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But the banners also acted like enormous arrows, pointing the way to the most important men on the field. Banners were targets. Bold proclamations that here was where you’d find someone to kill. They were symbols of an organized army, helmed by men and women who knew the best way to end you—if only you’d do them the favor of wandering in their direction.
“You look preoccupied,” Dalinar said as he stepped over, trailed by an honor guard of ten men.
“I’m thinking about symbols and why we use them,” Navani said. “Trying not to think about you leaving again.”
He reached down to cup her cheek. Who had known those hands could be so tender? She placed her hand alongside his face. His skin always felt rough. She swore she’d touched his cheek right after he’d shaved, and still found it ragged like sandpaper.
The honor guard stood tall and tried to ignore Dalinar and Navani. Even this little sign of affection wasn’t particularly Alethi. That was what they told themselves, anyway. The stoic warriors. Not ruined by emotion. That was their banner, never mind that for centuries one of the Unmade had driven their lust for battle to a frenzy. Never mind that they were human like any others. They had emotions; they displayed them. They merely pretended to ignore them. In the same way you might tactfully ignore a man who accidentally went about with his trousers undone.
“Watch him, Dalinar,” Navani whispered. “He will try something.”
“I know,” Dalinar said. Taravangian was walking up the slope onto the platform for the next transfer. Through some careful finagling, his honor guard was Alethi—and Dalinar planned to station the man’s armies away from the command post on another part of the Azish front, with extra soldiers in between to protect his flank from a potential double cross.
It was an unfortunately obvious move. Taravangian would realize he was being kept hostage, after a fashion, to ensure the loyalty of his troops.
As an extra protection, a singular secret weapon hid among Dalinar’s servants. Szeth, wearing the face of a common soldier, had been assigned to guard Dalinar. Navani couldn’t spot him, so the disguise—maintained by one of Shallan’s Lightweavers—was working. Though the sheath to his strange sword had required some physical decorations and disguises, as a Lightweaving wouldn’t stick to it. So she thought she could pick him out as the one with the oversized weapon at his waist.
Another Lightweaver had created an illusion of Szeth in his jail cell. If Taravangian had people reporting on Szeth, they’d indicate he was safely locked up. They wouldn’t know he was instead staying very close to Dalinar. Though she hated the idea, Navani had to admit that Szeth had remained in prison all these months, without a single incident. He seemed obedient to Dalinar without question. And if Szeth could be trusted, there was likely no better guard.
Almighty send that the cure was not worse than the disease. Beyond that, Navani couldn’t help wondering if even in all this, they were being manipulated by Taravangian. Surely he couldn’t want them to surround him with enemy troops. Surely she misread the clever turn of the old man’s lips, the knowing look in his eyes.
But now it was time for Dalinar to leave. So, Navani carefully tucked away her anxiety and embraced him. He plainly wasn’t thrilled to get a hug in front of his soldiers, but he didn’t say anything. After that, the two of them went to meet the governess who had brought little Gav, with his trunks of things. The young boy—trying hard not to look too eager—saluted Dalinar.
“It is a big duty,” Dalinar told him, “going to war for the first time. Are you ready?”
“I am, sir!” the child said. “I’ll fight well!”
“You won’t be fighting,” Dalinar said. “And neither will I. We’ll be handling strategy.”
“I’m good at that!” Gav said. Then he gave Navani a hug.
The governess led him toward the Oathgate building. Navani watched with worry. “He’s young to be going.”
“I know,” Dalinar said. “But I owe him this. He feels terrified to be left behind again in a palace while…” He left it unsaid.
Navani knew there was more. Things Dalinar had said about how he’d been angry when younger, and had prevented Adolin and Renarin from spending time with him when they wanted to. Well, the child should be safe. And he really did deserve more time with Dalinar.
She held his hand for a season, then let him go. He tramped up the slope toward the Oathgate as a half dozen anxious scribes scurried over to ask him questions.
Navani composed herself, then went to say farewell to her daughter, who would also be going on the expeditionary force. She spotted the queen arriving via palanquin. Curiously, Jasnah—who often took extra care not to seem weak—almost always used a palanquin these days. And Taravangian, who truly needed one, refused the distinctive treatment.
Taravangian seemed weaker while walking—while Jasnah seemed stronger when carried. More confident, in control. Which is exactly how each of them wishes to appear, Navani thought as the porters lowered Jasnah’s palanquin and she emerged. Though her havah, her hair, and her makeup were immaculate, Jasnah wore little in the way of ornamentation. She wanted to be seen as regal—but not excessive.
“No Wit?” Navani asked.
“He promised to meet me in Azir,” Jasnah said. “He vanishes sometimes, and won’t grace my questions with answers. Not even mocking ones.”
“There is something odd about that one, Jasnah.”
“You have no idea, Mother.”
The two of them stood facing one another, until finally Jasnah reached forward. What followed was the most awkward hug Navani had ever been part of, both of them making the proper motions, but unenthusiastic at the same time.
Jasnah pulled back. She was regal. Technically they were both of a similar rank, yet there had always been something about Jasnah. Dalinar was a big rock of a man that you wanted to prod until you found out what kind of crystals were inside. Jasnah … well, Jasnah was just … unknowable.
“Storms,” Jasnah said under her breath. “Mother, are we really so awkward that we embrace like teenagers meeting a boy for the first time?”
“I don’t want to ruin your image,” Navani said.
“A woman can hug her mother, can’t she? My reputation won’t come crashing down because I showed affection.” Still, she didn’t lean in for another. Instead she took Navani’s hand. “I apologize. I haven’t had much time for family lately. I always told myself that when I finished my travels, I’d work diligently to be available to you all. I recognize that family relations need attendant time to…” Jasnah took a deep breath, then pressed her safehand against her forehead. “I sound like a historical treatise, not a person, don’t I?”
“You have a lot of pressure on you, dear,” Navani said.
“Pressure that I asked for and welcome,” Jasnah said. “The quickest changes in history often happen during times of strife, and these are important moments. But you’re important too. To me. Thank you. For always being you, despite the rise of kingdoms and the fall of peoples. I don’t think you can understand how much your constant strength means to me.”
What an unusual exchange. Yet Navani found herself smiling. She squeezed Jasnah’s hand, and that moment together—seeing through the mask—became more precious than a hundred awkward embraces.
