“Origin of the Makabaki,” Renarin said. “Mother told me that story when I was a child.”
Dalinar shook his head. “Born from rocks?” The old stories rarely made much sense to him, although the devotaries had canonized many of them.
“The story mentions the Desolations at the beginning,” Navani said. “Giving them credit for having wiped out Parasaphi’s people.”
“But what were they?”
“Wars.” Navani took a sip of wine. “The Voidbringers came again and again, trying to force mankind off Roshar and into Damnation. Just as they once forced mankind—and the Heralds—out of the Tranquiline Halls.”
“When were the Knights Radiant founded?” Dalinar asked.
Navani shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps they were some military group from a specific kingdom, or perhaps they were originally a mercenary band. That would make it easy to see how they could eventually become tyrants.”
“My visions don’t imply that they were tyrants,” he said. “Perhaps that is the true purpose of the visions. To make me believe lies about the Radiants. Making me trust them, perhaps trying to lead me to mimic their downfall and betrayal.”
“I don’t know,” Navani said, sounding skeptical. “I don’t think you’ve seen anything untrue about the Radiants. The legends tend to agree that the Radiants weren’t always so bad. As much as the legends agree on anything, at least.”
Dalinar stood and took her nearly empty cup, then walked over to the serving table and refilled it. Discovering that he was not mad should have helped clear things up, but instead left him more disturbed. What if the Voidbringers were behind the visions? Some stories he heard said that they could possess the bodies of men and make them do evil. Or, if they were from the Almighty, what was their purpose?
“I need to think on all of this,” he said. “It has been a long day. Please, if I could be left to my own thoughts now.”
Renarin rose and bowed his head in respect before heading to the door. Navani rose more slowly, sleek dress rustling as she set her cup on the table, then walked over to fetch her pain-drinking fabrial. Renarin left, and Dalinar walked to the doorway, waiting as Navani approached. He didn’t intend to let her trap him alone again. He looked out the doorway. His soldiers were there, and he could see them. Good.
“Aren’t you pleased at all?” Navani asked, lingering beside the doorway near him, one hand on the frame.
“Pleased?”
“You aren’t going mad.”
“And we don’t know if I’m being manipulated or not,” he said. “In a way, we have more questions now than we had before.”
“The visions are a blessing,” Navani said, laying her freehand on his arm. “I feel it, Dalinar. Don’t you see how wonderful this is?”
Dalinar met her eyes, light violet, beautiful. She was so thoughtful, so clever. How he wished he could trust her completely.
She has shown me nothing but honor, he thought. Never speaking a word to anyone else of my intention to abdicate. She hasn’t so much as tried to use my visions against me. He felt ashamed that he’d once worried that she might.
She was a wonderful woman, Navani Kholin. A wonderful, amazing, dangerous woman.
“I see more worries,” he said. “And more danger.”
“But Dalinar, you’re having experiences scholars, historians, and folklorists could only dream about! I envy you, although you claim to have seen no fabrials of note.”
“The ancients didn’t have fabrials, Navani. I’m certain of it.”
“And that changes everything we thought we understood about them.”
“I suppose.”
“Stonefalls, Dalinar,” she said, sighing. “Does nothing bring you to passion any longer?”
Dalinar took a deep breath. “Too many things, Navani. My insides feel like a mass of eels, emotions squirming over one another. The truth of these visions is unsettling.”
“It’s exciting,” she corrected. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About trusting me?”
“I said that?”
“You said you didn’t trust your clerks, and you asked me to record the visions. There’s an implication in that.”
Her hand was still on his arm. She reached out with her safehand and closed the door to the hallway. He almost stopped her, but he hesitated. Why?
The door clicked closed. They were alone. And she was so beautiful. Those clever, excitable eyes, alight with passion.
“Navani,” Dalinar said, forcing down his desire. “You’re doing it again.” Why did he let her?
“Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m a stubborn woman, Dalinar.” There didn’t seem to be any playfulness in her tone.
“This is not proper. My brother…” He reached for the door to open it again.
“Your brother,” Navani spat, expression flashing with anger. “Why must everyone always focus on him? Everyone always worries so much about the man who died! He’s not here, Dalinar. He’s gone. I miss him. But not half as much as you do, it appears.”
“I honor his memory,” Dalinar said stiffly, hesitating, hand on the door’s latch.
“That’s fine! I’m happy you do. But it’s been six years, and all anyone can see me as is the wife of a dead man. The other women, they humor me with idle gossip, but they won’t let me into their political circles. They think I’m a relic. You wanted to know why I came back so quickly?”
