Dalinar smiled, then stood up and dismissed Oathbringer. The last embers of the Thrill finally faded. “It’s been a long day,” he told Evi. “I need to rest. We’ll discuss your role here later.”
Evi led him to a bed within one of her stormwagons. Then, at last, Dalinar was able to sleep.
Friend,
Your letter is most intriguing, even revelatory.
The ancient Siln dynasty in Jah Keved had been founded after the death of King NanKhet. No contemporary accounts survived; the best they had dated from two centuries later. The author of that text—Natata Ved, often called Oileyes by her contemporaries—insisted that her methods were rigorous, although by modern standards, historical scholarship had been in its infancy.
Jasnah had long been interested in NanKhet’s death, because he’d ruled for only three months. He’d succeeded to the throne when the previous king, his brother NanHar, had taken ill and died while on campaign in what would become modern Triax.
Remarkably, during the brief span of his reign, NanKhet survived six assassination attempts. The first had come from his sister, who had wanted to place her husband on the throne. After surviving poisoning, NanKhet had put them both to death. Soon after, their son had tried to kill him in his bed. NanKhet, apparently a light sleeper, struck down his nephew with his own sword.
NanKhet’s cousin tried next—that attack left NanKhet blinded in one eye—and was followed by another brother, an uncle, and finally NanKhet’s own son. At the end of three exasperating months, according to Oileyes, “The great, but weary, NanKhet called for an accounting of all his household. He gathered them together at a grand feast, promising the delights of distant Aimia. Instead, when all were assembled, NanKhet had them executed one by one. Their bodies were burned in a grand pyre, upon which was cooked the meat for the feast that he ate alone, at a table set for two hundred.”
Natata Oileyes was known to have had a passion for the dramatic. The text sounded almost delighted when she’d explained how he’d died by choking on the food at that very feast, alone with nobody to help him.
Similar tales repeated themselves throughout the long history of the Vorin lands. Kings fell, and their brothers or sons took the throne. Even a pretender of no true lineage would usually claim kinship through oblique and creative genealogical justifications.
Jasnah was simultaneously fascinated and worried by these accounts. Thoughts about them were unusually present in her mind as she made her way into Urithiru’s basement. Something in her readings the night before had lodged this particular story in her brain.
She soon peeked into the former library beneath Urithiru. Both rooms—one on either side of the hallway that led to the crystal pillar—were filled with scholars now, occupying tables carried down by squads of soldiers. Dalinar had sent expeditions down the tunnel the Unmade had used to flee. The scouts reported a long network of caverns.
Following a stream of water, they’d marched for days, and eventually located an exit into the mountain foothills of Tu Fallia. It was nice to know that, in a pinch, there was another way out of Urithiru—and a potential means of supply other than through the Oathgates.
They maintained guards in the upper tunnels, and for now it seemed safe enough in the basement. Therefore, Navani had transformed the area into a scholarly institute designed to solve Dalinar’s problems and to provide an edge in information, technology, and pure research. Concentrationspren rippled in the air like waves overhead—a rarity in Alethkar, but common here—and logicspren darted through them, like tiny stormclouds.
Jasnah couldn’t help but smile. For over a decade, she’d dreamed of uniting the best minds of the kingdom in a coordinated effort. She’d been ignored; all anyone had wanted to discuss was her lack of belief in their god. Well, they were focused now. Turned out that the end of the world had to actually arrive before people would take it seriously.
Renarin was there, standing near the corner, watching the work. He’d been joining the scholars with some regularity, but he still wore his uniform with the Bridge Four patch.
You can’t spend forever floating between worlds, Cousin, she thought. Eventually you’ll need to decide where you want to belong. Life was so much harder, but potentially so much more fulfilling, when you found the courage to choose.
The story of the old Veden king, NanKhet, had taught Jasnah something troubling: Often, the greatest threat to a ruling family was its own members. Why were so many of the old royal lines such knots of murder, greed, and infighting? And what made the few exceptions different?
