Abruptly Loune seemed to recall who he was talking to. His face turned to dark wood, a hard mask. It did not matter. Karede was convinced this was the work of Merrilin or whatever his name was. And he knew why the man was doing what he was doing. Under different circumstances, he would have told Loune his reasoning, but the High Lady would not be safe until she was back in the Tarasin Palace among those who knew her face. If the man failed to believe him on the key point, that she was the High Lady, he would have increased her danger for nothing.
“I thank you for the kaf,” he said, setting the cup down and taking up his helmet and gauntlets. “The Light see you safe, Loune. We will meet in Seandar someday.”
“The Light see you safe, Karede,” Loune said after a moment, plainly surprised by the polite farewell. “We will meet in Seandar someday.” The man had shared kaf. and Karede had no quarrel with him. Why should he be surprised?
Karede did not speak to Musenge until they had ridden out of the camp, the Ogier Gardeners striding along just ahead of the human Guards. Hartha was walking on Karede’s other side, his long axe propped on his shoulder, his head nearly level with theirs.
“We head northeast.” he said, “for the Malvide Narrows.” If he remembered the maps correctly, and he seldom forgot any map he had more than glimpsed, they could reach it in four days. “The Light shine on us that we arrive before the High Lady.” If they did not, the pursuit would continue, all the way to Tar Valon if necessary. The thought of turning back without the High Lady never occurred to him. If he had to bring her out of Tar Valon, he would.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Importance of Dyelin
They wanted safe conduct?” Elayne said incredulously. “To enter Caemlyn?” Lightning flashed outside the windows, and thunder boomed. Outside, a deluge fell on Caemlyn. a hammering downpour. The sun must have been well above the horizon, but the stand-lamps were lit against twilight darkness.
The slender young man standing in front of her low-backed chair colored with embarrassment, yet he continued to look her in the eye. He was little more than a boy. really, his smooth cheeks likely shaved as much for torm as because he needed a razor very often. Very properly, Hanselle Renshar, Arathelle’s grandson, wore neither sword nor armor, but the marks or breastplate straps remained on his green coat. imprinted by long wear. A large damp spot on his left shoulder showed where his cloak had leaked through. Odd, the things you noticed at times like this. “I was instructed to ask for it, my Lady,” he said, his voice steady.
Dyelin, arms folded beneath her breasts, grunted sourly. She was not far from scowling. Mistress Harfor, resplendent as always in her crimson tabard with the White Lion spotless on her formidable bosom. sniffed audibly. Hanselle colored again. They were in Elayne’s smaller sitting room, where a small fire on the marble hearth took away most of the morning’s chill and lamp oil scented the air with roses. She wished Birgitte was there. From the mild irritation flowing through the bond, she was dealing with reports. Her annoyance was not great enough for it to be anything more urgent.
The arrival of Luan and the others below the city two days ago with their sixty thousand armsmen had occasioned more than a little excitement, and impromptu celebrations in the streets by the citizens, once it became clear they were not going to occupy the camps abandoned when Jarid Sarand left. Taking with him men from Houses that now sided with Elayne, though they could not know it yet. The Light only knew what trouble that bloody man was going to cause. But Hanselle’s message put a new complexion on the huge encampment just a mile south of Low Caemlyn. If Arathelle, Luan and the others knew about the city being supplied from Tear and Illian through gateways, and surely everyone in Andor knew by this time, perhaps they had decided a siege would accomplish nothing. Safe conduct was a matter of battle lines. Perhaps they intended to call for Caemlyn’s surrender to avoid a grand assault. The proclamations of support, carried by Kinswomen rather than riders, had been posted from Aringill to the mining villages in the Mountains of Mist, or soon would be, but even with Sumeko and other Kinswomen wearing themselves out in Healing, the armsmen of Caeren, Anshar and Baryn who had not been carried off by Jarid did not bring her numbers anywhere near sixty thousand. Small bands of arms-men were beginning to flow into the city as word spread that it was safe to approach Caemlyn, but not enough yet. It might be a week or more before sizeable parties appeared. Those had been staying clear of the city for fear of Arymilla’s army. The outcome of a massive assault was not a foregone conclusion-men atop a wall had considerable advantage over those trying to scale it-but it would be a near run thing at best, and no hope for more help soon. Dyelin had paid another visit to Danine Candraed in the west, but the woman still dithered. Elayne had nine Houses where she needed ten. everything hung in the balance, and Danine could not bloody decide whether or not to stand for Trakand.
