Shallan raised an eyebrow. They were seated on cushions atop a blanket in the Conclave gardens, not far from where she’d first experimented with the Soulcaster. “And is it true?”
“Hardly,” Kabsal said, opening the jar. “The berries are harmless. But the leaves and stalks of the truthberry plant, if burned, give off a smoke that makes people intoxicated and euphoric. It appears that peoples often gathered the stalks for making fires. They’d eat the berries around the campfire and have a rather…interesting night.”
“It’s a wonder—” Shallan began, then bit her lip.
“What?” he prodded.
She sighed. “It’s a wonder they didn’t become known as birthberries, considering—” She blushed.
He laughed. “That’s a good point!”
“Stormfather,” she said, blushing further. “I’m terrible at being proper. Here, give me some of that jam.”
He smiled, handing over a slice of bread with green jam slathered across the top. A dull-eyed parshman—appropriated from inside the Conclave—sat on the ground beside a shalebark wall, acting as an impromptu chaperone. It felt so strange to be out with a man near her own age with only a single parshman in attendance. It felt liberating. Exhilarating. Or maybe that was just the sunlight and the open air.
“I’m also terrible at being scholarly,” she said, closing her eyes, breathing deeply. “I like it outside far too much.”
“Many of the greatest scholars spent their lives traveling.”
“And for each one of them,” Shallan said, “there were a hundred more stuck back in a hole of a library, buried in books.”
“And they wouldn’t have had it any other way. Most people with a bent for research prefer their holes and libraries. But you do not. That makes you intriguing.”
She opened her eyes, smiling at him, then took a luscious bite of her jam and bread. This Thaylen bread was so fluffy, it was more like cake.
“So,” she said as he chewed on his bite, “do you feel any more truthful, now that you’ve had the jam?”
“I am an ardent,” he said. “It is my duty and calling to be truthful at all times.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’m always truthful as well. So full of truth, in fact, that sometimes it squeezes the lies right out my lips. There isn’t a place for them inside, you see.”
He laughed heartily. “Shallan Davar. I can’t imagine anyone as sweet as yourself uttering a single untruth.”
“Then for the sake of your sanity, I’ll keep them coming in pairs.” She smiled. “I’m having a terrible time, and this food is awful.”
“You’ve just disproven an entire body of lore and mythology surrounding the eating of truthberry jam!”
“Good,” Shallan said. “Jam should not have lore or mythology. It should be sweet, colorful, and delicious.”
“Like young ladies, I presume.”
“Brother Kabsal!” She blushed again. “That wasn’t at all appropriate.”
“And yet you smile.”
“I can’t help it,” she said. “I’m sweet, colorful, and delicious.”
“You have the colorful part right,” he said, obviously amused at her deep blush. “And the sweet part. Can’t speak for your deliciousness….”
“Kabsal!” she exclaimed, though she wasn’t entirely shocked. She’d once told herself that he was interested in her only in order to protect her soul, but that was getting more and more difficult to believe. He stopped by at least once a week.
He chuckled at her embarrassment, but that only made her blush further.
“Stop it!” She held her hand up in front of her eyes. “My face must be the color of my hair! You shouldn’t say such things; you’re a man of religion.”
“But still a man, Shallan.”
“One who said his interest in me was only academic.”
“Yes, academic,” he said idly. “Involving many experiments and much firsthand field research.”
“Kabsal!”
He laughed deeply, taking a bite of his bread. “I’m sorry, Brightness Shallan. But it gets such a reaction!”
She grumbled, lowering her hand, but knew that he said the things—in part—because she encouraged him. She couldn’t help it. Nobody had ever shown her the kind of interest that he, increasingly, did. She liked him—liked talking with him, liked listening to him. It was a wonderful way to break the monotony of study.
There was, of course, no prospect for a union. Assuming she could protect her family, she’d be needed to make a good political marriage. Dallying with an ardent owned by the king of Kharbranth wouldn’t serve anyone.
I’ll soon have to start hinting to him the truth, she thought. He has to know that this won’t go anywhere. Doesn’t he?
He leaned toward her. “You really are what you seem, aren’t you, Shallan?”
“Capable? Intelligent? Charming?”
He smiled. “Genuine.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said.
“You are. I see it in you.”
“It’s not that I’m genuine. I’m naive. I lived my entire childhood in my family’s manor.”
“You don’t have the air of a recluse about you. You’re so at ease at conversation.”
“I had to become so. I spent most of my childhood in my own company, and I detest boring conversation partners.”
He smiled, though his eyes held concern. “It seems a shame that one such as you would lack for attention. That’s like hanging a beautiful painting facing the wall.”
