“So,” Adolin said, “what’s going on? This is more than just what happened with Lyn.”

“I thought you said I didn’t have to talk.”

“You don’t.” Adolin took a sip, waiting.

Kaladin stared at the table. Shallan often carved parts of it, so the wood here was etched with small but intricate art projects—many of them half finished. He ran his finger across one that depicted an axehound and a man who looked remarkably like Adolin.

“Your father relieved me of active duty today,” Kaladin said. “He thinks I’m … I’m not fit to see battle any longer.”

Adolin let out a long exhalation. “That storming man…”

“He’s right, Adolin,” Kaladin said. “Remember how you had to pull me out of the palace last year.”

“Everyone gets overwhelmed in a fight sometimes,” Adolin said. “I’ve gotten disoriented before, even in Shardplate.”

“This is worse. And more frequent. I’m a surgeon, Adolin. I’ve trained to spot problems like these, so I know he’s right. I’ve known for months.”

“Very well,” Adolin said. He nodded curtly. “So it is. What are we going to do about it? How do you get better?”

“You don’t. Dabbid, the guy in my crew? The one who doesn’t talk? Battle shock, like mine. He’s been like that since I recruited him.”

Adolin fell silent. Kaladin could see him sort through potential responses. Adolin was many things, but “hard to read” would never be one of them.

Fortunately, he didn’t make any of the expected comments. No simple affirmations, no encouragement for Kaladin to cheer up or soldier on. The two of them sat quietly in the loud room for a long pause. Then eventually, Adolin spoke. “My father can be wrong, you know.”

Kaladin shrugged.

“He’s human,” Adolin said. “Half the city thinks he’s some kind of Herald reborn, but he’s only a man. He’s been wrong before. Terribly wrong.”

Dalinar killed Adolin’s mother, Kaladin thought. That news was out, spread wide. The city had all either read, listened to, or been told about Dalinar’s strange autobiography. Handwritten by the Blackthorn himself, it wasn’t quite finished, but drafts had been shared. In it Dalinar confessed to many things, including the accidental killing of his wife.

“I’m not a surgeon,” Adolin said. “And I’m not half the general my father is. But I don’t think you need to be removed from combat, at least not permanently. You need something else.”

“Which is?”

“Wish I knew. There should be a way to help you. A way to make it so you can think straight.”

“I wish it were that easy,” Kaladin said. “But why do you care? What does it matter?”

“You’re my only bridgeboy,” Adolin said with a grin. “Where would I get another? They’ve all started flying away.” The grin faded. “Besides. If we can find a way to help you, then maybe … maybe we can find a way to help her.” His gazed drifted across the room, toward Veil.

“She’s fine,” Kaladin said. “She’s found a balance. You’ve heard her explain how she thinks she’s fine now.”

“Like how you tell everyone you’re fine?” Adolin met his eyes. “This isn’t right, how she is. It hurts her. Over this last year I’ve seen her struggling, and I’ve seen hints that she’s sliding—if more slowly now—toward worse depths. She needs help, the kind I don’t know if I can give her.”

Their table hummed. “You are right,” Pattern said. “She hides it, but things are still wrong.”

“What does your surgeon’s knowledge say, Kal?” Adolin said. “What do I do?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “We are trained in dealing with physical ailments, not in what to do when someone is sick in the mind, other than send them to the ardents.”

“Seems wrong.”

“Yeah, it does.” Kaladin frowned. He wasn’t totally certain what the ardents did with mentally ill patients.

“Should I talk to them?” Pattern asked. “Ardents, for help?”

“Maybe,” Kaladin said. “Wit might know some way to help too. He seems to know about all kinds of things like this.”

“Surely you can give some advice, Kal,” Adolin said.

“Let her know you care,” Kaladin said. “Listen to her. Be encouraging, but don’t try to force her to be happy. And don’t let her be alone, if you’re worried about her.…”

He trailed off, then shot Adolin a glare.

Adolin smirked. This hadn’t just been about Shallan. Damnation. Had he let Adolin outsmart him? Maybe he should get something stronger to drink.

“I’m worried about you both,” Adolin said. “I’m going to find a way to help. Somehow.”

“You’re a storming fool,” Kaladin said. “We need to get you a spren. Why hasn’t an order picked you up yet?”

Adolin shrugged. “I’m not a good fit, I guess.”

“It’s that sword of yours,” Kaladin said. “Shardbearers do better if they drop any old Shards. You need to get rid of yours.”

“I’m not ‘getting rid’ of Maya.”

“I know you’re attached to the sword,” Kaladin said. “But you’d have something better, if you became Radiant. Think about how it would feel to—”

“I’m not getting rid of Maya,” Adolin said. “Leave it, bridgeboy.” The finality in his voice surprised Kaladin, but before he could push further, Jor showed up to introduce his new bride, Kryst, to Adolin.

And, mark Kaladin as the fourth fool if Adolin didn’t immediately pull out a gift for the pair. Adolin hadn’t merely shown up at his favorite winehouse on the night of a wedding party, he’d come ready with a present.

Veil eventually tired of her game and found her way back, more than a little tipsy. When Adolin joked about it, she made a wisecrack about being lucky she was Veil, “because Shallan really can’t hold her alcohol.”

As the evening progressed, Syl returned to proclaim she wanted to take up gambling. Kaladin felt increasingly glad for what Adolin had done. Not because Kaladin felt better; he was still miserable. Yet the misery did lessen around others, and it required Kaladin to keep up a semblance. To pretend. It might be a front, but he’d found that sometimes the front worked even on himself.

The balance lasted for a good two hours, until—as the wedding party started to wane—Rock stepped up. He must have spoken to Adolin and Veil earlier, as they slipped out of the booth as soon as they noticed him, leaving Rock and Kaladin to speak in private.

The look on Rock’s face made Kaladin’s stomach churn. So, the time had arrived, had it? Of course it would happen today, of all days.

“Lowlander,” Rock said. “My captain.”

“Do we have to do this today, Rock?” Kaladin said. “I’m not at my best.”

“Is what you said before,” Rock said. “And before that.”

Kaladin braced himself, but nodded.