The Way of Kings (57 page)

“I’ll get back to the other island, then,” Adolin said. “I…Wait, is that
Aunt Navani
?”

Dalinar looked up, surprised to see Navani walking toward them. Dalinar glanced at his plate. His food was gone; he’d eaten the last bit without realizing it.

He sighed, steeling himself, and rose to greet her. “Mathana,” Dalinar said, bowing and using the formal term for an older sister. Navani was only three months his senior, but it was still applicable.

“Dalinar,” she said, a faint smile on her lips. “And dear Adolin.”

Adolin smiled broadly; he rounded the table and hugged his aunt. She rested her clothed safehand on his shoulder, a gesture reserved only for family.

“When did you return?” Adolin asked, releasing her.

“Just this afternoon.”

“And
why
did you return?” Dalinar asked stiffly. “I was under the impression that you were going to aid the queen in protecting the king’s interests in Alethkar.”

“Oh, Dalinar,” Navani said, voice fond. “So stiff, as always. Adolin, dear, how goes courtship?”

Dalinar snorted. “He continues to change partners like he’s in a dance that involves particularly quick music.”

“Father!” Adolin objected.

“Well, good for you, Adolin,” Navani said. “You’re too young to get tied down. The purpose of youth is to experience variety while it is still interesting.” She glanced at Dalinar. “It isn’t until we get older that we should be forced to be boring.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” Adolin said with a grin. “Excuse me. I need to go tell Renarin that you’ve returned.” He hurried away, leaving Dalinar standing awkwardly across the table from Navani.

“Am I that much of a threat, Dalinar?” Navani asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Dalinar glanced down, realizing that he was still gripping his dining knife—a wide, serrated blade that could double as a weapon in a pinch. He let it clatter to the table, then winced at the noise. All of the confidence he’d felt speaking with Adolin seemed gone in a heartbeat.

Compose yourself!
he thought.
She’s just family.
Every time he spoke with Navani, he felt as if he were facing a predator of the most dangerous breed.

“Mathana,” Dalinar said, realizing they were still standing on opposite sides of the narrow table. “Perhaps we should move to…”

He trailed off as Navani waved to an attending girl who was barely old enough to wear a woman’s sleeve. The child rushed forward, bearing a low stool. Navani pointed to the spot beside her, a spot only a few feet from the table. The child hesitated, but Navani pointed more insistently and the child set the stool down.

Navani sat gracefully, not sitting
at
the king’s table—which was a masculine dining place—but certainly sitting near enough to be challenging protocol. The serving girl withdrew. At the end of the table, Elhokar noticed his mother’s actions, but said nothing. One did not reprove Navani Kholin, not even if one were king.

“Oh, sit down, Dalinar,” she said, voice growing testy. “We have matters of some moment to discuss.”

Dalinar sighed, but sat. The seats around them were still empty, and both the music and the hum of conversation on the island were loud enough to keep people from overhearing them. Some women had taken to playing flutes, musicspren spinning around them in the air.

“You ask why I returned,” Navani said, voice soft. “Well, I have three reasons. First, I wanted to bring word that the Vedens have perfected their ‘half-shards’ as they call them. They’re claiming the shields can stop blows from a Shardblade.”

Dalinar folded his arms before him on the table. He’d heard rumors of this, though he’d discounted them. Men were always claiming to be close to creating new Shards, yet the promises were never fulfilled. “Have you seen one?”

“No. But I have confirmation from someone I trust. She says they can only take the shape of a shield and don’t lend any of Plate’s other enhancements. But they
can
block a Shardblade.”

It was a step—a very small step—toward Shardplate. That was disturbing. He wouldn’t believe it himself until he’d seen what these “half-shards” could do. “You could have sent this news via spanreed, Navani.”

“Well, I realized soon after reaching Kholinar that leaving here had been a political mistake. More and more, these warcamps are the true center of our kingdom.”

