“My Lady Colavaere.”
She stopped as soon as he spoke her name, cool-eyed and calm beneath her ornate tower of dark curls. Selande had no choice but to remain with her, though she was plainly as reluctant to stay as the others were to go. Meilan and Maringil bowed themselves out last, so intent on Colavaere and trying to puzzle out why she had been called to stay that they did not realize they were side by side. Their eyes were a perfect match, dark and predatory.
The dark-paneled door closed. “Selande is very pretty young woman,” Rand said. “But some prefer the company of a more mature . . . more knowledgeable . . . woman. You will sup alone with me tonight, when Second Even is rung. I look forward to the pleasure.” He waved her away before she could say anything, if she could have. Her face did not change, but her curtsy was a trifle unsteady. Selande looked purely amazed. And infinitely relieved.
Once the door had closed again, behind the two women, Rand threw back his head and laughed. A harsh, sardonic laugh. He was tired of the Game of Houses, so he played it without thinking. He was disgusted with himself for frightening one woman, so he frightened another. It was reason enough to laugh. Colavaere stood behind that line of young women who had been flinging themselves at him. Find a bedpartner for the Lord Dragon, a young woman whose strings she pulled, and Colavaere would have a string tied firmly to Rand. But it was some other woman she meant to bed, and perhaps even marry, the Dragon Reborn. Now she would sweat all the hours until Second Even. She had to know she was pretty, if short of beautiful, and if he rebuffed all the young women she sent, perhaps it was because he wanted one with another fifteen or so years. And she would be certain she did not dare say no to the man who held Cairhien in his fist. By tonight, she should be amenable, should stop this idiocy. Aviendha would very likely slit the throat of any woman she found in his bed; besides, he had no time for all these easily frightened doves thinking to sacrifice themselves for Cairhien and Colavaere, There were too many problems to deal with, and no time.
Light, what if Colavaere decides it’s worth the sacrifice? She might. She was easily cold-blooded enough. Then I’ll have to see that it’s cold with fear. It would not be difficult. He could sense saidin like something just beyond the edge of sight. He could feel the taint on it. Sometimes he thought that what he felt was the taint in him, now, the dregs left by saidin.
He found that he was glaring at Asmodean. The man seemed to be studying him, face expressionless. The music resumed again, like water babbling over stones, soothing. So he needed soothing, did he?
The door opened without a knock, admitting Moiraine, Egwene and Aviendha together, the younger women’s Aiel garb framing the Aes Sedai’s pale blue. For anyone else, even Rhuarc or another chief still near the city or yet another delegation of Wise Ones, a Maiden would have entered to announce them. These three the Maidens sent on in even if he was taking a bath. Egwene glanced at “Natael” and grimaced, and the tune became lower, and for a moment intricate, perhaps a dance, before settling to what might have been the sighing of breezes. The man wore a twisted smile, directed at his harp.
“I’m surprised to see you, Egwene,” Rand said. He swung his leg over the arm of the chair. “What is it—six days you’ve been avoiding me? Have you brought me more good news? Has Masema sacked Amador in my name? Or have these Aes Sedai you say support me turned out to be Black Ajah? You notice I don’t ask who they are, or where. Not even how you know. I don’t ask you to divulge Aes Sedai secrets, or Wise Ones’ secrets, or whatever they are. Just give me the driblets you’re willing to dole out, and let me worry whether what you don’t care to tell me will stab me in the night.”
She looked at him calmly. “You know what you need to know. And I will not tell you what you do not need to know.” That was what she had said six days ago. She was as much Aes Sedai as Moiraine, for all one wore Aiel garb and the other pale blue silk.
There was nothing calm about Aviendha. She moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Egwene, green eyes flashing, back so straight it might have been iron. He was half surprised Moiraine did not join them, so they could all three glare at him. Her vow of obedience left a startling amount of room, it seemed, and the three seemed to have become close since his argument with Egwene. Not that it had been much of an argument; you could not argue very well with a woman who watched with cool eyes, never raised her voice, and after one refusal to answer declined even to acknowledge your question again.
