“I’m standing over the body of a brother. I’m weeping. Is that his blood or mine? What have we done?”

—Dated Vevanev, 1173, 107 seconds pre-death. Subject: an out-of-work Veden sailor.

Father,” Adolin said, pacing in Dalinar’s sitting room. “This is insane.”

“That is appropriate,” Dalinar replied dryly. “As—it appears—I am as well.”

“I never claimed you were insane.”

“Actually,” Renarin noted, “I believe that you did.”

Adolin glanced at his brother. Renarin stood beside the hearth, inspecting the new fabrial that had been installed there just a few days ago. The infused ruby, encased in a metal enclosure, glowed softly and gave off a comfortable heat. It was convenient, though it felt wrong to Adolin that no fire lay crackling there.

The three were alone in Dalinar’s sitting room, awaiting the advent of the day’s highstorm. It had been one week since Dalinar had informed his sons of his intention to step down as highprince.

Adolin’s father sat in one of his large, high-backed chairs, hands laced before him, stoic. The warcamps didn’t know of his decision yet—bless the Heralds—but he intended to make the announcement soon. Perhaps at tonight’s feast.

“All right, fine,” Adolin said. “Perhaps I said it. But I didn’t mean it. Or at least I didn’t mean for it to have this effect on you.”

“We had this discussion a week ago, Adolin,” Dalinar said softly.

“Yes, and you promised to think over your decision!”

“I have. My resolve has not wavered.”

Adolin continued to pace; Renarin stood up straight, watching him as he stalked past. I’m a fool, Adolin thought. Of course this is what Father would do. I should have seen it.

“Look,” Adolin said, “just because you might have some problems doesn’t mean you have to abdicate.”

“Adolin, our enemies will use my weakness against us. In fact, you believe that they are already doing so. If I don’t give up the princedom now, matters could grow much worse than they are now.”

“But I don’t want to be highprince,” Adolin complained. “Not yet, at least.”

“Leadership is rarely about what we want, son. I think too few among the Alethi elite realize that fact.”

“And what will happen to you?” Adolin asked, pained. He stopped and looked toward his father.

Dalinar was so firm, even sitting there, contemplating his own madness. Hands clasped before him, wearing a stiff blue uniform with a coat of Kholin blue, silver hair dusting his temples. Those hands of his were thick and callused, his expression determined. Dalinar made a decision and stuck to it, not wavering or debating.

Mad or not, he was what Alethkar needed. And Adolin had—in his haste—done what no warrior on the battlefield had ever been able to do: chop Dalinar Kholin’s legs out from under him and send him away in defeat.

Oh, Stormfather, Adolin thought, stomach twisting in pain. Jezerezeh, Kelek, and Ishi, Heralds above. Let me find a way to right this. Please.

“I will return to Alethkar,” Dalinar said. “Though I hate to leave our army here down a Shardbearer. Could I … but no, I could not give them up.”

“Of course not!” Adolin said, aghast. A Shardbearer, giving up his Shards? It almost never happened unless the Bearer was too weak and sickly to use them.

Dalinar nodded. “I have long worried that our homeland is in danger, now that every single Shardbearer fights out here on the Plains. Well, perhaps this change of winds is a blessing. I will return to Kholinar and aid the queen, make myself useful fighting against border incursions. Perhaps the Reshi and the Vedens will be less likely to strike against us if they know that they’d be facing a full Shardbearer.”

“That’s possible,” Adolin said. “But they could also escalate and start sending a Shardbearer of their own on raids.”

That seemed to worry his father. Jah Keved was the only other kingdom in Roshar that owned a substantial number of Shards, nearly as many as Alethkar. There hadn’t been a direct war between them in centuries. Alethkar had been too divided, and Jah Keved was little better. But if the two kingdoms clashed in force, it would be a war the like of which hadn’t been seen since the days of the Hierocracy.

Distant thunder rumbled outside, and Adolin turned sharply toward Dalinar. His father remained in his chair, staring westward, away from the storm. “We will continue this discussion afterward,” Dalinar said. “For now, you two should tie my arms to the chair.”

Adolin grimaced, but did as he was told without complaint.

Dalinar blinked, looking around. He was on the battlement of a singlewalled fortress. Crafted from large blocks of deep red stone, the wall was sheer and straight. It was built across a rift in the leeward side of a tall rock formation overlooking an open plain of stone, like a wet leaf stuck across a crack in a boulder.

