“Does Towerlight have a tone?” Navani asked.

“Two tones,” Raboniel said, opening her eyes and setting down the Stormlight sphere. “But they aren’t simply the tones of Cultivation and of Honor. They are … different, changed so that they are in harmony with one another.”

“Curious,” Navani said. “And is there a rhythm to it?”

“Yes,” Raboniel said. “Both tones adopt it, harmonizing as they play the same rhythm. A symphony combining Honor’s control and Cultivation’s ever-building majesty.”

Their Towerlight spheres had all run out by now, and Raboniel had no way to restore them, so there was nothing for them to check.

“Plants grow by Stormlight,” Navani said, “if you beat the proper rhythm in their presence.”

“An old agricultural trick,” Raboniel said. “It works better with Lifelight, if you can find some.”

“Why, though?” Navani asked. “Why does Light respond to tones? Why is there a rhythm that makes plants grow?” Navani dug in her materials and began setting up an experiment.

“I have asked myself this question many times,” Raboniel said. “But it seems like asking why gravity pulls. Must we not accept some fundamentals of science as baselines? That some things in this world simply work?”

“No, we don’t have to,” Navani said. “Even gravity has a mechanism driving it. There are proofs to show why the most basic addition problems work. Everything has an explanation.”

“I have heard,” Raboniel said, “that the Lights respond to sound because it is reminiscent of the voice of the Shards commanding them to obey.”

Navani hit the tuning forks, touched them to their respective gemstones, then put them in place. A thin stream of Stormlight ran from one gemstone, a thin stream of Voidlight from the other. They met together at the center—swirling around an empty gemstone. Neither Light entered it.

“Voidlight and Stormlight,” Navani said. “The voices of gods.” Or perhaps something older than that. The reason the beings called gods spoke the way they did.

Raboniel came in close, shoulder-to-shoulder with Navani as they observed the streams of Light.

“You said that Stormlight and Lifelight make a rhythm together when they mix,” she said. “So, if you could imagine a rhythm that mixed Stormlight and Voidlight, what would it be like?”

“Those two?” Raboniel said. “It wouldn’t work, Navani. They are opposites. One orderly, organized. The other…”

Her words drifted off, and her eyes narrowed.

“… the other chaotic,” Raboniel whispered, “but with a logic to it. An understandable logic. Could we perhaps contrast it? Chaos always seems more powerful when displayed against an organized background.…” Finally she pursed her lips. “No, I cannot imagine it.”

Navani tapped the rim of her cup, inspecting the failed experiment.

“If you could hear the rhythms,” Raboniel said, “you’d understand. But that is beyond humans.”

“Sing one for me,” Navani said. “Honor’s tone and rhythm.”

Raboniel complied, singing a pure, vibrant note—the tone of Stormlight, the same as made by the tuning fork. Then she made the tone waver, vibrate, pulse in a stately rhythm. Navani hummed along, matching the tone, trying to affix it into her mind. Raboniel was obviously overemphasizing the rhythm, making it easier for her to recognize.

“Change now,” Navani said, “to Odium’s rhythm.”

Raboniel did so, singing a discordant tone with a violent, chaotic rhythm. Navani tried to match it with Honor’s tone. She had vocal training, like any lighteyed woman of her dahn. However, it hadn’t been an area of express study for her. Though she tried to hold the tone against Raboniel’s forceful rhythm, she quickly lost the note.

Raboniel cut off, then softly hummed a different rhythm. “That was a fine attempt,” Raboniel said. “Better than I’ve heard from other humans, but we must admit you simply aren’t built for this kind of work.”

Navani took a drink, then swirled the wine in her cup.

“Why did you want me to sing those rhythms?” Raboniel asked. “What were you hoping to accomplish?”

“I thought that perhaps if we melded the two songs, we could find the proper harmony that would come from a combination of Stormlight and Voidlight.”

“It won’t be that easy,” Raboniel said. “The tones would need to change to find a harmony. I’ve tried this many times, Navani, and always failed. The songs of Honor and Odium do not mesh.”

“Have you tried it with a human before?” Navani asked.

“Of course not. Humans—as we just proved—can’t hold to a tone or rhythm.”

“We proved nothing,” Navani said. “We had a single failed experiment.” She set her cup on the table, then crossed the room and dug through her things. She emerged with one of her arm sheaths, in which she’d embedded a clock and other devices. Like other Stormlight fabrials in the tower, it didn’t work any longer. But it was rigged to hold a long sequence of gemstones.

Navani ripped off the interior leather of the sheath, then settled at the table and fiddled with the screws and set new gemstones—full of Stormlight—into it.

“What is this?” Raboniel said.

“You can hear the songs and rhythms of Roshar,” Navani said. “Perhaps it’s merely because you have better hearing.”

Raboniel hummed a skeptical rhythm, but Navani continued setting the gemstones.

“We can hear them because we are the children of Roshar,” Raboniel said. “You are not.”

“I’ve lived here all my life,” Navani said. “I’m as much a child of this planet as you are.”

“Your ancestors were from another realm.”

“I’m not speaking of my ancestors,” Navani said, strapping the sheath on so the flats of the gemstones touched her arm. “I’m speaking of myself.” She reset her experiment on the table, sending new lines of Stormlight and Voidlight out of gemstones, making them swirl at the center around an empty one.

“Sing Honor’s tone and rhythm again, Ancient One,” Navani asked.

Raboniel sat back on her stool, but complied. Navani closed her eyes, tightening her arm sheath. It had been built as a fabrial, but she wasn’t interested in that function. All she wanted was something that would hold large gemstones and press them against her skin.

She could feel them now, cool but warming to her touch. Infused gemstones always had a tempest inside. Was there a sound to them too? A vibration …

Could she hear it in there? The tone, the rhythm? With Raboniel singing, she thought she could. She matched that tone, and felt something on her arm. The gemstones reacting—or rather the Stormlight inside reacting.

There was a beat to it. One that Raboniel’s rhythm only hinted at. Navani could sing the tone and feel the gemstones respond. It was like having a stronger singer beside her—she could adapt her voice to match. The Stormlight itself guided her—providing a control, with a beat and rhythm.

Navani added that rhythm to her tone, tapping her foot, concentrating. She imagined a phantom song to give it structure.