“Gawyn! He has never looked at me twice.”

“Of course not, you fool, the way you stare at Galad until your eyes look ready to fall out of your face.” Egwene’s cheeks felt hot, but she was afraid it might well be true. “Galad saved his life when Gawyn was a child,” Elayne went on. “Gawyn will never admit he is interested in a woman if Galad is interested in her, but I have heard him talk about you, and I know. He never could hide things from me.”

“That is nice to know,” Egwene said, then laughed at Elayne’s grin. “Perhaps I can get him to say some of those things to me instead of you.”

“You could choose Green Ajah, you know. Green sisters sometimes marry. Gawyn truly is besotted, and you would be good for him. Besides, I would like to have you for a sister.”

“If you two are finished with girlish chatter,” Nynaeve cut in, “there are important matters to talk about.”

“Yes,” Elayne said, “such as what the Amyrlin Seat had to say to you after I left.”

“I would rather not talk about that,” Egwene said awkwardly. She did not like lying to Elayne. “She did not say anything that was pleasant.”

Elayne gave a sniff of disbelief. “Most people think I get off easier than the others because I am Daughter-Heir of Andor. The truth is that if anything, I catch it harder than the rest because I’m Daughter-Heir. Neither of you did anything I did not, and if the Amyrlin had harsh words for you, she would have twice as harsh for me. Now, what did she say?”

“You must keep this just between us three,” Nynaeve said. “The Black Ajah—”

“Nynaeve!” Egwene exclaimed. “The Amyrlin said Elayne was to be left out of it!”

“The Black Ajah!” Elayne almost shouted, scrambling up to kneel in the middle of the bed. “You cannot leave me out after telling me this much. I won’t be left out.”

“I never meant for you to be,” Nynaeve assured her. Egwene could only stare at her in amazement. “Egwene, it was you and I who Liandrin saw as a threat. It was you and I who were just nearly killed—”

“Nearly killed?” Elayne whispered.

“—perhaps because we are still a threat, and perhaps because they already know that we were closeted alone with the Amyrlin, and even what she told us. We need someone with us who they do not know about, and if she isn’t known to the Amyrlin, either, so much the better. I am not sure we can trust the Amyrlin much further than the Black Ajah. She means to use us for her own ends. I mean to see she doesn’t use us up. Can you understand that?”

Egwene nodded reluctantly. Just the same, she said, “It will be dangerous, Elayne, as dangerous as anything we faced in Falme. Maybe more so. You do not have to be part of it, this time.”

“I know that,” Elayne said quietly. She paused, then went on. “When Andor goes to war, the First Prince of the Sword commands the army, but the Queen rides with them, too. Seven hundred years ago, at the Battle of Cuallin Dhen, the Andormen were being routed when Queen Modrellein rode, alone and unarmed, carrying the Lion banner into the midst of the Tairen army. The Andormen rallied and attacked once more, to save her, and won the battle. That is the kind of courage expected of the Queen of Andor. If I have not learned to control my fear yet, I must before I take my mother’s place on the Lion Throne.” Suddenly her somber mood vanished in a giggle. “Besides, do you think I would pass up an adventure so I could scrub pots?”

“You will do that anyway,” Nynaeve told her, “and hope that everyone thinks that is all you are doing. Now listen carefully.”

Elayne listened, and her mouth slowly dropped open as Nynaeve unfolded what the Amyrlin Seat had told them, and the task she had laid on them, and the attempt on their lives. She shivered over the Gray Man, and read the document the Amyrlin had given Nynaeve with a look of wonder, then returned it, murmuring, “I wish I could have that when I face Mother next.” By the time Nynaeve finished, though, her face was a picture of indignation.

“Why, that’s like being told to go up in the hills and find lions, only you do not know whether there are any lions, but if there are, they may be hunting you, and they may be disguised as bushes. Oh, and if you find any lions, try not to let them eat you before you can tell where they are.”

“If you are afraid,” Nynaeve said, “you can still stand aside. It will be too late, once you’ve begun.”

Elayne tossed her head back. “Of course I am afraid. I am not a fool. But not afraid enough to quit before I have even started.”

“There is something else, too,” Nynaeve said. “I am afraid the Amyrlin may mean to let Mat die.”

