“In the storm I awaken, falling, spinning, grieving.”

—Dated Kakanev, 1173, 13 seconds pre-death. Subject was a city guardsman.

“How can you be so sure it was him, Dalinar?” Navani asked softly.

Dalinar shook his head. “I just am. That was Nohadon.”

It had been several hours since the end of the vision. Navani had left her writing table to sit in a more comfortable chair near Dalinar. Renarin sat across from him, accompanying them for propriety’s sake. Adolin had left to get the highstorm damage report. The lad had seemed very disturbed by the discovery that the visions were real.

“But the man you saw never spoke his name,” Navani said.

“It was him, Navani.” Dalinar stared toward the wall over Renarin’s head, looking at the smooth brown Soulcast rock. “There was an aura of command about him, the weight of great responsibilities. A regality.”

“It could have been some other king,” she said. “After all, he discarded your suggestion that he write a book.”

“It just wasn’t the time for him to write it yet. So much death… He was cast down by some great loss. Stormfather! Nine out of ten people dead in war. Can you imagine such a thing?”

“The Desolations,” Navani said.

Unite the people…. The True Desolation comes….

“Do you know of any references to the Desolations?” Dalinar asked. “Not the tales ardents tell. Historical references?”

Navani held a cup of warmed violet wine in her hand, beads of condensation on the rim of the glass. “Yes, but I am the wrong one to ask. Jasnah is the historian.”

“I think I saw the aftermath of one. I… I may have seen corpses of Voidbringers. Could that give us more proof?”

“Nothing nearly as good as the linguistics.” Navani took a sip of her wine. “The Desolations are matters of ancient lore. It could be argued that you imagined what you expected to see. But those words—if we can translate them, nobody will be able to dispute that you are seeing something real.” Her writing board lay on the low table between them, reed and ink set carefully across the paper.

“You intend to tell others?” Dalinar asked. “Of my visions?”

“How else will we explain what is happening to you?”

Dalinar hesitated. How could he explain? On one hand, it was relieving to know that he was not mad. But what if some force were trying to mislead him with these visions, using images of Nohadon and the Radiants because he would find them trustworthy?

The Knights Radiant fell, Dalinar reminded himself. They abandoned us. Some of the other orders may have turned against us, as the legends say. There was an unsettling edge to all of that. He had another stone in rebuilding the foundation of who he was, but the most important point still remained undecided. Did he trust his visions or not? He couldn’t go back to believing them unquestioningly, not now that Adolin’s challenges had raised real worries in his head.

Until he knew their source, he felt he shouldn’t spread knowledge of them.

“Dalinar,” Navani said, leaning forward. “The warcamps speak of your episodes. Even the wives of your officers are uncomfortable. They think you fear the storms, or that you have some disease of the mind. This will vindicate you.”

“How? By making me into some kind of mystic? Many will think that the breeze of these visions blows too close to prophecy.”

“You see the past, Father,” Renarin said. “That is not forbidden. And if the Almighty sends them, then how could men question?”

“Adolin and I both spoke with ardents,” Dalinar replied. “They said it was very unlikely that this would come from the Almighty. If we do decide the visions are to be trusted, many will disagree with me.”

Navani settled back, sipping her wine, safehand lying across her lap. “Dalinar, your sons told me that you once sought the Old Magic. Why? What did you ask of the Nightwatcher, and what curse did she give you in return?”

“I told them that shame is my own,” Dalinar said. “And I will not share it.”

The room fell silent. The flurries of rain following the highstorm had ceased falling on the roof. “It might be important,” Navani finally said.

“It was long ago. Long before the visions began. I don’t think it’s related.”

“But it could be.”

“Yes,” he admitted. Would that day never stop haunting him? Was not losing all memory of his wife enough?

What did Renarin think? Would he condemn his father for such an egregious sin? Dalinar forced himself to look up and meet his son’s bespectacled eyes.

Curiously, Renarin didn’t seem bothered. Just thoughtful.

“I’m sorry you had to discover my shame,” Dalinar said, looking to Navani.

She waved indifferently. “Soliciting the Old Magic is offensive to the devotaries, but their punishments for the act are never severe. I assume that you didn’t have to do much to be cleansed.”

“The ardents asked for spheres to give the poor,” Dalinar said. “And I had to commission a series of prayers. None of that removed the effects or my sense of guilt.”

“I think you’d be surprised at how many devout lighteyes turn to the Old Magic at one point in their lives or another. The ones who can make their way to the Valley, at least. But I do wonder if this is related.”

“Aunt,” Renarin said, turning to her. “I have recently asked for a number of readings about the Old Magic. I agree with his assessment. This does not feel like the work of the Nightwatcher. She gives curses in exchange for granting small desires. Always one curse and one desire. Father, I assume you know what both of those things are?”

“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.”

