A Crown of Swords

## Chapter 33

#### A Bath

The days after sending Perrin away seemed endless to Rand, and the nights longer. He retreated to his rooms and stayed there, telling the Maidens to allow no one to enter. Only Nandera was allowed past the doors with the gilded suns, bringing his meals. The sinewy Maiden would set down a covered tray and list those who had asked to see him, then give him a look of rebuke when he repeated that he would see no one. Often he heard disapproving comments from the Maidens outside before she pulled the door shut behind her; he was intended to hear, else they would have used handtalk. But if they thought to chivy him out by claiming that he was sulking . . . the Maidens did not understand, and might not if he explained. If he could have brought himself to.

He picked at the meals without appetite, and tried to read, but his favorite books could divert him for only a few pages even in the beginning. At least once every day, though he had promised himself he would not, he lifted the massive wardrobe of polished blackwood and ivory in his bedchamber, floated it aside on flows of Air and carefully unraveled the traps he had set and the Mask of Mirrors that made the wall seem smooth, all inverted so no other eyes but his could see. There, in a niche hollowed out with the Power, stood two small statues of white stone about a foot tall, a woman and a man, each in flowing robes and holding a clear crystal sphere overhead in one hand. The night he set the army in motion toward Illian he had gone to Rhuidean alone to fetch these ter’angreal: if he needed them, he might not have much time. That was what he had told himself. His hand would stretch toward the bearded man, the only one of the pair a man could use, stretch out and stop, shaking. One finger touching, and more of the One Power than he could imagine could be his. With that, no one could defeat him, no one stand against him. With that, Lanfear had said once, he could challenge the Creator.

“It is mine by right,” he muttered each time, with his hand trembling just short of the figure. “Mine! I am the Dragon Reborn!”

And each time he made himself draw back, reweaving the Mask of Mirrors, reweaving the invisible traps that would burn anyone to a cinder who tried to pass them without the key. The huge wardrobe wafted back into place like a feather. He was the Dragon Reborn. But was that enough? It would have to be.

“I am the Dragon Reborn,” he whispered at the walls sometimes, and sometimes shouted at them. “I am the Dragon Reborn!” Silently and aloud he raged at those who opposed him, the blind fools who could not see and those who refused to see, for ambition or avarice or fear. He was the Dragon Reborn, the only hope of the world against the Dark One. And the Light help the world for it.

But his rages and thoughts of using the ter’angreal were only attempts to escape other things, and he knew it. Alone, he picked at his meals, though less every day, and tried to read, though seldom, and attempted to find sleep. That he tried more often as the days passed, not caring whether the sun was down or high. Sleep came in fitful snatches, and what harrowed his waking thoughts also stalked his dreams and chased him awake too soon for any rest. No amount of shielding could keep out what was already inside. He had the Forsaken to face, and sooner or later the Dark One himself. He had fools who fought him or ran away when their only hope was to stand behind him. Why would his dreams not let him be? From one dream he always sprang awake before it more than began, to lie there filled with self-loathing and muddled with lack of sleep, but the others . . . He deserved them all, he knew.

Colavaere confronted him sleeping, her face black and the scarf she had used to hang herself still buried in the swollen flesh of her neck. Colavaere, silent and accusing, with all the Maidens who had died for him arrayed behind her in silent staring ranks, all the women who died because of him. He knew every face as well as his own, and every name but one. From those dreams, he woke weeping.

A hundred times he hurled Perrin across the Grand Hall of the Sun, and a hundred times he was overwhelmed by blazing fear and rage. A hundred times, he killed Perrin in his dreams and woke to his own screams. Why had the man chosen the Aes Sedai prisoners to use for their argument? Rand tried not to think about them; he had done his best to ignore their existence from the beginning. They were too dangerous to keep long as captives, and he had no idea what to do with them. They frightened him. Sometimes he dreamed of being bound inside the box again, of Galina and Erian and Katerine and the rest taking him out to beat him, dreamed and woke whimpering even after he convinced himself his eyes were open and he was outside. They frightened him because he feared he might give way to the fear and the anger, and then . . . He tried not to think of what he might do then, but sometimes he dreamed it, and woke shaking in a cold sweat. He would not do that. Whatever he had done, he would not do that.

