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Jasnah folded her arms, pensive. Wit, however, leaned in. “You know,” Wit whispered, “I think he might be right. I feel ashamed to admit it, but the Blackthorn has seen further than we have, Jasnah. He is more valuable as a Bondsmith than as a general—or even a king.”
“You make a good argument, Uncle,” Jasnah admitted. “I’m simply worried. If your powers are so incredible, it feels dangerous to experiment with them. My own first forays into Soulcasting were deadly at times. What will your greater abilities do, by accident, in similar situations?”
It was a valid point, one that left them solemn as they picked up cups of wine and drank in silence, thinking. As they stood there, Prince Kmakl passed by on his way out of the tent, listening as a scribe read him a draft of a letter to the merchant lords of Thaylen City.
“Another topic, Uncle,” Jasnah noted. “Lately, I see your eyes narrow when you look at Prince Kmakl. I thought you liked Fen and her husband.”
“I do like them,” he said. “I just don’t like how much bureaucracy Fen has to go through before anything gets done. The Azish are even worse. Why name your ruler an ‘emperor’ if he has to get approval from a dozen different functionaries to do his job?”
“One is a constitutional monarchy, the other a scholarly republic,” Jasnah said, sounding amused. “What did you expect?”
“A king to be a king,” he muttered, drinking the rest of his wine in one gulp.
“Both of their governments go back centuries,” Jasnah said. “They’ve had generations to refine their processes. We’d do well to learn from them.” She eyed him, thoughtful. “The days of absolute power in one person’s hands will likely soon pass us by. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the last true Alethi monarch.”
“What would your father say, hearing you talk like that?”
“I suspect I could make him understand,” she said. “He was interested in his legacy. Building something that would span generations. His goals were laudable, but his methods … well, our kingdom has been difficult to maintain. A king ruling by the gauntlet and sword can easily see it slip away when he weakens. Compare this to the Azish system, where a bad Prime is unable to single-handedly ruin their government.”
“And a good one is unable to accomplish much,” Dalinar said, then held his hand up to forestall further argument. “I see what you’re saying. But I find nobility in the traditional way of rule.”
“Having read the histories, I believe the nobility you imagine is created from stories about the inhabitants of ancient days, but rarely possessed by said inhabitants. Those kings tended to live short, brutal lives. No matter. Once we win this war, I expect to have decades to persuade you.”
Kelek help him. Dalinar poured himself more orange wine.
“I will think on what you said about your powers,” Jasnah said, “and I will see if I can offer any advice on how to proceed. For now, Uncle, know that I trust your judgment in this, and will help support the Mink if you take a smaller role in war planning. You are right, and I was wrong to question.”
“One is never wrong to question,” Dalinar said. “You taught me that.”
She patted his arm fondly, then walked off to turn her attention to the maps the Mink was marking up on the war table.
Wit lingered, smiling at Dalinar. “I agree with her,” he whispered. “And on the topic of monarchs, I will have you know that I find you to be an endearing despot. You’re so pleasant, I almost don’t find it horrifying that I’m living among a people willing to trust a single man with near-absolute power over the lives of hundreds of thousands—while completely ignoring proper checks and balances upon his potential greed, jealousy, or ambition.”
“Did you really have to come with us, Wit?” Dalinar asked. “I…” He trailed off. Then shook his head.
“What?” Wit asked.
“Never mind. Saying anything would provide you with more rocks to throw at me.”
“And you’re supposed to be the dumb one,” Wit said, grinning. “When have I ever mocked you, though?”
“All the time, Wit. You mock everyone.”
“Do I? Do I really? Hmmm…” He tapped his chin. “I’m gainfully employed as Queen’s Wit, and she expects me to provide only the best of mockery on her behalf. I need to be careful about simply giving it away. Who is going to buy the cow, and all that.”
Dalinar frowned. “What is a cow?”
“Big, juicy, delicious. Wish I could still eat them. You don’t seem to have them around here, which I find amazing, as I’m sure there was one somewhere in Sadeas’s lineage. Paternal grandfather perhaps. Watch the highprinces. There’s almost certainly going to be a show.” He sauntered off to take his customary position near Jasnah.
Watch the highprinces? What did that mean? For the most part, they were becoming a useful lot. Aladar kept reinforcing Dalinar’s trust in him, and Dalinar had sent him to oversee the withdrawal in Alethkar. Hatham had fallen into line, and Dalinar had him watching the supply chain from Azimir. Bethab was proving quite useful as an ambassador stationed in Thaylen City—or, well, his wife was the useful one, but they were both proving helpful. Roion was dead with honors, his son carefully chosen to not make things difficult. Even Sebarial was relevant these days.
One highprince was currently with Dalinar in Emul. Ruthar. Dalinar focused on the brawny, bearded man. He was the worst of those left; he fancied himself a soldier, but had never worn a proper uniform in his life. Today he hovered near the far end of the bar, by the strong wines. At least he’d learned to stop contradicting Dalinar in front of the other monarchs.
Dalinar narrowed his eyes toward Jasnah, who was making a display of going over the battle plans with the Mink. She’s putting on a show, he thought, noting how she specifically called out details on the maps, suggesting troop arrangements. She did a fair job, though she was no general.
The Mink listened to her suggestions, but likely wouldn’t take many of them. He seemed to find her fascinating. Well, Jasnah was a rare gemstone for certain. Was her show for the Mink? No … this had to do with Ruthar, didn’t it?
Further musings were interrupted as a figure in blue entered the tent. Lyn the Windrunner wore her hair in a braid, though wisps had pulled free during her flight. She’d led the most recent scouting of Urithiru.
Dalinar waved her over, and noted Jasnah at the map table quieting and turning to listen as Lyn gave her report.
“We met with the soldier the queen sent,” the Windrunner explained, saluting. “I myself tried to step through the invisible barrier and approach. I dropped to the snow like I’d taken a hit straight to the jaw. The soldier had to drag me out to the others.”
“Did you see my wife?”
“No, sir,” Lyn said. “But that hike … it looks brutal. Radiants can’t get within hundreds of yards of the tower, so this soldier has to march all the way back and forth along the ridges for hours to get to where he can send messages.”
Dalinar rubbed his chin in thought. Navani’s messages seemed trustworthy, and she cautioned patience. But passcodes were not foolproof, and something about this just felt wrong. “What can you see from a distance? Anything?”
