Instead I think, if I were to remember my life in detail, I would become even worse. Paralyzed by my terrible actions. I should not like to remember all those I have failed.

Days passed. Navani barely noticed.

For the first time in her life, she let go completely. No worries about Dalinar or Jasnah. No worries about the tower. No thoughts about the million other things she should be doing.

This was what she should be doing.

Or so she allowed herself to believe. She let herself be free. In her little room of a laboratory, everything fit together. She’d met scholars who claimed they needed chaos to function. Perhaps that was true for some, but in her experience, good science wasn’t about sloppy inspiration. It was about meticulous incrementalization.

With no distractions, she was able to draw up precise experiments—charts, careful measurements, lines. Science was all about lines, about imposing order on chaos. Navani reveled in her careful preparations, without anyone to tease her for keeping her charts so neat or for refusing to skip any steps.

Sometimes Raboniel visited and joined in the research, writing her own musings alongside Navani’s in their notebook. Two opposing forces in harmony, focused on a single goal.

Raboniel gave her the strange black sand, explaining the difference between static and kinetic Investiture. Navani observed and measured, learning for herself. The sand slowly turned white when exposed to Stormlight or Voidlight. However, if a fabrial was using the Light, the sand changed faster.

You could wet the sand to reset it to black, though it had to be dry again before it could turn white. It was a useful way to measure how much Light a given fabrial was using. She noticed that it also changed colors in the presence of spren. This was a slow change too, but she could measure it.

Anything you could measure was useful to science. But for these few blessed days, it seemed like time was not properly measurable—for hours passed like minutes. And Navani, despite the circumstances, found herself loving the experience.

*   *   *

“I don’t know exactly where the sand comes from,” Raboniel said, settled on her stool beside the wall, flipping through Navani’s latest set of charts. “Offworld somewhere.”

“Offworld?” Navani asked, looking up from the fabrial she’d been housing. “As in … another … planet?”

Raboniel hummed absently. A confirmation? Navani felt she could tell what this rhythm meant.

“I wanted to go, for years,” Raboniel said. “Visit the place myself. Unfortunately, I learned it wasn’t possible. I’m trapped in this system, my soul bound to Braize—you call it Damnation—a planet farther out in orbit around the sun.”

To hear her speak of such things so casually amazed Navani. Other worlds. The best telescopes couldn’t do more than confirm the existence of other celestial bodies, but here she was, speaking to someone who had visited one of them.

We came from another, Navani reminded herself. Humans, migrating to Roshar. It was so strange for her to think about, to align the mythos of the Tranquiline Halls with an actual location.

“Could … I visit them?” Navani asked. “These other worlds?”

“Likely—though I’d stay away from Braize. You’d have to get through the storm to travel there anyway.”

“The Everstorm?”

Raboniel hummed to an amused rhythm. “No, no, Navani. You can’t travel to Braize in the Physical Realm. That would take … well, I have no idea how long. Plus there’s no air in the space between planets. We sent Heavenly Ones to try it once. No air, and worse, the strange pressures required them to carry a large supply of Voidlight for healing. Even so prepared, they died within hours.

“One instead travels to other worlds through Shadesmar. But again, stay away from Braize. Even if you could get through the barrier storm, the place is barren, devoid of life. Merely a dark sky, endless windswept crags, and a broken landscape. And a lot of souls. A lot of not particularly sane souls.”

“I’ll … remember that.”

Other worlds. It seemed too vast a concept for her to grasp right now—and that was saying something, as she was presently contemplating the death of a god. She turned to her experiment. “Ready.”

“Excellent,” Raboniel said, closing the book. “Mizthla?”

Navani’s stormform guard entered the room, seeming somewhat annoyed. Though that was common for him. “Mizthla” was his singer name; he said the Alethi had called him Dah. A simple glyph instead of a true name, because it was easier to remember. Perhaps if she had lived her entire life called something because of its utility, Navani would have shared his disposition.

She presented him with the fabrial, which was … well, not a true fabrial. The housing was a mere coil of copper wires around some gemstones. Raboniel knew a method of changing the polarity of a magnet, a process involving the lightning channeled from a stormform. Captive lightning seemed to have boundless potential applications, but Navani kept herself focused—maybe the polarity-swapping process would also work on gemstones filled with Voidlight.

Navani and Raboniel left the room, as the lightning could be unpredictable. “Remember,” Navani said on her way out, “only a tiny release of energy. Don’t melt the coils this time.”

“I’m not an idiot,” the Regal said to her. “Anymore.”

Outside, Navani glanced down the hallway—lined with boxes of equipment, some hiding her traps—toward the shield around the Sibling. It seemed darker inside than before.

She and Raboniel avoided the topic. Working closely together did not make them allies, and both recognized it. In fact, Navani had been trying to find a way to hide future discoveries from Raboniel, if she made any.

