Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

“Ah,” Evi said. “Husband.” She looked him up and down, and her expression soured, lips puckering. “Has no person seen fit to order him a bath? Where are his grooms, to see him undressed properly?”

“Why are you here?” Dalinar demanded. He hadn’t intended to roar it, but he was so tired, so shocked …

Evi leaned backward before the outburst, eyes opening wide.

He briefly felt a spike of shame. But why should he? This was his warcamp—here he was the Blackthorn. This was the place where his domestic life should have no purchase on him! By coming here, she invaded that.

“I…” Evi said. “I … Other women are at the camp. Other wives. It is common, for women to go to war.…”

“Alethi women,” Dalinar snapped, “trained to it from childhood and acquainted with the ways of warfare. We spoke of this, Evi. We—” He halted, looking at the guards. They shuffled uncomfortably.

“Come inside, Evi,” Dalinar said. “Let’s discuss this in private.”

“Very well. And the children?”

“You brought our children to the battlefront?” Storms, she didn’t even have the sense to leave them at the town the army was using as a long-term command post?

“I—”

“In,” Dalinar said, pointing at the tent.

Evi wilted, then scuttled to obey, cringing as she passed him. Why had she come? Hadn’t he just been back to Kholinar to visit? That had been … recent, he was sure.…

Or maybe not so recent. He did have several letters from Evi that Teleb’s wife had read to him, with several more waiting to be read. He dropped the flaps back into position and turned toward Evi, determined not to let his frayed patience rule him.

“Navani said I should come,” Evi said. “She said it was shameful that you have waited so long between visits. Adolin has gone over a year without seeing you, Dalinar. And little Renarin has never even met his father.”

“Renarin?” Dalinar said, trying to work out the name. He hadn’t picked that. “Rekher … no, Re…”

“Re,” Evi said. “From my language. Nar, after his father. In, to be born unto.”

Stormfather, that was a butchering of the language. Dalinar fumbled, trying to work through it. Nar meant “like unto.”

“What does ‘Re’ mean in your language?” Dalinar asked, scratching his face.

“It has no meaning,” Evi said. “It is simply the name. It means our son’s name, or him.”

Dalinar groaned softly. So the child’s name was “Like one who was born unto himself.” Delightful.

“You didn’t answer,” Evi pointed out, “when I asked after a name via spanreed.”

How had Navani and Ialai allowed this travesty of a name? Storms … knowing those two, they’d probably encouraged it. They were always trying to get Evi to be more forceful. He moved to get something to drink, but then remembered that this wasn’t actually his tent. There wasn’t anything in here to drink but armor oil.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Dalinar said. “It is dangerous out here.”

“I wish to be a more Alethi wife. I want you to want me to be with you.”

He winced. “Well, you still should not have brought the children.” Dalinar slumped down into the cushions. “They are heirs to the princedom, assuming this plan of Gavilar’s with the Crownlands and his own throne works out. They need to remain safe in Kholinar.”

“I thought you’d want to see them,” Evi said, stepping up to him. Despite his harsh words, she unbuckled the top of his gambeson to get her hands under it, and began rubbing his shoulders.

It felt wonderful. He let his anger melt away. It would be good to have a wife with him, to scribe as was proper. He just wished that he didn’t feel so guilty at seeing her. He was not the man she wanted him to be.

“I hear you had a great victory today,” Evi said softly. “You do service to the king.”

“You’d have hated it, Evi. I killed hundreds of people. If you stay, you’ll have to listen to war reports. Accounts of deaths, many at my hand.”

She was silent for a time. “Could you not … let them surrender to you?”

“The Vedens aren’t here to surrender. They’re here to test us on the battlefield.”

“And the individual men? Do they care for such reasoning as they die?”

“What? Would you like me to stop and ask each man to surrender as I prepare to strike him down?”

“Would that—”

“No, Evi. That wouldn’t work.”

“Oh.”

He stood up, suddenly anxious. “Let’s see the boys, then.”

Leaving his tent and crossing the camp was a slog, his feet feeling like they’d been encased in blocks of crem. He didn’t dare slouch—he always tried to present a strong image for the men and women of the army—but he couldn’t help that his padded garb was wrinkled and stained with sweat.

The land here was lush compared to Kholinar. The thick grass was broken by sturdy stands of trees, and tangled vines draped the western cliff faces. There were places farther into Jah Keved where you couldn’t take a step without vines writhing under your feet.

The boys were by Evi’s wagons. Little Adolin was terrorizing one of the chulls, perched atop its shell and swinging a wooden sword about, showing off for several of the guards—who dutifully complimented his moves. He’d somehow assembled “armor” from strings and bits of broken rockbud shell.

Storms, he’s grown, Dalinar thought. When last he’d seen Adolin, the child had still looked like a toddler, stumbling through his words. Little over a year later, the boy spoke clearly—and dramatically—as he described his fallen enemies. They were, apparently, evil flying chulls.

He stopped when he saw Dalinar, then he glanced at Evi. She nodded, and the child scrambled down from the chull—Dalinar was certain he’d fall at three different points. He got down safely, walked over.

And saluted.

Evi beamed. “He asked the best way to talk to you,” she whispered. “I told him you were a general, the leader of all the soldiers. He came up with that on his own.”

Dalinar squatted down. Little Adolin immediately shied back, reaching for his mother’s skirts.

“Afraid of me?” Dalinar asked. “Not unwise. I’m a dangerous man.”

“Daddy?” the boy said, holding to the skirt with one white-knuckled hand—but not hiding.

“Yes. Don’t you remember me?”

Hesitantly, the motley-haired boy nodded. “I remember you. We talk about you every night when we burn prayers. So you will be safe. Fighting bad men.”

“I’d prefer to be safe from the good ones too,” Dalinar said. “Though I will take what I am offered.” He stood up, feeling … what? Shame to not have seen the boy as often as he should have? Pride at how the boy was growing? The Thrill, still squirming deep down. How had it not dissipated since the battle?

“Where is your brother, Adolin?” Dalinar asked.

The boy pointed toward a nurse who carried a little one. Dalinar had expected a baby, but this child could nearly walk, as evidenced by the nurse putting him down and watching fondly as he toddled a few steps, then sat, trying to grab blades of grass as they pulled away.