ground.”

“Have you any idea the kinds of policies he put into place before Dalinar got him under control?” Danlan asked. “I spent the last three years in Kholinar helping the clerks there sort through the mess he made of the royal codes. There was a time when he’d sign practically anything into law if he was cajoled the right way.”

“He is incompetent,” said the darkeyed mercenary, whose name Kaladin didn’t know. “He gets good men killed. Lets that bastard Sadeas get away with high treason.”

“So you try to assassinate him?” Kaladin demanded.

Graves met Kaladin’s eyes. “Yes.”

“If a king is destroying his country,” the mercenary said, “is it not the right—the duty—of the people to see him removed?”

“If he were removed,” Moash said, “what would happen? Ask yourself that, Kaladin.”

“Dalinar would probably take the throne,” Kaladin said. Elhokar had a son back in Kholinar, a child, barely a few years old. Even if Dalinar only proclaimed himself regent in the name of the rightful heir, he would rule.

“The kingdom would be far better off with him at the head,” Graves said.

“He practically rules the place anyway,” Kaladin said.

“No,” Danlan said. “Dalinar holds himself back. He knows he should take the throne, but hesitates out of love for his dead brother. The other highprinces interpret this as weakness.”

“We need the Blackthorn,” Graves said, pounding the table. “This kingdom is going to fall otherwise. The death of Elhokar would spur Dalinar to action. We would get back the man we had twenty years ago, the man who unified the highprinces in the first place.”

“Even if that man didn’t fully return,” the mercenary added, “we certainly couldn’t be worse off than we are now.”

“So yes,” Graves said to Kaladin. “We’re assassins. Murderers, or would-be ones. We don’t want a coup, and we don’t want to kill innocent guards. We just want the king removed. Quietly. Preferably in an accident.”

Danlan grimaced, then took a drink of wine. “Unfortunately, we have not been particularly effective so far.”

“And that’s why I wanted to meet with you,” Graves said.

“You expect me to help you?” Kaladin asked.

Graves raised his hands. “Think about what we’ve said. That is all I ask. Think about the king’s actions, watch him. Ask yourself, ‘How much longer will the kingdom last with this man at its head?’”

“The Blackthorn must take the throne,” Danlan said softly. “It will happen eventually. We want to help him along, for his own good. Spare him the difficult decision.”

“I could turn you in,” Kaladin said, meeting Graves’s eyes. To the side, the cloaked man—who had been leaning against the wall and listening—shuffled, standing up straighter. “Inviting me here was a risk.”

“Moash says you were trained as a surgeon,” Graves said, not looking at all concerned.

“Yes.”

“And what do you do if the hand is festering, threatening the entire body? Do you wait and hope it gets better, or do you act?”

Kaladin didn’t reply.

“You control the King’s Guard now, Kaladin,” Graves said. “We will need an opening, a time when no guards will be hurt, to strike. We didn’t want the actual blood of the king on our hands, wanted to make this seem an accident, but I have realized this is cowardly. I will do the deed myself. All I want is an opening, and Alethkar’s suffering will be over.”

“It will be better for the king this way,” Danlan said. “He is dying a slow death on that throne, like a drowning man far from land. Best to be done with it quickly.”

Kaladin stood up. Moash rose hesitantly.

Graves looked at Kaladin.

“I will consider,” Kaladin said.

“Good, good,” Graves said. “You can get back to us through Moash. Be the surgeon this kingdom needs.”

“Come on,” Kaladin said to Moash. “The others will be wondering where we got to.”

He walked out, Moash following after making a few hasty farewells. Kaladin, honestly, expected one of them to try to stop him. Didn’t they worry that he’d turn them in, as he’d threatened?

They let him go. Back out into the clattering, chattering common room.

Storms, he thought. I wish their arguments hadn’t been so good. “How did you meet them?” Kaladin asked as Moash jogged up to join him.

“Rill, that’s the fellow who was sitting at the table, he was a mercenary on some of the caravans I worked before ending up in the bridge crews. He came to me once we were free of slavery.” Moash took Kaladin by the arm, halting him before they got back to their table. “They’re right. You know they are, Kal. I can see it in you.”

“They’re traitors,” Kaladin said. “I want nothing to do with them.”

“You said you’d consider!”

“I said that,” Kaladin said softly, “so that they’d let me leave. We have a duty, Moash.”

“Is it greater than the duty to the country itself?”

“You don’t care about the country,” Kaladin snapped. “You just want to pursue your grudge.”

“All right, fine. But Kaladin, did you notice? Graves treats all men the same, regardless of eye color. He doesn’t care that we’re darkeyed. He married a darkeyed woman.”

“Really?” Kaladin had heard of wealthy darkeyes marrying lowborn lighteyes, but never anyone as high-dahn as a Shardbearer.

“Yeah,” Moash said. “One of his sons is even a one-eye. Graves doesn’t give a storm about what other people think of him. He does what is right. And in this case, it’s—” Moash glanced around. They were now surrounded by people. “It’s what he said. Someone has to do it.”

“Don’t speak of this to me again,” Kaladin said, pulling his arm free and walking back toward the table. “And don’t meet with them anymore.”