Elayne began to think that Aviendha was giving up, offering the same answer every time in hopes that she would stop asking, but then she realized that her sister’s voice was becoming more confident rather than less, that the protests that she was only guessing had dwindled. And her “guesses” were growing in detail. A bent, featureless rod of dull black, as wide as her wrist—it seemed metal, yet one end accommodated itself to any hand that gripped it—made her think of cutting, either metal or stone if they were not too thick. Nothing that could catch fire, though. The apparently glass figure of a man, a foot tall, with his hand raised as if to signal stop, would chase away vermin, which would certainly have been useful, given Caemlyn’s plague of rats and flies. A stone carving the size of her hand, all deep blue curves—it felt like stone, at least, though somehow it did not really look carved—was for growing something. Not plants. It made her think of holes, only they were not exactly holes. And she did not believe anyone had to channel to make it work. Only sing the right song! Some ter’angreal did not require channeling, but really! Singing?
Done with Aviendha’s dress, Sephanie had grown enthralled with the recitation, her eyes getting wider and wider. Essande listened with interest too, her head tilted to one side, murmuring small exclamations at each new revelation, but she was not bouncing on her toes the way Sephanie was. “What about that one, my Lady?” the younger woman blurted when Aviendha paused. She pointed to the statuette of a stout, bearded man with a merry smile, holding a book. Two feet tall, it appeared to be age-darkened bronze and was certainly heavy enough to be. “Looking at him always makes me want to smile, too, my Lady.”
“Me as well, Sephanie Pelden,” Aviendha said, stroking the bronze man’s head. “He holds more than the book you see. He holds thousands and thousands of books.” Abruptly the light of saidar enveloped her, and she touched thin flows of Fire and Earth to the bronze figure.
Sephanie squeaked as two words in the Old Tongue appeared in the air above the statuette, as black as if printed with good ink. Some of the letters were shaped a little oddly, but the words were quite clear. Ansoen and Imsoen, floating on nothing. Aviendha looked nearly as startled as the maid.
“I think we have proof at last,” Elayne said more calmly than she felt. Her heart was in her throat, and pounding. Lies and Truth, the two words might be translated. Or in context, perhaps Fiction and Not Fiction would be better. It was proof enough for her. She marked where the flows touched the figure, for when she could return to her studies. “But you shouldn’t have done that. It isn’t safe.”
The glow around Aviendha vanished. “Oh, Light,” she exclaimed, flinging her arms around Elayne, “I never thought! I have great toh to you! I never meant to endanger you or your babes! Never!”
“My babes and I are safe.” Elayne laughed, hugging back. “Min’s viewing?” Her babes were safe, at least. Until they were born. So many babies died in their first year. Min had said nothing beyond them being born healthy. Min had said nothing about her not being burned out, either, but she had no intention of bringing that up with her sister already feeling guilty. “You have no toh to me. It was you I was thinking of. You could have died, or burned yourself out.”
Aviendha pulled back enough to look into Elayne’s eyes. What she saw there reassured her, for a small smile curved her lips. “I did make it work, though. Perhaps I can take over the study of them. With you to guide me, it should be perfectly safe. We have months before you can do it yourself.”
“You have no time at all, Aviendha,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway. “We are leaving. I hope you have not grown too used to wearing silk. I see you, Elayne.”
Aviendha leaped away from the embrace, flushing furiously, as two Aiel women entered the room, and not just any two Aiel. Pale-haired Nadere, as tall as most men and wide with it, was a Wise One of considerable authority among the Goshien, and Dorindha, her long red hair touched with white, was the wife of Bael, clan chief of the Goshien, though her true prominence came from being Roofmistress of Smoke Springs Hold, the clan’s largest hold. It was she who had spoken.
“I see you, Dorindha,” Elayne said. “I see you, Nadere. Why are you taking Aviendha away?”
“You said I could stay with Elayne, to help guard her back,” Aviendha protested.
