“At the will of the monarchs,” the Mink said, “I’ll do this—but remember your promises. I won’t have you escape them. Once we inevitably liberate Alethkar, my kingdom is next.”

Jasnah nodded. “I would like to see your battle plans, General Dieno. I give my initial approval to our continued offensive into Emul, but I will want details. Losing access to the Oathgates is going to prove disruptive.”

With that, Dalinar called an end to the meeting. People began to uncover spheres around the perimeter of the war pavilion—revealing how enormous it truly was. It had to be large enough to accommodate everyone’s entourages, and so the map table looked small once everyone started retreating to their sections of the tent.

Kmakl made his way over to the Thaylen scribes, where they used spanreeds to send minutes of the meeting home to Fen and the Thaylen guildmasters. Dalinar shook his head. He agreed with Fen’s decision to stay behind, and wished that Jasnah had made the same choice. Too many monarchs in one location made him nervous.

It also bothered him that so much of what Queen Fen did was subject to the whims of a bunch of merchants and guildmasters. If they did win this war, he’d see if he could find a way to help her wrest control of her kingdom from those eels.

The Azish and Emuli contingents began to vacate the war tent, letting in some fresh air. Dalinar used a handkerchief to mop at the sweat on the back of his neck—this region of Roshar wasn’t as muggy as the parts around the Reshi Isles, but the summer weather here was still too hot for his taste. He almost wanted to have one of the Windrunners fly him up to a higher altitude where he could get some proper cold air and think clearly.

He settled for stepping outside the tent and surveying the camp. They’d commandeered a small town named Laqqi, just inside the Emuli border, not too far from Azimir. That placed it about a three-day march from the battlefront, where their lines—soon to be reinforced—held against the enemy forces to the south.

Little more than a village, Laqqi had been overrun by troops setting up supply stations and command tents. Workers reinforced the eastern approach to block storms, and Windrunners soared through the air. This position made for an excellent command center, close enough to the battlefront to be reached by short flight, but far enough away to be protected from ground assault.

Dalinar took some time out here, after checking that little Gav was playing happily with his governess, to think about Evi. Storms, he’d been so proud at Adolin’s birth. How had he let himself miss so much of his son’s childhood?

He turned those memories over in his head. At first, he’d found being able to remember Evi to be novel—but the more the memories settled with him, the more they felt comfortable, like a familiar seat by the fire. He was ashamed of so much of what he’d remembered about himself, but he would not trade these memories again. He needed them. Needed her.

He enjoyed the fresh air for a time, breathing deeply, before he returned to the tent to get something to drink. Szeth followed with his hand on his oversized sword—the silver sheath and black hilt were masked by a disguise. Szeth didn’t say anything, but Dalinar knew that he considered his defeat by Nale to be shameful. In Dalinar’s estimation, it spoke more of the Herald’s skill than anything else. Why was it Nale so often stayed out of battles, overseeing his Skybreakers from afar?

Jasnah joined Dalinar as he poured himself some wine in the tent, by the bar. She knew what Szeth really was, but she was too politic to give him so much as a glance.

“You’re stepping away from the fight, Uncle,” she noted quietly. “I expected you to lead the war effort here personally.”

“I have found someone more capable to do the job.”

“Pardon, Uncle, but you should find a better lie. You never let go of something you’re interested in doing yourself. It’s one of your more consistent behaviors.”

He stilled himself, then glanced about the room. She shouldn’t have confronted him here, where representatives of the other monarchs might hear. Knowing Jasnah, that was part of the reason she had done so. With her, every conversation was a little contest, and she always considered the terrain.

“I’m beginning to realize something,” he said softly, stepping her over to the side, away from the bar. Szeth stayed close, as did Wit. Others gave them space. “My powers as a Bondsmith are more valuable than we have known. I told you about how, in the battle, I touched Nalan and saw his past.”

“A feat you’ve been unable to replicate with Shalash or Talenelat.”

“Yes, because I don’t know what I’m doing!” Dalinar said. “I am a weapon we haven’t fully investigated. I need to learn how to use these powers—use them for more than merely renewing spheres and opening the perpendicularity.”

“I appreciate someone wanting to learn, Uncle,” Jasnah said. “But you are already a powerful weapon. You are one of our greatest military minds.”

“I need to become something more,” Dalinar said. “I’m worried that this war is going to be an endless give-and-take. We seize Emul, but lose Jah Keved. Back and forth, back and forth. How do we win, Jasnah? What is our end goal?”

She nodded slowly. “We need to push Odium to an accord. You think learning about your powers can help you achieve this?”

Over a year had passed since Odium had agreed to a contest by champions—but since then, Dalinar hadn’t seen the being. No visits. No visions. Not even a messenger.

“Rayse—Odium—is not one to be pushed into anything,” Wit said from over Jasnah’s shoulder. “He might have agreed to a contest in theory, Blackthorn, but he never set terms. And he won’t, as long as he thinks he’s winning this war. You need to frighten him, convince him that he might lose. Only then will he proceed with a contest of champions—as long as the terms limit his losses.”

“I would rather a complete victory than something that allows Odium to hedge his bets,” Dalinar said.

“Ah, delightful,” Wit replied, holding up his palm and mimicking writing something down. “I’ll just make a note that you’d like to win. Yes, how foolish of me not to realize that, Blackthorn. Total victory. Over a god. Who is currently holding your homeland, and recently gained the allegiance of one of the strongest militaries on the planet. Shall I also have him bake you something sweet as an apology for this whole ‘end of the world’ mess?”

“That will do, Wit,” Dalinar said with a sigh.

“The baking thing is an actual tradition,” Wit added. “I once visited a place where—if you lose a battle—your mother has to bake the other fellow something tasty. I rather liked those people.”

“Pity you didn’t remain with them longer,” Dalinar said.

“Ha! Well, I didn’t think it wise to stay around. After all, they were cannibals.”

Dalinar shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand. “Wit says we have to somehow persuade Odium we’re a threat. But I think the enemy is manipulating us. This entire trick with Taravangian has me unsettled. We’re dealing with a god, but we aren’t using all the tools at our disposal.”

He held up his palm. “With this, I can touch his world, the Spiritual Realm. And when I was fighting Nalan, I felt something, saw something. What if I could reforge the Oathpact? If the Fused stopped being reborn, would that not give us—at last—an edge over Odium? Something to force him to negotiate on our terms?”