These visions feel so real, Dalinar thought, glancing at the spear he held in his hand and then down at his antiquated uniform: a cloth skirt and leather jerkin. It was hard to remember that he was really sitting in his chair, arms tied down. He couldn’t feel the ropes or hear the highstorm.

He considered waiting out the vision, doing nothing. If this wasn’t real, why should he participate? Yet he didn’t completely believe—couldn’t completely believe—that he was coming up with these delusions on his own. His decision to abdicate to Adolin was motivated by his doubts. Was he mad? Was he misinterpreting? At the very least, he could no longer trust himself. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. In such a situation a man should step down from his authority and sort things through.

Either way, he felt he needed to live these visions, not ignore them. A desperate piece of him still hoped to come to a solution before he had to abdicate formally. He didn’t let that piece gain too much control—a man had to do what was right. But Dalinar would give it this much: He would treat the vision as real while he was part of it. If there were secrets to be found here, only by playing along would he find them.

He looked about him. What was he being shown this time, and why? The spearhead on his weapon was of good steel, though his cap appeared to be bronze. One of the six men with him on the wall wore a breastplate of bronze; two others had poorly patched leather uniforms, sliced and resewn with wide stitches.

The other men lounged about, idly looking out over the wall. Guard duty, Dalinar thought, stepping up and scanning the landscape outside. This rock formation was at the end of an enormous plain—the perfect situation for a fortress. No army could approach without being seen long before its arrival.

The air was cold enough that clumps of ice clung to the stone in shadowed corners. The sunlight did little to dispel the cold, and the weather explained the lack of grass; the blades would be retracted into their holes, awaiting the relief of spring weather.

Dalinar pulled his cloak closer, prompting one of his companions to do the same.

“Storming weather,” the man muttered. “How long’s it going to last? Been eight weeks already.”

Eight weeks? Forty days of winter at once? That was rare. Despite the cold, the other three soldiers looked anything but engaged by their guard duties. One was even dozing.

“Stay alert,” Dalinar chided them.

They glanced at him, the one who had been dozing blinking awake. All three seemed incredulous. One—a tall, red-haired man—scowled. “This from you, Leef?”

Dalinar bit back a retort. Who did they see him as?

The chill air made his breath steam, and from behind him he could hear metal clanging as men worked at forges and anvils below. The gates to the fortress were closed, and the archer towers were manned to the left and right. They were at war, but guard duty was always boring work. It took well trained soldiers to remain alert for hours on end. Perhaps that was why there were so many soldiers here; if the quality of eyes watching could not be assured, then quantity would serve.

However, Dalinar had an advantage. The visions never showed him episodes of idle peace; they threw him into times of conflict and change. Turning points. So it was that, despite dozens of other eyes watching, he was the first to spot it.

“There!” he said, leaning out over the side of the rough-stone crenellation. “What is that?”

The redheaded man raised a hand, shading his eyes. “Nothing. A shadow.”

“No, it’s moving,” said one of the others. “Looks like people. Marching.”

Dalinar’s heart began to thump in anticipation as the red-haired man called the alert. More archers rushed onto the battlement, stringing bows. Soldiers gathered in the ruddy courtyard below. Everything was made of that same red rock, and Dalinar caught one of the men referring to this place as “Feverstone Keep.” He’d never heard of it.

Scouts galloped from the keep on horses. Why didn’t they have outriders already?

“It has to be the rear defense force,” one soldier muttered. “They can’t have gotten through our lines. Not with the Radiants fighting. …”

Radiants? Dalinar stepped closer to listen, but the man gave him a scowl and turned away. Whoever Dalinar was, the others didn’t much care for him.

Apparently, this keep was a fallback position behind the front lines of a war. So either that approaching force was friendly, or the enemy had punched through and sent an advance element to besiege the keep. These were reserves, then, which was probably why they had been left with few horses. They still should have had outriders.

When the scouts finally did gallop back to the keep, they bore white flags. Dalinar glanced at his companions, confirming his suspicions as they relaxed. White meant friends. Yet would he have been sent here if it were that simple? If it was just in his mind, would it fabricate a simple, boring vision when it never had before?

“We need to be alert for a trap,” Dalinar said. “Someone find out what those scouts saw. Did they identify banners only, or did they get a close look?”

