“The burdens of nine become mine. Why must I carry the madness of them all? Oh, Almighty, release me.”

—Dated Palaheses, 1173, unknown seconds pre-death. Subject: a wealthy lighteyes. Sample collected secondhand.

The cold night air threatened that a stretch of winter might soon be coming. Dalinar wore a long, thick uniform coat over trousers and shirt. It buttoned stiffly up the chest and to the collar, and was long in the back and on the sides, coming down to his ankles, flowing at the waist like a cloak. In earlier years, it might have been worn with a takama, though Dalinar had never liked the skirtlike garments.

The purpose of the uniform was not fashion or tradition, but to distinguish him easily for those who followed him. He wouldn’t have nearly the problem with the other lighteyes if they would at least wear their colors.

He stepped onto the king’s feasting island. Stands had been set up at the sides where the braziers normally stood, each one bearing one of those new fabrials that gave off heat. The stream between the islands had slowed to a trickle; ice had stopped melting in the highlands.

Attendance at the feast tonight was small, though that was mostly manifest on the four islands that were not the king’s. Where there was access to Elhokar and the highprinces, people would attend even if the feast were held in the middle of a highstorm. Dalinar walked down the central pathway, and Navani—sitting at a women’s dining table—caught his eyes. She turned away, perhaps still remembering his abrupt words to her at their last meeting.

Wit wasn’t at his customary place insulting those who walked onto the king’s island; in fact, he wasn’t to be seen at all. Not surprising, Dalinar thought. Wit didn’t like to grow predictable; he’d spent several recent feasts on his pedestal doling out insults. Likely he felt he’d played out that tactic.

All nine other highprinces were in attendance. Their treatment of Dalinar had grown stiff and cold since refusing his requests to fight together. As if they were offended by the mere offer. Lesser lighteyes made alliances, but the highprinces were like kings themselves. Other highprinces were rivals, to be kept at arm’s length.

Dalinar sent a servant to fetch him food and sat down at the table. His arrival had been delayed while he took reports from the companies he’d called back, so he was one of the last to eat. Most of the others had turned to mingling. To the right, an officer’s daughter was playing a serene flute melody to a group of onlookers. To the left, three women had set up sketchpads and were each drawing the same man. Women were known to challenge each other to duels in the way of men with Shardblades, though they rarely used the word. These were always “friendly competitions” or “games of talent.”

His food arrived, steamed stagm—a brownish tuber that grew in deep puddles—atop a bed of boiled tallew. The grain was puffed with water, and the entire meal was drenched in a thick, peppery, brown gravy. He slid out his knife and sliced a disk off the end of the stagm. Using his knife to spread tallew over the top, he grasped the vegetable disk between two fingers and began to eat. It had been prepared both spicy and hot this night, probably because of the chill, and tasted good as he chewed, the steam from his plate fogging the air in front of him.

So far, Jasnah had not replied regarding his vision, though Navani claimed she might be able to find something on her own. She was a renowned scholar herself, though her interests had always been more in fabrials. He glanced at her. Was he a fool to offend her as he had? Would it make her use the knowledge of his visions against him?

No, he thought. She wouldn’t be that petty. Navani did seem to care for him, though her affection was inappropriate.

The chairs around him were left empty. He was becoming a pariah, first because of his talk of the Codes, then because of his attempts to get the highprinces to work with him, and finally because of Sadeas’s investigation. No wonder Adolin was worried.

Suddenly, someone slid right into the seat beside Dalinar, wearing a black cloak against the chill. It wasn’t one of the highprinces. Who would dare—

The figure lowered his hood, revealing Wit’s hawklike face. All lines and peaks, with a sharp nose and jaw, delicate eyebrows, and keen eyes. Dalinar sighed, waiting for the inevitable stream of too-clever quips.

Wit, however, didn’t speak. He inspected the crowd, his expression intense.

Yes, Dalinar thought. Adolin is right about this one too. Dalinar himself had judged the man too harshly in the past. He was not the fool some of his predecessors had been. Wit continued in silence, and Dalinar decided that—perhaps—the man’s prank this night was to sit down beside people and unnerve them. It wasn’t much of a prank, but Dalinar often missed the point of what Wit did. Perhaps it was terribly clever if one had the mind for it. Dalinar returned to his meal.

