A Crown of Swords

## Chapter 34

#### Ta’veren

All was ready as Rand had ordered in the courtyard at the front of the Sun Palace. Or almost all. The morning sun slanted shadows from the stepped towers, so only ten paces in front of the tall bronze gates lay in full light. Dashiva and Flinn and Narishma, the three Asha’man he had retained, waited beside their horses, even Dashiva resplendent with the silver sword and red-and-gold Dragon on his black collar, though he still touched the sword at his hip as if constantly surprised to find it there. A hundred of Dobraine’s armsmen sat their mounts behind Dobraine himself with two long banners that hung down in the still air, their dark armor newly lacquered so it glistened in the sun, and silk streamers of red and white and black tied below the heads of their lances. They raised a cheer when Rand appeared, his sword belt with its gilded Dragon buckle strapped over a red coat heavy with gold.

“Al’Thor! Al’Thor! Al’Thor!” filled the courtyard. People crowding the archers’ balconies joined in, Tairen and Cairhienin in their silks and laces who just a week before had no doubt cheered Colavaere as loudly. Men and women who would as soon he had never returned to Cairhien, some of them, waving their arms and giving voice. He raised the Dragon Scepter to acknowledge them, and they roared louder.

A thunderous roll of drums and a blare of trumpets rose through the cheers, produced by a dozen more of Dobraine’s men who wore crimson tabards with the black-and-white disc on the chest, half carrying long trumpets draped in identical cloths, the other half with kettle drums also decorated slung on either side of the horses.

Five Aes Sedai in their shawls came to meet him as he descended the broad stairs. At least, they glided toward him. Alanna gave him one searching look with those big dark penetrating eyes; the tiny knot of emotions in his skull said she was calmer, more relaxed, than he ever remembered. Then she made a small motion, and Min touched his arm and went aside with her. Bera and the others made small curtsies, inclining their heads slightly, as Aiel streamed out of the palace behind him. Nandera led two hundred Maidens—they were not about to be outshone by the “oathbreakers”—and Camar, a rangy Bent Peak Daryne grayer than Nandera and half a head taller than Rand, led two hundred Seia Doon who would not be outshone by Far Dareis Mai, let alone Cairhienin. They swung past on either side of him and the Aes Sedai to ring the courtyard. Bera like a proud farmwife and Alanna like some darkly beautiful queen, in their green-fringed shawls, and plump Rafela, even darker wrapped in her blue, watching him anxiously, and cool-eyed Faeldrin, yet another Green, her thin braids worked with colored beads, and slim Merana in her gray, whose frown made Rafela seem a picture of Aes Sedai serenity. Five.

“Where are Kiruna and Verin?” he demanded. “I called for all of you.”

“So you did, my Lord Dragon,” Bera answered smoothly. She made another curtsy, too; only the slightest dip, but it took him aback. “We could not find Verin; she is somewhere in the Aiel tents. Questioning the . . . ” Her smooth tone faltered for one instant. “ . . . the prisoners, I believe, in an attempt to learn what was planned once they reached Tar Valon.” Once he reached Tar Valon; she knew enough not to blurt that where anyone could hear. “And Kiruna is . . . consulting with Sorilea on a matter of protocol. But I’m quite certain she will be more than happy to join us if you send a personal summons to Sorilea. I could go myself, if you—”

He waved that away. Five should be enough. Perhaps Verin could learn something. Did he want to know? And Kiruna. A matter of protocol? “I’m glad you are getting on with the Wise Ones.” Bera started to speak, then closed her mouth firmly. Whatever Alanna was saying to Min, scarlet spots had flared in Min’s cheeks and she had raised her chin, though oddly, she seemed to be replying calmly enough. He wondered whether she would tell him. One thing he was sure of about women was that every last one had secret places in her heart, sometimes shared with another woman but never with a man. The only thing he was sure of about women.

