The Way of Kings

“Yes,” Wit said, waving him on, “my horse. Ah, Brightlord Neteb, you smell unique today – did you attack a wet whitespine, or did one just sneeze on you? Lady Alami! No, please, don’t speak – it’s much easier to maintain my illusions regarding your intelligence that way. And Brightlord Dalinar.” Wit nodded to Dalinar as he passed. “Ah, my dear Brightlord Taselin. Still engaged in your experiment to prove a maximum threshold of human idiocy? Good for you! Very empirical of you.”

Dalinar hesitated beside Wit’s chair as Taselin waddled by with a huff. “Wit,” Dalinar said, “do you have to?”

“Two what, Dalinar?” Wit said, eyes twinkling. “Eyes, hands, or spheres? I’d lend you one of the first, but – by definition – a man can only have one I, and if it is given away, who would be Wit then? I’d lend you one of the second, but I fear my simple hands have been digging in the muck far too often to suit one such as you. And if I gave you one of my spheres, what would I spend the remaining one on? I’m quite attached to both of my spheres, you see.” He hesitated. “Or, well, you can’t see. Would you like to?” He stood up off his chair and reached for his belt.

“Wit,” Dalinar said dryly.

Wit laughed, clapping Dalinar on the arm. “I’m sorry. This lot brings out the basest humor in me. Perhaps it’s that muck I spoke of earlier. I do try so hard to be elevated in my loathing of them, but they make it difficult.”

“Care for yourself, Wit,” Dalinar said. “This lot won’t suffer you forever. I wouldn’t see you dead by their knives; I see a fine man within you.”

“Yes,” Wit said, scanning the platform. “He tasted quite delicious. Dalinar, I fear I’m not the one who needs that warning. Speak your fears at a mirror a few times when you get home tonight. There are rumors about.”

“Rumors?”

“Yes. Terrible things. Grow on men like warts.”

“Tumors?”

“Both. Look, there is talk about you.”

“There is always talk about me.”

“This is worse than most,” Wit said, meeting his eyes. “Did you really speak of abandoning the Vengeance Pact?”

Dalinar took a deep breath. “That was between me and the king.”

“Well, he must have spoken of it to others. This lot are cowards – and no doubt that makes them feel like experts on the subject, for they’ve certainly been calling you that a great deal lately.”

“Stormfather!”

“No, I’m Wit. But I understand how easy a mistake that is to make.”

“Because you blow so much air,” Dalinar growled, “or because you make so much noise?”

A wide smile split Wit’s face. “Why, Dalinar! I’m impressed! Maybe I should make you Wit! Then I could be a highprince instead.” He stopped. “No, that would be bad. I’d go mad after a mere second of listening to them, then would likely slaughter the lot. Perhaps appoint cremlings in their places. The kingdom would undoubtedly fare better.”

Dalinar turned to go. “Thank you for the warning.”

Wit sat back down on his stool as Dalinar walked away. “You’re welcome. Ah, Brightlord Habatab! How thoughtful of you to wear a red shirt with a sunburn like that! If you continue to make my job this easy, I fear my mind shall become as dull as Brightlord Tumul’s! Oh, Brightlord Tumul! How unexpected it is to see you standing there! I didn’t mean to insult your stupidity. Really, it’s quite spectacular and worthy of much praise. Lord Yonatan and Lady Meirav, I’ll forgo an insult for you this once on account of your recent wedding, though I do find your hat quite impressive, Yonatan. I trust it is convenient to wear on your head something that doubles as a tent at night. Ah, and is that Lady Navani behind you? How long have you been back at the Plains and how did I not notice the smell?”

Dalinar froze. What?

“Obviously your own stench overpowered mine, Wit,” a warm feminine voice said. “Has no one done my son a service and assassinated you yet?”

“No, no assassins yet,” Wit said, amused. “I guess I’ve already got too much ass sass of my own.”

Dalinar turned with shock. Navani, the king’s mother, was a stately woman with intricately woven black hair. And she was not supposed to be here.

“Oh really, Wit,” she said. “I thought that kind of humor was beneath you.”

“So are you, technically,” Wit said, smiling, from atop his high-legged stool.

She rolled her eyes.

“Unfortunately, Brightness,” Wit replied with a sigh, “I’ve taken to framing my insults in terms this lot will understand. If it will please you, I shall attempt to improve my diction to more elevated terms.” He paused. “I say, do you know any words that rhyme with bescumber?”

Navani just turned her head and looked at Dalinar with a pair of light violet eyes. She wore an elegant dress, its shimmering red surface unbroken by embroidery. The gems in her hair – which was streaked with a few lines of grey – were red as well. The king’s mother was known as one of the most beautiful women in Alethkar, though Dalinar had always found that description inadequate, for surely there wasn’t a woman on all of Roshar to match her beauty.