“Yes,” Dalinar said quietly. “Our absence from our homeland is dangerous.” Hadn’t that been the very argument that had convinced Navani to go home in the first place?

The stately woman waved a dismissive hand. “I have determined that the queen is sufficiently endowed with the requisite skills needed to hold Alethkar. There are schemes and plots—there will always be schemes and plots—but the truly important players inevitably make their way here.”

“Your son continues to see assassins around every corner,” Dalinar said softly.

“And shouldn’t he? After what happened to his father…”

“True, but I fear he carries it to extremes. He mistrusts even his allies.”

Navani folded her hands in her lap, freehand lying atop safehand. “He’s not very good at this, is he?”

Dalinar blinked in shock. “What? Elhokar is a good man! He has more integrity than any other lighteyes in this army.”

“But his rule is weak,” Navani said. “You must admit that.”

“He is king,” Dalinar said firmly, “and my nephew. He has both my sword and my heart, Navani, and I will not hear ill spoken of him, even by his own mother.”

She eyed him. Was she testing his loyalty? Much like her daughter, Navani was a political creature. Intrigue made her blossom like a rockbud in calm wet air. However, unlike Jasnah, Navani was hard to trust. At least with Jasnah one knew where one stood—once again, Dalinar found himself wishing she’d put aside her projects and return to the Shattered Plains.

“I’m not speaking ill of my son, Dalinar,” Navani said. “We both know I am as loyal to him as you are. But I like to know what I’m working with, and that requires a definition. He is seen as weak, and I intend to see him protected. Despite himself, if necessary.”

“Then we work for the same goals. But if protecting him was the second reason you returned, what was the third?”

She smiled a violet-eyed, red-lipped smile at him. A meaningful smile.

Blood of my ancestors…
Dalinar thought.
Stormwinds, but she’s beautiful. Beautiful and deadly.
It seemed a particular irony to him that his wife’s face had been erased from his mind, and yet he could remember in complete and intricate detail the months this woman had spent toying with him and Gavilar. She’d played them off one another, fanning their desire before finally choosing the elder son.

They’d all known the entire time that she would choose Gavilar. It had hurt anyway.

“We need to talk sometime in private,” Navani said. “I want to hear your opinion on some of the things being said in camp.”

That probably meant the rumors about him. “I—I’m very busy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you are. We’re meeting anyway, once I’ve had time to settle here and put out feelers. How about one week from today? I’ll come read to you from that book of my husband’s, and afterward we can chat. We’ll do it in a public place. All right?”

He sighed. “Very well. But—”

“Highprinces and lighteyes,” Elhokar’s suddenly proclaimed. Dalinar and Navani turned toward the end of the table, where the king stood wearing his uniform complete with royal cape and crown. He raised a hand toward the island. The people hushed, and soon the only sound was that of the water burbling through the streams.

“I’m sure many of you have heard the rumors regarding the attempt on my life during the hunt three days ago,” Elhokar announced. “When my saddle girth was cut.”

Dalinar glanced at Navani. She raised her freehand toward him and rocked it back and forth, indicating that she didn’t find the rumors to be persuasive. She knew about the rumors, of course. Give Navani five minutes in a city and she’d know anything and everything of significance being gossiped about.

“I assure you, I was never in real danger,” Elhokar said. “Thanks, in part, to the protection of the King’s Guard and the vigilance of my uncle. However, I believe it wise to treat all threats with due prudence and seriousness. Therefore, I am appointing Brightlord Torol Sadeas to be Highprince of Information, charging him to unearth the truth regarding this attempt on my life.”

Dalinar blinked in shock. Then he closed his eyes and let out a soft groan.

“Unearth the truth,” Navani said skeptically. “Sadeas?”

“Blood of my…He thinks I’m ignoring the threats to him, so he’s looking to Sadeas instead.”

“Well, I suppose that’s all right,” she said. “I
kind of
trust Sadeas.”

