Navani stood with her arms folded, the sunlight behind her like a halo. Dalinar hesitantly raised an armored forearm to block the light. “Mathana?”
“The rockwork,” Navani said, nodding to the trough. “Now, I wouldn’t presume to make judgments; hitting things is a masculine art. But are you not in the possession of a sword that can cut through stone as easily as—I once had it described to me—a highstorm blows over a Herdazian?”
Dalinar looked back at the rocks. Then he raised his hammer again and slammed it into the stones, making a satisfying crunch. “Shardblades are too good at cutting.”
“Curious,” she said. “I’ll do my best to pretend there was sense in that. As an aside, has it ever struck you that most masculine arts deal with destroying, while feminine arts deal with creation?”
Dalinar swung again. Bang! Remarkable how much easier it was to have a conversation with Navani while not looking directly at her. “I do use the Blade to cut down the sides and middle. But I still have to break up the rocks. Have you ever tried to lift out a chunk of stone that has been sliced by a Shardblade?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“It’s not easy.” Bang! “Blades make a very thin cut. The rocks still press against one another. It’s hard to grasp or move them.” Bang! “It’s more complicated than it seems.” Bang! “This is the best way.”
Navani dusted a few chips of stone from her dress. “And more messy, I see.”
Bang!
“So, are you going to apologize?” she asked.
“For?”
“For missing our appointment.”
Dalinar froze in midswing. He’d completely forgotten that, at the feast when she’d first returned, he’d agreed to have Navani read for him today. He hadn’t told his scribes of the appointment. He turned toward her, chagrined. He’d been angered because Thanadal had canceled their appointment, but at least he had thought to send a messenger.
Navani stood with arms folded, safehand tucked away, sleek dress seeming to burn with sunlight. She bore a hint of a smile on her lips. By standing her up, he’d put himself—by honor—in her power.
“I’m truly sorry,” he said. “I’ve had some difficult things to consider lately, but that doesn’t excuse forgetting you.”
“I know. I’ll ponder a way to let you make up for the lapse. But for now, you should know that one of your spanreeds is flashing.”
“What? Which one?”
“Your scribes say it is the one bound to my daughter.”
Jasnah! It had been weeks since they’d last communicated; the messages he’d sent her had prompted only the tersest of answers. When Jasnah was deeply immersed in one of her projects, she often ignored all else. If she was sending to him now, either she’d discovered something or she was taking a break to renew her contacts.
Dalinar turned to look down the latrine. He’d nearly completed it; and he realized he’d been unconsciously planning to make his final decision once he reached the end. He itched to continue working.
But if Jasnah wanted to converse…
He needed to talk with her. Perhaps he could persuade her to return to the Shattered Plains. He would feel a lot more secure about abdicating if he knew that she would come watch over Elhokar and Adolin.
Dalinar tossed aside his hammer—his pounding had bent the haft a good thirty degrees and the head was a misshapen lump—and jumped out of the ditch. He’d have a new weapon forged; that was not unusual for Shardbearers.
“Your pardon, Mathana,” Dalinar said, “but I fear I must beg your leave so soon after begging your forgiveness. I must receive this communication.”
He bowed to her and turned to hurry away.
“Actually,” Navani said from behind, “I think I’ll beg something of you. It has been months since I’ve spoken with my daughter. I’ll join you, if you’ll permit it.”
He hesitated, but he couldn’t deny her so soon after giving her offense. “Of course.” He waited as Navani walked to her palanquin and settled herself. The bearers lifted it, and Dalinar struck out again, the bearers and Navani’s borrowed wards walking close.
“You are a kind man, Dalinar Kholin,” Navani said, that same sly smile on her lips as she sat back in the cushioned chair. “I’m afraid that I’m compelled to find you fascinating.”
“My sense of honor makes me easy to manipulate,” Dalinar said, eyes forward. Dealing with her was not something he needed right now. “I know it does. No need to toy with me, Navani.”
She laughed softly. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you, Dalinar, I—” She paused. “Well, perhaps I am taking advantage of you just a little. But I’m not ‘toying’ with you. This last year in particular, you’ve begun to be the person the others all claim that they are. Can’t you see how intriguing that makes you?”
“I don’t do it to be intriguing.”
“If you did, it wouldn’t work!” She leaned toward him. “Do you know why I picked Gavilar instead of you all those years ago?”
Blast. Her comments—her presence—were like a goblet of darkwine poured into the middle of his crystal thoughts. The clarity he’d sought in hard labor was quickly vanishing. Did she have to be so forward? He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he picked up his pace and hoped that she’d see he didn’t want to discuss the topic.
It was no use. “I didn’t pick him because he would become king, Dalinar. Though that’s what everyone says. I chose him because you frightened me. That intensity of yours…it scared your brother too, you know.”
