Lord of Chaos

## Chapter 37

#### When Battle Begins

The silence was very peculiar, and Egwene did not understand at all. Elayne looked at Nynaeve, then they both looked at Nynaeve’s slim silver bracelet. Nynaeve shifted her gaze to Egwene, wide-eyed, and quickly put it on the floor.

“I have a confession,” she said in a near whisper. Her voice never rose, but words spilled out in a rush. “I captured Moghedien.” Without raising her eyes, she lifted her wrist with the bracelet. “This is an a’dam. We’re holding her prisoner, and nobody knows. Except Siuan and Leane and Birgitte. And now you.”

“We had to,” Elayne said, leaning forward urgently. “They’d have executed her, Egwene. I know she deserves it, but her head is full of knowledge, things we hardly dream of. That’s where all of our discoveries came from. Except Nynaeve’s Healing Siuan and Leane and Logain, and my ter’angreal. They would have killed her without waiting to learn anything!”

Questions whirled through Egwene’s head dizzyingly. They had captured one of the Forsaken? How? Elayne had made an a’dam? Egwene shivered, barely able to look at the thing. It looked nothing like the a’dam she knew far too well. Even with that, how had they managed to keep one of the Forsaken hidden among so many Aes Sedai? One of the Forsaken, prisoner. Not tried and executed. As suspicious as Rand had become, if he ever discovered that, he would never trust Elayne again.

“Bring her here,” she managed to say hollowly. Nynaeve bounced out of her chair and ran. The noises of celebration, laughter and music and song, swelled for a moment before the door banged shut behind her. Egwene rubbed her temples. One of the Forsaken. “That is quite a secret to keep.”

Elayne’s cheeks colored. Why under the Light . . . ? Of course.

“Elayne, I have no intention of asking about . . . anybody I’m not supposed to know about.”

The golden-haired woman actually jumped. “I . . . I may be able to talk. Later. Tomorrow. Maybe. Egwene, you have to promise me you won’t say anything—not to anybody!—unless I say so. No matter what you . . . what you see.”

“If that’s what you want.” Egwene did not understand why the other woman was so agitated. Not really. Elayne had a secret that Egwene shared, only Egwene had found out by accident, and ever since they had both been pretending it was still Elayne’s secret alone. She had met with Birgitte, the hero out of legend, in Tel’aran’rhiod; maybe she still did. Wait, that was what Nynaeve had said. Birgitte knew about Moghedien. Did she mean the woman waiting in Tel’aran’rhiod for the Horn of Valere to call her back? Nynaeve knew the secret that Elayne had refused to admit to Egwene even when she was caught out? No. This was not going to turn into a round of accusations and denials.

“Elayne, I am the Amyrlin—really the Amyrlin—and I already have plans. The Wise Ones who channel handle a good many of their weaves differently from Aes Sedai.” Elayne already knew about the Wise Ones, though come to think of it, Egwene did not know whether the Aes Sedai did; the other Aes Sedai, now. “Sometimes what they do is more complicated or more crude, but at times it’s simpler than we were taught in the Tower and works just as well.”

“You want Aes Sedai to study with the Aiel?” Elayne’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Egwene, they’ll never agree to that, not if you live a thousand years. I suppose they’ll want to test Aiel girls for novices when they find out, though.”

Shifting on her cushions, Egwene hesitated. Aes Sedai studying with the Wise Ones. As apprentices? It would never happen, but Romanda and Lelaine especially might benefit from a little ji’e’toh. And Sheriam, and Myrelle, and . . . she found a more comfortable way to sit and gave up her fancies. “I doubt the Wise Ones will agree to Aiel girls becoming novices.” They might have once, possibly, but certainly not now. Now it would be as much as Egwene could expect for them to speak civilly to Aes Sedai. “I thought some sort of association. Elayne, there are fewer than a thousand Aes Sedai. If you include those who remain in the Waste, I think there are more Wise Ones who can channel than there are Aes Sedai. Maybe many more. Anyway, they don’t miss a one with the spark born in her.” How many women had died on this side of the Dragonwall, because they suddenly could channel, maybe without realizing what they were doing at all, and had no one to teach them? “I want to bring in more women, Elayne. What about women who can learn, but no Aes Sedai found them before they were thought too old for novices? I say, if she wants to learn, let her try, even if she’s forty or fifty or her grandchildren have grandchildren.”