“I didn’t come out here to stand all day,” he said irritably. The Aes Sedai had arranged themselves with Bera in the lead, the others half a step back. If it had not been her, it would have been Kiruna. Their own arrangements, not his. He did not really care so long as they held to their oaths, and he might have left it alone if not for Min and Alanna. “Merana will speak for you from now on; you will take your orders from her.”

By the suddenly widened eyes, you would have thought he had slapped every one of them. Including Merana. Even Alanna’s head whipped around. Why should they be startled? True, Bera or Kiruna had done almost all the talking since Dumai’s Wells, but Merana had been the ambassador sent to him at Caemlyn.

“If you are ready, Min?” he said, and without waiting for a reply strode out into the courtyard. The big, fiery-eyed black gelding he had ridden back from Dumai’s Wells had been brought out for him, with a high-cantled saddle all worked in gold and a crimson saddlecloth embroidered with the disc of black-and-white at each corner. The trappings suited the animal, and his name. Tai’daishar; in the Old Tongue, Lord of Glory. Horse and trappings both suited the Dragon Reborn.

As he mounted, Min led up the mouse-colored mare she had ridden back, snugging on her riding gloves before swinging into the saddle. “Seiera’s a fine animal,” she said, patting the mare’s arched neck. “I wish she was mine. I like her name, too. We call the flower a blue-eye around Baerlon, and they grow everywhere in the spring.”

“She’s yours,” Rand said. Whichever Aes Sedai the mare belonged to would not refuse to sell to him. He would give Kiruna a thousand crowns for Tai’daishar; she could not complain then; the finest stallion of Tairen bloodstock never cost a tenth of that. “Did you have an interesting conversation with Alanna?”

“Nothing that would interest you,” she said offhandedly. But a faint touch of red stained her cheeks.

He snorted softly, then raised his voice. “Lord Dobraine, I’ve kept the Sea Folk waiting long enough, I think.”

The procession drew crowds along the broad avenues and filled the windows and rooftops as word raced ahead. Twenty of Dobraine’s lancers led, to clear the way, along with thirty Maidens and as many Black Eyes, then drummers, booming away—droom, droom, droom, DROOM-DROOM—and the trumpeters punctuating that with nourishes. Shouts from the onlookers nearly drowned drums and trumpets alike, a wordless roar that could have been rage as easily as approbation. The banners streamed out, just ahead of Dobraine and behind Rand, the white Dragon Banner and the scarlet Banner of the Light, and veiled Aiel trotted alongside the lancers, whose streamers also floated in the air. Now and then a few flowers were hurled at him. Maybe they did not hate him. Maybe they only feared. It had to do.

“A train worthy of any king,” Merana said loudly, to be heard.

“Then it’s enough for the Dragon Reborn,” he replied sharply, “Will you stay back? And you, too, Min.” Other rooftops had held assassins. The arrow or crossbow bolt meant for him would not find its target in a woman today.

They did fall behind his big black, for all of three paces, and then they were right beside him again, Min telling him what Berelain had written about the Sea Folk on the ships, about the Jendai Prophecy and the Coramoor, and Merana adding what she knew of the prophecy, though she admitted that was not very much, little more than Min.

Watching the rooftops, he listened with half an ear. He did not hold saidin, but he could feel it in Dashiva and the other two, right behind him. He did not feel the tingle that would announce the Aes Sedai embracing the Source, but he had told them not to, without permission. Perhaps he should change that. They did seem to be keeping their oath. How could they not? They were Aes Sedai. A fine thing if he took an assassin’s blade while one of the sisters tried to decide whether serving meant saving him or obeying meant not channeling.

“Why are you laughing?” Min wanted to know. Seiera pranced closer, and she smiled up at him.

“This is no laughing matter, my Lord Dragon,” Merana said acidly on the other side. “The Atha’an Miere can be very particular. Any people grow fastidious when it comes to their prophecies.”

