The hearth in Elayne's sitting room crackled warmly. Wine sat in a pitcher on one of the wall's sideboards, but of course she wasn't allowed any of that. If one more person tried to offer her bloody goat's milk . . .
Birgitte lounged near the far wall, golden braid hanging over her right shoulder, contrasting with her white-collared red coat and sky-blue trousers. She'd poured herself a cup of tea, and smiled over it, amused by Elayne's annoyance. Elayne could feel the emotion through the bond!
They were the only ones in the room. Elayne had retired to the sitting room after accepting the proposal from Ellorien's messenger, explaining that she would like to "consider" the offer in private. Well, she'd consider it! Consider it trash, for that was all it was!
"This is an insult," she said, sweeping her hand toward the pages.
"Do you intend to keep them imprisoned forever, Elayne?" Dyelin asked, raising an eyebrow. "They can't afford to pay a ransom, not after what they spent funding their Succession bid. That leaves you with a decision."
"They can rot," Elayne said, folding her arms. "They raised armies gainst me and besieged Caemlyn!"
"Yes," Dyelin said flatly. "I believe I was there."
Elayne cursed softly to herself, then stood up and began to pace. Birgitte eyed her; they both knew that Melfane had suggested that Elayne avoid taxing herself. Elayne met the Warder's eyes stubbornly, then continued her pacing. Burn her, and burn that bloody midwife! Walking wasn't taxing.
Ellorien was one of the last vocal holdouts to Elayne's rule, and was the most problematic—save, perhaps, for Jarid Sarand. These months marked the beginning of a long period of testing for Elayne. How would she stand on certain issues? How easily would she be pushed? How much did she take after her mother?
They should know that she wouldn't be easily intimidated. But the unfortunate truth was that she stood atop a precarious perch made of teacups, stacked high. Each of those cups was an Andoran House; some had supported her willingly, others grudgingly. Very few of them were as sturdy as she would have liked.
"The captive nobles are a resource," Elayne said. "They should be viewed as such."
Dyelin nodded. The noblewoman had a way of goading Elayne, forcing her to stretch for the answers they both knew she needed to find. "A resource is meaningless unless eventually expended," Dyelin noted. She held a cup of wine. Blasted woman.
"Yes," Elayne said, "but to sell a resource short would be to establish a reputation for carelessness."
"Unless you sell something just before its value plummets," Dyelin said. "Many a merchant has been called foolish for trading ice peppers at a discount, only to be called wise when prices fall even further."
"And these captives? You see their value falling soon?"
'Their Houses have been compromised," Dyelin said. "The stronger your position becomes, Elayne, the less valuable these political captives grow. You shouldn't squander the advantage, but neither should you lock it away until nobody cares anymore."
"You could execute them," Birgitte said.
They both stared at her.
What?" Birgitte said. "It's what they deserve, and it would establish a hard fisted reputation."
It's not right," Elayne said. "They should not be killed for supporting someone else for the throne. There can be no treason where there is no Queen."
"So our soldiers can die, but the nobles bloody walk away?" Birgitte asked. Then she raised a hand before Elayne could protest. "Spare the lec-ture, Elayne. I understand. I don't agree, but I understand. It's always been this way."
Elayne returned to her pacing. She did stop, however, to stomp on El-lorien's proposal as she passed it. That earned her an eye roll from Birgitte but it felt good. The "proposal" was a list of empty promises that concluded with a demand that Elayne release the captives for "the good of Andor." Ellorien claimed that since the captives had no funds, the crown should pardon them and release them to help rebuild.
Truth be told, Elayne had been considering doing so. But now if she released them, the three would see Ellorien as their savior! Any gratitude that Elayne could have gained would instead be given to her rival. Blood and bloody ashes!
"The Windfinders are beginning to ask after the land you promised them," Dyelin noted.
"Already?"
The older woman nodded. "The request still troubles me. Why do they want a sliver of land like that?"
"They earned it," Elayne said.
"Perhaps. Though this does mean that you're the first Queen in five generations to cede a portion of Andor—no matter how small—to a foreign entity."
