Aviendha appeared at Elayne’s side, smiling as though delighted at the opportunity to talk with the girl. “Swords are no use at all,” she said sweetly. Sweetly! Aviendha! Elayne had never realized her sister could dissemble so skillfully. She had a cup of mulled wine, too. It would have been too much to expect her to continue drinking bitter tea out of sisterly affection. “You should learn the spear. Also the knife, and the bow. Birgitte Trahelion could shoot your eyes out at two hundred paces with her bow. Maybe at three hundred.”
“The spear?” Catalyn said faintly. And then, in a slightly incredulous tone, “My eyes?”
“You have not met my sister,” Elayne said. “Aviendha, Lady Catalyn Haevin. Catalyn, Aviendha of the Nine Valleys Taardad.” Perhaps she should have done that the other way around, but Aviendha was her sister, and even a High Seat must settle for being introduced to the sister of the Daughter-Heir. “Aviendha is Aiel. She’s studying to become a Wise One.”
The fool girl’s mouth dropped open at the start, her chin falling more and more with each pronouncement until she was gaping like a fish. Very satisfying. Aviendha gave Elayne a smaller smile, her green eyes sparkling with approbation above her winecup. Elayne kept her own face smooth, but she wanted to grin back.
The others were much more easily handled, much less infuriating. Perival and Branlet were shy their first time in Caemlyn much less in the Royal Palace, hardly saying two words unless someone drew them out. Conail did think the claim that Aviendha was Aiel must be a joke, and nearly got her belt knife in his brisket for laughing raucously, but luckily, he thought that was a joke as well. Aviendha adopted an icy composure that might have made her seem a Wise One in her usual clothes; in velvets, she appeared even more a lady of the court no matter how she fingered her knife. And Branlet did keep sneaking sidelong peaks at Birgitte. It took Elayne a little while to realize that he was watching her walk in her heeled boots—those wide trousers were actually quite snug over the hips—but she only sighed. Fortunately, Birgitte never noticed, and the bond would have let Elayne know even if she tried to hide it. Birgitte liked having men look at her. Grown men. It would have done Elayne’s cause no good if her Warder smacked young Branlet’s bottom.
Mainly they wanted to know whether Reanne Corly was an Aes Sedai. None of the four had ever seen a sister before, but they thought she must be, since she could channel, and carry them and their armsmen across hundreds of miles in a step. It was a good opportunity to practice evasion without actually lying, helped by the Great Serpent ring on her own finger. A lie would taint her relations with these four at the start, but it would hardly do to hope that rumors of Aes Sedai aid would filter out to Arymilla while spreading the truth about freely. Of course, all four were eager to let her know how many armsmen they had brought, a total of just over three thousand, nearly half of them crossbowmen or halberdiers who would be especially useful on the walls. That was a sizable force for four Houses to have had ready to hand when Dyelin came calling, but then, no House wanted its High Seat unguarded in these times. Kidnapping was not unheard of when the throne sat in question. Conail said as much, with a laugh; he seemed to find everything worth a laugh. Branlet nodded and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Elayne wondered how many of his numerous aunts, uncles and cousins knew he was gone, and what they would do when they learned.
“If Dyelin had been willing to wait a few days,” Catalyn said, “I could have brought more than twelve hundred men.” That was the third time in as many sentences that she had managed to point out that she had brought the largest contingent by a considerable margin. “I have sent to all of the Houses pledged to Haevin.”
“And I to every House pledged to Northan,” Conail added. With a grin, of course. “Northan may not summon as many swords as Haevin or Trakand—or Mantear,” he put in with a bow to Perival, “but whoever rides when the Eagles call will be riding for Caemlyn.”
“They will not ride very fast in winter,” Perival said quietly. And astonishingly, since no one had spoken to him. “I think that whatever we do, we will have to do it with who we have now.”
Conail laughed and cuffed the lad’s shoulder and told him to buck up his spirits, because every man with a heart was on his way to Caemlyn to support the Lady Elayne, but Elayne studied Perival more closely. His blue eyes met hers for a moment without blinking before he shyly lowered his gaze. A boy, but he knew what he had ridden into better than Conail or Catalyn, who proceeded to tell them yet again how many armsmen she had brought, and how many Haevin could call on, as if everyone there except Aviendha did not know exactly how many rode to each House’s summons, in trained soldiers and farmers who had carried a halberd or pike in some war and village men who could be drafted at need. Close enough to exactly, anyway. Lord Willin had done good work with young Perival. Now she had to keep it from going to waste.
