ONE

The first time it happened, Adolin was the only one to notice. He'd wandered and stumbled through the day with the hazy feeling that he'd forgotten something. He'd felt the emptiness of the armchair near the corner and the lack of familiar, restless shoes tapping against the floor. He'd heard no flutter of pages turning in a book and no rare exchange of words calling for him to come see. Throughout the day, he'd turn his head as if to talk and be met with odd looks from people he didn't know. He'd wander into rooms with a witty comment still on his lips, only to find nobody laughing. Amid all the shuffling and talking and shifting faces coming to and from the Kholin household, there was the weight of a distinct, Renarin-shaped void.

It was a quiet dinner. The delicate curry in front of him radiated with a sharp, seductive scent. It'd been served with a spiced yellow wine that would've normally had Adolin paying his compliments to the chef, but tonight he could only manage troubled sips as he picked at his food. At the head of the table, Dalinar's silverware clinked on the plate. He took a bite, nodding with satisfaction. To his left, Navani gestured at one of the servers for more wine.

The chair was still empty.

"Where is he?"

Four sets of eyes turned to him. Shallan placed a hand on his shoulder. "What was that, Love?"

"Renarin. He's been missing the whole day."

Navani dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin. Right, then left. "He said he had to be somewhere."

"Probably out with the bridgemen, then," said Dalinar. He skewered a piece of meat on his fork. "It's a shame he missed dinner."

"He didn't say where he was going?" said Adolin. "It's not a stew night. He wouldn't go to one of those without telling me first."

Jasnah raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure he's quite safe, cousin. Is something troubling you?"

"Just curious is all," said Adolin. He could barely taste the wine.

"I'm sure you can ask him once he returns, son," said Dalinar.

Renarin's whereabouts were so far down the list of pertinent information he kept to himself at any given time that Adolin probably seemed of the Ten Fools for even asking. Talking to his brother was like trying to pry open a greatshell's armor sometimes, but he liked to believe that he'd managed to wedge himself somewhere in there. The fact that Navani, of all people, knew about these vague plans for the evening roused a nagging suspicion in him. Adolin would've called it brotherly intuition. Maybe Renarin was imitating one of Veil's former late-night escapades, disguised as a darkeyes at some seedy bar. He snorted to himself as he ate.

Dalinar frowned at him. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He cleared his throat. "It's nothing. Sorry for interrupting."

That night, he went to bed comforted by the conviction that he'd know soon enough, but it wasn't until the next morning that he finally managed to corner his brother after a council meeting. He dodged past the throng of people clogging the hall and grabbed onto the back of Renarin's shirt, who yelped and jerked away from his grip before seeing who it was.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you. It's a bit hard to get ahold of you lately."

Renarin held a thick stack of paper to his chest. He frowned at the sudden intrusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I didn't see you the whole day yesterday. You didn't come to dinner – actually, I don't know where you've been this whole week. I feel like I only know you exist in theory."

"I've been busy." Renarin fiddled with a loose page.

"Too busy for your brother?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "I tell you what, how about we go out to Jez's Duty and catch up later?"

Renarin glanced at a nearby time fabrial. "Um. I can't tonight. Maybe another time," he said. "I've got to go."

"But –" Adolin watched his brother scurry away, his mouth still half-open with an unspoken rebuttal.

TWO

The second time it happened, Adolin's ass was starting to hurt. He'd been sitting in his private booth at Jez's Duty for what he conservatively estimated was three thousand hours. It was only after shooing the tavern girls off four times, two games of darts, three drunken fights he'd had to separate, and an innumerable barrage of odd looks that he began to accept that Renarin wasn't coming.

More painful than the bruising ache in his posterior was the streak of betrayal that stung its way through his chest. He crossed his arms and huffed. It had taken him two weeks to pin down a time to catch up, and now his own brother had forgotten their outing like it was one of those insipid council meetings. For a moment, he felt a keen sympathy for all those ladies he'd stood up during his courting days. It was disrespectful, really. Was he not busy, too? Didn't he also have important things to do with his time?

He was in the process of scowling a hole through the table when he felt familiar arms wrap themselves around his back.

"What's got you wrinkling your handsome face like that?" Shallan placed a warm kiss on his cheek, and he smiled despite himself.

