Semirhage chuckled. “There is nothing more that I can do, you say?”

Rand seized saidin—not of his choice, but of hers. The roar of power slammed into him, bringing with it the strange nausea that he’d never been able to explain. He fell to his hand and knees, emptying his stomach with a groan as the room shook and spun around him.

“How odd,” he heard Semirhage say, as if distant. He shook his head, still holding the One Power—wrestling with it as he always had to with saidin, forcing that powerful, twisting flow of energy to his will. It was like chaining a tempest of wind, and was difficult even when he was strong and healthy. Now it was nearly impossible.

Use it, Lews Therin whispered. Kill her while we can!

I will not kill a woman, Rand thought stubbornly, a figment of a memory from the back of his mind. That is the line I will not cross. . . .

Lews Therin roared, trying to take saidin from Rand, but without success. In fact, Rand found that he couldn’t channel willfully any more than he could step without Semirhage’s permission.

He righted himself by her command, the room growing more steady, the nausea retreating. And then he began to form weaves, complicated ones of Spirit and Fire.

“Yes,” Semirhage said, almost to herself. “Now, if I can remember. . . . The male way of doing this is so odd, sometimes.”

Rand made the weaves, then pushed them toward Min. “No!” he screamed as he did so. “Not that!”

“Ah, so you see,” Semirhage said. “You weren’t so difficult to break after all.”

The weaves touched Min and she writhed in pain. Rand continued to channel, tears springing to his eyes as he was forced to send the complex weaves through her body. They brought agony only, but they did it very well. Semirhage must have released Min’s gag, for she began to scream, weeping.

“Please, Rand!” she begged. “Please!”

Rand roared in anger, trying to stop, unable to. He could feel Min’s pain through the bond, feel it as he caused it.

“Stop this!” he bellowed.

“Beg,” Semirhage said.

“Please,” he said, weeping. “Please, I beg you.”

Suddenly, he stopped, the torturing weaves unraveling. Min hung in the air, whimpering, eyes dazed from the shock of pain. Rand turned around, facing Semirhage and the smaller figure of Elza beside her. The Black looked terrified, as if she’d gotten herself into something she hadn’t been prepared for.

“Now,” the Forsaken said, “you see that you have always been intended to serve the Great Lord. We will leave this room and will deal with those so-called Aes Sedai who imprisoned me. We will Travel to Shayol Ghul and present you to the Great Lord, and then this can all be finished.”

He bowed his head. There had to be a way out! He imagined her using him to tear through the ranks of his own men. He imagined them afraid to attack, lest they harm him. He saw the blood, death and destruction he would cause. And it chilled him, turned him to ice inside.

They have won.

Semirhage glanced at the door, then turned back to him and smiled. “But I’m afraid we must deal with her first. Let us be about it, then.”

Rand turned and began to walk toward Min. “No!” he said. “You promised if I begged—”

“I promised nothing,” Semirhage said with a laugh. “You begged quite prettily, Lews Therin, but I have chosen to ignore your pleas. You can release saidin, however. This needs to be somewhat more personal.”

Saidin winked away, and Rand felt the withdrawal of power with regret. The world seemed more dull around him. He stepped up to Min, her pleading eyes meeting his. Then he pressed his hand to her throat, gripping it, and began to squeeze.

“No. . . .” he whispered in horror as his hand, against his will, cut off her air. Min stumbled, and he unwillingly forced her down to the ground, easily ignoring her struggles. He loomed above her, pressing his hand against her throat, gripping it and choking her. She looked at him, eyes beginning to bulge.

This can’t be happening.

Semirhage laughed.

Ilyena! Lews Therin wailed. Oh, Light! I’ve killed her!

Rand squeezed harder, leaning down for leverage, his fingers squeezing Min’s skin and pushing down on her throat. It was as if he gripped his own heart, and the world became black around him, everything darkened except for Min. He could feel her pulse throbbing beneath his fingers.

Those beautiful dark eyes of hers watched him, loving him even as he killed her.

This can’t be happening!

I’ve killed her!

