Lord of Chaos

## Chapter 25

#### Like Lightning and Rain

For some reason, when Cowinde came to wake her in the gray before dawn, Egwene felt refreshed despite her dreams. Refreshed and ready to see what she could learn in the city. One long yawn and stretch, and she was on her feet, humming as she washed and dressed hurriedly, hardly taking the time to brush her hair properly. She would have hurried away from the tents without wasting time on breakfast, but Sorilea saw her, and that put an abrupt end to that notion. Which turned out to be just as well.

“You should not have left the sweat tent so soon,” Amys told her, taking a bowl of porridge and dried fruit from Rodera. Close to two dozen Wise Ones had crowded into Amys’s tent, and Rodera, Cowinde and a white-robed man named Doilan, another Shaido, were scurrying to serve them all. “Rhuarc had much to say about your sisters. Perhaps you can add more.”

After months of pretense, Egwene did not need to think to know she meant the Tower embassy. “I will tell you what I can. What did he say?”

For one thing, that there were six Aes Sedai, and two of them Red, not one—Egwene could not believe the arrogance, or perhaps stupidity, of Elaida to have sent any at all—but at least a Gray was in charge. The Wise Ones, most lying in a large circle like the spokes of a wheel, some standing or kneeling in the spaces between, turned their eyes to Egwene as soon as the list of names was done.

“I’m afraid I only know two of them,” she said carefully. “There are a good many Aes Sedai, after all, and I haven’t been a full sister long enough to know many.” Heads nodded; they accepted that. “Nesune Bihara is fair-minded—she listens to all sides before reaching a conclusion—but she can find even the smallest flaw in what you say. She sees everything, remembers everything; she can glance at a page once and repeat it back word for word, or the same for a conversation she heard a year ago. Sometimes she talks to herself, though, speaks her thoughts without realizing it.”

“Rhuarc said she was interested in the Royal Library.” Bair stirred her porridge, watching Egwene. “He said he heard her mutter something about seals.” A quick murmur rippled through the other women, silenced when Sorilea cleared her throat loudly.

Spooning up porridge—there were slices of dried plum and some kind of sweet berries in hers—Egwene considered. If Elaida had put Siuan to the question before she was executed, then she knew of three seals that were broken. Rand had two hidden—Egwene wished she knew where; he did not seem to trust anyone of late—and Nynaeve and Elayne had found one in Tanchico and carried it to Salidar, but Elaida had no way of knowing about those. Unless, perhaps, she had spies in Salidar. No. That was speculation for another time, useless now. Elaida must be searching desperately for the rest. Sending Nesune to the second-greatest library in the world after that in the White Tower made sense, and swallowing some dried plum, she told them so.

“I said as much last night,” Sorilea growled. “Aeron, Colinda, Edarra, you three go to the Library. Three Wise Ones should be able to find what can be found before one Aes Sedai.” That produced three long faces; the Royal Library was huge. Still, Sorilea was Sorilea, and if the named women sighed and muttered, they put down their porridge bowls and left immediately. “You said you know two,” Sorilea went on before they were out of the tent. “Nesune Bihara and who?”

“Sarene Nemdahl,” Egwene said. “You must understand, I do not know either well. Sarene is like most Whites—she reasons everything out logically, and sometimes she seems surprised when somebody acts from the heart—yet she has a temper. Most of the time she keeps it tightly bottled, but put a foot wrong at the wrong time and she can . . . snap your nose off before you can blink. She listens to what you say, though, and she will admit she was wrong, even after her temper has snapped. Well, once it mends, anyway.”

Putting a spoonful of berries and porridge into her mouth, she tried to study the Wise Ones without seeming to; no one appeared to have noticed her hesitation. She had almost said Sarene would send you to scrub floors before you could blink. The only way she knew either woman was from lessons as a novice. Nesune, a slender Kandori with birdlike eyes, could tell when someone’s attention drifted even with her back turned; she had taught several classes Egwene had been in. Egwene had only heard two lectures by Sarene, on the nature of reality, but it was hard to forget a woman who told you with absolute seriousness that beauty and ugliness were equally illusion while wearing a face that would make any man look twice.

“I hope you can remember more,” Bair said, leaning toward her on an elbow. “It seems you are our only source or information.”