“Winds are changing,” Wit whispered.

Dalinar glanced at him.

Wit’s eyes narrowed, and he scanned the night sky. “It’s been happening for months now. A whirlwind. Shifting and churning, blowing us round and around. Like a world spinning, but we can’t see it because we’re too much a part of it.”

“World spinning. What foolishness is this?”

“The foolishness of men who care, Dalinar,” Wit said. “And the brilliance of those who do not. The second depend on the first—but also exploit the first—while the first misunderstand the second, hoping that the second are more like the first. And all of their games steal our time. Second by second.”

“Wit,” Dalinar said with a sigh. “I haven’t the mind for this tonight. I’m sorry if I’m missing your intent, but I have no idea what you mean.”

“I know,” Wit said, then looked directly at him. “Adonalsium.”

Dalinar frowned more deeply. “What?”

Wit searched his face. “Have you ever heard the term, Dalinar?”

“Ado … what?”

“Nothing,” Wit said. He seemed preoccupied, unlike his usual self. “Nonsense. Balderdash. Figgldygrak. Isn’t it odd that gibberish words are often the sounds of other words, cut up and dismembered, then stitched into something like them—yet wholly unlike them at the same time?”

Dalinar frowned.

“I wonder if you could do that to a man. Pull him apart, emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk. Then combine them back together into something else, like a Dysian Aimian. If you do put a man together like that, Dalinar, be sure to name him Gibberish, after me. Or perhaps Gibletish.”

“Is that your name, then? Your real name?”

“No, my friend,” Wit said, standing up. “I’ve abandoned my real name. But when next we meet, I’ll think of a clever one for you to call me. Until then, Wit will suffice—or if you must, you may call me Hoid. Watch yourself; Sadeas is planning a revelation at the feast tonight, though I know not what it is. Farewell. I’m sorry I didn’t insult you more.”

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

“I must. I hope to return. I’ll do so if I’m not killed. Probably will anyway. Apologize to your nephew for me.”

“He won’t be happy,” Dalinar said. “He’s fond of you.”

“Yes, it’s one of his more admirable traits,” Wit said. “Alongside that of paying me, letting me eat his expensive food, and giving me opportunity to make sport of his friends. The cosmere, unfortunately, takes precedence over free food. Watch yourself, Dalinar. Life becomes dangerous, and you’re at the center of it.”

Wit nodded once, then ducked into the night. He put his hood up, and soon Dalinar couldn’t separate him from the darkness.

Dalinar turned back to his meal. Sadeas is planning a revelation at the feast tonight, though I know not what it is. Wit was rarely wrong—though he was almost always odd. Was he really leaving, or would he still be in camp the next morning, laughing at the prank he had played on Dalinar?

No, Dalinar thought. That wasn’t a prank. He waved over a master-servant in black and white. “Fetch my elder son for me.”

The servant bowed and withdrew. Dalinar ate the rest of his food in silence, glancing occasionally at Sadeas and Elhokar. They weren’t at the dining table any longer, and so Sadeas’s wife had joined them. Ialai was a curvaceous woman who reportedly dyed her hair. That indicated foreign blood in her family’s past—Alethi hair always bred true, proportionate to how much Alethi blood you had. Foreign blood would mean stray hairs of another color. Ironically, mixed blood was far more common in lighteyes than darkeyes. Darkeyes rarely married foreigners, but the Alethi houses often needed alliances or money from outside.

Food finished, Dalinar stepped down from the king’s table onto the island proper. The woman was still playing her melancholy song. She was quite good. A few moments later, Adolin strode onto the king’s island. He hurried over to Dalinar. “Father? You sent for me?”

“Stay close. Wit told me that Sadeas plans to make a storm of something tonight.”

Adolin’s expression darkened. “Time to go, then.”

“No. We need to let this play out.”

“Father—”

“But you may prepare,” Dalinar said softly. “Just in case. You invited officers of our guard to the feast tonight?”

“Yes,” Adolin said. “Six of them.”

“They have my further invitation to the king’s island. Pass the word. What of the King’s Guard?”

“I’ve made sure that some of the ones guarding the island tonight are among those most loyal to you.” Adolin nodded toward a space in the darkness to the side of the feasting basin. “I think we should position them over there. It’ll make a good line of retreat in case the king tries to have you arrested.”

