Free The Emperors Soul by Brandon Sanderson Page B

affecting us, it is a wall. A man-made wall. The fingers of man’s influence are all about, touching everything. Man-made rugs, man-made food. Every single thing in the city that we touch, see, feel, experience comes as the result of some person’s influence.
    “We may feel in control, but we never truly are unless we understand people. Controlling our environment is no longer about blocking the wind, it’s about knowing why the serving lady was crying last night, or why a particular guard always loses at cards. Or why your employer hired you in the first place.”
    Gaotona looked back at her as she sat, then held out a seal to him. He hesitantly proffered an arm. “It occurs to me,” he said, “that even in our extreme care not to do so, we have underestimated you, woman.”
    “Good,” she said. “You’re paying attention.” She stamped him. “Now tell me, why exactly do you hate fish?”

Day Seventy-Six
    I need to do it, Shai thought as the Bloodsealer cut her arm. Today. I could go today.
    Hidden in her other sleeve, she carried a slip of paper made to imitate the ones that the Bloodsealer often brought with him on the mornings that he came early.
    She’d caught sight of a bit of wax on one of them two days back. They were letters. Realization had dawned. She’d been wrong about this man all along.
    “Good news?” she asked him as he inked his stamp with her blood.
    The white-lipped man gave her a sneering glance.
    “From home,” Shai said. “The woman you’re writing, back in Dzhamar. She sent you a letter today? Post comes in the mornings here at the palace. They knock at your door, deliver a letter . . .” And that wakes you up, she added in her mind. That’s why you come on time those days. “You must miss her a lot if you can’t bear to leave her letter behind in your room.”
    The man lowered his arm and grabbed Shai by the front of her shirt. “Leave her alone, witch,” he hissed. “You . . . you leave her alone! None of your trickery or magics!”
    He was younger than she had assumed. That was a common mistake with Dzhamarians. Their white hair and skin made them seem ageless to outsiders. Shai should have known better. He was little more than a youth.
    She drew her lips to a line. “You talk about my trickery and magics while holding in your hands a seal inked with my blood? You’re the one threatening to send skeletals to hunt me, friend. All I can do is polish the odd table.”
    “Just . . . just . . . Ah!” The young man threw his hands up, then stamped the door.
    The guards watched with nonchalant amusement and disapproval. Shai’s words had been a calculated reminder that she was harmless while the Bloodsealer was the truly unnatural one. The guards had spent nearly three months watching her tinker about as a friendly scholar while this man drew her blood and used it for arcane horrors.
    I need to drop the paper, she thought to herself, lowering her sleeve, meaning to let her forgery slip out as the guards turned away. That would put her plan into motion, her escape . . .
    The real Forgery isn’t finished yet. The emperor’s soul.
    She hesitated. Foolishly, she hesitated.
    The door closed.
    The opportunity passed.
    Feeling numb, Shai walked to her bed and sat down on its edge, the forged letter still hidden in her sleeve. Why had she hesitated? Were her instincts for self-preservation so weak?
    I can wait a little longer, she told herself. Until Ashravan’s Essence Mark is done.
    She’d been saying that for days now. Weeks, really. Each day she got closer to the deadline was another chance for Frava to strike. The woman came back with other excuses to take Shai’s notes and have them inspected. They were quickly approaching the point where the other Forger wouldn’t have to sort through much in order to finish Shai’s work.
    At least, so he would think. The further she progressed, the more impossible she realized this project was. And the more she longed to make it work