Adolin smiled affably, regardless. Hopefully Father was right, and the extended hand of fellowship would help. Personally, Adolin just wanted a chance at each of them in the dueling ring, where he could teach them a little respect.

On his way back to his army, he searched out Jakamav, who sat under a small pavilion, having a cup of wine as he watched the rest of his army trudge back across the bridges. There were a lot of slumped shoulders and long faces.

Jakamav gestured for his steward to get Adolin a cup of sparkling yellow wine. Adolin took it in his unarmored hand, though he didn’t drink.

“That was quite nearly awesome,” Jakamav said, staring out at the battle plateau. From this lower vantage, it looked truly imposing, with those three tiers.

Almost looks man-made, Adolin thought idly, considering the shape. “Nearly,” Adolin agreed. “Can you imagine what an assault would look like if we had twenty or thirty Shardbearers on the battlefield at once? What chance would the Parshendi have?”

Jakamav grunted. “Your father and the king are seriously committed to this course, aren’t they?”

“As am I.”

“I can see what you and your father are doing here, Adolin. But if you keep dueling, you’re going to lose your Shards. Even you can’t always win. Eventually you’ll hit an off day. Then it will all be gone.”

“I might lose at some point,” Adolin agreed. “Of course by then I’ll have won half the Shards in the kingdom, so I should be able to arrange a replacement.”

Jakamav sipped his wine, smiling. “You are a cocky bastard, I’ll give you that.”

Adolin smiled, then settled down in a squat beside Jakamav’s chair—he couldn’t sit in one himself, not in Shardplate—so he could meet his friend’s eyes. “The truth is, Jakamav, I’m not really worried about losing my Shards—I’m more worried about finding duels in the first place. I can’t seem to get any Shardbearers to agree to a bout, at least not for Shards.”

“There have been certain… inducements going around,” Jakamav admitted. “Promises made to Shardbearers if they refused you.”

“Sadeas.”

Jakamav inspected his wine. “Try Eranniv. He’s been boasting that he’s better than the standings give him credit for. Knowing him, he’ll see everyone else refusing, and see it as an opportunity for him to do something spectacular. He’s pretty good, though.”

“So am I,” Adolin said. “Thanks, Jak. I owe you.”

“What’s this I hear about you being betrothed?”

Storms. How had that gotten out? “It’s just a causal,” Adolin said. “And it might not even get that far. The woman’s ship seems to have been severely delayed.”

Two weeks now, with no word. Even Aunt Navani was getting worried. Jasnah should have sent word.

“I never thought you were the type to let yourself be nailed into an arranged marriage, Adolin,” Jakamav said. “There are lots of winds to ride out there, you know?”

“Like I said,” Adolin replied, “it’s far from official.”

He still didn’t know how he felt about all this. Part of him had wanted to push back simply because he resisted being subject to Jasnah’s manipulation. But then, his recent track record wasn’t anything to boast of. After what had happened with Danlan… It wasn’t his fault, was it, that he was a friendly man? Why did every woman have to be so jealous?

The idea of letting someone else just take care of it all for him was more tempting than he’d ever publicly admit.

“I can tell you the details,” Adolin said. “Maybe at the winehouse later tonight? Bring Inkima? You can tell me how stupid I’m being, give me some perspective.”

Jakamav stared at his wine.

“What?” Adolin asked.

“Being seen with you isn’t good for one’s reputation these days, Adolin,” Jakamav said. “Your father and the king aren’t particularly popular.”

“It will all blow over.”

“I’m sure it will,” Jakamav said. “So let’s… wait until then, shall we?”

Adolin blinked, the words hitting him harder than any blow on the battlefield. “Sure,” Adolin forced himself to say.

“Good man.” Jakamav actually had the audacity to smile at him and lift his cup of wine.

Adolin set aside his own cup untouched and stalked off.

Sureblood was ready and waiting for him when he reached his men. Adolin moved to swing into the saddle, stewing, but the white Ryshadium nudged him with a butt of the head. Adolin sighed, scratching at the horse’s ears. “Sorry,” he said. “Haven’t been paying much attention to you lately, have I?”

He gave the horse a good scratch, and felt somewhat better after climbing into the saddle. Adolin patted Sureblood’s neck, and the horse pranced a bit as they started moving. He often did that when Adolin was feeling annoyed, as if trying to improve his master’s mood.

His four guards for the day followed behind him. They’d obligingly brought their old bridge from Sadeas’s army to get Adolin’s team where they needed to go. They seemed to find it very amusing that Adolin had his soldiers take shifts carrying the thing.

Storming Jakamav. This has been coming, Adolin admitted to himself. The more you defend Father, the more they’ll pull away. They were like children. Father really was right.

Did Adolin have any true friends? Anyone who would actually stand by him when things were difficult? He knew practically everyone of note in the warcamps. Everyone knew him.

How many of them actually cared?

“I didn’t have a fit,” Renarin said softly.

Adolin shook out of his brooding. They rode side by side, though Adolin’s mount was several hands taller. With Adolin astride a Ryshadium, Renarin looked like a child on a pony by comparison, even in his Plate.

Clouds had rolled across the sun, giving some relief from the glare, though the air had turned cold lately and it looked like winter was here for a season. The empty plateaus stretched ahead, barren and broken.

“I just stood there,” Renarin said. “I wasn’t frozen because of my… ailment. I’m just a coward.”

“You’re no coward,” Adolin said. “I’ve seen you act as brave as any man. Remember the chasmfiend hunt?”

Renarin shrugged.

“You don’t know how to fight, Renarin,” Adolin said. “It’s a good thing you froze. You’re too new at this to go into battle right now.”

“I shouldn’t be. You started training when you were six.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re different, you mean,” Renarin said, eyes forward. He wasn’t wearing his spectacles. Why was that? Didn’t he need them?

Trying to act like he doesn’t, Adolin thought. Renarin so desperately wanted to be useful on a battlefield. He’d resisted all suggestions that he should become an ardent and pursue scholarship, as might have better suited him.

“You just need more training,” Adolin said. “Zahel will whip you into shape. Just give it time. You’ll see.”

“I need to be ready,” Renarin said. “Something is coming.”