Navani stood with her arms folded, the sunlight behind her like a halo. Dalinar hesitantly raised an armored forearm to block the light. “Mathana?”

“The rockwork,” Navani said, nodding to the trough. “Now, I wouldn’t presume to make judgments; hitting things is a masculine art. But are you not in the possession of a sword that can cut through stone as easily as—I once had it described to me—a highstorm blows over a Herdazian?”

Dalinar looked back at the rocks. Then he raised his hammer again and slammed it into the stones, making a satisfying crunch. “Shardblades are too good at cutting.”

“Curious,” she said. “I’ll do my best to pretend there was sense in that. As an aside, has it ever struck you that most masculine arts deal with destroying, while feminine arts deal with creation?”

Dalinar swung again. Bang! Remarkable how much easier it was to have a conversation with Navani while not looking directly at her. “I do use the Blade to cut down the sides and middle. But I still have to break up the rocks. Have you ever tried to lift out a chunk of stone that has been sliced by a Shardblade?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“It’s not easy.” Bang! “Blades make a very thin cut. The rocks still press against one another. It’s hard to grasp or move them.” Bang! “It’s more complicated than it seems.” Bang! “This is the best way.”

Navani dusted a few chips of stone from her dress. “And more messy, I see.”

Bang!

“So, are you going to apologize?” she asked.

“For?”

“For missing our appointment.”

Dalinar froze in midswing. He’d completely forgotten that, at the feast when she’d first returned, he’d agreed to have Navani read for him today. He hadn’t told his scribes of the appointment. He turned toward her, chagrined. He’d been angered because Thanadal had canceled their appointment, but at least he had thought to send a messenger.

Navani stood with arms folded, safehand tucked away, sleek dress seeming to burn with sunlight. She bore a hint of a smile on her lips. By standing her up, he’d put himself—by honor—in her power.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said. “I’ve had some difficult things to consider lately, but that doesn’t excuse forgetting you.”

“I know. I’ll ponder a way to let you make up for the lapse. But for now, you should know that one of your spanreeds is flashing.”

“What? Which one?”

“Your scribes say it is the one bound to my daughter.”

Jasnah! It had been weeks since they’d last communicated; the messages he’d sent her had prompted only the tersest of answers. When Jasnah was deeply immersed in one of her projects, she often ignored all else. If she was sending to him now, either she’d discovered something or she was taking a break to renew her contacts.

Dalinar turned to look down the latrine. He’d nearly completed it; and he realized he’d been unconsciously planning to make his final decision once he reached the end. He itched to continue working.

But if Jasnah wanted to converse…

He needed to talk with her. Perhaps he could persuade her to return to the Shattered Plains. He would feel a lot more secure about abdicating if he knew that she would come watch over Elhokar and Adolin.

Dalinar tossed aside his hammer—his pounding had bent the haft a good thirty degrees and the head was a misshapen lump—and jumped out of the ditch. He’d have a new weapon forged; that was not unusual for Shardbearers.

“Your pardon, Mathana,” Dalinar said, “but I fear I must beg your leave so soon after begging your forgiveness. I must receive this communication.”

He bowed to her and turned to hurry away.

“Actually,” Navani said from behind, “I think I’ll beg something of you. It has been months since I’ve spoken with my daughter. I’ll join you, if you’ll permit it.”

He hesitated, but he couldn’t deny her so soon after giving her offense. “Of course.” He waited as Navani walked to her palanquin and settled herself. The bearers lifted it, and Dalinar struck out again, the bearers and Navani’s borrowed wards walking close.

“You are a kind man, Dalinar Kholin,” Navani said, that same sly smile on her lips as she sat back in the cushioned chair. “I’m afraid that I’m compelled to find you fascinating.”

“My sense of honor makes me easy to manipulate,” Dalinar said, eyes forward. Dealing with her was not something he needed right now. “I know it does. No need to toy with me, Navani.”

She laughed softly. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you, Dalinar, I—” She paused. “Well, perhaps I am taking advantage of you just a little. But I’m not ‘toying’ with you. This last year in particular, you’ve begun to be the person the others all claim that they are. Can’t you see how intriguing that makes you?”

“I don’t do it to be intriguing.”

“If you did, it wouldn’t work!” She leaned toward him. “Do you know why I picked Gavilar instead of you all those years ago?”

Blast. Her comments—her presence—were like a goblet of darkwine poured into the middle of his crystal thoughts. The clarity he’d sought in hard labor was quickly vanishing. Did she have to be so forward? He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he picked up his pace and hoped that she’d see he didn’t want to discuss the topic.

It was no use. “I didn’t pick him because he would become king, Dalinar. Though that’s what everyone says. I chose him because you frightened me. That intensity of yours…it scared your brother too, you know.”

He said nothing.

“It’s still in there,” she said. “I can see it in your eyes. But you’ve wrapped armor around it, a glistening set of Shardplate to contain it. That is part of what I find fascinating.”

He stopped, looking at her. The palanquin bearers halted. “This would not work, Navani,” he said softly.

“Wouldn’t it?”

He shook his head. “I will not dishonor my brother’s memory.” He regarded her sternly, and she eventually nodded.

When he continued walking, she said nothing, though she did eye him slyly from time to time. Eventually, they reached his personal complex, marked by fluttering blue banners with the glyphpair khokh and linil, the former drawn in the shape of a crown, the second forming a tower. Dalinar’s mother had drawn the original design, the same his signet ring bore, though Elhokar used a sword and crown instead.

The soldiers at the entrance to his complex saluted, and Dalinar waited for Navani to join him before entering. The cavernous interior was lit by infused sapphires. Once they reached his sitting chamber, he was again struck by just how lavish it had gotten over the months.

Three of his clerks waited with their attending girls. All six stood up when he entered. Adolin was also there.

Dalinar frowned at the youth. “Shouldn’t you be seeing to the inspections?”

Adolin started. “Father, I finished those hours ago.”

“You did?” Stormfather! How long did I spend pounding on those stones?

“Father,” Adolin said, stepping up to him. “Can we speak privately for a moment?” As usual, Adolin’s black-peppered blond hair was an unruly mop. He’d changed from his Plate and bathed, and now he wore a fashionable—though battle-worthy—uniform with a long blue coat, buttoned at the sides, and straight, stiff brown trousers beneath.