“Yes,” he said. “I know exactly what my curse was, and it does not relate to this.”

“Then it is unlikely that the Old Magic is to blame.”

“Yes,” Dalinar said. “But your aunt is right to question. The truth is, we don’t have any proof that this came from the Almighty either. Something wants me to know of the Desolations and the Knights Radiant. Perhaps we should start asking ourselves why that is.”

“What were the Desolations, Aunt?” Renarin asked. “The ardents talk of the Voidbringers. Of mankind, and the Radiants, and of fighting. But what were they really? Do we know anything specific?”

“There are folklorists among your father’s clerks who would serve you better in this matter.”

“Perhaps,” Dalinar added, “but I’m not sure which of them I can trust.”

Navani paused. “Fair enough. Well, from what I understand, there are no primary accounts remaining. This was long, long ago. I do recall that the myth of Parasaphi and Nadris mentions the Desolations.”

“Parasaphi,” Renarin said. “She’s the one who searched out the seedstones.”

“Yes,” Navani replied. “In order to repopulate her fallen people, she climbed the peaks of Dara—the myth changes, listing different modern mountain ranges as the true peaks of Dara—to find stones touched by the Heralds themselves. She brought them to Nadris on his deathbed and harvested his seed to bring life to the stones. They hatched forth ten children, which she used to found a new nation. Marnah, I believe it was called.”

“Origin of the Makabaki,” Renarin said. “Mother told me that story when I was a child.”

Dalinar shook his head. “Born from rocks?” The old stories rarely made much sense to him, although the devotaries had canonized many of them.

“The story mentions the Desolations at the beginning,” Navani said. “Giving them credit for having wiped out Parasaphi’s people.”

“But what were they?”

“Wars.” Navani took a sip of wine. “The Voidbringers came again and again, trying to force mankind off Roshar and into Damnation. Just as they once forced mankind—and the Heralds—out of the Tranquiline Halls.”

“When were the Knights Radiant founded?” Dalinar asked.

Navani shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps they were some military group from a specific kingdom, or perhaps they were originally a mercenary band. That would make it easy to see how they could eventually become tyrants.”

“My visions don’t imply that they were tyrants,” he said. “Perhaps that is the true purpose of the visions. To make me believe lies about the Radiants. Making me trust them, perhaps trying to lead me to mimic their downfall and betrayal.”

“I don’t know,” Navani said, sounding skeptical. “I don’t think you’ve seen anything untrue about the Radiants. The legends tend to agree that the Radiants weren’t always so bad. As much as the legends agree on anything, at least.”

Dalinar stood and took her nearly empty cup, then walked over to the serving table and refilled it. Discovering that he was not mad should have helped clear things up, but instead left him more disturbed. What if the Voidbringers were behind the visions? Some stories he heard said that they could possess the bodies of men and make them do evil. Or, if they were from the Almighty, what was their purpose?

“I need to think on all of this,” he said. “It has been a long day. Please, if I could be left to my own thoughts now.”

Renarin rose and bowed his head in respect before heading to the door. Navani rose more slowly, sleek dress rustling as she set her cup on the table, then walked over to fetch her pain-drinking fabrial. Renarin left, and Dalinar walked to the doorway, waiting as Navani approached. He didn’t intend to let her trap him alone again. He looked out the doorway. His soldiers were there, and he could see them. Good.

“Aren’t you pleased at all?” Navani asked, lingering beside the doorway near him, one hand on the frame.

“Pleased?”

“You aren’t going mad.”

“And we don’t know if I’m being manipulated or not,” he said. “In a way, we have more questions now than we had before.”

“The visions are a blessing,” Navani said, laying her freehand on his arm. “I feel it, Dalinar. Don’t you see how wonderful this is?”

Dalinar met her eyes, light violet, beautiful. She was so thoughtful, so clever. How he wished he could trust her completely.

She has shown me nothing but honor, he thought. Never speaking a word to anyone else of my intention to abdicate. She hasn’t so much as tried to use my visions against me. He felt ashamed that he’d once worried that she might.

She was a wonderful woman, Navani Kholin. A wonderful, amazing, dangerous woman.

“I see more worries,” he said. “And more danger.”

“But Dalinar, you’re having experiences scholars, historians, and folklorists could only dream about! I envy you, although you claim to have seen no fabrials of note.”

“The ancients didn’t have fabrials, Navani. I’m certain of it.”

“And that changes everything we thought we understood about them.”

“I suppose.”

“Stonefalls, Dalinar,” she said, sighing. “Does nothing bring you to passion any longer?”

Dalinar took a deep breath. “Too many things, Navani. My insides feel like a mass of eels, emotions squirming over one another. The truth of these visions is unsettling.”

“It’s exciting,” she corrected. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About trusting me?”

“I said that?”

“You said you didn’t trust your clerks, and you asked me to record the visions. There’s an implication in that.”

Her hand was still on his arm. She reached out with her safehand and closed the door to the hallway. He almost stopped her, but he hesitated. Why?

The door clicked closed. They were alone. And she was so beautiful. Those clever, excitable eyes, alight with passion.

“Navani,” Dalinar said, forcing down his desire. “You’re doing it again.” Why did he let her?

“Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m a stubborn woman, Dalinar.” There didn’t seem to be any playfulness in her tone.

“This is not proper. My brother…” He reached for the door to open it again.

“Your brother,” Navani spat, expression flashing with anger. “Why must everyone always focus on him? Everyone always worries so much about the man who died! He’s not here, Dalinar. He’s gone. I miss him. But not half as much as you do, it appears.”

“I honor his memory,” Dalinar said stiffly, hesitating, hand on the door’s latch.

“That’s fine! I’m happy you do. But it’s been six years, and all anyone can see me as is the wife of a dead man. The other women, they humor me with idle gossip, but they won’t let me into their political circles. They think I’m a relic. You wanted to know why I came back so quickly?”

“I—”

“I returned,” she said, “because I have no home. I’m expected to sit out of important events because my husband is dead! Lounge around, pampered but ignored. I make them uncomfortable. The queen, the other women at court.”