It was the same lesson that Gavilar and Navani herself had taught many, many years ago. Cities that had joined the unified Alethkar had prospered. Of course, with Gavilar and Dalinar involved, there had always been an explicit addition to that lesson. Fail to submit, and you would be sent the Blackthorn.

With those memories haunting her, it was difficult to evoke any sense of outrage as the enemy soldiers led her down the steps. How could Navani feel outrage at having done to her what she’d willingly done to others? It was the enormous flaw in Gavilar’s reasoning. If their strength justified their rule of Alethkar, then what happened when someone stronger came along? It was a system that ensured there would always be war, a constant clash for rule.

She was able to use such high-minded philosophical thoughts to distract her up until she saw the first bodies. They lay slumped against the wall, in the crook of the steps, men in Roion uniforms. Men with too-young faces, slaughtered as they’d tried to push for the crystal pillar.

Men she’d sent to their deaths. Navani steeled herself, but had to walk through their blood to proceed. Vorin teachings abhorred gambling, and Navani had often been proud that she avoided such games of chance. Yet she gambled with lives, didn’t she?

The blood was pervasive, dribbling down steps, threatening to make her slip. One of her captors placed a strong hand under her arm, as they marched her around and around, passing breaks in the wooden railing where the fighting had grown intense.

At the bottom she found a pile of corpses, including some in Kholin uniforms. Poor Teofil and his men. It seemed they’d almost made it, judging by the fact that a Heavenly One had to fly Navani over a break in the steps where a few last corpses slumped—bespeaking their final moments.

Thank you, Teofil, she thought. And all of you. If the tower had a chance, it came because these men had bought her time. Even if they hadn’t reached the pillar, they had done something remarkable. She would remember that sacrifice.

At the base of the steps, she was marched through the hallway with the murals. As she walked, she found herself proud of how much of a fight they’d put up. Not only Teofil and the soldiers, but the entire tower. Yes, it had taken less than half a day for the Fused to conquer all of Urithiru, but considering Navani’s lack of Radiants and Shards, it was remarkable to have lasted that long.

She felt particularly satisfied with their efforts when she saw the glowing blue light at the end of the hallway, blocking off the way to the pillar room. Odd, that she should feel most a queen in the moments before the position was taken from her.

The soldiers steered her into the larger of the two library rooms, where a tall femalen Fused stood in light armor, looking over papers from one of the many stacks in the room. Navani’s most precious engineering and design secrets. The Fused had a strange hairstyle, with carapace covering nearly her entire head, save for a topknot-style bundle of thick orange singer hair. The way the guards presented Navani made it clear that this was the leader.

The Fused continued to read, barely acknowledging Navani.

“I am ready to discuss terms of surrender,” Navani finally said.

A lithe Regal stepped to the femalen’s side. “Raboniel, Lady of Wishes, is not to be directly addressed by—”

She was interrupted by the Fused saying something. Whatever it was, the Regal didn’t seem to have expected it, for when she spoke again her voice cadence had changed markedly.

“The Lady says, ‘She comes to me as a queen, though she will leave without the title. For now she may speak when she wishes, as befitting her rank.’”

“Then let me offer surrender,” Navani said. “My soldiers have been instructed to turn in their arms, should you approach with the proper sign given—proof that we’ve reached an accord.”

“I will require your Radiants,” the Fused—Raboniel—said through her interpreter. “You will release a proclamation: Anyone harboring a Radiant is subject to harsh punishment. We will search the tower to bring all of them under our care. Your soldiers and officers will be disarmed but spared.

“Your people may continue living in the tower under our laws. All lighteyes—including you—will be made of equal status to darkeyes. You are humans, nothing more, nothing less. The will of a singer must be obeyed immediately, and humans may not carry weapons. Otherwise, I am content to let them continue their occupations—and even engage in trade, a privilege not extended to most humans in Alethkar.”

“I can’t give up the Knights Radiant to execution,” Navani said.

“Then we will kill them all as they lie unconscious,” the Fused said. “And once finished, we will approach you with less lenient terms of surrender. Conversely, we can make an accommodation now, and perhaps your Radiants will live. I cannot promise I won’t change my mind, but I don’t intend to execute them. We simply need to be certain they are properly restrained.”

“They’re unconscious. How much more restraint do they need?”

Raboniel didn’t reply. She flipped through the pages.

“I agree to these terms,” Navani said. “The tower is yours. If your people approach my men with a white flag bearing a circle painted black, they will surrender.”

Several Regals went running with the news, and Navani wished them the wind’s own speed. “What have you done with my scholars? And the soldiers down here in these rooms?”

“Some are dead,” Raboniel said through the interpreter. “But not many.”

Navani closed her eyes. Some? Which of her friends had been killed in this incursion? Was she foolhardy, for resisting as long as she had?

No. Not if it bought us time to put the shield up. She knew very little about the Sibling and this tower, but at least now she had a chance. Only by working with the enemy, pretending to be docile and controlled, would she find opportunity to restore the Radiants.

“You drew these?” Raboniel asked through her interpreter, turning around the pages. They were indeed some of Navani’s sketches—more airships, of a more practical design, now that they better understood the mechanics of flight. They were signed by her seal.

“Yes,” Navani said.

The Fused read through them further. Then, remarkably, she spoke in Alethi—heavily accented, but understandable. “Is it common for human queens of this era to be engineers?”

This startled her attendant Regal, who seemed to not have known this Lady of Wishes could speak Alethi. Or perhaps she was surprised to hear one so high speak to a human.

“I have unusual hobbies,” Navani said.

Raboniel folded the sheet of paper and finally met Navani’s eyes. “They are remarkable. I would like to hire you.”

“… Hire me?” Navani asked, taken aback.

“You are no longer a queen, but you are obviously a talented engineer. I am told the scholars of this tower respect you. So, I would hire you to work on fabrial projects for me. I assure you, being in my employ will be a far more rewarding job than carrying water or washing clothing.”

What game is this? Navani thought. Surely this Fused didn’t actually expect Navani to design fabrials for the enemy?

“Carrying water or washing clothing is fine work,” Navani said. “I’ve done both before in my life. Neither will involve giving secrets to an enemy who, I’m afraid, will inevitably use them to kill and conquer my people.”

Tags: Brandon Sanderson The Stormlight Archive Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net