“You did, Dorindha.” Elayne took her sister’s hand in a firm grip, and Aviendha squeezed back. “You and the Wise Ones, too.”
Gold and ivory bracelets clattered as Dorindha shifted her dark shawl. “How many do you need to guard your back, Elayne?” she asked dryly. “You have perhaps a hundred or more dedicated to nothing else, and as hard as Far Dareis Mai.” A smile deepened the creases at the corners of her eyes. “I think those women outside wanted us to give up our belt knives before letting us in.”
Nadere touched the horn hilt of her knife, her green eyes holding a fierce light, though it was unlikely the guards had shown any such desire. Even Birgitte, suspicious of everyone when it came to Elayne’s safety, could see no danger from the Aiel, and Elayne had accepted certain obligations when she and Aviendha adopted each other. Wise Ones who had taken part in that ceremony, as Nadere had, could go wherever they wished in the palace whenever they wished; that was one of the obligations. As for Dorindha, her presence was so commanding, if in a quiet way, that it seemed inconceivable anyone would attempt to bar her way.
“Your training has been in abeyance too long, Aviendha,” Nadere said firmly. “Go and change into proper clothing.”
“But I am learning so much from Elayne, Nadere. Weaves even you do not know. I think I can make it rain in the Three-fold Land! And just now we learned that I can—”
“Whatever you may have learned,” Nadere cut in sharply, “it seems you have forgotten as much. Such as the fact that you are an apprentice still. The Power is the least of what a Wise One must know, else only those who can channel would be Wise Ones. Now go and change, and count your luck that I do not make you return in your skin to face a strapping. The tents are being struck as we speak, and if the clan’s departure is delayed, you will face the strap.”
Without another word, Aviendha dropped Elayne’s hand and ran from the room, bumping into Naris, who staggered and almost dropped the large, cloth-covered tray she was carrying. At a quick gesture from Essande, Sephanie hurried after Aviendha. Naris’ eyes went wide at the sight of the Aiel women, but Essande admonished her for taking so long and directed her to lay out the meal on the table, setting the young maid into hurried motion while muttering apologies under her breath.
Elayne wanted to run after Aviendha, too, to grasp every moment with her, but Nadere’s words held her. “You’re leaving Caemlyn, Dorindha? Where are you going?” As much as Elayne liked the Aiel, she did not want them wandering about the countryside. With the situation as unstable as it was, they were problem enough simply venturing out of their camp to hunt or trade.
“We are leaving Andor, Elayne. In a few hours, we will be far beyond your borders. As to where, you must ask the Car’a’carn.”
Nadere had walked over to study what Naris was laying out, and Naris began to tremble so that she nearly dropped more than one dish. “This looks good, but I do not recognize some of these herbs,” the Wise One said. “Your midwife has approved all of this, Elayne?”
“I’ll summon a midwife when my time is near, Nadere. Dorindha, you can’t think Rand would want your destination kept from me. What did he say?”
Dorindha gave a small shrug. “He sent a messenger, one of the black coats, with a letter for Bael. Bael let me read it, of course”—her tone said there had never been any question of her not reading it—“but the Car’a’carn asked Bael not to tell anyone, so I cannot tell you.”
“No midwife?” Nadere said incredulously. “Who tells you what to eat and drink? Who gives you the proper herbs? Stop looking daggers at me, woman. Melaine’s temper is worse than yours could ever be, but she has sense enough to let Monaelle govern her in these things.”
/> “Every woman in the palace governs what I eat,” Elayne replied bitterly. “Sometimes I think every woman in Caemlyn does. Dorindha, can’t you at least—”
“My Lady, your food is getting cold,” Essande said mildly, but with just the touch of firmness that an elderly retainer was allowed.