That did take a moment for Egwene to puzzle out. Yes, of course. Bair and Amys must have tried to look into the Aes Sedai’s dreams last night, but Aes Sedai warded their dreams. It was a skill she regretted not learning herself before leaving the Tower. “If I can. Where are their rooms in the palace?” If she was going to go near Rand the next time he came, it would help if she did not blunder by their apartments trying to find her way. Especially Nesune’s. Sarene might not remember one particular novice, but Nesune most certainly would. For that matter, one of those she did not know might, too; there had been a lot of talk about Egwene al’Vere when she was in the Tower.

“They decline Berelain’s offer of shade even for one night.” Amys frowned. Among Aiel, an offer of hospitality was always accepted; to refuse, even between blood enemies, was shaming. “They stay with a woman named Arilyn, a noble among the treekillers. Rhuarc believes that Coiren Saeldain knew this Arilyn before yesterday.”

“One of Coiren’s spies,” Egwene said with certainty. “Or one of the Gray Ajah’s.”

Several Wise Ones muttered angrily under their breath; Sorilea snorted loudly in disgust, and Ailys gave a heavy, disappointed sigh. Others had a different view. Corelna, a green-eyed hawk of a woman with gray heavy in her flaxen hair, shook her head doubtfully, while Tialin, a lean redhead with a sharp nose, looked at Egwene in open disbelief.

Spying violated ji’e’toh, though how that squared with the dreamwalkers’ peeking into people’s dreams whenever they liked was something Egwene had not worked out. There was no use pointing out that Aes Sedai did not follow ji’e’toh. They knew that; they just found it hard to really believe or understand, about Aes Sedai or anyone.

Whatever they thought, she would have wagered anything on being right. Galldrian, the last King of Cairhien, had had an Aes Sedai advisor before he was assassinated. Niande Moorwyn had been all but invisible even before she disappeared following Galldrian’s death, but one thing Egwene had learned was that she had occasionally visited the country estates of Lady Arilyn. Niande was a Gray.

“They have apparently placed a hundred guards under that roof,” Bair said after a time. Her voice became very bland. “They say the city is still unsettled, but I think they fear the Aiel.” Disturbingly interested looks appeared on a number of faces.

“A hundred!” Egwene exclaimed. “They brought a hundred men?”

Amys shook her head. “More than five hundred. Timolan’s scouts found most of them camped less than half a day north of the city. Rhuarc spoke of it, and Coiren Saeldain said the men were a guard of honor, but they left most outside the city so as not to alarm us.”

“They think they will escort the Car’a’carn to Tar Valon.” Sorilea’s voice could have cracked stone, and her expression made her tone seem soft. Egwene had not kept back the contents of Elaida’s letter to Rand. The Wise Ones liked it less every time they heard it.

“Rand is not fool enough to accept that offer,” Egwene said, but her mind was not on that. Five hundred men could be a guard of honor. Elaida might well think the Dragon Reborn would expect something like that, even be flattered. A number of suggestions occurred to her, but she had to be careful. The wrong word might make Amys and Bair—or worse, Sorilea, dodging Sorilea was like to trying to climb out of a briar patch—give her commands that she could not obey and still do what only she could. Or would, at least. “I assume the chiefs are keeping an eye on those soldiers outside the city?” Half a day north—more like a full day, since they were not Aiel—was too far to be dangerous, but a little caution never hurt. Amys nodded; Sorilea looked at Egwene as though she had asked whether the sun was in the sky at midday. Egwene cleared her throat. “Yes.” The chiefs were not likely to make that sort of mistake. “Well. These are my suggestions. If any of these Aes Sedai goes to the palace, some of you who can channel should go behind them and make sure they do not leave any sort of trap.” They nodded. Two-thirds of the women there could wield saidar, some not much more than Sorilea, others equaling Amys, who was as strong as most Aes Sedai Egwene had yet met; the proportions were about the same for Wise Ones as a whole. Their skills differed from Aes Sedai’s—less in some places, more in a few, but generally just different—yet they should be able to sniff out any unwelcome gifts. “And we must make sure there are only six.”

She had to explain. They had read wetlanders’ books, but even those who could channel did not really know the rituals that had grown up around Aes Sedai dealing with men who had found saidin. Among the Aiel, a man who learned he could channel thought he was chosen, and went north into the Blight to hunt the Dark One; none ever returned. For that matter, Egwene had not known the rituals either, until she went to the Tower; the stories she had heard before seldom bore any resemblance to the truth.