She leaned back on her safehand, finishing off her bread. “I wouldn’t say I lacked for attention, not quantitatively, for certain. My father paid me plenty of attention.”
“I’ve heard of him. A stern man, by reputation.”
“He’s…” She had to pretend he was still alive. “My father is a man of passion and virtue. Just never at the same time.”
“Shallan! That might just be the wittiest thing I’ve heard you say.”
“And perhaps the most truthful. Unfortunately.”
Kabsal looked into her eyes, searching for something. What did he see? “You don’t seem to care for your father much.”
“Another truthful statement. The berries are working on both of us, I see.”
“He’s a hurtful man, I gather?”
“Yes, though never to me. I’m too precious. His ideal, perfect daughter. You see, my father is precisely the type of man to hang a picture facing the wrong way. That way, it can’t be soiled by unworthy eyes or touched by unworthy fingers.”
“That’s a shame. As you look very touchable to me.”
She glared. “I told you, no more of that teasing.”
“That wasn’t teasing,” he said, regarding her with deep blue eyes. Earnest eyes. “You intrigue me, Shallan Davar.”
She found her heart thumping. Oddly, a panic rose within her at the same time. “I shouldn’t be intriguing.”
“Why not?”
“Logic puzzles are intriguing. Mathematical computations can be intriguing. Political maneuvers are intriguing. But women…they should be nothing short of baffling.”
“And what if I think I’m beginning to understand you?”
“Then I’m at a severe disadvantage,” she said. “As I don’t understand myself.”
He smiled.
“We shouldn’t be talking like this, Kabsal. You’re an ardent.”
“A man can leave the ardentia, Shallan.”
She felt a jolt. He looked steadily at her, not blinking. Handsome, soft-spoken, witty. This could grow very dangerous very quickly, she thought.
“Jasnah thinks you’re getting close to me because you want her Soulcaster,” Shallan blurted out. Then she winced. Idiot! That’s your response when a man hints that he might leave the service of the Almighty in order to be with you?
“Brightness Jasnah is quite clever,” Kabsal said, slicing himself another piece of bread.
Shallan blinked. “Oh, er. You mean she’s right?”
“Right and wrong,” Kabsal said. “The devotary would very, very much like to get that fabrial. I planned to ask your help eventually.”
“But?”
“But my superiors thought it was a terrible idea.” He grimaced. “They think the king of Alethkar is volatile enough that he’d march to war with Kharbranth over that. Soulcasters aren’t Shardblades, but they can be equally important.” He shook his head, taking a bite of bread. “Elhokar Kholin should be ashamed to let his sister use that fabrial, particularly so trivially. But if we were to steal it…Well, the repercussions could be felt across all of Vorin Roshar.”
“Is that so?” Shallan said, feeling sick.
He nodded. “Most people don’t think about it. I didn’t. Kings rule and war with Shards—but their armies subsist through Soulcasters. Do you have any idea the kinds of supply lines and support personnel Soulcasters replace? Without them, warfare is virtually impossible. You’d need hundreds of wagons filled with food every month!”
“I guess…that would be a problem.” She took a deep breath. “They fascinate me, these Soulcasters. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to use one.”
“I as well.”
“So you’ve never used one?”
He shook his head. “There aren’t any in Kharbranth.”
Right, she thought. Of course. That’s why the king needed Jasnah to help his granddaughter. “Have you ever heard anyone talk about using one?” She cringed at the bold statement. Would it make him suspicious?
He just nodded idly. “There’s a secret to it, Shallan.”
“Really?” she asked, heart in her throat.
He looked up at her, seeming conspiratorial. “It’s really not that difficult.”
“It…What?”
“It’s true,” he said. “I’ve heard it from several ardents. There’s so much shadow and ritual surrounding Soulcasters. They’re kept mysterious, aren’t used where people can see. But the truth is, there’s not much to them. You just put one on, press your hand against something, and tap a gemstone with your finger. It works that simply.”
“That’s not how Jasnah does it,” she said, perhaps too defensively.
“Yes, that confused me, but supposedly if you use one long enough, you learn how to control them better.” He shook his head. “I don’t like the mystery that has grown up around them. It smells too much like the mysticism of the old Hierocracy. We’d better not find ourselves treading down that path again. What would it matter if people knew how simple the Soulcasters are to use? The principles and gifts of the Almighty are often simple.”
Shallan barely listened to that last part. Unfortunately, it seemed that Kabsal was as ignorant as she. More ignorant, even. She’d tried the exact method he spoke of, and it didn’t work. Perhaps the ardents he knew were lying to protect the secret.