I’m mad!

Ilyena!

There had to be a way out! Had to be! Rand wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t let him—not Semirhage, but Min. She held his eyes with her own, tears lining her cheeks, dark, curled hair disheveled. So beautiful.

He scrambled for saidin, but could not take it. He tried with every bit of will he had to relax his fingers, but they just continued to squeeze. He felt horror, he felt her pain. Min’s face grew purple, her eyes fluttered.

Rand wailed. THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING! I WILL NOT DO THIS AGAIN!

Something snapped inside of him. He grew cold; then that coldness vanished, and he could feel nothing. No emotion. No anger.

At that moment he grew aware of a strange force. It was like a reservoir of water, boiling and churning just beyond his view. He reached toward it with his mind.

A clouded face flashed before Rand’s own, one whose features he couldn’t quite make out. It was gone in a moment.

And Rand found himself filled with an alien power. Not saidin, not saidar, but something else. Something he’d never felt before.

Oh, Light, Lews Therin suddenly screamed. That’s impossible! We can’t use it! Cast it away! That is death we hold, death and betrayal.

It is HIM.

Rand closed his eyes as he knelt above Min, then he channeled the strange, unknown force. Energy and life surged through him, a torrent of power like saidin, only ten times as sweet and a hundred times as violent. It made him alive, made him realize that he’d never been alive before. It gave him such strength as he’d never imagined. It rivaled, even, the power he’d held when drawing from the Choedan Kal.

He screamed, in both rapture and rage, and wove enormous spears of Fire and Air. He slammed the weaves against the collar at his neck, and the room exploded with flames and bits of molten metal, each one distinct to Rand. He could feel each shard of metal blast away from his neck, warping the air with its heat, trailing smoke as it hit a wall or the floor. He opened his eyes and released Min. She gasped and sobbed.

Rand stood and turned, white-hot magma in his veins—as when Semirhage had tortured him, yet somehow opposite. As painful as this was, it was also pure ecstasy.

Semirhage looked utterly shocked. “But . . . that’s impossible . . .” she said. “I felt nothing. You can’t—” She looked up, staring at him with wide eyes. “The True Power. Why have you betrayed me, Great Lord? Why?”

Rand raised a hand and, filled with the power he did not understand, wove a single weave. A bar of pure white light, a cleansing fire, burst from his hand and struck Semirhage in the chest. She flashed and vanished, leaving a faint afterimage to Rand’s vision. Her bracelet dropped to the floor.

Elza ran toward the door. She vanished before another bar of light, her entire figure becoming light for a moment. Her bracelet dropped to the floor, as well, the women who had held them burned completely from the Pattern.

What have you done? Lews Therin asked. Oh, Light. Better to have killed again than to do this. . . . Oh, Light. We are doomed.

Rand savored the power for a moment longer, then—regretfully—let it drop away. He would have held on, but he was simply too exhausted. The vanishing of it left him numb.

Or . . . no. That numbness had nothing to do with the power he’d held. He turned around, looking down at Min, who coughed quietly and rubbed her neck. She looked up at him, and seemed afraid. H

e doubted that she would ever see him the same way again.

He had been wrong; there had indeed been something more that Semirhage could do to him. He had felt himself killing one he loved dearly. Before, when he’d done it as Lews Therin, he had been mad and unable to control himself. He could barely remember slaying Ilyena, as if through a clouded dream. He’d realized what he had done only after Ishamael had awakened him.

Finally, now, he knew precisely what it was like to watch as he killed those he loved.

“It is done,” Rand whispered.

“What?” Min asked, coughing again.

“The last that could be done to me,” he said, surprised at his own calmness. “They have taken everything from me now.”

“What are you saying, Rand?” Min asked. She rubbed her neck again. Bruises were beginning to show.

He shook his head as—finally—voices sounded in the hallway outside. Perhaps the Asha’man had sensed him channeling when he’d tortured Min.

“I have made my choice, Min,” he said, turning toward the door. “You have asked for flexibility and laughter from me, but such things are no longer mine to give. I am sorry.”