“What do you want?” he said.
“These came for you in the last hour,” Moiraine said, extending two folded letters. Her voice seemed to fit Asmodean’s chime-like tune.
Rand rose to take them suspiciously. “If they’re for me, how did they come into your hands?” One was addressed to “Rand al’Thor” in an exact, angular hand, the other to “The Lord Dragon Reborn” in script flowing yet no less precise. The seals were unbroken. A second look made him blink. The two seals seemed to be the same red wax, and one bore the impression of the Flame of Tar Valon, the other a tower overlaid on what he recognized as the island of Tar Valon.
“Perhaps because of where they came from,” Moiraine replied, “and from whom.” It was no explanation, but it was as much as he would get unless he demanded more. Even then he would have to prod her through every step. She kept her vow, but in her own way. “There are no poison needles in the seals. And no traps woven.”
He paused with his thumb against the Flame of Tar Valon—he had not thought of either—then broke it. Another Flame in red wax stood beside the signature, Elaida do Avriny a’Roihan in a hasty scrawl above her titles. The rest was in the angular hand.
There can be no denial that you are the one prophesied, yet many will try to destroy you for what else you are. For the sake of the world, this cannot be allowed. Two nations have bent knee to you, and the savage Aiel as well, but the power of thrones is as dust beside the One Power. The White Tower will shelter and protect you against those who refuse to see what must be. The White Tower will see that you live to see Tarmon Gai’don. None else can do this. An escort of Aes Sedai will come to bring you to Tar Valon with the honor and respect you deserve. This I pledge to you.
“She doesn’t even ask,” he said wryly. He remembered Elaida well for having met her only once. A woman hard enough to make Moiraine seem a kitten. The “honor and respect” he deserved. He would wager that the escort of Aes Sedai just happened to number thirteen.
Passing Elaida’s letter back to Moiraine, he opened the other. The page was covered in the same hand that had addressed it.
With respect, I humbly beg to make myself known to the great Lord Dragon Reborn, whom the Light blesses as savior of the world.
All the world must stand in awe of you, who has conquered Cairhien in one day as you did Tear. Yet be wary, I beseech you, for your splendor will inspire jealousy even in those not toiled in the Shadow. Even here in the White Tower are the blind who cannot see your true radiance, which will illumine us all. Yet know that some rejoice in your coming, and will delight to serve your glory. We are not those who would steal your luster for ourselves, but rather those who would kneel to bask in your brilliance. You shall save the world, according to the Prophecies, and the world shall be yours.
To my shame, I must beg you to let no one see these words, and to destroy them when once read. I stand, naked of your protection, among some who would usurp your power, and I cannot know who around you is as faithful as I. I am told that Moiraine Damodred may be with you. She may serve you devotedly, obeying your words as law, as I will, yet I cannot know, for I remember her as a secretive woman, much given to plotting, as Cairhienin are. Yet even if you believe she is your creature, as I, I beg you to keep this missive secret, even from her. My life lies beneath your fingers, my Lord Dragon Reborn, and I am your servant.
Alviarin Freidhen
He read it through again, blinking, then handed it to Moiraine. She barely scanned the page before giving it to Egwene, who had her head over the other le
tter with Aviendha. Perhaps Moiraine already knew what they contained?
“A good thing you gave your oath,” he said. “The way you used to be, keeping everything back, I might have been ready to suspect you by now. A good thing you’re more open now.” She did not react. “What do you make of it?”
“She must have heard about your swelled head,” Egwene said softly. He did not think he had been meant to hear. Shaking her head, she said more loudly, “This doesn’t sound like Alviarin at all.”
“It is her hand,” Moiraine said. “What do you make of it, Rand?”
“I think there’s a rift in the Tower, whether Elaida knows it or not. I assume an Aes Sedai can’t write a lie more easily than she can speak one?” He did not wait for her nod. “If Alviarin had been less flowery, I might have thought they were working together to pull me in. I can’t see Elaida even thinking half of what Alviarin wrote, and I can’t see her having a Keeper who could write it, not if she knew.”