"Just my fiend of a brother."

She quirked a questioning eyebrow as she sat down to join him. "That's like being mad at a puppy."

Adolin shook his head. "I don't know what's going on with him, but he's not so innocent. I can't get ahold of him anywhere, and now he leaves me to look like one of the ten fools and waste my afternoon. I was supposed to meet him here almost two hours ago!"

Shallan stroked his back like she was trying to calm down an agitated warhorse. "It'll be alright, Dear. Maybe he just forgot. These things happen. You know he's busy with the scholars. He's going to feel terrible once he remembers."

Adolin sighed. "Maybe he's avoiding me."

"And what would he do that for? Have you fought?"

They didn't fight. The bond between brothers was stronger than petty disagreements. It was true that Adolin could be pushy at times, and Renarin was intent on putting himself in repeated, dangerous situations that made Adolin's hair curl upon itself just from hearing it, and they often disagreed, and nagged, and complained. But they didn't fight. "I don't think so."

"Then why would you think that?"

"I don't know, it's…" Though he often tried his best to remain invisible, there wasn't a moment in Adolin's whole life where he couldn't picture Renarin's solid presence beside him. He had come to accept it as a fact of nature, almost as true as his own shadow. The only times they hadn't spoken for an extended period were a result of cruel, unusual, external forces – forces beyond choice. This was not that. This was deliberate. It had to be. "I worry he doesn't want to spend time with me anymore."

Shallan wrapped him in a hug, nuzzling his cheek. "I'll spend lots of time with you."

He squeezed her forearm half-heartedly. "You know that's not what I mean."

"It's only been a couple of weeks. I'm sure you'll find out what's going on soon. It's not like – Oh, look who's here!" She wiggled closer to the edge of the seat and waved.

Renarin looked like he'd been sparring. His hair was mussed and sweaty, and his skin flushed red with the exertion of a good fight. When he sat to join them, Adolin could see the remnants of it through the undone top button of Renarin's shirt.

"Is that a bruise?" He pointed at a visible sliver of Renarin's chest, who looked down and hastily made it disappear with a glowing hand.

"I am so sorry," said Renarin. "I…"

Shallan raked her eyes across Renarin's face. She smirked. "I bet you were busy."

"Where in Braize were you?" said Adolin, disregarding the comment. It was hopeless trying to decipher Shallan's thoughts. She'd tell him later if she wanted.

"I lost track of time," said Renarin. He patted his hair in a failed attempt to smooth it. "I ran here as soon as I realized. I'm so sorry, Adolin. I know you've been looking forward to this."

"You didn't happen to see Kaladin on the way here, did you?" asked Shallan. She looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I forgot I needed to talk to him about something."

Renarin coughed. "Kaladin? Why would I have seen Kaladin?"

"I was just asking." She made an exaggerated show of shaking her head. "That's too bad. I suppose I'll have to find him later."

"What's this about Kaladin?"

"Nothing," said Renarin and Shallan in unison.

Adolin rolled his eyes. "I swear I've woken up in a madhouse."

"How about we order some drinks? My treat," said Renarin.

The lingering burn of irritation simmered slow and deep in Adolin's gut, but there was a dryness in his mouth, and maybe alcohol would be the perfect medicine to the unpleasantness. "Fine, but I'm going to order the most expensive bottle in the house."

"You know I only like the expensive ones, anyway," said Renarin with a small smile.

Shallan took the lead and waved over one of the serving girls, and just like that, the tension between them dissipated like bubbles in Adolin's sparkling wineglass. The night was like many others they'd shared in old times, full of banter and stories and laughter.

But there was something not quite right. Something he hadn't been able to shake even as they all stumbled back to their sleeping quarters that night, warm and pliant with drink. It was an itch on the nape of Adolin's neck. A niggling outline of a thought.

His brother was up to something, and he was going to find out what.

THREE

The third time it happened, Renarin was there. Physically, at least, Renarin was present. It was one of those velvet afternoons when time seemed to pour past them like a thick syrup and Adolin could luxuriate in the simple joy of having nothing to do. Next to him, Shallan looked like a painting spread out across the divan, with her head on Adolin's lap as he languidly stroked her fiery hair.

