Yes. A growing thing. Thorny. A briar.

Arin’s expression changed. She saw how he read her stillness. She wondered if she’d gone pale. Anxiety stole over his features. “Kestrel, can I have a word with you?”

Outside the tent, night had come.

He cupped her face in his hands. “You don’t look right.”

“I’m fine.”

“No. You look like a part of you has dis appeared. Like you’re not really here. Like”—his hands fell away—“you do when you’re plotting something.”

Which was how Kestrel realized that she was plotting something. That growing briar inside her was an idea.

“Kestrel.”

She blinked, then noticed the hurt shape of his mouth. Arin said, “Tell me.” She started to speak. He cut through her first words. “No deceiving,” he said.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Not again. After every thing. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

“Arin, for someone who wants me to tell him something, you’re doing an excellent job of not letting me speak.”

“Oh.” Rubbing a forefinger and thumb into his eyes, he gave her a rueful look. “Sorry.”

“Risha could be a trap. We’ve no proof of her true allegiance, and while I know she cares for Verex, this might only make her firmly on Valoria’s side. This story of the emperor at the Sythiah manor could be a distraction. Worse, it could lure us into an ambush. But I also believe that the emperor would leave the battlefield to stay in a luxurious manor known for its stained-glass windows. He’s let my father fight his battles for two decades. As Verex said, the emperor is here only for show. Valoria is likely to win this war—and given our loss at Lerralen, its path to seize Herran’s city is reasonably easy. Having destroyed some of their black powder helps us, but they still have the greater numbers and their tactical position is strong. Why should the emperor not quit the army camp for a feather bed and a view of the vineyards? It would be like him.”

“Then I’ll lead a small team there. Assassinate him. Death will guide me.”

“No. I have a better plan for how to win this war.”

She told him what she had in mind, then returned to the tent to ask Roshar for his help.

Chapter 38

In the rosy light of morning, Arin raked a fistful of dry grass and scattered the thin yellow blades. Again.

Kestrel, who sat near him, glanced up from what she was doing. She lifted one brow.

So he stopped, he knew it was pure anxiety, that if he didn’t do something with his hands they’d tremble.

Her hands were steady. She dipped a skinny paintbrush she’d made from horse hair, a twig, and twine into the small vial resting on a wide board that had become an impromptu table. A Bite and Sting set lay spread across the board, the tiles all faceup. She flipped four of them and painted their blank backs. The liquid went on clear.

“Kestrel.”

“Almost done.”

“I worry the emperor won’t agree.”

“I think he will.”

“But the stakes—”

“Will amuse him.”

“He’d gamble the outcome of a war?”

“Maybe, for the plea sure of beating me.” She laid the paintbrush on the board. “But he won’t win.” She turned a snake tile onto its face and moved it close to one that she’d painted. She studied the two blank ivory backs. They looked nearly identical, save that the painted one had a slight shine. She lightly tapped the paintbrush’s wooden end against the painted tile. It left no trace. The tile had dried.

Arin’s stomach was a wormy knot. “This game could go badly.”

“That’s why I’m cheating.”

“Even with the marked tiles.”

“It’s a good plan.”

“Yes, but he’ll agree to play only if he believes the outcome won’t matter, even if you win. That is what will amuse him: your expectation that he’ll keep his word. He won’t.”

“All part of the game.”

“If anything goes wrong, he’ll hurt you.”

Kestrel turned away from the board, saw him rake another fistful of grass. It sounded like cloth being ripped apart.

“Not this time,” she said.

Arin smelled smoke from Roshar’s pipe before he heard the prince approach from behind. The sun was going down. The sky looked candied.

“Pretty,” the prince commented.

“Storm colors. One’s coming.”

“I was thinking . . .”