“But an Aes Sedai is supposed to Heal anyone who asks.” The Daughter-Heir seemed caught between indignation and disbelief. “Why would she let Mat die? I cannot believe it! I will not!”

“Nor can I!” Egwene gasped. She could not have meant that! The Amyrlin couldn’t let him die! “All the way here Verin said that the Amyrlin would see he was Healed.”

Nynaeve shook her head. “Verin said the Amyrlin would ‘see to him.’ That is not the same thing. And the Amyrlin avoided saying yes or no when I asked her. Maybe she has not made her mind up.”

“But why?” Elayne asked.

“Because the White Tower does what it does for its own reasons.” Nynaeve’s voice made Egwene shiver. “I do not know why. Whether they help Mat live or let him die depends on what serves their ends. None of the Three Oaths says they have to Heal him. Mat is just a tool, in the Amyrlin’s eyes. So are we. She will use us to hunt the Black Ajah, but if you break a tool so it cannot be fixed, you don’t weep over it. You just get another one. Both of you had best remember that.”

“What are we going to do about him?” Egwene asked. “What can we do?”

Nynaeve went to her wardrobe and rummaged in the back of it. When she came out, she had a striped cloth bag of herbs. “With my medicines—and luck—perhaps I can Heal him myself.”

“Verin could not,” Elayne said. “Moiraine and Verin together could not, and Moiraine had an angreal. Nynaeve, if you draw too much of the One Power, you could burn yourself to a cinder. Or just still yourself, if you are lucky. If you can call that luck.”

Nynaeve shrugged. “They keep telling me I have the potential to be the most powerful Aes Sedai in a thousand years. Perhaps it is time to find out whether they are right.” She gave a tug to her braid.

It was plain that however brave Nynaeve’s words, she was afraid. But she won’t let Mat die even if it means risking death herself. “They keep saying we’re all three so powerful—or will be. Maybe, if we all try together, we can divide the flow among us.”

“We have never tried working together,” Nynaeve said slowly. “I am not sure I know how to combine our abilities. Trying could be almost as dangerous as drawing too much of the Power.”

“Oh, if we are going to do it,” Elayne said, climbing off the bed, “let’s do it. The longer we talk of it, the more frightened I will become. Mat is in the guest rooms. I do not know which one, but Sheriam told me that much.”

As if to put period to her words, the door banged open, and an Aes Sedai entered as though it were her room, and they the interlopers.

Egwene made her curtsy deep, to hide the dismay on her face.

CHAPTER

17

The Red Sister

Elaida was a handsome woman rather than beautiful, and the sternness on her face added maturity to her ageless Aes Sedai features. She did not look old, yet Egwene could never imagine Elaida as having been young. Except for the most formal occasions, few Aes Sedai wore the vine-embroidered shawl with the white teardrop Flame of Tar Valon large on the wearer’s back, but Elaida wore hers, the long red fringe announcing her Ajah. Red slashed her dress of cream-colored silk, too, and red slippers peeked under the edge of her skirts as she moved into the room. Her dark eyes watched them as a bird’s eyes watched worms.

“So all of you are together. Somehow, that does not surprise me.” Her voice made no more pretense than her bear

ing did; she was a woman of power, and ready to wield it if she decided it was necessary, a woman who knew more than those she spoke to. It was much the same for a queen as for a novice.

“Forgive me, Elaida Sedai,” Nynaeve said, dropping another curtsy, “but I was about to go out. I have much to catch up in my studies. If you will forgive—”

“Your studies can wait,” Elaida said. “They have waited long enough already, after all.” She plucked the cloth bag out of Nynaeve’s hands and undid the strings, but after one glance inside she tossed it on the floor. “Herbs. You are not a village Wisdom any longer, child. Trying to hold on to the past will only hold you back.”

“Elaida Sedai,” Elayne said, “I—”

“Be silent, novice.” Elaida’s voice was cold and soft, as silk wrapped around steel is soft. “You may have broken a bond between Tar Valon and Caemlyn that has lasted a thousand years. You will speak when spoken to.” Elayne’s eyes examined the floor in front of her toes. Spots of color burned in her cheeks. Guilt, or anger? Egwene was not sure.