“You are not going to do this thing,” Aviendha said, Elaida’s letter crumpled in her hand. It was not a question.
“I am not a fool.”
“Sometimes you are not,” she said grudgingly, and made it worse by raising a questioning eyebrow to Egwene, who considered for a moment, then shrugged.
“Do you see anything else?” Moiraine asked.
“I see White Tower spies,” he told her dryly. “They know I hold the city.” For at least two or three days after the battle, the Shaido would have stopped anything but a pigeon going north. Even a rider who knew where to change horses, no sure thing between Cairhien and Tar Valon, could not have reached the Tower in time for these letters to come back today.
Moiraine smiled. “You learn quickly. You will do well.” For a moment she almost looked fond. “What will you do about it?”
“Nothing, except make sure that Elaida’s ‘escort’ doesn’t get within a mile of me.” Thirteen of the weakest Aes Sedai could overwhelm him linked, and he did not think Elaida would send her weakest. “That, and be aware that the Tower knows what I do the day after I do it. Nothing more until I know more. Could Alviarin be one of your mysterious friends, Egwene?”
She hesitated, and he suddenly wondered whether she had told Moiraine any more than she had him. Was it Aes Sedai secrets she kept, or Wise Ones’? At last she said simply, “I do not know.”
A rap came at the door, and Somara put her flaxen head into the room. “Matrim Cauthon has come, Car’a’carn. He says that you sent for him.”
Four hours ago, as soon as he had learned Mat was back in the city. What would the excuse be this time? It was time to be done with excuses. “Stay,” he told the women. Wise Ones made Mat almost as uneasy as Aes Sedai did; these three would put him off balance. He did not give a second thought to using them. He was going to use Mat, too. “Send him in, Somara.”
Mat strolled into the room grinning, as if it was a common room. His green coat hung open, and his shirt was half unlaced, exposing the silver foxhead dangling on his sweaty chest, but the dark silk scarf was draped around his neck to hide his hanging scar in spite of the heat. “Sorry if I took too long. There were some Cairhienin who thought they knew how to play cards. Doesn’t he know anything livelier?” he asked, jerking his head toward Asmodean.
“I hear,” Rand said, “that every young man who can pick up a sword wants to join the Band of the Red Hand. Talmanes and Nalesean are having to turn them away in droves. And Daerid has doubled the number of his footmen.”
Mat paused in lowering himself into the chair Aracome had used. “It’s true. A fine lot of young . . . fellows wanting to be heroes.”
“The Band of the Red Hand,” Moiraine murmured. “Shen an Calhar. A legendary group of heroes indeed, though the men in it must have changed many times in a war that lasted well over three hundred years. It is said they were the last to fall to the Trollocs, guarding Aemon himself, when Manetheren died. Legend says a spring rose where they fell, to mark their passing, but I rather think the spring was already there.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.” Mat touched the foxhead medallion, and his voice picked up strength. “Some fool got the name from somewhere, and they all started using it.”
Moiraine glanced at the medallion dismissively. The small blue stone hanging on the forehead seemed to catch the light and glow, though the angles were wrong. “You are very brave, it seems, Mat.” It was flatly said, and the silence that followed stiffened his face. “Very brave,” she said finally, “to lead Shen an Calhar across the Alguenya and south against the Andorans. Even braver than that, for there are rumors that you went alone to scout the way, and Talmanes and Nalesean had to ride hard to catch up to you.” Egwene sniffed loudly in the background. “Hardly wise for a young lord leading his men.”
Mat’s lip curled. “I’m no lord. I’ve more respect for myself than that.”
“But very brave,” Moiraine said as if he had not spoken. “Andoran supply wagons burned, outposts destroyed. And three battles. Three battles, and three victories. With small loss to your own men, though outnumbered.” As she fingered a rip in the shoulder of his coat, he sank back as far the chair would allow. “Are you drawn to the thick of battles, or are they drawn to you? I am almost surprised you came back. To hear the stories, you might have driven the Andorans back across the Erinin had you stayed.”
