“Oh, sure,” Natam said. “I was with the guys who ran out there and found him flapping in the wind, like the Stormfather’s own ears.”

Kaladin smiled. Once, this man would barely say two sentences together, instead always staring at the ground, somber. Used up by his time as a bridgeman. These last few weeks had been good for Natam. Good for them all.

“Before the storm that night,” Kaladin said. “Was anyone out on the balcony? Any servants you didn’t recognize? Any soldiers who weren’t from the King’s Guard?”

“No servants that I recall,” Natam said, squinting. The once-farmer got a pensive look on his face. “I guarded the king all day, sir, with the King’s Guard. Ain’t nothing standing out to me. I— Whoa!” His horse had suddenly picked up speed, outpacing Kaladin’s.

“Think about it!” Kaladin called to him. “See what you can remember!”

Natam nodded, still holding his reins like they were glass, refusing to pull them tight or steer the horse. Kaladin shook his head.

A small horse galloped past him. In the air. Made of light. Syl giggled, changing shape and spinning around as a ribbon of light before settling on the neck of Kaladin’s horse, just in front of him.

She lounged back, grinning, then frowned at his expression. “You’re not enjoying yourself,” Syl said.

“You’re starting to sound a lot like my mother.”

“Captivating?” Syl said. “Amazing, witty, meaningful?”

“Repetitive.”

“Captivating?” Syl said. “Amazing, witty, meaningful?”

“Very funny.”

“Says the man not laughing,” she replied, folding her arms. “All right, so what is drearifying you today?”

“Drearifying?” Kaladin frowned. “Is that a word?”

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Yes,” Syl said solemnly. “Yes, it absolutely is.”

“Something’s off,” he said. “About the conversation I just had with Natam.” He tugged on the reins, stopping the horse from trying to bend down and nibble at grass again. The thing was very focused.

“What did you talk about?”

“The assassination attempt,” Kaladin said, narrowing his eyes. “And if he’d seen anyone before the…” He paused. “Before the storm.”

He looked down and met Syl’s eyes.

“The storm itself would have blown down the railing,” Kaladin said.

“Bending it!” Syl said, standing up and grinning. “Ooohhh…”

“It was cut clean through, the mortar on the bottom chipped away,” Kaladin continued. “I’ll bet the force of the winds was easily equal to the weight the king put on it.”

“So the sabotage must have happened after the storm,” Syl said.

A much narrower time frame. Kaladin turned his horse toward where Natam was riding. Unfortunately, catching up wasn’t easy. Natam was moving at a trot, much to his obvious dismay, and Kaladin couldn’t get his mount to go faster.

“Having trouble, bridgeboy?” Adolin asked, trotting up.

Kaladin glanced at the princeling. Stormfather, but it was difficult not to feel tiny when riding beside that monster of Adolin’s. Kaladin tried to kick his horse faster. She kept clopping along at her one speed, walking around the circle here that was a kind of running track for horses.

“Spray might have been fast during her youth,” Adolin said, nodding at Kaladin’s mount, “but that was fifteen years ago. I’m surprised she’s still around, honestly, but she seems perfectly suited for training children. And bridgemen.”

Kaladin ignored him, eyes forward, still trying to get the horse to pick up her pace and catch Natam.

“Now, if you want something with more spunk,” Adolin said, pointing toward the side, “Dreamstorm over there might be more to your liking.”

He indicated a larger, leaner animal in its own enclosure, saddled and roped to a pole firmly mortared into a hole in the ground. The long rope let it run in short bursts, though only around in a circle. It tossed its head, snorting.

Adolin heeled his own animal forward and past Natam.

Dreamstorm, eh? Kaladin thought, inspecting the creature. It certainly did seem to have more spunk than Spray. It also looked like it wanted to take a bite out of anyone who drew too close.

Kaladin turned Spray in that direction. Once near, he slowed—Spray was all too happy to do that—and climbed off. Doing so proved more difficult than he’d expected, but he managed to avoid tripping onto his face.

Once down, he put his hands on his hips and inspected the running horse inside its fence.

“Weren’t you just complaining,” Syl said, walking up onto Spray’s head, “that you’d rather walk than let a horse carry you about?”

“Yeah,” Kaladin said. He hadn’t realized it, but he had been holding some Stormlight. Just a tad. It escaped when he spoke, invisible unless he looked closely and detected a slight warping of the air.

“So what are you doing thinking about riding that?”

“This horse,” he said, nodding to Spray, “is only for walking. I can walk just fine on my own. That other one, that’s an animal for war.” Moash was right. Horses were an advantage on the battlefield, so Kaladin should be at least familiar with them.

The same argument Zahel made to me about learning to fight against a Shardblade, Kaladin thought with discomfort. And I turned him down.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jenet asked, riding up to him.

“I’m going to get on that,” Kaladin said, pointing at Dreamstorm.

Jenet snorted. “She’ll throw you in a heartbeat and you’ll break your crown, bridgeman. She’s not good with riders.”

“She has a saddle on.”

“So she can get used to wearing one.”

The horse finished a round of cantering and slowed.

“I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Jenet told him, turning her own animal to the side. It stomped impatiently, as if eager to be running.

“I’m going to give it a try,” Kaladin said, walking forward.

“You won’t even be able to get on,” Jenet said. She watched him carefully, as if curious what he’d do—though it seemed to him she might be more worried for the horse’s safety than his.

Syl alighted on Kaladin’s shoulder as he walked.

“This is going to be like back at the lighteyed practice grounds, isn’t it?” Kaladin asked. “I’m going to end up on my back, staring at the sky, feeling like a fool.”

“Probably,” Syl said lightly. “So why are you doing this? Because of Adolin?”

“Nah,” Kaladin said. “The princeling can storm away.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m scared of these things.”

Syl looked at him, seeming baffled, but it made perfect sense to Kaladin. Ahead, Dreamstorm—huffing out huge breaths from her run—looked at him. She met his eyes.

“Storms!” Adolin’s voice called from behind. “Bridgeboy, don’t actually do it! Are you mad?”