She’d grown adept at protecting her family against danger from without, carefully removing would-be deposers. But what could she do to protect it from within? In her absence, already the monarchy trembled. Her brother and her uncle—who she knew loved each other deeply—ground their wills against one another like mismatched gears.
She would not have her family implode. If Alethkar was going to survive the Desolation, they’d need committed leadership. A stable throne.
She entered the library room and walked to her writing stand. It was in a position where she could survey the others and have her back to a wall.
She unpacked her satchel, setting up two spanreed boards. One of the reeds was blinking early, and she twisted the ruby, indicating she was ready. A message came back, writing out, We will begin in five minutes.
She passed the time scrutinizing the various groups in the room, reading the lips of those she could see, absently taking notes in shorthand. She moved from conversation to conversation, gleaning a little from each one and noting the names of the people who spoke.
—tests confirm something is different here. Temperatures are distinctly lower on other nearby peaks of the same elevation—
—we have to assume that Brightlord Kholin is not going to return to the faith. What then?—
—don’t know. Perhaps if we could find a way to conjoin the fabrials, we could imitate this effect—
—the boy could be a powerful addition to our ranks. He shows interest in numerology, and asked me if we can truly predict events with it. I will speak with him again—
That last one was from the stormwardens. Jasnah tightly pursed her lips. “Ivory?” she whispered.
“I will watch them.”
He left her side, shrunken to the size of a speck of dust. Jasnah made a note to speak to Renarin; she would not have him wasting his time with a bunch of fools who thought they could foretell the future based on the curls of smoke from a snuffed candle.
Finally, her spanreed woke up.
I have connected Jochi of Thaylenah and Ethid of Azir for you, Brightness. Here are their passcodes. Further entries will be strictly their notations.
Excellent, Jasnah wrote back, authenticating the two passcodes. Losing her spanreeds in the sinking of the Wind’s Pleasure had been a huge setback. She could no longer directly contact important colleagues or informants. Fortunately, Tashikk was set up to deal with these kinds of situations. You could always buy new reeds connected to the princedom’s infamous information centers.
You could reach anyone, in practice, so long as you trusted an intermediary. Jasnah had one of those she’d personally interviewed—and whom she paid good money—to ensure confidentiality. The intermediary would burn her copies of this conversation afterward. The system was as secure as Jasnah could make it, all things considered.
Jasnah’s intermediary would now be joined by two others in Tashikk. Together, the three would be surrounded by six spanreed boards: one each for receiving comments from their masters, and one each to send back the entire conversation in real time, including the comments from the other two. That way, each conversant would be able to see a constant stream of comments, without having to stop and wait before replying.
Navani talked of ways to improve the experience—of spanreeds that could be adjusted to connect to different people. That was one area of scholarship, however, that Jasnah did not have time to pursue.
He
r receiving board started to fill with notes written by her two colleagues.
Jasnah, you live! Jochi wrote. Back from the dead. Remarkable!
I can’t believe you ever thought she was dead, Ethid replied. Jasnah Kholin? Lost at sea? Likelier we’d find the Stormfather dead.
Your confidence is comforting, Ethid, Jasnah wrote on her sending board. A moment later, those words were copied by her scribe into the common spanreed conversation.
Are you at Urithiru? Jochi wrote. When can I visit?
As soon as you’re willing to let everyone know you aren’t female, Jasnah wrote back. Jochi—known to the world as a dynamic woman of distinctive philosophy—was a pen name for a potbellied man in his sixties who ran a pastry shop in Thaylen City.
Oh, I’m certain your wonderful city has need of pastries, Jochi wrote back jovially.
Can we please discuss your silliness later? Ethid wrote. I have news. She was a scion—a kind of religious order of scribe—at the Azish royal palace.
Well stop wasting time then! Jochi wrote. I love news. Goes excellently with a filled doughnut … no, no, a fluffy brioche.
The news? Jasnah just wrote, smiling. These two had studied with her under the same master—they were Veristitalians of the keenest mind, regardless of how Jochi might seem.
