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“Yes,” Raboniel said. “The device preventing us from attacking them there can be inverted. We will need to lure the Elsecaller and the Bondsmith away. Their oaths may be advanced enough to push through the suppression, much as the Unmade have done at the tower in the past. With them gone, I can lead a force into Urithiru and seize it from within—and the Radiants will be unable to resist.”
The Nine started singing to one another privately, giving everyone else time for conversations. Venli looked to her mistress. Leshwi rarely spent these moments talking to the other high Fused; she was beneath most of them, after all.
“I don’t understand,” Venli whispered.
“Raboniel is a scholar,” Leshwi said. “But not the kind you would wish to work beneath. We used to call her Lady of Pains, until she decided she didn’t like the title.” Her expression grew distant. “She has always been fascinated by the tower and the connection between Radiants. Their oaths, their spren. Their Surges.
“During the last Return, she developed a disease intended to kill all humans on the planet. Near the end, it was discovered that the disease would likely kill many singers as well. She released it anyway … only to find, to all of our fortunes, that it did not work as expected. Fewer than one in ten humans were killed, and one in a hundred singers.”
“That’s terrible!” Venli said.
“Extinction is the natural escalation of this war,” Leshwi whispered. “If you forget why you are fighting, then victory itself becomes the goal. The longer we fight, the more detached we become. Both from our own minds, and from our original Passions.” She hummed softly to Abashment.
“Explain your plan, Raboniel,” one of the Nine said, loudly enough to cut through conversations.
“I will lead a team into the tower,” Raboniel said, “then secure control of the Sibling’s heart. Using my natural talents, and the gifts of Odium, I will corrupt that heart, and turn the tower to our needs. The humans will fall; their powers will not work, but ours will. From there I suspect that—with a little time—I can learn much studying the gemstones at the Sibling’s heart. Perhaps enough to create new weapons against the Radiants and the humans.”
One of the Heavenly Ones, a malen named Jeshishin, came forward as his Voice rapped the floor. “As Leshwi said, we did strike at the tower a year ago. True, that attempt was not meant to be a permanent seizure, but we were rebuffed. I would know the specifics of what we will do this time to ensure victory.”
“We will use the king who has given himself to us,” Raboniel said. “He has delivered intelligence about guard patterns. We don’t need to take the entire tower at first—we simply need to get to the heart and use my knowledge to turn the defenses to our advantage.”
“The heart is the most well-guarded location!” Jeshishin said.
Raboniel spoke to Conceit. “Then it is fortunate that we have an agent in their inner circle, is it not?”
Jeshishin floated back, his Voice returning to his place.
“What is her true game?” Leshwi whispered to Craving. “Raboniel has never really been interested in the war or its tactics. This must be about something more. She wants the opportunity to experiment upon the Sibling.…”
“This is dangerous,” one of the Nine loudly said to the room. “The humans are suspicious of Taravangian already. He reports that he is watched at all times. If we use his intelligence in this way, there is little doubt he will be compromised entirely.”
“Let him be compromised!” Raboniel said. “What good is a weapon if you don’t swing it? Why have you delayed? The humans are untrained, their powers fledgling, their understanding laughable. I find it embarrassing to awaken and find you struggling against these pitiful shadows of our once-mighty enemies.
“Without the tower, their coalition will disintegrate, as they will be unable to deliver support through the Oathgates. We will gain great advantage through the use of those same portals. In addition, this endeavor will give me the opportunity to test some … theories I have developed while slumbering these last millennia. I am increasingly certain I have discovered a path that will lead to an end to the war.”
Leshwi hissed out slowly, and Venli felt cold. It seemed that whatever Raboniel thought would end the war would involve techniques best left untouched.
The rest of the room, however, appeared impressed. They whispered to Subservience, indicating consent to the idea. Even the Nine started humming to the rhythm. The Fused put on a strong Passionate show, but there was a fatigue to these ancient souls. It underpinned their other Passions, like the true color of a dyed cloth. Wash it, leave it out in the storms long enough, and the core shone through.
These creatures were fraying, surrendering their minds—their will and very individuality offered up to Odium on the altar of eternal war. Perhaps the humans were new to their abilities, untested, but the Fused were old axes, chipped and weathered. They would take great risks, after so many rebirths, to be finished at last.
“What of Stormblessed?” a voice called out, thickly accented, from the recesses of the grand chamber.
Venli found herself humming to Abashment as she searched the room. Who had spoken so brashly without first ordering their Voice to step forward? She found him sitting on a raised ledge up above, in shadow, right as her mind connected the accent to the lack of decorum.
Vyre. The human, once called Moash. He dressed like a soldier, with perfectly trimmed hair, a sharp uniform cut after human tailoring. He was an oddity. Why did the Nine continue to suffer him? Not only that, why had they given him an Honorblade, one of the most precious relics on Roshar?
He draped one leg off the ledge. Held in his lap, his sword reflected sunlight as the tip moved. “He’ll stop you,” Vyre said. “You should have a plan for dealing with him.”
“Ah, the human,” Raboniel said, looking at Vyre on his ledge. “I’ve heard of you. Such an interesting specimen. Odium favors you.”
“He takes my pain,” Vyre said. “And leaves me to achieve my potential. You did not answer my question. What of Stormblessed?”
“I’m not afraid of a Windrunner, no matter how … mythical his reputation may be growing,” Raboniel said. “We will focus our attention on the Bondsmith and the Elsecaller. They are more dangerous than any simple soldier.”
“Well,” Vyre said, pulling the tip of his sword back into the shadows, “I’m sure you know your business, Fused.”
The Nine, as always, suffered the strange human. His position had been chosen by Odium. Leshwi seemed to think highly of him—of course, he’d once killed her, and that was a sure way to gain her respect.
“Your proposal is bold, Raboniel,” one of the Nine said. “And decisive. We have long been without your guidance in this Return, and we welcome your Passion. We will move forward as you request. Prepare a team for your infiltration of the tower, and we shall contact the human Taravangian with instructions. He can divert the Bondsmith and Elsecaller.”
Raboniel sang loudly to Satisfaction, a stately and decisive sound. Venli was reasonably certain this entire meeting had been for show—the Nine had not stopped to debate the plan. They’d known what Raboniel would suggest, and had already worked out the details.