“’Why do they wish to speak with me?” She managed to keep Birgitte’s irritation from tinging her voice. Birgitte’s and her own.
Hanselle reddened yet again. He seemed to do that easily. Burn her, they truly had sent a boy! “I was not informed, my Lady. I was simply told to ask for safe conduct.” He hesitated. “They will not enter Caemlyn without it. my Lady.”
Rising, she went to her writing desk, removed a smooth sheet of good white paper from the rosewood paper-box and dipped a pen in the silver-mounted crystal ink jar. Precise letters flowed onto the page without her usual flourishes. She was short and to the point.
Lord Luan Norwelyn. Lady Arathelle Renshar, Lord Pelivar Coelan, Lady Aemlyn Carand, Lady Ellorien Traemane and Lord Abelle Pendar may feel safe in entering Caemlyn and be assured that they and their retinues may depart the city at any time they wish. I will receive them informally this afternoon in the Grand Hall as befits their stations. We must speak of the Borderlanders.
Elayne Trakand Daughter-Heir of Andor High Seat of House Trakand She tried to maintain calm, but the steel nib dug into the paper with the last letters. Safe conduct. She channeled a sealing candle alight, and her hand trembled as she dribbled golden yellow wax onto the page. They implied she would try to hold them by force. No, more than implied! They as good as said it! She pressed her seal, a blossoming lily, into the wax as if trying to drive it through the tabletop.
“Here.” she said, handing the sheet to the young man. Her voice was ice, and she made no effort to warm it. “If this fails to make them feel safe, perhaps they might try wrapping themselves in swaddling.” Thunder boomed for punctuation.
He colored once more, this time plainly in anger, but wisely confined himself to offering thanks as he folded the page. He was carefully tucking it inside his coat when Mistress Harfor showed him out. She would escort him to his horse personally. A messenger from nobles as powerful as Luan and the others had to be given a certain level of honor.
Suddenly Elayne’s anger turned to sadness. She could not have said what she was sad over. Her moods often seemed to change without cause. Perhaps for all those who had died and all those who would. “Are you certain you don’t want to be queen, Dyelin? Luan and that lot would stand for you in a heartbeat, and if I stand for you, those who’ve stood for me will stand with me. Burn me, Danine would probably stand for you.”
Dyelin took a chair, spreading her blue skirts carefully, before answering. “I’m absolutely certain. Running my own House is work enough for me without adding all of Andor to it. Besides, I disapprove of the throne changing Houses without good cause-the lack of a Daughter-Heir, or worse, one who’s a fool or incompetent, cruel or greedy. You’re none of those things. Continuity provides stability, and stability brings prosperity.” She nodded; she liked that turn of phrase. “Mind, had you died before returning to Caemlyn and making your claim, I would have entered my own, but the simple truth is. you’ll make a better ruler than I would. Better for Andor. In part that’s because of your connection to the Dragon Reborn.” Dyelin’s raised eyebrow invited Elayne to expound on that connection.’“But in large part,�
�� she went on when Elayne said nothing, “it’s you yourself. I watched you grow up, and by the time you were fifteen I knew you’d be a good queen, perhaps as good as Andor has ever had.”
Elayne’s face grew hot, and tears welled in her eyes. Burn her bouncing moods! Only she knew she could not blame her pregnancy this time. Praise from Dyelin was like praise from her mother, never grudging, but never given unless she felt it was deserved.
Her morning was busy, and she had only Caemlyn and the palace to deal with rather than all of Andor. Mistress Harfor reported that the spies in the palace who could be confirmed as reporting to Arymilla or her allies had grown very quiet and still, like mice that feared a cat might be watching.