I’ve been tracking a man we are increasingly certain is the Herald Nakku, the Judge, Ethid wrote. Nalan, as you call him.
Oh, are we sharing nursery tales now? Jochi asked. Heralds? Really, Ethid?
If you haven’t noticed, Ethid wrote, the Voidbringers are back. Tales we dismissed are worth a second look, now.
I agree, Jasnah wrote. But what makes you think you’ve found one of the Heralds?
It’s a combination of many things, she wrote. This man attacked our palace, Jasnah. He tried to kill some thieves—the new Prime is one of them, but keep that in your sleeve. We’re doing what we can to play up his common roots while ignoring the fact that he was intent on robbing us.
Heralds alive and trying to kill people, Jochi wrote. And here I thought my news about a sighting of Axies the Collector was interesting.
There’s more, Ethid wrote. Jasnah, we’ve got a Radiant here. An Edgedancer. Or … we had one.
Had one? Jochi wrote. Did you misplace her?
She ran off. She’s just a kid, Jasnah. Reshi, raised on the streets.
I think we may have met her, Jasnah wrote. My uncle encountered someone interesting in one of his recent visions. I’m surprised you let her get away from you.
Have you ever tried to hold on to an Edgedancer? Ethid wrote back. She chased after the Herald to Tashikk, but the Prime says she is back now—and avoiding me. In any case, something’s wrong with the man I think is Nalan, Jasnah. I don’t think the Heralds will be a resource to us.
I will provide you with sketches of the Heralds, Jasnah said. I have drawings of their true faces, provided by an unexpected source. Ethid, you are right about them. They aren’t going to be a resource; they’re broken. Have you read the accounts of my uncle’s visions?
I have copies somewhere, Ethid wrote. Are they real? Most sources agree that he’s … unwell.
He’s quite well, I assure you, Jasnah wrote. The visions are related to his order of Radiants. I will send you the latest few; they have relevance to the Heralds.
Storms, Ethid wrote. The Blackthorn is actually a Radiant? Years of drought, and now they’re popping up like rockbuds.
Ethid did not think highly of men who earned their reputations through conquest, despite having made the study of such men a cornerstone of her research.
The conversation continued for some time. Jochi, growing uncharacteristically solemn, spoke directly of the state of Thaylenah. It had been hit hard by the repeated coming of the Everstorm; entire sections of Thaylen City were in ruin.
Jasnah was most interested in the Thaylen parshmen who had stolen the ships that had survived the storm. Their exodus—combined with Kaladin Stormblessed’s interactions with the parshmen in Alethkar—was painting a new picture of what and who the Voidbringers were.
The conversation moved on as Ethid transcribed an interesting account she’d discovered in an old book discussing the Desolations. From there, they spoke of the Dawnchant translations, in particular those by some ardents in Jah Keved who were ahead of the scholars at Kharbranth.
Jasnah glanced through the library room, seeking out her mother, who was sitting near Shallan to discuss wedding preparations. Renarin still lurked at the far side of the room, mumbling to himself. Or perhaps to his spren? She absently read his lips.
—it’s coming from in here, Renarin said. Somewhere in this room—
Jasnah narrowed her eyes.
Ethid, she wrote, weren’t you going to try to construct drawings of the spren tied to each order of Radiant?
I’ve gotten quite far, actually, she wrote back. I saw the Edgedancer spren personally, after demanding a glimpse.
What of the Truthwatchers? Jasnah wrote.
Oh! I found a reference to those, Jochi wrote. The spren reportedly looked like light on a surface after it reflects through something crystalline.
Jasnah thought for a moment, then briefly excused herself from the conversation. Jochi said he needed to go find a privy anyway. She slipped off her seat and crossed the room, passing near Navani and Shallan.
“I don’t want to push you at all, dear,” Navani was saying. “But in these uncertain times, surely you wish for stability.”
Jasnah stopped, freehand resting idly on Shallan’s shoulder. The younger woman perked up, then followed Jasnah’s gaze toward Renarin.
