The highprince's sons arrived, Adolin and Renarin Kholin. Kaladin had seen the former on the battlefield, though he looked different without his Shardplate. Less imposing. More like a spoiled rich boy.
“I once knew a real axalacious bloke,” Kaladin said. “He was great at psychological fights.”
“Psychological fights?”
“He could really get inside someone's head.”
Adolin frowned as they walked. “Get inside... Oh!” Adolin chuckled, slapping Kaladin on the back.
“I'm refined, you insolent farmer,” Adolin said. Then he grinned. “Besides, I'll have you know that I had to use cold water for my baths while here.”
“Poor boy.”
“I know.” Adolin hesitated, then held out a hand.
Kaladin clasped it.
The storming man seemed to consider himself above the king.
He did fight alongside you, part of him said. How many men, lighteyed or dark, would stand so firm against a Shardbearer?
“Damnation,” Adolin said. “That bridgeboy is really one of them? The Knights Radiant?”
“Yes.”
Oddly, Adolin smiled, seeming satisfied. “Ha! I knew there was something wrong with that man.”
They were mocking Adolin Kholin, who had a shot at the title of best swordsman in all of Alethkar. Yes, his suit was a little bright —but if they would merely spend five minutes talking to him, they'd see he wasn't so bad.
Kaladin found himself smiling. The way Adolin said things like that made it clear he was joking —and not only at your expense. Adolin made you want to laugh with him.
“And if I give you an order?”
“I'll comply with any reasonable requests, Brightlord. But if you wish for someone to fetch you tea between bouts, you'll have to send someone else. There should be plenty here willing to lick your heels.”
“There are thirty Shardbearers in the army, not counting our own. Can you defeat that many men?”
“Can I?” Adolin said, grinning. “I'll do it without breaking a sweat, so long as I can start with Sadeas himself.”
So he's spoiled and cocky, Kaladin thought.
Adolin nodded, then gave Kaladin a quick salute —tapping his wrists together with hands in fists. The Bridge Four salute. “Good luck, bridgeboy.”
Kaladin smiled, his silvery spear vanishing as he gave the salute back.
“Oddly, I do. Trust you, I mean. It’s a very strange sensation.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll try to hold myself back from going skipping across the plateau in joy.”
Adolin grinned.
“I’d pay to see that.”
“Me skipping?”
“You happy,” Adolin said, laughing.
“Fashion?” Kaladin asked. He hadn't intended to speak, but it came out anyway. “You're spending the highstorm looking for new clothing?”
Adolin snapped the book closed.
“But you only wear uniforms,” Kaladin said, confused.
“Do you need to be here, bridgeboy?”
Kaladin was more than happy to let him leave. “Spoiled child,” he muttered. Kaladin did supposed that Adolin was a few years older than him.
But being a child had little to do with age.
He really wanted a glimpse of whatever Adolin was looking through. Many men refused to even look at books, considering it unmasculine. Adolin didn't seem to be bothered by that. Curious.
Adolin scowled, turning to jog after Shallan passing Kaladin, who smirked at him.
“Come to watch you, I see,” Kaladin said. “Completely fascinated by you, obviously.”
“Shut up,” Adolin growled.