Chapter Text
It took longer to sink into the painting process than Shallan was used to. She dived in anyway. The excess paint left a bluish-gray stain on her canvas even after she wiped it away, but she could cover that up later. This was the power of the oil paints. Even after her break, they didn’t dry up but remained wet and workable. The long drying time made them a little messy, but it was also what allowed the masters of old to perfect their artworks over months and years. Shallan didn’t have years. She barely had today. And she intended to make the most of it.
The difficulty wasn’t magically resolved. Shallan still struggled with this new challenge. For one, the canvas had a rougher surface than the smooth paper she was used to sketching on. It took trial and error to figure out the right ratio of oil and paint to produce smooth, vibrant strokes, and even then it was difficult to maintain the right consistency. She had to repeat and wipe away most of her brushstrokes, as her brush kept snagging on the tiny bumps in the grain of the canvas. With time, the mixing became more natural, and Shallan was able to concentrate on the painting itself. Despite the bumpy start, she found that the oil paints were more forgiving than her watercolors or even her charcoal pencils. Shallan enjoyed the creamy texture of the paint as her brush glided on top of it, wet on wet. The colors were rich and pigmented, effortlessly bright. Even the strong smell of the solvent was growing on her. Shallan grinned. This set was going to spoil her.
“Having fun?”
Shallan yelped, almost dropping her brush. She looked up to see Adolin ducking into the balcony. Storms, she didn’t even notice he’d left.
“Did you get bored of watching me struggle?” Shallan asked, only half joking, as she wiped her brush on a rag.
“I didn’t get bored, “ Adolin said. “Just thirsty. I figured you would be too.”
Shallan accepted the cup of chilled orange wine he offered and took a sip. She didn’t realise how thirsty she was after concentrating on painting for the better part of two hours. The wine was sweet and cool, perfect against the heat of the day. “Thank you.”
“How is the painting going?” Adolin took a step toward the easel, which was angled slightly away from him.
Shallan surged forward and stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t look! I have to make it not-ugly first.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“If I show you now, I’ll have to cut out your tongue. I can’t have rumours flying around that I’m a bad painter.” Which would be a shame, because Shallan liked his tongue.
Adolin threw his hands up in mock defeat. “Alright, I won’t—“
He cocked his head to the side, his smile widening.
“What?” Shallan demanded.
“You’re going to have a harder time cutting off his tongue.”
Shallan spun on her heels just in time to see a blurry shape streaking towards them across the sky, twisting in an elaborate loop in the air before landing on the balcony railing in a puff of Stormlight.
“Show off,” Shallan smirked as Kaladin Stormblessed stepped off the railing and onto the balcony with a light step.
No, Radiant mused in the same tone she used to comment her observations on scholarly texts. I think this is just what he’s like. Pattern buzzed in agreement.
Shallan still hadn’t gotten used to seeing Kaladin in his civilian clothes, rather than the blue Highmarshal’s uniform. His black hair was tied back, but a few locks escaped the ribbon during his flight and framed his face. His eyes were deep brown today, but still full of light.
“ Now you show up?” Shallan called out.
Kaladin shrugged. “My father needed a hand at the clinic.”
Shallan grabbed his sleeve and dangled it in front of his face. Well, as close to his face as she could reach while standing on her tiptoes. “And you kept it to yourself? How selfish.”
Kaladin snorted, but —amazingly— smiled. His smile was another thing that was going to take some getting used to.
"Kal! You made it!" Adolin said, scooping them both up in a hug that sandwiched Shallan between them. Shallan felt Kaladin’s arms and chest tense briefly and then relax as he let out a breath. It was so strange. Knowing he was constantly encased in a glowing shard plate made of windspren was one thing. Believing it when she could feel him through the barrier was a different thing entirely. Perhaps she should ask him to pose for a few sketches so she could study the plate properly, since Jasnah didn’t seem inclined to share any scholarship about hers.
They broke apart to the sound of a perky little cough. Shallan looked up to find a tiny woman made of translucent blue-white light perched daintily on top of one of the posts of her easel, wearing a stylish havah. “Oh, hi, Syl.”
“This wasn’t nearly an enthusiastic enough greeting,” Syl huffed. She turned into an eel and spun around Shallan and Adolin’s heads a few times before settling back into her human form and taking a seat on Adolin’s shoulder. “You can compliment me properly later. You won’t believe what just happened.”
Adolin’s eyebrows scrunched together as he glanced at Kaladin. “At the clinic?”
