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Chapter Text

Urithiru’s tower: once her home, now her cage. The most beautiful cage she could ever be confined to. Since her capture, her time had been devoted to research. As queen, she ought to find a way to send a message to her husband. To escape, to help the Sibling strengthen its defenses. Yet as a scholar, she could not help but feel whole again after so long away from the purest form of study. The cold walls needed no fabrials to radiate warmth for her.

Seated at her desk, she theorized about light and sound. Storms and void. The fabrials that might be born of the two kinds of gods lights. Most of the ideas remained locked in her mind; only some she allowed onto the pages of her notebook. She could not grant her sketches Shallan’s arts virtue, but as a fabrial engineer she needed no art. Her designs were direct. Laden with references that could open paths to new studies and applications.

A door opened behind her. She kept her composure. Silence. She went on sketching, feigning serenity. Footsteps. A harmonious cadence. A rhythmic sway in the movement. A humming, ever closer. It stopped behind her. She could feel it — the weight of piercing red eyes on the nape of her neck.

The moment had come. She began altering her lines, changing a few notes. The design, the sketch that had taken her so long, would not be completed. It would be a fabrial without a gemstone.

From behind, a body leaned softly over her. A measured breath brushed her ear. A hand caressed the back of hers, claiming the pen. A large yet delicate hand. A hand of electrifying softness. Feminine. Skilled. A singer’s hand. A Fused’s hand. Raboniel’s hand.

Navani could not suppress a gasp. The hairs on her arms rose.

So it began. She would need to be subtle, she would need to be obvious. Such was the contradiction inherent to her plan.

Her heart stopped. Then beat again.

Ten heartbeats.

Ten heartbeats, they said, marked the rhythm of a war.

Ten heartbeats to summon a Shardblade. Gavilar and his conquests. The founding of Alethkar. Then the Radiants, able to fly or to heal. Dalinar and his oaths. A flicker of doubt, of guilt. Dalinar, her husband. What would he think of these deceits? Of these heartbeats?

Ten heartbeats was what Navani needed to protect her people. The tower of Urithiru, the newly awakened Sibling. The Radiants, still asleep. If she did nothing, the Lady of Wishes would corrupt the tower. She could not allow it. Navani had never stood on the battlefield herself—no. But as the wife of two kings and the monarch of two realms, she had learned to move with the rhythm of those heartbeats.

Ten heartbeats was all that separated a fleeting notion from a defined idea. Ten to turn the idea into design. The uncut gemstone into a magnificent fabrial. Ten heartbeats was the span between a suggestive glance and an overt insinuation, the time it took for her skin to prickle beneath a tender touch.

Ten heartbeats. The fastest of beats, the slowest of beats.

Nine heartbeats.

“Ancient one… It seems there are some aspects of my notes in need of refinement.” Intentional flaws.

She wasn’t certain the Fused herself would review all of her sketches. An untrained eye would miss the errors: anomalies here, incomplete thoughts there, lines that never quite defined themselves. Suggestions of ideas, but if pursued they would lead nowhere. A simple trick — yet effective.

“An interesting design, regarding pressure differentials applied to Voidlight… However, we already discussed the limitations of techniques valid for Honor’s light combined with Odium’s, did we not?” She didn’t sound angry. Her rhythm danced with playfulness, almost cheerful — yet beneath it lurked the predator’s game.

Eight heartbeats.

This Fused was no untrained eye. She was ancient. Millennia old. She would easily spot the loose threads in Navani’s designs. The human knew she could not deceive the singer—not in matters of research. But there were other aspects in which she underestimated her. Navani had been queen twice, had founded two nations. One learned what to say, when to suggest.

The Lady of Wishes guided the pen’s line without letting go of her hand. A hand larger than her own, skilled and practiced, nearly as firm as Dalinar’s. Another stab of remorse. That hand was, surprisingly, far gentler.

“Indeed, Ancient one…” Navani let Raboniel guide her hand as they sketched the fabrial together. “I don’t know how I could have made such an obvious mistake.” Not obvious at all. “I fear the isolation is beginning to weigh on me. As queen, I used to stroll with my scholars through the upper gardens. It fostered a more optimal environment for the flow of ideas.”

Seven heartbeats.

“Precisely.” At last, Raboniel released her hand, though she left her fingers resting lightly on its back, stroking with her fingertips. “You introduced mistakes into the designs on purpose, to draw my attention.” Her rhythm sounded amused. The caress of her fingertips slid upward, from the back of Navani’s hand to her forearm. “Waiting for the moment to plant an idea in my mind.” The caress climbed to her shoulders… Was it natural, this warmth flooding her veins?“ To find your way out of here.” The caress ended in a firm grip. She seized Navani’s shoulders and… began to massage them. Easing her tension, even as she deepened it with fear.

From behind, the singer leaned closer, her face nearly brushing the carapace of her cheek against Navani’s soft skin. “An opportunity to escape me.” A whisper at Navani’s ear. She stifled a gasp. A fruity fragrance enveloped her, emanating from the Fused.

Six heartbeats.

That, too, could not deceive her. She was older than Roshar’s greatest empires. She had lived through Desolations, had faced the Heralds. As far as Navani knew, this Fused had been chosen by a god. She could not simply leave a gemstone and expect a spren to come willingly. She had to offer something that would draw it.

“I would never attempt such trickery.” Navani feigned indignation, lying outright, praying to the Almighty that the Ancient one would not pierce through this last deception.

Five heartbeats.

She set the pen upon the sketch and brought her hands to her chest.

In these last days—weeks, perhaps—she had noticed Raboniel’s gaze upon her. Did she wear that look again now? The rhythm of her humming seemed unchanged. Yet Navani had caught the Fused’s glances during their heated debates on fabrial science, on Stormlight and Voidlight. She had felt how Raboniel sought to draw nearer when she wasn’t paying attention. All it required was an opening, and the Fused would enter the game.