Ignoring them all, Elaida sat down in one of the chairs, carefully arranging her skirts. She made no gesture for the rest of them to sit. Nynaeve’s face tightened, and she began giving sharp little tugs to her braid. Egwene hoped she would keep her temper well enough not to take the other chair without permission.

When Elaida had settled herself to her own satisfaction, she studied them for a time in silence, her face unreadable. At last she said, “Did you know that we have the Black Ajah among us?”

Egwene exchanged startled glances with Nynaeve and Elayne.

“We were told,” Nynaeve said cautiously. “Elaida Sedai,” she added after a pause.

Elaida arched an eyebrow. “Yes. I thought that you might know of it.” Egwene gave a start at her tone, implying so much more than it said, and Nynaeve opened her mouth angrily, but the Aes Sedai’s flat stare stilled tongues. “The two of you,” Elaida went on in a casual tone, “vanish, taking with you the Daughter-Heir of Andor—the girl who may become Queen of Andor one day, if I do not strip off her hide and sell it to a glove maker—vanish without permission, without a word, without a trace.”

“I was not carried off,” Elayne said to the floor. “I went of my own will.”

“Will you obey me, child?” A glow surrounded Elaida. The Aes Sedai’s glare was fixed on Elayne. “Must I teach you, here and now?”

Elayne raised her head, and there was no mistaking what was in her face. Anger. For a long moment she met Elaida’s stare.

Egwene’s fingernails dug into her palms. It was maddening. She, or Elayne, or Nynaeve, could destroy Elaida where she sat. If they caught Elaida by surprise, at least; she was fully trained, after all. And if we do anything but take whatever she wants to feed us, we throw away everything. Don’t throw it away now, Elayne.

Elayne’s head dropped. “Forgive me, Elaida Sedai,” she mumbled. “I—forgot myself.”

The glow winked out of existence, and Elaida sniffed audibly. “You have learned bad habits, wherever these two took you. You cannot afford bad habits, child. You will be the first Queen of Andor ever to be Aes Sedai. The first queen anywhere to be Aes Sedai in over a thousand years. You will be one of the strongest of us since the Breaking of the World, perhaps strong enough to be the first ruler since the Breaking to openly tell the world she is Aes Sedai. Do not risk all of that, child, because you can still lose it all. I have invested too much time to see that. Do you understand me?”

“I think so, Elaida Sedai,” Elayne said. She sounded as if she did not understand at all. No more did Egwene.

Elaida abandoned the subject. “You may be in grave danger. All three of you. You disappear and return, and in the interval, Liandrin and her . . . companions leave us. There will inevitably be comparisons. We are sure Liandrin and those who went with her are Darkfriends. Black Ajah. I would not see the same charge leveled at Elayne, and to protect her, it seems I must protect all of you. Tell me why you ran away, and what you have been doing these months, and I will do what I can for you.” Her eyes fastened on Egwene like grappling hooks.

Egwene floundered for an answer that the Aes Sedai would accept. It was said that Elaida could hear a lie, sometimes. “It . . . it was Mat. He is very sick.” She tried to choose her words carefully, to say nothing that was not true, yet give an impression far from truth. Aes Sedai do it all the time. “We went to. . . . We brought him back to be Healed. If we hadn’t, he would die. The Amyrlin is going to Heal him.” I hope. She made herself continue to meet the Red Aes Sedai’s gaze, willed herself not to shift her feet guiltily. From Elaida’s face, there was no way to tell whether she believed a word.

“That is enough, Egwene,” Nynaeve said. Elaida’s penetrating look shifted to her, but she gave no sign of being affected by it. She met the Aes Sedai’s eyes without blinking. “Forgive me for interrupting, Elaida Sedai,” she said smoothly, “but the Amyrlin Seat said our transgressions were to be put behind us and forgotten. As part of making a new beginning, we are not even to speak of them. The Amyrlin said it should be as if they never happened.”

“She said that, did she?” Still nothing in Elaida’s voice or on her face told whether she believed or not. “Interesting. You can hardly forget entirely when your punishment has been announced to the entire Tower. Unprecedented, that. Unheard of, for less than stilling. I can see why you are eager to put it all behind you. I understand you are to be raised to the Accepted, Elayne. And Egwene. That is hardly punishment.”

