14

Rysn sat on the quiet deck of her ship, alone save for the captain and a small crew. A sailor kept watch for trouble from the eel’s nest, ready to call a warning if something dangerous approached the shore team.

Rysn studied the sketches Rushu had sent. Heaps of carapace, the remnants of enormous greatshells who had died—and the gemhearts they grew. Untold riches.

It was too perfect.

Rysn looked up as she heard footsteps coming onto the quarterdeck. Cord?

“I thought you were going ashore with the dinghy, now that we know it’s safe,” Rysn said.

“I should go,” Cord agreed. “But . . .” She looked down over the side of the ship. “They’re all below, in the water, Rysn. All of the luckspren.”

“Well,” Rysn said, “you could go help gather gemstones. There’s heaps of treasure on that beach. Everyone who came on this mission is going to return home rich.”

Cord frowned. “Yes, but he is the wrong treasure.”

“You notice it too?” Rysn said.

“Notice what?”

“There’s something wrong about how this looks,” Rysn said, gesturing to the sketch.

“No,” Cord said. “Just . . . I wanted other treasure. Shardblades and armor, like the Alethi have.” Cord leaned on the railing, looking out at the beach. “My people are proud, Rysn. But we’re also weak. Very weak. Not weak individually, but weak as a nation.

“We spent years and years trying to get Shards. This thing cost us many of our bravest fighters. And so far, the only Shards we have belong to my father—who insists he cannot use them.” She shook her head. “The Alethi have Shards. The Thaylens have Shards. The Vedens have Shards. But on the Peaks, we have none.”

“You don’t need Shards, Cord,” Rysn said. “You live on mountains far from everyone else. They can’t get to you. And . . .”

“And they don’t want to?”

“Well, yes,” Rysn said. “It’s nothing against you and your people. But I’ve made a life out of traveling to difficult places to trade, and even my babsk said that trying to trade with the Horneaters was akin to the seventh fool. I’m sure you have many things of great value, and your people seem wonderful, but the trip is so arduous that trade is almost impossible.”

Cord didn’t seem insulted. She simply nodded. “That’s how this thing has been for many years. Nothing worth the trip . . . nothing that people knew about.”

“What . . . do you mean?”

“The Alethi know now,” she said. “And the enemy always knew. The Peaks have a portal, Rysn. A gateway. A path to the world of gods and spren.” She met Rysn’s eyes. “Soon, everyone will know. And they will want our land. A portal to the land of spren is valuable enough to be worth the trip to the Peaks.”

“I . . .” Rysn trailed off. She wasn’t certain what to make of this. A portal to the land of the spren? She’d heard about Shadesmar; rumors of it were making their way through society. But if the Horneaters had a way into the place . . .

“You are allies with the Alethi and the rest of us,” Rysn said. “We can protect you.”

“Pardon,” Cord said. “I have Alethi friends. The Alethi queen seems worthy. But they know that strong countries take from weak ones. They will say this thing is for everyone’s good. They will say they’re protecting us. But they will move to where we are. They will live in our cities. For everyone’s good.” She nodded. “So we must have Shards, and many Shardbearers. And Radiants—many Radiants. My father could be both. But he thinks tradition is more important than our people. I will do this thing instead. I will find treasures. We must be strong. So strong.”

Rysn immediately felt guilty. When Cord had said she wanted treasure earlier . . . well, Rysn had assumed Cord had a simplistic, common motivation.

People talked about wealth, and how greed was such a terrible thing—and it could be dangerous, true. Yet the ambition of someone who had nothing to rise to a new station should not be easily dismissed or thought simplistic. There was so much more to it.

“So why not join the expedition going to the center of the city?” Rysn asked. “There might be Shards there.”

“If there are,” Cord said, “the Radiants will claim them. I need to go a different direction. And the spren . . .” She shook her head, then turned to Rysn. “Thank you, by the way.”

“For . . . what?”

“For not assuming I was bad,” Cord said. “That man, Nikli, he tried to . . . what is the word in Veden? Make others think I was evil?”

“He framed you.”

“Framed. Like a picture?”

“Same word, different meaning.”

“Ah. Why—with so many sounds—do lowlanders make words that sound the same, but mean different things? Anyway, thank you. For not believing I was evil. I think many people, they dislike foreign people like me. Always believe them to be evil. But you believed me, instead of your friend.”

“I’ve been taught by a very wise man to see the world differently,” Rysn said. “You can thank him, when I introduce you.” Thinking of Vstim, however, made her realize what was bothering her about the pictures of the shore. She pointed at the sketch of the many gemhearts.

“There was a time once,” Rysn said, “when I went with my babsk—the man who trained me—to trade. And the person we met had left spheres and gemstones all about, casually. A sign of wealth. My babsk, he traded differently with this person than others we’d met. Harsher, more cutthroat. Um, that means . . . well, it’s another word for harsher I guess.”

Cord took one of the sketches. “This thing is the same?”

“Maybe,” Rysn said. “Afterward, I asked my babsk why he’d acted that way. He told me, ‘People don’t leave money out casually. They do it to make you see it. Either they want to pretend they have more than they have, or . . .’ ”

“Or?” Cord asked.

“Or they want you to fixate on it,” Rysn said. “And ignore some greater prize. Would you fetch one of the sailors for me? I need to deliver a message to Rushu.”