In dreams he gathered the Asha’man to attack the White Tower and punish Elaida; he leaped from a gateway filled with righteous anger and saidin—and learned that Alviarin’s letter had been a lie, saw her stand alongside Elaida, saw Egwene beside her, too, and Nynaeve, and even Elayne, all with Aes Sedai faces, because he was too dangerous to let run free. He watched the Asha’man destroyed by women who had years of studying the One Power behind them, not just a few months of harsh tutoring, and from those dreams, he could never wake until every man in a black coat was dead, and he stood alone to face the might of the Aes Sedai. Alone.

Again and again Cadsuane spoke those words about madmen hearing voices, till he flinched at them as at blows of a whip, flinched in his sleep when she appeared. In dreams and waking, he called to Lews Therin, shouted at him, screamed for him, and only silence answered. Alone. That small bundle of sensations and emotions in the back of his head, the sense of Alanna’s almost touch, slowly became a comfort. In many ways, that frightened him most of all.

On the fourth morning, he woke groggily from a dream of the White Tower, flinging up a hand to shield grainy eyes from what he thought was a flare of saidar-wrought fire. Dust motes sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window to reach his bed, with its great square black-wood bedposts inlaid with ivory wedges. Every piece of furnishing in the room was polished blackwood and ivory, square and stark and heavy enough to suit his mood. For a moment he lay there, but if sleep returned, it would only bring another dream.

Are you there, Lews Therin? he thought without any hope of answer, and wearily pushed himself to his feet, tugging his wrinkled coat straight. He had not changed his clothes since first shutting himself away.

When he staggered into the anteroom, at first he thought he was dreaming again, the dream that always woke him straight off in shame and guilt and loathing, but Min looked up at him from one of the tall gilded chairs, a leather-bound book on her knees, and he did not wake. Dark ringlets framed her face, big dark eyes so intent he almost felt her touch. Her breeches of brocaded green silk fit her like a second skin, and her coat of matching silk hung open, a cream-colored blouse rising and falling with her breath. He prayed to wake. It had not been fear, or anger, or guilt over Colavaere, or Lews Therin’s disappearance that drove him to shut himself away.

“There’s a feast of sorts in four days,” she said brightly, “at the half moon. The Day of Repentance, they call it for some reason, but there will be dancing that night. Sedate dancing, I hear, but any dancing is better than none.” Carefully tucking a thin strip of leather into the book, she placed it on the floor beside her. “That’s just time to have a dress made, if I set the seamstress to work today. That is, if you mean to dance with me.”

He pulled his gaze away from her, and it fell on a cloth-covered tray beside the tall doors. Just the thought of food made him queasy. Nandera was not supposed to let anyone in, burn her! Least of all Min. He had not mentioned her by name, but he had said no one! “Min, I—I don’t know what to say. I—”

“Sheepherder, you look like what the dogs fought over. Now I understand why Alanna was so frantic, even if I don’t see how she knew. She practically begged me to speak to you, after the Maidens turned her away for about the fifth time. Nandera wouldn’t have let me in if she wasn’t in a lather about you not eating, and even so, I had to do a little begging myself. You owe me, country boy.”

Rand flinched. Images of himself flashed in his head; him tearing at her clothes, forcing himself on her like a mindless beast. He owed her more than he could ever pay. Raking a hand through his hair, he made himself turn to face her. She had tucked her feet up so she sat cross-legged in the chair, leaning her fists on her knees. How could she look at him so calmly? “Min, there’s no excuse for what I did. If there was any justice I’d go to the gallows. If I could, I’d put the rope around my neck myself. On oath, I would.” The words tasted bitter. He was the Dragon Reborn, and she would have to wait on justice until the Last Battle. What a fool he had been to want to live past Tarmon Gai’don. He did not deserve to.

“What are you talking about, sheepherder?” she said slowly.

“I’m talking about what I did to you,” he groaned. How could he have done that, to anyone, but most of all to her? “Min, I know how hard it is for you to be in the same room with me.” How could he recall the soft feel of her so, the silkiness of her skin? After he had torn her clothes off. “I never thought I was an animal, a monster.” But he was. He loathed himself for what he had done. And loathed himself worse because he wanted to do it again. “The only excuse I have is madness. Cadsuane was right. I did hear voices. Lews Therin’s voice, I thought. Can you—? No. No, I have no right to ask you to forgive me. But you have to know how sorry I am, Min.” He was sorry. And his hands ached to run down her bare back, over her hips. He was a monster. “Bitterly sorry. At least know that.”

She sat there motionless, staring at him as if she never before had seen his like. Now, she could stop pretending. Now, she could say what she really thought of him, and however vile it was, it would not be half vile enough.