Gritting her teeth, Elayne glided to the chair Essande stood behind. She did not flounce, much as she wanted to. She glided. Essande produced an ivory-backed hairbrush and, removing the towel from Elayne’s head, began brushing her hair while she ate. She ate largely because not eating only meant someone would be told to fetch more hot food, because Essande and her own bodyguards between them might well keep her there until she did, but except for some dried apple that had not gone bad, the meal was decidedly unappetizing. The bread was crusty but flecked with weevils, and the soaked dried beans, since all of the preserved beans had spoiled, were tough and tasteless. The apple was mixed in a bowl of herbs—sliced burdock root, black haw, cramp bark, dandelion, nettle leaf—with a touch of oil, and for meat she had a piece of kid simmered in bland broth. With next to no salt, as far as she could tell. She would have killed for salty beef dripping with fat! Aviendha’s plate had sliced beef, though it looked tough. She could as well ask for wine. To drink, she had her choice of water or goat’s milk. She wanted tea almost as much as she did fatty meat, but even the weakest tea sent her running to make water, and she had quite enough difficulties with that as it was. So she ate methodically, mechanically, trying to think of anything but the tastes in her mouth. Except for the apple, at least.
She tried to pry some news of Rand out of the two Aiel women, but it seemed they knew less than she. As far as they would admit, anyway. They could be closemouthed when they wanted to be. She at least knew that he was somewhere far to the southeast. Somewhere in Tear, she suspected, though he could as easily have been on the Plains of Maredo or in the Spine of the World. Beyond that, she knew he was alive and not a whit more. She tried keeping the conversation on Rand in the hope they might let something slip, yet she might as well have tried dressing bricks with her fingers. Dorindha and Nadere had their own goal, convincing her to acquire a midwife right away. They went on and on about how she might be endangering herself and her babes, and not even Min’s viewing would dissuade them.
“Very well,” she said at last, slapping down her knife and fork. “I will start looking for one today.” And if she failed to find one, well, they would never know.
“I have a niece who’s a midwife, my Lady,” Essande said. “Melfane dispenses herbs and ointments from a shop on Candle Street in the New City, and I believe she is quite knowledgeable.” She patted a few last curls into place and stepped back with a pleased smile. “You do so remind me of your mother, my Lady.”
Elayne sighed. It seemed she was to have a midwife whether she wanted one or not. Someone else to see that her meals were wretched. Well, perhaps the midwife could suggest a remedy for those backaches at night, and the tender bosom. Thank the Light she had been spared the desire to sick up. Women who could channel never suffered that part of pregnancy.
When Aviendha returned, she was in Aiel garb again, with her still-damp shawl draped over her arms, a dark scarf tied around her temples to hold back her hair, and a bundle on her back. Unlike the multitudes of bracelets and necklaces Dorindha and Nadere wore, she had a single silver necklace, intricately worked discs in a complex pattern, and one ivory bracelet densely carved with roses and thorns. She handed Elayne the blunt dagger. “You must keep this, so you will be safe. I will try to visit you as often as I can.”
“There may be time for an occasional visit,” Nadere said severely, “but you have fallen behind and must work hard to catch up. Strange,” she mused, shaking her head, “to speak casually of visiting from so far. To cover leagues, hundreds of leagues, in a step. Strange things we have learned in the wetlands.”
“Come, Aviendha, we must go,” Dorindha said.
“Wait,” Elayne told them. “Please wait, just a moment.” Clutching the dagger, she raced to her dressing room. Sephanie paused in hanging up Aviendha’s blue dress to curtsy, but Elayne ignored her and opened the carved lid of her ivory jewelry chest. Sitting atop the necklaces and bracelets and pins in their compartments were a brooch in the shape of a turtle that appeared to be amber and a seated woman, wrapped in her own hair, apparently carved from age-darkened ivory. Both were angreal. Placing the antler-hilted dagger in the chest, she picked up the turtle, and then, impulsively, snatched up the twisted stone dream ring, all red and blue and brown. It seemed to be useless to her since she became pregnant, and if she could manage to weave Spirit, she still had the silver ring, worked in braided spirals, that had been recovered from Ispan.