“The world is a laughing matter,” he told her. Min laughed along with him, but Merana sniffed and went right back to the Sea Folk as soon as he stopped.

At the river, the high city walls ran out into the water, flanking long gray stone docks that stretched out from the quay. Riverships and boats and barges of every kind and size were tied everywhere, the crews on deck to see the commotion, but the vessel Rand sought stood ready and waiting, lashed end-on to the end of a dock where all the laborers had already been cleared off. A longboat, it was called, a low narrow splinter without any masts, just one staff in the bow, four paces tall, topped by a lantern, and another at the stern. Nearly thirty paces in length and lined with as many long oars, it could not carry the cargo a sailing vessel the same size would, but it had no need of the wind, either, and with a shallow draft, it could travel day and night, using rowers in shifts. Longboats ran the rivers with cargoes of importance and urgency. It had seemed appropriate.

The captain bowed repeatedly as Rand came down the boarding ramp with Min on his arm and the Aes Sedai and Asha’man at his heels. Elver Shaene was even skinnier than his craft in a yellow coat of Murandian cut that hung to his knees. “It’s an honor to be carrying you, my Lord Dragon,” he murmured, mopping his bald head with a large handkerchief. “An honor, it is. An honor, indeed. An honor.”

Plainly the man would rather have had his ship brim full of live vipers. He blinked at the Aes Sedai’s shawls and stared at their ageless faces and licked his lips, eyes flickering back to Rand uneasily. The Asha’man dropped his mouth open once he put their black coats together with rumor, and thereafter he avoided so much as a glance in their direction. Shaene watched Dobraine lead the men with the banners aboard, and the trumpeters, and the drummers lugging their drums, then eyed the horsemen lining the dock as if he suspected they might want to board, too. Nandera, with twenty Maidens, and Camar with twenty Black Eyes, all with shoufa wrapped around their heads though unveiled, made the captain step hastily to put the Aes Sedai between him and them. The Aiel wore scowls, for the heartbeat that needing to veil might slow them, but the Sea Folk might well know what a veil meant, and it would hardly do for them to think they were under attack. Rand thought Shaene’s handkerchief might yet rub away what thin gray fringe of hair he had left.

The longboat swept away from the dock on its long oars, the two banners rippling in the bows, and the drums pounding, and the trumpets blaring. Out in the river, people appeared on the decks of ships to watch, even climbed into the rigging. On the Sea Folk ship they came out, too, many in bright colors unlike the drab clothing on crews of the other vessels. The White Spray was a larger craft than most of the rest, yet somehow sleeker as well, with two tall masts raked back sharply and spars laid across them squarely where nearly all the other ships had slanting spars longer than the masts to hold most of their sails. Everything about it spoke of difference, but in one thing, Rand knew, the Atha’an Miere had to be like everyone else. They could either agree to follow him on their own or be forced to it; the Prophecies said he would bind together the people of every land—“The north shall he tie to the east, and the west shall be bound to the south,” it said—and no one could be allowed to stand aside. He knew that, now.

Sending out orders from his bath, he had not had an opportunity to give details of what he intended on reaching White Spray, so he announced them now. The details produced grins among the Asha’man, as expected—well, Finn and Narishma grinned; Dashiva blinked absently—and frowns among the Aiel, also as expected. They did not like being left behind. Dobraine merely nodded; he knew he was only here for show today. What Rand did not expect was the Aes Sedai reaction.

“It shall be as you command, my Lord Dragon,” Merana said, making one of those small curtsies. The other four exchanged glances, but they were curtsying and murmuring “as you command” right behind her. Not one protest, not one frown, not a single haughty stare or recital of why it should be done any way but what he wanted. Could he begin to trust them? Or would they find some Aes Sedai way to wriggle around their oath as soon as his back was turned?

