“A dead god can have no prophets.”
“Dead… No, Dalinar! You obviously misinterpret that comment from your visions. He speaks of being dead in the minds of men, that they no longer listen to his commands. God cannot die.”
Amaram seemed so earnest. Why didn’t he help your sons? Kaladin’s voice rang in Dalinar’s mind. Amaram had come to him that day, of course, professing his apologies and explaining that—with his appointment as a Radiant—he couldn’t possibly have helped one faction against another. He said he needed to be above the squabbles between highprinces, even when it pained him.
“And the supposed Herald?” Dalinar asked. “The thing I asked you about?”
“I am still investigating.”
Dalinar nodded.
“I was surprised,” Amaram noted, “that you left the slave as head of your guard.” He glanced to the side, to where Dalinar’s guards for the night stood, just off the island in their own area, waiting with the other bodyguards and attendants, including many of the wards of the highladies present.
There had been a time not too long ago when few had felt the need to bring their guards with them to a feast. Now, the place was crowded. Captain Kaladin wasn’t there; he was resting, after his imprisonment.
“He’s a good soldier,” Dalinar said softly. “He just carries a few scars that are having trouble healing.” Vedeledev knows, Dalinar thought, I have a few of those myself.
“I merely worry that he is incapable of properly protecting you,” Amaram said. “Your life is important, Dalinar. We need your visions, your leadership. Still, if you trust the slave, then so be it—though I certainly wouldn’t mind hearing an apology from him. Not for my own ego, but to know that he’s put aside this misconception of his.”
Dalinar gave no reply as Navani strode across the short bridge onto their island. Wit started to proclaim an insult, but she swatted him in the face with a stack of papers, giving him barely a glance as she continued on toward Dalinar. Wit watched after, rubbing his cheek, and grinned.
She noted the papers in his hand as she joined the two of them, who seemed to stand among a sea of amused eyes and hushed laughter.
“They added words,” Navani hissed.
“What?” Dalinar demanded.
She shook the papers. “These! You’ve heard what they contain?”
He nodded.
“They aren’t as I wrote them,” Navani said. “They’ve changed the tone, some of my words, to imply a ridiculousness to the entire experience—and to make it sound as if I am merely indulging you. What’s worse, they added a commentary in another handwriting that pokes fun at what you say and do.” She took a deep breath, as if to calm herself. “Dalinar, they’re trying to destroy any shred of credibility left to your name.”
“I see.”
“How did they get these?” Amaram asked.
“Through theft, I do not doubt,” Dalinar said, realizing something. “Navani and my sons always have guards—but when they leave their rooms, those are relatively unprotected. We may have been too lax in that regard. I misunderstood. I thought his attacks would be physical.”
Navani looked out at the sea of lighteyes, many congregating in groups around the various highprinces in the soft, violet light. She stepped closer to Dalinar, and though her eyes were fierce, he knew her well enough to guess what she was feeling. Betrayal. Invasion. That which was private to them, opened up, mocked and then displayed for the world.
“Dalinar, I’m sorry,” Amaram said.
“They did not change the visions themselves?” Dalinar asked. “They copied them accurately.”
“So far as I can tell, yes,” Navani said. “But the tone is different, and that mockery. Storms. It’s nauseating. When I find the woman who did this…”
“Peace, Navani,” Dalinar said, resting his hand on her shoulder.
“How can you say that?”
“Because this is the act of childish men who assume that I can be embarrassed by the truth.”
“But the commentary! The changes. They’ve done everything they can to discredit you. They even managed to undermine the part where you offer a translation of the Dawnchant. It—”
“‘As I fear not a child with a weapon he cannot lift, I will never fear the mind of a man who does not think.’”
Navani frowned at him.
“It’s from The Way of Kings,” Dalinar said. “I am not a youth, nervous at his first feast. Sadeas makes a mistake in believing I will respond to this as he would. Unlike a sword, scorn has only the bite you give it.”
“This does hurt you,” Navani said, meeting his eyes. “I can see it, Dalinar.”
Hopefully, the others would not know him well enough to see what she did. Yes, it did hurt. It hurt because these visions were his, entrusted to him—to be shared for the good of men, not to be held up for mockery. It was not the laughter itself that pained him, but the loss of what could have been.
He stepped away from her, passing through the crowd. Some of those eyes he now interpreted as being sorrowful, not just amused. Perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought some pitied him more than scorned him.
He wasn’t certain which emotion was more damaging.
Dalinar reached the food table at the back of the island. There, he picked up a large pan and handed it to a bewildered serving woman, then hauled himself up onto the table. He set one hand on the lantern pole beside the table and looked out over the small crowd. They were the most important people in Alethkar.
Those who hadn’t already been watching him turned with shock to see him up there. In the distance, he noticed Adolin and Brightness Shallan rushing onto the island. They’d likely only just arrived, and heard the talk.
Dalinar looked to the crowd. “What you have read,” he bellowed, “is true.”
Stunned silence. Making a spectacle of oneself in this way was not done in Alethkar. He, however, had already been this evening’s spectacle.
“Commentary has been added to discredit me,” Dalinar said, “and the tone of Navani’s writing has been changed. But I will not hide what has been happening to me. I see visions from the Almighty. They come with almost every storm. This should not surprise you. There have been rumors circulating about my experiences for weeks now. Perhaps I should have released these visions already. In the future, each one I receive will be published, so that scholars around the world can investigate what I have seen.”
He sought out Sadeas, who stood with Aladar and Ruthar. Dalinar gripped the lantern pole, looking back at the Alethi crowd. “I do not blame you for thinking I am mad. It is natural. But in the coming nights, when rain washes your walls and the wind howls, you will wonder. You will question. And soon, when I offer you proof, you will know. This attempt to destroy me will then vindicate me instead.”
He looked over their faces, some aghast, some sympathetic, others amused.
“There are those among you who assume I will flee, or be broken, because of this attack,” he said. “They do not know me as well as they presume. Let the feast continue, for I wish to speak with each and every one of you. The words you hold may mock, but if you must laugh, do it while looking me in the eyes.”