Navani gently took Raboniel’s hands from her shoulders, hoping she would not pull them away. She turned.

“Never…” She tried to lace her voice with the sweetest tone she could summon—the one she reserved for Dalinar. Ah, Dalinar… Was this right? Was this the path she should take? “I would not wish to contradict you so. Science often blooms in seclusion.” Navani lowered Raboniel’s hands as she met her gaze. Red. Intense. Alive. She sought to weave singer musicality into the tenderness of her voice. “If I have given such an impression, forgive me. I will strive to be more meticulous in my future designs.”

Four heartbeats.

Their eyes locked, breaths aligned. Their hands still clasped. Heartbeats that seemed to race and stretch into eternity all at once. Heartbeats of heat, flooding her body. Raboniel released Navani’s hands, only to trail upward again in a caress to her forearm.

Four heartbeats.

“So you shall.” Raboniel stepped back, letting her go. She moved toward the doorway. “When I return, I expect to see these ideas advance without such supposed mistakes.” Her tone—playful, amused.

Three heartbeats.

The other singer, the regal one, waited for Raboniel. Navani dared no more. She let the Lady of Wishes depart without another word.

Two heartbeats.

The Lady of Wishes had seen through her ploys: correcting the intentional flaws, unmasking her attempt to slip free and send a message beyond. And yet, the final plan remained—subtle and obvious at once. Navani could not escape. She could not deceive her. If nothing changed, Urithiru would fall, and with it the war would be lost. Dalinar… what would they do to him? And yet, what would he think of what she had already set in motion?

One heartbeat.

Ten heartbeats, they said, marked the rhythm of a war. They divided notion from idea, idea from design. The uncut gemstone from the fabrial. A glance from an insinuation. Hair rising from a caress.

Ten heartbeats for her plan. Ten heartbeats to insinuate. Ten heartbeats to awaken an emotion, a passion.

Ten heartbeats had always been enough to seduce a man. Even if she was no man. Even if not human.

Ten heartbeats to seduce her.

Raboniel closed the door behind her. Everything had gone exactly as she had planned. Venli, the Last Listener, watched her intently, humming to the Rhythm of Craving.

“I do not understand, Lady of Wishes. You said humans and singers must work together to end this war. But the queen keeps trying to deceive you, hiding things from you… and you…” The young Listener shifted, humming now to the Rhythm of Abashment. “Your interactions with her strike me as… strange.”

Ah. So young. So innocent.

“We singers welcome spren into our gemstones. The spren change our forms, but they also sharpen our minds.” Raboniel hummed to Thoughtfulness, explaining a plan that in another age would have been obvious. “But the minds of humans have no spren to focus them. They are chained. Forced to live, all at once, with every Passion. Training leads them to the diligence of our warform, practice to the skill of the nimbleform. Give them the right environment for meditation, and the right materials, and they begin to mimic the scholarform.”

“In them, certain emotions rise above the rest. In them, there are deeper emotions that training can’t touch. In them, the mateform is always lurking.” Unconsciously, the Ancient one shifted from Thoughtfulness to Craving. “I am cultivating within the queen the seed of mateform. When her body longs for me, she will do whatever is necessary to fulfill my wishes. Only then will humans and singers truly cooperate. Only then will I end this war.”

Chapter Text

“I think what you’re doing is wrong. You’re not seeking ways to protect me. Soon the Lady of Pains will finish corrupting me.” The Sibling’s voice rang high-pitching and echoing inside Navani’s mind.

It had been days since her last true conversation with Raboniel. There were glances, yes. Glances laden with meaning, confessions neither would ever voice. But the Fused no longer visited the workshop. Had she abandoned her? Like the last flamespren dying in cold ashes… Or worse, it might be something else. The Fused could be waiting. Assessing. Taking measures before placing the final vial. Perhaps her silence was not neglect, but the first step of her assault. Navani feared her plan had already failed before it had even begun.

How did one seduce a being so ancient? Like with a spren, she thought. Before trapping it, you had to offer something familiar. Something intimate. Something it could not ignore.

She laid a hand on the bookshelf, where a sliver of garnet glimmered faintly between the tomes, and whispered:

“I need your help. Any scrap of information. A way to approach her. Something to manipulate her with. When I get her to take me to the tower’s core, I can undo what she has done.”

A thoughtful second.

“This is why I hate humans”, the spren replied. “You make it all seem so simple. You twist reality. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. It’s not just rivalry. And the things you study… it’s wrong. They bring us closer to the end.”

It was too tangled for them. Confusing. Though the spren was ancient—alive for millennia—they could not grasp the intricacies of social entanglements. One step could lead an enemy to fall in love with her rival; that was what Navani meant to exploit in Raboniel.

“I’m trying to slow her research. The more I understand about Light, the closer I can come to knowing what she seeks. If I know what she seeks, I can keep her from finding it.” She spoke with conviction, her voice gentle for the tower’s spren. Deep down, it was more complicated. She truly wanted to free the tower, but there was something in being here, in these exchanges with Raboniel, that made her not want it to end. “I will find a way to free you. I promise.”

The Sibling took a few moments before answering.

“Very well. I’ll help you.” The Sibling’s voice came again. “I discovered what you asked. Something she desired. Something you could give. It was easy. But… that woman is strange.”

It was unusual to see the spren like this—hesitant? Shyer than usual. Like a child confessing something improper without fully knowing why.

Navani waited patiently for it to continue. Her heart beat faster with the reply:

“She wants to see you naked.”

Silence. Silence as thick as the stormlight inside an uncut gemstone.

Her face ignited before her mind did. The blush was instinct, not calculation. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.

The Sibling continued:

“I don’t understand why she would want that. It’s like wanting to look at a rock buried in the ground. All humans look the same. The tower is full of them…”

A vibrant energy shocked Navani’s body. A shiver she shouldn’t feel. This was not what she expected. Not at all what she expected. Who was manipulating whom? Was she a woman on a mission, or merely someone who longed to remember what it was to be desired? A flicker of guilt struck her.

