Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

She found the way he spoke fascinating. After all this time—and all her worries—here was one who was her intellectual equal. Perhaps her superior. She didn’t trust him, of course. But that was part of what intrigued her.

“How do we beat him, Wit?” she asked softly. “If he can truly see the future, then what possible chance do we have?”

“I once knew a man,” Wit said, “who was the finest gambler in all his realm. Where he lived, you make your cards walk themselves around the table by breathing life into them. He was the best. Intelligent, skilled with the Breath of life, a shrewd gambler—he knew exactly how to bet and when. Everyone was waiting for the day when he lost. And eventually he did.”

“That’s different, Wit,” Jasnah said. “He couldn’t literally see the future.”

“Ah, but you see, I was rigging the games. So I did know the future—as much as Odium does, anyway. I shouldn’t have been able to lose. Yet I did.”

“How?”

“Someone else rigged the game so that no matter what move I made, I could not win. The game was a tie, something I hadn’t anticipated. I’d focused my cheating on making certain I didn’t lose, but I’d bet on myself winning. And I bet it all, you see—if I’d have been more clever, I’d have let less be lost.”

“So,” she said, “how do we set it up so Odium doesn’t win, even if he can’t lose?”

Wit unfolded a paper from his pocket, still kneeling beside her. He seemed to genuinely like her, and she found his companionship invigorating. Full of questions, delights, and surprises. She could provide the intimacy he desired, though she knew he found her lack of excitement on that axis odd, perhaps unsatisfying. That was not a new experience for her; she’d always found it curious how others put their physical urges ahead of the more powerful emotions of bonding, relating, and engaging.

The chance to scheme, to connect with a being like Wit—that was exciting. She was curious how the relationship would develop, and that invigorated her. After so many failures, this was something new and interesting.

She cupped his face with her hand. She wished she could, deep down, truly trust him. He was something she, and this world, had never before known. That was electrifying. It was also so extremely dangerous.

Wit smiled at her, then smoothed out the paper on her writing desk. It was scribed in his own hand, of course. He came from a land where men had been encouraged to write, the same as women. He shot her a glance, then his smile became a grin. Yes, he did seem genuinely fond of their relationship, as much as she was. Indeed, he said it had taken him by surprise as it had her.

“A contract,” she said, turning from him and reading the paper. “For Dalinar’s contest with Odium.” Wit had undoubtedly sculpted each word with precision. “If Dalinar wins, Odium retreats to Damnation for a thousand years. If Odium wins, he must remain in the system, but gets Roshar to do with as he pleases. The monarchs will submit to his rule—as will the Radiants who follow Dalinar.”

“Perfect,” Wit said. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Jasnah sat back. “Perfect for you. If this is agreed to, you win no matter what. Odium remains contained in the Rosharan system either way.”

Wit spread his hands before himself. “I’ve learned a few things since that challenge with the cards so many years ago. But Jasnah, this is for the best. If Dalinar wins, well, your people get what they want. But if Dalinar loses, Odium is contained. We’re limiting our losses—making certain that at the boundaries of this planet, hell and hate must halt.”

“It puts everything on this one contest of champions,” Jasnah said. “I hate that tradition even when played for lower stakes.”

“Says the woman who used me in a ploy to manipulate that very tradition not two weeks ago.”

“Lower stakes,” Jasnah repeated, “involving a meaningless loss such as your death.”

“Jasnah!”

“Wit, you’re immortal,” she said. “You told me yourself.”

“And you believed me?” he asked, aghast.

She paused and studied him.

He grinned, then kissed her hand again. He seemed to think that sort of thing would eventually spark passion in her. When in truth, physical stimulation was so inferior to mental stimulation.

“I told you I haven’t died when killed—yet,” he said. “Doesn’t mean someone won’t find a way someday, and I’d rather not give them an opportunity. Besides, even for me, being killed can confound.”

“Don’t distract me,” she said. “Can we really risk the fate of the world on a simple duel?”

“Ah, but it’s not a duel, Jasnah. That’s the thing. It’s not about the contest, but what leads up to the contest. I know Rayse. He is arrogant and enjoys being worshipped. He never does anything without delighting in how he can show off.

“He’s also careful. Subtle. So to win, we need to make him certain he can’t utterly lose. This contract does that. If his fail state is that he has to wait a thousand years to try again, well, that won’t bother him. He has been here for thousands of years already. So he’ll see another thousand as an acceptable loss. But to you and the budding Radiants, a thousand years is a long time. Long as a soulless star slumbers.”

“A soulless star.”

“Yes.”

“Slumbers.”

“As they do.”

She stared at him flatly.

“Long as a rat rends rust?” he asked.

“Long as seasons see stories?”

“Oh, that’s delightful, Jasnah. Pretend I was the one who could somehow stress said symphonion sounds.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“It means beautiful,” he said.

“No it doesn’t.” She again studied the contract. “Sometimes I feel you aren’t taking this as seriously as you should, Wit.”

“It’s a personal failing,” he said. “The more serious something becomes, the more I find myself inappropriately involved. Indeedy.”

Jasnah sighed.

“I’ll stop,” he said with a grin. “I promise. But look, Jasnah, Rayse—Odium—is someone we can defeat. If he has one great failing it’s that he thinks he’s smarter than he is. He tried exceptionally hard to make Dalinar into his champion. Why? Because he doesn’t merely want to win, he wants to win in a way that says something. To everyone watching.

“He was so certain he could turn the Blackthorn that he bet almost everything on that singular gamble. Now he must be scared. While he pretends he has a dozen other plans, he’s scrambling to locate a champion who can legitimately win. Because he knows—same as I’m telling you—that the contest won’t only be about who can stab the hardest with their spear.”

“What will it be about then?”

“Same thing it’s always about, Jasnah,” Wit said. “The hearts of men and women. Do you trust the hearts of those who fight on your side?”

She paused, and hoped he didn’t read too much into it. Staring at the contract, she couldn’t help but feel outmatched by all of this. She, who had been preparing for nearly two decades for these exact events, felt uncertain. Did she trust her own heart, when confronted with ancient troubles that had surely defeated better women than her?