“Navani,” Dalinar said, opening his eyes. “The incident happened on a hunt I planned, under the protection of my guard and my soldiers. The king’s horse was prepared by my grooms. He publicly asked me to look into this strap business, and now he’s just taken the investigation away from me.”

“Oh dear.” She understood. This was nearly the same thing as Elhokar proclaiming that he suspected Dalinar. Any information Sadeas unearthed regarding this “assassination attempt” could only reflect unfavorably on Dalinar.

When Sadeas’s hatred of Dalinar and his love of Gavilar conflicted, which would win?
But the vision. It said to trust him.

Elhokar sat back down, and the buzz of conversation resumed across the island at a higher pitch. The king seemed oblivious of what he had just done. Sadeas was smiling broadly. He rose from his place, bidding farewell to the king, then began mingling.

“You still argue he isn’t a bad king?” Navani whispered. “My poor, distracted, oblivious boy.”

Dalinar stood up, then walked down the table to where the king continued to eat.

Elhokar looked up. “Ah, Dalinar. I suspect you’ll want to give Sadeas your aid.”

Dalinar sat down. Sadeas’s half-eaten meal still sat on the table, brass plate scattered with chunks of meat and torn flatbread. “Elhokar,” Dalinar forced out, “I just spoke to you a few days ago. I asked to be Highprince of War, and you said it was too dangerous!”

“It is,” Elhokar said. “I spoke to Sadeas about it, and he agreed. The highprinces will never stand for someone being put over them in war. Sadeas mentioned that if I started with something less threatening, like appointing someone to Highprince of Information, it might prepare the others for what you want to do.”

“Sadeas suggested this,” Dalinar said flatly.

“Of course,” Elhokar said. “It is time we had a Highprince of Information, and he specifically noted the cut girth as something he wanted to look into. He knows you’ve always said you aren’t suited to these sorts of things.”

Blood of my fathers,
Dalinar thought, looking out at the center of the island, where a group of lighteyes gathered around Sadeas.
I’ve just been outmaneuvered. Brilliantly.

The Highprince of Information had authority over criminal investigations, particularly those of interest to the Crown. In a way, it was nearly as threatening as a Highprince of War, but it wouldn’t seem so to Elhokar. All he saw was that he would finally have someone willing to listen to his paranoid fears.

Sadeas was a clever, clever man.

“Don’t look so morose, Uncle,” Elhokar said. “I had no idea you’d want the position, and Sadeas just seemed so excited at the idea. Perhaps he’ll find nothing at all, and the leather was simply worn out. You’ll be vindicated in always telling me that I’m not in as much danger as I think I am.”

“Vindicated?” Dalinar asked softly, still watching Sadeas.
Somehow, I doubt that is likely.

You have accused me of arrogance in my quest. You have accused me of perpetuating my grudge against Rayse and Bavadin. Both accusations are true.

Kaladin stood up in the wagon bed, scanning the landscape outside the camp as Rock and Teft put his plan—such as it was—into action.

Back home, the air had been drier. If you went about on the day before a highstorm, everything seemed desolate. After storms, plants soon pulled back into their shells, trunks, and hiding places to conserve water. But here in the moister climate, they lingered. Many rockbuds never quite pulled into their shells completely. Patches of grass were common. The trees Sadeas harvested were concentrated in a forest to the north of the warcamps, but a few strays grew on this plain. They were enormous, broad-trunked things that grew with a westward slant, their thick, finger like roots clawing into the stone and—over the years—cracking and breaking the ground around them.

Kaladin hopped down from the cart. His job was to hoist up stones and place them on the bed of the vehicle. The other bridgemen brought them to him, laying them in heaps nearby.

Bridgemen worked across the broad plain, moving among rockbuds, patches of grass, and bunches of weeds that poked out from beneath boulders. Those grew most heavily on the west side, ready to pull back into their boulder’s shadow if a highstorm approached. It was a curious effect, as if each boulder were the head of an aged man with tufts of green and brown hair growing out from behind his ears.