“At least it’s safe to dismiss them now, my Lady.” Reene said in tones of great satisfaction. She disliked having spies in the Royal Palace as much as Elayne did, perhaps more. Daughter-Heir or Queen might live in the palace, but in the First Maid’s eyes, it belonged to her. “All of them.” Spies for others had been left in place so that no one would suspect that Reene knew.
“Keep them all on and continue to watch them,” Elayne told her. “They’re the most likely to take coin from someone else, and we know who they are.” A spy who was known could be kept from learning anything they should not, and you could make sure they learned exactly what you wanted them to. That went for the Ajah eyes-and-ears Mistress Harfor had uncovered, too. The Ajahs had no right to spy on her, and if she occasionally spoon-fed them false information, it would be their own fault if they acted on it. She could not do that too often or they would realize she had uncovered their spies, but she could at need.
“As you say, my Lady. The world has changed, hasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it has, Mistress Harfor.”
The round woman nodded sadly, but she quickly returned to business. “One of the windows in the Grand Hall has developed a leak, my Lady. I’d have seen to anything minor without bothering you, but this is a crack in the glass, which means calling in…” The list of problems that needed Elayne’s approval and papers that needed her signature went on.
Master Norry reported on wagonloads of grain and beans and trade goods in that dusty voice of his. and announced with some surprise that the number of arsons had not decreased. Seventeen buildings had burned in the night. He had been sure the capture of Arymilla would see an end to that, and he was rueful over being wrong. He brought death warrants in the names of Rhys a’Balaman and Aldred Gomaisen for her to sign and seal. Mercenaries who turned their colors could expect no more unless their new masters prevailed. Evard Cordwyn had died at the gate or he would have gone to the gallows, too. Hafeen Bakuvun had sent a petition asking a reward for his actions at the Far Madding Gate, yet that was easy enough to reject. The presence of the Domani mercenary and his men might well have been the difference in the gate holding until Dyelin arrived, but they had been earning their pay, no more.
“The prisoners are still being closemouthed, I fear,” Norry said, sliding the refused petition back into his leather folder. He seemed to feel that if he did that quickly enough it was the same as never having removed it. “The Darkfriend Aes Sedai, I mean, my Lady. And the other two. Very closemouthed except for… um… invective. Mellar is the worst with that, shouting about what he intends to do to the women who arrested him.” Deni had taken her instuctions literally; the Guardswomen had pummeled Mellar severely, leaving him a mass of bruises from head to foot, “but the Aes Sedai can be quite… um… vituperative, as well. I fear it may be necessary to put them to the question if we hope to learn anything useful.”
“Don’t call them Aes Sedai,” she snapped. Hearing “Aes Sedai” linked with “Darkfriend” made her stomach writhe. “Those women have given up any right to be called Aes Sedai.” She had taken their Great Serpent rings herself and had them melted down. That was Eg-wene’s prerogative, not hers, and she might well be reprimanded for it, but she could not restrain herself. “Ask the Lady Sylvase for the use of her secretary.” She had no questioners among her people, and accorddng to Aviendha, an unskilled questioner was likely to kill the one being put unsuccessfully to the question. When was her sister going to be allowed to visit? Light, she missed Aviendha. “I suspect he’s no such thing.’’ Lightning lit up the windows of the sitting room, the glassed casements rattling with the boom of its thunder.
Norry pressed his fingertips together, holding the folder against his ink-stained tabard with the heels of his hands and frowning gravely. “Few people keep a private questioner, my Lady. It suggests… um… a dark side. But then, as I understand matters, her grandfather chased away every man who showed interest in her until men stopped showing interest, and she has been virtually a prisoner since reaching her majority. That would tend to give anyone a dark view of the world. She may not… um… be as trustworthy as you could wish, my Lady.”
“Do you think you can bribe some of her servants to be my eyes-and-ears?” How easy it was to ask that. Spies had become a part of her life, as much as masons or glaziers.