The other soldiers—including some of the archers who now filled the wall top—gave him strange looks. Dalinar cursed softly, glancing back out at the shadowy oncoming force. He had a foreboding itch in the back of his skull. Ignoring the odd looks, he hefted his spear and ran down the walkway of the wall top, reaching a set of stairs. They were built in switchbacks, running in zigzags straight down the tall wall, with no railing. He’d been on such fortifications before, and knew how to keep his eyes focused on the steps to avoid vertigo.

He reached the bottom and—spear resting on his shoulder—struck out to find someone in charge. The buildings of Feverstone Keep were blocky and utilitarian, built up against one another along the rock walls of the natural rift. Most had square raincatchers on top. With good food stores—or, if lucky, a Soulcaster—such a fortification could withstand a siege for years.

He couldn’t read the rank insignias, but he could recognize an officer when he saw one standing in a blood-red cloak with a group of honor guards. He had no mail, just a shiny bronze breastplate over leather, and was conferring with one of the scouts. Dalinar hurried up.

Only then did he see that the man’s eyes were dark brown. That gave Dalinar a shock of incredulity. Those around him treated the man like a brightlord.

“… the Order of the Stonewards, my lord,” the still-mounted scout was saying. “And a large number of Windrunners. All on foot.”

“But why?” the darkeyed officer demanded. “Why are Radiants coming here? They should be fighting the devils on the front lines!”

“My lord,” the scout said, “our orders were to return as soon as we identified them.”

“Well, go back and find out why they’re here!” the officer bellowed, causing the scout to flinch, then turn to ride away.

The Radiants. They were usually connected to Dalinar’s visions in one way or another. As the officer began to call commands to his attendants, telling them to prep empty bunkers for the knights, Dalinar followed the scout toward the wall. Men crowded near the kill slits there, peering out at the plain. Like those above, these wore motley uniforms that looked pieced together. They weren’t a ragged bunch, but were obviously wearing secondhand leavings.

The scout rode through a sally port as Dalinar entered the shadow of the enormous wall, walking up to the back of a crowd of soldiers. “What is it?” he asked.

“The Radiants,” one of the men said. “They’ve broken into a run.”

“It’s almost like they’re going to attack,” said another. He chuckled at how ridiculous that sounded, though there was an edge of uncertainty to his voice.

What? Dalinar thought, anxious. “Let me through.”

Surprisingly, the men parted. As Dalinar pushed by, he could sense their confusion. He’d given the command with the authority of a highprince and a lighteyes, and they’d obeyed instinctively. Now that they saw him, they were uncertain. What was this simple guardsman doing ordering them about?

He didn’t give them a chance to question him. He climbed onto the platform against the wall, where a rectangular kill slit looked through the wall and onto the plain. It was too small for a man to get through, but wide enough for archers to fire out. Through it, Dalinar saw that the approaching soldiers had formed a distinct line. Men and women in gleaming Shardplate charged forward. The scout pulled to a halt, looking at the charging Shardbearers. They ran shoulder to shoulder, not a single one out of place. Like a crystalline wave. As they drew closer, Dalinar could see that their Plate was unpainted, but it glowed either blue or amber at the joints and across glyphs at the front, as with other Radiants he’d seen in his visions.

“They don’t have their Shardblades out,” Dalinar said. “That’s a good sign.”

The scout outside backed his horse up. There looked to be a good two hundred Shardbearers out there. Alethkar owned some twenty Blades, Jah Keved a similar number. If one added up all the rest in the world, there might be enough total to equal the two powerful Vorin kingdoms. That meant, so far as he knew, there were less than a hundred Blades in all of the world. And here he saw two hundred Shardbearers gathered in one army. It was mind-numbing.

The Radiants slowed, falling into a trot, then a walk. The soldiers around Dalinar grew still. The leading Radiants stopped in a line, immobile. Suddenly, others began to fall from the sky. They hit with the sound of rock cracking, puffs of Stormlight blossoming from their figures. These all glowed blue.

Soon, there were some three hundred Radiants out on the field. They began summoning their Blades. The weapons appeared in their hands, like fog forming and condensing. It was done in silence. Their visors were down.

“If them charging without swords was a good sign,” whispered one of the men beside Dalinar, “then what does this mean?”

A suspicion began to rise within Dalinar, the horror that he might know what this vision was about to show him. The scout, at last unnerved, turned his horse and galloped back to the keep, screaming for the door to be opened to him. As if a little wood and stone would be a protection against hundreds of Shardbearers. A single man with Plate and Blade was almost an army unto himself, and that wasn’t accounting for the strange powers these people had.