Shallan scratched her chin idly as she watched Kaladin. There was something different about him today. Restlessness, but not frustration. Energy .
“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited before. Or excited at all.” She turned to Syl and Adolin. “Is he alright?”
“I’m fine,” Kaladin said.
Shallan wasn’t buying it. “You haven’t frowned once since getting here. Not even a grunt!”
Kaladin frowned, as if to contradict her. “I’m exhausted. I spent nearly ten hours in the surgery.”
“And that’s…” Adolin prompted.
“Normally a bad thing,” Kaladin said. “If the case is bad enough to require a complicated procedure, we try to send the patient to the Edgedancers first. A lot can go wrong in traditional surgery.”
Shallan searched his face. “But not this time?”
Kaladin’s frown melted into a wide grin. “This time the patient wasn’t sick or wounded. It was a birth. The first members of Hearthstone to be born in Urithiru. It took a long time, but it went well. The mother and the twins are all healthy.”
“That’s incredible!” Adolin said.
“That’s gross,” Syl said. “Humans are so messy. The amount of stuff that came out of her— “
“Twins?” Shallan shrieked. “ Ten hours ?”
“It was intense.” Kaladin started pacing, practically vibrating with energy. “I’ve had battlefield wounds less painful than this looked. “
Shallan grabbed Adolin’s arm for support. “Why does he sound excited about this?”
Adolin shrugged. “Surgeons. Go figure.”
“You don’t understand,” Kaladin said. “Usually when things get like this, in the surgery or on the field, it doesn’t end well.”
“But this time it wasn’t just about saving life,” Adolin said, catching on.
“It was about welcoming new life!” Syl said. “So it was rewarding, I guess. Despite the disgustingness.”
“But it was still dangerous, wasn’t it?” Shallan insisted. Ten storming hours!
“It was as safe as we could make it. A birth like this a few months ago, in occupied Alethkar or on the Herdazian border, without access to someone who knows what they’re doing… It can go seriously wrong. I’ve seen… “ Kaladin stopped his pacing. The energy that seemed to keep him going earlier solidified into solemn resolve on his face. “I’m just glad we could be there.”
Shallan went back to her easel and picked up a brush. She needed a distraction. Why did this bother her so much? Even growing up in rural Jah Keved, she had overheard her share of horror stories from servants and tutors. But now that distant fear of her childhood seemed closer, more solid.
It wouldn’t be so bad for us, Radiant whispered in her mind. We have Stormlight. And we won’t lack medical help.
But did Shallan even want children? Was she ever going to be ready to put her body — her life — through this kind of ordeal? She thought she did. She always wanted a family. Or at least… expected to have one. She grew up knowing her purpose in her father’s schemes. Get married to one of her father’s allies, bear him heirs, perhaps manage his household. But this future didn’t fit her anymore, did it? What did one do with a choice?
Shallan wiped a trickle of sweat from the side of her face. She’d allowed the darkness to get too close again. There will be time to make those decisions. Right now, she wanted to paint.
As she worked, Shallan remembered a quote from her father’s copy of Dandos the Oilsworn’s autobiography. The work of an artist is that of a scholar, a negotiator, and a king all at once.
Jasnah would have called Dandos preposterous, but the words made perfect sense to Shallan. A painting was like a puzzle you had to solve, a language you taught yourself from scratch every time. You had to make decisions and commit to them. Bold lines. Long, sweeping curves. Dark, rich shadows to contrast the brightest lights. She let the process engulf her and lost herself in that sweet concentration, mind emptying of vague worries. At least this was real, and here, and in her hands. This was something Shallan could tackle.
At some point Shallan looked up and realised the shadows had grown long on the patch of training grounds she was referencing, and many of the people who had been lounging in the sun had left. She had been working from a Memory, so her painting didn’t suffer from it. Still, the natural light was growing scarce, and with it her time for painting. Soon the first moon will climb the horizon.
She stepped back to better appraise her painting. She'd gone for an impressionistic style, focusing on broad, expressive strokes and heightened colors rather than a realistic depiction. She could find a dozen imperfections in it, but it had good contrast and a decent composition. It was good enough, for now.
Storms, her back hurt. Her legs felt stiff from standing in front of the easel for so long. She’d been painting for hours .
Pattern crawled on the canvas, his pattern raising tiny ridges in the wet paint.
“What do you think?” Shallan asked.
"It shows the past, but blurry, like a foggy mirror."
Shallan smiled."You're getting better at absract thinking."