“I still don’t think it will come to that.”

“You can’t be sure. Elhokar allowed this investigation in the first place, after all. He’s growing more and more paranoid.”

Dalinar glanced over at the king. The younger man almost always wore his Shardplate these days, though he didn’t have it on now. He seemed continually on edge, glancing over his shoulder, eyes darting from side to side.

“Let me know when the men are in position,” Dalinar said.

Adolin nodded, walking away quickly.

The situation gave Dalinar little stomach for mingling. Still, standing alone and looking awkward was no better, so he made his way to where Highprince Hatham was speaking with a small group of lighteyes beside the main firepit. They nodded to Dalinar as he joined them; regardless of the way they were treating him in general, they would never turn him away at a feast like this. That simply wasn’t done to one of his rank.

“Ah, Brightlord Dalinar,” Hatham said in his smooth, overly polite way. The long-necked, slender man wore a ruffled green shirt underneath a robelike coat, with a darker green silk scarf around the neck. A faintly glowing ruby sat on each of his fingers; they’d each had some of their Stormlight drained away by a fabrial made for the purpose.

Of Hatham’s four companions, two were lesser lighteyes and one was a short white-robed ardent Dalinar didn’t know. The last was a red-gloved Natan man with bluish skin and stark white hair, two locks dyed a deep red and braided down to hang alongside his cheeks. He was a visiting dignitary; Dalinar had seen him at the feasts. What was his name again?

“Tell me, Brightlord Dalinar,” Hatham said. “Have you been paying much attention to the conflict between the Tukari and the Emuli?”

“It’s a religious conflict, isn’t it?” Dalinar asked. Both were Makabaki kingdoms, on the southern coast where trade was plentiful and profitable.

“Religious?” the Natan man said. “No, I wouldn’t say that. All conflicts are essentially economic in nature.”

Au-nak, Dalinar recalled. That’s his name. He spoke with an airy accent, overextending all of his “ah” and “oh” sounds.

“Money is behind every war,” Au-nak continued. “Religion is but an excuse. Or perhaps a justification.”

“There’s a difference?” the ardent said, obviously taking offense at Au-nak’s tone.

“Of course,” Au-nak said. “An excuse is what you make after the deed is done, while a justification is what you offer before.”

“I would say an excuse is something you claim, but do not believe, Nak-ali.” Hatham was using the high form of Au-nak’s name. “While a justification is something you actually believe.” Why such respect? The Natan must have something that Hatham wanted.

“Regardless,” Au-nak said. “This particular war is over the city of Sesemalex Dar, which the Emuli have made their capital. It’s an excellent trade city, and the Tukari want it.”

“I’ve heard of Sesemalex Dar,” Dalinar said, rubbing his chin. “The city is quite spectacular, filling rifts cut into the stone.”

“Indeed,” Au-nak said. “There’s a particular composition of the stone there that lets water drain. The design is amazing. It’s obviously one of the Dawncities.”

“My wife would have something to say on that,” Hatham said. “She makes the Dawncities her study.”

“The city’s pattern is central to the Emuli religion,” the ardent said. “They claim it is their ancestral homeland, a gift to them from the Heralds. And the Tukari are led by that god-priest of theirs, Tezim. So the conflict is religious in nature.”

“And if the city weren’t such a fantastic port,” Au-nak said, “would they be as persistent about proclaiming the city’s religious significance? I think not. They’re pagans, after all, so we can’t presume their religion has any real importance.”

Talk of the Dawncities had been popular lately among the lighteyes—the idea that certain cities could trace their origins back to the Dawnsingers. Perhaps …

“Have any of you heard of a place known as Feverstone Keep?” Dalinar asked.

The others shook their heads; even Au-nak had nothing to say.

“Why?” Hatham asked.

“Just curious.”

The conversation continued, though Dalinar let his attention wander back toward Elhokar and his circle of attendants. When would Sadeas make his announcement? If he intended to suggest that Dalinar be arrested, he wouldn’t do it at a feast, would he?

Dalinar forced his attention back to the conversation. He really should pay more heed to what was happening in the world. Once, news of which kingdoms were in conflict had fascinated him. So much had changed since the visions began.

