Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,493

ask, to Craving.

“Many,” Raboniel said. She hummed to Ridicule. “Do not make the same mistake as the humans, assuming that the singers have always been of one mind. Yes, forms change our thinking at times, but they merely enhance what’s inside. They bring out different aspects of our personalities.

“Humans have always tried to claim that we are nothing but drones controlled by Odium. They like that lie because it makes them feel better about killing us. I wonder if it assuaged their guilt on the day they stole the minds of those they enslaved.”

Raboniel’s desk was nestled right up against the shield—which, once a bright blue, had grown dark and violet.

Raboniel sat and began looking through her notes. “Do you regret what you personally did, Last Listener?” she asked to Spite. “Do you hate yourself for your betrayal of your people?”

Timbre pulsed. Venli should have lied.

Instead she said, “Yes, Ancient One.”

“That is well,” Raboniel said. “We all pay dearly for our choices, and the pain lingers, when one is immortal. I suspect you still crave the chance to become a Fused. But I have found in you a second soul, a regretful soul.

“I am pleased to discover it. Not because I admire one who regrets their service—and you should know Odium does not look favorably upon second-guessing. Nevertheless, I had thought you to be like so many others. Abject in your cravings, ambitious to a fault.”

“I was that femalen,” Venli whispered. “Once.”

Raboniel glanced at her sharply, and Venli realized her mistake. She’d said it to the Lost. One of the old rhythms that Regals weren’t supposed to be able to hear.

Raboniel narrowed her eyes and hummed to Spite. “And what are you now?”

“Confused,” Venli said, also to Spite. “Ashamed. I used to know what I wanted, and it seemed so simple. And then…”

“Then?”

“They all died, Ancient One. People I … loved dearly, without realizing the depth of my feelings. My sister. My once-mate. My mother. All just … gone. Because of me.”

Timbre pulsed reassuringly. But Venli didn’t want reassurance or forgiveness at that moment.

“I understand,” Raboniel said.

Venli stepped closer, then knelt beside the table. “Why do we fight?” she asked to Craving. “Ancient One, if it costs so much, why fight? Why suffer so much to secure a land we will not be able to enjoy, because all those we love will be gone?”

“It is not for us that we fight,” Raboniel said. “It is not for our comfort that we destroy, but for the comfort of those who come after. We sing rhythms of Pain so they may know rhythms of Peace.”

“And will he ever let us sing to Peace?”

Raboniel did not respond. She shuffled through a few papers on her table. “You have served me well,” she said. “A little distractedly, perhaps. I ascribe that to your true allegiance being to Leshwi, and your reports to her interfering with your duties to me.”

“I am sorry, Ancient One.”

Raboniel hummed to Indifference. “I should have arranged for a regular meeting for you to give her your spy reports. Maybe I could have written them for you, to save time. At any rate, I cannot fault you for loyalty to her.”

“She … doesn’t like you very much, Ancient One.”

“She is afraid of me because she is shortsighted,” Raboniel said. “But Leshwi is among the best we have, for she has managed to not only remember why we fight, but to feel it. I am fond of Leshwi. She makes me think that once we win, there will be some Fused who can rule effectively. Even if she is too softhearted for the brutalities we now must perpetuate.”

Raboniel selected a paper off the desk and handed it to Venli. “Here. Payment for your services. My time in the tower runs short; I will finish unmaking the Sibling, and then will be on to other tasks. So I will now dismiss you. If you survive what comes next, there is a chance you may find some peace of your own, Venli.”

Venli took the paper, humming to Craving. “Ancient One,” she said, “I am a weak servant. Because I am so confused about what I want, I do not deserve your praise.”

“In part, this is true,” Raboniel said. “But I like confusion. Too often we belittle it as a lesser Passion. But confusion leads a scholar to study further and push for secrets. No great discovery was ever made by a femalen or malen who was confident they knew everything.

“Confusion can mean you have