Elayne hugged herself laughing. “Oh, Egwene, the Accepted will just love teaching those novice classes.”

“They’ll have to learn how,” Egwene said firmly. She did not see the problem. Aes Sedai had always said you could be too old for a novice, but if you wanted to learn . . . they had changed their minds partway already; in the crowd she had seen faces older than Nynaeve’s above novice white. “The Tower has always been severe about excluding people, Elayne. If you aren’t strong enough, you’re put out. Refuse to take a test, and you’re sent away. Fail a test, and out. They should be allowed to stay if they want.”

“But the tests are to make sure you’re strong enough,” Elayne protested. “Not just in the One Power; in yourself. Surely you don’t want Aes Sedai who will break the first time they come under pressure? Or Aes Sedai who can barely channel?”

Egwene sniffed. Sorilea would have been put out of the Tower without ever being tested for Accepted. “Maybe they can’t be Aes Sedai, but that doesn’t mean they are useless. After all, they’re already trusted to use the Power with at least some discretion, or they wouldn’t be sent off into the world. My dream is for every woman who can channel to be connected to the Tower somehow. Every last one.”

“The Windfinders?” Elayne winced when Egwene nodded.

“You didn’t betray them, Elayne. I can’t believe they kept their secret as long as they did.”

Elayne sighed heavily. “Well, what’s done is done. ‘You can’t put honey back in the comb.’ But if your Aiel get special protection, the Sea Folk should too. Let the Windfinders teach their girls. No Sea Folk women bundled off by Aes Sedai whatever they will.”

“Done.” Egwene spat on her palm and held out her hand, and after a moment Elayne spat on hers and grinned as they clasped to seal the bargain.

Slowly that grin faded. “Is this about Rand and his amnesty, Egwene?”

“In part. Elayne, how could the man be so . . . ?” There was no way to finish that, and no answer anyway. The other woman nodded a touch sadly, in understanding or agreement or both.

The door opened, and a sturdy woman in dark wool appeared, a silver tray in her hands with three silver cups and a long-necked silver wine pitcher. Her face was worn, a farmwife’s face, but her dark eyes glittered as she studied Egwene and Elayne with a shifting gaze. Egwene had just a moment to feel surprise that the woman wore a close-fitting silver necklace despite her drab dress, and then Nynaeve entered behind her, shutting the door. She must have run like the wind, because she had found time to exchange the Accepted’s dress for a dark blue silk embroidered with golden scrolls around the neckline and hem. It was not nearly so low-cut as what Berelain wore, but still considerably lower than Egwene expected to see on Nynaeve.

“This is ‘Marigan,’ ” Nynaeve said, drawing her braid over her shoulder in a practiced motion. Her Great Serpent ring shone golden on her right hand.

Egwene started to ask why she emphasized the name so, then abruptly realized that “Marigan’s” necklace was a match for the bracelet on Nynaeve’s wrist. She could not help staring. The woman certainly did not look anything like she expected one of the Forsaken to look. She said as much, and Nynaeve laughed.

“Watch, Egwene.”

She did more than watch; she nearly leaped out of her chair, and she did embrace saidar. As soon as Nynaeve spoke, the glow had surrounded “Marigan.” Only for an instant, but before it faded, the woman in the plain wool dress changed completely. Actually they were rather small changes, but they added up to a different woman, handsome rather than beautiful but not at all worn, a woman who was proud, even regal. Only the eyes remained the same, glittering, but no matter how they shifted, Egwene could believe this woman was Moghedien.

“How?” was all she said. She listened carefully as Nynaeve and Elayne explained about weaving disguises and inverting weaves, but she watched Moghedien. She was proud, and full of herself, full of being herself again.

“Put her back,” Egwene said when the explanations were done. Again the glow of saidar lasted only moments, and once it faded, there were no weaves that she could see. Moghedien was plain and worn again, a country woman who had led a hard life and looked older than her years. Those black eyes glittered at Egwene, filled with hate, and maybe self-loathing as well.

Realizing she still held saidar, Egwene felt foolish for a moment. Neither Nynaeve nor Elayne had embraced the Source. But then, Nynaeve was wearing that bracelet. Egwene stood, never taking her gaze from Moghedien, and held out her hand. If anything, Nynaeve seemed eager to have the thing off her wrist, which Egwene could understand.

Handing the bracelet over, Nynaeve said, “Put the tray on the table, Marigan. And be on your best behavior. Egwene has been living with the Aiel.”

