In case you have turned a blind eye to that disaster, know that Aona and Skai are both dead, and that which they held has been Splintered. Presumably to prevent anyone from rising up to challenge Rayse.

Two days after the incident with the highstorm, Dalinar walked with his sons, crossing the rocky ground toward the king’s feasting basin.

Dalinar’s stormwardens projected another few weeks of spring, followed by a return to summer. Hopefully it wouldn’t turn to winter instead.

“I’ve been to three more leatherworkers,” Adolin said softly. “They have different opinions. It seems that even before the strap was cut—if it was cut—it was worn, so that’s interfering with things. The best consensus has been that the strap was sliced, but not necessarily by a knife. It could have just been natural wear-and-tear.”

Dalinar nodded. “That’s the only evidence that even hints there might be something odd about the girth breaking.”

“So we admit that this was just a result of the king’s paranoia.”

“I’ll talk to Elhokar,” Dalinar decided. “Let him know we’ve run into a wall and see if there are any other avenues he’d like us to pursue.”

“That’ll do.” Adolin seemed to grow hesitant about something. “Father. Do you want to talk about what happened during the storm?”

“It was nothing that hasn’t happened before.”

“But—”

“Enjoy the evening, Adolin,” Dalinar said firmly. “I’m all right. Perhaps it’s good for the men to see what is happening. Hiding it has only inspired rumors, some of them even worse than the truth.”

Adolin sighed, but nodded.

The king’s feasts were always outdoors, at the foot of Elhokar’s palace hill. If the stormwardens warned of a highstorm—or if more mundane weather turned bad—then the feast was canceled. Dalinar was glad for the outdoor location. Even with ornamentation, Soulcast buildings felt like caverns.

The feast basin had been flooded, turning it into a shallow artificial lake. Circular dining platforms rose like small stone islands in the water. The elaborate miniature landscape had been fabricated by the king’s Soulcasters, who had diverted the water from a nearby stream. It reminds me of Sela Tales, Dalinar thought as he crossed the first bridge. He’d visited that western region of Roshar during his youth. And the Purelake.

There were five islands, and the railings of the bridges connecting them were done in scrollwork so fine that after each feast, the railings had to be stowed away lest a highstorm ruin them. Tonight, flowers floated in the slow current. Periodically, a miniature boat—only a handspan wide—sailed past, bearing an infused gemstone.

Dalinar, Renarin, and Adolin stepped onto the first dining platform. “One cup of blue,” Dalinar said to his sons. “After that, keep to the orange.”

Adolin sighed audibly. “Couldn’t we, just this once—”

“So long as you are of my house, you follow the Codes. My will is firm, Adolin.”

“Fine,” Adolin said. “Come on, Renarin.” The two broke off from Dalinar to remain on the first platform, where the younger lighteyes congregated.

Dalinar crossed to the next island. This middle one was for the lesser lighteyes. To its left and right lay the segregated dining islands—men’s island on the right, women’s island on the left. On the three central ones, however, the genders mingled.

Around him, the favored invitees took advantage of their king’s hospitality. Soulcast food was inherently bland, but the king’s lavish feasts always served imported spices and exotic meats. Dalinar could smell roasting pork on the air, and even chickens. It had been a long time since he’d been served meat from one of the strange Shin flying creatures.

A darkeyed servant passed, wearing a gauzy red robe and carrying a tray of orange crab legs. Dalinar continued across the island, weaving around groups of revelers. Most drank violet wine, the most intoxicating and flavorful of the colors. Almost no one was in battle attire. A few men wore tight, waist-length jackets, but many had dropped all pretense, choosing instead loose silk shirts with ruffled cuffs worn with matching slippers. The rich material glistened in the lamplight.

These creatures of fashion shot glances at Dalinar, appraising him, weighing him. He could remember a time when he would have been swarmed by friends, acquaintances—and yes, even sycophants—at a feast like this. Now, none approached him, though they gave way before him. Elhokar might think his uncle was growing weak, but his reputation quelled most lesser lighteyes.

He soon approached the bridge to the final island—the king’s island. Pole-mounted gem lamps ringed it, glowing with blue Stormlight, and a firepit dominated the center of the platform. Deep red coals simmered in its bowels, radiating warmth. Elhokar sat at his table just behind the firepit, and several highprinces ate with him. Tables along the sides of the platform were occupied by male or female diners—never both at the same.

Wit sat on a raised stool at the end of the bridge leading onto the island. Wit actually dressed as a lighteyes should—he wore a stiff black uniform, silver sword at his waist. Dalinar shook his head at the irony.

Wit was insulting each person as they stepped onto the island. “Brightness Marakal! What a disaster that hairstyle is; how brave of you to show it to the world. Brightlord Marakal, I wish you’d warned us you were going to attend; I’d have forgone supper. I do so hate being sick after a full meal. Brightlord Cadilar! How good it is to see you. Your face reminds me of someone dear to me.”