“Do you think this is funny?” Mat snarled. “If you have something to say, say it. You can play the cat all you want, but I’m no mouse.” For an instant his eyes flickered toward Egwene and Aviendha, watching with folded arms, and he fingered the silver foxhead again. He had to be wondering. It had stopped one woman’s channeling from touching him. Would it stop three?
Rand only watched. Watched his friend being softened for what he meant to do to him. Is there anything left to me but necessity? It was a quick thought, there and gone. He would do what he must.
The Aes Sedai’s voice gained a rime of crystal frost as she spoke, almost in an echo. “We all do as we must, as the Pattern decrees. For some there is less freedom than for others. It does not matter whether we choose or are chosen. What must be, must be.”
Mat did not look softened at all. Wary, yes, and certainly angry, but not softened. He could have been a tomcat backed into a corner by three hounds. A tomcat who meant to go down hard. He seemed to have forgotten anyone was in the room except for himself and the three women. “You always have to push a man where you want him, don’t you? Kick him there, if he won’t go led by the nose. Blood and bloody ashes! Don’t glare at me, Egwene, I’ll speak the way I want. Burn me! All it needs is for Nynaeve to be here, yanking her braid out of her head, and Elayne staring down her nose. Well, I’m glad she isn’t, to hear the news, but even if you had Nynaeve, I’d not be shoved—”
“What news?” Rand said sharply. “News Elayne shouldn’t hear?”
Mat looked up at Moiraine. “You mean there’s something you haven’t ferreted out?”
“What news, Mat?” Rand demanded.
“Morgase is dead.”
Egwene gasped, clasping both hands to her mouth below eyes like huge circles. Moiraine whispered something that might have been a prayer. Asmodean’s fingers never faltered on the harp.
Rand felt as if his belly had been ripped out. Elayne, forgive me. And a faint echo, altered. Ilyena, forgive me. “Are you certain?”
“As certain as I can be without seeing the body. It seems Gaebril has been named King of Andor. And Cairhien, too, for that matter. Supposedly Morgase did it. Something about the times needing a strong man’s hand or some such, as if anybody could have a stronger than Morgase herself. Only, those Andorans down south have heard rumors that she hasn’t been seen in weeks. More than rumors. You tell me what it adds up to. Andor’s never had a king, but now it has one, and the queen’s vanished. Gaebril’s the one wanted Elayne killed. I tried to tell her that, but you know how she always knows more than a mudfooted farmer. I don’t think he’d balk a second at slit
ting a queen’s throat.”
Rand discovered that he was sitting in one of the chairs across from Mat, though he did not remember moving. Aviendha laid a hand on his shoulder. Concern tightened her eyes. “I am all right,” he said roughly. “There’s no need to send for Somara.” Her face reddened, but he hardly noticed.
Elayne would never be able to forgive him. He had known that Rahvin—Gaebril—held Morgase prisoner, but he had ignored it because the Forsaken might expect him to help her. He had gone his own way, to do what they did not expect. And ended chasing Couladin instead of doing what he planned. He had known, and concentrated his attention on Sammael. Because the man taunted him. Morgase could wait while he smashed Sammael’s trap and Sammael with it. And so Morgase was dead. Elayne’s mother was dead. Elayne would curse him to her deathbed.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Mat was going on. “There are a lot of queen’s men down there. They are not so sure about fighting for a king. You find Elayne. Half of them will flock to you to put her on the—”
“Shut up!” Rand barked. He quivered so hard with fury that Egwene stepped back, and even Moiraine eyed him carefully. Aviendha’s hand tightened on his shoulder, but he shook it off as he stood. Morgase dead because he had done nothing. His own hand had been on the knife as surely as Rahvin’s. Elayne. “She will be avenged. Rahvin, Mat. Not Gaebril. Rahvin. I’ll lay him by the heels if I never do another thing!”
“Oh, blood and bloody ashes!” Mat groaned.
“This is madness.” Egwene flinched as if realizing what she had said, but she kept that firm, calm voice. “You have your hands full with Cairhien yet, not to mention the Shaido to the north and whatever it is you’re planning in Tear. Do you mean to start another war, with two on your plate already and a ruined land besides?”