“After you asked me, I watched her. Followed her through the tower’s garnet. I was lucky; she lingered in places where I could observe her. At one point I thought she looked straight at me…”

The spren kept speaking. She should be listening… The words slipped through her mind. She couldn’t help but dwell on the shard of guilt pressing against her heart. Ah, Dalinar… They had barely any time together during the war, and now he was in Emul while she was trapped here. Her body was beginning to respond to forbidden urges.

“Then I heard her speaking with that regal who always accompanies her. She said she felt fascination for the human female body. For the parts without carapace. She thinks you would be the perfect subject of study.” The Sibling’s voice concluded.

Navani remained thoughtful, torn between doubt, guilt, and determination. This was not what she had expected, but it was something she could work with.

Sometimes, one could not predict with which gemstones a fabrial would have to be built.

Raboniel stepped into the room. Navani was already at her desk. She approached slowly, not seeking to surprise, only to study. There were books about light and sound, diagrams sketched with a looseness far too casual. That was not how true study looked: this was the concealing of messages. Key words repeated in the margins. The same symbol drawn four times. A pattern. Not nearly clever enough to escape a thousand years of experience.

The queen was encoding plans, ways of revealing herself to Raboniel without cloth or carapace to veil her, wondering if her body might be as sharp a weapon as her mind. Poor thing. Surely she was now rationalizing some excuse to undress for her. For scientific purposes, of course. Navani sang to her Rhythms without knowing it. That made this game all the more dangerous.

For now, however, it was not the moment to leave her plotting. Raboniel had to make her next move.

“Rise. We’re leaving.” She ordered to the Rhythm of Command. Some singers believed humans could not hear the Rhythms. They said humans were empty. That they could not hear a question in Confusion, nor an order in Command.

“Ancient?”

“I have considered your request. It will be granted.” There it was—the human’s face. The faint shift in her breathing, the tapping of her fingers on the desk. Some claimed humans could not hear the Rhythms. How wrong they were. This woman resonated to the Rhythm of Curiosity.

Before allowing her a reply, Raboniel gestured for her to follow and left. She was pleased to hear the human hastily gather her things, no doubt trying to hide some plan or research. Such a waste of resources and time.

Raboniel had thought long on this. To end the war, humans and singers had to work together. Yet the queen, the scholar, refused outright, layering trap upon trap, concealing a truth beneath a thousand half-truths. She could defeat her in an intellectual duel, certainly. The problem was that such victories had never brought finality before. This Return, she would try a new plan.

She would infuse the woman with Passion. Offer her feelings she had not even dreamed. She would not hand her to Odium. Not yet. She would capture her like a spren within a gemstone, feeding her with Light until she pulsed to her Rhythms. Desire, fear, devotion.

Once, Raboniel too had lived those Passions. She remembered them. She longed for them. But with each Return, pain had taken root deeper: the pain of each death, the pain of those who did not come back, the pain of lonely research. The pain of her daught… No. This time would be different. This time, she would find the Passion that could end the war.

Amid her tribulations, Raboniel paused a moment as they climbed the upper floors. She turned to see Navani lagging, breathless, bent over her knees. The woman had followed, but her body was no match for that of a Fused. Strands of hair had slipped from her braid, sweat beading on her brow without a carapace to cool her. How much they might achieve together, if only the woman would follow the right Passions. Was she even now plotting some strange scheme to seduce her? A discordant note flickered across Raboniel’s gemheart. What would she do if the woman truly offered herself? Her body, aged and remade a thousand times, scarcely remembered what it felt like to be touched without purpose.

She sighed to the Rhythm of Abashment—distant, yearning—and resumed her ascent.

They reached the high terraces. The day was warm for such altitude, sunlight pure, untouched by Honor or Odium, bathing everything. No humans or singers. No Windrunners or Shanay-im in flight. In truth, Raboniel savored the calm of this conquest; it let her study undisturbed.

Navani, of course, was surrounded by awespren. Her eyes fixed on the vast gemstones and fabrials the singers had set in place. Plants grew strong upon those terraces, rockbuds the size of a person. The air was thick with a sweet perfume, part sap, part dew, as though Urithiru itself exhaled a slumbering hope. Windspren played among gemstones and leaves.

“You mentioned this environment would favor your creativity.” Raboniel signaled the regal guards to leave them. She doubted Navani could be a threat now. At most, she might be a pleasure.

They walked in silence for a while, surrounded by vibrant lifespren and drowsy plants that did not retract at their passing. Navani seemed entranced—would she, perhaps, glimpse here what Raboniel could give her?

“I… Ancient, it’s been months since I’ve seen this place so empty. And these plants… it’s beautiful.”

“You had discovered already how to nurture them with Light. But under the right guidance of the Fused, they thrive best…” She left the other half of that argument unsaid. Humans could be those plants. Navani could be one of those plants. If only she were willing to listen, to be guided.

“You want to know if Stormlight and Voidlight can coexist in a gemstone, yet you cannot imagine a society where your Light does not shine brighter.”

There lay the true divide. The human, this woman, could not hear the Rhythms. At times she seemed to respond to them, but she did not feel them. Odium’s Rhythm was stronger, more alive. It was chaos, yes—but the same chaos that wrote the universe. Chaos that gave life to mortal emotions.

“One Rhythm must prevail, leaving the other only as accompaniment,” Raboniel answered simply.

“It is not so, Lady of Wishes. In the Towerlight, neither dominates.”

As they walked, Navani turned toward Raboniel. The queen seemed to want something. Time condensed, as though they stood in the Spiritual Realm. She took Raboniel’s hands in hers, entwining her soft, delicate fingers with the rough skin of the Fused. She could feel the warmth of those human hands—not merely the physical heat in the chill of the terraces, but something else… disruptive. For a heartbeat, Raboniel’s inner Rhythms stumbled. A syncopation in her soul.

