Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“Watch little Gav for me,” Navani said. “I don’t know what I think of him going with Dalinar.”

“Boys younger than him go on campaign.”

“To locations not so near the battlefront,” Navani said. It was a fine distinction that many of their allies misunderstood. But these days, with Fused who could fly, anywhere could become a battlefront.

“I’ll make sure he keeps well away from the fighting,” Jasnah promised.

Navani nodded. “Your uncle feels that he failed Adolin and Renarin as children by spending so long in the field, and so little of it with them when they were young. He intends to make up for it now. I don’t dislike the sentiment, but … just keep an eye on them both for me, please.”

Jasnah retreated to her palanquin, and Navani stepped back. The banners continued to applaud as Dalinar’s best soldiers arranged themselves with him, the queen, and Taravangian. Though the chill air sliced through her shawl, Navani was determined to stay and watch until she had word via spanreed that they’d arrived in Azir.

As she waited, Sebarial wandered past. The portly, bearded man had taken to wearing clothing that was more appropriate to his overall look: something reminiscent of a Thaylen merchant’s clothing, with trousers and a vest under a long Alethi officer’s coat, meant to be left unbuttoned. Navani wasn’t certain if Palona was to credit for the transformation, or if Adolin had finally gotten to the highprince—but it was a marked improvement on the takama ensemble Sebarial had once favored.

Most of the highprinces were out in the field on Dalinar’s orders. It was Alethi tradition: being a leader was essentially the same as being a general. If a king went to war, highprinces would go with him. That was so ingrained in them that it was hard to remember that other cultures—like both the Azish and the Thaylens—did it differently.

Not many of the original highprinces remained. They’d been forced to replace Vamah, Thanadal, and—most recently—Sadeas with distant scions loyal to Dalinar and Jasnah. But building a reputation and a princedom in exile was a difficult task. Roion’s son struggled for precisely that reason.

They had three they could count on. Aladar, Sebarial, and Hatham. Bethab and his wife had fallen into line, which left Ruthar the lone holdout of hostility—the last remnant of Sadeas’s faction against Dalinar. Navani picked out the man with his retinue preparing to leave with Dalinar’s force.

Ruthar would present a problem, but if Navani were to guess, Jasnah would find a way to deal with him soon. Her daughter hated loose ends. Hopefully whatever Jasnah did wouldn’t be too dramatic.

Sebarial was staying behind to help administer the tower. And he offered his own set of difficulties. “So,” he said to Navani. “We taking bets on how long it takes Taravangian to knife us in the back?”

“Hush,” Navani said.

“Thing is,” Sebarial said, “I kind of respect the old goof. If I manage to live as long as him, I can imagine throwing up my hands and trying to take over the world. I mean … at that point, what do you have to lose?”

“Your integrity.”

“Integrity doesn’t stop men from killing, Brightness,” Sebarial said. “It just makes them use different justifications.”

“Glib, but meaningless,” Navani said. “Do you really want to draw a moral equivalency between wholesale conquest and resisting the Voidbringer invasion? Do you genuinely believe that a man of integrity is the same as a murderer?”

He chuckled. “You have me there, Brightness. You seem to have discovered my one great weakness: actually listening to anything I say. You might be the only person in all of Roshar who takes me seriously.”

Light rose in a ring around the Oathgate platform, swirling into the air. A scribe stood nearby at her workstation, waiting for spanreed confirmation of the army’s arrival.

“I’m not the only one who takes you seriously, Turinad,” Navani told Sebarial. “There’s at least one more.”

“If she took me seriously, Brightness, I’d be a married man.” He sighed. “I can’t decide if she thinks me unworthy of her, or if somehow she’s decided a highprince shouldn’t marry someone of her station. When I try to get it out of her, the response is never clear.”

“Could be neither option,” Navani said.

“If that’s the case, I’m at a complete loss.”

The scribe changed the flag outside her workstation. Green for a successful transfer, with a red flag underneath, meaning people were still leaving the other platform and it wasn’t ready for another transfer yet.

Another use for banners, Navani thought. They could at times be more effective than a spanreed. You could look down from the twentieth floor and see a flag much more quickly than you could write out a question and receive a response.

Reputations were banners also. Jasnah had crafted a distinctive persona. People halfway around the world knew about her. Dalinar had done the same thing. Not as deliberately, but with equal effect.

But what banner did Navani want to fly? She turned with Sebarial and walked toward the tower. She’d originally come to the Shattered Plains to chase something new. A different life, one that she wanted rather than one she thought she should want. Yet here she found herself doing the same things as before. Running a kingdom for a man who was too grand to be contained by simple day-to-day tasks.

The love she felt for this man was different, true. Deeper. And there was certainly a fulfilling satisfaction to bringing order to the chaos of a newly born kingdom like Urithiru. It presented unique challenges both logistical and political.

Was it selfish to want something more? This was what she seemed to be good at doing, and it was where the Almighty had placed her. She was one of the most powerful women in the world. Why would she think she deserved more?

Together with Sebarial, she entered the tower by its broad front gates. The temperature change was immediate, though with these broad gates standing open all day, the inner foyer should have been as cold as the plateau outside.

“You want me to return to the warcamps, I assume?” Sebarial asked. “I still have some interests working in the area.”

“Yes. By the time my husband returns, I want those camps fully under our control again.”

“You know,” Sebarial said, “some wouldn’t trust me with such a duty. My vices align well with the delights offered by the region.”

“We’ll see. Of course, if you fail to bring order to the warcamps, then I’ll need to impose martial law. Tragic, wouldn’t you say? Closing down all of those entrepreneurs? Destroying the single place that is under Alethi rule, but which also offers an escape from the strict oversight of the Radiants?

“If only someone with precisely the right mindset would watch the warcamps and make sure they become safe for travelers, and that the nearby lumber operations are proceeding without interruption. Someone who could see the need for law, while also understanding that it’s not a terrible thing to be a little more relaxed. To let good Alethi citizens live their lives safely—but without being under my husband’s direct glare.”

Sebarial laughed. “How much do you suppose I can pocket before Dalinar would find my thieving too blatant?”