Elayne took a deep breath, and oddly found herself calmer. Blasted mood swings! Hadn't Melfane promised those would grow less pronounced as the pregnancy progressed? Yet at times she still felt her emotions bouncing around like a ball in a children's game.
Elayne composed herself and sat. "I cannot allow this. The Houses are all looking for opportunities to shoulder their way into power."
"You would be doing the same in their place, I warrant," Dyelin said.
"Not if I knew that the Last Battle was approaching," Elayne snapped. "We need to do something to direct the nobles toward more important matters. Something to unify them behind me, or at least convince them that I'm not to be toyed with."
"And you have a means of achieving this?" Dyelin asked.
"Yes," Elayne said, glancing eastward. "It's time to seize Cairhien."
Birgitte choked quietly on her tea. Dyelin merely raised an eyebrow. "A bold move."
"Bold?" Birgitte asked, wiping her chin. "It's bloody insane. Elayne, you barely have your fingers on Andor."
"That makes the timing even better," Elayne said. "We have momen-Besides, if we move for Cairhien now, it will show that I mean to be more than a simpering puff of a queen."
"I doubt anyone expects that of you," Birgitte said. "If they do, they obably took one too many knocks to the head during the fighting."
"She's right, however uncouth the presentation," Dyelin agreed. She lanced at Birgitte, and Elayne could feel a stab of dislike through Birgitte's bond. Light! What would it take to make the two of them get along? "Nobody doubts your strength as a queen, Elayne. That won't stop the others from seizing what power they can; they know they're unlikely to be able to
get it later."
"I don't have fifteen years to stabilize my rule, like Mother," Elayne said. "Look, we all know what Rand kept saying about me taking the Sun Throne. A steward rules there now, waiting for me, and after what happened to Colavaere, nobody dares disobey Rand's edicts."
"By taking that throne," Dyelin said, "you risk looking as if you're letting al'Thor hand it to you."
"So?" Elayne said. "I had to take Andor on my own, but there is nothing wrong with me accepting his gift of Cairhien. His Aiel were the ones to liberate it. We'd be doing the Cairhienin a favor by preventing a messy Succession. My claim to the throne is strong, at least as strong as anyone else's, and those loyal to Rand will fall behind me."
"And do you not risk overextending yourself?"
"Possibly," Elayne said, "but I think it's worth the risk. In one step I could become one of the most powerful monarchs since Artur Hawkwing."
Further argument was cut off by a polite knock at the door. Elayne glanced at Dyelin, and the woman's thoughtful expression meant she was considering what Elayne had said. Well, Elayne would strike for the Sun Throne, with or without Dyelin's approval. The woman was becoming increasingly useful to Elayne as an advisor—Light be praised that Dyelin hadn't wanted the throne herself!—but a queen could not let herself fall into the trap of relying on any one person too much.
Birgitte answered the door, letting in the storklike Master Norry. He was dressed in red and white, his long face characteristically somber. He carried his leather folder under one arm, and Elayne suppressed a groan. "I thought we were finished for the day."
I thought so as well, Your Majesty," he said. "But several new matters have arisen. I thought tha
t they might be . . . um . . . interesting to you."
'What do you mean?"
"Well, Your Majesty," Norry said, "you know that I am not . . . par-ticularly fond of certain types of work. But in light of recent additions to my staff, I have seen reason to expand my attentions."
"You're taking about Hark, aren't you?" Birgitte said. "How's the worthless piece of grime doing?"
Norry glanced at her. "He is . . . er . . . grimy, I should say." He looked back at Elayne. "But he is rather adept, once given proper motivation. Please forgive me if I have taken liberties, but after the encounters recently-—and the guests to your dungeons they provided—I thought it wise."
"What are you talking about, Master Norry?" Elayne asked.
"Mistress Basaheen, Your Majesty," Norry said. "The first instruction I gave our good Master Hark was to watch the Aes Sedai s place of residence—a certain inn known as The Greeting Hall."
Elayne sat upright, feeling a burst of excitement. Duhara Basaheen had repeatedly attempted to gain audience with Elayne by bullying the various members of the palace staff. They all knew now, however, that she was not to be admitted. Aes Sedai or not, she was a representative of Elaida, and Elayne intended to have nothing to do with her.