Navani spoke on:

“Our peoples, we ourselves, need not seek to overpower one another. A union between humans and singers should be…” She pressed Raboniel’s hands with artisan delicacy, lifting them to her eyes. “Do you see? Like the pieces of a fabrial: look, they fit. Distinct parts joining, each indispensable, to form something greater.”

The human’s hands were so small, so fragile. And yet filled with determination. The same determination that drove her to study, to stand against her. Now it burned as she clasped her hands.

For an instant, Raboniel’s Rhythms slackened like loose strings. Too human. Too close. What was this woman, with her voice threaded in gentle Rhythms, doing speaking of union? Did she not know what had been lost? Did she not know what Raboniel had sacrificed for this endless war? She felt her Rhythms die in her throat. Stick to the plan. You have her, she tried to tell herself. But she could not. Not when such sorrowful Rhythms brushed her soul.

“It was tried before…” So long. So very long… She pulled her hands from Navani’s. “It never worked. Our peoples are not meant to pulse to the same Rhythm. Just as Voidlight and Stormlight. Water and oil.”

Navani began walking into the terrace gardens. “I told you already, Ancient. Water and oil are not opposites…” Her voice a whisper to the Rhythm of Longing: “We only need our emulsifier.”

They did not speak again that day of a union between humans and singers. They spoke instead of Honor’s Light and Odium’s. Of Rhythms and sound. Yet between fractured Rhythms and veiled debates, those words lingered, suspended like an impossible Light within her gemstone-heart: We only need our emulsifier.

Chapter Text

A sharp brilliance radiated from the gemstone. Honor’s blue, Odium’s black-violet.

The Sibling no longer answered. Raboniel had intercepted every whisper, every plan. Navani felt foolish. She played at being a scholar the same way she played at being a queen. She was neither. She was failure itself. Unable to carry her research forward.

But the Light of War whispered something different. A moment of pure comprehension. The memory still pressed itself into her body: her fingers entwined with Raboniel’s. Both singing in harmony. Rhythm of Honor, Rhythm of Odium. Oaths and Passions. Their hands trembling to the same music as they created something new, together. The brush of the Fused’s fingertips against hers. Her skin bristled at the memory.

She reviewed her notes, her schemes. Ways to seduce the Fused. If she seduced her, she could bend her will. She would trigger an explosion—harmless, nothing dangerous. Her clothing would be destroyed. “Ancient One, my havah… there was an accident in my research“, she would say, suggesting bare skin beneath a torn dress. “A terrible accident“, the singer would reply, with that predatory rhythm she sometimes revealed. Her body would ignite with desire. Raboniel would do anything to please her. “Allow me to escort you to the tower’s heart“, and there their lips would meet in a ki—No. No, There she would free the Sibling. Yes. She would discover how to purge the tower, how to set them all free.

A perfect plan: seduce the Fused to free the Sibling. Win her trust. Make her fall in love… and in the midst of it, release the tower. Bare herself, if only in appearance. But then—what? An impossible plan. Of course. Raboniel already knew her schemes. She had heard every word she had shared with the Sibling. Desire to see Navani naked? Another trick. Raboniel had always been steps ahead. Every plan of hers was no more than a string pulled by the Ancient one. A game of light and shadow. Of truths and lies.

Why, then, did her breath quicken at the mere thought? What was that ache stirring deep in her belly? Her heart betrayed her. That Light of War offered a promise. The promise of melting into Raboniel. She thought to seduce the singer to manipulate her. She was the one being manipulated. She was no queen, no stateswoman. Less an scholar. She was a fraud. A broken fabrial.

At the heart of Urithiru, the singers’ rhythms converged into a constant chorus of petitions. Before the great crystal pillar, Raboniel had set a throne. Symbols mattered; they inspired and they intimidated in equal measure. From there she presided over the tower, giving order: “Yes, do as The Pursuer commands.” “No, you may not slaughter humans at whim.” “Use Voidlight to reactivate the tower’s water fabrials.” How wearying it was. Millennia upon millennia—research and governance. She had never enjoyed the administrative side.

A part of her envied Navani. Free of the burden of rule. Free of endless scheming. Free to simply study. Now that the former queen knew her plans had been overheard, now that she suspected her notebooks had been deciphered—would she finally surrender to pure scientific passion? Raboniel had given her a gift she herself could not accept.

Another part of her could not help but harmonize to Deception. She had enjoyed that game of seductions. Prey and hunter, seducer and seduced… The human’s last ploy to “accidentally” tear her clothing… A corner of Raboniel’s gemheart thrummed at the thought. If only the Sibling had not revealed the third node so quickly. If they had not exposed so soon that she spied upon Navani and the tower-spren. A shame; she had let expectation germinate. It could no longer be.

After dismissing the final petitioner, Raboniel allowed herself to sink back into her seat. A voice interrupted her nonetheless—a frantic humming to the Rhythm of Subservience. At least Venli had not chosen a rhythm of Honor this time.

“How progress the queen’s researches?” Raboniel asked, to the Rhythm of Craving. Her mind leapt from the image of Navani to the hope that stubbornness might finally turn toward the discovery that could end the war. Had she found the light capable of create anti-Voidlight? Raboniel longed to end the conflict. Yet she did not wish, in turn, to part from Navani. What a Passion. What a contradiction.

“They do not, Ancient One,” Venli replied, her words harmonizing further to Subservience.

How?

“Explain, Voice.”

“Since your last encounter, the queen only reviews her notes, again and again. She has tried to reach the Sibling, to offer apology. Most of the time she sits still, staring at the gemstone with the Warlight you gave her.”

So that was it. Raboniel had used everything at her disposal to bend her to desire. She had spied on the human and the Sibling. Destroyed three nodes. Enticed the woman to trust her. Now Navani knew she had eavesdropped on every word. She had spent it all. Spent too much. The queen must be withering, like a spren touched by Sja-anat.

“I thought to take the gemstome from her, to—” Venli began.