Pattern buzzed happily. "A lie and a truth. Hmm, yes. The lie is how it really is. The truth is how you see it. Mmm, very good."
Shallan stretched and turned around. Adolin and Kaladin's conversation had melted into the background of her mind while she was busy painting. Now they both leaned over the pages of one of Adolin's fashion folios. Adolin pointed and explained something, and Kaladin listened with an expression of slight amusement.
"Thank the Stormfather," Shallan said. "Adolin, please tell me you're on the verge of getting him to wear something less boring. Even the uniform was better."
Syl flew up to her and twirled, shifting shape into a tiny Kaladin in a ridiculous lighteyed outfit, complete with a sash and a ruffled cravat. "How's that?"
"Syl!" Kaladin snapped.
Shallan snickered. "Syl, you are a genius."
Pattern hummed in excitement. "Mmm… good lie. Delicious."
Kaladin's face was red. "Syl, stop that!"
Adolin put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. Now we'll know what not to put you in. "
Syl returned to the shape of a young woman. "Next time, I'll give you a hat."
"Are you done painting?" Adolin beckoned Shallan to come sit next to him, but she wasn't quite done.
Shallan wiped her hands on the rag —she really should get a painter's apron, her dress was a mess— and grabbed her sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. She took a Memory of the two of them sitting against the wall, Kaladin relaxing back, Adolin leaning on his shoulder. The setting sun washed them in gentle golds and oranges, softening them. Shallan has always wanted a family, and she found one. She began to draw.
"Don't you want to get some sleep, Kal?" Adolin asked.
"I don't think I could." Kaladin ran his hand through his hair. "It's going to take me some time to ride out the adrenaline."
"Like after battle, " Adolin nodded to himself. "But good?"
"But good."
"Those poor babies, " Shallan said, not looking up from her sketch. "First impressions are very important, you know. Imagine emerging into the world and the first thing you see is Kaladin Stormfaced. They must have been terrified."
"Bold words about first impressions," Kaladin said in a flat tone. "For a Horneater princess."
Shallan tipped her hat to him and curtsied elaborately. “I made the princess part happen eventually, didn’t I?”
It wasn’t exactly true; Alethi inheritance laws were complicated, especially when it came to foreigners like Shallan. Kaladin’s annoyed face made the exaggeration worth it.
“And Rock calls her cousin. “ Adolin grinned broadly, playing along. “She’s like an honorary horneater.”
Kaladin raised an eyebrow. “By this logic, half of this tower’s population is honorary Herdazians. “
“Sure, “ Adolin said. “Like you are an honorary Kholin.”
“I’m not— “
“Don’t deny it, “ Shallan said, wagging her pencil at Kaladin. “I’ll snitch on you to Dalinar.”
Kaladin grunted, then got up and started pacing again, perhaps to disguise his blush. He wondered over to the easel and started poking at their supplies. Picking up the jar of solvent, he sniffed it and grimaced. “What is this thing? It smells like horneater white.”
“Tastes like it, too.”
He walked over to Shallan and glanced at the sketchbook over her shoulder. His face grew even warmer.
“Storms, Shallan…”
“Don’t get mad!” Shallan held the sketchbook close to her chest, protective. She would have snapped it shut, but the charcoal still needed lacquering. “I’m an artist. If I see an interesting picture I need to capture it. I’m not trying to— “
“Mmm… “ Pattern buzzed from his place on Shallan’s hat. “They are all changing colors again. Like the paints.”
A ribbon of blue light twisted around the sketchbook, then emerged as a wide eyed Syl. “Woah.”
“I’m not mad,” Kaladin said, looking away. “It’s just… It’s really good. “
He held out his hand tentatively for the sketchbook.
Shallan watched him for a moment, intrigued. Did she ever see Kaladin Stormblessed so self conscious? She realized with a start that she never showed him any of the pictures of him she drew. He was probably not used to seeing his own face look back from the page. She handed him the sketchbook as Adolin joined them.
The drawing almost seemed to glow. It depicted Kaladin and Adolin sitting side by side, smiling and utterly relaxed. Kaladin’s head rested on Adolin’s shoulder. His black hair was stark against the pale silk of Adolin’s shirt. Adolin had one arm around Kaladin’s shoulders. The other pointed at something out of the picture. Maybe at Shallan herself, teasing them where the eye couldn’t see. Even though she used nothing but the black charcoal on the white page, the scene emitted warmth. A peaceful joy in just being there, together.
“It’s beautiful, “ Adolin said. Pride bloomed in Shallan’s chest at the way his face lit up.