“Perhaps it’s not economic or religious in nature,” Hatham said, trying to bring an end to the argument. “Everyone knows that the Makabaki tribes have odd hatreds of one another.”

“Perhaps,” Au-nak said.

“Does it matter?” Dalinar asked.

The others turned to him.

“It’s just another war. If they weren’t fighting one another, they’d find others to attack. It’s what we do. Vengeance, honor, riches, religion—the reasons all just produce the same result.”

The others fell still, the silence quickly growing awkward.

“Which devotary do you credit, Brightlord Dalinar?” Hatham asked, thoughtful, as if trying to remember something he’d forgotten.

“The Order of Talenelat.”

“Ah,” Hatham said. “Yes, it makes sense. They do hate arguing over religion. You must find this discussion terribly boring.”

A safe out from the conversation. Dalinar smiled, nodding in thanks to Hatham’s politeness.

“The Order of Talenelat?” Au-nak said. “I always considered that a devotary for the lesser people.”

“This from a Natan,” the Ardent said, stuffily.

“My family has always been devoutly Vorin.”

“Yes,” the ardent replied, “conveniently so, since your family has used its Vorin ties to trade favorably in Alethkar. One wonders if you are equally devout when not standing on our soil.”

“I don’t have to be insulted like this,” Au-nak snapped.

He turned and strode away, causing Hatham to raise a hand. “Nak-ali!” Hatham called, rushing after him anxiously. “Please, ignore him!”

“Insufferable bore,” the ardent said softly, taking a sip of his wine—orange, of course, as he was a man of the clergy.

Dalinar frowned at him. “You are bold, ardent,” he said sternly. “Perhaps foolishly so. You insult a man Hatham wants to do business with.”

“Actually, I belong to Brightlord Hatham,” the ardent said. “He asked me to insult his guest—Brightlord Hatham wants Au-nak to think that he is shamed. Now, when Hatham agrees quickly to Au-nak’s demands, the foreigner will assume it was because of this—and won’t delay the contract signing out of suspicion that it is proceeding too easily.”

Ah, of course. Dalinar looked after the fleeing pair. They go to such lengths. Considering that, what was Dalinar to think of Hatham’s politeness earlier, when he had given Dalinar a reason to explain his apparent distaste for conflict? Was Hatham preparing Dalinar for some covert manipulation?

The ardent cleared his throat. “I would appreciate it if you did not repeat to anyone what I just told you, Brightlord.” Dalinar noticed Adolin returning to the king’s island, accompanied by six of Dalinar’s officers, in uniform and wearing their swords.

“Why did you tell me in the first place, then?” Dalinar asked, turning his attention back to the white-robed man.

“Just as Hatham wishes his partner in negotiations to know of his goodwill, I wish you to know of our goodwill toward you, Brightlord.”

Dalinar frowned. He’d never had much to do with the ardents—his devotary was simple and straightforward. Dalinar got his fill of politics with the court; he had little desire to find more in religion. “Why? What should it matter if you have goodwill toward me?”

The ardent smiled. “We will speak with you again.” He bowed low and withdrew.

Dalinar was about to demand more, but Adolin arrived, looking after Highprince Hatham. “What was that all about?”

Dalinar just shook his head. Ardents weren’t supposed to engage in politics, whatever their devotary. They’d been officially forbidden to do so since the Hierocracy. But, as with most things in life, the ideal and the reality were two separate things. The lighteyes couldn’t help but use the ardents in their schemes, and so—more and more—the devotaries found themselves a part of the court.

“Father?” Adolin asked. “The men are in place.”

“Good,” Dalinar said. He set his jaw and then crossed the small island. He would see this fiasco finished with, once and for all.

He passed the firepit, a wave of dense heat making the left side of his face prickle with sweat while the right side was still chilled by the autumn cold. Adolin hurried up to walk by him, hand on his side sword. “Father? What are we doing?”

“Being provocative,” Dalinar said, striding right up to where Elhokar and Sadeas were chatting. Their crowd of sycophants reluctantly parted for Dalinar.

“… and I think that—” The king cut off, glancing at Dalinar. “Yes, Uncle?”

“Sadeas,” Dalinar said. “What is the status of your investigation of the cut girth strap?”

