Taln paused. A feeling of dread struck him. Stonewarding didn’t work,
and he couldn’t manifest the Nahel. If he lost the sword as well . . .
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The windowlight turned red. Taln gasped, feeling dizzy, and an expres-
sion of concern actually crossed the monk’s face. “Are you all right?” Lhan asked.
The monk burst into flames. The windows melted. Blood-red fire ripped
up the sides of the building, pooling at the top and bearing down on Taln
with its heat. Smoke rose from suddenly-ignited beds, curling ominously,
bringing with it screams. Sudden, formless screams that came from the
far edge of the room. Taln looked up. Fire roared, and something moved
within it. Something dark. The screams mounted, pulsing in his ears,
searing him, flaying him.
“What’s wrong?” Lhan asked, still in flames, his flesh melting from his
face.
Taln closed his eyes, grabbing the sides of his head, pushing the screams
away. He shivered, exhaling in a long, demanding sigh.
When Taln opened his eyes, the room had returned to normal. He sat
for a few moments, breathing deeply.
“I’m fine,” Taln finally said, forcing himself to stand and look at his new cloak. It had one large pocket, two smaller ones, and a small ribbon at the back to hold a hidden dagger—if he ever managed to get his hands on one.
“I assume I’m allowed to leave the monastery?”
“As long as you take me with you,” Lhan replied. “But . . .”
Taln raised an eyebrow.
“You’re kind of expected to go work in the royal mines,” Lhan explained.
“To help pay for your keep.”
“But no one is going to force me,” Taln clarified.
“Well, no . . .”
“Good,” Taln said, throwing on his cloak. “We’re leaving, then.”
“Um, where are we going?”
“To get some information,” Taln replied.
“Oh?” Lhan asked. “You mean my wealth of accumulated wisdom isn’t
good enough for you?”
Taln turned, eyeing the monk with a suffering eye, then waved for him
to follow.
chapter 14
JASNAH 4
Jasnah carefully composed herself, settling into the high-backed
chair. It was refreshing to have an audience chamber again; three years
at war had accustomed her to tents and temporary camps.
The First Palace’s plushness felt almost surreal. Many of the rooms were
covered with intricate, mural-like carpets, and the walls of both hallways and rooms were crafted from seamless marble—made from smoothed clay
that had been transformed through the power of ancient Awakeners.
Her personal audience chamber was as she had left it a year before. It
lay in the Aleth section of the ten-winged palace, and was decorated with
a deep blue marble. The men of her personal guard—eight in number,
now that two stood guard at her mother’s door—stood beside the pillars
on either side of the room. The carpet was a dark maroon, depicting a
scene from The Fall of Kanar, brave Tanath standing before the gates of his doomed city. There wasn’t a single gemstone in the entire room—an oddity
in Roshar, especially for a noblewoman.
The storm shutters were open, filling the room with sunlight. One of
the maids, she noticed, had pasted paper glyphwards to each of them in
preparation for the next highstorm. Jasnah was going to have to spend
some time re-explaining to the servants her opinion on superstition. They
couldn’t even see how irrational their actions were—most, if not all, of
them were Vorin, and the religion taught that the storms and winds were
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the voice of the Almighty. Yet they still held to traditions centuries old, traditions that attributed ill fortune and mystical danger to the storms.
Despite the annoying glyphwards, the room was relaxing. Sitting in her
audience chair again, the world finally seemed as if it were regaining some of the order that had been scattered and confused these last three years.
“Show her in,” Jasnah requested.
Nelshenden nodded, pulling open the doors and revealing the person
who waited outside. Jasnah did not recognize the middle-aged woman,
though her cloak bore the familiar glyph pren, the mark of a scribe. Her talla was white with little ornamentation, and she only wore one gemstone—a
clear diamond ring. Behind her stood a younger woman, wearing a simple
white robe and caring two thick tomes.
“My lady,” the scribe said, bowing.
“Lady Analesh,” Jasnah said, nodding. “I was sorry to hear of the death
of your predecessor.” Her words were very truthful—Jasnah had worked
very hard to gain the allegiance of Lady Shemlakh, the previous Royal
Treasurer.
“It was an unfortunate illness,” Analesh agreed. Her voice was careful,
her face controlled. This was a woman who had worked hard for her station; the position of Royal Treasurer brought immense power. “I brought the
ledgers you requested. I assume you have the king’s permission to view
them?”
“Of course,” Jasnah replied. “He is my brother.”
The scribe didn’t move. The implication was obvious—she wanted proof,
in the form of written documentation. Unfortunately, Elhokar was being
stubborn—he claimed that now they were back in Ral Eram, it was time
he began following tradition by using his wife as scribe instead of his sister.
Jasnah may or may not have been able to get Nanavah to give her permission to see the records. Regardless, bowing to the woman’s authority was not a
precedent she wanted to make.