The soldiers pulled the sally port open for the scout. Making a snap decision, Dalinar leaped down and charged to the opening. Behind, the officer Dalinar had seen earlier was clearing a path for himself to walk up to the kill slit.

Dalinar reached the open door, darting through it just after the scout charged back into the courtyard. Men called after Dalinar, terrified. He ignored them, running out onto the open plain. The expansive, straight wall stretched above him, like a highway up to the sun itself. The Radiants were still distant, though they’d stopped within bowshot. Transfixed by the beautiful figures, Dalinar slowed, then stopped about a hundred feet away.

One knight stepped ahead of his companions, his brilliant cape a rich blue. His Shardblade of rippling steel had intricate carvings along the center. He held it toward the keep for a moment.

Then he drove it point-first into the stone plain. Dalinar blinked. The Shardbearer removed his helm, exposing a handsome head with blond hair and pale skin, light as that of a man from Shinovar. He tossed the helm to the ground beside his Blade. It rolled slightly as the Shardbearer made fists in his gauntlets, arms at his sides. He opened his palms wide, and the gauntlets fell free to the rocky ground.

He turned, his Shardplate falling off his body—breastplate dropping free, greaves slipping off. Underneath, he wore a rumpled blue uniform. He stepped free of his bootlike sabatons and continued to walk away, Shardplate and Shardblade—the most precious treasures any man could own—tossed to the ground and abandoned like refuse.

The others began to follow suit. Hundreds of men and women, driving Shardblades into the stone and then removing their Plate. The sound of metal hitting stone came like rain. Then like thunder.

Dalinar found himself running forward. The door behind him opened and some curious soldiers left the keep. Dalinar reached the Shardblades. They sprouted from the rock like glittering silver trees, a forest of weapons. They glowed softly in a way his own Shardblade never had, but as he dashed among them, their light started to fade.

A terrible feeling struck him. A sense of immense tragedy, of pain and betrayal. Stopping where he stood, he gasped, hand to his chest. What was happening? What was that dreadful feeling, that screaming he swore he could almost hear?

The Radiants. They walked away from their discarded weapons. They all seemed individuals now, each walking alone despite the crowd. Dalinar charged after them, tripping over discarded breastplates and chunks of armor. He finally stumbled free of it all.

“Wait!” he called.

None of them turned.

He could now see others in the distance, far off. A crowd of soldiers, not wearing Shardplate, waiting for the Radiants to return. Who were they, and why hadn’t they come forward? Dalinar caught up to the Radiants—they weren’t walking very quickly—and grabbed one by the arm. The man turned; his skin was tan and his hair dark, like an Alethi. His eyes were of the palest blue. Unnaturally so, in fact—the irises were nearly white.

“Please,” Dalinar said. “Tell me why you are doing this.”

The former Shardbearer pulled his arm free and continued to walk away. Dalinar cursed, then ran into the midst of the Shardbearers. They were of all races and nationalities, dark skin and light, some with white Thaylen eyebrows, others with the skin ripples of the Selay. They walked with eyes forward, not speaking to one another, steps slow but resolute.

“Will someone tell me why?” Dalinar bellowed. “This is it, isn’t it? The Day of Recreance, the day you betrayed mankind. But why?” None of them spoke. It was as if he didn’t exist.

People spoke of betrayal, of the day the Knights Radiant turned their backs on their fellow men. What were they fighting, and why had they stopped? Two orders of knights were mentioned, Dalinar thought. But there were ten orders. What of the other eight?

Dalinar fell to his knees in the sea of solemn individuals. “Please. I must know.” Nearby, some of the keep’s soldiers had reached the Shardblades—but rather than chasing after the Radiants, these men were cautiously pulling the Blades free. A few officers scrambled out of the keep, calling for the Blades to be put down. They were soon outnumbered by men who began boiling out of side gates and rushing toward the weapons.

“They are the first,” a voice said.

Dalinar looked up to see that one of the knights had stopped beside him. It was the man who looked Alethi. He looked over his shoulder at the crowd gathering around the Blades. Men had begun to scream at one another, everyone scrambling to get a Blade before they were all claimed.

“They are the first,” the Radiant said, turning to Dalinar. Dalinar recognized the depth of that voice. It was the voice that always spoke to him in these visions. “They were the first, and they were also the last.”

“Is this the Day of Recreance?” Dalinar asked.

