Bluth and Tag watched carefully as Kaladin lined up with the other slaves, but he didn’t try anything. Now was not the time to provoke them—Kaladin had seen how mercenaries acted when around commissioned troops. Bluth and Tag played their part, walking with their chests out and hands on their weapons. They shoved a few of the slaves into place, ramming a cudgel into one man’s belly and cursing him gruffly.

They stayed clear of Kaladin.

“The king’s army,” said the slave next to him. It was the dark-skinned man who had talked to Kaladin about escaping. “I thought we were meant for mine work. Why, this won’t be so bad at all. We’ll be cleaning latrines or maintaining roads.”

Odd, to look forward to latrine work or labor in the hot sun. Kaladin hoped for something else. Hoped. Yes, he’d discovered that he could still hope. A spear in his hands. An enemy to face. He could live like that.

Tvlakv spoke with an important-looking lighteyed woman. She wore her dark hair up in a complex weave, sparkling with infused amethysts, and her dress was a deep crimson. She looked much as Laral had, at the end. She was probably of the fourth or fifth dahn, wife and scribe to one of the camp’s officers.

Tvlakv began to brag about his wares, but the woman raised a delicate hand. “I can see what I am purchasing, slaver,” she said in a smooth, aristocratic accent. “I will inspect them myself.”

She began to walk down the line, accompanied by several soldiers. Her dress was cut in the Alethi noble fashion—a solid swath of silk, tight and formfitting through the top with sleek skirts below. It buttoned up the sides of the torso from waist to neck, where it was topped by a small, gold-embroidered collar. The longer left cuff hid her safehand. Kaladin’s mother had always just worn a glove, which seemed far more practical to him.

Judging by her face, she was not particularly impressed with what she saw. “These men are half-starved and sickly,” she said, taking a thin rod from a young female attendant. She used it to lift the hair from one man’s forehead, inspecting his brand. “You are asking two emerald broams a head?”

Tvlakv began to sweat. “Perhaps one and a half?”

“And what would I use them for? I wouldn’t trust men this filthy near food, and we have parshmen to do most other work.”

“If Your Ladyship is not pleased, I could approach other highprinces. …”