“They will keep their word,” Min murmured abruptly, just as if she had read his thoughts. With an arm wrapped around his and both hands holding his sleeve, she kept her voice for his ears alone. “I just saw these five in your hand,” she added in case he did not understand. He was not sure he could fix his mind around that, even if she had seen it in a viewing.

He did not have long to try. The longboat flew through the water, and in no time at all was backing oars some twenty paces from the much taller White Spray. Drums and trumpets fell silent, and Rand channeled, making a bridge of Air laced with Fire that connected the longboat’s railing to that of the Sea Folk ship. With Min on his arm, he started across, to every eye but that of an Asha’man walking upward on nothing.

He half expected Min to falter, at least at first, but she simply walked at his side as though there were stone beneath her green-heeled boots.

“I trust you,” she said quietly. She smiled, too, partly a comforting smile, and partly, he thought, because she was amused at reading his mind once more.

He wondered how much she would trust if she knew that this was as far as he could weave a bridge like this. One pace farther, one foot, and the whole thing would have given way at the first step. At that point it became like trying to lift yourself with the Power, an impossibility; even the Forsaken did not know why, any more than they knew why a woman could make a longer bridge than a man even if she was not as strong. It was not a matter of weight; any amount of weight could cross any bridge.

Just short of White Spray’s railing he stopped, standing in midair. For all Merana’s descriptions, the people staring back at him were a shock. Dark women and bare-chested men with colorful sashes that dangled to the knee, and gold or silver chains around their necks and rings in their ears, in their noses of all places on some of the women, who wore a rainbow of blouses above their dark, baggy breeches. None had any more expression than an Aes Sedai who was trying hard. Four of the women, despite being barefoot like the rest, wore bright silks, two of them brocades, and they had more necklaces and earrings than anyone else as well, with a chain strung with gold medallions running from an earring to a ring in the side of the nose. They said nothing, only stood together watching him, sniffing at small, lacy golden boxes that hung from chains around their necks. He addressed himself to them.

“I am the Dragon Reborn. I am the Coramoor.”

A collective sigh ran through the crew. Not among the four women, though.

“I am Harine din Togara Two Winds, Wavemistress to Clan Shodein,” announced the one with the most earrings, a handsome, full-mouthed woman in red brocade wearing five fat little gold rings in each ear. There were white streaks through her straight black hair, and fine lines at the corners of her eyes. She had an impressive dignity. “I speak here for the Mistress of the Ships. If it pleases the Light, the Coramoor may come aboard.” For some reason she gave a start, and so did the three with her, but that sounded entirely too much like permission. Rand stepped onto the deck with Min wishing he had not waited.

He let the bridge go, and saidin, but immediately felt another bridge replace it. In short order the Asha’man and the Aes Sedai were with him, the sisters no more flustered than Min had been, though perhaps one or two did straighten her skirts a bit more than necessary. They were still not so easy around the Asha’man as they pretended.

The four Sea Folk women took one look at the Aes Sedai and immediately gathered in a close huddle, whispering. Harine did a lot of the talking, and so did a young, pretty woman in green brocade with eight earrings altogether, but the pair in plain silk put in occasional comments.

Merana coughed delicately, and spoke softly into the hand she used to cover it. “I heard her name you the Coramoor. The Atha’an Miere are great bargainers, I’ve heard, but I think she gave away something, then.” Nodding, Rand glanced down at Min. She was squinting at the Sea Folk women, but as soon as she noticed his look, she shook her head ruefully; she saw nothing yet that might help him.

Harine turned so calmly there might never have been any hasty conference. “This is Shalon din Togara Morning Tide, Windfinder to Clan Shodein,” she said with a small bow toward the woman in green brocade, “and this is Derah din Selaan Rising Wave, Sailmistress of White Spray.” Each woman bowed slightly as she was named, and touched fingers to her lips.

