Before Merana could ask again, the door opened and Bera and Kiruna were herded in by Corele Hovian, a boyishly slim Yellow with thick black eyebrows and a mass of raven hair that gave her something of a wild appearance no matter how neatly she dressed, and she always dressed for a country dance, with masses of embroidery on her sleeves and bodice and up the sides of her skirts. There was barely room to move, with so many people in this confined space. Corele never failed to seem amused, whatever happened, but now she wore a wide smile somewhere between disbelief and outright laughter. Kiruna's eyes flashed in a face of frozen arrogance, while Bera fumed, mouth tight and forehead creased. Until they saw Cadsuane. Merana supposed that for them, it must be as if she had found herself face to face with Alind Dyfelle or Sevlana Meseau or even Mabriam en Shereed. Their eyes bulged. Kiruna's jaw dropped.
"I thought you were dead," Bera breathed.
Cadsuane sniffed irritably. "I am growing tired of hearing that. The next imbecile I hear it from is going to yelp for a week." Annoura began studying the toes of her slippers.
"You'll never guess where I found these two," Corele said in her lilting Murandian accent. She tapped the side of her upturned nose, the way she did when about to tell a joke, or what she saw as one. Spots of color appeared in Bera's cheeks, and larger in Kiruna's. "Bera there was sitting meek as a mouse under the eyes of half a dozen of those Aiel wilders, who told me bold as you please that she couldn't come with me until Sorilea — oh, now that woman's a harridan to give you nightmares, she is — I couldn't have Bera until Sorilea was done with her private chat with the other apprentice. Our darling Kiruna, there."
It was no longer a matter of spots. Kiruna and Bera reddened to their hair, refusing to meet anyone's eye. Even Daigian stared at them.
Relief surged through Merana in wonderful waves. She would not have to be the one to explain how the Wise Ones had interpreted that wretched al'Thor's orders that the sisters were to obey them. They were not really apprentices; there were no lessons involved, of course. What could a great lot of wilders, savages at that, teach Aes Sedai? It was just that the Wise Ones liked to know where everyone fit. Just? Bera or Kiruna could tell how al'Thor had laughed — laughed! — and said it made no difference to him and he expected them to be obedient pupils. No one was having an easy time bending her neck, least of all Kiruna.
Yet Cadsuane did not demand explanations. "I expected a dog's dinner," she said dryly, "but not a bucket from the midden. Let me see if I have the straight of it. You children who stand in rebellion against a lawfully raised Amyrlin have now somehow associated yourselves with the al'Thor boy, and if you are taking orders from these Aiel women, I assume you take his as well." Her grunt was disgusted enough for a mouthful of rotten plums. Shaking her head, she peered into her teacup, then fixed the pair again. "Well, what's one treason more or less? The Hall can put you on your knees from here to Tarmon Gai'don for penance, but they can only take your heads once. What of the rest, out in the Aiel camp? All Elaida's, I suppose. Have they also… apprenticed… themselves? None of us have been allowed as close as the first row of tents. These Aiel seem to have no love of Aes Sedai."
"I do not know, Cadsuane," Kiruna answered, so red-faced she appeared about to catch fire. "We have been kept apart." Merana's eyes widened. She had never before heard Kiruna sound deferential.
Bera, on the other hand, drew a deep breath. She already stood straight, yet she seemed to straighten herself for an unpleasant task. "Elaida is not —" she began heatedly.
"Elaida is overambitious, as near as I can make out," Cadsuane broke in, leaning forward so abruptly that Merana and Annoura both started back on the bed, though she was not looking at them, "and she may be a catastrophe simmering, but she is still the Amyrlin Seat, raised by the Hall of the Tower in full accordance with the laws of the Tower."
"If Elaida is a lawful Amyrlin, why have you not obeyed her order to return?" All that betrayed Bera's lack of composure was the stillness of her hands on her skirts. Only a marked effort to keep from clutching or smoothing could hold them so motionless.
"So one of you has a little backbone." Cadsuane laughed softly, but her eyes did not look mirthful at all. Leaning back, she sipped her tea. "Now sit down. I have a great many more questions."
