Brandon SANDERSON - The Way of Kings

“Fair price?” he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “For a book? I’ve no idea. I just figured he’d be trying to take you for as much as he could. That’s why I asked around for who his biggest rival was and came back to help get him to be more reasonable.”

“It was that obvious I’d let myself be swindled?” she asked with a blush, the two of them walking out of the side street.

Yalb chuckled. “Just a little. Anyway, conning men like him is almost as much fun as cheating guards. You probably could have gotten him down further by actually leaving with me, then coming back later to give him another chance.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“Merchants is like mercenaries, my gammer always said. Only difference is that merchants will take your head off, then pretend to be your friend all the same.”

This from a man who had just spent the evening cheating a group of guards at cards. “Well, you have my thanks, anyway.”

“Wasn’t nothing. It was fun, though I can’t believe you paid what you did. It’s just a bunch of wood. I could find some driftwood and put some funny marks on it. Would you pay me pure spheres for that too?”

“I can’t offer that,” she said, fishing in her satchel. She took out the picture she’d drawn of Yalb and the porter. “But please, take this, with my thanks.”

Yalb took the picture and stepped up beneath a nearby lantern to get a look. He laughed, cocking his head, smiling broadly. “Stormfather! Ain’t that something? Looks like I’m seeing myself in a polished plate, it does. I can’t take this, Brightness!”

“Please. I insist.” She did, however, blink her eyes, taking a Memory of him standing there, one hand on his chin as he studied the picture of himself. She’d redraw him later. After what he’d done for her, she dearly wanted him in her collection.

Yalb carefully tucked the picture between the pages of a book, then hefted the bag and continued. They stepped back onto the main roadway. Nomon – the middle moon – had begun to rise, bathing the city in pale blue light. Staying up this late had been a rare privilege for her in her father’s house, but these city people around them barely seemed to notice the late hour. What a strange place this city was.

“Back to the ship now?” Yalb asked.

“No,” Shallan said, taking a deep breath. “Back to the Conclave.”

He raised an eyebrow, but led her back. Once there, she bid Yalb farewell, reminding him to take his picture. He did so, wishing her luck before hastening from the Conclave, probably worried about meeting the guardsmen he’d cheated earlier.

Shallan had a servant carry her books, and made her way down the hallway back to the Veil. Just inside the ornate iron doors, she caught the attention of a master-servant.

“Yes, Brightness?” the man asked. Most of the alcoves were now dim, and patient servants were returning tomes to their safe place beyond the crystal walls.

Shaking off her fatigue, Shallan counted up the rows. There was still a light in Jasnah’s alcove. “I’d like to use the alcove there,” she said, pointing to the next balcony over.

“Do you have a chit of admittance?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Then you’ll have to rent the space if you wish to use it regularly. Two skymarks.”

Wincing at the price, Shallan dug out the proper spheres and paid. Her money pouches were looking depressingly flat. She let the parshman porters haul her up to the appropriate level, then she quietly walked to her alcove. There, she used all her remaining spheres to fill the oversized goblet lamp. To get enough light, she was forced to use spheres of all nine colors and all three sizes, so the illumination was patchy and varied.

Shallan peeked over the side of her alcove, out at the next balcony over. Jasnah sat studying, heedless of the hour, her goblet filled to the brim with pure diamond broams. They were best for light, but less useful in Soulcasting, so weren’t as valuable.

Shallan ducked back around. There was a place at the very edge of the alcove’s table where she could sit, hidden by the wall from Jasnah, so she sat there. Perhaps she should have chosen an alcove on another level, but she wanted to keep an eye on the woman. Hopefully Jasnah would spend weeks here studying. Enough time for Shallan to dedicate herself to some fierce cramming. Her ability to memorize pictures and scenes didn’t work as well on text, but she could learn lists and facts at a rate that her tutors had found remarkable.

She settled herself in the chair, pulling out the books and arranging them. She rubbed her eyes. It was really quite late, but there wasn’t time to waste. Jasnah had said that Shallan could make another petition when the gaps in her knowledge were filled. Well, Shallan intended to fill those gaps in record time, then present herself again. She’d do it when Jasnah was ready to leave Kharbranth.

It was a last, desperate hope, so frail that a strong gust of circumstance seemed likely to topple it. Taking a deep breath, Shallan opened the first of the history books.

“I’m never going to be rid of you, am I?” a soft, feminine voice asked.

Shallan jumped up, nearly knocking over her books as she spun toward the doorway. Jasnah Kholin stood there, deep blue dress embroidered in silver, its silken sheen reflecting the light of Shallan’s spheres. The Soulcaster was covered by a fingerless black glove to block the bright gemstones.

“Brightness,” Shallan said, rising and curtsying in an awkward rush. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I–”

Jasnah quieted her with a wave of the hand. She stepped aside as a parshman entered Shallan’s alcove, carrying a chair. He placed it beside Shallan’s desk, and Jasnah glided over and sat.

Shallan tried to judge Jasnah’s mood, but the older woman’s emotions were impossible to read. “I honestly didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I bribed the servants to tell me if you returned to the Veil,” Jasnah said idly, picking up one of Shallan’s tomes, reading the title. “I didn’t want to be interrupted again.”

“I–” Shallan looked down, blushing furiously.

“Don’t bother apologizing,” Jasnah said. She looked tired; more tired than Shallan felt. Jasnah picked through the books. “A fine selection. You chose well.”

“It wasn’t really much of a choice,” Shallan said. “It was just about all the merchant had.”

“You intended to study their contents quickly, I assume?” Jasnah said musingly. “Try to impress me one last time before I left Kharbranth?”

Shallan hesitated, then nodded.

“A clever ploy. I should have put a time restriction on your reapplication.” She looked at Shallan, glancing her over. “You are very determined. That is good. And I know why you wish so desperately to be my ward.”

Shallan started. She knew ?

“Your house has many enemies,” Jasnah continued, “and your father is reclusive. It will be difficult for you to marry well without a tactically sound alliance.”

Shallan relaxed, though she tried to keep it from showing.

“Let me see your satchel,” Jasnah said.

Shallan frowned, resisting the urge to pull it close. “Brightness?”

Jasnah held out her hand. “You recall what I said about repeating myself?”

Reluctantly, Shallan handed it over. Jasnah carefully removed its contents, neatly lining up the brushes, pencils, pens, jar of lacquer, ink, and solvent. She placed the stacks of paper, the notebooks, and the finished pictures in a line. Then she got out Shallan’s money pouches, noting their emptiness. She glanced at the goblet lamp, counting its contents. She raised an eyebrow.

Next, she began to look through Shallan’s pictures. First the loose-leaf ones, where she lingered on Shallan’s picture of Jasnah herself. Shallan watched the woman’s face. Was she pleased? Surprised? Displeased at how much time Shallan spent sketching sailors and serving women?