She was reading them a fantasy story about a race of magical glowing people that could make miracles happen by drawing special shapes. It'd been a gift from Wit, and Adolin had lost track of the plot several chapters earlier, but he was too busy scrutinizing his brother from across the room to tell her so.

Renarin had crammed his entire body into the side of a wide armchair. His knees were pressed up against his chest, and he was leaning his head against them as he stared out the window in their sitting room. At what, Adolin couldn't fathom. A faint smile grazed Renarin's lips as one of the Windrunners zipped by. He sighed.

"Alright, I've had enough of this!" Adolin jerked to his feet, leaving Shallan to sputter and drop her book on the floor.

"If you didn't like the story, you could've just said something." Shallan had returned to a sitting position. "What's the matter with you?"

Renarin was staring at him like Adolin was the crazy one. "Are you alright?"

"I'm perfectly well. I want to know what's wrong with you."

"I'm fine?" said Renarin. He turned to Shallan for an answer, but only received a bewildered shrug in response.

"You haven't said anything the whole afternoon. You've been fixed on that window like a storming statue the entire time we've been here. What are you hoping to find there?"

"Maybe it's his favorite…windspren." Shallan leaned back on the divan. "They like to fly at this time of day."

"Are you sure you're well?" Renarin's brow was knotted with genuine concern.

"Don't try to act like I'm the irrational one here. I know my own brother. You're keeping something from me."

"Yes, Dear, because as we all know, Renarin has never been prone to quiet and fits of contemplation," added Shallan. "I'm sure what he's planning is downright devious."

As he looked between his wife and brother, Adolin felt his head throbbing with a pressure that was sure to culminate in a diabolical headache. How many nights had it been since he'd slept untroubled? Did he remember a day when he'd woken up without an aching back? He buried his face in the palm of his hand. "What am I doing?" Adolin muttered to himself.

They were right, of course. Adolin had made a greater mockery of himself than Wit's own personal fool. The war had made him suspicious, distrustful of even those he loved the most. He'd probably been driving poor Renarin away with his insanity. For all Adolin knew, Renarin had been thinking about fabrials or plants or whatever it was the scholars were doing. Who was he to accuse his own brother of hiding things?

"I'm going out for some air." He stepped out to find the corridor blissfully empty, so he slid down against the cool wall next to the door. With a good night's sleep, he'd be sure to forget all this madness by morning. He needed to apologize to Renarin.

That was when he heard it. He couldn't catch the first part of it through the tiny crack in the door, but Shallan's voice filtered out clearly enough.

"You really need to tell him, you know."

Some shuffling; some more words.

"Of course he will. He's your brother."

Renarin was saying something, but he spoke low enough that Adolin couldn't make it out. Shallan mumbled something else.

"Soon," said Renarin.

"Soon," agreed Shallan.

Adolin's head was really pounding now.

FOUR

The fourth time it happened, Adolin was prepared. He couldn't hold it against Shallan for keeping his brother's secret, but that wasn't going to stop him from finding out for himself. He'd left their warm bed behind after she'd fallen asleep, mumbling something about blankets and grasping for his missing body with a loose arm. Careful not to disturb her, Adolin had kissed her forehead and then resolved to take care of the matter once and for all.

That was how he had found himself pacing the hall in front of Renarin's room, impassioned speech rehearsed and ready for deployment, when he knocked for the fourth time and realized there was no one inside.

He hadn't meant to snoop. It wasn't Adolin's fault if the door was open after all. He knew Renarin often stayed up much later than anyone else in the house, but it was only brotherly concern and nothing more that prompted him to start searching for a clue to his whereabouts. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what he would find; it wasn't like he could read Renarin's letters, and his brother wasn't dumb enough to leave that sort of thing lying around in the first place, but hope was a fickle light by which to see by.

After much rummaging and rifling, he had come up with a few dull spheres, some books with rather scandalous illustrations that Renarin had "borrowed" from the library, and a forgotten, balled up pair of socks under the bed that could've been used for chemical warfare. As far as meaningful leads went, the socks weren't the most promising. But maybe Adolin had stared at them too long. It was just when he was about to return them to their dusty hiding place that Renarin walked into the room to find him standing there with them still clutched in his hand.

"What in Damnation are you doing in my storming room?" exclaimed Renarin.