Merana and Annoura rose, offering their places on the bed, but Kiruna simply stood peering at Cadsuane worriedly, and Bera glanced at her friend, then shook her head. Corele rolled her blue eyes, grinning broadly for some reason, but Cadsuane did not seem to care.
"Half the rumors I hear," she said, "concern the Forsaken being loose. It would hardly be a surprise, with all else, but do you have any evidence, for or against?"
Before very long, Merana was glad to be sitting; before very long, she knew what laundry felt going through the laundress's mangle. Cadsuane did all the questioning, dodging from topic to topic so you never knew what was coming next. Corele held her peace except for chuckling now and then or shaking her head, and Daigian did not even do that, of course. Merana caught the worst, her and Bera and Kiruna, yet Annoura was certainly not spared. Every time Berelain's advisor relaxed, thinking she was in the clear, Cadsuane skewered her anew.
The woman wanted to know everything, from the al'Thor boy's authority with the Aiel to why a Sea Folk Wavemistress was anchored in the river, from whether Moiraine truly was dead to whether the boy really had rediscovered Traveling and whether Berelain had bedded him or had any intention of it. What Cadsuane thought of the answers was impossible to say, except once, when she learned that Alanna had bonded al'Thor, and how. Her mouth compressed to a thin line and she frowned a hole though the wall, but while everyone else expressed disgust, Merana thought of Cadsuane saying she had considered taking another Warder herself.
The answer was ignorance entirely too often to suit, but saying you did not know failed to quench Cadsuane's appetite; she required every last shred and particle you did know, even if you did not know you knew it. They managed to keep a little back, most of what had to be kept back, yet a few surprising things came out that way, some very surprising, even from Annoura, who, it turned out, had been receiving detailed letters from Berelain almost from the day the girl rode north. Cadsuane demanded answers, but gave none, and that worried Merana. She watched faces grow dogged and defensive and apologetic, and wondered whether her own looked the same.
"Cadsuane." She had to make one more effort. "Cadsuane, why have you decided to take an interest in him now?" An unblinking gaze met hers for a moment, then Cadsuane turned her attention to Bera and Kiruna.
"So they actually managed to kidnap him right out of the palace," the gray-haired woman said, holding out her empty cup for Daigian to refill. No one else had been offered tea. Cadsuane's expression and tone were so neutral that Merana wanted to tear her own hair. Al'Thor would not be pleased if he learned Kiruna had revealed the kidnapping, however inadvertently; Cadsuane used any slip of your tongue to pry out more than you meant to say. At least the details of his treatment had not come out. He had made plain how displeased he would be if that happened. Merana thanked the Light that the woman was not staying with any one subject for long.
"You are sure it was Taim? And you are sure these blackcoats didn't arrive on horses?" Bera answered reluctantly, and Kiruna sullenly; they were as certain as they could be; no one had actually seen the Asha'man come or depart, and the… hole… that brought them all here could have been made by al'Thor. Which did not satisfy at all, of course.
"Think! You aren't silly girls any longer, or shouldn't be. Phaw! You must have noticed something."
Merana felt ill. She and the others had spent half the night arguing over what their oath meant before deciding it meant exactly what they had said, with no loopholes to wriggle through. At last even Kiruna conceded that they must defend and support al'Thor as well as obey, that standing aside in the slightest was not permitted. What that might mean when it came to Elaida and the sisters loyal to her really concerned no one. At least, n
o one admitted any concern. The mere fact of what they had decided was stunner enough. But Merana wondered whether Bera or Kiruna had yet realized what she had. They might just find themselves opposing a legend, not to mention whatever sisters besides Corele and Daigian had chosen to follow her. Worse… Cadsuane's eyes rested on her for a moment, giving away nothing, demanding everything. Worse, Merana was sure that Cadsuane knew that very well.
Hurrying along the palace corridors, Min ignored greetings from half a dozen Maidens she knew, just trotted right by without a word in return, never considering that she was being rude. Trotting was not easy in heeled boots. The fool things women did for men! Not that Rand had asked her to wear the boots, but she put them on the first time with him in mind, and she had seen him smile. He liked them. Light, what was she doing, thinking about boots! She should never have gone to Colavaere's apartments. Shivering, blinking back unshed tears, she began to run.
