The Way of Kings - By Brandon Sanderson Page 0,421

Damnation. Just as they once forced mankind—and the Heralds—out of the Tranquiline Halls.”

“When were the Knights Radiant founded?” Dalinar asked.

Navani shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps they were some military group from a specific kingdom, or perhaps they were originally a mercenary band. That would make it easy to see how they could eventually become tyrants.”

“My visions don’t imply that they were tyrants,” he said. “Perhaps that is the true purpose of the visions. To make me believe lies about the Radiants. Making me trust them, perhaps trying to lead me to mimic their downfall and betrayal.”

“I don’t know,” Navani said, sounding skeptical. “I don’t think you’ve seen anything untrue about the Radiants. The legends tend to agree that the Radiants weren’t always so bad. As much as the legends agree on anything, at least.”

Dalinar stood and took her nearly empty cup, then walked over to the serving table and refilled it. Discovering that he was not mad should have helped clear things up, but instead left him more disturbed. What if the Voidbringers were behind the visions? Some stories he heard said that they could possess the bodies of men and make them do evil. Or, if they were from the Almighty, what was their purpose?

“I need to think on all of this,” he said. “It has been a long day. Please, if I could be left to my own thoughts now.”

Renarin rose and bowed his head in respect before heading to the door. Navani rose more slowly, sleek dress rustling as she set her cup on the table, then walked over to fetch her pain-drinking fabrial. Renarin left, and Dalinar walked to the doorway, waiting as Navani approached. He didn’t intend to let her trap him alone again. He looked out the doorway. His soldiers were there, and he could see them. Good.

“Aren’t you pleased at all?” Navani asked, lingering beside the doorway near him, one hand on the frame.

“Pleased?”

“You aren’t going mad.”

“And we don’t know if I’m being manipulated or not,” he said. “In a way, we have more questions now than we had before.”

“The visions are a blessing,” Navani said, laying her freehand on his arm. “I feel it, Dalinar. Don’t you see how wonderful this is?”

Dalinar met her eyes, light violet, beautiful. She was so thoughtful, so clever. How he wished he could trust her completely.

She has shown me nothing but honor, he thought. Never speaking a word to anyone else of my intention to abdicate. She hasn’t so much as tried to use my visions against me. He felt ashamed that he’d once worried that she might.

She was a wonderful woman, Navani Kholin. A wonderful, amazing, dangerous woman.

“I see more worries,” he said. “And more danger.”

“But Dalinar, you’re having experiences scholars, historians, and folklorists could only dream about! I envy you, although you claim to have seen no fabrials of note.”

“The ancients didn’t have fabrials, Navani. I’m certain of it.”

“And that changes everything we thought we understood about them.”

“I suppose.”

“Stonefalls, Dalinar,” she said, sighing. “Does nothing bring you to passion any longer?”

Dalinar took a deep breath. “Too many things, Navani. My insides feel like a mass of eels, emotions squirming over one another. The truth of these visions is unsettling.”

“It’s exciting,” she corrected. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About trusting me?”

“I said that?”

“You said you didn’t trust your clerks, and you asked me to record the visions. There’s an implication in that.”

Her hand was still on his arm. She reached out with her safehand and closed the door to the hallway. He almost stopped her, but he hesitated. Why?

The door clicked closed. They were alone. And she was so beautiful. Those clever, excitable eyes, alight with passion.

“Navani,” Dalinar said, forcing down his desire. “You’re doing it again.” Why did he let her?

“Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m a stubborn woman, Dalinar.” There didn’t seem to be any playfulness in her tone.

“This is not proper. My brother…” He reached for the door to open it again.

“Your brother,” Navani spat, expression flashing with anger. “Why must everyone always focus on him? Everyone always worries so much about the man who died! He’s not here, Dalinar. He’s gone. I miss him. But not half as much as you do, it appears.”

“I honor his memory,” Dalinar said stiffly, hesitating, hand on the door’s latch.

“That’s fine! I’m happy you do. But it’s been six years, and all anyone can see me as is the wife of a dead man. The other women, they humor me with idle gossip,