The visitors clapped politely, though they looked even more uncomfortable than they had before. Balat and the twins shared looks, and then lightly thumped the table.

“To the void with all of you.” Father slumped back into his chair as his parshmen approached the low table, each bearing a box. “Gifts for my children to mark the occasion,” Father said with a wave of the hand. “Don’t know why I bother. Bah!” He drank the rest of his wine.

The boys got daggers, very fine pieces engraved like Shardblades. Shallan’s gift was a necklace of fat silvery links. She held it silently. Father didn’t like her speaking much at feasts, though he always placed her table close to the high table.

He never shouted at her. Not directly. Sometimes, she wished he would. Maybe then Jushu wouldn’t resent her so. It—

The door to the feast hall slammed open. The poor light revealed a tall man in dark clothing standing at the threshold.

“What is this!” Father demanded, rising, slamming his hands on the table. “Who interrupts my feast?”

The man strode in. His face was so long and slender, it looked as if it had been pinched. He wore ruffles at the cuffs of his soft maroon coat, and the way he pursed his lips made him look as if he’d just found a latrine that had overflowed in the rain.

One of his eyes was intense blue. The other dark brown. Both lighteyed and dark. Shallan felt a chill.

A Davar house servant dashed up to the high table, then whispered to Father. Shallan did not catch what was said, but whatever it was, it drained the thunder right out of Father’s expression. He remained standing, but his jaw dropped.

A handful of servants in maroon livery filed in around the newcomer. He stepped forward with a precise air, as if choosing his steps with some care to avoid stepping in anything. “I have been sent by His Highness, Highprince Valam, ruler of these lands. It has come to his attention that dark rumors persist in these lands. Rumors regarding the death of a lighteyed woman.” He met Father’s eyes.

“My wife was killed by her lover,” Father said. “Who then killed himself.”

“Others tell a different story, Brightlord Lin Davar,” the newcomer said. “Such rumors are… troublesome. They provoke dissatisfaction with His Highness. If a brightlord under his rule were to have murdered a lighteyed woman of rank, it is not something he can ignore.”

Father did not respond with the outrage Shallan would have predicted. Instead he waved his hands toward Shallan and the visitors. “Away,” he said. “Give me space. You there, messenger, let us speak alone. No need to drag mud into the hallway.”

The Tavinars rose, looking all too eager to be going. The girl did glance back at Balat as they left, whispering softly.

Father looked toward Shallan, and she realized she’d frozen in place again at the mention of her mother, sitting at her table just before the high table.

“Child,” Father said softly, “go sit with your brothers.”

She withdrew, passing the messenger as he stepped up to the high table. Those eyes… It was Redin, the highprince’s bastard son. His father used him as an executioner and assassin, it was said.

Since her brothers hadn’t been explicitly banished from the room, they took chairs around the hearth, far enough away to give father privacy. They left a spot for Shallan, and she settled down, the fine silk of her dress rumpling. The voluminous way it enveloped her made her feel as if she weren’t really there and only the dress mattered.

The highprince’s bastard settled down at the table with Father. At least someone was confronting him. But what if the highprince’s bastard decided Father was guilty? What then? Inquest? She didn’t want Father to fall; she wanted to stop the darkness that was slowly strangling them all. It seemed like their light had gone out when Mother died.

When Mother…

“Shallan?” Balat asked. “Are you well?”

She shook herself. “Can I see the daggers? They looked quite fine from my table.”

Wikim just stared at the fire, but Balat tossed his to her. She caught it clumsily, then pulled it from its sheath, admiring the way the metal folds reflected the hearthlight.

The boys watched the flamespren dance on the fire. The three brothers never talked anymore.

Balat glanced over his shoulder, toward the high table. “I wish I could hear what was being said,” he whispered. “Maybe they’ll drag him away. That would be fitting, for what he’s done.”

“He didn’t kill Mother,” Shallan said softly.

“Oh?” Balat snorted. “Then what did happen?”

“I…”

She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Not of that time, that day. Had Father actually done it? She felt cold again, despite the fire’s warmth.

The silence returned.

Someone… someone needed to do something.

“They’re talking about plants,” Shallan said.

Balat and Jushu looked at her. Wikim continued staring at the fire.

“Plants,” Balat said flatly.

“Yes. I can hear them faintly.”

“I can’t hear a thing.”

Shallan shrugged from within her too-enveloping dress. “My ears are better than yours. Yes, plants. Father is complaining that the trees in his gardens never listen when he tells them to obey. ‘They have been dropping their leaves because of a sickness,’ he says, ‘and they refuse to grow new ones.’

“‘Have you tried beating them for their disobedience?’ the messenger asks.

“‘All the time,’ Father replies. ‘I even break off their limbs, yet they still do not obey! It is untidy. At the very least, they should clean up after themselves.’

“‘A problem,’ the messenger says, ‘as trees without foliage are hardly worth keeping. Fortunately, I have the solution. My cousin once had trees that acted this way, and he found that all he needed to do was sing to them and their leaves popped right back out.’

“‘Ah, of course,’ Father says. ‘I will try that immediately.’

“‘I hope that it works for you.’

“‘Well, if it does, I will certainly be relieved.’”

Her brothers stared at her, baffled.

Finally, Jushu cocked his head. He was the youngest of the brothers, just above Shallan herself. “Re… leaf… ed…”

Balat burst into laughter—loud enough that their father glared at them. “Oh, that is awful,” Balat said. “That is purely awful, Shallan. You should be ashamed.”

She huddled down in her dress, grinning. Even Wikim, the older twin, cracked a smile. She hadn’t seen him smile in… how long?

Balat wiped his eyes. “I actually thought, for a moment, you could really hear them. You little Voidbringer.” He let out a deep breath. “Storms, but that felt good.”

“We should laugh more,” Shallan said.

“This hasn’t been a place for laughter,” Jushu said, sipping his wine.

“Because of Father?” Shallan asked. “There’s one of him and four of us. We just need to be more optimistic.”

“Being optimistic does not change facts,” Balat said. “I wish Helaran hadn’t left.” He thumped his fist down on the side of his chair.