“I—”
“I returned,” she said, “because I have no home. I’m expected to sit out of important events because my husband is dead! Lounge around, pampered but ignored. I make them uncomfortable. The queen, the other women at court.”
“I’m sorry,” Dalinar said. “But I don’t—”
She raised her freehand, tapping him on the chest. “I won’t take it from you, Dalinar. We were friends before I even met Gavilar! You still know me as me, not some shadow of a dynasty that crumbled years ago. Don’t you?” She looked at him, pleading.
Blood of my fathers, Dalinar thought with shock. She’s crying. Two small tears.
He had rarely seen her so sincere.
And so he kissed her.
It was a mistake. He knew it was. He grabbed her anyway, pulling her into a rough, tight embrace and pressing his mouth to hers, unable to contain himself. She melted against him. He tasted the salt of her tears as they ran down to her lips and met his.
It lasted long. Too long. Wonderfully long. His mind screamed at him, like a prisoner chained in a cell and forced to watch something horrible. But a part of him had wanted this for decades—decades spent watching his brother court, marry, and then hold the only woman that the young Dalinar had ever wanted.
He’d told himself he would never allow this. He had denied himself feelings for Navani the moment Gavilar had won her hand. Dalinar had stepped aside.
But the taste of her—the smell of her, the warmth of her pressed against him—was too sweet. Like a blossoming perfume, it washed away the guilt. For a moment, that touch banished everything. He couldn’t remember his fear at the visions, his worry about Sadeas, his shame at past mistakes.
He could only think of her. Beautiful, insightful, delicate yet strong at once. He clung to her, something he could hold onto as the rest of the world churned around him.
Eventually, he broke the kiss. She looked up at him, dazed. Passion-spren, like tiny flakes of crystalline snow, floated down in the air around them. Guilt flooded him again. He tried gently to push her away, but she clung to him, holding on tight.
“Navani,” he said.
“Hush.” She pressed her head against his chest.
“We can’t—”
“Hush,” she said, more insistently.
He sighed, but let himself hold her.
“Something is going wrong in this world, Dalinar,” Navani said softly. “The king of Jah Keved was assassinated. I heard it just today. He was killed by a Shin Shardbearer in white clothing.”
“Stormfather!” Dalinar said.
“Something’s going on,” she said. “Something bigger than our war here, something bigger than Gavilar. Have you heard of the twisted things men say when they die? Most ignore it, but surgeons are talking. And stormwardens whisper that the highstorms are growing more powerful.”
“I have heard,” he said, finding it difficult to get the words out, intoxicated by her as he was.
“My daughter seeks something,” Navani said. “She frightens me sometimes. She’s so intense. I honestly believe she’s the most intelligent person I’ve ever known. And the things she searches for… Dalinar, she believes that something very dangerous is near.”
The sun approaches the horizon. The Everstorm comes. The True Desolation. The Night of Sorrows….
“I need you,” Navani said. “I’ve known it for years, though I feared it would destroy you with guilt, so I fled. But I couldn’t stay away. Not with the way they treat me. Not with what is happening to the world. I’m terrified, Dalinar, and I need you. Gavilar was not the man everyone thought him to be. I was fond of him, but he—”
“Please,” Dalinar said, “don’t speak ill of him.”
“Very well.”
Blood of my fathers! He couldn’t get her scent out of his head. He felt paralyzed, holding to her like a man clinging to a stone in the stormwinds.
She looked up at him. “Well, let it be said—then—that I was fond of Gavilar. But I’m more than fond of you. And I’m tired of waiting.”
He closed his eyes. “How can this work?”
“We’ll find a way.”
“We’ll be denounced.”
“The warcamps already ignore me,” Navani said, “and they spread rumors and lies about you. What more can they do to us?”
“They’ll find something. As of yet, the devotaries do not condemn me.”
“Gavilar is dead,” Navani said, resting her head back against his chest. “I was never unfaithful while he lived, though the Stormfather knows I had ample reason. The devotaries can say what they wish, but The Arguments do not forbid our union. Tradition is not the same as doctrine, and I will not hold myself back for fear of offending.”
Dalinar took a deep breath, then forced himself to open his arms and pull back. “If you had hoped to soothe my worries for the day, then this didn’t help.”
She folded her arms. He could still feel where her safehand had touched him on the back. A tender touch, reserved for a family member. “I’m not here to soothe you, Dalinar. Quite the opposite.”
“Please. I do need time to think.”
“I won’t let you put me away. I won’t ignore that this happened. I won’t—”
“Navani,” he gently cut her off, “I will not abandon you. I promise.”
She eyed him, then a wry smile crept onto her face. “Very well. But you began something today.”