Egwene turned the silver band over in her hands and tried not to shiver. Cunning work, segmented so cleverly it almost appeared solid. She had been on the other end of an a’dam once. A Seanchan device, with a silver leash connecting necklace and bracelet, but still the same. Her stomach roiled as it had not facing the Hall or the crowd; it stewed as though trying to make up for being still before. Deliberately she closed the length of silver around her wrist. She had some idea of what to expect, but she still almost jumped. The other woman’s emotions were laid out before her, her physical state, all gathered in one fenced-off portion of Egwene’s mind. Mainly there was pulsing fear, but the self-loathing she had thought she saw swelled nearly as strongly. Moghedien did not like her present appearance. Maybe she especially did not like it after a short return to her own.

Egwene thought of who it was she was looking at; one of the Forsaken, a woman whose name had been used to frighten children for centuries, a woman whose crimes deserved death a hundred times over. She thought of the knowledge in that head. She made herself smile. It was not a pretty smile; she did not mean it to be, but she did not think she could have made it one if she tried. “They’re right. I have been living with the Aiel. So if you expect me to be as gentle as Nynaeve and Elayne, put it out of your mind. Set just one foot wrong with me, and I’ll make you beg for death. Only, I won’t kill you. I will just find some way to make that face permanent. On the other hand, if you do more than put a foot wrong . . . ” She widened her smile, until it was just showing teeth.

The fear leaped so high it drowned everything else and bulged against the fence. Standing in front of the table, Moghedien clutched her skirts white-knuckle tight and trembled visibly. Nynaeve and Elayne were looking at Egwene as if they had never seen her before. Light, did they expect her to be polite to one of the Forsaken? Sorilea would stake the woman out in the sun to bring her to heel, if she did not simply slit her throat out of hand.

Egwene moved closer to Moghedien. The other woman was taller, but she cowered back against the table, knocking over the winecups on their tray and rocking the pitcher. Egwene made her voice cold; it did not have far to go. “The day I detect one lie out of you is the day I execute you myself. Now. I have considered traveling from one place to another by boring a hole, so to speak, from here to there. A hole through the Pattern, so there’s no distance between one end and the other. How well will that work?”

“Not at all, for you or any woman,” Moghedien said, breathless and quick. The fear that boiled inside was plain on her face now. “That is how men Travel.” The capital was plain; she was speaking of one of the lost Talents. “If you try, you will be sucked into . . . I don’t know what it is. The space between the threads of the Pattern, maybe. I don’t think you would live very long. I know you would never come back.”

“Traveling,” Nynaeve muttered disgustedly. “We never thought of Traveling!”

“No, we didn’t.” Elayne sounded no more pleased with herself. “I wonder what else we never thought of.”

Egwene ignored them. “Then how?” she asked softly. A quiet voice was always better than shouting.

Moghedien flinched as though she had shouted anyway. “You make the two places in the Pattern identical. I can show you how. It takes a little effort, because of the . . . the necklace, but I can—”

“Like this?” Egwene said, embracing saidar, and wove flows of Spirit. This time she was not trying to touch the World of Dreams, but she expected something much the same if it worked. What she got was quite different.

The thin curtain she wove did not produce the shimmering effect, and it lasted only a moment before snapping together in a vertical line that was suddenly a slash of silvery blue light. The light itself widened quickly—or perhaps turned; it looked that way to her—into . . . something. There in the middle of the floor was a . . . a doorway, not at all the misty view she had had of Tel’aran’rhiod from her tent, a doorway opening onto a sun-blasted land that made the worst of the drought here look lush. Stone spires and sharp cliffs loomed over a dusty yellow-clay plain cut by fissures and dotted with a few scrub bushes that had a thorny look even at a distance.

Egwene very nearly stared. That was the Aiel Waste halfway between Cold Rocks Hold and the valley of Rhuidean, a spot where it was very unlikely there would be anyone to see—or be hurt; Rand’s precautions with his special room in the Sun Palace had suggested she take some too—but she had only hoped to reach it, and she had been sure it would be seen through a shimmering curtain.

“Light!” Elayne breathed. “Do you know what you’ve done, Egwene? Do you? I think I can do it. If you repeat the weave again, I know I’ll remember.”

“Remember what?” Nynaeve practically wailed. “How did she do it? Oh, curse this cursed block! Elayne, kick my ankle. Please?”

