“Are you certain you want something so, er, ambitious?” the man asked.
“Is ambition such an unseemly attribute in a young woman?”
“Well, no, I suppose not.” He smiled again—the thick, toothy smile of a merchant trying to put someone at ease. “I can see you are a woman of discriminating taste.”
“I am,” Shallan said, voice firm though her heart fluttered. Was she destined to get into an argument with everyone she met? “I do like my meals prepared very carefully, as my palate is quite delicate.”
“Pardon. I meant that you have discriminating taste in books.”
“I’ve never eaten one, actually.”
“Brightness, I believe you are having sport with me.”
“Not yet I’m not. I haven’t even really begun.”
“I—”
“Now,” she said, “you were right to compare the mind and the stomach.”
“But—”
“Too many of us,” she said, “take great pains with what we ingest through our mouths, and far less with what we partake of through our ears and eyes. Wouldn’t you say?”
He nodded, perhaps not trusting her to let him speak without interrupting. Shallan knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she was letting herself go too far—that she was tense and frustrated after her interactions with Jasnah.
She didn’t care at the moment. “Discriminating,” she said, testing the world. “I’m not certain I agree with your choice of words. To discriminate is to maintain prejudice against. To be exclusive. Can a person afford to be exclusive with what they ingest? Whether we speak of food or of thoughts?”
“I think they must be,” the merchant said. “Isn’t that what you just said?”
“I said we should take thought for what we read or eat. Not that we should be exclusive. Tell me, what do you think would happen to a person who ate only sweets?”
“I know well,” the man said. “I have a sister-in-law who periodically upsets her stomach by doing that.”
“See, she was too discriminating. The body needs many different foods to remain healthy. And the mind needs many different ideas to remain sharp. Wouldn’t you agree? And so if I were to read only these silly romances you presume that my ambition can handle, my mind would grow sick as surely as your sister-in-law’s stomach. Yes, I should think that the metaphor is a solid one. You are quite clever, Master Artmyrn.”
His smile returned.
“Of course,” she noted, not smiling back, “being talked down to upsets both the mind and the stomach. So nice of you to give a poignant object lesson to accompany your brilliant metaphor. Do you treat all of your customers this way?”
“Brightness…I believe you stray into sarcasm.”
“Funny. I thought I’d run straight into it, screaming at the top of my lungs.”

• from The Way Of Kings by Brandon Sanderson

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