Derah, a handsome woman a little short of her middle years, wore plain blue and also eight earrings, though her earrings, nose ring, and the chain that ran between was finer than Harine’s or Shalon’s. “The welcome of my ship to you,” Derah said, “and the grace of the Light be upon you until you leave his decks.” She made a small bow toward the fourth woman, in yellow. “This is Taval din Chanai Nine Gulls, Windfinder of White Spray.” Only three rings hung from each of Taval’s ears, fine like those of the Sailmistress. She looked younger than Shalon, no older than himself.

Harine took it up again, gesturing toward the raised stern of the ship. “We will speak in my cabin, if it pleases you. A soarer is not a large vessel, Rand al’Thor, and the cabin is small. If it pleases you to come alone, all here stand surety for your safety.” So. From the Coramoor to plain Rand al’Thor. She would take back what she had given, if she could.

He was about to open his mouth and agree—anything to get this done; Harine was already moving that way, still gesturing for him to follow, the other women with her—when Merana gave another tiny cough.

“The Windfinders can channel,” she murmured hastily into her hand. “You should take two sisters with you, or they’ll feel they’ve gained the upper hand.”

Rand frowned. The upper hand? He was the Dragon Reborn, after all. Still . . . “I will be pleased to come, Wavemistress, but Min here goes everywhere with me.” He patted Min’s hand on his arm—she had not let go an instant—and Harine nodded. Taval was already holding the door open; Derah made one of those small bows, gesturing him toward it.

“And Dashiva, of course.” The man gave a start at his name, as if he had been asleep. At least he was not staring wide-eyed around the deck like Flinn and Narishma. Staring at the women. Stories spoke of the alluring beauty and grace of Sea Folk women, and Rand could certainly see that—they walked as if they would begin dancing on the next step, swaying sinuously—but he had not brought the men here to ogle. “Keep your eyes open!” he told them harshly. Narishma colored, jerking himself stiffly erect, and pressed fist to chest. Flinn simply saluted, but both seemed more alert. For some reason, Min looked up at him with the tiniest wry smile.

Harine nodded a little more impatiently. A man stepped out from the crew, in baggy green silk breeches and with an ivory-hilted sword and dagger thrust behind his sash. More white-haired than she, he also wore five fat little rings in each ear. She waved him away even more impatiently. “As it please you, Rand al’Thor,” she said.

“And of course,” Rand added, as though an afterthought, “I must have Merana, and Rafela.” He was not certain why he chose the second name—perhaps because the plump Tairen sister was the only one not Green except Merana—but to his surprise, Merana smiled in approval. For that matter, Bera nodded, and so did Faeldrin, and Alanna.

Harine did not approve. Her mouth tightened before she could control it. “As it please you,” she said, not quite so pleasantly as before.

Once he was inside the stern cabin, where everything except a few brass-bound chests seemed built into the walls, Rand was not so sure the woman had not gained whatever she wanted just bringing him there. For one thing, he was forced to stand hunched over, even between the roof beams, or whatever they were called on a ship. He had read several books about ships, but none mentioned that. The chair he was offered at the foot of the narrow table would not pull out, being fastened to the deck, and once Min showed him how to unlatch the chair arm and swing it out so he could sit, his knees hit the bottom of the table. There were only eight chairs. Harine sat at the far end, her back to the stern’s red-shuttered windows, with her Windfinder to her left and the Sailmistress to her right and Taval below her. Merana and Rafela took the chairs below Shalon, while Min sat to Rand’s left. Dashiva, with no chair, took a place beside the door, standing upright quite easily, though the roof beams almost brushed his head, too. A young woman in a bright blue blouse, with one thin earring in each ear, brought thick cups of tea, brewed black and bitter.

“Let’s be done with this,” Rand said testily as soon as the woman left with her tray. He left his cup on the table after one sip. He could not stretch out his legs. He hated being confined. Thoughts of being doubled inside the chest flashed in his head, and it was all he could do to rein his temper. “The Stone of Tear has fallen, the Aiel have come over the Dragonwall, all the parts of your Jendai Prophecy have come to pass. I am the Coramoor.”

