Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“What?” Navani asked.

“Our notebook.” Raboniel looked toward where it sat on the floor. Navani had placed it there while creating the second anti-Voidlight gemstone.

Raboniel hummed a different rhythm as servants entered, and she gave terse orders. She sent some to burn her daughter’s corpse and send honors and the ashes to the family that had donated the body to her daughter. She had others gather the vacuum tube and metal plates from Navani’s experiments.

Navani stepped forward to stop them, but Raboniel prevented her with a calm—but firm—hand. The Fused took the notebook from Navani’s fingers.

“I will have a copy made for you,” she promised Navani. “For now, I need this one to reconstruct your work.”

“You saw how I did this, Raboniel.”

“Yes, but I need to create a new plate, a new tone. For Stormlight.”

Navani tried to pull free, but Raboniel’s hold was firm. She hummed a dangerous rhythm, making Navani meet her eyes. Eyes that had been weeping were now firm and unyielding.

“So much for your words about working together,” Navani said. “And you dared imply I was wrong to keep trying to hide things from you.”

“I will end the war,” Raboniel said. “That is the promise I will keep, for today we have discovered the means. Finally. A way to make certain that the Radiants can no longer fight. They function as Fused do, you see. If we kill the human, another Radiant will be born. The fight becomes eternal, both sides immortal. Today we end that. I have preserved the Radiants in the tower for a reason. Anti-Stormlight will need subjects for testing.”

“You can’t be implying…” Navani said. “You don’t mean…”

“Today is a momentous day,” Raboniel said, letting go and walking after the servants carrying Navani’s equipment. “Today is the day we discovered a way to destroy Radiant spren. I will let you know the results of the test.”

THE END OF

Part Four

Hesina made a small notation in her notebook, kneeling above a map she’d rolled out on the floor. The cache Rlain had brought included five maps of Alethkar focused on different princedoms. Sadeas’s was included, with notes about singer troop placements in certain cities and whatever else the scouts had seen while doing reconnaissance of the area.

It had taken her until now to realize she could check on Tomat. The city had several long paragraphs of attached observations, written by Kara the Windrunner. The singers had the city wall under repair, which was incredible on its own. That had been broken since … what, her grandfather’s days? The infamous Gap would be gone if she ever visited again.

She couldn’t find specifics about the people who had lived in the city, but that wasn’t surprising. The Windrunners hadn’t been able to get too close, after all. At least there were no reports of burnt-out houses, as in some other cities. It seemed the city had given in without too much of a fight, which boded well for local survival rates.

She wrote each detail in her notebook, then glanced up as Lirin slipped into their sectioned-off surgery chamber. He let the draped sheets fall closed, fabric rustling. He’d been studying the large model of Urithiru that was at the back of the infirmary room.

“You found Tomat?” he asked, adjusting his spectacles and leaning down beside her. “Huh. Anything useful?”

“Not much,” she said. “Similar notes to other cities.”

“Well, we’d probably know if your father died,” Lirin said, straightening to gather some bandages from the counter.

“And how is that?”

“He’d be haunting me, obviously,” Lirin said. “Living as a shade in the storms, calling for my blood. As I haven’t heard a thing, I must assume the old monster is alive.”

Hesina rolled up the map and gave her husband a flat glare, which he accepted with a smile and a twinkle to his eye.

“It’s been twenty-five years,” Hesina said. “He might have softened toward you by now.”

“Stone doesn’t soften with time, dear,” Lirin replied. “It merely grows brittle. I think we’d sooner see a chull fly than see your father grow soft.” He must have noticed that the topic legitimately worried her, because he turned away from the gibes. “I’d bet that he’s fine, Hesina. Some men are too ornery to be bothered by something as mundane as an invasion.”

“He wouldn’t give up his business easily, Lirin. He’s stubborn as a lighteyes—he’d order his guards to fight, even when everyone else had surrendered.”

Lirin returned to his work, and after a short delay, said, “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“You are thinking that if he lifted a sword,” Hesina said, “he deserved whatever he got.”

And her father would use a sword. Under a special writ of forbearance from the citylord, who—even three decades ago—had been accustomed to doing whatever her father bullied him into doing. She’d met only one man who dared defy him.

“I’m thinking,” Lirin said, “that my wife needs a supportive husband, not a self-righteous one.”

“And our son?” she asked. “Which version of you does he deserve?”

Lirin stiffened, bandages held in front of him. She turned away, trying to contain her emotions. She hadn’t planned to snap at him, but … well, she supposed she hadn’t forgiven him for driving Kaladin away.

Lirin quietly stepped over, then settled down on the floor beside her, putting aside the bandages. Then he held up his hands. “What do you want of me, Hesina? Do you want me to abandon my convictions?”

“I want you,” she said, “to appreciate your incredible son.”

“He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be better than … than I am.”

“Lirin,” she said softly. “You can’t keep blaming yourself for Tien’s death.”

“Would he be dead if I hadn’t spent all those years defying Roshone? If I hadn’t picked a fight?”

“We can’t change the past. But if you continue like this, you’ll lose another son.”

He looked up, then shifted his eyes away immediately at Hesina’s cold glare. “I wouldn’t have let him die,” Lirin said. “If they hadn’t decided to go get that Edgedancer, I’d have gone to Kaladin like they asked.”

“I know that. But would you have insisted on bringing him here?”

“Maybe. He could have needed extended care, Hesina. Isn’t it better to bring him here, where I can watch him? Better than letting him go on fighting an impossible battle, getting himself and others killed in this foolish war.”

“And would you have done that to another soldier?” she pressed. “Say it wasn’t your son who was wounded. Would you have brought that boy here and risked him being imprisoned, maybe executed? You’ve healed soldiers before, sending them back out to fight. That’s always been your conviction. Treat anyone, no strings attached, no matter the circumstances.”

“Maybe I need to rethink that policy,” he said. “Besides, Kaladin has told me many times that he’s not my son any longer.”