“These events will go down in history,” the Radiant said. “They will be infamous. You will have many names for what happened here.”

“But why?” Dalinar asked. “Please. Why did they abandon their duty?”

The figure seemed to study him. “I have said that cannot be of much help to you. The Night of Sorrows will come, and the True Desolation. The Everstorm.”

“Then answer my questions!” Dalinar said.

“Read the book. Unite them.”

“The book? The Way of Kings?”

The figure turned and walked from him, joining the other Radiants as they crossed the stone plain, walking toward places unknown.

Dalinar looked back at the melee of soldiers rushing for Blades. Many had already been claimed. There weren’t enough Blades for everyone, and some had begun raising theirs up, using them to fend off those who got too close. As he watched, a bellowing officer with a Blade was attacked by two men behind him.

The glow from within the weapons had completely vanished.

The killing of that officer made others bold. Other skirmishes started, men scrambling to attack those who had Blades, hoping to get one. Eyes began to burn. Screams, shouts, death. Dalinar watched until he found himself in his quarters, tied to his chair. Renarin and Adolin watched nearby, looking tense.

Dalinar blinked, listening to the rain of the passing highstorm on the roof. “I’ve returned,” he said to his sons. “You may calm yourselves.” Adolin helped untie the ropes while Renarin stood up and fetched Dalinar a cup of orange wine.

Once Dalinar was free, Adolin stood back. The youth folded his arms. Renarin came back, his face pale. He looked to be having one of his episodes of weakness; indeed, his legs were trembling. As soon as Dalinar took the cup, the youth sat down in a chair and rested his head in his hands.

Dalinar sipped the sweet wine. He had seen wars in his visions before. He had seen deaths and monsters, greatshells and nightmares. And yet, for some reason, this one disturbed him more than any. He found his own hand shaking as he raised the cup for a second sip.

Adolin was still looking at him.

“Am I that bad to watch?” Dalinar asked.

“The gibberish you speak is unnerving, Father,” Renarin said. “Unearthly, strange. Skewed, like a wooden building pushed to a slant by the wind.”

“You thrash about,” Adolin said. “You nearly tipped over the chair. I had to hold it steady until you stilled.”

Dalinar stood up, sighing as he walked over to refill his cup. “And you still think I don’t need to abdicate?”

“The episodes are containable,” Adolin said, though he sounded disturbed. “My point was never to get you to abdicate. I just didn’t want you relying upon the delusions to make decisions about our house’s future. So long as you accept that what you see isn’t real, we can move on. No reason for you to give up your seat.”

Dalinar poured the wine. He looked eastward, toward the wall, away from Adolin and Renarin. “I don’t accept that what I see isn’t real.”

“What?” Adolin said. “But I thought I convinced—”

“I accept that I’m no longer reliable,” Dalinar said. “And that there’s a chance I might be going mad. I accept that something is happening to me.” He turned around. “When I first began seeing these visions, I believed them to be from the Almighty. You have convinced me that I may have been too hasty in my judgment. I don’t know enough to trust them. I could be mad. Or they could be supernatural without being of the Almighty.”

“How could that happen?” Adolin said, frowning.

“The Old Magic,” Renarin said softly, still sitting.

Dalinar nodded.

“What?” Adolin said pointedly. “The Old Magic is a myth.”

“Unfortunately, it is not,” Dalinar said, then took another drink of the cool wine. “I know this for a fact.”

“Father,” Renarin said. “For the Old Magic to have affected you, you’d have had to travel to the West and seek it. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, ashamed. The empty place in his memories where his wife had once existed had never seemed as obvious to him as it did at that moment. He tended to ignore it, with good reason. She’d vanished completely, and it was sometimes difficult for him to remember that he had been married.

“These visions are not in line with what I’ve understood about the Nightwatcher,” Renarin said. “Most consider her to be just some kind of powerful spren. Once you’ve sought her out and been given your reward and your curse, she’s supposed to leave you alone. When did you seek her?”

“It’s been many years now,” Dalinar said.

“Then this probably isn’t due to her influence,” Renarin said.

“I agree,” Dalinar said.

“But what did you ask for?” Adolin said, frowning.

“My curse and boon are my own, son,” Dalinar said. “The specifics are not important.”

“But—”

“I agree with Renarin,” Dalinar said, interrupting. “This is probably not the Nightwatcher.”

“All right, fine. But why bring it up?”