Moghedien’s face had gone very still; uncertainty rolled through the bracelet almost as heavily as fear. Reading emotions was hardly like reading words on a page, but those two were clear. “Who . . . ?” Moghedien licked her lips. “Who taught you that?”

Egwene smiled as she had seen Aes Sedai smile; at least, she hoped it conveyed mystery. “Never be too sure I don’t already know the answer,” she said coolly. “Remember. Lie to me once.” Suddenly it occurred to her how this must sound to Nynaeve and Elayne. They had captured the woman, held her captive in the most impossible circumstances, pried all sorts of information out of her. Turning to them, she gave a small, rueful laugh. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to just take over.”

“Why should you be sorry?” Elayne wore a broad smile. “You are supposed to take over, Egwene.”

Nynaeve gave her braid a yank, then glared at it. “Nothing seems to work! Why can’t I get angry? Oh, you can keep her forever, for all of me. We couldn’t take her to Ebou Dar, anyway. Why can’t I get angry? Oh, blood and bloody ashes!” Her eyes went wide as she realized what she had said, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Egwene glanced at Moghedien. The woman was busily setting the winecups upright again and pouring wine with a smell of sweet spices, but something had come through the bracelet while Nynaeve was talking. Shock, perhaps? Maybe she would prefer the mistresses she knew to one who threatened death in almost her first breath.

A firm knock sounded at the door, and Egwene hastily released saidar, the opening to the Waste vanished. “Come.”

Siuan took one step into the study and stopped, taking in Moghedien, the bracelet on Egwene’s wrist, Nynaeve and Elayne. Shutting the door, she made a curtsy as minimal as anything from Romanda or Lelaine. “Mother, I’ve come to instruct you in etiquette, but if you would rather I returned later . . . ?” Her eyebrows rose, calmly questioning.

“Go,” Egwene told Moghedien. If Nynaeve and Elayne were willing to let her run loose, the a’dam must limit her, if not as much as one with a leash. Fingering the bracelet—she hated the thing, but she intended to wear it day and night—she added, “But keep yourself available. I’ll treat trying to escape the same as a lie.” Fear gushed through the a’dam as Moghedien scurried out. That could be a problem. How had Nynaeve and Elayne lived with those torrents of dread? Still, that was for later.

Facing Siuan, she folded her arms beneath her breasts. “This won’t do, Siuan. I know everything. Daughter.”

Siuan tilted her head. “Sometimes knowing gives no advantage whatsoever. Sometimes it only means sharing the danger.”

“Siuan!” Elayne said, half-shocked and half-warning, and to Egwene’s surprise Siuan did something she had never expected to see Siuan Sanche do. She blushed.

“You can’t expect me to become somebody else overnight,” the woman muttered grumpily.

Egwene suspected Nynaeve and Elayne could help with what she had to do, but if she was really going to be Amyrlin, she had to do it alone. “Elayne, I know you want to get out of that Accepted’s dress. Why don’t you do that? And then see what you find out about lost Talents. Nynaeve, you do the same.”

A look passed between them, then they glanced at Siuan and rose to make perfect curtsies, respectfully murmuring, “As you command, Mother.” There was no evidence of any impression on Siuan; she stood watching Egwene with a wry expression while they left.

Egwene embraced saidar again, briefly, to slide her chair back into place behind the table, then adjusted her stole and sat. For a long moment she regarded Siuan silently. “I need you,” she said at last. “You know what it is to be Amyrlin, what the Amyrlin can and cannot do. You know the Sitters, how they think, what they want. I need you, and I mean to have you. Sheriam and Romanda and Lelaine may think I still wear novice white under this stole—maybe they all do—but you are going to help me show them differently. I’m not asking you, Siuan. I—will—have—your—help.” All there was to do then was wait.

Siuan regarded her, then gave a slight shake of her head and laughed softly. “They made a very bad mistake, didn’t they? Of course, I made it first. The plump little grunter for the table turns out to be a live silverpike as long as your leg.” Spreading her skirts wide, she made a deep curtsy, inclining her head. “Mother, please allow me to serve, and advise.”

“So long as you know it’s only advice, Siuan. I have too many people already who think they can tie strings to my arms and legs. I won’t put up with it from you.”

“I’d as soon try tying strings to myself,” Siuan said dryly. “You know, I never really liked you. Maybe it was because I saw too much of myself in you.”