"You had her watched," Elayne said eagerly. "Please tell me you discovered something I can use to banish that insufferable woman."
"Then I am under no condemnation?" Master Norry asked carefully, still as dry and unexcited as ever. He was yet inexperienced when it came to spying.
"Light no," Elayne said. "I should have ordered it done myself. You've saved me from that oversight, Master Norry. If what you've discovered is good enough news, I might just be likely to kiss you."
That prompted a reaction; his eyes widened in horror. It was enough to make Elayne laugh, and Birgitte chuckled as well. Dyelin didn't seem pleased. Well, she could go suck on a goat's foot, for all Elayne cared.
"Er . . . well," Norry said, "that wouldn't be necessary, Your Majesty. I had thought that, if there were Darkfriends pretending to be Aes Sedai in the city"—he, like the others, had learned not to refer to Falion and the others as "Aes Sedai" in Elayne's presence—"we might want to keep good watch on any who purported to be from the White Tower."
Elayne nodded eagerly. My, but Norry could ramble!
"I'm afraid I must disappoint Your Majesty," Norry said, obviously noting Elayne's excitement, "if you are hoping for proof that this woman is a Darkfriend."
"Oh."
"However," Norry said, raising a slender finger. "I have reason to be-lieve that Duhara Sedai may have had a hand in the document you seem to be treating with . . . um . . . unusual reverence." He glanced at the pages p, ne had tossed to the floor. One bore the distinct outline of her shoe.
"Duhara has been meeting with Ellorien?" Elayne asked.
"Indeed she has," Master Norry said. "The visits are growing more fre-ent. They are done with some measure of secrecy as well."
Elayne glanced at Dyelin. "Why does Duhara want my rivals freed?"
Dyelin looked troubled. "She couldn't be so foolish as to assume she can raise up a movement against you, particularly using a group of broken, bankrupt lords and ladies."
"Your Majesty?" Norry asked. "If I may offer a comment . . ."
"Of course, Master Norry."
"Perhaps the Aes Sedai is trying to curry favor with the Lady Ellorien. We don't know for certain they conspired on this proposal; it simply seemed likely, judging from the frequency and timing of the Aes Sedai's visits. But she may not have reason to support your enemies so much as she has reason to be in the good graces of some of the city's nobility."
It was possible. Duhara wasn't likely to return to the White Tower, no matter how often Elayne suggested that she do so. To go back would be to present Elaida with empty hands and a hostile Andor. No Aes Sedai would be so easily dissuaded. However, if she could return with the loyalty of some of the Andoran nobility, it would be something.
"When Duhara left her inn to visit Ellorien's home," Elayne said, "how did she dress?" Though Ellorien had briefly spoken of returning to her estates, she hadn't left, perhaps realizing that it wasn't politically useful as of yet. She resided in her mansion in Caemlyn at the moment.
"In a cloak, Your Majesty," Norry said. "With the hood drawn."
"Rich or poor?"
'I ... I don't know," Norry replied, sounding embarrassed. "I could fetch Master Hark___"
'That won't be needed," Elayne said. "But tell me. Did she go alone?"
No. I believe she always had a rather large contingent of attendants with her."
Elayne nodded. She was willing to bet that while Duhara wore a cloak and drawn hood, she left her Great Serpent ring on and chose a distinctively rich cloak for the subterfuge, along with taking attendants. Master Norry," Elayne said, "I fear that you've been played."
"Your Majesty?"
Dyelin was nodding. "She wanted to be seen visiting Ellorien. She didn't want the visits to be official—that would put her too formally against your throne. But she wanted you to know what she was doing."
"She's blatantly mingling with my enemies," Elayne said. "It's a warning. She threatened me earlier, saying that I would not appreciate being in opposition to her and Elaida."
"Ah," Norry said, deflated. "So my initiative wasn't so keen after all."
"Oh, it was still valuable," Elayne said. "If you hadn't had her watched we'd have missed this—which would have been embarrassing. If someone is going to go out of her way to insult me, then I at least want to be aware of it. If only so that I know whom to behead later on."