“Rand can handle two women at once,” she finished. She knew that for a fact. “He might even be able to handle six, but if they are more than they’ve put themselves forward to be, then it is proof they have lied at the least, even if just by leaving something out.” She almost winced at their frowns; if you lied, you incurred toh toward whoever you lied to. But in her case, it was necessary. It was.

The rest of breakfast was taken up with the Wise Ones deciding who would go through the palace today and which chiefs could be trusted with choosing men and Maidens to watch for more Aes Sedai. Some might be reluctant to put themselves against Aes Sedai in any way; the Wise Ones did not say that right out, but it was clear enough from what they did say, often sourly. Others might think any threat to the Car’a’carn, even from Aes Sedai, could best be handled by the spear. A few of the Wise Ones seemed to have moved toward that opinion too; Sorilea stepped heavily on more than one oblique suggestion that the difficulty would be solved if the Aes Sedai were simply no longer there. In the end, Rhuarc and Mandelain of the Daryne were the only two they could agree on.

“Make sure they don’t chose any siswai’aman,” Egwene said. Those would certainly resort to the spear at the slightest hint of a threat. The remark got her a great many stares, ranging from flat to wry. None of the Wise Ones were fools. One thing troubled her. Not one of them mentioned what she was used to hearing almost any time Aes Sedai were discussed: that the Aiel had once failed the Aes Sedai and would be destroyed if they did again.

Aside from that one comment, Egwene kept out of the discussion, busying herself with a second bowl of porridge, with dried pear as well as plums, which earned an approving nod from Sorilea. It was not Sorilea’s approval she was after. She was hungry, but mainly she hoped they would forget she was there. It seemed to work.

Breakfast and discussion done, she strolled to her tent, then crouched just inside the entry flap, watching a small knot of Wise Ones make their way to the city, led by Amys. When they vanished through the nearest gate, she popped back outside again. There were Aiel everywhere, gai’shain and others, but the Wise Ones were all inside, and no one glanced at her as she walked toward the city wall, not too quickly. If anyone did take notice of her, they should think she was just off for her morning exercise. The wind picked up, blowing waves of dust and old ash from Foregate, but she maintained her steady pace. Just out for exercise.

In the city, the first person she asked, a lanky woman selling wrinkled apples from a cart for an exorbitant price, did not know directions to the Lady Arilyn’s palace, nor did a plump seamstress who went wide-eyed at an apparent Aiel woman entering her shop, nor a balding cutler who thought she would be much more interested in his knives. Finally a narrow-eyed silversmith who watched her closely the whole time she was inside her shop told her what she wanted. Striding away through the crowds, Egwene shook her head. She sometimes forgot how big a city like Cairhien really was, that not everyone knew where everything was.

As it was, she got lost three times and had to ask directions twice more before she found herself pressed against the side of a hire stable, peering around the corner at a squat pile of dark stone across the street, all narrow windows and angular balconies and stepped towers. It was small for a palace, though huge for a house; Arilyn was somewhere just above the middle of Cairhien’s nobility, if Egwene remembered rightly. Green-coated soldiers in breastplates and helmets stood guard on the broad front stairs, at every gate she could see, even on the balconies. Oddly, they all appeared to be young. Still, that was not what interested her. Women were channeling inside that building, and for her to feel it from down the street, for her to feel it so solidly, they were not handling small quantities of saidar. The amount lessened suddenly, but it was still significant.

She chewed at her lip. She could not tell what they were doing, not without seeing the flows, but by the same token, they had to see the flows to weave them. Even if they were at a window, any flows directed out of the mansion that she could not see would have to be aimed south, away from the Sun Palace, away from everything. What were they doing?

One set of gates swung open long enough to emit a matched team of six bays drawing a closed black carriage with a sigil lacquered on its door, two silver stars on a field of red and green stripes. It worked northward through the crowd, the liveried driver plying a long whip as much to make people move aside as to encourage the horses. The Lady Arilyn going somewhere, or some of the embassy?

Well, she had not come here just to stare. Edging back so only one eye peeked around the corner, just enough to see the great house, she drew a small red stone from her belt pouch, took a deep breath and began to channel. If one of them was looking out on this side, she would be able to see the flows, but not Egwene. It had to be risked.