“Really?” wizened Cadilar said, hesitating.

“Yes,” Wit said, waving him on, “my horse. Ah, Brightlord Neteb, you smell unique today—did you attack a wet whitespine, or did one just sneeze on you? Lady Alami! No, please, don’t speak—it’s much easier to maintain my illusions regarding your intelligence that way. And Brightlord Dalinar.” Wit nodded to Dalinar as he passed. “Ah, my dear Brightlord Taselin. Still engaged in your experiment to prove a maximum threshold of human idiocy? Good for you! Very empirical of you.”

Dalinar hesitated beside Wit’s chair as Taselin waddled by with a huff. “Wit,” Dalinar said, “do you have to?”

“Two what, Dalinar?” Wit said, eyes twinkling. “Eyes, hands, or spheres? I’d lend you one of the first, but—by definition—a man can only have one I, and if it is given away, who would be Wit then? I’d lend you one of the second, but I fear my simple hands have been digging in the muck far too often to suit one such as you. And if I gave you one of my spheres, what would I spend the remaining one on? I’m quite attached to both of my spheres, you see.” He hesitated. “Or, well, you can’t see. Would you like to?” He stood up off his chair and reached for his belt.

“Wit,” Dalinar said dryly.

Wit laughed, clapping Dalinar on the arm. “I’m sorry. This lot brings out the basest humor in me. Perhaps it’s that muck I spoke of earlier. I do try so hard to be elevated in my loathing of them, but they make it difficult.”

“Care for yourself, Wit,” Dalinar said. “This lot won’t suffer you forever. I wouldn’t see you dead by their knives; I see a fine man within you.”

“Yes,” Wit said, scanning the platform. “He tasted quite delicious. Dalinar, I fear I’m not the one who needs that warning. Speak your fears at a mirror a few times when you get home tonight. There are rumors about.”

“Rumors?”

“Yes. Terrible things. Grow on men like warts.”

“Tumors?”

“Both. Look, there is talk about you.”

“There is always talk about me.”

“This is worse than most,” Wit said, meeting his eyes. “Did you really speak of abandoning the Vengeance Pact?”

Dalinar took a deep breath. “That was between me and the king.”

“Well, he must have spoken of it to others. This lot are cowards—and no doubt that makes them feel like experts on the subject, for they’ve certainly been calling you that a great deal lately.”

“Stormfather!”

“No, I’m Wit. But I understand how easy a mistake that is to make.”

“Because you blow so much air,” Dalinar growled, “or because you make so much noise?”

A wide smile split Wit’s face. “Why, Dalinar! I’m impressed! Maybe I should make you Wit! Then I could be a highprince instead.” He stopped. “No, that would be bad. I’d go mad after a mere second of listening to them, then would likely slaughter the lot. Perhaps appoint cremlings in their places. The kingdom would undoubtedly fare better.”

Dalinar turned to go. “Thank you for the warning.”

Wit sat back down on his stool as Dalinar walked away. “You’re welcome. Ah, Brightlord Habatab! How thoughtful of you to wear a red shirt with a sunburn like that! If you continue to make my job this easy, I fear my mind shall become as dull as Brightlord Tumul’s! Oh, Brightlord Tumul! How unexpected it is to see you standing there! I didn’t mean to insult your stupidity. Really, it’s quite spectacular and worthy of much praise. Lord Yonatan and Lady Meirav, I’ll forgo an insult for you this once on account of your recent wedding, though I do find your hat quite impressive, Yonatan. I trust it is convenient to wear on your head something that doubles as a tent at night. Ah, and is that Lady Navani behind you? How long have you been back at the Plains and how did I not notice the smell?”

Dalinar froze. What?

“Obviously your own stench overpowered mine, Wit,” a warm feminine voice said. “Has no one done my son a service and assassinated you yet?”

“No, no assassins yet,” Wit said, amused. “I guess I’ve already got too much ass sass of my own.”

Dalinar turned with shock. Navani, the king’s mother, was a stately woman with intricately woven black hair. And she was not supposed to be here.

“Oh really, Wit,” she said. “I thought that kind of humor was beneath you.”

“So are you, technically,” Wit said, smiling, from atop his high-legged stool.

She rolled her eyes.

“Unfortunately, Brightness,” Wit replied with a sigh, “I’ve taken to framing my insults in terms this lot will understand. If it will please you, I shall attempt to improve my diction to more elevated terms.” He paused. “I say, do you know any words that rhyme with bescumber?”

Navani just turned her head and looked at Dalinar with a pair of light violet eyes. She wore an elegant dress, its shimmering red surface unbroken by embroidery. The gems in her hair—which was streaked with a few lines of grey—were red as well. The king’s mother was known as one of the most beautiful women in Alethkar, though Dalinar had always found that description inadequate, for surely there wasn’t a woman on all of Roshar to match her beauty.

