The Way of Kings

Fool, he thought, tearing his eyes away from her. Your brother’s widow. With Gavilar dead, Navani was now to be treated as Dalinar’s sister. Besides, what of his own wife? Dead these ten years, wiped by his foolishness from his mind. Even if he couldn’t remember her, he should honor her.

Why had Navani returned? As women called out greetings to her, Dalinar hurriedly made his way over to the king’s table. He sat down; a servant arrived in moments with a plate for him – they knew his preferences.

It was steaming peppered chicken, cut in medallions and laid atop fried round slices of tenem, a soft, light orange vegetable. Dalinar grabbed a piece of flatbread and slipped his dining knife from the sheath on his right calf. So long as he was eating, it would be a breach of etiquette for Navani to approach him.

The food was good. It always was at these feasts of Elhokar’s – in that, the son was like the father. Elhokar nodded to Dalinar from the end of the table, then continued his conversation with Sadeas. Highprince Roion sat a few seats down from him. Dalinar had an appointment with him in a few days, the first of the highprinces he’d approach and try to convince to work with him on a joint plateau assault.

No other highprinces came to sit near Dalinar. Only they – and people with specific invitations – could sit at the king’s table. One man lucky enough to receive such an invitation sat on Elhokar’s left, obviously uncertain if he should join in the conversation or not.

Water gurgled in the stream behind Dalinar. Before him, the festivities continued. It was a time for relaxation, but the Alethi were a reserved people, at least when compared with more passionate folk like the Horneaters or the Reshi. Still, his people seemed to have grown more opulent and self-indulgent since his childhood. Wine flowed freely and foods sizzled fragrantly. On the first island, several young men had stepped into a sparring ring for a friendly duel. Young men at a feast often found reason to remove their coats and show off their swordsmanship.

The women were more modest with their displays, but they engaged in them as well. On Dalinar’s own island, several women had set up easels where they were sketching, painting, or doing calligraphy. As always, they kept their left hands shrouded in their sleeves, delicately creating art with the right. They sat on high stools, the kind that Wit had been using – in fact, Wit had probably stolen one for his little performance. A few of them attracted creationspren, the tiny shapes rolling across the tops of their easels or tables.

Navani had gathered a group of important lighteyed women to a table. A servant passed by in front of Dalinar, bringing the women some food. It appeared to also have been made with the exotic chicken, but had been mixed with steamed methi fruit and covered in a reddish-brown sauce. As a boy, Dalinar had secretly tried women’s food out of curiosity. He’d found it distastefully sweet.

Navani placed something on her table, a device of polished brass about the size of a fist, with a large, infused ruby at its center. The red Stormlight lit the entire table, throwing shadows down the white tablecloth. Navani picked up the device, rotating it to show her dinner companions its leglike protrusions. Turned that way, it looked vaguely crustacean.

I’ve never seen a fabrial like that before. Dalinar looked up at her face, admiring the contours of her cheek. Navani was a renowned artifabrian. Perhaps this device was–

Navani glanced at him, and Dalinar froze. She flashed the briefest of smiles at him, covert and knowing, then turned away before he could react. Storming woman! he thought, pointedly turning his attention to his meal.

He was hungry, and got so involved in his food that he almost didn’t notice Adolin approaching. The blond youth saluted Elhokar, then hurried to take one of the vacant seats beside Dalinar. “Father,” Adolin said in a hushed tone, “have you heard what they’re saying?”

“About what?”

“About you! I’ve fought three duels so far against men who described you – and our house – as cowards. They’re saying you asked the king to abandon the Vengeance Pact!”

Dalinar gripped the table and nearly rose to his feet. But he stopped himself. “Let them speak if they wish,” he said, turning back to his meal, stabbing a chunk of peppered chicken with his knife and raising it to his lips.

“Did you really do it?” Adolin asked. “Is that what you talked about at the meeting with the king two days back?”

“It is,” Dalinar admitted.

That elicited a groan from Adolin. “I was worried already. When I–”

“Adolin,” Dalinar interjected. “Do you trust me?”

Adolin looked at him, the youth’s eyes wide, honest, but pained. “I want to. Storms, Father. I really want to.”

“What I am doing is important. It must be done.”

Adolin leaned in, speaking softly. “And what if they are delusions? What if you’re just… getting old.”