The smooth stone was just that, a stone polished in a stream, but Egwene had learned this trick from Moiraine, and Moiraine had used a stone for a focus—a gem as it happened, but the kind did not matter—so Egwene did too. It was mostly Air she wove, with a touch of Fire, done just so. It allowed you to eavesdrop. Spy, the Wise Ones would say. Egwene did not care what it was called, so long as she learned something of what the Tower Aes Sedai intended.

Her weave touched a window opening carefully, oh so delicately, then another, and another. Silence. Then . . .

“ . . . so I says to him,” a woman’s voice said in her ear, “if you want them beds made, you better leave off tickling my chin, Alwin Rael.”

Another woman giggled. “Oh, you never did.”

Egwene grimaced. Maids.

A stout woman passing with a basket of bread on her shoulder peered at Egwene in a puzzled manner. As well she might, hearing two women’s voices with only Egwene standing there, and her lips not moving. Egwene solved it the quickest way she knew. She glared so furiously that the woman squeaked and nearly dropped her basket dashing off into the crowd.

Reluctantly Egwene lowered the strength of her weave; she might not be able to hear as well, but better that than attracting gawkers. As it was, enough people glanced at her, an Aiel woman pressing herself against a wall, though no one more than hesitated before moving on; no one wanted trouble with Aiel. She put them out of her mind. Window by window she moved the weave, sweating furiously, and not only because of the already rising heat. Just one Aes Sedai glimpsing her flows, even if she did not recognize what they were, would know someone was channeling at them. They would have to suspect the purpose. Egwene inched back, leaving only half an eye showing.

Silence. Silence. A rustle of some sort. Someone moving? Slippers on a carpet? No words, though. Silence. A man muttering, apparently emptying chamber pots and not at all pleased; ears hot, she hurried on. Silence. Silence. Silence.

“ . . . really believe this is necessary?” Even in a whisper, as it seemed, the woman’s voice sounded rich and full of herself.

“We must be prepared for any eventuality, Coiren,” another woman replied in a voice like an iron rod. “I heard an arresting rumor—” A door closed firmly, cutting off the rest.

Egwene slumped against the stable’s stone wall. She could have screamed with frustration. The Gray sister who was in charge, and the other had to be one of the Aes Sedai or she would never have spoken so to Coiren. None better to say what she wanted to hear, and they had to walk away. What arresting rumor? What eventualities? How did they mean to prepare? The channeling inside the manor changed again, increasing. What were they up to? Drawing a deep breath, she began again, doggedly.

As the sun climbed higher, she heard a great many usually unidentifiable noises, and a good bit of servants’ gossip and chatter. Somebody named Ceri was going to have another baby, and the Aes Sedai were to have wine from Arindrim, wherever that was, with their midday meal. The most interesting news was that Arilyn had indeed been in that carriage, off to meet her husband in the country. For all the good knowing that did. A whole morning wasted.

The front doors of the mansion swung wide, liveried servants bowing. The soldiers did not stiffen, but they did look more attentive. Nesune Bihara walked out, followed by a tall young man who seemed to have been carved from a boulder.

Egwene released her weave hastily, released saidar, and took a deep calming breath; this was no time to panic. Nesune and her Warder conferred; then the dark-haired Brown sister peered down the street, first one way then the other. She was definitely looking for something.

Egwene decided that perhaps it was a good time to panic after all. Pulling herself back slowly so as not to draw Nesune’s sharp eye, she whipped around as soon as she was out of the woman’s sight, gathered her skirts and ran, bulling her way into the crowd. For all of three strides she ran. Then she struck a stone wall, bounced off, and sat down in the street so hard that she bounced again on the hot paving blocks.

Dazed, she stared up, becoming more dazed by the heartbeat. The stone wall was Gawyn, staring down at her, looking as stunned as she. His eyes were the most brilliant blue. And those red-gold curls. She wanted to wrap those around her fingers again. She felt her face going scarlet. You never did that, she thought firmly. It was only a dream!

“Did I hurt you?” he said anxiously, beginning to kneel beside her.

She scrambled to her feet, dusting herself off hurriedly; if she could have had a wish granted right then, it would be never to blush again. Already they had attracted a ring of onlookers. Wrapping an arm in his, she drew him down the street the way she had been going. A glance over her shoulder revealed only the milling throng. Even if Nesune came to that very corner, she would see nothing more. Still, Egwene did not slow; the crowd gave way for an Aiel woman and a man tall enough to be Aiel even if he did wear a sword. The way he moved said he knew how to use it; he moved like a Warder.