“Come now,” Jasnah said smoothly. “Everyone knows the trust my
brother bears me. Before the war, I ran all of his affairs.”
“With respect, my lady,” the scribe replied, “that was before he was
married. Lady Nanavah is now the First Scribe.”
“I am the one he trusted to take with him into Prallah,” Jasnah pointed out.
“That was the king’s prerogative to decide,” the scribe replied. “However, I cannot release these records without proof of his consent.”
This time, Jasnah frowned openly, allowing the full brunt of her displea-
sure to shine on the woman. Analesh looked unfazed.
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“Very well,” Jasnah said. “Kemnar, kindly go and fetch my brother.”
This finally got a reaction—if only a slight one. Even if Elhokar hadn’t
been away at war the last few years, Analesh would have had little personal experience with the king. Her job was to keep the records—Nanavah would
be the one who actually interpreted them for Elhokar.
“My lady,” Kemnar objected—just as he had been instructed. “The
king is busy in conference with his generals . . . he won’t take kindly to interruption.”
“I see little other alternative,” Jasnah said.
“Very well, my lady,” Kemnar said, bowing then leaving.
Analesh’s eyes flickered toward the door as it closed. Jasnah let the silence hang for a moment before speaking. “Lady Analesh, might I borrow your
pen and some paper for a moment?”
Analesh paused, then waved her aide forward. The younger woman
deposited a brushpen and some paper on the writing board beside Jasnah’s
chair.
Jasnah began writing with a nonchalant air, paying no attention to
the woman waiting before her. However, out of the corner of her eye she
could see Analesh inching forward, straining to catch a glimpse of what
Jasnah was scribing.
Analesh breathed in sharply as she saw what the paper contained—a
formal order for Analesh to be discharged from her position. All Jasnah
would have to do was read it out loud in front of Elhokar and get his
agreement before three trustworthy witnesses.
Lady Analesh stood quietly, watching Jasnah’s brushstrokes with increas-
ing nervousness. That’s right, Jasnah thought as she wrote. Think carefully.
You’re relatively new to this position—you might know Nanavah well, but you barely know the king. He’s been gone too long—he’s an enigma to you. You’ve heard stories of how important I used to be, and how powerful Elhokar’s temper can become. You remember what I did the other week, with the madman.
Nanavah might have appointed you while I was gone, but can she protect you now that I’ve returned?
“My lady,” Analesh said. “I hardly think we need bother the king.”
Jasnah nodded toward Nelshenden, who immediately left in search of
Kemnar. Of course, Kemnar would never have bothered Elhokar—but
Analesh needn’t know that.
The aide stepped forward at Analesh’s order, depositing her tomes on
Jasnah’s writing board. “A wise decision,” Jasnah said, picking up the order of discharge and folding it carefully, then setting it aside. “I will remember that you are a woman who can be trusted for her . . . prudence.”
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Analesh bowed her head deferentially as Jasnah reached over to open
the first of the books. Jasnah paused, looking up at the treasurer. “You may wait outside until I am finished.”
Analesh opened her mouth, as if to object—then her eyes fell on the
order of discharge. Not destroyed, just tucked away. Finally, she bowed her head slightly and retreated from the room, her aide following.
The books contained the records of acquisitions and expenditures during
the last three years. Jasnah could decipher them easily—she had been in
charge of finances during the first few years of Elhokar’s reign, before the escalation of the Prallan war.
Jasnah scanned the lists. For a time, Balenmar had been the only
one who requisitioned funds—as he had been authorized to do before
Elhokar left for the extended campaign. Balenmar’s withdrawals were
all carefully documented, explaining exactly what the payment was used
for. He was efficient in his expenditures—as could be expected from the
aged stormkeeper.
After a short time, however, Nanavah’s name began to replace Balen-
mar’s. Jasnah frowned, studying the woman’s entries. She was only a few
minutes into her analysis when Nelshenden and Kemnar returned.
When they entered, Nelshenden nodded to the other six guards, waving
for them to leave the room. As the door closed, he frowned in Jasnah’s
direction. “I don’t like this deception, my lady.”
“You didn’t have to lie, Nelshenden,” Jasnah said, not looking up from
the ledger. “You just went looking for Kemnar. There’s nothing wrong with
that.”
She glanced up when he didn’t reply. His eyes were still troubled.
“You think like a man, Nelshenden,” Jasnah said, looking back at the
ledger. “This is woman’s business—trust me, it’s perfectly accepted. Some
day your wife will do it too.”
Kemnar obviously didn’t have any trouble with his part in the deception.
He walked forward, regarding the ledger with curiosity. He would be able
to read the numbers—they were based on the twenty-five palen glyphs, which everyone could read. He might even recognize some of the glyphs in
the requisition descriptions. The intricacies of the palh language, however—
with its confusing syntax, its non-verbal markers, and its mixture of the
ancient tongue with the Aleth language—would be completely beyond him.
