If this is to be permanent, then I wish to leave record of my husband and children. Wzmal, as good a man as any woman could dream of loving. Kmakra and Molinar, the true gemstones of my life.

—From drawer 12-15, ruby

“The temple of Shalash,” Fen said, gesturing as they entered.

To Dalinar, it looked much like the others she’d shown them: a large space with a high-domed ceiling and massive braziers. Here, ardents burned thousands of glyphwards for the people, who supplicated the Almighty for mercy and aid. Smoke pooled in the dome before leaking out through holes in the roof, like water through a sieve.

How many prayers have we burned, Dalinar wondered uncomfortably, to a god who is no longer there? Or is someone else receiving them instead?

Dalinar nodded politely as Fen recounted the ancient origin of the structure and listed some of the kings or queens who had been crowned here. She explained the significance of the elaborate design on the rear wall, and led them around the sides to view the carvings. It was a pity to see several statues with the faces broken off. How had the storm gotten to them in here?

When they were done, she led them back outside onto the Royal Ward, where the palanquins waited. Navani nudged him.

“What?” he asked softly.

“Stop scowling.”

“I’m not scowling.”

“You’re bored.”

“I’m not … scowling.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Six temples?” he asked. “This city is practically rubble, and we’re looking at temples.”

Ahead, Fen and her consort climbed into their palanquin. So far, Kmakl’s only part in the tour had been to stand behind Fen and—whenever she said something he thought significant—nod for her scribes to record it in the official histories.

Kmakl didn’t carry a sword. In Alethkar, that would indicate the man—at least one of his rank—was a Shardbearer, but that was not the case here. Thaylenah had only five Blades—and three suits of Plate—each held by an ancient family line sworn to defend the throne. Couldn’t Fen have taken him on a tour to see those Shards instead?

“Scowling…” Navani said.

“It’s what they expect of me,” Dalinar said, nodding toward the Thaylen officers and scribes. Near the front, one group of soldiers in particular had watched Dalinar with keen interest. Perhaps this tour’s true intent was to give those lighteyes a chance to study him.

The palanquin he shared with Navani was scented like rockbud blossoms. “The progression from temple to temple,” Navani said softly as their bearers lifted the palanquin, “is traditional in Thaylen City. Visiting all ten allows a survey of the Royal Ward, and is a not-so-subtle reinforcement of the throne’s Vorin piety. They’ve had trouble with the church in the past.”

“I sympathize. Do you think if I explain I’m a heretic too, she’ll stop with all the pomp?”

Navani leaned forward in the small palanquin, putting her freehand on his knee. “Dear one, if this kind of thing irks you so, we could send a diplomat.”

“I am a diplomat.”

“Dalinar…”

“This is my duty now, Navani. I have to do my duty. Every time I’ve ignored it in the past, something terrible has happened.” He took her hands in his. “I complain because I can be unguarded with you. I’ll keep the scowling to a minimum. I promise.”

As their porters skillfully carried them up some steps, Dalinar watched out the palanquin window. This upper section of the city had weathered the storm well enough, as many of the structures here were of thick stone. Still, some had cracked, and a few roofs had fallen in. The palanquin passed a fallen statue, which had broken off at the ankles and toppled from a ledge toward the Loft Wards.

This city was hit harder than any I’ve had a report about, he thought. This level of destruction is unique. Is it just all that wood, and the lack of anything to blunt the storm? Or is it more? Some reports of the Everstorm mentioned no winds, only lightning. Others confusingly reported no rain, but burning embers. The Everstorm varied greatly, even within the same passing.

“It’s probably comforting for Fen to do something familiar,” Navani told him quietly as the porters set them down at the next stop. “This tour is a reminder of days before the city suffered such terrors.”

He nodded. With that in mind, it was easier to bear the thought of yet another temple.

Outside, they found Fen emerging from her palanquin. “The temple of Battah, one of the oldest in the city. But of course the greatest sight here is the Simulacrum of Paralet, the grand statue that…” She trailed off, and Dalinar followed her gaze to the stone feet of the statue nearby. “Oh. Right.”

“Let’s see the temple,” Dalinar urged. “You said it’s one of the oldest. Which are older?”

“Only Ishi’s temple is more ancient,” she said. “But we won’t linger there, or here.”

“We won’t?” Dalinar asked, noticing the lack of prayer smoke from this roof. “Is the structure damaged?”

“The structure? No, not the structure.”

A pair of tired ardents emerged and walked down the steps, their robes stained with flecks of red. Dalinar looked to Fen. “Do you mind if I go up anyway?”

“If you wish.”

As Dalinar climbed the steps with Navani, he caught a scent on the wind. The scent of blood, which reminded him of battle. At the top, the sight inside the doors of the temple was a familiar one. Hundreds of wounded covered the marble floor, lying on simple pallets, painspren reaching out like orange sinew hands between them.

“We had to improvise,” Fen said, stepping up behind him in the doorway, “after our traditional hospitals filled.”

“So many?” Navani said, safehand to her mouth. “Can’t some be sent home to heal, to their families?”

Dalinar read the answers in the suffering people. Some were waiting to die; they’d bled internally, or had rampant infections, marked by tiny red rotspren on their skin. Others had no homes left, evidenced by the families that huddled around a wounded mother, father, or child.

Storms … Dalinar felt almost ashamed at how well his people had weathered the Everstorm. When he eventually turned to go, he almost ran into Taravangian, who haunted the doorway like a spirit. Frail, draped in soft robes, the aged monarch was weeping openly as he regarded the people in the temple.

“Please,” he said. “Please. My surgeons are in Vedenar, an easy trip through the Oathgates. Let me bring them. Let me ease this suffering.”

Fen pursed her lips to a thin line. She’d agreed to meet, but that didn’t make her a part of Dalinar’s proposed coalition. But what could she say to a plea like that?

“Your help would be appreciated,” she said.

Dalinar suppressed a smile. She’d conceded one step by letting them activate the Oathgate. This was another one. Taravangian, you are a gem.

“Lend me a scribe and spanreed,” Taravangian said. “I will have my Radiant bring aid immediately.”

Fen gave the necessary orders, her consort nodding for the words to be recorded. As they walked back toward the palanquins, Taravangian lingered on the steps, looking out over the city.