Lightning flashed in the room, then Mizthla called for them. They hurried in as he set the coiled-up fabrial on the desk. It was likely still hot to the touch, so Navani gave it a few minutes, despite wanting to rip the gemstones out immediately to inspect the result.

“I have noticed something in your journals,” Raboniel said as the two of them waited. “You often remark that you are not a scholar. Why?”

“I’ve always been too busy to engage in true scholarship, Ancient One,” Navani said. “Plus, I don’t know that I have the mind for it; I’m not the genius my daughter is. So I’ve always seen it as my duty to grant patronage to true scholars, to publicize their creations and see them properly encouraged.”

Raboniel hummed a rhythm, then picked up the fabrial with the copper coiling it. The metal burned her fingers, but she healed from it. “If you are not a scholar, Navani,” she said, “then I have never met one.”

“I admit that I have trouble accepting that, Ancient One. Though I’m pleased to have fooled you.”

“Humility,” Raboniel said. “It’s not a Passion my kind often promote. Would it help you believe if I told you that you no longer have to use titles when speaking to me? Your discoveries so far are enough to recommend you as my equal.”

This seemed an uncommon privilege. “It does help, Raboniel,” Navani said. “Thank you.”

“Thanks need not be provided for something self-evident,” Raboniel said, holding up the fabrial. “Are you ready?”

Navani nodded. Raboniel pulled the gemstones out from within the coil, then inspected them. “The Voidlight seems unchanged to me,” she said.

Navani hadn’t expressly told Raboniel she was hunting for anti-Voidlight. She shrouded her quest in many different kinds of experiments—like this one, where she explained she simply wanted to see if Light responded to exposure to lightning. She suspected that Raboniel suspected, however, that Navani was at least still intrigued by the idea of anti-Light.

Navani sprinkled some of the black sand on the tabletop, then placed the gemstone in the center, measuring the strength of the Investiture inside. But because the air didn’t warp around this gemstone, she secretly knew her experiment had failed. This was not anti-Voidlight. She made a note in her log. Another failed experiment.

Raboniel hummed a rhythm. A regretful one? Yes, that was what it seemed to be. “I should return to my duties,” she said, and Navani could pick out the same rhythm in her voice. “The Deepest Ones are close to finding the final node.”

“How?” Navani asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that, Navani.” Though she had spoken of leaving, she remained sitting. “I’m so tired of this war. So tired of capturing, killing, losing, dying.”

“We should end it then.”

“Not while Odium lives.”

“You’d actually kill him?” Navani asked. “If you had the chance?”

Raboniel hummed, but looked away. That humming is … embarrassment? Navani thought. She recognizes she’s lied to me, at least by implication. She doesn’t truly want to kill Odium.

“When you were hunting the opposite of Voidlight, you didn’t want to use it against him,” Navani guessed. “You teased me with the idea, but you have another purpose.”

“You learn to read rhythms,” Raboniel said, standing up.

“Or I simply understand logic.” Navani stood, and took Raboniel’s hands. The Fused allowed it. “You don’t have to kill the Sibling. Let’s find another path.”

“I’m not killing the Sibling,” Raboniel said. “I’m … doing something worse. I’m unmaking the Sibling.”

“Then let’s find another path.”

“You think I haven’t searched for one already?” She removed her hands from Navani’s, then picked up and proffered their notebook, the one where they logged their experiments. Rhythm of War, they called it. Odium and Honor working together, if only for a short time.

“I’ve run some experiments on the conjoined rubies you created—the ones of different sizes,” Raboniel said. “I think you’ll like the implications of what I’ve discovered; I wrote them in here earlier. This might make moving your enormous sky platforms easier.”

“Raboniel,” Navani said, taking the notebook. “Negotiate with me, help me. Let’s join forces. Let’s make a treaty, you and I, ignoring Odium.”

“I’m sorry,” the Fused said. “But the best chance we have of ending this war—barring a discovery between us—is for my kind to control Urithiru. I will finish my work with the Sibling. Ultimately, we are still enemies. And I would not be where I am—able to contemplate a different solution—if I were not fully willing to do what has been asked of me. Regardless of the cost, and regardless of the pain it causes.”

Navani steeled herself. “I had not thought otherwise, Lady of Wishes. Though it leaves me sorrowful.” On a whim, she tried humming to the Rhythm of War. It didn’t work—the rhythm required two people in concert with one another.

In return, however, Raboniel smiled. “I would give you something,” she said, then left.

Confused, Navani sat at the table, feeling tired. These days of furious study were catching up to her. Had it been selfish to spend so much time pretending to be a scholar? Didn’t Urithiru beg for a queen? Yes, it would be wonderful to find a power to use against Odium, but … did she really think she could solve such a complex problem?

Navani tried to return to her experiments. After an hour, she conceded that the spark wasn’t there. For all her talk of control and organization, she now found herself subject to the whims of emotion. She couldn’t work because she didn’t “feel” it. She would have called that nonsense—though of course not to their face—if one of her scholars had told her something similar.