“So that’s why you’ve been keeping me away,” she said finally. “You listen to me, you wooden-headed numbskull. I was ready to cry myself to dust because I’d seen one death too many, and you, you were about to do the same for the same reason. What we did, my innocent lamb, was comfort one another. Friends comfort one another at times like that. Close your mouth, you Two Rivers hay-hair.”

He did, but only to swallow. He thought his eyes were going to fall onto the floorstones. He nearly spluttered getting words out. “Comforted? Min, if the Women’s Circle back home heard what we did called comforting, they’d be lining up to peel our hides if we were fifty!”

“At least it’s ‘we,’ now, instead of ‘I,’ ” she said grimly. Rising smoothly, she advanced toward him shaking a furious finger. “Do you think I’m a doll, farmboy? Do you think I am too dimwitted to let you know if I didn’t want your touch? Do you think I couldn’t let you know in no uncertain terms?” Her free hand produced a knife from under her coat, gave it a flourish and tucked it back without slowing the torrent. “I remember ripping your shirt off your back because you couldn’t pull it over your head fast enough to suit me. That’s how little I wanted your arms around me! I did with you what I’ve never done with any man—and don’t you think I was never tempted!—and you say it was all you! As if I wasn’t even there!”

The back of his legs hit a chair, and he realized he had been backing away from her. Frowning up at him, she muttered, “I don’t think I like you looking down at me right now.” Abruptly she kicked him hard on the shin, planted both hands on his chest, and shoved. He toppled into the chair so hard it nearly went over backward. Ringlets swayed as she gave her head a toss and adjusted her brocaded coat.

“That’s as may be, Min, but—”

“That’s as is, sheepherder,” she cut in firmly, “and if you say different again, you had best shout for the Maidens and channel for all you’re worth, because I’ll thump you around this room till you squeal for mercy. You need a shave. And a bath.”

Rand took a deep breath. Perrin had such a serene marriage, with a smiling, gentle wife. Why was it that he always seemed drawn to women who spun his head like a top? If only he knew the tenth part of what Mat did about women, he would have known what to say to all that, but as it was, all he could do was blunder on. “In any case,” he said cautiously, “there’s only one thing I can do.”

“And what might that be?” She folded her arms tight beneath her breasts, and her foot began tapping ominously, but he knew this was the right thing to do.

“Send you away.” Just as he had Elayne, and Aviendha. “If I had any self-control, I wouldn’t have—” That foot started tapping faster. Maybe better to leave that alone. Comforted? Light! “Min, anyone close to me is in danger. The Forsaken aren’t the only ones who would harm somebody near me just on the chance it might harm me, too. And now there’s me, as well. I can’t control my temper anymore. Min, I nearly killed Perrin! Cadsuane was right. I’m going mad, or there already. I have to send you away so you’ll be safe.”

“Who is this Cadsuane?” she said, so calmly that he gave a start at noticing that her foot was still tapping. “Alanna mentioned that name as if she was the Creator’s sister. No, don’t tell me; I don’t care.” Not that she gave him one hair of a gap to tell anything. “I don’t care about Perrin, either. You would hurt me as soon as him. I think that great public fight of yours was a fake, is what I think. I don’t care about your temper, and I don’t care whether you’re mad. You can’t be very mad, or you’d not be worrying about it so. What I do care about . . . ”

She bent until those very big, very dark eyes were level with his, not a great distance away, and suddenly there was such a light glaring in them that he seized saidin, ready to defend himself. “Send me away to be safe?” she growled. “How dare you? What right do you think you have to send me anywhere? You need me, Rand al’Thor! If I told you half the viewings I’ve had about you, half your hair would curl and the rest fall out! You dare! You let the Maidens face any risk they want, and you want to send me away like a child?”

“I don’t love the Maidens.” Floating deep in the emotionless Void, he heard those words spring from his tongue, and shock shattered the emptiness and sent saidin flying.

“Well,” Min said, straightening. A small smile added more curve to her lips. “That’s out of the way.” And she sat down on his lap.

She had said he would not hurt Perrin any more than he would her, but he had to hurt her now. He had to, for her own good. “I love Elayne, too,” he said brutally. “And Aviendha. You see what I am?” For some reason, that did not seem to faze her at all.