He said nothing.
“It’s still in there,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes. But you’ve wrapped armor around it, a glistening set of Shardplate to contain it. That is part of what I find fascinating.”
He stopped, looking at her. The palanquin bearers halted. “This would not work, Navani,” he said softly.
“Wouldn’t it?”
He shook his head. “I will not dishonor my brother’s memory.” He regarded her sternly, and she eventually nodded.
When he continued walking, she said nothing, though she did eye him slyly from time to time. Eventually, they reached his personal complex, marked by fluttering blue banners with the glyphpair khokh and linil, the former drawn in the shape of a crown, the second forming a tower. Dalinar’s mother had drawn the original design, the same his signet ring bore, though Elhokar used a sword and crown instead.
The soldiers at the entrance to his complex saluted, and Dalinar waited for Navani to join him before entering. The cavernous interior was lit by infused sapphires. Once they reached his sitting chamber, he was again struck by just how lavish it had gotten over the months.
Three of his clerks waited with their attending girls. All six stood up when he entered. Adolin was also there.
Dalinar frowned at the youth. “Shouldn’t you be seeing to the inspections?”
Adolin started. “Father, I finished those hours ago.”
“You did?” Stormfather! How long did I spend pounding on those stones?
“Father,” Adolin said, stepping up to him. “Can we speak privately for a moment?” As usual, Adolin’s black-peppered blond hair was an unruly mop. He’d changed from his Plate and bathed, and now he wore a fashionable—though battle-worthy—uniform with a long blue coat, buttoned at the sides, and straight, stiff brown trousers beneath.
“I’m not ready to discuss that as yet, son,” Dalinar said softly. “I need a little more time.”
Adolin studied him, eyes concerned. He will make a fine highprince, Dalinar thought. He’s been reared to it in a way that I never was.
“All right then,” Adolin said. “But there’s something else I want to ask you.” He pointed toward one of the clerks, a woman with auburn hair and only a few strands of black. She was lithe and long-necked, wearing a green dress, her hair arranged high on her head in a complex set of braids held together with four traditional steel hair-spikes.
“This is Danlan Morakotha,” Adolin said softly to Dalinar. “She came into camp yesterday to spend a few months with her father, Brightlord Morakotha. She has been calling on me recently, and I took the liberty of offering her a position among your clerks while she is here.”
Dalinar blinked. “What about…”
“Malasha?” Adolin sighed. “Didn’t work out.”
“And this one?” Dalinar asked, voice hushed, yet incredulous. “How long did you say she’s been in camp? Since yesterday? And you’ve already got her calling on you?”
Adolin shrugged. “Well, I do have a reputation to maintain.”
Dalinar sighed, eyeing Navani, who stood close enough to hear. She pretended—for propriety—that she wasn’t listening in. “You know, it is customary to eventually choose just one woman to court.” You’re going to need a good wife, son. Perhaps very soon.
“When I’m old and boring, perhaps,” Adolin said, smiling at the young woman. She was pretty. But only in camp one day? Blood of my ancestors, Dalinar thought. He’d spent three years courting the woman who’d eventually become his wife. Even if he couldn’t remember her face, he did remember how persistently he’d pursued her.
Surely he’d loved her. All emotion regarding her was gone, wiped from his mind by forces he should never have tempted. Unfortunately, he did remember how much he’d desired Navani, years before meeting the woman who would become his wife.
Stop that, he told himself. Moments ago, he’d been on the brink of deciding to abdicate his seat as highprince. It was no time to let Navani distract him.
“Brightness Danlan Morakotha,” he said to the young woman. “You are welcome among my clerks. I understand that I’ve received a communication?”
“Indeed, Brightlord,” the woman said, curtsying. She nodded to the line of five spanreeds sitting on his bookshelf, set upright in pen holders. The spanreeds looked like ordinary writing reeds, except that each had a small infused ruby affixed. The one on the far right pulsed slowly.
Litima was there, and though she had seniority, she nodded for Danlan to fetch the spanreed. The young woman hurried to the bookshelf and moved the still-blinking reed to the small writing desk beside the lectern. She carefully clipped a piece of paper onto the writing board and put the ink vial into its hole, twisting it snugly into place and then pulling the stopper. Lighteyed women were very proficient at working with just their freehand.
She sat down, looking up at him, seeming slightly nervous. Dalinar didn’t trust her, of course—she could easily be a spy for one of the other highprinces. Unfortunately, there weren’t any women in camp he trusted completely, not with Jasnah gone.
“I am ready, Brightlord,” Danlan said. She had a breathy, husky voice. Just the type that attracted Adolin. He hoped she wasn’t as vapid as those he usually picked.