“Because, Adolin,” Dalinar said, feeling exasperated. “I don’t know what is happening to me. These visions seem far too detailed to be products of my mind. But your arguments made me think. I could be wrong. Or you could be wrong, and it could be the Almighty. Or it could be something entirely different. We don’t know, and that is why it is dangerous for me to be left in command.”

“Well, what I said still holds,” Adolin said stubbornly. “We can contain it.”

“No, we can’t,” Dalinar said. “Just because it has come only during highstorms in the past doesn’t mean it couldn’t expand to other times of stress. What if I were struck with an episode on the battlefield?” That was the very same reason they didn’t let Renarin ride into battle.

“If that happens,” Adolin said, “we’ll deal with it. For now, we could just ignore—”

Dalinar threw a hand up into the air. “Ignore? I cannot ignore something like this. The visions, the book, the things I feel—they’re changing every aspect of me. How can I rule if I do not follow my conscience? If I continue as highprince, I second-guess my every decision. Either I decide to trust myself, or I step down. I cannot stomach the thought of something in-between.”

The room fell silent.

“So what do we do?” Adolin said.

“We make the choice,” Dalinar said. “I make the choice.”

“Step down or keep heeding the delusions,” Adolin spat. “Either way we’re letting them rule us.”

“And you have a better option?” Dalinar demanded. “You’ve been quick to complain, Adolin, which seems a habit of yours. But I don’t see you offering a legitimate alternative.”

“I gave you one,” Adolin said. “Ignore the visions and move on!”

“I said a legitimate option!”

The two stared at one another. Dalinar fought to keep his anger contained. In many ways, he and Adolin were too similar. They understood one another, and that enabled them to push in places that hurt.

“Well,” Renarin said, “what if we proved whether or not the visions were true?”

Dalinar glanced at him. “What?”

“You say these dreams are detailed,” Renarin said, leaning forward with hands clasped in front of him. “What, exactly, do you see?”

Dalinar hesitated, then gulped down the rest of his wine. For once he wished he had intoxicating violet instead of orange. “The visions are often of the Knights Radiant. At the end of each episode, someone—I think one of the Heralds—comes to me and commands me to unite the highprinces of Alethkar.”

The room fell silent, Adolin looking disturbed, Renarin just sitting quietly.

“Today, I saw the Day of Recreance,” Dalinar continued. “The Radiants abandoned their Shards and walked away. The Plate and Blades … faded somehow when they were abandoned. It seems such an odd detail to have seen.” He looked at Adolin. “If these visions are fantasies, then I am a great deal more clever than I once thought myself.”

“Do you remember any specifics we could check on?” Renarin asked. “Names? Locations? Events that might be traced in history?”

“This last one was of a place called Feverstone Keep,” Dalinar said.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Adolin said.

“Feverstone Keep,” Dalinar repeated. “In my vision, there was some kind of war going on near there. The Radiants had been fighting on the front lines. They withdrew to this fortress, then abandoned their Shards there.”

“Perhaps we could find something in history,” Renarin said. “Proof that either this keep existed or that the Radiants didn’t do what you saw there. Then we’d know, wouldn’t we? If the dreams are delusions or truth?”

Dalinar found himself nodding. Proving them had never occurred to him, in part because he had assumed they were real at the start. Once he’d started questioning, he’d been more inclined to keep the nature of the visions hidden and silent. But if he knew that he was seeing real events … well, that would at least rule out the possibility of madness. It wouldn’t solve everything, but it would help a great deal.

“I don’t know,” Adolin said, more skeptical. “Father, you’re talking about times before the Hierocracy. Will we be able to find anything in the histories?”

“There are histories from the time when the Radiants lived,” Renarin said. “That’s not as far back as the shadowdays or the Heraldic Epochs. We could ask Jasnah. Isn’t this what she does? As a Veristitalian?”

Dalinar looked at Adolin. “It sounds like it’s worth a try, son.”

“Maybe,” Adolin said. “But we can’t take the existence of a single place as proof. You could have heard of this Feverstone Keep, and therefore included it.”

“Well,” Renarin said, “that may be true. But if what Father sees are just delusions, then certainly we’ll be able to prove some parts of them untrue. It seems impossible that every detail he imagines is one that he got from a story or history. Some aspects of the delusions would have to be pure fancy.”

Adolin nodded slowly. “I … You’re right, Renarin. Yes, it’s a good plan.”

“We need to get one of my scribes,” Dalinar said. “So I can dictate the vision I just had while it is fresh.”