After a dozen paces she reluctantly unwound her arm from his. He caught her hand before it got away, though, and she let him hold it as they walked. “I suppose,” he mused after a bit, “that I am to ignore the fact that you are dressed like an Aiel. The last I heard, you were in Illian. And I suppose I should not comment on you running away from a palace where six Aes Sedai are staying. Strange behavior for an Accepted.”

“I’ve never been in Illian,” she said, hastily looking around to see if any Aiel were close enough to have heard. Several glanced in her direction, but none were in earshot. Suddenly what he had said hit her. She took in his green coat, the same shade as those on the soldiers. “You’re with them. The Tower Aes Sedai.” Light, she was a fool not to have realized as soon as she saw him.

His face softened; it had been very hard for an instant. “I command the guard of honor the Aes Sedai have brought to escort the Dragon Reborn to Tar Valon.” His voice was a curious blend, wryness and anger and weariness. “If he chooses to go, at least. And if he was here. I understand he . . . appears and disappears. Coiren is vexed.”

Egwene’s heart was in her throat. “I . . . I must ask you a favor, Gawyn.”

“Anything except these,” he said simply. “I will not harm Elayne or Andor, and I will not become Dragonsworn. Anything else in my power is yours.”

Heads turned toward them. Any mention of Dragonsworn caught ears. Four hard-faced men with wagon drivers’ whips coiled over their shoulders glared at Gawyn, cracking their knuckles the way some men did before fighting. Gawyn only looked at them. They were not small men, but their belligerence faded under his gaze. Two actually knuckled their foreheads to him before they all slipped away into the river of people. But there were still too many staring, too many trying to look as if they were not listening. Dressed as she was, she attracted eyes without saying a word. Add in a man with red-gold hair, well over a span tall, who looked a Warder, and the combination could not help but draw attention.

“I need to speak with you privately,” she said. If any woman has bonded Gawyn Warder, I’ll . . . curiously, the thought had no real heat.

Without a word he took her to a nearby inn, The Long Man, where a golden crown tossed to the round innkeeper produced an almost reverent curtsy and a small private dining room, dark-paneled, with heavily polished table and chairs and dried flowers in a blue vase on the hearth. Gawyn closed the door, and a sudden awkwardness descended as they faced each other alone. Light, but he was gorgeous, easily as gorgeous as Galad, and the way his hair curled around his ears . . .

Gawyn cleared his throat. “The heat seems to get worse every day.” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face, then offered it to her. Abruptly realizing it was used, he cleared his throat again. “I have another, I think.”

She produced her own while he was searching his pockets. “Gawyn, how can you serve Elaida after what she did?”

“The Younglings serve the Tower,” he replied stiffly, but his head swung uneasily. “We do as long as . . . Siuan Sanche . . . ” For a moment his eyes went icy cold. Just for an instant. “Egwene, my mother always used to say, ‘Even a queen must obey the law she makes, or there is no law.’ ” He shook his head angrily. “I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here. I should have known you would be where al’Thor is.”

“Why do you hate him?” That had been hate in his voice or she had never heard it. “Gawyn, he really is the Dragon Reborn. You must have heard what happened in Tear. He—”

“I do not care if he is the Creator made flesh,” he graced. “Al’Thor killed my mother!”

Egwene’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Gawyn, no! No, he did not!”

“Can you swear it? Were you there when she died? It’s on every tongue. The Dragon Reborn took Caemlyn, and killed Morgase. He probably killed Elayne, too. I can find no word of her.” All the anger drained out of him. He slumped where he stood, head falling forward, fists clenched and eyes closed. “I can find out nothing,” he whispered.

“Elayne is unharmed,” Egwene said, surprised to find herself right in front of him. She reached up, and surprised herself again by running her fingers into his hair as she raised his head. It felt just as she remembered. Her hands flashed back as if burned. She was sure she would flush so crimson her face would ignite, except . . . color stained Gawyn’s cheeks. Of course. He remembered too, though only as his own dream. That truly should have set her face afire, but somehow it did the opposite. Gawyn’s blush steadied her nerves, even made her want to smile. “Elayne is safe, Gawyn. I can swear to that.”

