Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,109

of the spectacular views had spread. When once she’d been able to walk the entire Cloudwalk without encountering another soul, today she was met by the sight of tens of people strolling up here.

She forced herself to see it as a victory, not an encroachment. Part of their vision for this tower was a city where the different peoples of Roshar intermixed. With the Oathgates providing direct access to cities around the continent, Urithiru could grow to be cosmopolitan in ways that Kholinar could never have dreamed.

As she walked, she saw not only the uniforms of seven different princedoms, but people wearing the patterns of three different Makabaki local governments. Thaylen merchants, Emuli soldiers, and Natan tradesmen were represented. There were even a few Aimians, remnants of the humans who had escaped Aimia, the men with their beards bound in cords.

Most of the world was embroiled in war, but Urithiru stood apart. A place of calm serenity above the storms. Soldiers came here when rotated off active duty. Tradesmen brought their wares, enduring wartime tariffs to avoid the cost of trying to deliver goods across battle lines. Scholars came to let their minds spark against those working to solve the problems of a new era. Urithiru was truly something great.

She wished Elhokar had lived to see how wonderful it was becoming. Best she could do was see that his son grew up to appreciate it. So, Navani opened her arms as she reached the meeting point. The nursemaid set Gavinor down, and he rushed over, jumping into Navani’s embrace.

She hung to him tightly, appreciating the progress they’d made. When Gavinor had finally been recovered, he’d been so frightened and timid he had cringed when Navani tried to hug him. That trauma, now a year past, was finally fading from the boy. He was often solemn—too solemn for a boy of five—but at least with her, he’d learned to laugh again.

“Gram!” he said. “Gram, I rode a horse!”

“All on your own?” she asked, lifting him.

“Adolin helped me!” he said. “But it was a big horse, and I wasn’t scared, even when it started walking! Look! Look!” He pointed, and she lifted him up as they peered toward the fields far below. It was too far to make out details, but that didn’t stop little Gav from explaining to her—at length—the different colors of horses he’d seen.

She gave him an encouraging smile. His excitement was not only infectious, it was relieving. During his first few months in the tower, he’d hardly spoken. Now, his willingness to do more than barely go near the horses—which fascinated him, but also terrified him—was a huge improvement.

She held Gav, warm despite the chill air, as he talked. The child was still far too small for his age, and the doctors weren’t certain if something strange had been done to him during his time in Kholinar. Navani was furious at Aesudan for all that had happened there—but equally furious at herself. How much was Navani to blame for leaving the woman alone to invite in one of the Unmade?

You couldn’t have known, Navani told herself. You can’t be to blame for everything. She’d tried to overcome those feelings—and the equally irrational ones that whispered she shared blame for Elhokar’s death. If she’d stopped him from going on that fool’s mission …

No. No, she would hold Gav, she would hurt, but she would move forward. She pointedly thought on her wonderful moments holding Elhokar as a little boy, not fixating on the idea of that little boy dying to a traitor’s spear.

“Gram?” Gav asked as they looked out over the mountains. “I want Grampa to teach me the sword.”

“Oh, I’m certain he can get to that eventually,” Navani said, then pointed. “See that cloud! It’s so huge!”

“Other boys my age learn the sword,” Gav said, his voice growing softer. “Don’t they?”

They did. In Alethkar, families—particularly lighteyed ones—would go to war together. The Azish thought it unnatural, but to the Alethi it was the way of things. Children as young as ten would learn to serve as officers’ aides, and boys would often be given a training sword as soon as they could walk.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Navani said to him.

“If I have a sword,” Gav said, “nobody will be able to hurt me. I’ll be able to find the man who killed my father. And I could kill him.”

Navani felt a chill unrelated to the cold air. On one hand, it was a very Alethi