“Do not,” Raboniel cut her short, sharp harmonizing to Reprimand. No. No. She could not allow Navani to wither further. “I will deal with her personally.”

Scattered papers. Books on light and waves. At the center, a radiant sphere of Warlight. Navani, seated on the floor amidst that chaos—who would have thought? She read one of the books, but not for study. She had no strength for research; her mind sought only distraction from recent events. From the failure she had become. Her hand pressed against her temple, as if trying to hold up the collapsing weight of her thoughts.

The door opened. She did not need to turn. The rhythm in the footsteps told her Raboniel had arrived. And behind her, of course, came the overlapping echo of two other rhythms Navani had already learned to recognize: likely the regal one, Venli, and Raboniel’s daughter, the Fused.

“You return. Another trick to make me dance to your music, Ancient one?” Her words were edged with anger. She felt betrayed. She should not. Raboniel was her enemy; betrayal was to be expected. And yet there it was—a pain that revealed her true feelings. Her heart was the traitor. Once more, a broken fabrial.

The tall, slender Fused stopped in the middle of the room. Navani turned to look at her. Why did that havah have to suit her so well? It traced her form, her figure, her beauty to perfection.

“Trick. Curious word.” Raboniel answered with that melodious rhythm. “You knew what you were doing. What you risked. And now you reproach me?”

Of course it was her fault. By the Tranquiline Halls. By the Tenth Name of the Almighty. Navani knew it. She forced herself to compose. She would not let that woman see her undone. She rose. Brushed the dust from her dress. Straightened back. Lifted chin. She was a queen. Turning, she confirmed her suspicion: Venli stood behind Raboniel, watching her with curiosity.

“You are right, Lady of Wishes. You were the more cunning. That proves you can continue this research alone.” She would abandon their shared work. Their investigations together. That was the only way Navani could end this with some shred of dignity. Even if it meant serving as a waterbearer. That would be her choice.

Raboniel toyed with something in her hands while humming to a contemplative rhythm. Navani had not noticed it at first—it seemed to be some kind of ribbon or cord. Her gaze dropped to it, almost yearning.

“Cunning? Perhaps. Intelligent? I think not.” Raboniel lifted her eyes back to Navani. Her rhythm, her gaze, regained their characteristic determination. “I tricked you into revealing the nodes. But you discovered the key to Warlight—something I could not unravel in thousands of years.”

The singer’s voice lowered, to a tone that lay somewhere between an offering of peace and an apology.

“I bring you a gift.”

Who knew what new ploy the Fused would bring. What new humiliation for her already fractured will to fight. She tried to decipher what it was. A cord. A ribbon. Could it be a weapon? Another plausible theory. She was of no further use to the singer. Perhaps she had decided to end her. To strangle her, silence her voice forever.

The singer stepped closer, decisive.

“Turn,” she murmured.

Navani obeyed, trembling. It seemed this truly would be the end. The death of a former queen, the erasure of what had come before. It would demoralize Highmarshal Kaladin, shatter Dalinar. Dalinar… If only her heart had not been left yearning, torn between impossible theorems. If only she were not already broken. So it would end. The natural course of war.

She felt the Fused behind her. Navani closed her eyes. Set her jaw. Her body recoiled. Her breath quickened. She did not want to die.

Please, Almighty, at least let it be fast.

Silence.

Raboniel’s garments brushed against hers.

This was it.

The strike never came. Perplexity replaced dread. It was different. Gentle hands touched her waist from behind. Fear turned into flush. Damnation. She opened her eyes. Raboniel was trailing the cord along her waist. A measuring tape.

“So these are your proportions.” The rhythm, the musical lilt of her words, carried amusement.

Navani shoved herself away from the Fused. Heat rose to her cheeks. Her breathing, quickened first by fear, remained fast for reasons far less proper. This was not what she had expected.

Raboniel felt fascinated, delighted, amused. It was a genuine pleasure to see the human’s expression in that moment. The Rhythm of Abashment imprinted itself on her words, unknowingly. She gave a descriptive tug on the measuring tape in her hands, then pointed at the queen with her index finger, signaling her to turn again.

“I deciphered the plans you encoded in your personal notes,” she proceeded, approaching the queen. Navani obeyed, turning to allow her measurements. “You wanted a new havah, even if only as an excuse. I consider this a fitting symbol of my appreciation.”

Alezi women’s clothing was quite form-fitting. Cumbersome, in that it concealed. Beautiful, in that it defined. Raboniel had always thought the pinnacle of human beauty was reached as they matured. Navani was a clear example. A mature body. Soft skin, without a carapace. The flesh itself—beautiful, beyond her species. Good proportions. Defined, yet without the rigidity of young humans.

The woman was small, compared to Raboniel herself. Small enough that she had to stoop slightly to measure her properly. In part, that made her more exotic. She began with the shoulders—it was easier that way.

“Lady of Wishes, it is you who is taking my measurements.” Navani said reluctantly, yet unconsciously lifted her arms. The queen’s body betrayed her. Raboniel noted the measurements of the shoulders, then moved on to the chest.

“If you read my plans, you would realize they involved a seamstress. Are you planning to sew the dress yourself?”

“I already told you I could not allow you to communicate with your people unsupervised. You could pass a message to the seamstress.” She slid the tape beneath the woman’s arms. So fine, so fragile, unshielded by any carapace. She moved gently to her target. Reaching the chest. Warm. Soft. The breasts yielding under her hands. Her gemheart synced for a moment to an unexpected rhythm… a passionate, pleasurable rhythm. She pressed a little. Perhaps more than necessary. “I will send your measurements to the seamstress.”

She could not help but slowly withdraw her hands from Navani’s chest. She knew these Alezi were more reserved than others of their kind. Her breathing, her rhythm, slowed. She inhaled, forcing herself to harmonize to Command. Even the queen’s back was beautiful. She recorded the measurements of the chest.