Sadeas blinked. He held a cup of violet wine in his right hand, his long, red velvet robe open at the front to expose a ruffled white shirt. “Dalinar, are you—”

“Your investigation, Sadeas,” Dalinar said firmly.

Sadeas sighed, looking at Elhokar. “Your Majesty. I was actually planning to make an announcement regarding this very subject tonight. I was going to wait until later, but if Dalinar is going to be so insistent …”

“I am,” Dalinar said.

“Oh, go ahead, Sadeas,” the king said. “You have me curious now.” The king waved to a servant, who rushed to quiet the flutist while another servant tapped the chimes to call for silence. In moments, the people on the island stilled.

Sadeas gave Dalinar a grimace that somehow conveyed the message, “You demanded this, old friend.”

Dalinar folded his arms, keeping his gaze fixed on Sadeas. His six Cobalt Guardsmen stepped up behind him, and Dalinar noticed that a group of similar lighteyed officers from Sadeas’s warcamp were listening nearby.

“Well, I wasn’t planning to have such an audience,” Sadeas said. “Mostly, this was planned for Your Majesty only.”

Unlikely, Dalinar thought, trying to suppress his anxiety. What would he do if Adolin was right and Sadeas charged him with trying to assassinate Elhokar?

It would, indeed, be the end of Alethkar. Dalinar would not go quietly, and the warcamps would turn against one another. The nervous peace that had held them together for the last decade would come to an end. Elhokar would never be able to hold them together.

Also, if it turned to battle, Dalinar would not fare well. The others were alienated from him; he’d have enough trouble facing Sadeas—if several of the others joined against him, he would fall, horribly outnumbered. He could see how Adolin thought it an incredible act of foolishness to have listened to the visions. And yet, in a powerfully surreal moment, Dalinar felt that he’d done the correct thing. He’d never felt it as strongly as at that moment, preparing to be condemned.

“Sadeas, don’t weary me with your sense of drama,” Elhokar said. “They’re listening. I’m listening. Dalinar looks like he’s ready to burst a vein in his forehead. Speak.”

“Very well,” Sadeas said, giving his wine to a servant. “My very first task as Highprince of Information was to discover the true nature of the attempt on His Majesty’s life during the greatshell hunt.” He waved a hand, motioning to one of his men, who hurried away. Another stepped forward, handing Sadeas the broken leather strap.

“I took this strap to three separate leatherworkers in three different warcamps. Each came to the same conclusion. It was cut. The leather is relatively new, and has been well cared for, as proven by the lack of cracking and flaking in other areas. The tear is too even. Someone slit it.”

Dalinar felt a sense of dread. That was near what he had discovered, but it was presented in the worst possible light. “For what purpose—” Dalinar began.

Sadeas held up a hand. “Please, Highprince. First you demand I report, then you interrupt me?”

Dalinar fell still. Around them, more and more of the important lighteyes were gathering. He could sense their tension.

“But when was it cut?” Sadeas said, turning to address the crowd. He did have a flair for the dramatic. “That was pivotal, you see. I took leave to interview numerous men who were on that hunt. None reported seeing anything specific, though all remembered that there was one odd event. The time when Brightlord Dalinar and His Majesty raced to a rock formation. A time when Dalinar and the king were alone.”

There were whispers from behind.

“There was a problem, however,” Sadeas said. “One Dalinar himself raised. Why cut the strap on a Shardbearer’s saddle? A foolish move. A horseback fall wouldn’t be of much danger to a man wearing Shardplate.” To the side, the servant Sadeas had sent away returned, leading a youth with sandy hair bearing only a few hints of black.

Sadeas fished something out of a pouch at his waist, holding it up. A large sapphire. It wasn’t infused. In fact, looking closely, Dalinar could see that it was cracked—it wouldn’t hold Stormlight now. “The question drove me to investigate the king’s Shardplate,” Sadeas said. “Eight of the ten sapphires used to infuse his Plate were cracked following the battle.”

“It happens,” Adolin said, stepping up beside Dalinar, hand on his side sword. “You lose a few in every battle.”

“But eight?” Sadeas asked. “One or two is normal. But have you ever lost eight in one battle before, young Kholin?”

Adolin’s only reply was a glare.