Once, weeks ago, he had decided that he must become stronger—where he had been iron, he had decided to become steel. It appeared that steel was too weak.

He would be harder, now. He understood how. Where he had once been steel, he became something else. From now on, he was cuendillar. He had entered a place like the void that Tam had trained him to seek, so long ago. But within this void he had no emotion. None at all.

They could not break or bend him.

It was done.

CHAPTER 23

A Warp in the Air

“What of the sisters who were guarding her cell?” Cadsuane asked, stomping up the wooden steps beside Merise.

“Corele and Nesune are alive, thankfully, though they were left extremely weak,” Merise said, holding her skirt up as she hurried along. Narishma followed them, the bells at the end of his braids ringing softly. “Daigian is dead. We’re not certain why the other two were left alive.”

“Warders,” Cadsuane said. “Kill the Aes Sedai, and their Warders would know immediately—and we would have learned that something was wrong.” The Warders should have noticed that something was wrong anyway—they’d have to interrogate the men to see what they had felt. But there was likely a correlation.

Daigian had no living Warder. Cadsuane felt a stab of regret for the pleasant sister, but shoved it aside. No time for it now.

“The other two were placed in some kind of trance,” Merise said. “I could see no remnants of weaves, nor could Narishma. We discovered the sisters just before the alarm was sounded, then went for you as soon as we were assured that al’Thor was alive and our enemies had been dealt with.”

Cadsuane nodded crossly. Of all the nights to be out visiting the Wise Ones in their tents! Sorilea and a small group of them followed behind Narishma, and Cadsuane didn’t dare slow her pace, lest the Aiel women trample her in their haste to see al’Thor.

They reached the top of the stairs, then sped down the hallway toward al’Thor’s room. How could he have gotten himself into this much trouble, again! And how had that blasted Forsaken gotten free of her cell? Someone must have helped her, but that meant a Darkfriend in their camp. It wasn’t unlikely—if Darkfriends existed in the White Tower, then they could undoubtedly be found here. But what Darkfriend could incapacitate three Aes Sedai? Surely channeling on that level should have been felt by every sister or Asha’man in the camp.

“Was the tea involved?” Cadsuane asked Merise quietly.

“Not that we can tell,” the Green replied. “We’ll know more when the other two wake. They fell unconscious as soon as we brought them out of their trance.”

Cadsuane nodded. Al’Thor’s door was open, and Maidens swarmed outside it like wasps who had just discovered their nest was gone. Cadsuane couldn’t say that she blamed them. Apparently, al’Thor had said little of what had happened. The fool boy was lucky to still be alive! What a Light-cursed mess, Cadsuane thought, passing the Maidens and entering the chamber.

A small knot of Aes Sedai clustered on the far side of the room, speaking quietly. Sarene, Erian, Beldeine—all of those in the camp who weren’t either dead or incapacitated. Except Elza. Where was Elza?

The three nodded to Cadsuane as she entered, but she spared them barely a glance. Min sat on the bed, rubbing her neck, eyes red, short hair disheveled, face pale. Al’Thor stood beside the open far window, looking out at the night, his hand clasping his stump behind him. His coat lay rumpled on the floor, and he stood in white shirtsleeves, a cool wind blowing in and ruffling his red-gold hair. Nynaeve watched him, frowning.

Cadsuane surveyed the room; behind her, in the hall, the Wise Ones began to interrogate the Maidens. “Well?” Cadsuane said. “What happened?”

Min looked up. There were red marks on her neck, the beginnings of bruises. Rand did not turn from the window. Insolent boy, Cadsuane thought, coming farther into the room. “Speak up, boy!” she said. “We need to know if the camp is in danger.”

“The danger has been dealt with,” he said softly. Something in his voice made her hesitate. She had been expecting anger, or perhaps satisfaction, from him. Fatigue at the very least. Instead, his voice sounded cool.

“Will you explain what that means?” Cadsuane demanded.

