“Will do.”

“Tell the men to keep focused, Sig. This is likely to be a dramatic fight. I want their minds on the possibility of assassins, not on the duel.”

“Is he really going to fight two men at once?”

“Yeah.”

“Can he possibly win that?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t really care. Our job is to watch for other threats.”

Sigzil nodded, and moved to leave. He hesitated, however, taking Kaladin by the arm. “You could join them, Kal,” he said softly. “If the king’s refounding the Knights Radiant, you have an excuse to show what you are. Dalinar is trying, but so many think of the Radiants as an evil force, forgetting the good they did before they betrayed mankind. But if you showed your powers, it could change minds.”

Join. Under Amaram. Not likely.

“Go pass my orders,” Kaladin said, gesturing, then pulled his arm free of Sigzil’s grip and jogged after the king and his retinue. At least the sun was out today, the spring air warm.

Syl bobbed along behind Kaladin. “Amaram is ruining you, Kaladin,” she whispered. “Don’t let him.”

He gritted his teeth and didn’t reply. Instead, he moved up beside Moash, who was in charge of a team who would watch Brightness Navani—she preferred to watch the duels from down below, in the preparation rooms.

A part of him wondered if he should let Moash guard anyone other than Dalinar, but storm it, Moash had sworn to him that he’d take no more actions against the king. Kaladin trusted him on that count. They were Bridge Four.

I’ll get you out of this, Moash, Kaladin thought, pulling the man aside. We’ll fix this.

“Moash,” Kaladin said, speaking softly. “Starting tomorrow, I’m putting you on patrol duty.”

Moash frowned. “I thought you always wanted me guarding…” His expression grew hard. “This is about what happened. In the tavern.”

“I want you to take a deep patrol,” Kaladin said. “Head out toward New Natanan. I don’t want you here when we move against Graves and his people.” It had been too long already.

“I’m not leaving.”

“You will, and it’s not subject to—”

“What they’re doing is right, Kal!”

Kaladin frowned. “Have you still been meeting with them?”

Moash looked away. “Only once. To assure them that you’d come around.”

“You still disobeyed an order!” Kaladin said. “Storm it, Moash!”

The noise inside the arena was building.

“Almost time for the match,” Moash said, pulling his arm free of Kaladin’s grip. “We can talk about this later.”

Kaladin ground his teeth, but unfortunately, Moash was right. This wasn’t the time.

Should have grabbed him this morning, Kaladin thought. No, what I should have done was make a decision on this days ago.

It was his own fault. “You will go on that patrol, Moash,” he said. “You don’t get to be insubordinate just because you’re my friend. Go on.”

The man jogged ahead, collecting his squad.

* * *

Adolin knelt beside his sword in the preparation room and found he didn’t know what to say.

He looked at his reflection in the Blade. Two Shardbearers at once. He’d never even tried that outside of the practice grounds.

Fighting multiple opponents was tough. In the histories, if you heard of a man fighting six men at once or whatnot, the truth was probably that he managed to take them one at a time somehow. Two at once was hard, if they were prepared and careful. Not impossible, but really hard.

“It comes down to this,” Adolin said. He had to say something to the sword. It was tradition. “Let’s go be spectacular. Then let’s wipe that smile off Sadeas’s face.”

He stood up, dismissing his Blade. He left the small preparation room, walking down the tunnel with carved, painted duelists. In the room beyond, Renarin sat in his Kholin uniform—he wore that to official functions like this, instead of the blasted Bridge Four uniform—waiting anxiously. Aunt Navani was screwing the lid off a jar of paint to do a glyphward.

“No need,” Adolin said, taking one from his pocket. Painted in Kholin blue, it read “excellence.”

Navani cocked an eyebrow. “The girl?”

“Yeah,” Adolin said.

“The calligraphy isn’t bad,” Navani said, grudgingly.

“She’s quite wonderful, Aunt,” Adolin said. “I wish you’d give her more of a chance. And she does want to share her scholarship with you.”

“We’ll see,” Navani said. She sounded more thoughtful than she had before, regarding Shallan. A good sign.

Adolin placed the glyphward in the brazier, then bowed his head as it burned. A prayer to the Almighty for aid. His combatants for the day would probably be burning their own prayers. How did the Almighty decide whom to help?

I can’t believe, Adolin thought, raising his head from the prayer, that he’d want those who serve Sadeas, even indirectly, to succeed.

“I’m worried,” Navani said.

“Father thinks the plan could work, and Elhokar really likes it.”

“Elhokar can be impulsive,” Navani said, folding her arms and watching the remnants of the glyphward burn. “The terms change things.”

The terms—agreed upon with Relis and spoken in front of the highjudge just earlier—indicated that this duel would go until surrender, not until a certain number of Plate sections were broken. That meant if Adolin did manage to beat one of his foes, making the man give in, the other could keep fighting.

It also meant that Adolin didn’t have to stop fighting until he was convinced he was bested.

Or until he was incapacitated.

Renarin walked over, resting a hand on Adolin’s shoulder. “I think the plan is a good one,” he said. “You can do this.”

“They’re going to try to break you,” Navani said. “That’s why they insisted this be a match until the surrender. They’ll leave you crippled if they can, Adolin.”

“No different from the battlefield,” he said. “Actually, in this case, they will want to leave me alive. I’ll work better as an object lesson with Blade-dead legs than I would as ashes.”

Navani closed her eyes, drawing in a breath. She looked pale. It was a little like having his mother back. A little.

“Make sure you don’t give Sadeas any outs,” Renarin said to him as the armorers entered with Adolin’s Shardplate. “When you corner him with a challenge, he will look for a way to escape. Don’t let him. Bring him down on those sands and beat him bloody, Brother.”

“With pleasure.”

“Now, you ate chicken?” Renarin asked.

“Two plates of the stuff, with curry.”

“Mother’s chain?”

Adolin felt in his pocket.

Then he felt in his other one.

“What?” Renarin asked, fingers tightening on Adolin’s shoulder.

“I could have sworn I slipped it in.”

Renarin cursed.

“Might be back in my rooms,” Adolin said. “In the warcamps. On my end table.” Assuming he hadn’t grabbed it, then lost it on the way. Storms.