Harine smiled across her cup, a cool smile with no amusement in it. “That may be so, as it pleases the Light, but—”

“It is so,” Rand snapped despite a warning glance from Merana. She went so far to nudge his leg with her foot. He ignored that, too. The cabin walls seemed closer, somehow. “What is it that you don’t believe, Wavemistress? That Aes Sedai serve me? Rafela, Merana.” He gestured sharply.

All he wanted was for them to come to him and be seen to come, but they set down their cups and rose gracefully, glided to either side of him—and knelt. Each took one of his hands in both of hers and pressed her lips to the back of it, right on the shining golden-maned head of the Dragon that wound around his forearm. He just managed to conceal his shock, not taking his eyes from Harine. Her face went a little gray.

“Aes Sedai serve me, and so will the Sea Folk.” He motioned the sisters back to their seats. Oddly, they looked a touch surprised. “That is what the Jendai Prophecy says. The Sea Folk will serve the Coramoor. I am the Coramoor.”

“Yes, but there is the matter of the Bargain.” That word was plainly capitalized in Harine’s tone. “The Jendai Prophecy says you will bring us to glory, and all the seas of the world will be ours. As we give to you, you must give to us. If I do not make the Bargain well, Nesta will hang me naked in the rigging by my ankles and call the First Twelve of Clan Shodein to name a new Wavemistress.” A look of utter horror stole across her face as those words came out of her mouth, and her black eyes went wider and wider by the word with disbelief. Her Windfinder goggled at her, and Derah and Taval tried so hard not to, their eyes fastened to the table, that it seemed their faces might break.

And suddenly, Rand understood. Ta’veren. He had seen the effects, the sudden moments when the least likely thing happened because he was near, but he had never known what was going on before until it was finished. Easing his legs as best he could, he leaned his arms on the table. “The Atha’an Miere will serve me, Harine. That is given.”

“Yes, we will serve you, but—” Harine half-reared out her chair, spilling her tea. “What are you doing to me, Aes Sedai?” she cried, trembling. “This is not fair bargaining!”

“We do nothing,” Merana said calmly. She actually managed to drink a swallow of that tea without wincing.

“You are in the presence of the Dragon Reborn,” Rafela added. “The Coramoor your prophecy calls you to serve, as I believe.” She laid a finger to one round cheek. “You said you speak for the Mistress of the Ships. Does that mean your word is binding on the Atha’an Miere?”

“Yes,” Harine whispered hoarsely, falling back in her seat. “What I say binds every ship, and all to the Mistress of the Ships herself.” It was impossible for one of the Sea Folk to go white in the face, yet staring at Rand, she came as near as she could.

He smiled at Min, to share the moment. At last a people would come to him without fighting every step of the way, or splitting apart like the Aiel. Maybe Min thought he wanted her help to clinch matters, or maybe it was ta’veren. She leaned toward the Wavemistress. “You will be punished for what happens here today, Harine, but not so much as you fear, I think. At least, one day you will be the Mistress of the Ships.”

Harine frowned at her, then glanced to her Windfinder.

“She is not Aes Sedai,” Shalon said, and Harine seemed caught between relief and disappointment. Until Rafela spoke.

“Several years ago, I heard reports of a girl with a remarkable ability to see things. Are you she, Min?”

Min grimaced into her cup, then nodded reluctantly; she always said that the more people knew what she could do, the less good came of it. Glancing across the table at the Aes Sedai, she sighed. Rafela only nodded, but Merana was staring at her, hazel eyes avid in a mask of serenity. No doubt she expected to corner Min as soon as possible and find out what this talent was and how it worked, and no doubt Min expected it too. Rand felt a prickle of irritation; she should have known he would protect her from being bothered. A prickle of irritation, and a warmth that he could protect her from that, at least.

