Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,544

arrive.

It came when her door guard suddenly shouted, putting her hands to her head in disbelief. She ran down the hallway. When Navani peeked out, she saw what had caused the commotion: the field around the crystal pillar was gone. Someone had destroyed the final node. The Sibling was exposed.

Navani almost ran over to attack with the anti-Voidlight dagger. She hesitated though, eyeing her traps in the hallway.

A magnet. I need a magnet.

She’d seen one earlier, near the wreckage of her desk. She scrambled over and picked it up out of the rubble. Outside, she heard Raboniel’s order echo with a clear voice.

“Run,” she said to the guard. “Tell the Word of Deeds and the Night Known to attend me. We have work to do.”

The guard dashed away. When Navani peeked out again, Raboniel was stepping into the chamber with the crystal pillar, alone.

A chance. Navani slipped into the hallway and moved quietly toward Raboniel. After passing the crates with her carefully prepared traps, she touched the magnet to a corner of the last crate and heard a click. She only dared take the time to arm one: a painrial that filled anyone who crossed this point in the hallway with immense agony.

That done, she moved to the end of the corridor. The room with the crystal pillar seemed darker than she remembered it. The Sibling had been almost fully corrupted.

Raboniel stood with her hand pressed against the pillar to finish the job. Navani forced herself forward, dagger held in a tight grip.

“You should run, Navani,” Raboniel said to a calm rhythm, her voice echoing in the room. “There is a copy of our notebook on my desk in the hallway, along with your anti-Voidlight plate. Take them and make your escape.”

Navani froze in place, holding the dagger’s hilt so tightly, she thought she might never be able to uncurl her fingers.

She knows I’m here. She knows what she did in sending the guard away. Logic, Navani. What does it mean?

“You’re letting me go on purpose?” she said.

“Since the final node has been destroyed,” Raboniel said, “Vyre will soon return to claim his promised compensation. However, if you have escaped on your own … well, then I have not defaulted on my covenant with him.”

“I can’t leave the Sibling to you.”

“What do you think to do?” Raboniel asked. “Fight me?” She turned, so calm and composed. Her eyes flickered to the dagger, then she hummed softly to a confused rhythm. She’d forgotten about it. She wasn’t as in control as she pretended.

“Is this how you wish to end our association?” Raboniel asked. “Struggling like brutes in the wilderness? Scholars such as we, reduced to the exploitation of common blades? Run, Navani. You cannot defeat a Fused in battle.”

She was right on that count. “I can’t abandon the Sibling,” Navani said. “My honor won’t allow it.”

“We’re all children of Odium in the end,” Raboniel said. “Children of our Passions.”

“You just said we were scholars,” Navani said. “Others might be controlled by their passions. We are something more. Something better.” She took a deep breath, then turned the dagger in her hand, hilt out. “I’ll give you this, then you and I can go back to my room to wait together. If Vyre does defeat Stormblessed, I will submit to him. If not, you will agree to leave the Sibling.”

“A foolish gamble,” Raboniel said.

“No, a compromise. We can discuss as we wait, and if we come to a more perfect accommodation, all the better.” She proffered the dagger.

“Very well,” Raboniel said. She took the dagger with a quick snap of her hand, showing that she didn’t completely trust Navani. As well she shouldn’t.

Raboniel strode down the hallway, Navani following several paces behind.

“Let’s get to this quickly, Navani,” Raboniel said. “I should think that the two of us—”

Then Raboniel stepped directly into Navani’s fabrial trap.

For ones so varied, they are somehow intense.

—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days

Kaladin clung to Teft’s limp form and felt it all crumbling. The flimsy facade of confidence he had built to let himself fight. The way he pretended he was fine.

Syl landed on his shoulder, arms wrapped around herself, and said nothing. What was there to say?

It was over.

It was all just … over. What was there to life if he couldn’t protect the people he loved?

Long ago, he’d promised himself he’d try one last time. He’d try to save the men of Bridge Four. And he’d failed.

Teft had been so vibrant, so