Fool, he thought, tearing his eyes away from her. Your brother’s widow. With Gavilar dead, Navani was now to be treated as Dalinar’s sister. Besides, what of his own wife? Dead these ten years, wiped by his foolishness from his mind. Even if he couldn’t remember her, he should honor her.

Why had Navani returned? As women called out greetings to her, Dalinar hurriedly made his way over to the king’s table. He sat down; a servant arrived in moments with a plate for him—they knew his preferences.

It was steaming peppered chicken, cut in medallions and laid atop fried round slices of tenem, a soft, light orange vegetable. Dalinar grabbed a piece of flatbread and slipped his dining knife from the sheath on his right calf. So long as he was eating, it would be a breach of etiquette for Navani to approach him.

The food was good. It always was at these feasts of Elhokar’s—in that, the son was like the father. Elhokar nodded to Dalinar from the end of the table, then continued his conversation with Sadeas. Highprince Roion sat a few seats down from him. Dalinar had an appointment with him in a few days, the first of the highprinces he’d approach and try to convince to work with him on a joint plateau assault.

No other highprinces came to sit near Dalinar. Only they—and people with specific invitations—could sit at the king’s table. One man lucky enough to receive such an invitation sat on Elhokar’s left, obviously uncertain if he should join in the conversation or not.

Water gurgled in the stream behind Dalinar. Before him, the festivities continued. It was a time for relaxation, but the Alethi were a reserved people, at least when compared with more passionate folk like the Horneaters or the Reshi. Still, his people seemed to have grown more opulent and self-indulgent since his childhood. Wine flowed freely and foods sizzled fragrantly. On the first island, several young men had stepped into a sparring ring for a friendly duel. Young men at a feast often found reason to remove their coats and show off their swordsmanship.

The women were more modest with their displays, but they engaged in them as well. On Dalinar’s own island, several women had set up easels where they were sketching, painting, or doing calligraphy. As always, they kept their left hands shrouded in their sleeves, delicately creating art with the right. They sat on high stools, the kind that Wit had been using—in fact, Wit had probably stolen one for his little performance. A few of them attracted creationspren, the tiny shapes rolling across the tops of their easels or tables.

Navani had gathered a group of important lighteyed women to a table. A servant passed by in front of Dalinar, bringing the women some food. It appeared to also have been made with the exotic chicken, but had been mixed with steamed methi fruit and covered in a reddish-brown sauce. As a boy, Dalinar had secretly tried women’s food out of curiosity. He’d found it distastefully sweet.

Navani placed something on her table, a device of polished brass about the size of a fist, with a large, infused ruby at its center. The red Stormlight lit the entire table, throwing shadows down the white tablecloth. Navani picked up the device, rotating it to show her dinner companions its leglike protrusions. Turned that way, it looked vaguely crustacean.

I’ve never seen a fabrial like that before. Dalinar looked up at her face, admiring the contours of her cheek. Navani was a renowned artifabrian. Perhaps this device was—

Navani glanced at him, and Dalinar froze. She flashed the briefest of smiles at him, covert and knowing, then turned away before he could react. Storming woman! he thought, pointedly turning his attention to his meal.

He was hungry, and got so involved in his food that he almost didn’t notice Adolin approaching. The blond youth saluted Elhokar, then hurried to take one of the vacant seats beside Dalinar. “Father,” Adolin said in a hushed tone, “have you heard what they’re saying?”

“About what?”

“About you! I’ve fought three duels so far against men who described you—and our house—as cowards. They’re saying you asked the king to abandon the Vengeance Pact!”

Dalinar gripped the table and nearly rose to his feet. But he stopped himself. “Let them speak if they wish,” he said, turning back to his meal, stabbing a chunk of peppered chicken with his knife and raising it to his lips.

“Did you really do it?” Adolin asked. “Is that what you talked about at the meeting with the king two days back?”

“It is,” Dalinar admitted.

That elicited a groan from Adolin. “I was worried already. When I—”

“Adolin,” Dalinar interjected. “Do you trust me?”

Adolin looked at him, the youth’s eyes wide, honest, but pained. “I want to. Storms, Father. I really want to.”

“What I am doing is important. It must be done.”

Adolin leaned in, speaking softly. “And what if they are delusions? What if you’re just … getting old.”

It was the first time someone had confronted him with it so directly. “I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I’d considered it, but there was no sense in second-guessing myself. I believe they’re real. I feel they’re real.”

“But—”

“This is not the place for this discussion, son,” Dalinar said. “We can talk of it later, and I will listen to—and consider—your objections. I promise.”

Adolin drew his lips to a line. “Very well.”