“In that case,” Egwene said in just as dry a tone, “you can call me Egwene. When we’re alone. Now sit down and tell me why the Hall is still sitting here, and how I can get them moving.”

Siuan started to pull one of the chairs over before remembering she could move it with saidar now. “They are sitting because once they move, the White Tower really is broken. As for how to get them moving, my advice . . . ” Her advice took a long time. Some of it went along lines Egwene had already thought of, and all of it seemed good.

In her room in the Little Tower, Romanda poured mint tea for three other Sitters, only one a Yellow. The room was in the back, but the sounds of festival penetrated; Romanda ignored them studiously. These three had been ready to support her for the Amyrlin Seat; voting for the girl had been as much a way to keep Lelaine from being raised as anything else. Lelaine would burn if she ever knew that. Now that Sheriam had her child Amyrlin installed, these three were still willing to listen. Especially after the business of raising Accepted to the shawl by decree. That had to be Sheriam’s doing; she and her little clique had pampered all four; it had been their notion to lift Theodrin and Faolain above the other Accepted, and they had suggested it for Elayne and Nynaeve as well at one time. Frowning, she wondered what was keeping Delana, but she began talking anyway, after sheathing the room in saidar against eavesdropping. Delana would just have to catch up when she came. The important thing was that Sheriam was going to learn she had not gained as much power as she thought by snatching the job of Keeper.

In a house halfway across Salidar, Lelaine was serving chilled wine to four Sitters, only one from her own Blue Ajah. Saidar laced the room against listeners. The sounds of celebration made her smile. The four women with her had suggested she try for the Amyrlin Seat herself, and she had not been reluctant, but a failure would have meant Romanda being raised instead, which would have pained Lelaine as much as being exiled. How Romanda would gnash her teeth if she ever learned they had all voted for the child just to keep the stole from Romanda’s own shoulders. What they had gathered to discuss, though, was how to lessen Sheriam’s influence now she had managed to grab the Keeper’s stole. That farce of raising Accepted to Aes Sedai by the girl’s decree! Sheriam’s head must have swollen to madness. As the talk went on, Lelaine began to wonder where Delana was. She should have been there by now.

Delana sat in her room, staring at Halima perched on the edge of Delana’s bed. The name Aran’gar was never to be used; sometimes Delana was afraid Halima would know if she even thought it. The ward against eavesdropping was small, enclosing just the pair of them. “That is madness,” she managed at last. “Don’t you understand? If I continue to try supporting every faction, they will catch me out sooner or later!”

“Everyone must take some risks.” The firmness of the woman’s voice belied the smile on that lush mouth. “And you will continue to press for gentling Logain again. That, or killing him.” A slight grimace actually made the woman more beautiful somehow. “If they ever brought him out of that house, I would attend to it myself.”

Delana could not imagine how, but she would not doubt the woman until she failed. “What I don’t understand is why you are so afraid of a man with six sisters shielding him from sunup to sunup.”

Halima’s green eyes blazed as she leaped to her feet. “I am not afraid, and don’t you ever suggest it! I want Logain severed or dead, and that is all you have to know. Do we understand one another?”

Not for the first time Delana considered killing the other woman, but as always she had a sinking certainty that she would be the one to die. Somehow Halima knew when she embraced saidar, even if Halima could not channel herself. The worst of it was the possibility that because Halima needed her, she would not kill her; Delana could not imagine what she might do instead, but the very vagueness of the threat made her shudder. She should be able to kill the woman right there, right then. “Yes, Halima,” she said meekly, and hated herself for it.

“So good of you,” Siuan murmured, holding her cup for Lelaine to add a small splash of brandy in her tea. The sun was sinking toward the horizon, giving the light a reddish cast, but the streets outside were still raucous. “You have no idea how tiring it is trying to teach that girl etiquette. She seemed to think as long as she behaves like a Wisdom from back home, everything will be fine. The Hall is supposed to be the Women’s Circle or some such thing.”

Lelaine made sympathetic noises over her own tea. “You say she was complaining about Romanda?”

Siuan shrugged. “Something about Romanda insisting we stay here instead of marching for Tar Valon, as near as I could make out. Light, the girl has a temper like a fisherbird in mating season. I almost wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her, but of course, she does wear the stole, now. Well, once I finish my lectures I’m done with her. Do you remember . . . ?”