“You have proven more than capable of—” She stopped as Raboniel resumed measuring the waist. Curious. A faint sound escaped the queen’s lips… somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Laden with desire. “Of intercepting any message you might encode, Ancient One.”

The queen’s broad hips retained a touch of youth. She had borne two children. Her weak body had not been reinforced by extra form. Not only beautiful and intelligent, but strong. Raboniel finished tracing the proportions, noting the waist and hip measurements.

“An effort we can spare if I take these measurements myself,” she said to the Rhythm of Exultation. How delicious it was.“ Turn again. I must take every angle.”

The woman turned. Their eyes met.

Silence.

Navani’s pupils reflected the Warlight. Her cheeks, bluish in contrast. Her full lips slightly parted. No carapace, nothing to hide. So similar to a mateform. Every inch of her body seemed to invite her. Raboniel felt as if her soul were trapped in the gemstone of those eyes. They were so close.

How beautiful she was.

Navani quickly looked away, her skin clearly flushed.

The Fused had to stoop slightly to continue measuring. She descended slowly, as if each measure were a pretext. Navani herself lifted the hem of her havah, hinting at her leg. The singer passed the tape around the tender flesh. The queen’s legs trembled. She held her breath. Raboniel’s hands rose a little higher. A moan escaped the queen, the Rhythm of Satisfaction. Her scent filled Raboniel… She paused. Swallowed. Licked her lips. She… Raboniel was panting. The rhythms inside her were unbridled. "Control", she told herself. She noted the measurements of Navani’s legs as the queen lowered them beneath her skirt again.

The singer stepped away from the thighs that stirred her desire. She began to rise slowly.

Their faces met at the perfect height.

She stopped. All her being recreated itself in the vision of the queen. Their faces so close. Their gazes locking again.

A fleeting thought: what if I kissed her?

She let the measuring tape fall. She caressed Navani’s cheeks. Her gemheart felt ready to break. Frenetic, furious, desirous rhythms. A thousand sensations coursing through her. "Control". She lowered her fingers to the queen’s chin. Her personal queen. She drew her closer. They moved toward each other. Slowly. Lips poised to merge in passion. Eyes fixed. The human closed hers, ready to surrender. Raboniel closed hers.

She felt Navani’s breath. She drew it in as her own. As a Radiant would draw in stormlight. Filling her with energy. With life.

Static electricity. The prelude to the kiss.

From the doorway, a rhythm grew. It hammered through her, ripping her from herself. A rhythm that filled the room and shattered the moment. Anticipation. A rhythm of Honor. Ah, of course. Venli. Her Voice. There she was, watching from the room’s entrance. Hands pressed to her lips, as if to muffle the rhythms.

Raboniel froze.

No, she must not.

Were they going to…? By the Ancient Songs and the Pure Rhythms. They were going to kiss. Venli watched the two women from the doorway. Timbre thumped furiously at the Rhythm of Excitement in Venli’s gemheart. What a spren. Apparently, nothing pleased it more than “watching two mature women making out like there’s no tomorrow.” One perverse little spren.

Raboniel measured Navani’s body slowly. Much slower than necessary. Delighting in every curve of the human she traced. Raboniel’s carapace seemed about to crack from how her hands were trembling.

"Yes, Timbre. You were right", Venli thought to the spren. Timbre pulsed with Joy. It wanted more. "But calm down, you little pervert".

She didn’t know if it was Timbre’s influence or her own desires, but the rhythms throbbed through her whole being with intensity. She had a lump in her throat. The Lady of Wishes was actually going to kiss the queen. That Fused had hundreds of schemes and machinations. Venli never knew how to interpret each of her moves. But this… here, she could call it as she saw it. The Fused simply wanted to stand, in mateform, in front of Navani and do what mateforms do.

Raboniel was at Navani’s height. Faces so close. Both clearly with eyes closed. Slowly drawing nearer.

"Oh, by the Rider of Storms. Timbre, they’re actually kissing", Venli transmitted.

Timbre thumped furiously. Venli covered her mouth to try not to hum at Expectation.

She couldn’t.

Raboniel stopped abruptly. Had they kissed? It seemed not.

Oh, mother. Venli was humming aloud. She had interrupted them.

“That will do.” Raboniel directed at Navani. The Fused tried to hide the Rhythm of Abashment in her words. But it was obvious. Very obvious. “I will have the dress sent to you once it is finished.”

She turned toward the door. Looked directly at Venli. Harmonizing to the Rhythm of Fury. Damnation. What a mess she had made. The Ancient One passed by without a word. Her daughter, left in the hallway, followed her.

Venli took one last look into the room before leaving. There stood Navani, frozen. Upright. Still. Her gaze distant. Caressing her lips. A faint, barely perceptible smile. A yearning desire left unfulfilled. A new promise gained.

Well then. They hadn’t kissed this time. Next time, they would.

Chapter Text

In the deepest of the Cosmere, Honor was dead.

In the deepest of Urithiru, a spren lay imprisoned.

In the deepest of Navani, she could not order her own inner chaos.

She climbed toward the tower’s crown. Her fingers brushed the stone walls. Veins of garnet—could the Sibling see her? Weariness made her very bones tremble. Step by step. Stair by stair. Time enough to think.

Raboniel, tempting her again: a few cups of wine in apology. Singing together in unison. Debating, discovering. Light and sound, Oaths and Passions. And in the end? To be herself. Someone with whom she might share her mind, someone to bring order to the chaos.

She halted mid-ascent. Looked back at the unending stairs. Below lay the crystal pillar of the Sibling. Beside it, her study hall. The place where Raboniel had played with her.

The singer had given her a gift. A havah tailored to her shape, woven from two shades of blue: Kholin and Honor, as if the two meant the same. A flawless design, beautiful and practical. Leaving space for a cloth glove on the safehand. A pointed suggestion. Not a gift for a queen, but a recognition for an engineer. Could that truly be the gift of an enemy?

A sudden pull wrenched her from her thoughts. One of the singer guards seized her arm, urging her upward. She drew in a breath, her lungs burning. She climbed on. Endless stairs.

