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He doesn’t need another sword! Nightbood exclaimed.
“He can’t use you, it wouldn’t be historically accurate and you warp the colors,” Shallan countered, “besides, he’s got a shardblade, what’s the problem with him borrowing one of Adolin’s ordinary swords?”
I’m better than his shardblade too, Nightblood muttered.
“Nothing compares to you, sword-nimi,” Szeth reassured it quietly.
“Look, the only reason I agreed to do this is if Shallan includes my favorite Azish cutlass. It just fits Szeth somehow.”
“But I didn’t stab him at all in the end, he was impaled on a piece of the balcony.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of artistic license?” Shallan asked.
“No!” Szeth, Adolin, and Nightblood said in unison.
“Look, just get into the outfit Szeth, and Adolin, you get down on the floor,” Shallan said, handing Szeth a bundle of white cloth. He took it without complaint and went into the other room to change.
“And here I thought Zahel was crazy to make me practice lying down in shardplate,” Adolin chuckled, dropping gracefully to the floor in the bulky armor and lying back.
“Not like that, more dynamic, here, crook one of your knees up, and put an arm over your head, and tilt up onto your side,” Shallan said, stooping and tugging futilely on Adolin’s knee, nearly toppling over. He obligingly raised it, smirking at her struggle. “Better . . .” she said, tapping her pencil against her lip, “oh good Szeth, you’re back, come stand over here,” she gestured to a spot by Adolin.
“You really wore that?” Adolin asked, “to battle shardbearers?”
“I wore this to kill shardbearers,” Szeth corrected, "’white to be bold,’ was what the Parshendi said,” he added stretching his arms wide so that they could admire the outfit. Loose white trousers, tied at the waist with a rope, and over them a filmy shirt with long sleeves, open at the front.
“It’s bold alright,” Adolin said, “Relain still hasn’t made time to explain Parshendi fashion to me.”
“Good muscle definition, I wonder how I can angle you to show that . . .” Shallan said, gesturing at Szeth’s exposed chest. “Do you think you can lash yourself so it looks like you’re flying down from above to stab him?”
“Of course,” Szeth said, sucking in stormlight and beginning to glow.
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with this . . .” Adolin said, gesturing at Szeth who now hovered close to the high ceiling of his rooms.
“It’s fine!” Shallan said, “He’ll aim for your shardplate. You’ll aim for his shardplate, right Szeth?”
“Dalinar has told me to do as you command,” Szeth said, looking down at them.
“What if he misses?” Adolin asked. “You told me to leave my face exposed . . .”
“I never miss,” Szeth said flatly.
“I just . . . why are we doing this again?” Adolin asked.
“I told you. Historical painting is a very well-respected form, and I’ve never done one! Whenever I show my work the ardents all talk about how I’m a such a skilled illustrator. They barely even think of me as a real artist. ‘The Death of Gavilar’ is my chance to make a name for myself. The great masters would have killed to get a chance to use some of the actual participants as models! I still wish we could have convinced Dalinar to do this, he looks so much more like his brother than you do. Still, I’ve got some excellent studies of Dalinar looking agonized in meetings, those should help.”
“I’m just hoping I won’t be killed for you to have this chance!” Adonin grumbled.
“Stop complaining, Szeth knows what he’s doing,” Shallan said dismissively. “Ok Szeth, we’ll do some fast ones first, you fly down like you’re really stabbing him and I’ll take memories and sketch them afterward. Later I’ll ask you to hold some poses for me but I want to get the dynamic part down first.”
*********
“I was so right, that cutlass is perfect for him,” Adolin said, flipping through Shallan’s new sketches. He’d stripped his shardplate down to his underclothes and they were all sitting on the floor of Szeth’s cell.
“I thought you didn’t even want to do this!” Shallan said, swatting him on arm before taking a swig from the bottle of sapphire.
“I mean, he is the Assassin in White,” Adolin said. “No offence.”
“None taken . . . I still find this exercise strange. Are you not bothered to relive your uncle’s death?” Szeth asked, eyeing the bottle hesitantly.
“Gavilar? Nah. He was an awful man! I’m not glad he’s dead of course, but . . . here, have a drink, your aim was as perfect as you said, not a scratch on me,” Adolin said, gesturing at his neck.
Szeth smiled slightly before taking a drink.