(title hidden — not yet read)

(summary hidden — not yet read)

Four years before the warcamps, in the dim hearth-light of the Davar manor dining hall. Father throws feasts because he wants to pretend everything is fine, and the morning after, his scribes tell him how impoverished he has grown and he sits at the table staring at nothing. Tonight he displays his daughter, his parshmen, and yellow and violet wine to a pair of Veden lighteyes from two valleys over — Brightlord Tavinar, his wife, and their teenaged daughter — none of whom want to be there. Shallan has begun helping with the accounts and so she knows the riches are a sham. She sits at her low table just below the dais, three of her brothers huddled at another: Balat — whom Father has recently begun calling Nan Balat, as if he were the eldest now that Helaran has been gone six months — and the twins Jushu and Wikim. The room could be homely somewhere else. It is not.

Father's three greying ardents dine at their own table. They had known Shallan's grandfather as a youth, treat her kindly, and her hours studying with them are the only refuge in the house. Shallan notices something genuinely new: Balat keeps glancing at the Tavinars' daughter, and the girl smiles back and looks down at her food. Father, oblivious, stands and toasts the room un-Vorin-bluntly to *good neighbours, strong wine*, then announces in poor humour that he has received writs of marriage from Brightlord Gevelmar and will be wedding the man's youngest daughter at month's end; the ardents will perform the ceremony. He demands the room sound less Alethi and more Veden about it. The Tavinars clap with visible discomfort; the boys thump the table out of fear. He distributes gifts — engraved daggers like little Shardblades for the boys, a necklace of fat silver links for Shallan — without warmth, then drinks the rest of his wine.

The hall door slams open. A tall pinch-faced man in a maroon coat with ruffled cuffs strides in with a knot of liveried servants. One eye is intense blue, the other dark brown — lighteyed and dark at once — and Shallan feels a chill before she places him. A house servant whispers in Father's ear and the thunder drains out of Father's face. The stranger speaks with the precise air of a man stepping over latrine puddles: Highprince Valam has heard one rumour too many about the lighteyed woman who died in this house and cannot ignore it. *My wife was killed by her lover,* Father says, *who then killed himself.* *Others tell a different story, Brightlord Lin Davar.* Father waves the Tavinars away — they go gladly, the daughter glancing back at Balat — and sends Shallan to sit with her brothers; she passes the messenger close enough to place him as Redin, Valam's bastard, his father's executioner.

By the hearth the four children take chairs in a loose half-circle. Balat tosses his new dagger to Shallan; she catches it clumsily and admires the metal folds in the firelight. Wikim only stares at the flames; Balat mutters that he wishes he could hear what was being said, that perhaps Father will be dragged away. Shallan says quietly that Father did not kill Mother. *Then what did happen?* Balat asks. She does not know. She cannot let herself think about it. *Someone . . . someone needed to do something.*

Then, deadpan, she announces that she can hear what Father and the messenger are saying. They are talking about plants. The garden trees have been dropping their leaves out of disobedience and refuse to grow new ones; Father has tried beating them and breaking their limbs without success; the messenger advises singing to them, his cousin's trees once popped right back out. Jushu catches it first — *re . . . leaf . . . ed* — and Balat roars with laughter, Jushu nearly spits his wine, and even Wikim cracks a smile Shallan has not seen in years. *You little Voidbringer,* Balat says, wiping his eyes. They keep at it, Shallan insisting House Davar is distinctive and enduring — *the same could be said for a wart* — until Father shouts at them to stop the racket and Balat shouts back that they are being more Veden, as ordered. They are laughing for the first time in longer than any of them can remember. *When did you become so clever?* Balat asks, and Shallan shrinks into the voluminous silk of her dress, claiming the lines are only things she read in a book.

Then Father's hand cracks the high table and his rage goes from red-hot to cold, which the children know is the dangerous one. Redin stands smoothly and says aloud to the room that the conversation has run its course; the highprince has given him authority and he would welcome the witness of any lighteyes of birth in this house. The witness who had been willing to come forward has, he adds, since made himself unavailable. He looks at the four of them. Jushu half rises, then turns to his wine cursing, face red. Balat grabs the arms of his chair to stand and then sees Father's eyes. *He'll kill me. If I say a word, he'll kill me.* He shrinks from man back into terrified teenager. Wikim hisses at Shallan that Father will not dare hurt her and that she actually saw what happened. *I didn't,* she whispers. *You were there!* *I don't know what happened. I don't remember it.* *It didn't happen. It didn't.* Shamespren drift between them like translucent flower petals fading into view. None of them stand.

Redin notes that if any of them remember the truth in the future, willing ears wait in Vedenar. Father stands and tells the bastard he will not tear this house apart. The bastard answers, *save for those who can no longer stand, I assume,* sneers from a face that says even he is not as low as Lin Davar, and leaves with his men to ride on another errand despite the late hour. Father places both hands on the table, lowers his head and tells the children to go; when they hesitate, he roars it. They flee. The necklace sits forgotten in its open box.