“Yes,” Renarin said. “The more details we have, the easier it will be to prove—or disprove—the visions.”

Dalinar grimaced, setting aside his cup and walking over to the others. He sat down. “All right, but who would we use to record the dictation?”

“You have a great number of clerks, Father,” Renarin said.

“And they’re all either wife or daughter to one of my officers,” Dalinar said. How could he explain? It was painful enough for him to expose weakness to his sons. If news of what he saw got around to his officers, it could weaken morale. There might come a time to reveal these things to his men, but he would need to do so carefully. And he’d much rather know for himself whether or not he was mad before he approached others.

“Yes,” Adolin said, nodding—though Renarin still looked perplexed. “I understand. But, Father, we can’t afford to wait for Jasnah to return. It could be months yet.”

“Agreed.” Dalinar said. He sighed. There was another option. “Renarin, send a runner for your aunt Navani.”

Adolin glanced at Dalinar, raising an eyebrow. “It’s a good idea. But I thought you didn’t trust her.”

“I trust her to keep her word,” Dalinar said, resigned. “And to keep confidence. I told her of my plans to abdicate, and she didn’t tell a soul.” Navani was excellent at keeping secrets. Far better than the women of his court. He trusted them to an extent, but keeping a secret like this would require someone supremely exacting in their words and thoughts.

That meant Navani. She would probably find a way to manipulate him using the knowledge, but at least the secret would be safe from his men.

“Go, Renarin,” Dalinar said.

Renarin nodded and stood. He had apparently recovered from his fit, and walked surefooted to the door. As he left, Adolin approached Dalinar. “Father, what will you do if we prove that I’m right, and it’s just your own mind?”

“A part of me wishes for that to happen,” Dalinar said, watching the door swing closed after Renarin. “I fear madness, but at least it is something familiar, something that can be dealt with. I will give you the princedom, then seek help in Kharbranth. But if these things are not delusions, I face another decision. Do I accept what they tell me or not? It may very well be better for Alethkar if I prove to be mad. It will be easier, at the least.”

Adolin considered that, his brow furrowed, his jaw tense. “And Sadeas? He seems to be nearing the completion of his investigation. What do we do?”

It was a legitimate question. Troubles over Dalinar trusting the visions in relation to Sadeas had been what had drawn Dalinar and Adolin to argument in the first place.

Unite them. That wasn’t just a command from the visions. It had been Gavilar’s dream. A unified Alethkar. Had Dalinar let that dream—combined with guilt over failing his brother—drive him to construct supernatural rationalizations for seeking his brother’s will?

He felt uncertain. He hated feeling uncertain.

“Very well,” Dalinar said. “I give you leave to prepare for the worst, just in case Sadeas moves against us. Prepare our officers and call back the companies sent to patrol for bandits. If Sadeas denounces me as having tried to kill Elhokar, we will lock down our warcamp and go on alert. I don’t intend to let him bring me in for execution.”

Adolin looked relieved. “Thank you, Father.”

“Hope it doesn’t come to that, son,” Dalinar said. “The moment Sadeas and I go to war in earnest, Alethkar as a nation will shatter. Ours are the two princedoms that uphold the king, and if we turn to strife, the others will either pick sides or turn to wars of their own.”

Adolin nodded, but Dalinar sat back, disturbed. I’m sorry, he thought to whatever force was sending the visions. But I have to be wise.

In a way, this seemed like a second test to him. The visions had told him to trust Sadeas. Well, he would see what happened.

“… and then it faded,” Dalinar said. “After that, I found myself back here.”

Navani raised her pen, looking thoughtful. It hadn’t taken him long to talk through the vision. She’d scribed expertly, picking out details from him, knowing when to prod for more. She hadn’t said a thing about the irregularity of the request, nor had she seemed amused by his desire to write down one of his delusions. She’d been businesslike and careful. She sat at his writing desk now, hair bound up in curls and crossed with four hair-spikes. Her dress was red, matched by her lip paint, and her beautiful violet eyes were curious.

Stormfather, Dalinar thought, but she’s beautiful.

“Well?” Adolin asked. He stood leaning against the door out of the chamber. Renarin had gone off to collect a highstorm damage report. The lad needed practice at that sort of activity.

Navani raised an eyebrow. “What was that, Adolin?”

“What do you think, Aunt?” Adolin asked.