She stood abruptly, her chair clattering to the ground. She’d picked up a habit of pacing from Dalinar, and found herself prowling back and forth in the small chamber. Eventually Raboniel appeared in the doorway, accompanied by two nimbleform singers.

The Fused waved, and the femalens hurried into the room. They carried odd equipment, including two thin metal plates perhaps a foot and a half square and a fraction of an inch thick, with some odd ridges and crenellations cut into them. The nimbleforms attached them to Navani’s desk with clamps, so the metal plates spread flat, one on each side—like additions to the desk’s workspace.

“This is an ancient form of music among my kind,” Raboniel said. “A way to revel in the rhythms. As a gift, I have decided to share the songs with you.”

She gestured and hummed to the two young singers, who jumped to obey, each pulling out a long bow—like one might use on a stringed instrument. They drew these along the sides of the metal plates, and the metal began to vibrate with deep tones, though they had a rougher texture to them. Full and resonant.

Those are Honor’s and Odium’s tones, Navani thought. Only these were the shifted versions that worked in harmony with one another.

Raboniel stepped up beside Navani. In accompaniment to the two tones, she played a loud rhythm with two sticks on a small drum. The sequence of beats grew loud and stately, then soft and fast, alternating. It wasn’t exactly the Rhythm of War, but it was as close as music could likely get. It vibrated through Navani, loud and triumphant.

They continued at it for an extended time, before Raboniel called a stop and the two young singers—sweating from the work of vigorously making the tones—quickly gathered the plates, unclamping them from the sides of the desk.

“Did you like it?” Raboniel asked her.

“I did,” Navani said. “The tones were a terrible cacophony when combined, but somehow beautiful at the same time.”

“Like the two of us?” Raboniel asked.

“Like the two of us.”

“By this music,” Raboniel said, “I give you the title Voice of Lights, Navani Kholin. As is my right.”

Raboniel hummed curtly, then bowed to Navani. With no other words, she waved for the singers to take their equipment and go. Raboniel retreated with them.

Feeling overwhelmed, Navani walked up to the open notebook on her desk. Inside, Raboniel had written about their experiments in the women’s script—and her handwriting was growing quite practiced.

Navani understood the honor in what she’d just been given. At the same time, she found it difficult to feel proud. What did a title, or the respect of one of the Fused, mean if the tower was still being corrupted, her people still dominated?

This is why I worked so hard these last few days, Navani admitted to herself, sitting at the desk. To prove myself to her. But … what good was that if it didn’t lead to peace?

The Rhythm of War vibrated through her, proof that there could be harmony. At the same time, the nearly clashing tones told another story. Harmony could be reached, but it was exceedingly difficult.

What kind of emulsifier could you use with people, to make them mix? She closed the notebook, then made her way to the back of the room and rested her hand on the Sibling’s crystal vein.

“I have tried to find a way to merge spren who were split by fabrial creation,” she whispered. “I thought it might please you.”

No response came.

“Please,” Navani said, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the wall. “Please forgive me. We need you.”

I … The voice came into her mind, making Navani look up. She couldn’t see the spark of the Sibling’s light in the vein, however. Either it wasn’t there, or … or it had grown too dim to see in the light of the room.

“Sibling?” she asked.

I am cold, the voice said, small, almost imperceptible. They are killing … killing me.

“Raboniel said she is … unmaking you.”

If that is true I … I will … I will die.

“Spren can’t die,” Navani said.

Gods can die … Fused can … can die … Spren can … die. If I am made into someone else, that is death. It is dark. The singer you promised me though … I can see him sometimes. I like watching him. He is with the Radiants. He would have made … a good … a good bond.…

“Then bond him!” Navani said.

Can’t. Can’t see. Can’t act through the barrier.

“What if I brought you Stormlight?” Navani said. “Infused you the same way they’ve been infusing you with Voidlight? Would that slow the process?”

Cold. They listen. I’m afraid, Navani.

“Sibling?”

I don’t … want … to die.…

And then silence. Navani was left with that haunting word, die, echoing in her mind. At the moment, the Sibling’s fear seemed far more powerful than the Rhythm of War.

Navani had to do something. Something more than sitting around daydreaming. She stalked back to her desk to write down ideas—any ideas, no matter how silly—about what she could do to help. But as she sat, she noticed something. Her previous experiment rested there, mostly forgotten. A gemstone amid sand. When the singers had set up their plates, they hadn’t disturbed Navani’s work.

The music of the plates had caused the entire desktop to vibrate. And that had made the sand vibrate—and it had therefore made patterns on her desktop. One pattern on the right, a different on the left, and a third where the two mixed.

Stormlight and Voidlight weren’t merely types of illumination. They weren’t merely strange kinds of fluid. They were sounds. Vibrations.

And in vibration, she’d find their opposites.