a soldier, and spoke with fondness—rather than insult—about his occasional social missteps. He was, despite having grown calmer over the years, still the Blackthorn. It would be wrong if he didn’t sometimes eat his dessert with his fingers or unthinkingly call someone “soldier” instead of using their royal title.
Regardless, Navani took care to make certain everyone knew that they were appreciated. It was left mostly unsaid, but no one truly knew what Dalinar’s relationship was with the coalition. Merely another monarch, or something more? He controlled the Oathgates, and almost all the Radiants looked to him as their superior officer.
Beyond that, many who had broken off from mainstream Vorinism were treating his autobiography as a religious text. Dalinar wasn’t highking in name, just monarch of Urithiru, but the other monarchs stepped delicately—still wondering if this coalition would eventually become an empire beneath the Blackthorn.
Navani soothed worries, made oblique promises, and generally tried to keep everyone pointed in the right direction. It was exhausting work, so when she finally trailed into their rooms, she was glad to see that Dalinar had their heating fabrial warming the place with a toasty red light. He had unalon tea for her on the heating plate—very thoughtful, as he never brewed it for himself, finding it too sweet.
She fetched a cup, then found him on the couch nearest the fabrial, staring at its light. His jacket was off, draped across a nearby chair, and he’d dismissed the servants—as he usually did, and often too frequently. She’d need to let them know—again—that he wasn’t offended by something they’d done. He merely liked to be alone.
Fortunately, he’d made it clear that being alone didn’t include being away from her. He had a strange definition of the word sometimes. Indeed, he immediately made space for her as she sat down, letting her melt into the crook of his arm before the warm hearth. She undid the button on her safehand sleeve and gripped the warm cup in both hands. She’d grown comfortable with a glove these last few years, and found it increasingly annoying to have to wear something more formal to meetings.
For a time, she simply enjoyed the warmth. Three sources of it. The first the warmth of the fabrial, the second the warmth of the tea, and the third the warmth of him against her back. The most welcome of them all. He rested his hand along her upper arm and would occasionally rub with one finger—as if wanting to constantly remind himself that she was there with him.
“I used to think these fabrials were terrible,” he eventually said, “replacing the life of a fire with something so … cold. Warm, yes, but cold. Strange, how quickly I’ve come to enjoy them. No need to keep piling on logs. No worry about the flue clogging and smoke boiling out. It’s amazing how much removing a few background worries can free the mind.”
“To think about Taravangian?” she guessed. “And how he supported the war proposal instead of objecting?”
“You know me too well.”
“I’m worried too,” she said, sipping her tea. “He was far too quick to offer troops. We’ll have to take them, you know. After spending months complaining he was withholding his armies, we can’t turn them away now.”
“What is he planning?” Dalinar asked. “This is where I’m most likely to fail everyone, Navani. Sadeas outmaneuvered me, and I fear Taravangian is more crafty in every respect. When I tried to make initial moves to cut him out of the coalition, he’d already worked on the others to undermine any such attempt. He’s playing me, and doing it deftly, right beneath my nose.”
“You don’t have to face him alone,” Navani said. “This isn’t only upon you.”
“I know,” Dalinar said, his eyes seeming to glow as he stared at the bright ruby in the hearth. “I won’t ever suffer that feeling again, Navani. That moment of standing on the Shattered Plains watching Sadeas retreat. Of knowing that my faith in someone—my stupid naivety—had doomed the lives of thousands of men. I won’t be Taravangian’s pawn.”
She reached up and cupped his chin in her hand. “You suffered betrayal by Sadeas because you saw the man as he should have been, if he’d risen above his own pettiness. Don’t lose that faith, Dalinar. It’s part of what makes you the man you have become.”
“Taravangian is confident, Navani. If he’s working with the enemy, there’s a reason for it. He always has a reason.”
“Wealth, renown. Vengeance maybe.”
“No,” Dalinar said. “No, not