Adolin raised an eyebrow. "Who have you been hanging around with? Since when do you swear?"

"Since I catch you in my room looking through my things! Since then, Adolin!" With a grimace, Renarin snatched the socks from Adolin's hand and threw them on the floor. He crossed his arms. "What is it you were looking for? Tell me."

"I just wanted to know where you were."

"I was busy having a night of wild, passionate sex with Kaladin Stormblessed. Now leave." Renarin's face was as blank as the mountainsides surrounding the city.

Adolin gaped. When had he gotten that sarcastic? "There's no need to be rude, you know. If you don't want to tell me, then just don't."

"Leave!"

All he heard after that was the door slamming behind him with a thundering finality, punctuated only by the click of the lock that followed.

FI VE

The fifth time it happened, it hadn't been Renarin he was looking for.

"Have any of you seen Kal?"

A room full of blue uniforms shook its head at him.

"Sorry Gancho," said Lopen from a corner. "Haven't seen much of him lately." Next to him, a bridgeman whose name Adolin didn't know started snickering, and the one called Drehy elbowed him in the ribs. Someone offered Adolin stew.

He'd been hoping to find Kaladin at Bridge Four's dinner, but there was no sign of him there. There was no sign of Renarin either, but that was to be expected. Ever since the night in his room, Adolin had listened and backed off. Renarin seemed to be making no effort to reconcile.

Give him time, Shallan had said. You breached his privacy.

She was right. They weren't fighting. Adolin didn't think so, at least. But what he'd done didn't qualify as good brotherly behavior even by Azish standards. At least they'd have filled out a form before snooping like he had. He knew that Renarin would forgive him – likely had forgiven him already – but he understood the hesitance to talk.

It was on his third day of moping that Shallan had suggested that he talk to a friend. It'll make you feel better, you'll see! she'd said, smiling brightly at him. And it would've been an ingenious plan, too, were it not for the fact that Adolin's best friend was Kaladin. And if Renarin was a stone wall, Kaladin was made of Shardplate.

He could already imagine what Kaladin was going to say:

Well of course he's storming mad. You went into his room. And even if you hadn't, if someone was bothering me like that all the time, I'll tell you how I'd react. That was when Kaladin would cross his arms and scoff. You're a storming idiot, Princeling. I've never seen someone resemble the Ten Fools more than that.

And he'd deserve it, too. But Adolin was desperate. He would've taken that verbal beating and ten more if only it meant some sort of peace.

He wandered the halls of Urithiru like a lost child looking for his mother. He passed through balconies full of people milling about on a sunny day, where children played and lighteyed ladies fanned themselves as they rested against the railing. He walked through gardens where farmers grew crops thanks to strange and beautiful Singer Rhythms. He wove his way through the busy streets of the breakaway market and dodged its eager traders peddling their wares. What could've been a nice leisurely stroll turned into a frustrating, worthless hunt with every person who told him they hadn't seen Kaladin. It was only after Adolin had gone to both the clinic and visited Lirin and Hesina personally that it occurred to him that Kaladin might simply be at home.

Bridgeboy was such a busy person that it was almost with disbelief that Adolin stood there and knocked on the door. He was even more shocked when it opened.

Kaladin poked his head out of a crack in the doorway. His hair was wet, as if he'd just taken a bath, and he wasn't wearing any shirt that Adolin could see. "Princeling," he said, and the expression on his face was inscrutable. It was a mix between horror and resignation, but possibly also amusement. Mostly Kaladin looked like he was suffering from an intense stomach cramp. "It's not really the best time right now."

"Kal, please. I've been looking for you the whole day. You've got to help me."

Maybe it was the way he said it, or the look of profound misery seeping out of his every pore, but Kaladin took pity on him. He stepped out into the hall, closing the door to his quarters with a soft click behind him. "Alright. What is it?"

"I messed up. I did something to Renarin and now I feel like he hates me."

Now it was definite amusement coloring Kaladin's features. "What'd you do? You steal those racy books of his?"

"How'd you…" Adolin rubbed his temples. It wasn't the time to get distracted now. "No, look. I went into his room and started looking through his things."

"That is quite bad," said Kaladin. "Have you apologized?"