“I’m sorry,” Dalinar said. “But I don’t—”

She raised her freehand, tapping him on the chest. “I won’t take it from you, Dalinar. We were friends before I even met Gavilar! You still know me as me, not some shadow of a dynasty that crumbled years ago. Don’t you?” She looked at him, pleading.

Blood of my fathers, Dalinar thought with shock. She’s crying. Two small tears.

He had rarely seen her so sincere.

And so he kissed her.

It was a mistake. He knew it was. He grabbed her anyway, pulling her into a rough, tight embrace and pressing his mouth to hers, unable to contain himself. She melted against him. He tasted the salt of her tears as they ran down to her lips and met his.

It lasted long. Too long. Wonderfully long. His mind screamed at him, like a prisoner chained in a cell and forced to watch something horrible. But a part of him had wanted this for decades—decades spent watching his brother court, marry, and then hold the only woman that the young Dalinar had ever wanted.

He’d told himself he would never allow this. He had denied himself feelings for Navani the moment Gavilar had won her hand. Dalinar had stepped aside.

But the taste of her—the smell of her, the warmth of her pressed against him—was too sweet. Like a blossoming perfume, it washed away the guilt. For a moment, that touch banished everything. He couldn’t remember his fear at the visions, his worry about Sadeas, his shame at past mistakes.

He could only think of her. Beautiful, insightful, delicate yet strong at once. He clung to her, something he could hold onto as the rest of the world churned around him.

Eventually, he broke the kiss. She looked up at him, dazed. Passion-spren, like tiny flakes of crystalline snow, floated down in the air around them. Guilt flooded him again. He tried gently to push her away, but she clung to him, holding on tight.

“Navani,” he said.

“Hush.” She pressed her head against his chest.

“We can’t—”

“Hush,” she said, more insistently.

He sighed, but let himself hold her.

“Something is going wrong in this world, Dalinar,” Navani said softly. “The king of Jah Keved was assassinated. I heard it just today. He was killed by a Shin Shardbearer in white clothing.”

“Stormfather!” Dalinar said.

“Something’s going on,” she said. “Something bigger than our war here, something bigger than Gavilar. Have you heard of the twisted things men say when they die? Most ignore it, but surgeons are talking. And stormwardens whisper that the highstorms are growing more powerful.”

“I have heard,” he said, finding it difficult to get the words out, intoxicated by her as he was.

“My daughter seeks something,” Navani said. “She frightens me sometimes. She’s so intense. I honestly believe she’s the most intelligent person I’ve ever known. And the things she searches for… Dalinar, she believes that something very dangerous is near.”

The sun approaches the horizon. The Everstorm comes. The True Desolation. The Night of Sorrows….

“I need you,” Navani said. “I’ve known it for years, though I feared it would destroy you with guilt, so I fled. But I couldn’t stay away. Not with the way they treat me. Not with what is happening to the world. I’m terrified, Dalinar, and I need you. Gavilar was not the man everyone thought him to be. I was fond of him, but he—”

“Please,” Dalinar said, “don’t speak ill of him.”

“Very well.”

Blood of my fathers! He couldn’t get her scent out of his head. He felt paralyzed, holding to her like a man clinging to a stone in the stormwinds.

She looked up at him. “Well, let it be said—then—that I was fond of Gavilar. But I’m more than fond of you. And I’m tired of waiting.”

He closed his eyes. “How can this work?”

“We’ll find a way.”

“We’ll be denounced.”

“The warcamps already ignore me,” Navani said, “and they spread rumors and lies about you. What more can they do to us?”

“They’ll find something. As of yet, the devotaries do not condemn me.”

“Gavilar is dead,” Navani said, resting her head back against his chest. “I was never unfaithful while he lived, though the Stormfather knows I had ample reason. The devotaries can say what they wish, but The Arguments do not forbid our union. Tradition is not the same as doctrine, and I will not hold myself back for fear of offending.”

Dalinar took a deep breath, then forced himself to open his arms and pull back. “If you had hoped to soothe my worries for the day, then this didn’t help.”

She folded her arms. He could still feel where her safehand had touched him on the back. A tender touch, reserved for a family member. “I’m not here to soothe you, Dalinar. Quite the opposite.”

“Please. I do need time to think.”

“I won’t let you put me away. I won’t ignore that this happened. I won’t—”

“Navani,” he gently cut her off, “I will not abandon you. I promise.”

She eyed him, then a wry smile crept onto her face. “Very well. But you began something today.”

“I began it?” he asked, amused, elated, confused, worried, and ashamed at the same time.

“The kiss was yours, Dalinar,” she said idly, pulling open the door and entering his antechamber.

“You seduced me to it.”

“What? Seduced?” She glanced back at him. “Dalinar, I’ve never been more open and honest in my life.”

“I know,” Dalinar said, smiling. “That was the seductive part.” He closed the door softly, then let out a sigh.

Blood of my fathers, he thought, why can’t these things ever be simple?

And yet, in direct contrast with his thoughts, he felt as if the entire world had somehow become more right for having gone wrong.