Words of Radiance

“Excuse me,” Dalinar said. Hands forming fists, he crossed the island toward the source of the disturbance. As he neared, they quieted and people broke up into smaller groups, moving off. It almost seemed planned how quickly they dispersed, leaving him to face Sadeas and Aladar, standing side by side.

“What are you doing?” Dalinar demanded of the two of them.

“Feasting,” Sadeas said, then shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Obviously.”

Dalinar drew in a deep breath. He glanced at Aladar, long-necked and bald, with his mustache and tuft of hair on his bottom lip. “You should be ashamed,” Dalinar growled at him. “My brother once called you a friend.”

“And not me?” Sadeas said.

“What have you done?” Dalinar demanded. “What is everyone talking about, snickering about behind their hands?”

“You always assume it’s me,” Sadeas said.

“That’s because any time I think it isn’t you, I’m wrong.”

Sadeas gave him a thin-lipped smile. He started to reply, but then thought a moment, and finally just stuffed another chunk of fruit in his mouth. He chewed and smiled.

“Tastes good,” was all he said. He turned to walk away.

Aladar hesitated. Then he shook his head and followed.

“I never figured you for a pup to follow at a master’s heels, Aladar,” Dalinar called after him.

No reply.

Dalinar growled, moving back across the island, looking for someone from his own warcamp who might have heard what was happening. Elhokar was late to his own feast, it seemed, though Dalinar did see him approaching outside now. No sign of Teshav or Khal yet—they would undoubtedly make an appearance, now that he was a Shardbearer.

Dalinar might have to move to one of the other islands, where lesser lighteyes would be mingling. He started that way, but stopped as he heard something.

“Why, Brightlord Amaram,” Wit cried. “I was hoping I’d be able to see you tonight. I’ve spent my life learning to make others feel miserable, and so it’s a true joy to meet someone so innately talented in that very skill as you are.”

Dalinar turned, noticing Amaram, who had just arrived. He wore his cape of the Knights Radiant and carried a sheaf of papers stuck under his arm. He stopped beside Wit’s chair, the nearby water casting a lavender tone across their skin.

“Do I know you?” Amaram asked.

“No,” Wit said lightly, “but fortunately, you can add it to the list of many, many things of which you are ignorant.”

“But now I’ve met you,” Amaram said, holding out a hand. “So the list is one smaller.”

“Please,” Wit said, refusing the hand. “I wouldn’t want it to rub off on me.”

“It?”

“Whatever you’ve been using to make your hands look clean, Brightlord Amaram. It must be powerful stuff indeed.”

Dalinar hurried over.

“Dalinar,” Wit said, nodding.

“Wit. Amaram, what are those papers?”

“One of your clerks seized them and brought them to me,” Amaram said. “Copies were being passed around the feast before your arrival. Your clerk thought Brightness Navani might want to see them if she hasn’t already. Where is she?”

“Staying away from you, obviously,” Wit noted. “Lucky woman.”

“Wit,” Dalinar said sternly, “do you mind?”

“Rarely.”

Dalinar sighed, looking back to Amaram and taking the papers. “Brightness Navani is on another island. Do you know what these say?”

Amaram’s expression grew grim. “I wish I didn’t.”

“I could hit you in the head with a hammer,” Wit said happily. “A good bludgeoning would make you forget and do wonders for that face of yours.”

“Wit,” Dalinar said flatly.

“I’m only joking.”

“Good.”

“A hammer would hardly dent that thick skull of his.”

Amaram turned to Wit, a look of bafflement on his face.

“You’re very good at that expression,” Wit noted. “A great deal of practice, I assume?”

“This is the new Wit?” Amaram asked.

“I mean,” Wit said, “I wouldn’t want to call Amaram an imbecile . . .”

Dalinar nodded.

“. . . because then I’d have to explain to him what the word means, and I’m not certain any of us have the requisite time.”

Amaram sighed. “Why hasn’t anyone killed him yet?”