Sadeas tucked away the gemstone, nodding to the youth his men had brought. “This is one of the grooms in the king’s employ. Fin, isn’t it?”

“Y … Yes, brightlord,” the boy stammered. He couldn’t be older than twelve.

“What is it you told me earlier, Fin? Please, say it again so that all may hear.”

The darkeyed youth cringed, looking sick. “Well, Brightlord sir, it was just this: Everyone spoke of the saddle being checked over in Brightlord Dalinar’s camp. And I suppose it was, right as that. But I’m the one who prepared His Majesty’s horse afore it was turned over to Brightlord Dalinar’s men. And I did it, I promise I did. Put on his favorite saddle and everything. But …”

Dalinar’s heart raced. He had to hold himself back from summoning his Blade.

“But what?” Sadeas said to Fin.

“But when the king’s head grooms took the horse past on its way to the Highprince Dalinar’s camp, it was wearing a different saddle. I swear it.”

Several of those standing around them seemed confused by this admission.

“Aha!” Adolin said, pointing. “But that happened in the king’s palace complex!”

“Indeed,” Sadeas said, raising an eyebrow at Adolin. “How keen-minded of you, young Kholin. This discovery—mixed with the cracked gemstones—means something. I suspect that whoever attempted to kill His Majesty planted in his Shardplate flawed gemstones that would crack when strained, losing their Stormlight. Then they weakened the saddle girth with a careful slit. The hope would be that His Majesty would fall while fighting a greatshell, allowing it to attack him. The gemstones would fail, the Plate would break, and His Majesty would fall to an ‘accident’ while hunting.”

Sadeas raised a finger as the crowd began to whisper again. “However, it is important to realize that these events—the switching of the saddle or the planting of the gemstones—must have happened before His Majesty met up with Dalinar. I feel that Dalinar is a very unlikely suspect. In fact, my present guess is that the culprit is someone that Brightlord Dalinar has offended; that someone wanted us all to think he might be involved. It may not have actually been intended to kill His Majesty, just to cast suspicion upon Dalinar.”

The island fell silent, even the whispers dying.

Dalinar stood, stunned. I … I was right!

Adolin finally broke the quiet. “What?”

“All evidence points to your father being innocent, Adolin,” Sadeas said sufferingly. “You find this surprising?”

“No, but …” Adolin’s brow furrowed.

Around them, the lighteyes began talking, sounding disappointed. They began to disperse. Dalinar’s officers remained standing behind him, as if expecting a surprise strike.

Blood of my fathers … Dalinar thought. What does it mean?

Sadeas waved for his men to take the groom away, then nodded to Elhokar and withdrew in the direction of the evening trays, where warmed wine sat in pitchers next to toasted breads. Dalinar caught up to Sadeas as the shorter man was filling a small plate. Dalinar took him by the arm, the fabric of Sadeas’s robe soft beneath his fingers.

Sadeas looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Dalinar said quietly. “For not going through with it.” Behind them, the flutist resumed her playing.

“For not going through with what?” Sadeas said, setting down his small plate, then prying Dalinar’s fingers free. “I had hoped to make this presentation after I’d discovered more concrete proof that you weren’t involved. Unfortunately, pressed as I was, the best I could do was to indicate that it was unlikely you were involved. There will still be rumors, I’m afraid.”

“Wait. You wanted to prove me innocent?”

Sadeas scowled, picking up his plate again. “Do you know what your problem is, Dalinar? Why everyone has begun finding you so tiresome?”

Dalinar didn’t reply.

“The presumption. You’ve grown despicably self-righteous. Yes, I asked Elhokar for this position so I could prove you innocent. Is it so storming difficult for you to believe someone else in this army might do something honest?”

“I …” Dalinar said.

“Of course it is,” Sadeas said. “You’ve been looking down on us like a man standing atop a single sheet of paper, who therefore thinks himself so high as to see for miles. Well, I think that book of Gavilar’s is crem, and the Codes are lies people pretended to follow so that they could justify their shriveled consciences. Damnation, I’ve got one of those shriveled consciences myself. But I didn’t want to see you maligned for this bungled attempt to kill the king. If you’d wanted him dead, you’d have just burned out his eyes and been done with it!”