“Where is she?” His voice was anguished. “Where has she been? Her place is in Caemlyn now. Well, not Caemlyn—not so long as al’Thor might be there—but in Andor. Where is she, Egwene?”

“I . . . cannot tell you. I can’t, Gawyn.”

He studied her, face expressionless, then sighed. “You are more Aes Sedai every time I see you.” His laugh sounded forced. “Do you know I used to think about being your Warder? How is that for foolish?”

“You will be my Warder.” She had not realized the words were coming out of her mouth until they did, but once they did, she knew they were true. That dream. Gawyn kneeling for her to hold his head. It could have meant a hundred things or nothing, but she knew.

He grinned at her. The idiot thought she was joking! “Not me, surely. Galad, I think. Though you’ll have to beat away other Aes Sedai with a stick. Aes Sedai, serving girls, queens, chambermaids, merchants, farmwives . . . I’ve seen them all look at him. Don’t bother claiming you don’t think he’s—”

The simplest way to silence that nonsense was to put a hand over his mouth. “I do not love Galad. I love you.”

The man still tried to pretend it was a jest, smiling against her fingers. “I cannot be a Warder. I’m to be Elayne’s First Prince of the Sword.”

“If the Queen of Andor can be Aes Sedai, a Prince can be a Warder. And you will be mine. Push that through your thick skull: I am serious. And I love you.” He stared at her. At least he was not smiling anymore. But he said nothing, just stared. She took her hand away. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“When you wish for so long that you could hear something,” he said slowly, “and then suddenly, with no warning, you do, it is like a lightning strike and rain on parched ground at the same time. You’re stunned, but you cannot hear enough.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she told him, smiling. “Well?”

For answer, he picked her up and kissed her. It was every bit as good as the dreams. It was better. It was . . . when he finally set her down, she clung to his arms; her knees did not seem to be working properly. “My Lady Aiel Egwene Aes Sedai,” he said, “I love you, and I cannot wait for you to bond me.” Shedding mock formality, he added in a softer tone, “I love you, Egwene al’Vere. You said you wanted a favor. What? The moon on a necklace? I’ll set a goldsmith to work within the hour. Stars to wear in your hair? I will—”

“Don’t tell Coiren or the others that I am here. Don’t mention me to them at all.”

She expected some hesitation, but he simply said, “They’ll not learn of you from me. Or from anyone else, can I help it.” He paused a moment, then took her by the shoulders. “Egwene, I will not ask why you’re here. No, just listen. I know Siuan mired you in her schemes, and I understand that you feel loyalty to a man from your own village. That doesn’t matter. You should be in the White Tower, studying; I remember them all saying you were going to be a powerful Aes Sedai one day. Do you have a plan for returning without . . . penalties?” She shook her head wordlessly, and he went on in a rush. “Maybe I can think of something, if you don’t first. I know you had no choice but to obey Siuan, but I doubt Elaida will give that much weight; even mentioning the name Siuan Sanche around her is nearly as much as your head is worth. I will find some way, somehow. I swear it. But promise me that until I do you will not . . . do anything foolish.” His hands tightened for a moment almost to the point of pain. “Just promise me you will be careful.”

Light, but this was a fine pickle. She could not tell him she had no intention of returning to the Tower as long as Elaida sat on the Amyrlin Seat. And something foolish almost certainly meant anything to do with Rand. He looked so worried. For her. “I will be careful, Gawyn. I promise.” As careful as I can be, she amended to herself; it was only a small change, but somehow it made what she had to say next more difficult. “I have a second favor to ask. Rand did not kill your mother.” How could she word this to put the least strain on him? Strain or no, she had to. “Promise me you will not raise a hand against Rand until I can prove he didn’t.”

“I swear.” Again no hesitation, but his voice was rough, and his hands squeezed again briefly, harder than before. She did not flinch; the slight pain felt like a repayment for the pain she was causing him.

“It has to be that way, Gawyn. He did not do it, but it will take time to prove.” How under the Light could she? Rand’s word would not be enough. All such a tangle. She had to concentrate on one thing at a time. What were those Aes Sedai up to?

