Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,534

partially for the comfort of familiarity. But storm her, she still believed. Perhaps that was as foolish as thinking herself a scholar. Who did she think was listening? Was she only praying because she was afraid?

Yes, she thought, continuing to paint. I’m afraid. And I have to hope that someone, somewhere, is listening. That someone has a plan. That it all matters somehow.

Jasnah took comfort in the idea that there was no plan, that everything was random. She said that a chaotic universe meant the only actions of actual importance were the ones they decided were important. That gave people autonomy.

Navani loved her daughter, but couldn’t see it the same way. Organization and order existed in the very way the world worked. From the patterns on leaves to the system of compounds and chemical reactions. It all whispered to her.

Someone had known anti-Voidlight was possible.

Someone had known Navani would create it first.

Someone had seen all this, planned for it, and put her here. She had to believe that. She had to believe, therefore, that there was a way out.

Please, she prayed, painting the glyph for divine direction. Please. I’m trying so hard to do what is right. Please guide me. What do I do?

A voice sounded outside the room, and in her sleep-deprived state, she first mistook it for a voice speaking to her in answer. And then … then she heard what it was saying.

“The best way to distract the Bondsmith is to kill his wife,” the voice said. Rough, cold. “I am therefore here to perform the act that you have so far refused to do.”

Navani stood and walked to the door. Her femalen guard was someone new, but she didn’t forbid Navani from peering down the hall toward Raboniel’s workstation beside the Sibling’s shield.

A man in a black uniform stood before Raboniel. Neat, close-cropped black hair, a narrow hawkish face with a prominent nose and sunken cheeks. Moash. The murderer.

“I continue to have use for the queen,” Raboniel said.

“My orders are from Odium himself,” Moash said. If a Fused’s voice was overly ornamented with rhythms and meaning, his voice was the opposite. Dead. A voice like slate.

“He ordered you to come to me, Vyre,” Raboniel said. “And I requested for you to be sent. So today, I need you to deal with my problems first. There is a worm in the tower. Eating his way through walls. He is increasingly an issue.”

“I warned you about Stormblessed,” Moash said. “I warned all of you. And you did not listen.”

“You will kill him,” Raboniel said.

“No enemy can kill Kaladin Stormblessed,” Moash said.

“You promised that—”

“No enemy can kill Stormblessed,” Moash said. “He is a force like the storms, and you cannot kill the storms, Fused.”

Raboniel handed Moash something. A small dagger. “You speak foolishness. A man is merely a man, no matter how skilled. That dagger can destroy his spren. Spread that sand, and it will turn faintly white when an invisible spren flies overhead. Use it to locate his honorspren, then strike at it, depriving him of power.”

“I can’t kill him,” Moash repeated a third time, tucking the dagger away. “But I promise something better. We make this a covenant, Fused: I ruin Stormblessed, leave him unable to interfere, and you deliver me the queen. Accepted?”

Navani felt herself grow cold. Raboniel didn’t even glance in her direction. “Accepted,” Raboniel said. “But do another thing for me. The Pursuer has been sent to destroy the final node, but I think he is delaying to encourage Stormblessed to show up and fight him for it. Break the node for me.”

Moash nodded and accepted what seemed to be a small diagram explaining the location of the node. He turned on his heel with military precision and marched up the hallway. If he saw her, he made no comment, passing like a cold wind.

“Monster,” Navani said, angerspren at her feet. “Traitor! You would attack your own friend?”

He stopped short. Staring straight ahead, he spoke. “Where were you, lighteyes, when your son condemned innocents to death?” He turned, affixing Navani with those lifeless eyes. “Where were you, Queen, when your son sent Roshone to Kaladin’s hometown? A political outcast, a known murderer, exiled to a small village. Where he couldn’t do any damage, right?

“Roshone killed Kaladin’s brother. You could have stopped it. If any of you cared. You were never my queen; you are nothing to me. You are nothing to anyone. So don’t speak to me of treason or friendship. You have no