“How do you do that?” Kaladin’s eyes were intense again, a striking deep brown.
Shallan shrugged. “I just do. It comes out of me.”
“Isn’t it difficult to speak while you draw?”
“I get distracted sometimes,” Shallan admitted. “But most times, drawing makes it easier to think, to be.”
“A lot of the men in the group have been having trouble speaking during the meetings. It can be difficult for them… for us, to make eye contact and open up. I wondered if giving them something to do with their hands while they speak could help. I’ve been thinking of crem pottery, but…”
“It’s too messy,“ Shallan said. ”This will work. Even just scribbling can be helpful. I can help you pick out some sketch pads and pencils.”
Adolin nodded. “We can donate the supplies, if you think they will help.”
“You don’t need to —“
“We want to,” Shallan said. “If it helps them it helps you, right?”
Kaladin nodded, but his expression still seemed troubled.
“What is it?” Adolin asked.
“I worry the men wouldn’t be open to the idea of drawing. They are already in a vulnerable position, and drawing looks a lot like writing. They might get offended.”
Adolin and Shallan exchanged looks, then burst out laughing.
“What?” Kaladin said, taken aback. “It’s your fault, you know. I heard about that storming book of masculine and feminine arts. It trickled down even into darkeyed culture.”
“ Arts And Majesty is one thing,” Shallan said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “But you are forgetting something very important.”
“And what is that?”
“That you are Kaladin Stormblessed, “ Adolin said. “Your name goes a long way, bridgeboy. You have a habit of defying expectations and getting away with it, and because you’re you, people around you tend to do the same.”
“You armed the women of Bridge Four,” Shallan said. “Why not teach men to draw?”
“That’s different. They came to us wanting to fight.” Kaladin crossed his arms. “Besides, I can’t teach what I don’t know.”
“Then learn. I can teach you.” Shallan felt a thrill at the thought. She never considered herself much of a teacher, but this was a way to help. Besides, everyone’s first few drawings were awful, and it would be refreshing to watch Kaladin being bad at something for once in his storming life.
“Honestly, these men seem to look up to you. I bet they would give it a shot if you also participated. “ Adolin scratched his chin thoughtfully. “My father got away with learning to read, and he was… controversial to begin with. I bet you could prance around Urithiru in a havah and no one will give you much trouble. “
They froze as Shallan’s eyes widened. She snatched her sketchbook back and took Kaladin’s arm desperately. “ Please .”
“Adolin,” Kaladin growled. “ What have you done ?”
“Please, Kaladin. I can’t get the image out of my head. I need to know what you would look like in a havah. It’s for science.”
“I’m not putting on a dress for you!”
“It could be interesting, “ Adolin said, lightly blushing. “The tight upper part can really bring out his arms and chest, right?”
“You two are the worst. This isn’t happening.”
“Something like this?” Syl turned herself into a tiny Kaladin again, this time in a havah in a style similar to what Jasnah usually wore. She twirled for them, showing off a bodice that hugged well defined muscles quite spectacularly.
The real Kaladin held his head in his hands while Adolin clutched his stomach with laughter.
Shallan gave Syl a salute. “If you ever think of switching orders, let me know. I could use a lightweaving honorspren.”
“You can have her,” Kaladin grumbled.
“I’ll pass,“ Syl said, returning to her usual form. “Lightweavers aren’t nearly as fun to prank. They just one-up you. It’s rude.”
Adolin recovered enough to stand up straight. “Maybe now you’ll finally let me take you to the tailor's shop.”
“Fine,” Kaladin sighed. “Granted that Shallan promises not to draw the process.”
Shallan grinned. This negotiation has been going on for a long time. “I promise to burn the drawings afterwards. Deal?”
“Deal.”
***
They packed up Shallan’s supplies. Transporting them back to her and Adolin’s rooms was a lot easier now that Kaladin was around to lash them. The three of them were a sight, walking the halls of Urithiru with a studio’s worth of floating art supplies trailing them. Once everything was set in its place, Shallan flopped into a chair. She felt drained, but in such a good way. She dug her sketchbook out of her satchel and flipped to the picture of Kaladin and Adolin, now safely lacquered. She was proud of that one.
“Did any of you eat anything at all today?” Adolin asked, falling into the sofa opposite her.
Shallan’s stomach rumbled on cue. “Not since breakfast.”
They both looked to Kaladin, who leaned in the doorway. “I should go wash up…”
“You’re staying for dinner,” Shallan announced.
This time, it didn’t take much convincing.