“That should be possible, my Lady. I will know for certain in a day or two.” Once, he would have been horrified by the very idea of having anything to do with spying. All things changed eventually, it seemed. His hands shifted on the folder, almost but not quite opening it. “I fear the sewers in the southern part of the New City need attention urgently.”
Elayne sighed. Not everything changed. Burn her. once she did have all of Andor, she suspected she would seldom have an hour to herself. What didLuan and the others want?
Not long after midmorning, Melfane Dawlish appeared and had Essande and Neris strip Elayne to the skin so she could be weighed in a huge, wooden-armed balance scale the midwife had brought along, a daily ritual. The brass pan was padded with a blanket, thank the Light! The stout little woman listened to her heart though a hollow wooden tube pressed to her chest and back, thumbed back her eyelids to examine her eyes, and smelled her breath. She had Elayne make water, then held the glass jar up to the light of a stand-lamp to study it. She smelled that, too, and even dipped a finger in and licked it! It was another daily ritual. Elayne averted her eyes, pulling her flower-embroidered silk robe tight around her. but she still shuddered. This time, Melfane noticed.
“I can tell some sickness from changes in the taste, my Lady. Anyway,there’s worse things. My boy Jaem, the one who carried the scale for me, his first paid job of work was mucking out in a stable. He claimed everything he ate tasted like-” Her round belly shook with laughter. “Well, you can imagine, my Lady.” Elayne could, and was glad she was not prone to nausea. She shuddered again anyway. Essande seemed quite composed, hands folded at her waist and watching her niece with approval, but Neris looked about to sick up. “Pity he can’t learn my craft, but no one would buy herbs from a man. Or have a man midwife.” Melfane laughed uproariously at that ridiculous notion. “Wants to be apprenticed to an armorer, of all things. Old for it, but there it is. Now, you be sure to read to your babe.” She was more than doubtful of Elayne’s claim that she would have a boy and a girl. She would not accept it until she could hear their heartbeats, and that would be some few weeks yet. “And have musicians play for her. She’ll learn the sound of your voice. Learn to like reading and music, too. It helps in other ways besides. Makes the child brighter.”
“You say that every time, Mistress Dawlish.” Elayne said peevishly. “I can remember, you know. And I am doing it.”
Melfane laughed again, a twinkle in her dark eyes. She accepted Elayne’s bouncing moods the way she accepted rain and lightning. “You’d be surprised how many don’t believe a babe in the womb can hear, but I can see the difference in those who get read to and those who don’t. Do you mind if I have a few words with my aunt before I go. my Lady? I brought her a pie and an ointment for her joints.” Es-sande’s face reddened. Well, now that her lie was exposed, she would accept Healing or Elayne would know the reason why.
At the end of the midday meal. Elayne brought up the in
tentions of Luan and the others with Birgitte. It was a wonderful meal, and she ate ravenously. Melfane had lambasted the cooks and every other woman in earshot for the bland diet they had been reeding her. Today there were small pond trout grilled to perfection, cabbage rolls stuffed with ctumbly white ewe’s milk cheese, broad beans with pinenuts, and a tangy apple tart. Another reason it was marvelous was that nothing had the faintest hint of spoiling. To drink, there was good black tea with mint that made her tense for a moment until she realized it really was mint. The only thing Melfane had forbidden was wine, however well watered. Birgitte had even given up drinking herself, though it seemed impossible it could have any effect through the bond. Elayne refrained from pointing that out. Birgitte had been drinking too much to dull the pain of losing her Gaidal. Elayne understood even if she did not approve. She could not imagine what she would do if Rand died.
“I don’t know,” Birgitte said after wolfing down the last of her tart. “My best guess is they’ve come to ask you to help them move against the Borderlanders. The one bloody thing that’s sure is that they didn’t bloody come to throw their support to you.”
“That’s my best guess, too.” Elayne picked up crumbs of cheese with a damp fingertip and popped them into her mouth. She could have eaten as much again as had been on her plate, but Melfane had announced her strict intention to limit her weight gain. Just enough and not too much. Perhaps a cow being fattened for market felt like this. “Unless they’re going to demand I surrender Caemlyn.”
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