As usual, a number of Maidens were squatting on their heels beside the tall doors worked with gilded rising suns. Their shoufa hung about their shoulders and their spears lay across their knees, yet there was nothing casual about them. They were leopards, waiting for something to kill. Usually Maidens made Min uneasy, for all they were friendly enough. Today, she would not have cared if they were veiled.
"He is in a foul temper," Riallin warned, but made no move to stop her. Min was one of the few allowed to enter Rand's presence without being announced. She straightened her coat and tried to settle herself. She was not sure why she had come. Except that Rand made her feel safe. Burn him! She had never needed anyone to feel safe before.
Just inside the room, she stopped, aghast. Automatically, she pushed the door shut behind her. The place was a shambles. A few glittering shards clung to some of the mirror frames, but most of the glass lay scattered across the floor. The dais was on its side, the throne that had stood atop it just gilded flinders where it had been smashed against a wall. One of the stand-lamps, heavy iron beneath the gilt, had been twisted into a hoop. Rand sat in one of the smaller chairs in his shirtsleeves, arms dangling and head back, staring at the ceiling. Staring at nothing. Images danced about him and colored auras flickered and flared; he was like Aes Sedai in that. She had no need of Illuminators when Rand or an Aes Sedai was in sight. He did not move as she walked farther into the room. He did not seem aware of her at all. Shattered bits of mirror crunched beneath her boots. A foul temper, indeed.
Even so, she felt no fear. Not of him; she could not begin to imagine Rand harming her. For him, she felt enough to nearly purge the memory of Colavaere's apartments from her head. She had long since reconciled herself to being hopelessly in love. Nothing else mattered, not that he was an unsophisticated countryman, younger than she, not who or what he was, not that he was doomed to go mad and die if he was not killed first. I don't even mind having to share him, she thought, and knew how tightly she was caught if she could lie to herself. That, she had forced herself to accept; Elayne had a part of him, a claim on him, and so did this Aviendha woman she had yet to meet. What could not be mended must be lived with, so her Aunt Jan always said. Especially when your brains had gone soft. Light, she had always prided herself on keeping her wits.
She stopped beside one of the chairs, where the Dragon Scepter had driven into the thick wooden back so hard that the point stood out nearly a hand behind. In love with a man who did not know, who would send her away should he ever became aware. A man she was sure was in love with her. And with Elayne, and this Aviendha, too; that, she rushed by. What could not be mended… He was in love with her and refused to admit it. Did he think that just because mad Lews Therin Telamon had killed the woman he loved, he was fated to as well?
"I'm glad you came," he said suddenly, still staring at the ceiling. "I've been sitting here alone. Alone." He gave a bitter bark of a laugh. "Herid Fel is dead."
"No," she whispered, "not that sweet little old man." Her eyes stung.
"He was torn apart." Rand's voice was so tired. So empty. "Idrien fainted when she found him. She lay in a stupor half the night, and was nearly incoherent when finally roused. One of the other women at the school gave her something to make her sleep. She was embarrassed about that. When she came to me, she started crying again and… It had to be Shadowspawn. What else could tear a man limb from limb?" Without raising his head, he smacked a fist down on the chair arm so hard the wood creaked. "But why? Why was he killed? What could he have told me?"
Min tried to think. She truly did. Master Fel was a philosopher; he and Rand discussed everything from the meaning of parts of the Prophecies of the Dragon to the nature of the hole into the Dark One's prison. He let her borrow books, fascinating books, especially where she had to work to puzzle out what it was they said. He had been a philosopher. He would never lend her a book again. Such a gentle old man, wrapped up in a world of thought and startled when he noticed anything outside it. She treasured a note he had written to Rand. He had said she was pretty, that she distracted him. And now he was dead. Light, she had had too much of death.
"I shouldn't have told you, not like that."
She gave a start; she had not heard Rand cross the room. His fingers brushed her cheek. Wiping away tears. She was crying.