“You may trust what Min says, Harine,” Rafela said. “The reports I heard say that what she sees always seems to come true. And even if she does not realize it, she has seen something else.” Her round face tilted to one side, and a smile curved her mouth. “If you will be punished for what happens here, then it must mean you will agree to whatever your Coramoor wants.”

“Unless I agree to nothing,” Harine blustered. “If I make no Bargain . . . ” Her fists clenched on the tabletop. She had already admitted she had to make the Bargain. She had admitted the Sea Folk would serve.

“What I require of you is not onerous,” Rand said. He had thought about this since deciding to come. “When I want ships to carry men or supplies, the Sea Folk will give them. I want to know what is happening in Tarabon and Arad Doman, and in the lands between. Your ships can learn—will learn—what I want to know; they call in Tanchico and Bandar Eban and a hundred fishing villages and towns between. Your ships can travel farther out to sea than anyone else’s. The Sea Folk will keep watch as far west in the Aryth Ocean as they can sail. There is a people, the Seanchan, who live beyond the Aryth Ocean, and one day, they will come to try to conquer us. The Sea Folk will let me know when they come.”

“You require much,” Harine muttered bitterly. “We know of these Seanchan, who come from the Islands of the Dead, it seems, from which no ship returns. Some of our ships have encountered theirs; they use the One Power as a weapon. You require more than you know, Coramoor.” For once, she did not pause at the title. “Some dark evil has descended upon the Aryth Ocean. No ship of ours has come from there in many months. Ships that sail west, vanish.”

Rand felt a chill. He turned the Dragon Scepter, made from part of a Seanchan spear, in his hands. Could they have returned already? They had been driven back once, at Falme. He carried the spearhead to remind him that there were more enemies in the world than those he could see, but he had been sure it would take the Seanchan years to recover from their defeat, driven into the sea by the Dragon Reborn and the dead heroes called back by the Horn of Valere. Was the Horn still in the White Tower? He knew it had been taken there.

Suddenly he could not bear the confines of the cabin any longer. He fumbled with the latch on the chair arm. It would not open. Gripping the smooth wood, he tore the arm off in splinters with one convulsive heave. “We’ve agreed the Sea Folk will serve me,” he said, pushing himself up. The low ceiling made him hunch over the table threateningly. The cabin did feel smaller. “If there is any more to your Bargain, Merana and Rafela here will see to it with you.” Without waiting for an answer, he spun for the door, where Dashiva appeared to be muttering to himself again.

Merana caught him there, caught his sleeve and spoke swiftly and low. “My Lord Dragon, it would be for the best if you remained. You have seen what your being ta’veren has done already. With you here, I believe she will continue to reveal what she wants to hide and give agreement before we give anything.”

“You are Gray Ajah,” he told her harshly. “Negotiate! Dashiva, come with me.”

On deck, he drew deep breaths. The cloudless sky was open overhead. Open.

It took him a moment to notice Bera and the other two sisters, watching him expectantly, Flinn and Narishma kept to what they were supposed to do, a quarter of an eye on the ship and the rest on the riverbanks, the city on one side and the half-rebuilt granaries on the other. A ship in mid-river was a vulnerable place to be if one of the Forsaken decided to strike. For that matter, anywhere was a dangerous place then. Rand could not understand why one of them had not at least tried to destroy the Sun Palace around his ears.

Min took his arm, and he gave a start.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“That’s all right,” she laughed. “Merana is already setting to work. I think she means to get you Harine’s best blouse, and maybe her second best as well. The Wavemistress looked like a rabbit caught between two ferrets.”

Rand nodded. The Sea Folk were his, or as good as. What matter whether the Horn of Valere was in the White Tower? He was ta’veren. He was the Dragon Reborn, and the Coramoor. The golden sun still burned well short of its noon peak. “The day is young yet, Min.” He could do anything. “Would you like to see me settle the rebels? A thousand crowns to a kiss, they’re mine before sunset.”