“Rhuarc loves more than one woman,” she said. Her smile seemed almost of Aes Sedai serenity. “So does Bael, and I never noticed any Trolloc’s horns on either. No, Rand, you love me, and you can’t back out of that. I ought to string you up on tenterhooks for what you’ve put me through, but . . . Just so you’ll know, I love you, too.” The smile faded in a frown of internal struggle, and finally she sighed. “Life would be a deal easier sometimes if my aunts hadn’t brought me up to be fair,” she muttered. “And to be fair, Rand, I have to tell you that Elayne loves you, too. So does Aviendha. If both of Mandelain’s wives can love him, I suppose three women can manage to love you. But I’m here, and if you try to send me away, I’ll tie myself to your leg.” Her nose wrinkled. “Once you start bathing again, anyway. But I won’t go, no matter what.”

Just exactly like a top, his head spun. “You—love me?” he said incredulously. “How do you know what Elayne feels? How you know anything about Aviendha? Light! Mandelain can do what he likes, Min; I’m not Aiel.” He frowned. “What was that you said about telling me half of what you see? I thought you told me everything. And I am too sending you somewhere safe. And stop doing your nose like that! I don’t smell!” He jerked the hand he had been scratching with from under his coat.

Her arched eyebrow spoke volumes, but of course her tongue had to have its bit, too. “You dare take that tone? Like you don’t believe it?” Suddenly her voice began to rise by the word, and she augured a finger against his chest as though she meant to drive it through him. “Do you think I’d go to bed with a man I did not love? Do you? Or maybe you think you aren’t worth loving? Is that it?” She made a sound like a stepped-on cat. “So I’m some little bit of fluff without a brain in her head, falling in love with a worthless lout, am I? You sit there gaping like a sick ox and slander my wits, my taste, my—”

“If you don’t quiet down and talk sense,” he growled, “I swear, I’ll smack your bottom!” That leaped out of nowhere, out of sleepless nights and confusion, but before he could begin to form an apology, she smiled. The woman smiled!

“At least you’re not sulking anymore,” she said. “Don’t ever whine, Rand; you are no good at it. Now, then. You want sense? I love you, and I will not go. If you try to send me away, I’ll tell the Maidens you ruined me and cast me aside. I’ll tell everybody who will listen. I will—”

He raised his right hand and studied the flat of his palm, where the branded heron stood clear, then looked at her. She eyed his hand warily and shifted herself on his knees, then conspicuously ignored everything except his face.

“I won’t go, Rand,” she said quietly. “You need me.”

“How do you do it?” he sighed, slumping back in the chair. “Even when you stand me on my head, you make all my troubles shrink.”

Min sniffed. “You need to be stood on your head more often. Tell me. This Aviendha. I don’t suppose there is any chance she’s bony and scarred, like Nandera.”

He laughed in spite of himself. Light, how long since he had laughed with pleasure? “Min, I’d say she is as pretty as you, but how can you compare two sunrises?”

For a moment she stared at him with a small smile, as if she could not decide whether to be surprised or delighted. “You are a very dangerous man, Rand al’Thor,” she murmured, leaning toward him slowly. He thought he might fall into her eyes and be lost. All those times before when she sat on his lap and kissed him, all those times he had thought she was only teasing a country boy, he had nearly crawled out of his skin wanting to kiss her forever. Now, if she kissed him again now . . .

Taking her firmly by the arms, he stood and set her on her feet. He loved her, and she loved him, but he had to remember that he wanted to kiss Elayne forever when he thought about her, and Aviendha. Whatever Min said about Rhuarc or any Aielman, she had made a poor bargain the day she fell in love with him. “You said half, Min,” he said quietly. “What viewings haven’t you told me?”

She looked up at him with what almost might have been frustration, except of course that it could not have been. “You’re in love with the Dragon Reborn, Min Farshaw,” she grumbled, “and best you remember it. Best you did, too, Rand,” she added, pulling away. He let her go reluctantly, eagerly; he did not know which. “You’ve been back in Cairhien half a week, and you still have done nothing about the Sea Folk. Berelain thought you might drag your feet again. She left me a letter, asking me to keep reminding you, only you wouldn’t let me—Well, never mind that. Berelain thinks they’re important to you somehow; she says you’re the fulfillment of some prophecy of theirs.”