Raboniel, betraying her again: shared research, forces combined, paired gemstones, Intent. Light and sound, Oaths and Passions. And in the end? Anti-Voidlight. Power. The power to end the war. The promise to kill a god. Raboniel’s broken promise.

Again, every step she took had been foreseen by the Fused. Again, every thread drawn by the Ancient. Navani’s heart was worn thin by the game. It was a broken fabrial. She was tired. So very tired. She could go no further. And yet—she had glimpsed that same weariness in Raboniel’s eyes. This dance shattered them both. It left an opening.

That night, she meant to end the game of light and shadow. She would need to be subtle, she would need to be obvious. Such was the contradiction inherent to their bond.

In the deepest of Roshar, thousands of years of war between singers and humans.

In the deepest of the night, thousands of stars shone above.

In the deepest of Raboniel, she was shattered.

The war had stretched on for millennia. More Returns than any of them had ever planned. It had stretched across generations, wearying her people further and further. She was tired. So very tired. She could not bear it any longer. Not after… after… her daughter. No, she must not think of that. Tonight was a night for celebration. She had planned every detail, made certain it would be perfect.

A magnificent starry sky: Taln’s Scar visible, the Tear burning bright, and little Salas, the first moon, rising toward its zenith with its violet glow. Just as she had planned.

The tower’s peak lay empty, with neither humans nor singers. The guards had orders to leave upon her arrival. Tonight, she and Navani would be alone. At the center of it all, she had prepared a high table, two cups, and a bottle of wine. Amosztha. Navani’s favorite. Just as she had planned.

At last, the queen reached the tower’s summit, just as Salas reached its zenith. The dress she wore was Raboniel’s own design. The blue of Honor was heightened into a dreamlike shimmer by the moonlight. Violet over blue. Warlight.

The queen met her eyes directly: defiant, inquisitive, suggestive.

She was so beautiful.

This could never have been planned.

The heat of that gaze pierced her, a warm touch across a crystal long since cracked. And yet she reminded herself why she had done everything she had. Oaths and Passions. In the end: Anti-Stormlight. Power. The power to end both spren and Fused. The power to end the war.

“Come closer,” she told at the Rhythm of Command. “Tonight there will be no guards, no regals to watch.”

A stab of pain struck her chest, straight to her gemheart. Not my daughter either. In the deepest of Raboniel lay the weight of every Return. Every singer and Fused she had left behind. The last, by her own hand. The last, her little one. The dearest. That absence shone brighter than all the stars.

Ten heartbeats, they said, marked the rhythm of a war. Ten heartbeats to seduce. Ten heartbeats that began once more for Navani.

Ten heartbeats.

She was drained from the climb. Each beat in her chest pulsed through her veins. “Stand tall”, she told herself. “Tonight you will not be a puppet.”

Here they were. The summit of Urithiru. Alone. Human and singer. Star-streaked sky, Salas at her zenith, reigning above. Glasses on a table. Amosztha, her favorite. A night deliberately perfect. Raboniel had shaped it with care.

Nine heartbeats.

Dresses chosen by the Fused. Her havah, blue. Bright as stormlight. Honor. Raboniel’s dress, made to match: violet with black streaks. Bright as voidlight. Odium.

Both apart. Both enemies. Both daughters of Roshar.

Eight heartbeats.

Raboniel’s invitation to come closer. That look again. The shard of sorrow always glinting in the depths of the Fused’s eyes. Escaping the carapace that covered her body. A pain deep and familiar.

Seven heartbeats.

Straightened back. Lifted chin. She was a queen. Whether she wished it or not. She could not live as only the dream of a scholar. She had to be more. She strode forward, passing Raboniel by. Leaving her only the suggestive brush of their dresses.

Six heartbeats.

She poured both glasses with care. Turned and offered one to her adversary. Took a sip from the other. Silence stretched between them, filled only by Raboniel’s humming to the rhythms. Curiosity colored the tone.

Five heartbeats.

Once, she had thought ten heartbeats would be enough.

In the deepest of her heart, Navani knew it was not. One more step was needed. More than subtle hints and tender brushes.

Four heartbeats.

Navani closed her eyes for a moment.

Her hand tightened around the glass. She feared it might shatter.

She drew a slow breath in.

Let it out, steady.

Took back command of her body. Finally, she spoke.

“I hated Gavilar at the end of his life.” She fixed her gaze on the Fused. Stepped forward with purpose. “He grew cold. Distant. Always reminding me I was neither queen nor scholar. Only a fraud. And yet, I carried his legacy.”

Three heartbeats.

Raboniel’s humming—controlled, commanding—broke beneath confusion.

“You are a scholar. You’ve proven it more than…” She almost sounded worried. Almost as if she were stepping back.

“It doesn’t matter.” Navani cut her off, sharp. Another sip of wine. “In his memories, in mine, in every footnote. I preserved for the world the image of the righteous king. Gavilar the Peacemaker. The Majestic. Do you know why I did it?”

Two heartbeats.

Queen facing Fused. The human gently brushed the rim of the violet havah with her wine glass. Raboniel accepted it. The liquid caught the moonlight. Navani’s eyes reflected in Raboniel’s. Raboniel’s eyes reflected in Navani’s.

Silence.

One heartbeat.

“I did it for my children. For Jasnah. For Elhokar.” — There, at last, she let the mask of strength falter.

Her little Elhokar. Her small prince, king far too soon. If only the world had seen him as she did. If only they had seen how hard he had fought to be better. And he had been. Better than his father. Better than his mother.

A tear slid down her cheek. She had cried so much. She knew she would never stop.

One heartbeat.

Raboniel’s world held its breath in a single beat of her gemheart. Her breathing quickened. Confusion. A rhythm of Honor. She looked at the wine. She looked at Navani. One solitary tear, shining like the sky, in her eyes. Her rhythms, at once calm, at once cruel. Confusion, Agony, the Rhythm of the Lost. How was one supposed to answer that? The pain of such loss. Her own pain.