Elayne glanced at the Aes Sedai as though for permission to speak. “The Mother said we were ready,” she said. A touch of defiance entered her voice. “I have learned, Elaida Sedai, and grown. She would not have named me to be raised if I had not.”

“Learned,” Elaida said musingly. “And grown. Perhaps you have.” There was no hint in her tone whether she thought this was good. Her gaze shifted back to Egwene and Nynaeve, searching. “You returned with this Mat, a youth from your village. There was another young man from your village. Rand al’Thor.”

Egwene felt as if an icy hand had suddenly gripped her stomach.

“I hope he is well,” Nynaeve said levelly, but her hand was a fist gripping her braid. “We have not seen him in some time.”

“An interesting young man.” Elaida studied them as she spoke. “I met him only once, but I found him—most interesting. I believe he must be ta’veren. Yes. The answers to many questions may rest in him. This Emond’s Field of yours must be an unusual place to produce the two of you. And Rand al’Thor.”

“It is just a village,” Nynaeve said. “Just a village like any other.”

“Yes. Of course.” Elaida smiled, a cold quirk of her lips that twisted Egwene’s stomach. “Tell me about him. The Amyrlin has not commanded you to be silent about him also, has she?”

Nynaeve gave her braid a tug. Elayne studied the carpet as if something important were hidden in it, and Egwene racked her brain for an answer. She can hear lies, they say. Light, if she can really hear a lie. . . . The moment stretched on, until finally Nynaeve opened her mouth.

At that instant the door opened again. Sheriam regarded the room with a measure of surprise. “It is well I find you here, Elayne. I want all three of you. I had not expected you, Elaida.”

Elaida stood, arranging her shawl. “We are all curious about these girls. Why they ran away. What adventures they had while gone. They say the Mother has commanded them not to speak of it.”

“As well not to,” Sheriam said. “They are to be punished, and that should be an end to it. I have always felt that when punishment is done, the fault that caused it should be erased.”

For a long moment the two Aes Sedai stood looking at each other, no expression on either smooth face. Then Elaida said, “Of course. Perhaps I will speak to them another time. About other matters.” The look she gave to the three women in white seemed to Egwene to carry a warning, and then she was slipping past Sheriam.

Holding

the door open, the Mistress of Novices watched the other Aes Sedai go down the gallery. Her face was still unreadable.

Egwene let out a long breath, and heard echoes from Nynaeve and Elayne.

“She threatened me,” Elayne said incredulously, and half to herself. “She threatened me with stilling, if I don’t stop being—willful!”

“You mistook her,” Sheriam said. “If being willful were a stilling offense, the list of the stilled would have more names on it than you could learn. Few meek women ever achieve the ring and the shawl. That is not to say, of course, that you must not learn to act meekly when it is required.”

“Yes, Sheriam Sedai,” they all three said almost as one, and Sheriam smiled.

“You see? You can give the appearance of meekness, at least. And you will have plenty of opportunity to practice before you earn your way back into the Amyrlin’s good graces. And mine. Mine will be harder to achieve.”

“Yes, Sheriam Sedai,” Egwene said, but this time only Elayne spoke with her.

Nynaeve said, “What of . . . the body, Sheriam Sedai? The . . . the Soulless? Have you discovered who killed him? Or why he entered the Tower?”

Sheriam’s mouth tightened. “You take one step forward, Nynaeve, and then a step back. Since from Elayne’s lack of surprise, you have obviously told her of it—after I told you not to speak of the matter!—then there are exactly seven people in the Tower who know a man was killed today in the novices’ quarters, and two of them are men who know no more than that. Except that they are to keep their mouths shut. If an order from the Mistress of Novices carries no weight with you—and if that is so, I will correct you—perhaps you will obey one from the Amyrlin Seat. You are to speak of this to no one except the Mother or me. The Amyrlin will not have more rumors piled on those we must already contend with. Do I make myself clear?”

The firmness of her voice produced a chorus of “Yes, Sheriam Sedai”—but Nynaeve refused to stop at that. “Seven, you said, Sheriam Sedai. Plus whoever killed him. And maybe they had help getting into the Tower.”