Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,315

unexciting.”

Jasnah plucked the paper from his fingers. “I will use my own unfortunate experience today as an example of why this is a terrible tradition. Ruthar’s blood will be the last such spilled. And as we leave this era of barbarism, each and every attendant at court will know that Alethkar’s first queen is a woman unafraid of doing what needs to be done. Herself.”

She was firm, so Dalinar tucked away his anger, then turned to leave. A part of him understood her move, and it was likely to be effective. Yet at the same time, it displayed that Jasnah Kholin—brilliant, determined—was not perfect. There were things about her that unnerved even the callous soldier that lived deep inside him.

As he walked away, Renarin hurried over. “Sorry,” the boy whispered. “I didn’t know she hadn’t told you.”

“It’s all right, son,” Dalinar said. “I suspect that without you, she’d have gone through with the plan anyway—then left him to bleed out on the floor.”

Renarin ducked his head. “Father. I’ve … had an episode.”

Dalinar stopped. “Anything urgent?”

“No.”

“Can I find you later today, maybe tomorrow?” Dalinar asked. “I want to help contain the fallout from this stunt.”

Renarin nodded quickly, then slipped out of the tent. Ruthar had stumbled to his feet, holding his neck, his gaudy yellow outfit now ruined. He searched around the room as if for succor, but his former friends and attendants were quietly slipping away—leaving only soldiers and the queen, who stood with her back to him. As if Ruthar were no longer worth attention.

Wit stood in his jet-black suit, one hand on the map table, leaning at a nearly impossible angle. Dalinar often found Wit with a grin on his face, but not today. Today the man looked cold, emotionless. His eyes were deep voids, their color invisible in the dim light.

They maneuvered Ruthar expertly, Dalinar thought. Forced him to make all the wrong moves. Could … I do something similar in facing Odium? Anger the god somehow, forcing him to accept a reckless agreement?

How did one intimidate a creature as powerful as Odium? What, on all of Roshar, could a god possibly fear or hate so much? He’d have to bring up the matter with Jasnah and Wit. Though … not today.

Today he’d had enough of their machinations.

This song—this tone, this rhythm—sounds so familiar, in ways I cannot explain or express.

—From Rhythm of War, page 5

“Only the femalens among your staff read?” Raboniel asked to Craving as they stood in the hallway outside the room with the crystal pillar. “I would have thought better of your instruction, Venli, considering how capable you are in other areas. Your staff shouldn’t follow foolish human customs.”

Venli’s staff of singers—the ones carefully recruited in Kholinar over the last year—had arrived in Urithiru via the Oathgate transfers early this morning. Raboniel had immediately put them to work. Nearby, the femalens were sorting through the boxes of notes and equipment the human queen had moved out into the hallway. Young human scribes were adding to that, repositioning boxes, making a general scene of chaos.

Venli’s staff, at Raboniel’s order, were doing their best to make sense of it—and to read through the pages and pages of notes to try to find important points to bring to Raboniel’s attention. They would soon take scholarform to help, but the task was still difficult. Venli had instructed them to do their best.

Today, Raboniel stood with her back to the blue shield, watching the confusion in the hallway and humming to herself.

Venli hummed to Indifference. “Ancient One,” she said, “my staff are good—but they are culturally Alethi. My own people, the listeners, would have happily taught them a better way—but the listeners were taken by Odium, in his wisdom.”

“Do you question Odium, Venli?” Raboniel said to Craving.

“I have been taught that Passion does a person credit, Ancient One,” Venli said. “And to wonder, to question, is a Passion.”

“Indeed. Yet there are many among the Fused who think such Passions should be denied to everyone but themselves. You might find Odium shockingly like one of us in this regard. Or perhaps instead we are like him.” She nodded toward the mess of human scribes and Venli’s staff, working in near-perpetual motion like a pile of cremlings feasting after the rain. “What do you think of this?”

“If I had to guess, the human queen seems to be trying to make a mess.”

“She’s creating ways to stall that won’t appear like purposeful interference,” Raboniel said to Ridicule, though she seemed more