Sadeas took a drink of his steaming violet wine. “The problem is, Elhokar kept on and on about that blasted strap. And people started talking, since he was under your protection and you two rode off together like that. Stormfather only knows how they could think you would try to have Elhokar assassinated. You can barely bring yourself to kill Parshendi these days.” Sadeas stuffed a small piece of toasted bread in his mouth, then moved to walk away.

Dalinar caught him by the arm again. “I … I owe you a debt. I shouldn’t have treated you as I have these six years.”

Sadeas rolled his eyes, chewing his bread. “This wasn’t for you alone. So long as everyone thought you were behind the attempt, nobody would figure out who really tried to have Elhokar killed. And someone did, Dalinar. I don’t accept eight gemstones cracking in one fight. The strap alone would have been a ridiculous way to attempt an assassination, but with weakened Shardplate … I’m half tempted to believe that the surprise arrival of the chasmfiend was orchestrated too. How someone would manage that though, I have no idea.”

“And the talk of me being framed?” Dalinar asked.

“Mostly to give the others something to gossip about while I sort through what’s really happening.” Sadeas looked down at Dalinar’s hand on his arm. “Would you let go?”

Dalinar released his grip.

Sadeas set down his plate, straightening his robe and dusting off the shoulder. “I haven’t given up on you yet, Dalinar. I’m probably going to need you before this is all through. I do have to say, though, I don’t know what to make of you lately. That talk of you wanting to abandon the Vengeance Pact. Is there any truth to that?”

“I mentioned it, in confidence, to Elhokar as a means of exploring options. So yes, there’s truth to it, if you must know. I’m tired of this fighting. I’m tired of these Plains, of being away from civilization, of killing Parshendi a handful at a time. However, I’ve given up on getting us to retreat. Instead, I want to win. But the highprinces won’t listen! They all assume that I’m trying to dominate them with some crafty trick.”

Sadeas snorted. “You’d sooner punch a man in the face than stab him in the back. Blessedly straightforward.”

“Ally with me,” Dalinar said after him.

Sadeas froze.

“You know I’m not going to betray you, Sadeas,” Dalinar said. “You trust me as the others never can. Try what I’ve been asking the other highprinces to agree to. Jointly assault plateaus with me.”

“Won’t work,” Sadeas said. “There’s no reason to bring more than one army on an assault. I leave half my troops behind each time as it is. There isn’t room for more to maneuver.”

“Yes, but think,” Dalinar said. “What if we tried new tactics? Your quick bridge crews are fast, but my troops are stronger. What if you pushed quickly to a plateau with an advance force to hold off the Parshendi? You could hold until my stronger, but slower, forces arrive.”

That gave Sadeas pause.

“It could mean a Shardblade, Sadeas.”

Sadeas’s eyes grew hungry.

“I know you’ve fought Parshendi Shardbearers,” Dalinar said, seizing on that thread, “But you’ve lost. Without a Blade, you’re at a disadvantage.” Parshendi Shardbearers had a habit of escaping after entering battles. Regular spearmen couldn’t kill one, of course. It took a Shardbearer to kill a Shardbearer. “I’ve slain two in the past. I don’t often have the opportunity, however, because I can’t get to the plateaus quickly enough. You can. Together, we can win more often, and I can get you a Blade. We can do this, Sadeas. Together. Like the old days.”

“The old days,” he said idly. “I’d like to see the Blackthorn in battle again. How would we split the gemhearts?”

“Two-thirds to you,” Dalinar said. “As you’ve got twice as good a record at winning assaults as I have.”

Sadeas looked thoughtful. “And the Shardblades?”

“If we find a Shardbearer, Adolin and I will take him. You win the Blade.” He raised a finger. “But I win the Plate. To give to my son, Renarin.”

“The invalid?”

“What would you care?” Dalinar said. “You already have Plate. Sadeas, this could mean winning the war. If we start to work together, we could bring the others in, prepare for a large-scale assault. Storms! We might not even need that. We two have the largest armies; if we could find a way to catch the Parshendi on a large enough plateau with the bulk of our troops—surrounding them so they couldn’t escape—we might be able to damage their forces enough to bring an end to this all.”

Sadeas mulled it over. Then he shrugged. “Very well. Send me details via messenger. But do it later. I’ve already missed too much of tonight’s feast.”