Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

“Yes, he can’t hit me,” she whispered. “Physical pain would have bolstered me, provoked me to leave and escape his control. What he did was in some ways worse. He undermined my confidence…” Gavilar spun back toward her. “You think,” he said, “you belong at my side? You think you deserve to be a queen?” “Yes,” she said. “Like that.” “I build something grand,” Gavilar said, stalking toward her, “and you’re still stuck—at least in your mind—on a backwater ranch, barely able to write your name.” “He didn’t know that about me,” she added. “By the time I knew him, I had impressive penmanship and spelling.” “I build something grand,” Gavilar said, stalking toward her again, like an actor repeating his lines after flubbing them, “and you’re still stuck—in your mind—on a backwater ranch, worrying about your insignificant father and his petty concerns.” “Much better,” Navani said. “But Gavilar always built up to insults like these—he never came in spewing them. You’re missing the nuance. The careful gibes like pins—not daggers. The cold refusal to talk to me about important matters, as if insulting me wasn’t even worth his time. Gavilar was a master of precision abuse.”