Hurrying back to the sitting room, she found Dorindha and Nadere arguing, or at least having an animated discussion, while Essande pretended to be checking for dust, running her fingers under the edge of the table. From the angle of her head, she was listening avidly, though. Naris, putting Elayne’s dishes back on the tray, was gaping at the Aiel women openly.
“I told her she would feel the strap if we delayed the departure,” Nadere was saying with some heat as Elayne entered the room. “It is hardly fair if she is not the cause, but I said what I said.”
“You will do as you must,” Dorindha replied calmly, but with a tightness to her eyes that suggested these were not the first words they had exchanged. “Perhaps we will not delay anything. And perhaps Aviendha will pay the price gladly to say farewell to her sister.”
Elayne did not bother with trying to argue for Aviendha. It would have done no good. Aviendha herself displayed an equanimity that would have credited an Aes Sedai, as if whether she was to be beaten for another’s fault were of no matter at all.
“These are for you,” Elayne said, pressing the ring and the brooch into her sister’s hand. “Not as gifts, I’m afraid. The White Tower will want them back. But to use as you need.”
Aviendha looked at the things and gasped. “Even the loan of these is a great gift. You shame me, sister. I have no farewell gift to give in return.”
“You give me your friendship. You gave me a sister.” Elayne felt a tear slide down her cheek. She essayed a laugh, but it was a weak, tremulous thing. “How can you say you have nothing to give? You’ve given me everything.”
Tears glistened in Aviendha’s eyes, too. Despite the others watching, she put her arms around Elayne and hugged her hard. “I will miss you, sister,” she whispered. “My heart is as cold as night.”
“And mine, sister,” Elayne whispered, hugging back equally hard. “I will miss you, too. But you will be allowed to visit me sometimes. This isn’t forever.”
“No, not forever. But I will still miss you.”
They might have begun weeping next, only Dorindha laid her hands on their shoulders. “It is time, Aviendha. We must go if you are to have any hope of avoiding the strap.”
Aviendha straightened with a sigh, scrubbing at her eyes. “May you always find water and shade, sister.”
“May you always find water and shade, sister,” Elayne replied. The Aiel way had a finality about it, so she added, “Until I see your face again.”
And as quickly as that, they were gone. As quickly as that, she felt very alone. Aviendha’s presence had become a certainty, a sister to talk to, laugh with, share her hopes and fears with, but that comfort was gone.
Essande had slipped from the room while she and Aviendha were hugging, and now she returned to set the coronet of the Daughter-Heir on Elayne’s head, a simple circlet of gold supporting a single golden rose on her forehead. “So these mercenaries won’t forget who they’re talking to, my Lady.”
Elayne did not realize her shoulders had slumped until she straightened them. Her sister was gone, yet she had a city to defend and a throne to gain. Duty would have to sustain her, now.
CHAPTER 16
The New Follower
The Blue Reception Room, named for its ar
ched ceiling, painted to display the sky and white clouds, and its blue floor tiles, was the smallest reception room in the palace, less than ten paces square. The arched windows that made up the far wall, overlooking a courtyard and still filled with glassed casements against the spring weather, gave a fair light even with the rain falling outside, but despite two large fireplaces with carved marble mantels, a cornice of plaster lions and a pair of tapestries bearing the White Lion that flanked the doors, a delegation of Caemlyn’s merchants would have been insulted to be received in the Blue Room, a delegation of bankers livid. Likely that was why Mistress Harfor had put the mercenaries there, although they would not know they were being insulted. She herself was present, “overseeing” the pair of liveried young maids who were keeping the winecups full from tall silver pitchers standing on a tray atop a plainly carved sideboard, but she had the embossed leather folder used to carry her reports pressed to her bosom, as if in anticipation of the mercenaries being dealt with quickly. Halwin Norry, the wisps of white hair behind his ears as always looking like feathers, was standing in a corner, also with his leather folder clutched to his narrow chest. Their reports were a daily fixture, and seldom much in them to cheer the heart of late. Quite the opposite.
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