“Dumb luck,” Wit said. “In that I’m lucky you’re all so dumb.”

“Thank you, Wit,” Dalinar said, taking Amaram by the arm and towing him to the side.

“One more, Dalinar!” Wit said. “Just one last insult, and I leave him alone.”

They continued walking.

“Lord Amaram,” Wit called, standing to bow, his voice growing solemn. “I salute you. You are what lesser cretins like Sadeas can only aspire to be.”

“The papers?” Dalinar said to Amaram, pointedly ignoring Wit.

“They are accounts of your . . . experiences, Brightlord,” Amaram said softly. “The ones you have during the storms. Written by Brightness Navani herself.”

Dalinar took the papers. His visions. He looked up and saw groups of people collecting on the island, chatting and laughing, shooting glances at him.

“I see,” he said softly. It made sense now, the hidden snickering. “Find Brightness Navani for me, if you would.”

“As you request,” Amaram said, but stopped short, pointing. Navani stalked across the next island over, heading toward them with a tempestuous air about her.

“What do you think, Amaram?” Dalinar said. “Of the things that are being said of me?”

Amaram met his eyes. “They are obviously visions from the Almighty himself, given to us in a time of great need. I wish I had known their contents earlier. They give me great confidence in my position, and in your appointment as prophet of the Almighty.”

“A dead god can have no prophets.”

“Dead . . . No, Dalinar! You obviously misinterpret that comment from your visions. He speaks of being dead in the minds of men, that they no longer listen to his commands. God cannot die.”

Amaram seemed so earnest. Why didn’t he help your sons? Kaladin’s voice rang in Dalinar’s mind. Amaram had come to him that day, of course, professing his apologies and explaining that—with his appointment as a Radiant—he couldn’t possibly have helped one faction against another. He said he needed to be above the squabbles between highprinces, even when it pained him.

“And the supposed Herald?” Dalinar asked. “The thing I asked you about?”

“I am still investigating.”

Dalinar nodded.

“I was surprised,” Amaram noted, “that you left the slave as head of your guard.” He glanced to the side, to where Dalinar’s guards for the night stood, just off the island in their own area, waiting with the other bodyguards and attendants, including many of the wards of the highladies present.

There had been a time not too long ago when few had felt the need to bring their guards with them to a feast. Now, the place was crowded. Captain Kaladin wasn’t there; he was resting, after his imprisonment.

“He’s a good soldier,” Dalinar said softly. “He just carries a few scars that are having trouble healing.” Vedeledev knows, Dalinar thought, I have a few of those myself.

“I merely worry that he is incapable of properly protecting you,” Amaram said. “Your life is important, Dalinar. We need your visions, your leadership. Still, if you trust the slave, then so be it—though I certainly wouldn’t mind hearing an apology from him. Not for my own ego, but to know that he’s put aside this misconception of his.”

Dalinar gave no reply as Navani strode across the short bridge onto their island. Wit started to proclaim an insult, but she swatted him in the face with a stack of papers, giving him barely a glance as she continued on toward Dalinar. Wit watched after, rubbing his cheek, and grinned.

She noted the papers in his hand as she joined the two of them, who seemed to stand among a sea of amused eyes and hushed laughter.

“They added words,” Navani hissed.

“What?” Dalinar demanded.

She shook the papers. “These! You’ve heard what they contain?”

He nodded.

“They aren’t as I wrote them,” Navani said. “They’ve changed the tone, some of my words, to imply a ridiculousness to the entire experience—and to make it sound as if I am merely indulging you. What’s worse, they added a commentary in another handwriting that pokes fun at what you say and do.” She took a deep breath, as if to calm herself. “Dalinar, they’re trying to destroy any shred of credibility left to your name.”

“I see.”

“How did they get these?” Amaram asked.

“Through theft, I do not doubt,” Dalinar said, realizing something. “Navani and my sons always have guards—but when they leave their rooms, those are relatively unprotected. We may have been too lax in that regard. I misunderstood. I thought his attacks would be physical.”