“You are right to be worried for our reputation,” Dalinar said, resting an elbow on the table. “I had assumed that Elhokar would have the tact to keep our conversation quiet, but I should have asked him to do so directly. You were right about his reaction, by the way. I realized during the conversation he would never retreat, so I changed to another tactic.”

“Which is?”

“Winning the war,” Dalinar said firmly. “No more scuffling over gemhearts. No more patient, indefinite siege. We find a way to lure a large number of Parshendi onto the Plains, then execute an ambush. If we can kill a large enough number of them, we destroy their capacity to wage war. Failing that, we find a way to strike at their center and kill or capture their leaders. Even a chasmfiend stops fighting when it’s been decapitated. The Vengeance Pact would be fulfilled, and we could go home.”

Adolin took a long moment considering, then he nodded sharply. “All right.”

“No objections?” Dalinar asked. Normally, his elder son had plenty.

“You just asked me to trust you,” Adolin said. “Besides, striking harder at the Parshendi? That’s a tactic I can get behind. We’ll need a good plan, though—a way to counter the very objections you yourself raised six years ago.”

Dalinar nodded, tapping the table with his finger. “Back then, even I thought of us as separate princedoms. If we had attacked the center individually, each army alone, we’d have been surrounded and destroyed. But if all ten armies went together? With our Soulcasters to provide food, with the soldiers carrying portable shelters to set up for highstorms? Over a hundred and fifty thousand troops? Let the Parshendi try to surround us then. With the Soulcasters, we could even create wood for bridges if we had to.”

“That would take a lot of trust,” Adolin said hesitantly. He glanced down the high table, toward Sadeas. His expression darkened. “We’d be stuck out there, together and isolated, for days. If the highprinces started squabbling midmarch, it could be disastrous.”

“We’ll get them to work together first,” Dalinar said. “We’re close, closer than we’ve ever been. Six years, and not a single highprince has allowed his soldiers to skirmish against those of another.”

Except back in Alethkar. There, they still fought meaningless battles over land rights or old offenses. It was ridiculous, but stopping the Alethi from warring was like trying to stop the winds from blowing.

Adolin was nodding. “It’s a good plan, Father. Far better than talk of retreating. They won’t like giving up the plateau skirmishes, though. They like the game of it.”

“I know. But if I can get one or two of them to start pooling soldiers and resources for plateau assaults, it might be a step toward what we’ll need for the future. I’d still rather find a way to lure a large force of Parshendi out onto the Plains and meet them on one of the larger plateaus, but I haven’t yet been able to figure out how to do that. Either way, our separate armies will need to learn to work together.”

“And what do we do about what people are saying about you?”

“I’ll release an official refutation,” Dalinar said. “I’ll have to be careful not to make it sound like the king was in error, while also explaining the truth.”

Adolin sighed. “An official refutation, Father?”

“Yes.”

“Why not fight a duel?” Adolin asked, leaning in, sounding eager. “Some stuffy pronouncement may explain your ideas, but it won’t make people feel them. Pick someone who is naming you coward, challenge them, and remind everyone what a mistake it is to insult the Blackthorn!”

“I cannot,” Dalinar said. “The Codes forbid it for one of my stature.” Adolin probably shouldn’t be dueling either, but Dalinar had not forced a complete prohibition on him. Dueling was his life. Well, that and the women he courted.

“Then charge me with the honor of our house,” Adolin said. “I’ll duel them! I’ll face them with Plate and Blade and show them what your honor means.”

“That would be the same thing as me doing it, son.”

Adolin shook his head, staring at Dalinar. He seemed to be searching for something.

“What?” Dalinar asked.

“I’m trying to decide,” Adolin said. “Which one has changed you most. The visions, the Codes, or that book. If there’s any difference between them.”

“The Codes are separate from the other two,” Dalinar said. “They are a tradition of old Alethkar.”

“No. They’re related, Father. All three. They’re tied together in you, somehow.”

Dalinar thought on that for a moment. Could the lad have a point? “Have I told you the story of the king carrying the boulder?”

“Yes,” Adolin said.

“I have?”

“Twice. And you made me listen to the passage being read another time.”

“Oh. Well, in that same section, there’s a passage about the nature of forcing people to follow you as opposed to letting them follow you. We do too much forcing in Alethkar. Dueling someone because they claim I’m a coward doesn’t change their beliefs. It might stop them from making the claims, but it doesn’t change hearts. I know I’m right about this. You’ll just have to trust me on this as well.”

Adolin sighed, standing. “Well, an official refutation is better than nothing, I guess. At least you haven’t given up on defending our honor entirely.”

“I never will,” Dalinar said. “I just need to be careful. I cannot afford to divide us any further.” He turned back to his meal, stabbing his last piece of chicken with his knife and shoving it in his mouth.

“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 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.