The Way of Kings

He accepted stormwardens now, though when they’d first grown popular, he’d rejected their aid. No man should try to know the future, nor lay claim to it, for it belonged only to the Almighty himself. And Dalinar wondered how stormwardens could do their research without reading. They claimed they didn’t, but he’d seen their books filled with glyphs. Glyphs. They weren’t meant to be used in books; they were pictures. A man who had never seen one before could still understand what one meant, based on its shape. That made interpreting glyphs different from reading.

Stormwardens did a lot of things that made people uncomfortable. Unfortunately, they were just so useful. Knowing when a highstorm might strike, well, that was just too tempting an advantage. Even though stormwardens were frequently wrong, they were more often right.

Renarin knelt beside the hearth, inspecting the fabrial that had been installed there to warm the room. Navani had already arrived. She sat at Dalinar’s elevated writing desk, scribbling a letter; she waved a distracted greeting with her reed as Dalinar entered. She wore the fabrial he had seen her displaying at the feast a few weeks back; the multilegged contraption was attached to her shoulder, gripping the cloth of her violet dress.

“I don’t know, Father,” Adolin said, closing the door. Apparently he was still thinking about Sadeas. “I don’t care if he’s listening to The Way of Kings. He’s just doing it to make you look less closely at the plateau assaults so that his clerks can arrange his cut of the gemhearts more favorably. He’s manipulating you.”

Dalinar shrugged. “Gemhearts are secondary, son. If I can reforge an alliance with him, then it’s worth nearly any cost. In a way, I’m the one manipulating him.”

Adolin sighed. “Very well. But I’m still going to keep a hand on my money pouch when he’s near.”

“Just try not to insult him,” Dalinar said. “Oh, and something else. I would like you to take extra care with the King’s Guard. If there are soldiers we know for certain are loyal to me, put those in charge of guarding Elhokar’s rooms. His words about a conspiracy have me worried.”

“Surely you don’t give them credence,” Adolin said.

“Something odd did happen with his armor. This whole mess stinks like cremslime. Perhaps it will turn out to be nothing. For now, humor me.”

“I have to note,” Navani said, “that I didn’t much care for Sadeas back when you, he, and Gavilar were friends.” She finished her letter with a flourish.

“He’s not behind the attacks on the king,” Dalinar said.

“How can you be certain?” Navani asked.

“Because it’s not his way,” Dalinar said. “Sadeas never wanted the title of king. Being highprince gives him plenty of power, but leaves him with someone to take the blame for large-scale mistakes.” Dalinar shook his head. “He never tried to seize the throne from Gavilar, and he’s even better positioned with Elhokar.”

“Because my son’s a weakling,” Navani said. It wasn’t an accusation.

“He’s not weak,” Dalinar said, “He’s inexperienced. But yes, that does make the situation ideal for Sadeas. He’s telling the truth – he asked to be Highprince of Information because he wants very badly to find out who is trying to kill Elhokar.”

“Mashala,” Renarin said, using the formal term for aunt. “That fabrial on your shoulder, what does it do?”

Navani looked down at the device with a sly smile. Dalinar could see she’d been hoping one of them would ask. Dalinar sat down; the highstorm would be coming soon.

“Oh, this? It’s a type of painrial. Here, let me show you.” She reached up with her safehand, pushing a clip that released the clawlike legs. She held it up. “Do you have any aches, dear? A stubbed toe, perhaps, or a scrape?”

Renarin shook his head.

“I pulled a muscle in my hand during dueling practice earlier,” Adolin said. “It’s not bad, but it does ache.”

“Come over here,” Navani said. Dalinar smiled fondly – Navani was always at her most genuine when playing with new fabrials. It was one of the few times when one got to see her without any pretense. This wasn’t Navani the king’s mother or Navani the political schemer. This was Navani the excited engineer.

“The artifabrian community is doing some amazing things,” Navani said as Adolin proffered his hand. “I’m particularly proud of this little device, as I had a hand in its construction.” She clipped it onto Adolin’s hand, wrapping the clawlike legs around the palm and locking them into place.

Adolin raised his hand, turning it around. “The pain is gone.”

“But you can still feel, correct?” Navani said in a self-satisfied way.

Adolin prodded his palm with the fingers of his other hand. “The hand isn’t numb at all.”

Renarin watched with keen interest, bespectacled eyes curious, intense. If only the lad could be persuaded to become an ardent. He could be an engineer then, if he wanted. And yet he refused. His reasons always seemed like poor excuses to Dalinar.

“It’s kind of bulky,” Dalinar noted.