"I've been trying! I can't find him anywhere. It's like he's avoiding me. I've been looking all over the tower for him, and it seems like I never have any idea where he is. It's like he's hiding in plain sight. Sometimes, I feel like he could be right next –"

A thump followed by a muffled cry of "Damnation!" broke through Adolin's words. Kaladin gripped the doorknob tighter.

Adolin's eyes widened. "Is there someone in there?" He whispered.

Considering how dark Kaladin's skin was, it was impressive how obviously he blushed. Behind Kaladin, the doorknob began to rattle, which made him look about ready to vaporize into the spiritual realm.

"You didn't tell me you were courting someone!" Adolin said. He narrowed his eyes. A sly grin played at his lips. "Well, I don't know if courting…"

"Please, please shut up, Princeling."

"What? Why?"

"Just –"

Then: "Kal, are you there? I'm sorry, but I think I broke something – What's wrong with this doorknob?"

And then, just as Adolin's brain had begun to process the source of that voice, a final, hard pull from the inside of the door sent Kaladin stumbling backwards and into the startled arms of Renarin.

(That was, additionally, the precise moment that Adolin realized the whereabouts of Kaladin's shirt – and only Kaladin's shirt.)

And then Kaladin said, "Damnation" before managing to stand up straight.

And Renarin said, "Hi, Adolin," as if they'd happened to walk by each other on the street.

And Adolin stood there for what was probably two or three Heraldic epochs, before turning to Renarin and vomiting the first words that his tongue could produce, which were: "Oh, thank the Almighty. I thought you were rubbing firemoss."

+1

This time, there were four people in the booth at Jez's Duty. Adolin's arm lay comfortable and heavy around Shallan's shoulders. Across from him, Kaladin planted a kiss atop Renarin's head before taking a sip of his wine.

"Did you really tell Adolin you had 'wild, passionate sex with Kaladin Stormblessed'?" asked Shallan.

Kaladin sputtered, and Renarin slapped him on the back with a gentle smile. "I was originally going to say 'tender and loving' but I felt the first would make more of an impact."

Kaladin groaned. "When I told you to tell Adolin we were courting, that's not what I meant." He turned to Adolin. "I'm sorry, Adolin. I thought you knew."

"Well, he knew," said Renarin with a shrug. "Technically."

Adolin simply sighed. Many people would've chosen to focus on the scandal, but all Adolin saw was Renarin – happy – and the most relaxed Adolin'd ever been him, leaning his head against a man that couldn't be better if he'd picked him out himself. He just hoped they'd both be fully clothed when it came time for Dalinar to find out. "I stand by my original statement."

Kaladin looked down with a subtle smile. "I promise I'll take care of him."

"You'd better," said Adolin.

Renarin looked up from his wine, and Adolin watched as his usually reserved countenance broke apart and he beamed at Kaladin. When Kaladin moved closer to wrap his arm around him, Adolin was struck by just how much his brother had grown. He was no longer the little boy who'd followed him around like a second shadow; he was a man with his own shadow and his own choices. Adolin hoped he would continue making good ones.

As he watched the two of them together, Renarin locked eyes with him. "What is it?"

"Even if you two are courting, you have to go out with me at least once a week."

Renarin smiled. "Of course."

"And another thing," said Adolin.

"Is this where you threaten to break my nose if I hurt him?"

Adolin shook his head. "I'll save that one for later, when I can get you alone. This one's for my brother,"

What Adolin really wanted to say was that Renarin had made his life brighter just by being born. He wanted to say that he was sorry, that the fear of losing him was greater than the fear of pushing him away. He wanted to say that no matter what happened, no matter where they were, no matter what Renarin chose to tell him or not tell him, there was no other brother in the world for him. He wanted to tell Renarin that watching him grow into a wonderful, kind man was a better reward than any Shardplate. He wanted to tell him how much he'd changed, how much more assertive he'd become. How good of a fighter he had turned out to be. He wanted to say to Kaladin: you're one of the best people I've ever met, and you still don't deserve him.

Instead, he turned to Renarin and said, "I'm proud of you."

He extended a solemn handshake, but instead stumbled back with an oomph when Renarin met it with a bone-crushing hug. Adolin held on tight and didn't let go. As they stood there, exchanging more words than they could ever hope to speak, he smiled with the satisfaction of knowing that the entire stupid ordeal had been worth it just for that.