“You can make sense of this?” he asked.
“Of course,” Jasnah said, scanning down a column of entries. Nanavah
had started carefully, taking over Balenmar’s duties one at a time, making
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 133
payments to the city guard, royal scribes, and street maintainers. Nothing irregular—at first, she had followed Balenmar’s schedules with exactness.
It was not surprising that she had been able to make the switch—by legal
right and tradition, the king’s wife was the First Scribe, and had charge of all bureaucratic affairs.
“It seems reading would be a useful skill to have,” Kemnar said musingly.
“Kemnar!” Nelshenden snapped. “Scribing is a Feminine Art! Would
you have women picking up Shardblades and dueling?”
“Of course not,” Kemnar said, still regarding the page with interest.
“What does it say, my lady?”
“It says that our queen is a very clever woman,” Jasnah said. “It looks
like she had Balenmar teach her what to do. Then, about six months ago,
she took over the royal finances completely. That’s when the oddities begin to appear.”
“Oddities?” Kemnar asked.
“Moneys withdrawn without explanation,” Jasnah explained. “Never very
much. Probably bribe money, used to expand her influence in the court. A
lot of the projects she commissioned also appear to favor one noble house
or another.”
“My lady!” Nelshenden said. “We must inform the king of this.”
Jasnah snorted. “Nothing she did is illegal, Nelshenden. She is First
Scribe—she may disperse the funds as she sees fit. Besides, I did the same thing when I was in charge.”
Nelshenden paled visibly.
“I may have to shatter a few more pedestals today, Nelshenden,” Jasnah
said. “If you wish, you may wait outside.”
“No, my lady,” he replied. “I will be fine.”
Jasnah nodded, turning back to the ledger, picking up her brushpen and
taking notes on which cities had received aid, which projects had been
advanced, and which requests for funds had been denied. The information
was vital. Over the last week, Jasnah had begun reestablishing connec-
tions with the court’s women, making allegiances where she could, taking
charge of those women—such as Analesh—that she thought she could
influence.
However, the women receiving the most aid from Nanavah would be
the most difficult to persuade—Jasnah’s time would be far more effective if she spent it on women who had been denied or ignored. Of those, there
were plenty. One could not divert funds to the maintenance of certain
roads, the building of certain ports, or the establishment of certain political
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treaties without offending ones who might have otherwise received favor.
These would have to become Jasnah’s core of support.
“What of your search, Kemnar?” she said as she began copying down the
names of those women who had received the most support from the queen.
“Lord Balenmar was right about one thing,” Kemnar replied. “Jezenrosh’s
‘sickness’ certainly wasn’t debilitating enough to stop him from forming a strong political union against the king.”
“Only political?” J
asnah asked.
“It’s unclear,” Kemnar said. “This isn’t exactly my area of expertise. My
contacts can tell you exactly how to find an underground Awakener, but
they don’t pay much attention to high-level allegiances. From what I can
tell, Jezenrosh is planning dissent, not coups.”
Jasnah frowned, shuffling through the ledger and locating lists of women
who had made petitions in court, and been refused. Balenmar had spoken to
her several times since the feast, but he still had nothing to offer by way of evidence beyond his own suspicions. However, these were grave—rumors
did indeed indicate that Jezenrosh was heavily displeased with the king,
and several ladies at court had heard that the faceless Shardbearer had not come upon Elhokar by happenstance.
She needed control, and she needed it quickly. There was real danger
in Alethkar; she could sense it. However, she wouldn’t be able to gather
the information her brother needed until her power in Alethkar was re-
established. She had to deal with Nanavah quickly.
As Jasnah moved through the ledger, something odd caught her eye.
“Emeralds again,” she mumbled.
“What?” Kemnar asked.
“Emeralds,” Jasnah repeated. “The ladies at the feast were right—Nanavah
keeps buying emeralds. Over the last year, she’s steadily purchased them at higher and higher prices.”
“Perhaps she simply wants to increase the stockpile,” Kemnar said. “In
case of famine.”
“That’s what the ledger claims,” Jasnah said. “But I don’t believe it. The palace already has an enormous stockpile.” Jasnah paused, studying the ledger.
“She’s trying to drive the price up for some reason.”
But why? Jasnah scanned the records, trying to dig out secrets that just weren’t there. The ledgers explained the overt purpose of the requisition, but only in very simple terms. There were lines to show goods received in
exchange for the money taken, and they showed that the emeralds had
actually been purchased and delivered—even the First Scribe couldn’t
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have gotten away with putting that much money into her own pocket. In
addition, someone else usually did the purchasing—Nanavah only gave
the orders and arranged the deals. She had purchased from a number of
different places, though one company did stand out. Channal, a merchant organization out of Palinar, a Fourth City in the middle of the kingdom.
Brandon Sanderson - [Stormlight Archive 01] Page 19
