During the ship’s time in port, the carpenters were doing as she’d asked. Yet there had been so many confused looks. And that same awful question.

“But why?”

Why not stay behind and let an underling do the in-person negotiations? She could negotiate via spanreed for the true contract. Why did she want a station up on the quarterdeck, rather than making the voyage comfortable in her cabin? Why ask about a pulley system to get herself up and down from the quarterdeck, when there were porters who could carry her?

Why, why, why? Why do you want to live, Rysn? Why do you want to better your situation? She scanned the drawings that Mura had sent her. It was a recent design, done by an ardent in Jah Keved, for a different kind of wheeled chair. Rysn used the common type, with small wheels on the rear legs. It needed a porter who could tip the chair back—like she was in a reverse wheelbarrow—and push her where she needed to go. The design had been used for centuries.

But here was something new. A chair with large wheels you could move yourself with your hands. She’d need to have one of these commissioned. It wouldn’t be of much use on a ship—and the streets of Thaylen City were probably too rough, with too many steps—but if only she could get from room to room in her own house, so many things would change.

She wrote a reply to Mura, then revisited her three possible trips, weighing them. A shipment of fish oil, some rugs, or some water barrels. All three were just so mundane. Her ship, the Wandersail, had been built for grander things. Granted, with the war, even simple trips were now dangerous. But she’d been trained by the best in the business to search for the opportunities no one else would take.

Search for the need, Vstim had always taught her. Don’t be a barnacle, simply leeching money where you can, Rysn. Find the unmet desire. . . .

She decided to start over, but was interrupted by a quiet knock at her outer door. She looked up with surprise; she’d not been expecting company. Nikli, after glancing for her approval, moved out into the antechamber to answer the knock.

A smiling man entered her office a second later. Rysn dropped her papers in shock.

The Reshi man had deep tan skin, with his hair in two long braids down over his shoulders. Talik wore a traditional Reshi wrap and tasseled overshirt, with his chest bare. She knew, from their two years of communication, that he generally wore one of several fine Thaylen suits when traveling. When he put on his traditional clothing, it was to deliberately remind people where he was from.

Seeing him left her speechless. He lived thousands of miles away from her. How was he here? She stammered, searching for what to say.

“Ah, so now that you’re a powerful ship owner,” he said, “you have no further words for one such as me? I guess I’ll be off then. . . .” He said it with a widening grin, however.

“Get in here and sit down,” she said, scooting down the table toward the far end, where it wasn’t so cluttered with papers. She waved for him to sit in a chair across the long table from her. “How on Roshar did you get here so quickly? I wrote to you only three days ago!”

“We were already in Azimir,” he explained, settling down. “The king wants to meet this Dalinar Kholin and see these Knights Radiant for himself.”

“The king left Relu-na?” Rysn asked. She felt her jaw drop.

“Strange times,” Talik said. “With nightmares walking the world, and the Vorin peoples uniting under one banner—an Alethi one no less—it was time.”

“They . . . We aren’t under an Alethi banner,” she said. “We are a united coalition. Here, let me pour you some tea.”

She took her grabbing stick and used it to hook the teapot by the handle to drag it across the table toward them. Talik—who had been so stern when they’d first met so long ago—leaped to his feet to help. He took the teapot and poured two cups.

She was grateful. And also frustrated. Not being able to walk was annoying, and that emotion people seemed to understand. But few understood the sense of embarrassment she felt—despite knowing she shouldn’t—at being a burden. While she appreciated the concern people showed for her, she worked so hard to be able to do things on her own. When people accidentally undercut that, it became more difficult to ignore the part of her that whispered lies. That told her that because she was less capable in a few areas, she was worthless in general.

She was doing better about that lately. She didn’t have shamespren hanging around these days. But she still wanted to find the right way to explain she wasn’t some child who needed to be coddled.

“Gods far and near,” Talik said as he handed her a cup, then sat back down. “I can’t believe how the time passes. It’s been . . . what, two years since you first visited us? Since your accident? Feels like only a few months ago.”

“Feels like an eternity for me,” Rysn said, sipping her tea and stretching her other hand out on the desk toward Chiri-Chiri. Normally, the larkin would hop over and sniff it when she did that. Today she barely stirred, letting out a soft chirp.

“I suppose we can catch up later,” Talik said. “For now, can I see her?”

Rysn nodded, setting aside the tea and scooting over to scoop up the larkin. Chiri-Chiri batted her wings a few times, then settled down. Rysn held her so Talik could see, after pulling his chair around the table to settle down next to her.

“I’ve shown her to many animal doctors,” Rysn said, “and they are baffled. Everyone thought the larkin were extinct, if they’d even heard of one before.”

Talik reached to carefully touch Chiri-Chiri along the top of her head. “So big . . .” he whispered. “I had not realized.”

“What do you mean?” Rysn asked.

“When Aimia fell,” he explained, “the Na-Alind—a family among the greatshelled gods of the Reshi—took in the last of the larkin. Greatshells do not think or speak like people do, and the ways of our gods are strange. But best we can tell, there was a promise among them. To protect these, their cousins.

“I have seen only two other larkin. They were both decades old, but were small, no longer than a person’s hand.”

“Chiri-Chiri likes to eat,” Rysn said. “A lot. At least she used to. . . .”

“In ancient times, larkin grew to larger sizes,” Talik said. “They’re supposed to remain small these days. Hidden. Lest men hunt them again.”

“But what do I do?” Rysn asked. “How do I help her?”

“When we received your letter three days ago,” Talik said, “I wrote to those on the island. The king’s consort approached Relu-na. The answer is simple, Rysn, but not easy. Not easy at all.”

“What?”

Talik met her eyes. “The island said to take her home.”

“To the Reshi Isles? I suppose I can go for a visit. How did you get through the occupied territory? The long way around to the east? We . . .” She trailed off, seeing his grim expression. “Oh. By her ‘home,’ you mean Aimia. Well, that’s not impossible. The Royal Navy has set up a few outposts on the main island.”

“Not the main island of Aimia, Rysn,” Talik said. “You need to take her to Akinah. The lost city.” He shook his head. “It is an impossible voyage. No one has stepped foot on the island in generations.”