Gawyn startled her by drawing a ragged breath. “I will give over everything, betray everything, for you. Come away with me, Egwene. We will both leave it all behind. I have a small estate south of Whitebridge, with a vineyard and a village, so far into the country that the sun rises two days late. The world will hardly touch us there. We can be married on the way. I don’t know how much time we will have—al’Thor; Tarmon Gai’don—I do not know; but we will have it together.”

She stared up at him in amazement. Then she realized she had voiced that last thought aloud, What were those Aes Sedai up to?, and a key word—betray—slid into place. He thought she wanted him to spy on them. And he would. Desperately seeking a way not to, he still would, if she asked. Anything, he had promised, and anything he meant, whatever the cost to him. She made a promise to herself; to him really, but it was not the sort of promise she could speak aloud. If he let slip something she could use, she would—she had to—but she would not dig, not for the smallest scrap. Whatever the cost. Sarene Nemdahl would never understand, but it was the only way she could match what he had laid at her feet.

“I cannot,” she said softly. “You can never know how much I want to, but I cannot.” She laughed abruptly, feeling tears in her eyes. “And you. Betray? Gawyn Trakand, that word fits you as darkness fits the sun.” Unspoken promises were all very well, but she could not leave it at that. She would use what he gave her, use it against what he believed. There had to be an offering. “I sleep in the tents, but every morning I walk in the city. I come through the Dragonwall Gate, not long after sunrise.”

He understood, of course. Her offering of faith in his word, her freedom put in his pocket. He took her hands in both of his, turned them so he could kiss her palms gently. “A precious thing, what you’ve given me to hold. If I go to the Dragonwall Gate every morning, someone is sure to notice, and I may not be able to get away every morning, but do not be too surprised if I appear beside you shortly after you enter the city most days.”

When Egwene finally got back outside, the sun had moved a considerable distance into the hottest part of the afternoon, thinning the crowds a little. Saying goodbye had taken longer than she thought it would; kissing Gawyn might not be the sort of exercise the Wise Ones intended her to take, but her heart was still racing as if she had been running.

Putting him firmly out of mind—well, pushing him to the back with some effort; putting him out seemed to be beyond her—she returned to her vantage point beside the stable. Someone was still channeling inside the mansion; more than one probably, unless that one was weaving something large; the feel was less than earlier, but still strong. A woman was going into the house, a dark-haired woman Egwene did not recognize, though the agelessness of that hard face marked her. She did not try to eavesdrop again and did not stay long—if they were going in and out, there was too much chance of being seen and recognized despite her clothes—but as she hurried away, one thought hammered at her. What were they up to?

“We intend to offer him escort to Tar Valon,” Katerine Alruddin said, shifting slightly. She could never decide whether Cairhienin chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked or one merely believed they were because they looked so uncomfortable. “Once he leaves Cairhien for Tar Valon, there will be . . . a vacuum here.”

Unsmiling in the gilded chair opposite her, the Lady Colavaere leaned forward slightly. “You interest me, Katerine Sedai. Leave us,” she snapped to the servants.

Katerine smiled.

“We intend to offer him escort to Tar Valon,” Nesune said precisely, but she felt the smallest flash of irritation. Despite a smooth face, the Tairen kept shifting his feet, anxious in the presence of an Aes Sedai, perhaps apprehensive that she might channel. Only an Amadician would have been worse. “Once he departs for Tar Valon, there will be a need for strength in Cairhien.”

The High Lord Meilan licked his lips. “Why do you tell me this?”

Nesune’s smile might have meant anything.

When Sarene entered the sitting room, only Coiren and Erian were there sipping at tea. And a servant waiting to pour, of course. Sarene motioned him out. “Berelain, she may prove to be difficult,” she said once the door closed. “I do not know whether the apple or the whip will work best with her. I am supposed to see Aracome tomorrow, am I not, but I think that more time will be necessary with Berelain.”

“Apple or whip,” Erian said in a tight voice. “Whichever do be necessary.” Her face might have been pale marble framed by raven’s wings. Sarene’s secret vice was poetry, though she would never have let anyone know she could be interested in something so . . . emotional. She would have died of shame had Vitalien, her Warder, ever discovered that she had written lines comparing him to a leopard, among other graceful, powerful and dangerous animals.

“Pull yourself together, Erian.” As usual, Coiren sounded as if she were making a speech. “What troubles her, Sarene, is a rumor that Galina heard, a rumor that a Green sister was in Tear with young Rand al’Thor and is now here in Cairhien.” She always called him “young Rand al’Thor,” as though reminding her listeners that he was young and therefore inexperienced.

