Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive 3)

“It was far to the west,” she said. “A grand city, ruled by honorspren! I didn’t like it though. I wanted to travel, but Father kept me in the city, especially after … you know…”

“I’m not actually sure that I do.”

“I bonded a Knight Radiant. Haven’t I told you of him? I remember…” She closed her eyes as she walked, chin up, as if basking in a wind he could not feel. “I bonded him soon after I was born. He was an elderly man, kindly, but he did fight. In one battle. And he died.…”

She blinked open her eyes. “That was a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I wasn’t ready though for the bond. Spren normally weather the death of their Radiant, but I … I lost myself when I lost him. It all turned out to be morbidly fortuitous, because soon after, the Recreance happened. Men forsook their oaths, which killed my siblings. I survived, for I didn’t have a bond then.”

“And the Stormfather locked you away?”

“Father assumed I’d been killed with the others. He found me, asleep, after what must have been … wow, a thousand years on your side. He woke me and took me home.” She shrugged. “After that, he wouldn’t let me leave the city.” She took Kaladin by the arm. “He was foolish, as were the other honorspren born after the Recreance. They knew something bad was coming, but wouldn’t do anything. And I heard you calling, even from so far away.…”

“The Stormfather let you out?” Kaladin said, stunned by the confessions. This was more than he’d found out about her since … since forever.

“I snuck away,” she said with a grin. “I gave up my mind and joined your world, hiding among the windspren. We can barely see them on this side. Did you know that? Some spren live mostly in your realm. I suppose the wind is always there somewhere, so they don’t fade like passions do.” She shook her head. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Kaladin asked. “Did you remember something?”

“No! Oh!” She pointed, hopping up and down. “Look!”

In the distance, a bright yellow light glowed like a spark in the otherwise dim landscape.

A lighthouse.

Yelig-nar is said to consume souls, but I can’t find a specific explanation. I’m uncertain this lore is correct.

—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 51

On the day of the first meeting of monarchs at Urithiru, Navani made each person—no matter how important—carry their own chair. The old Alethi tradition symbolized each chief bringing important wisdom to a gathering.

Navani and Dalinar arrived first, stepping off the lift and walking toward the meeting room near the top of Urithiru. Her chair was sensible but comfortable, made of Soulcast wood with a padded seat. Dalinar had tried to bring a stool, but she’d insisted that he do better. This wasn’t a battlefield strategy tent, and forced austerity wouldn’t impress the monarchs. He’d eventually selected a sturdy wooden chair of thick stumpweight, with wide armrests but no padding.

He’d quietly spent the trip up watching floors pass. When Dalinar was troubled, he went silent. His brow would scrunch up in thought, and to everyone else, it looked like he was scowling.

“They got out, Dalinar,” Navani said to him. “I’m sure they did. Elhokar and Adolin are safe, somewhere.”

He nodded. But even if they had survived, Kholinar had fallen. Was that why he seemed so haunted?

No, it was something else. Ever since he’d collapsed after visiting Azir, it seemed that something in Dalinar had snapped. This morning, he had quietly asked her to lead the meeting. She worried, deeply, for what was happening to him. And for Elhokar. And for Kholinar …

But storms, they had worked so hard to forge this coalition. She would not let it collapse now. She’d already grieved for a daughter, but then that daughter had returned to her. She had to hope the same for Elhokar—at the very least, so she could keep functioning while Dalinar mourned.

They settled their chairs in the large meeting room, which had a clear view out flat glass windows overlooking mountains. Servants had already set out refreshment along the curved side wall of the half-circle room. The tiled floor was inlaid with the image of the Double Eye of the Almighty, complete with Surges and Essences.

Bridge Four piled into the room after them. Many had brought simple seats, but the Herdazian had stumbled onto the lift with a chair so grand—inlaid with embroidered blue cloth and silver—it was almost a throne.

They settled their chairs behind hers with a fair bit of squabbling, and then attacked the food without waiting for permission. For a group that was essentially one step from being lighteyed Shardbearers, they were an unruly and raucous bunch.

Bridge Four had, characteristically, taken the news of their leader’s potential fall with laughter. Kaladin is tougher than a wind-tossed boulder, Brightness, Teft had told her. He survived Bridge Four, he survived the chasms, and he’ll survive this.

She had to admit their optimism was heartening. But if the team had survived, why hadn’t they returned during the latest highstorm?

Steady, Navani thought to herself, regarding the bridgemen, who were surrounded by laughterspren. One of those men currently carried Jezerezeh’s Honorblade. She couldn’t tell which; the Blade could be dismissed like an ordinary Shardblade, and they swapped it among themselves in order to be unpredictable.

Soon, the others began arriving on different lifts, and Navani watched carefully. The chair-carrying tradition was, in part, a symbol of equality—but Navani figured she might be able to learn something about the monarchs from their choices. Being a human was about making sense of chaos, finding meaning among the random elements of the world.

First to arrive was the young Azish Prime. His tailor had done a wonderful job making his regal costume fit; it would have been easy for the youth to look like a child swimming in those stately robes and that headdress. He carried a very ornate throne, covered in loud Azish patterns, and each of his closest advisors helped by holding it with one hand.

The large contingent settled in, and others flooded in behind, including three representatives of kingdoms subject to Azir: the prime of Emul, the princess of Yezier, and the ambassador from Tashikk. All brought chairs that were faintly inferior to that of the Azish Prime.

A balancing act went on here. Each of the three monarchies gave just enough respect to the Prime so as not to embarrass him. They were his subjects in name only. Still, Navani should be able to focus her diplomacy efforts on the Prime. Tashikk, Emul, and Yezier would fall in line. Two were historically closest with the Azish throne, and the third—Emul—was in no position to stand on its own after the war with Tukar and the Voidbringer assault had basically broken the princedom into pieces.

The Alethi contingent arrived next. Renarin, who seemed terrified that something had happened to his brother, brought a simple chair. Jasnah had outdone him by actually bringing a padded stool—she and Dalinar could be painfully similar. Navani noticed with annoyance that Sebarial and Palona weren’t with the other highprinces. Well, at least they hadn’t shown up bearing massage tables.

Notably, Ialai Sadeas ignored the requirement that she carry her own chair. A scarred guardsman placed a sleek, lacquered chair down for her—stained so dark a maroon, it might as well have been black. She met Navani’s eyes as she sat, cold and confident. Amaram was technically highprince, but he was still in Thaylenah, working alongside his soldiers to rebuild the city. Navani doubted Ialai would have let him represent them at this meeting anyway.