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To live through history, as a historian, was both strange and exciting. It was reading through accounts of her father’s life knowing that she sat by his side during that time. It was becoming a leader herself and knowing that her actions would later shape the historical record.
Historians knew that every moment had the potential for world-changing impact, but the moments surrounding Jasnah as of late felt to be of particular import. The new scholarship on spren, the political ramifications of her coronation, the warring factions of Voidbringer against Roshar… She could fill notebook after notebook and never be able to fully sift through affect to reach truth.
Perhaps that was why she was having so much trouble doing solely historical research these days, her limited time notwithstanding. As a Veristitalian, Jasnah’s core belief was in the vitality of truth. It was hard to be dispassionate, and thereby truthful, when her records were little more than memoirs.
Jasnah sighed. She set down her pen and stretched her hand, easing out some of the stiffness. Her journal article on a theory of deadeye revival was nearly complete. She’d never thought she’d write an article for The Journal of Spren Studies of all publications, but when an amazing research topic had appeared before her in the form of her cousin and his recently revived spren, how could she refuse?
Ethid was perhaps the most excited about Jasnah’s article—not least of which because Jasnah had cited her work. She had offered to take it to the journal editor directly, which would allow Jasnah time to focus on the matter of crop-growing practices to relieve food shortages in some of the more rural townships.
Truthfully, her personal research was more interesting, but Jasnah had spent her life doing things she didn’t want to do by virtue of the expectation attached to the Kholin name. Leading a country was just one of those things.
Her research really was interesting. To think that the dead spren of Shardblades could be revived! Ivory had been struck speechless upon meeting Maya, the formerly dead Cultivationspren who had once been Adolin’s Shardblade. It seemed Maya’s revival really was an impossibility.
Watching the spren react to Maya’s presence cast the topic of spren revival into sharp relief. The Veristitalian in her couldn’t let the opportunity to detangle the truth slip away, even if the topic wasn’t historical per se. To publish new research, after everything she’d been through over the past years, felt like a dream.
But what kind of scholar was she these days?
There was a knock at the door. Jasnah felt a flare of annoyance, but stifled it. She schooled her features into a placid mask before standing and opening the door. There stood Navani, fabrial in hand.
“Mother.” Jasnah felt her mask slip a bit. She was genuinely glad to see her mother, even if the timing was poor. There was only a small window of time in which she could finish the article, but… “Come in,” she said.
Navani gave Jasnah a knowing look, but she stepped inside and gracefully sat down in one of the chairs surrounding a small table at the center of the room. She laid down the fabrial, which hit the table with a solid thunk. The embedded gem was a yellowish color, edges stained with red.
Jasnah sat down at the table beside her. “What’s that?” she asked politely.
Navani’s face lit up. It was obvious how the woman loved to talk about fabrials, even if the rest of the Kholin family didn’t quite understand her fascination. Jasnah understood the basics, but she had less interest in facets than facts.
Jasnah thought of her journal article, glancing at the books piled on her desk. It was less…factual than other pieces she’d written. More speculation, more suggestions for further research. Although she’d interviewed Adolin with the strictest methodology, even she couldn’t be dispassionate when listening to the way he’d been mortally wounded, or the way that he and Maya worked as a team.
Jasnah only realized that her mother had been talking after Navani gave her another look, one that spoke volumes about what she thought of her daughter ignoring her.
“Dear,” her mother said, “I can tell there’s something else on your mind.” Navani looked towards the desk. “Does it relate to your new duties?”
“Hm? Oh, no,” said Jasnah dismissively. “Being queen is hardly taxing.”
Navani raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure,” she said, again saying more through her pointed look than through words. “If it’s not related to your recent coronation, then what is bothering you? Perhaps I can help.”
Jasnah sighed. What could she say? The article was nearly done. There were no problems; given her track record for scholarly excellence, the peer review would likely return with little commentary. But…
“I am having trouble with my…scholarship,” she finally said. The words left a sour taste in her mouth, but she continued. “It is difficult to reconcile the historian’s need for objective truth and the fact that I myself am entangled in said history. While I still enjoy engaging in ancient scholarship, the fact is that I feel compelled to record the new discoveries of this age, to preserve them. It’s wholly subjective, however, and as a Veristatalian, there’s a cognitive dissonance between those two ideas.”
Navani looked at her in surprise. “I see,” she said.
Now Jasnah couldn’t even read the expression on her mother’s face. It made her strangely nervous.
“Is that… your only response?” Jasnah said.
She was hesitating. Why was she hesitating?
“Jasnah,” said Navani. This time her fond look was plain to see. “You’re overthinking things—not that that’s surprising. You can change your area of research. It’s not a slight to your scholarship. It’s not a slight to you. If you are concerned about objectivity, then by all means, refuse to focus on the present.” She leaned in, smiling at Jasnah. “I suspect, however, that you’d be denying yourself something important. Important to both you and Roshar.”
“You think too highly of me, Mother.”
“Do I?” Navani gestured to the desk. “What are you working on now?”
“It’s done, more or less.” Jasnah stood, walking over to the desk. She grabbed the sheaf of papers that contained her draft, not bothering to include her notes. She paused a moment, then handed it over.
Navani scanned the title with interest. “An article on spren? That’s unusual for you.”
“I know.”
Her mother kept reading, engrossed in the text. Jasnah watched her, looking at the way her eyes traveled the pages in efficient sweeps. Finally, she set the stack of papers down. “It’s quite interesting,” she said.
Jasnah groaned. “Is that a euphemism to say it’s poorly done? Overwrought?” She felt another spike of nervousness.
What are you doing, Jasnah? Stop it! This is your mother; this is your work. Own it.
Jasnah took a breath, centering herself. She shook her head. “No, ignore that. I know it’s competent work,” she said, cutting off her mother’s reply. She focused on Navani. “What do you think of it?”
Navani smiled. “I was about to tell you that I didn’t find it overwrought. It is competently done, and the argument is compelling. I can see why you don’t want to speculate too much, as it’s primarily an exploratory piece, but this scholarship fills a research gap, particularly for practical applications in Surges and Nahel bonds.” Her smile grew. “It may be different for you, but I’m proud. I’m sure you’ll make some historian studying spren very happy one day.”
Jasnah returned the smile. “I’m certain I will.” She glanced at the timekeeping fabrial on her desk. Her window of time had closed. A sigh left her. “Unfortunately,” she said, “I must leave my scholarship behind and talk about crops for the next hour or so.”
Navani stood, recognizing the dismissal. As they walked from the room, Jasnah made sure to lock the door behind her. Her research was too important.
“Well,” said her mother as they began to walk, “if you’re looking for solutions to slow-growing crops, I just had a breakthrough with an Augmenter fabrial that mimics Progression, and it grows plants at an exponentially…”
Jasnah smiled as she listened. She might be a historian at heart, but scholarship was everywhere, in hallway conversations and in the logistics of running a country. She could shift her focus as many times as needed—the research would be there, waiting.