“What?” Shallan whispered.
“I don’t know,” Jasnah said. “Something odd…”
Something about the way the youth was standing, the words he had spoken. He still looked wrong to her without his spectacles. Like a different person entirely.
“Jasnah!” Shallan said, suddenly tense. “The doorway. Look!”
Jasnah sucked in Stormlight at the girl’s tone and turned away from Renarin, toward the room’s doorway. There, a tall, square-jawed man had darkened the opening. He wore Sadeas’s colors, forest green and white. In fact, he was Sadeas now, at least its regent.
Jasnah would always know him as Meridas Amaram.
“What’s he doing here?” Shallan hissed.
“He’s a highprince,” Navani said. “The soldiers aren’t going to forbid him without a direct command.”
Amaram fixated on Jasnah with regal, light tan eyes. He strode toward her, exuding confidence, or was it conceit? “Jasnah,” he said when he drew close. “I was told I could find you here.”
“Remind me to find whoever told you,” Jasnah said, “and have them hanged.”
Amaram stiffened. “Could we speak together more privately, just for a moment?”
“I think not.”
“We need to discuss your uncle. The rift between our houses serves nobody. I wish to bridge that chasm, and Dalinar listens to you. Please, Jasnah. You can steer him properly.”
“My uncle knows his own mind on these matters, and doesn’t require me to ‘steer’ him.”
“As if you haven’t been doing so already, Jasnah. Everyone can see that he has started to share your religious beliefs.”
“Which would be incredible, since I don’t have religious beliefs.”
Amaram sighed, looking around. “Please,” he said. “Private?”
“Not a chance, Meridas. Go. Away.”
“We were close once.”
“My father wished us to be close. Do not mistake his fancies for fact.”
“Jasnah—”
“You really should leave before somebody gets hurt.”
He ignored her suggestion, glancing at Navani and Shallan, then stepping closer. “We thought you were dead. I needed to see for myself that you are well.”
“You have seen. Now leave.”
Instead, he gripped her forearm. “Why, Jasnah? Why have you al
ways denied me?”
“Other than the fact that you are a detestable buffoon who achieves only the lowest level of mediocrity, as it is the best your limited mind can imagine? I can’t possibly think of a reason.”
“Mediocre?” Amaram growled. “You insult my mother, Jasnah. You know how hard she worked to raise me to be the best soldier this kingdom has ever known.”
“Yes, from what I understand, she spent the seven months she was with child entertaining each and every military man she could find, in the hopes that something of them would stick to you.”
Meridas’s eyes widened, and his face flushed deeply. To their side, Shallan audibly gasped.
“You godless whore,” Amaram hissed, releasing her. “If you weren’t a woman…”
“If I weren’t a woman, I suspect we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Unless I were a pig. Then you’d be doubly interested.”
He thrust his hand to the side, stepping back, preparing to summon his Blade.
Jasnah smiled, holding her freehand toward him, letting Stormlight curl and rise from it. “Oh, please do, Meridas. Give me an excuse. I dare you.”
He stared at her hand. The entire room had gone silent, of course. He’d forced her to make a spectacle. His eyes flicked up to meet hers; then he spun and stalked from the room, shoulders hunched as if trying to shrug away the eyes—and the snickers—of the scholars.
He will be trouble, Jasnah thought. Even more than he has been. Amaram genuinely thought he was Alethkar’s only hope and salvation, and had a keen desire to prove it. Left alone, he’d rip the armies apart to justify his inflated opinion of himself.
She’d speak with Dalinar. Perhaps the two of them could devise something to keep Amaram safely occupied. And if that didn’t work, she wouldn’t speak to Dalinar about the other precaution she would take. She’d been out of touch for a long time, but she was confident there would be assassins for hire here, ones who knew her reputation for discretion and excellent pay.
A high-pitched sound came from beside her, and Jasnah glanced to find Shallan sitting perkily on her seat, making an excited noise in the back of her throat and clapping her hands together quickly, the sound muffled by her clothed safehand.
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