Leshwi … had friends? Among the spren?

Storms. Leshwi had lived before the war, when men and singers had been allies. Honor had been the god of the Dawnsingers.

Timbre pulsed.

“She … doesn’t know Riah,” Venli said. “But she doesn’t know a lot of honorspren. She … doesn’t think any of the old ones survived the human betrayal.”

Leshwi nodded, humming softly to … to one of the old rhythms.

“My spren though,” Venli said. “She … has friends, who are willing to maybe try again. With us.”

“My soul is too long owned by someone else for that,” Leshwi said.

Venli glanced toward the fighting. The sudden light hadn’t halted them. If anything, it had made the Pursuer’s soldiers more determined as they attacked. They seemed to enjoy the company of the angerspren and painspren. Some of the humans had wrestled away weapons, but most of them fought unarmed, trying desperately to keep the Radiants safe.

“I don’t know what to do,” Venli whispered. “I keep wavering between two worlds. I’m too weak, mistress.”

Leshwi rose into the air, then ripped her side sword from its sheath. “It’s all right, Voice. I know the answer.”

She flew directly into the fight and began pulling away the soldiers, shouting for them to halt. When they didn’t, Leshwi started swinging. And in seconds her troops had joined her, as singer fought singer.

* * *

“Sibling,” Navani whispered, clinging to the pillar. “What is happening? Why do you make that rhythm?”

Navani? The voice that responded was soft as a baby’s breath on her skin. Almost imperceptible. I hear this rhythm. I hear it in the darkness. Why?

“Where is it coming from?”

There.

Navani was given an impression, a vision that overlaid her senses. A place in the tower … the atrium, dark from a storm blowing outside? Down here, deep within the basement, she hadn’t realized one was going on.

Fighting. People were fighting, struggling, dying. Navani squinted at the vision. Her pain was fading—though a part of her felt that was a bad sign. But she could see … a Fused, flying a foot off the ground, fighting beside someone infused with Voidlight. A Regal? And those were humans with them, standing together. Side by side.

“What are they doing?” Navani asked.

Fighting other singers. I think. It’s so dark. Why do they fight each other?

“What’s in that room they defend?” Navani whispered.

That is where they put the fallen Radiants.

“Emulsifier,” Navani whispered.

What?

“A joined purpose. Humans and singers. Honor and Odium. They’re fighting to protect the helpless, Sibling.”

The vision faded, but before it did, Navani spotted Rlain—the singer who worked with Bridge Four.

“He’s there,” Navani said, then found herself coughing. Each convulsion made the pain flare up again. “Sibling, he’s there!”

Too far, they whispered. Too late …

Outside in the hallway, Moash hacked at Raboniel’s left arm—making it fall limp. She clawed at him with her remaining arm, hissing, as the hand with the dagger dropped its weapon and dangled uselessly.

“Take me,” Navani whispered to the Sibling. “Bond me.”

No, the Sibling said, voice faint.

“Why?”

You aren’t worthy, Navani.

* * *

Rlain heard the shouting long before they reached the atrium. The guards holding him attuned Anxiety and hurried him and Dabbid faster, though Rlain remained optimistic. That noise had to be from Kaladin’s fight with the Pursuer.

Rlain was, therefore, utterly shocked when they walked into the atrium to find a full-on civil war. Singers fought against singers, and a group of humans stood side by side with one of the forces.

Rlain’s guards went running—perhaps to find some kind of authority figure to sort out this nonsense—leaving him and Dabbid. But the fray ended quickly, and the side with the humans won. Few of the singers seemed to want to fight Fused, and so the troops fled, leaving the dead behind them.

“What?” Dabbid asked softly, the two of them hanging back in one of the side corridors where some human civilians—brave enough to watch, but not skilled enough to join—clustered.

Rlain made a quick assessment, then attuned the Rhythm of Hope. Five of the Heavenly Ones—and about twenty Regals under their command—had turned upon the soldiers of the Pursuer. The other Heavenly Ones seemed to have refused to join either side, and had retreated up higher into the atrium.

That was Leshwi, hovering near the front of the side that had won—holding a sword coated in orange singer blood. She seemed to be in charge.

A good number of people, both human and singer, were down and bleeding. It was a mess. “They need field surgeons,” Rlain said. “Come on.”

He and Dabbid raced in and—as Kaladin had trained them—started a quick triage. People began helping, and in minutes Rlain had them all binding wounds for both singers and humans, regardless of which side they’d fought on.

Lirin had supplies in the infirmary, fortunately—and when Dabbid returned with them, he brought Hesina, who seemed rattled by the fighting. It was a few minutes before Rlain got an explanation. Lirin had been taken? Kaladin had given chase?

Rlain attuned the Lost. No wonder Hesina looked like she’d been through a storm. Still, she seemed eager to have something to do, and took over leading the triage.

That let Rlain step away for a breather and wipe his hands. Some humans who had seen it all gave him scattered explanations. The Pursuer had ordered the slaughter of helpless Radiants, and both humans and singers had resisted his army. Before Rlain could go demand answers from Venli, several gruff human men approached him. He recognized them from the sessions Kaladin had been doing, helping them with trauma. They’d been forced to pick up weapons again, the poor cremlings.

“Yes?” Rlain asked.

They led him to a body placed reverently beside the wall, the eyes burned out. Teft.

Rlain fell to his knees as Dabbid joined him, letting out a quiet whimper, anguishspren surrounding them. They knelt together, heads bowed. Rlain sang the Song of the Fallen, a song for a dead hero. It seemed the plan hadn’t gone off too well for them either.

“Lift?” he asked.

“She’s in the infirmary,” Dabbid whispered. “Unconscious. Legs dead from a Blade. Looks like someone hit her hard on the head. She … is bleeding. I tried to give her Stormlight. Nothing happened.”

Rlain attuned Mourning. Lift could heal others, but—like with Kaladin and Teft—her internal healing wasn’t working. So much for waking the Radiants. He bowed his head for Teft, then left him there. Let the dead rest. It was their way, and he wished to be able to give the man a proper sky burial. Teft had been a good person. One of the best.

Behind him, other matters drew Rlain’s attention. The humans and singers were already squabbling.

“You need to submit,” Leshwi was saying, hovering above them in her imperious Fused way. “I will explain to Raboniel that the soldiers were uncontrolled and didn’t obey my orders.”

“And you think she’ll let us walk?” one of the human women shouted. “We need to get out of here right now.”