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“Words are the most important things in my life right now.”
Should Dalinar have found something more traditional to wear himself? He suddenly felt like a dusty, empty frame hung beside the gorgeous painting that was Navani in her wedding regalia.
Three men bearing their son’s name had lived and died in that time. The soldier who had been forged in Amaram’s army. The slave, so bitter and angry. His parents had never met Captain Kaladin, bodyguard to the most powerful man in Roshar.
The way she spoke, she expected to be there when Kaladin . . . Well, he’d never considered that before, though she went with him everywhere else. Could he convince her to wait outside? She’d still listen, if not sneak in to watch. Stormfather. His life just kept getting stranger. He tried—unsuccessfully—to banish the image of lying in bed with a woman, Syl sitting on the headboard and shouting out encouragement and advice. . .
“Inappropriate?” Pattern said. “Such as . . . dividing by zero?”
I see what is left out in the storms, and that darkly. I am no god, Dalinar Kholin. No more than your shadow on the wall is you.
“It isn’t a habit if you only do it once, Brightlord.”
We can’t just assume that because something is old it is right.”
“Healed you of poison.” “That will be useful.” “Mmmm. I thought you’d be angry. You drank the poison on purpose, didn’t you?”
The Almighty gave us messy hair to prepare us for living with men.”
Life doesn’t stop for a war, child. Everyone will still need new shoes, baskets, clothing, wine.”
“I could understand people . . . mmmm . . . through the lies they want to be told.”
Idly, he wondered what it would take to actually earn the ardents’ displeasure.
Has more good been done than evil? If so, then the law has done its job. And so . . . I must hang all four men.” He paused. “And I would weep, every night, for having done it.”
“But sometimes a hypocrite is nothing more than a person who is in the process of changing.”
He probably shouldn’t have shown them any of these things; that didn’t stop him from feeling proud as he walked with them, entering the city.
Asked us several times if we knew when you would return. As if we are appointment keepers for our glorious flying leader.”
Dalinar seemed like he could use a good session of making bread.
“These are wise words,” Lunamor said. He wasn’t sure why yet. He’d have to ponder them.
“Maybe,” Kaladin said, “that should make you reconsider those other wars, rather than using them to justify this one.”
“I’ve lived long enough to see the consequences of what I’ve done.”
“It does being a city.” He frowned. “Well, I mean, it bees a city. . . . It does what the city is. . .
He came so Renarin wouldn’t feel awkward, Shallan realized. It can’t be improper or feminine for the prince to be here if the storming Blackthorn decides to attend.
With a start, Moash realized that the man had pale green eyes. Yet he still raised his hand and volunteered to carry water—something that had once been parshman work. Well, that was a sight that couldn’t help but brighten a man’s day.
Kaladin, as usual, was late.
In one moment, all of her expertise had been wiped away.
“Don’t you see what you’re doing? You’re becoming like us.”
I would have thought, before attaining my current station, that a deity could not be surprised. Obviously, this is not true. I can be surprised. I can perhaps even be naive, I think.
It was sad that humans were so burdened by always being in mateform.
Even among humans, he was a strange one.
I knew it once you did it, the Stormfather said. Yes, once you did it, I always knew.
Now, we either learn together or we fall individually.
“I . . . was beginning to realize that I’m uncomfortable with the idea of scribes controlling the fates of nations. The things women write are stronger than my military.” “Yeah, that makes sense. Lots of boys is afraid of girls.”
“I’m not stupid enough to get mixed up in religion again. The last seven times I tried it were all disasters. I believe there’s at least one god still worshipping me by accident.”
“Yes, yes. Aim for the sun. That way if you miss, at least your arrow will fall far away, and the person it kills will likely be someone you don’t know.”
She crouched in a dim room, hands touching the smooth stone floor, which had been eroded by thousands upon thousands of footfalls. If stone met a man, stone might win—but if stone met humanity, then no force could preserve it.
“There’s kind of an army in the way,” Kaladin said. “Yes, amazingly your stench hasn’t cleared them out yet.” Shallan started leafing through her book. Kaladin frowned. Comments like that were part of what confused him about Shallan. She seemed perfectly friendly one moment, then she’d snap at him the next, while pretending it was merely part of normal conversation. But she didn’t talk like that to others, not even in jest. What is wrong with you, woman? he thought. They’d shared something intimate, in the chasms back on the Shattered Plains. A highstorm huddled together, and words. Was she
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“No. For you see, it flows the other direction. You are not worse for your association with the world, but it is better for its association with you.”
“Does it matter? One wrongly imprisoned man? One murder in an alley that a proper policing force could have stopped? The burden for the blood of those wronged must rest somewhere. I am the sacrifice. We, Dalinar Kholin, are the sacrifices. Society offers us up to trudge through dirty water so others may be clean.” He closed his eyes. “Someone has to fall, that others may stand.”
He could see too many sides. Parshmen angry at being enslaved for years, attempting to overthrow a corrupt government. Alethi protecting their homes from invading monsters. Elhokar trying to save his son. The palace guards trying to keep their oaths. Too many eyes to see through. Too many emotions. Were these his only two options? Pain or oblivion?
It took being a soldier to understand the heroism of simply being willing to continue after all your friends had died.
“I’m obviously too beautiful and interesting to hide.”
Personally, I think life is fair. It’s merely that often, you can’t immediately see what balances it.”
Through his bond, Dalinar sensed weeping. The Stormfather had kept Odium back, but storms, he had paid a price. The most powerful spren on Roshar—embodiment of the tempest that shaped all life—was crying like a child, whispering that Odium was too strong.
The most important step a man can take. It’s not the first one, is it? It’s the next one. Always the next step, Dalinar.
“Maybe you don’t have to save anyone, Kaladin. Maybe it’s time for someone to save you.”
“I will protect those I hate. Even . . . even if the one I hate most . . . is . . . myself.”
Life could not be lived making decisions at each juncture.
Szeth settled down lightly beside her. “I have failed to carry this burden.” “That’s okay. Your weird face is burden enough for one man.” “Your words are wise,” he said, nodding. Lift rolled her eyes. “You’re right, sword. He’s not very fun, is he?” I think he’s deevy anyway.
