“The instructions are in—”

“I’d rather hear it from you,” Shallan said. “Call me lazy.”

“How did you find me?” the woman asked.

“A sharp-eyed ally,” Shallan said. “I told him to watch the windows, then send me word of where you were. I was waiting up above.” She grimaced. “I was hoping to catch one of you placing the instructions.”

“We placed them before even contacting you,” the woman said. She hesitated, then took a few steps upward. “Iyatil.”

Shallan cocked her head.

“My name,” the woman said. “Iyatil.”

“I’ve never heard one like it.”

“Unsurprising. Your task today was to investigate a certain new arrival into Dalinar’s camp. We wish to know about this person, and Dalinar’s allegiances are uncertain.”

“He’s loyal to the king and the Throne.”

“Outwardly,” the woman said. “His brother knew things of an extraordinary nature. We are uncertain if Dalinar was told of these things or not, and his interactions with Amaram worry us. This newcomer is linked.”

“Amaram is making maps of the Shattered Plains,” Shallan said. “Why? What is out there that he wants?” And why would he want to return the Voidbringers?

Iyatil didn’t answer.

“Well,” Shallan said, rising, “let’s get to it, then. Shall we?”

“Together?” Iyatil said.

Shallan shrugged. “You can sneak along behind, or you can just go with me.” She extended her hand.

Iyatil inspected the hand, then clasped it with her own gloved freehand in acceptance. She kept her other hand on the dagger at her side the entire time, though.

* * *

Shallan flipped through the instructions Mraize had left, as the oversized palanquin lurched along toward Dalinar’s warcamp. Iyatil sat across from Shallan, legs tucked beneath her, watching with beady, masked eyes. The woman wore simple trousers and a shirt, such that Shallan had originally mistaken her for a boy that first time.

Her presence was thoroughly unsettling.

“A madman,” Shallan said, flipping to the next page of instructions. “Mraize is this interested in a simple madman?”

“Dalinar and the king are interested,” Iyatil said. “So, then, are we.”

There did seem to be some sort of cover-up involved. The madman had arrived in the custody of a man named Bordin, a servant whom Dalinar had stationed in Kholinar years ago. Mraize’s information indicated that this Bordin was no simple messenger, but instead one of Dalinar’s most trusted footmen. He had been left behind in Alethkar to spy on the queen, or so the Ghostbloods inferred. But why would someone need to keep an eye on the queen? The briefing didn’t say.

This Bordin had come to the Shattered Plains in haste a few weeks ago, bearing the madman and other mysterious cargo. Shallan’s charge was to find out who this madman was and why Dalinar had hidden him away in a monastery with strict instructions that nobody was to be allowed access save specific ardents.

“Your master knows more about this,” Shallan said, “than he is telling me.”

“My master?” Iyatil asked.

“Mraize.”

The woman laughed. “You mistake. He is not my master. He is my student.”

“In what?” Shallan asked.

Iyatil stared at her with a level gaze and gave no reply.

“Why the mask?” Shallan asked, leaning forward. “What does it mean? Why do you hide?”

“I have many times asked myself,” Iyatil said, “why those of you here go about so brazenly with features exposed to all who would see them. My mask reserves my self. Besides, it gives me the ability to adapt.”

Shallan sat back, thoughtful.

“You are willing to ponder,” Iyatil said. “Rather than asking question after question. This is good. Your instincts, however, must be judged. Are you the hunter, or are you the quarry?”

“Neither,” Shallan said immediately.

“All are one or the other.”

The palanquin’s porters slowed. Shallan peeked out the curtains and found that they had finally reached the edge of Dalinar’s warcamp. Here, soldiers at the gates stopped each person in line waiting to enter.

“How will you get us in?” Iyatil asked as Shallan closed the curtains. “Highprince Kholin has grown cautious of late, with assassins appearing in the night. What lie will gain us access to his realm?”

Delightful, she thought, revising her list of tasks. Shallan not only had to infiltrate the monastery and discover information about this madman, she had to do it without revealing too much about herself—or what she could do—to Iyatil.

She had to think quickly. The soldiers at the front called for the palanquin to approach—lighteyes wouldn’t be required to wait in the ordinary line, and the soldiers would assume this nice a vehicle had someone rich inside. Taking a deep breath, Shallan removed her hat, pulled her hair forward over her shoulder, then pushed her face out of the curtains so that her hair hung down before her outside the palanquin. At the same moment, she withdrew her illusion and pulled the curtains closed behind her head, tight against her neck, to prevent Iyatil from seeing the transformation.

The porters were parshmen, and she doubted the parshmen would say anything about what they saw her do. Their lighteyed master was turned away, fortunately. Her palanquin wobbled up to the front of the line, and the guards started when they saw her. They waved her through immediately. The face of Adolin’s betrothed was well known by this point.

Now, how to get Veil’s appearance back on? There were people on the street here; she wasn’t about to breathe Stormlight while hanging out the window.

“Pattern,” she whispered. “Go make a noise at the window on the other side of the palanquin.”

Tyn had drilled into her the need to make a distracting motion with one hand while palming an object with the other. The same principle might work here.

A sharp yelp sounded from the other window. Shallan moved her head back into the palanquin with a quick motion, breathing out Stormlight. She flipped the curtains in a diverting way and obscured her face with the hat as she put it on.

Iyatil looked back toward her from the window where the yelp had sounded, but Shallan was Veil again. She settled back, meeting Iyatil’s gaze. Had the smaller woman seen?

They rode in silence for a moment.

“You bribed the guards ahead of time,” Iyatil finally guessed. “I would know how you did this. Kholin’s men are difficult to bribe. You got to one of the supervisors, perhaps?”

Shallan smiled in what she hoped was a frustrating way.

The palanquin continued on toward the warcamp’s temple, a part of Dalinar’s camp that she’d never visited. Actually, she hadn’t been to visit Sebarial’s ardents very often either—though when she had gone, she’d found them surprisingly devout, considering who owned them.

She peeked out the window as they approached. Dalinar’s temple grounds were as plain as she would have expected. Grey-robed ardents passed the palanquin in pairs or small groups, mixing among people of all stations. Those had come for prayers, instruction, or advice—a good temple, properly equipped, could provide each of these things and more. Darkeyes from almost any nahn could come to be taught a trade, exercising their divine Right to Learn, as mandated by the Heralds. Lesser lighteyes came to learn trades as well, and the higher dahns came to learn the arts or progress in their Callings to please the Almighty.