"I'm sorry, Min," he said softly. "I am not a very nice person anymore. A man is dead because of me, and all I can do is worry why he was killed."
Flinging arms around him, she buried her face against his chest. She could not stop crying. She could not stop trembling. "I went to Colavaere's apartments." Images flashed in her head. The empty sitting room, all the servants gone. The bedchamber. She did not want to remember, but now she had begun, she could not stop the words tumbling out. "I thought, since you'd exiled her, maybe there was some way around the viewing I had of her." Colavaere had been wearing what must have been her finest gown, dark silk that glistened, with falls of delicate aged-ivory Sovarra lace. "I thought for once it didn't have to be that way. You're ta'veren. You can change the Pattern." Colavaere had donned a necklace and bracelets of emeralds and firedrops, and rings with pearls and rubies, surely her best pieces, and yellow diamonds had been arranged in her hair, a fair imitation of the crown of Cairhien. Her face… "She was in her bedchamber. Hanging from one of the bedposts." Bulging eyes and protruding tongue in a blackened, swollen face. Toes a foot above the overturned stool. Sobbing helplessly, Min sagged against him.
His arms went around her slowly, gently. "Oh, Min, you have more pain than pleasure from your gift. If I could take your pain, I would, Min. I would."
Slowly it penetrated that he was trembling, too. Light, he tried so hard to be iron, to be what he thought the Dragon Reborn must, but it cut him when somebody died because of him, Colavaere probably no less than Fel. He bled for everyone harmed, and tried to pretend he did not.
"Kiss me," she mumbled. When he did not move, she looked up. He blinked at her uncertainly, eyes now blue, now gray, a morning sky. "I'm not teasing." How often had she teased him, sitting on his lap, kissing him, calling him sheepherder because she dared not say his name for fear he might hear the caress? He put up with it because he thought she was teasing and would stop if she believed it did not affect him. Hah! Aunt Jan and Aunt Rana said you should not kiss a man unless you intended to marry him, but Aunt Miren seemed to know a little more of the world. She said you should not kiss a man too casually because men fell in love so easily. "I'm cold inside, sheepherder. Colavaere, and Master Fel… I need to feel warm flesh. I need… Please?"
His head lowered so slowly. It was a brother's kiss, at first, mild as milk-water, soothing, comforting. Then it became something else. Not at all soothing. Jerking upright, he tried to pull away. "Min, I can't. I have no right —"
Seizing two handfuls of his hair, she pulled his mouth back down, and after a little while, he stopped fighting. She was not certain whether her hands began tearing at the laces of his shirt first or his at hers, but of one thing she was absolutely sure. If he even tried to stop
now, she was going to fetch one of Riallin's spears, all of them, and stab him.
On her way out of the Sun Palace, Cadsuane studied the Aiel wilders she saw as well as she could without being obvious. Corele and Daigian followed in silence; they knew her well enough by now not to disturb her with chatter, which could not be said of all those who paused a few days at Arilyn's little palace before she sent them on. A great many wilders, every one staring at the Aes Sedai as if at flea-ridden curs covered with running sores, tracking mud over a new rug. Some people looked at Aes Sedai with awe or adoration, others with fear or hate, but Cadsuane had never seen contempt before, not even from Whitecloaks. Even so, any people who produced so many wilders should be sending a river of girls to the Tower.
That would have to be seen to eventually, and to the Pit of Doom with custom if need be, but not now. The al'Thor boy needed to be kept intrigued enough that he allowed her near him, and off-balance enough that she could nudge him where she wanted without him realizing. One way or another, anything that might interfere with that must be controlled or suppressed. Nothing could be allowed to influence him, or upset him, in the wrong way. Nothing.
The shiny black coach was waiting in the courtyard behind a patient team of six matched grays. A serving man rushed to open the door painted with a pair of silver stars atop red and green stripes, bowing to the three of them till his bald head was nearly level with his knees. He was in shirtsleeves and breeches. Since coming to the Sun Palace, she had not noticed anyone in livery yet, except a few wearing Dobraine's colors. No doubt the servants were unsure what to wear and afraid to make a mistake.
A Crown of Swords twot-7 Page 43