Finally, he turned, looking at her. She took an involuntary step backward, though she couldn’t say why. He was still the same foolish boy. Too tall, too self-confident, and too blunt-headed. There was a strange serenity about him now, but it had a dark edge. Like the serenity one saw in the eyes of a condemned man the moment before he stepped up to the hangman’s noose.

“Narishma,” Rand said, looking past Cadsuane. “I have a weave for you. Memorize it; I will show it to you only once.” With that, al’Thor put his hand out to the side and a bar of brilliant white fire shot from between his fingers and struck his coat, which lay on the floor. It vanished in a burst of light.

Cadsuane hissed. “I told you never to use that weave, boy! You will never do so again. Do you hear me! This is not—”

“That is the weave we must use when fighting Forsaken, Narishma,” al’Thor said, his quiet voice cutting straight through Cadsuane’s. “If we kill them with anything else, they can be reborn. It is a dangerous tool, but still just a tool. Like any other.”

“It is forbidden,” Cadsuane said.

“I have decided that it is not,” al’Thor said calmly.

“You don’t have any idea what that weave can do! You’re a child playing with—”

“I have seen balefire destroy cities,” al’Thor said, eyes growing haunted. “I have seen thousands burned from the Pattern by its purifying flames. If you call me a child, Cadsuane, then what are those of you who are thousands of years my juniors?”

He met her gaze. Light! What had happened to him? She struggled to collect her thoughts. “So Semirhage is dead?”

“Worse than dead,” al’Thor said. “And far better off, in many ways, I should think.”

“Well, then. I suppose we can get on with—”

“Do you recognize that, Cadsuane?” al’Thor said, nodding toward something metallic sitting on the bed, mostly hidden by the sheets.

Hesitantly she walked forward. Sorilea looked over, expression unreadable. Apparently, she didn’t wish to be drawn into the conversation when al’Thor was in such a mood. Cadsuane didn’t blame her.

Cadsuane pulled back the sheets, revealing a familiar pair of bracelets. There was no collar.

“Impossible,” she whispered.

“That is what I assumed,” al’Thor said in that terribly calm voice of his. “I told myself that it obviously couldn’t be one of the same ter’angreal I relinquished to you. You promised they would be protected and hidden.”

“Well, then,” Cadsuane said, unnerved. She covered the things back up. “That is settle

d then.”

“It is. I sent people to your room. Tell me, is this box where you were keeping the bracelets? We found it open on the floor of your quarters.”

A Maiden brought out a familiar oak box. It was the same one, obviously. Cadsuane turned toward him in anger. “You searched my room!”

“I was unaware that you were visiting the Wise Ones,” al’Thor said. He gave a small nod of respect to Sorilea and Amys, which they hesitantly returned. “I sent servants to check on you, as I feared that Semirhage might have tried for revenge on you.”

“They shouldn’t have touched this,” Cadsuane said, taking the box from the Maiden. “It was prepared with very intricate wards.”

“Not intricate enough,” al’Thor said, turning away from her. He still stood by that darkened window, looking out over the camp.

The room fell silent. Narishma had been asking quietly after Min’s health, but he fell silent when al’Thor stopped speaking. Rand obviously felt that Cadsuane was responsible for the male a’dam being stolen, but that was preposterous. She had prepared the best ward she knew, but who knew what knowledge the Forsaken had for getting past wards?

How had al’Thor survived? And what of the other contents of that box? Did al’Thor now have the access key, or had the statuette been taken by Semirhage? Did Cadsuane dare ask? The silence continued. “What are you waiting for?” she finally asked with all the bravado she could summon. “Do you expect an apology from me?”

“From you?” al’Thor asked. There was no humor in his voice, just the same cold evenness. “No, I suspect that I could sooner extract an apology from a stone than from you.”

“Then—”

“You are exiled from my sight, Cadsuane,” he said softly. “If I see your face again after tonight, I will kill you.”

“Rand, no!” Min said, standing up beside the bed. He didn’t turn toward her.

Cadsuane felt an immediate stab of panic, but shoved it aside with her anger. “What?” she demanded. “This is foolishness, boy. I. . . .”