Smiling inside, Siuan watched Lelaine drinking it all in with the tea. Only the first sentence had really been important. The bit about a temper was her own addition, but it might make some of the Sitters walk a little more carefully around Egwene. Besides, she suspected it might be true. She would never be Amyrlin again herself, and she was fairly certain that trying to manipulate Egwene would be as futile as trying to manipulate herself had been, and as painful, yet teaching an Amyrlin to be Amyrlin . . . she looked forward to that as much as she had anything in a long time. Egwene al’Vere would be an Amyrlin to make thrones tremble.

“But what about my block?” Nynaeve said, and Romanda frowned at her. They were in Romanda’s room in the Little Tower, and this was when Romanda was supposed to have her according to the schedule the Yellows had set up. The music and laughter outside seemed to irritate the Yellow.

“You weren’t so eager earlier. I heard that you told Dagdara you were Aes Sedai too and she could find a lake and douse her head.”

Heat rose in Nynaeve’s face. Trust her temper to get in the way. “Maybe I just realized that being Aes Sedai doesn’t mean I can channel any more easily than before.”

Romanda sniffed. “Aes Sedai. You have a long way to go for that, whatever . . . very well, then. Something we haven’t tried before. Jump up and down on one foot. And talk.” She sat down in a carved armchair near the bed, still frowning. “Gossip, I think. Talk about light things. For instance, what was it the Amyrlin said Lelaine wanted to talk about?”

For a moment Nynaeve stared back indignantly. Jump on one foot? That was ridiculous! Still, she was not really here about her block anyway. Lifting her skirts, she began jumping. “Egwene . . . the Amyrlin . . . didn’t say much. Something about having to stay put in Salidar . . . ” This had better work, or Egwene was going to hear a few choice words, Amyrlin or no.

“I think this one will work better, Sheriam,” Elayne said, handing over a twisted blue-and-red flecked ring of what had been stone this morning. In truth, it was no different from any other she had made. They stood apart from the crowd, at the mouth of a narrow alley lit by the red sun. Behind them fiddles squealed and flutes sang.

“Thank you, Elayne.” Sheriam tucked the ter’angreal into her belt pouch without even looking at it. Elayne had caught Sheriam in a pause from dancing, her face a little flushed beneath all that cool Aes Sedai serenity, but the clear green gaze that had made Elayne’s knees shake as a novice was fixed on her face; “Why do I get the feeling this is not your only reason for coming to see me?”

Elayne grimaced, twisting the Great Serpent ring on her right hand. The right hand; she just had to remember she was Aes Sedai too, now. “It’s Egwene. The Amyrlin, I guess I should say. She’s worried, Sheriam, and I was hoping you could help her. You are the Keeper, and I did not know who else to go to. I don’t have the straight of it completely. You know how Egwene is; she wouldn’t complain if her foot was cut off. It’s Romanda, I think, though she did mention Lelaine. One or both have been at her, I think, about staying here in Salidar, about not moving yet because it’s too dangerous.”

“That is good advice,” Sheriam said slowly. “I don’t know about dangerous, but that is the advice I would give her myself.”

Elayne spread her hands in a helpless shrug. “I know. She told me you did, but . . . she didn’t say it right out, but I think she’s a little afraid of those two. I know she’s Amyrlin now, but I think they make her feel a novice. I think she’s afraid if she does what they want—even if it is good advice—they will expect her to do the same next time. I think . . . Sheriam, she is afraid she won’t be able to say no the next time if she says yes now. And . . . and I am afraid of it, too. Sheriam, she’s the Amyrlin Seat; she shouldn’t be under Romanda’s thumb, or Lelaine’s, or anybody’s. You are the only one who can help her. I do not know how, but you are.”

Sheriam was quiet so long that Elayne began to think the other woman was going to tell her every word was ludicrous. “I will do what I can,” Sheriam said at last.

Elayne stifled a relieved sigh before she realized it would not have mattered.

Leaning forward, Egwene rested her arms along the sides of the copper tub and let Chesa’s chatter flow over her as the woman scrubbed her back. She had dreamed of a real bath, but actually sitting in the soapy water, scented with a floral oil, felt strange after Aiel sweat tents. She had taken her first step as Amyrlin, marshaled her outnumbered army and begun her attack. She remembered hearing Rhuarc say once that when battle began, a battle leader no longer had any real control of events. Now all she could do was wait. “Even so,” she said softly, “I think the Wise Ones would be proud.”