One single heartbeat.

It was Navani who had exposed herself. It was Navani who was opening her soul. And yet, the little queen was immense in that moment. Her body, elevated by the dress. Her stance, tempered and serene, with that single tear on her cheek. Glass in hand. Face to face. This was the woman who made her vibrate in rhythms she had not felt in a thousand years.

One heartbeat condensed a thousand years into an instant.

Every Return. Every desolation. Raboniel’s memories. Her daughter. Her little one.

She embraced Navani.

Glasses fell to the ground. She held her as she would have held her own child. Pressed her face to that small human body. So fragile, so warm. The crystal shattered—the sharp sound of fragmentation.

The tremor of shared suffering. It was the singer who trembled. The tall Fused, whose face began to crack with tears. Stars falling from the sky. The end of her own war. Navani returned the embrace with strength, pressing Raboniel’s face into her shoulder. The Fused sobbed in a gut-wrenching lament. Breaking every rhythm she had ever known. Breaking all rhythm, of Honor or Odium. The human allowed herself to cry.

Tears. The tears of two mothers who had lost those they loved most.

The lament stretched on, in what felt like an eternal embrace. Minutes. Hours. They cried and shared their grief. The first moon passed through its full cycle. Nomon rose in the sky, filling the tower’s summit with its bluish glow, when at last the sorrowful sobs began to fade.

Gradually, they loosened their hold. Still together, still very close. They looked at each other. Navani gently brushed a tear from Raboniel’s eyes.

“How long have you borne the pain?” Not death—she had felt that only recently. The loss.

“Many Returns,” she hummed, in the rhythm of the Lost. She did not mind that it was a rhythm of Honor. Nomon now ruled the sky. Tonight, she could afford it.

“Thousands of years.” The little queen pressed herself against the tall Fused, consoling her.

“Thousands of years,” Raboniel echoed.

Navani drew back from the embrace, leaving a deep void in the Fused. She stepped away, each of her movements carrying the music of the Lost. Leaving a lingering sweetness, the scent already entwined with the queen, now tinged with sorrow. She walked again toward the table.

She toyed with the bottle. Did not lift it.

The world seemed to pause with every step that woman took.

When she looked at Raboniel, she smiled, softly, with melancholy.

She held out her hand.

“I cannot take your pain away,” she whispered. “Please… let me accompany you.”

The Fused walked toward the queen. Beneath Nomon’s light. The moon of Honor. Navani silently begged the moon to help her bear one more night of grief. To allow her to aid that worn soul. The singer took her tentative hand. The queen drew her close, still holding her hand raised. Slowly, she wrapped her other arm around Raboniel’s waist. She began to hum. A mournful rhythm. A controlled rhythm. A rhythm of Honor.

She started moving to the beat, guiding Raboniel in a gentle sway. A dance for two. A shared moment. The Fused’s hands were large, yes, but uncertain. Her steps clumsy. Navani would help her let go of that burden.

The Fused hummed with amusement. How many millennia had it been since she last danced? She tried to surrender. Awkward steps at first. Unable to keep the rhythm. Growing more confident as Navani led her skillfully. Allowing the melancholy to accompany them, she began to hum. A mournful rhythm. A passionate rhythm. A rhythm of Odium.

They danced to a rhythm that did not exist. For one night, both could hear the pure rhythms of Roshar. As they hummed, their songs drew closer, seeking to fuse into one.

Navani rested her face against Raboniel’s chest, delighting in the firmness of her form. Raboniel pressed her face into Navani’s hair, intoxicated by her scent.

Both apart. Both enemies. Both daughters of Roshar.

Their rhythms merged.

Time stopped.

Their song was a song of loss. A pure song.

Two rhythms of the world fused into one.

A burst of light radiated from them. Stormlight. Voidlight. They quickened their dance, accompanied by the energies of the planet swirling with them. Warlight. The light of an unfinished dance.

The Fused felt the soft skin, the fine hair, pressed against her own body. A question: Should she? Her gemheart raced with the Rhythm of War. The human allowed herself to be carried by a dance she was guiding. Passions filling her. A step, pressing her closer to Raboniel, guiding her to a soft gasp.

Nomon, the moon of Honor, completed its cycle during the dance. Giving way to Mishim with her greenish glow. The third moon. Little Mishim. The moon that desired mortal pleasures.

They slowly drew apart, still gazing at each other, their song unbroken.

Both shone, not only from the emerald green of the moon. The energies they had summoned seeped through human skin, through singer’s carapace .

The Fused looked directly at the human’s face. Every blink. Every tear shed. Every streak of gray. Every wrinkle. The most beautiful face she had ever seen.

In that moment, Raboniel knew. Navani had no spren. No. But she radiated her own light. If Navani was not a Radiant, then she was not Fused.

She traced the woman’s face with her fingertips. Her lips moved on their own, singing the question. A question of pain and regret.

“Do you hate me?”

The human met the singer’s gaze with compassion. She knew the suffering she had endured. Her loss. She could only imagine a thousand more years of it.

“No.” — She answered, without breaking the rhythm, with control, with tenderness.

They fell silent. Two bodies united. Faces so close. They could feel each other’s breath.

Static electricity. The prelude to the kiss.

Raboniel asked again.

“Do you love me?”

Yes. She did. She loved that Fused.

“No.” — The answer she had to give.

The singer, instead of pulling away, instead of grieving, smiled knowingly. A strange gesture for her kind. A gesture she had mastered. A gentle gesture.

“The lie you must tell me.”

Her face drew closer to Navani’s. Inviting her.

Their breaths brushing against each other.

Their rhythms fused into a common song.

Their light, one.

“Our emulsifier,” Navani gasped.

And they fused their rhythms, their light, their worlds, in a single kiss.

A kiss of Oaths and Passions.

A kiss to the Rhythm of War.