Norry paled.
"Figuratively, Master Norry," she said. As much as she'd like to do it. And Elaida too! She dared send a watchdog to "counsel" Elayne? Elayne shook her head. Hurry up, Egwene. We need you in the Tower, The world needs you there.
She sighed, turning back to Norry. "You said there were 'several new matters' that needed my attention?"
"Indeed, Your Majesty," he said, getting out his horrible leather folder. He removed a page from it—one he did not regard with nearly as much reverence as most he collected. Indeed, he pinched this one between two fingers and held it aloft, like a man picking up a dead animal found in the gutter. "You will recall your orders regarding mercenary bands?"
"Yes," she said, grimacing. She was getting thirsty. Gloomily, she eyed the cup of warm goat's milk on the table next to her chair. News of battle brought bands of sell-swords eager to offer their services.
Unfortunately for most of the mercenaries, the siege had been a short one. News traveled fast, but weary and hungry soldiers traveled slowly. Soldier bands continued to arrive at the city in a steady flow, the men in them disappointed to find no need for their weapons.
Elayne had begun by sending them away. Then she'd realized the foolishness in this. Every man would be needed at Tarmon Gai'don, and if Andor could provide an extra five or ten thousand soldiers to the conflict, she wanted to do so.
She didn't have the coin to pay them now, but neither did she want to lose them. So instead, she had ordered Master Norry and Captain Guybon to give all of the mercenary bands the same instructions. They were to allow no more than a certain number of soldiers into Caemlyn at a time, and they were to camp no closer than one league from the city.
This was to leave them with the idea that she'd meet with them evenally and offer them work. She just might do that, now that she had de- cided to take the Sun Throne. Of course, the last sell-swords she'd hired had gone rotten on her more often than not.
Against her better judgment, she picked up the cup of milk and took sip. Birgitte nodded in satisfaction, but Elayne grimaced. Better to g6
thirsty!
"Well," Master Norry said, looking over the page in his fingers, "one of
the mercenary captains has taken it upon himself to send you a very . . . familiar letter. I wouldn't have brought it to you, but upon second reading it seems that it is something you shoul
d see. The ruffian's claims are outlandish, but I would not like to have been the one to ignore them, should they prove . . . urn . . . accurate."
Curious, Elayne reached for the paper. Outlandish claims? She didn't know any mercenary captains. The scrawl on the page was uneven, there were numerous crossed out words, and some of the spelling was . . . creative. Whoever this man was, she—
She blinked in surprise as she reached the bottom of the letter. Then she read it again.
Your Royal Bloody Pain in My Back,
We're bloody waiting here to talk to you, and we're getting angry perturbed. (That means angry.) Thom says that you're a queen now, but I figure that changes nothing, sense you acted like a queen all the time anyway. Don't forget that I carried hailed your pretty little backside out of a hole in Tear, but you acted like a queen then, so I guess I don't know why I'm suprised now that you act like one when you really are a queen.
So I'm thinking I should treat you like a bloody Queen and send you a bloody letter and all, speaking with high talk and getting your attention. I even used my ring as a signet, like it was paper proper. So here is my formal salutation. So BLOODY STOP TURNING ME AWAY so we can talk. I need your bellfounders. It's bloody important.
—Mat
p.s. Salutation means greeting.
p.p.s. Don't mind the scratched out words and bad spellings. I was going to rewrite this letter, but Thom is laffing so hard at me that I want to be done.
p.p.s. Don't mind me calling your backside pretty. I hardly ever spent any time looking at it, as I've an awareness that you'd pull my eyes out if you saw me. Besides, I'm married now, so that all doesn't matter.
Elayne couldn't decide whether to be outraged or exuberant. Mat was in Andor, and Thorn was alive! They'd escaped Ebou Dar. Had they found Olver? How had they gotten away from the Seanchan?
So many emotions and questions welled up in her. Birgitte stood upright, frowning, feeling the emotions. "Elayne? What is it? Did the man insult you?"
Elayne found herself nodding, tears forming in her eyes.
Birgitte cursed, striding over. Master Norry looked taken aback, as if regretting that he'd brought the letter.
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