“I have never heard of any of these places or events,” Navani said. “But I believe you weren’t expecting me to know of them. Didn’t you say you wished me to contact Jasnah?”

“Yes,” Adolin said. “But surely you have an analysis.”

“I reserve judgment, dear,” Navani said, standing up and folding the paper by pressing down with her safehand, holding it in place while she creased the fold tight. She smiled, walking by Adolin and patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s see what Jasnah says before we do any analyzing, shall we?”

“I suppose,” Adolin said. He sounded dissatisfied.

“I spent some time talking with that young lady of yours yesterday,” Navani noted to him. “Danlan? I think you’ve made a wise choice. She’s got a mind in that head of hers.”

Adolin perked up. “You like her?”

“Quite a bit,” Navani said. “I also discovered that she is very fond of avramelons. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t, actually.”

“Good. I would have hated to do all that work to find you a means of pleasing her, only to discover that you already knew it. I took the liberty of purchasing a basket of the melons on my way here. You’ll find them in the antechamber, watched over by a bored soldier who didn’t look like he was doing anything important. If you were to visit her with them this afternoon, I think you’d find yourself very well received.”

Adolin hesitated. He probably knew that Navani was deflecting him from worrying over Dalinar. However, he relaxed, then started smiling. “Well, that might make for a pleasant change, considering events lately.”

“I thought it might,” Navani said. “I’d suggest going soon; those melons are perfectly ripe. Besides, I wish to speak with your father.”

Adolin kissed Navani fondly on the cheek. “Thank you, Mashala.” He allowed her to get away with some things that others could not; around his favored aunt, he was much like a child again. Adolin’s smile widened as he made his way out the door.

Dalinar found himself smiling as well. Navani knew his son well. His smile didn’t last long, however, as he realized that Adolin’s departure left him alone with Navani. He stood up. “What is it you wished to ask of me?” he asked.

“I didn’t say I wanted to ask anything of you, Dalinar,” she said. “I just wanted to talk. We are family, after all. We don’t spend enough time together.”

“If you wish to speak, I shall fetch some soldiers to accompany us.” He glanced at the antechamber outside. Adolin had shut the second door at the end, closing off his view of his guards—and their view of him.

“Dalinar,” she said, walking up to him. “That would kind of defeat the point of sending Adolin away. I was after some privacy.”

He felt himself growing stiff. “You should go now.”

“Must I?”

“Yes. People will think this is inappropriate. They will talk.”

“You imply that something inappropriate could happen, then?” Navani said, sounding almost girlishly eager.

“Navani, you are my sister.”

“We aren’t related by blood,” she replied. “In some kingdoms, a union between us would be mandated by tradition, once your brother died.”

“We aren’t in other countries. This is Alethkar. There are rules.”

“I see,” she said, strolling closer to him. “And what will you do if I don’t go? Will you call for help? Have me hauled away?”

“Navani,” he said sufferingly. “Please. Don’t do this again. I’m tired.”

“Excellent. That might make it easier to get what I want.”

He closed his eyes. I can’t take this right now. The vision, the confrontation with Adolin, his own uncertain emotions … He didn’t know what to make of things any longer.

Testing the visions was a good decision, but he couldn’t shake the disorientation he felt from being unable to decide what to do next. He liked to make decisions and stick to them. He couldn’t do that.

It grated on him.

“I thank you for your scribing and for your willingness to keep this quiet,” he said, opening his eyes. “But I really must ask you to leave now, Navani.”

“Oh, Dalinar,” she said softly. She was close enough that he could smell her perfume. Stormfather, but she was beautiful. Seeing her brought to his mind thoughts of days long past, when he’d desired her so strongly that he’d nearly grown to hate Gavilar for winning her affection.

“Can’t you just relax,” she asked him, “just for a little while?”

“The rules—”

“Everyone else—”

“I cannot be everyone else!” Dalinar said, more sharply than he intended. “If I ignore our code and ethics, what am I, Navani? The other highprinces and lighteyes deserve recrimination for what they do, and I have let them know it. If I abandon my principles, then I become something far worse than they. A hypocrite!”

She froze.

“Please,” he said, tense with emotion. “Just go. Do not taunt me today.”

She hesitated, then walked away without a word.

She would never know how much he wished her to have made one more objection. In his state, he likely would have been unable to argue further. Once the door shut, he let himself sit down in his chair, exhaling. He closed his eyes.

Almighty above, he thought. Please. Just let me know what I am to do.