“Moiraine and a Green,” Sarene mused. That could indeed indicate trouble. Elaida insisted that Moiraine and Siuan had acted alone in letting al’Thor run without guidance, but if even one additional Aes Sedai was involved, it might mean others had been as well, and that was a string that might lead all the way to some, perhaps many, of those who had fled the Tower when Siuan was deposed. “Still, it is only the rumor.”

“Perhaps not,” Galina said as she slipped into the chamber. “Have you not heard? Someone channeled at us this morning. For what purpose I cannot say, but we can imagine very closely I believe.”

The beads worked in Sarene’s tiny dark braids made clicking noises as she shook her head. “It is not the proof of a Green, Galina. It is not even the proof of an Aes Sedai. I have heard the tales that some Aiel women can channel, these Wise Women. It could be some poor wretch who was put out of the Tower for failing the test as Accepted.”

Galina smiled, a sliver of teeth in night-eyed sternness. “I think it is proof of Moiraine. I have heard she had a trick of eavesdropping, and I do not believe this story of her so conveniently dead, with no corpse seen and no one able to tell details.”

That bothered Sarene as well. Partly because she had liked Moiraine—they had been friends as novices and Accepted, though Moiraine was a year ahead, and that friendship had continued over their few meetings in the years since—and partly because it was too vague and too convenient, Moiraine dying, vanishing really, when an arrest warrant hung over her. Moiraine might well be capable of faking her own death under those circumstances. “So you believe we have both Moiraine and a Green sister whose name we do not know to deal with? It is still only the speculation, Galina.”

Galina’s smile did not change, but her eyes glittered. She was too hard for logic—she believed what she believed whatever the evidence—yet Sarene had always believed great fires roared somewhere in Galina’s depths. “What I believe,” Galina said, “is that Moiraine is the so-called Green. What better way to hide from arrests than to die and reappear as someone else of another Ajah? I have even heard that this Green is short; we all know Moiraine is far from a tall woman.” Erian had sat up stony straight, her brown eyes large smoldering coals of outrage. “When we lay hands on this Green sister,” Galina told her, “I propose that we give her into your charge for the journey back to the Tower.” Erian nodded sharply, but the heat did not fade from her eyes.

Sarene felt stunned. Moiraine? Claim another Ajah than her own? Surely not. Sarene had never married—it was illogical to believe two people could remain compatible for a lifetime—but the only thing she could compare that to was sleeping with another woman’s husband. But it was the charge that stunned her, not the possibility that it might be true. She was about to point out that there were many short women in the world, and that shortness was relative, when Coiren spoke in that billowing voice.

“Sarene, you must take your turn again. We must be prepared, whatever happens.”

“I do not like it,” Erian said firmly. “It does be like preparing for failure.”

“It is only logical,” Sarene told her. “Dividing time into the smallest possible increments, it is impossible to say with any true certainty what will happen between one and the next. Since chasing al’Thor to Caemlyn might mean we would arrive to find that he has come here, we remain here with as much certainty as we can have that he will eventually return, yet that could be tomorrow or a month from now. Any single event in any hour of that wait, or any combination of events, could leave us with no alternative. Thus, preparation is logical.”

“Very nicely explained,” Erian said dryly. She had no head for logic; sometimes Sarene thought that beautiful women did not, though there was no logic in the connection that she could see.

“We have as much time as we need,” Coiren pronounced. When she was not making a speech, she made pronouncements. “Beldeine arrived today and took a room near the river, but Mayam is not due for two days. We must take care, and that gives us time.”

“I still do not like preparing for failure,” Erian murmured into her teacup.

“I will not take it amiss,” Galina said, “if we find time to take Moiraine to justice. We have waited this long; there is not that much hurry with al’Thor.”

Sarene sighed. They did very well at the things they did, but she could not understand it; there was barely a logical bone in one of them.

Retiring upstairs to her chambers, she seated herself in front of the cold fireplace and began to channel. Could this Rand al’Thor really have rediscovered how to Travel? It surpassed belief, yet it was the only explanation. What sort of man was he? That she would discover when she met him, not before. Filled with saidar nearly to the point where sweetness became pain, she began running through novice exercises. They were as good as anything. Preparation was only logical.