“I know all about that, Min. I—” He had thought to leave the Sea Folk out of being tangled with him; they were not mentioned in the Prophecies of the Dragon that he could find. But if he was going to let Min stay near him, let her risk the dangers . . . She had won, he realized. He had watched Elayne walk away with his heart sinking, watched Aviendha go with his stomach in knots. He could not do it again. Min stood there waiting. “I’ll go to their ship. I’ll go today. The Sea Folk can kneel to the Dragon Reborn in all his splendor. I don’t suppose there was ever any hope for anything else. Either they’re mine, or they’re my enemies. That is how it always seems to be. Will you tell me about those viewings, now?”

“Rand, you should study what they’re like before you—”

“The viewings?”

She folded her arms and frowned up at him through her lashes. She chewed her lip and frowned at the door. She shook her head and muttered under her breath. At last she said, “There is only one, really. I was exaggerating. I saw you and another man. I couldn’t make out either face, but I knew one was you. You touched, and seemed to merge into one another, and . . . ” Her mouth tightened worriedly, and she went on in a very small voice. “I don’t know what it means, Rand, except that one of you dies, and one doesn’t. I—Why are you grinning? This isn’t a joke, Rand. I do not know which of you dies.”

“I’m grinning because you’ve given me very good news,” he said, touching her cheek. The other man had to be Lews Therin. I’m not just insane and hearing voices, he thought, jubilant. One lived and one died, but he had known for a long time that he was going to die. At least he was not mad. Or not as far mad as he had feared. There was still the temper he could barely control. “You see, I—”

Suddenly he realized that he had gone from touching her cheek to cupping her face in both hands. He pulled them away as if burned. Min pursed her lips and gave him a reproving look, but he was not going to take advantage of her. It would not be fair to her. Luckily, his stomach rumbled loudly.

“I need something to eat, if I’m going to see the Sea Folk. I saw a tray . . . ”

Min made a sound more snort than sniff as he turned away, but the next moment she was sailing toward the tall doors. “You need a bath, if we’re going to the Sea Folk.”

Nandera was delighted, nodding enthusiastically and sending Maidens running. Though she did lean close to Min and say, “I should have let you in the first day. I wanted to kick him, but it is not done, kicking the Car’a’carn.” By her tone, it should have been done. She spoke softly, yet not so softly he could not hear. He was sure that was deliberate; she directed too sharp a glare at him for it not to be.

Maidens lugged in the big copper tub themselves, flashing handtalk once they set it down, laughing and too excited to let the Sun Palace servants do the work, or bring in the stream of buckets filled with hot water, either. Rand had a hard time taking his own clothes off. For that matter, he had a hard time washing himself, and he could not escape Nandera lathering his hair. Flaxen-haired Somara and fiery-haired Enaila insisted on shaving him as he sat chest-deep in the tub, concentrating so intently they seemed afraid they might cut his throat. He was used to that from other times they had refused to let him handle brush and razor himself. He was used to the Maidens who stood around watching, offering to scrub his back or his feet, hands flickering in silent chatter and still more than half-scandalized at the sight of someone sitting in water. Besides, he managed to get rid of some, at least, by sending them off carrying orders.

What he was not used to was Min, sitting cross-legged on the bed with her chin on her hands, watching the whole thing in very evident fascination. In all the crowd of Maidens, he had not realized she was there until he was naked, and all there was to do then was sit down as fast as he could, splashing water over the sides of the tub. The woman would have done very well as a Maiden herself. She discussed him with the Maidens quite openly, with never a blush! He was the one who blushed.

“Yes, he is very modest,” she said, agreeing with Malindare, a woman more rounded than most Maidens, with the darkest hair Rand had seen on any Aiel. “Modesty is a man’s crowning glory.” Malindare nodded soberly, but Min wore a grin that nearly split her cheeks.

And, “Oh, no, Domeille; it would be a shame to spoil such a pretty face with a scar.” Domeille, grayer than Nandera, leaner, and with a thrusting chin, insisted that he was not pretty enough to do without a scar to set off what beauty he had. Her words. The rest was worse. The Maidens had always seemed to enjoy making his face red. Min certainly did.

“You have to dry off sooner or later, Rand,” she said, holding up a long piece of white toweling with both hands. She stood a good three paces from the tub, and the Maidens had all backed into a watching ring. Min’s smile was so innocent any magistrate would have found her guilty on that alone. “Come and get dry, Rand.”

He had never been so relieved to pull on clothes in his life.

By that time, all his orders had been carried out, and everything was in readiness. Rand al’Thor might have been routed in a bathtub, but the Dragon Reborn was going to the Sea Folk in a style that would send them plummeting to their knees with awe.