Eventually it was time to exchange kisses, with Branlet blushing to his hair, and Perival blinking bashfully when Elayne bent to him, and Conail vowing never to wash his cheek. Catalyn returned a surprisingly hesitant peck to Elayne’s cheek, as if it had just occurred to her that she had consented to placing Elayne above her, but after a moment she nodded to herself, cool pride settling back on her like a mantle. Once the four were handed over to the maids and serving men who would take them to the apartments that Elayne hoped the First Maid had had time to ready, Dyelin refilled her winecup and settled herself in one of the tall, carved chairs with a weary sigh.
“As fine a week’s work as I’ve ever done, if I do say so myself. I got Candraed out of the way straight off. I never thought Danine would be able to make up her mind, and it only took an hour to prove me right, though I had to stay three to keep from offending her. The woman must keep in bed till noon from being unable to decide to which side of the mattress to climb down from! The rest were ready to see sense with only a little convincing. No one with any sense wants to risk Arymilla gaining the throne.”
For a moment, she frowned at her wine, then fixed Elayne with a steady look. She never hesitated to speak her mind, whether or not she thought Elayne would agree, and plainly she intended to do so now. “It may have been a mistake to pass these Kinswomen off as Aes Sedai, however side-mouthed we’ve been about it. The strain may be too much to ask of them, and it puts us all at risk. This morning, for no reason I could make out, Mistress Corly was staring and gaping like a goose-girl come to the city. I think she almost failed at weaving the gateway to bring us here. That would have been wonderful, everyone lined up to ride through a miraculous hole in the air that never materialized. Not to mention that it would have stuck me in Catalyn’s company for the Light knows how long. Odious child! There’s a good mind there, if someone took her in hand for a few years, but she has a double dose of the viperous Haevin tongue.”
Elayne gritted her teeth. She knew how cutting Haevins could be. The whole family took pride in it! Catalyn obviously did. And she was tired of explaining what on this day could frighten any woman who could channel. She was tired of being reminded of what she was trying to ignore. That bloody beacon was still blazing in the west, an utter impossibility both for its size and its duration. The thing had been unchanging for hours! Anyone who channeled for this long without a rest must have fallen over with exhaustion by now. And Rand bloody al’Thor was right there, in the heart of it. She was certain of that! He was alive, but that only made her want to slap his face for putting her through this. Well, his face was not there, but—
Birgitte slammed her silver cup down on a side table so hard that wine flew everywhere. Some laundress was going to sweat to take that stain out of her coatsleeve. A maid would labor for hours to restore the side table’s polish. “Children!” she barked. “People are going to die because of the decisions they make, and they’re flaming children, Conail worst of all! You heard him, Dyelin. He wants to challenge Arymilla’s champion like Artur bloody Hawkwing! Hawkwing never fought anybody’s flaming champion, and he knew when he was younger than Lord Northan tha
t it was a fool’s game to rest so much on a flaming duel, but Conail thinks he can win Elayne the flaming throne with his flaming sword!”
“Birgitte Trahelion is right,” Aviendha said fiercely. Her hands were fists gripping her skirts. “Conail Northan is a fool! But how could anyone follow those children into the dance of spears? How could anyone ask them to lead?”
Dyelin regarded them both, and chose to answer Aviendha first. She was plainly bemused by Aviendha’s garb. But then, she was bemused by Aviendha and Elayne adopting one another as sisters, by Elayne having an Aiel friend in the first place. That Elayne chose to include that friend in their counsels was something she tolerated. Though not without letting her toleration show. “I became High Seat of Taravin at fifteen, when my father died in a skirmish on the Altaran Marches. My two younger brothers died fighting cattle raiders out of Murandy that same year. I listened to advisors, but I told Taravin riders where to strike, and we taught the Altarans and the Murandians to look elsewhere for their thieving. The times choose when children must grow up, Aviendha, not we, and in these times, a High Seat who is a child cannot be a child any longer.
“As for you, Lady Birgitte,” she went on in a drier voice. “Your language is, as ever . . . pungent.” She did not ask how Birgitte presumed to know so much of Artur Hawkwing, things no historian knew, but she studied her appraisingly. “Branlet and Perival will take guidance from me, and so will Catalyn, I think, much as I regret the time I’ll have to spend with the girl. As for Conail, he’s hardly the first young man to think he’s invincible and immortal. If you can’t keep him reined in as Captain-General, I suggest you try walking for him. The way he was eyeing those breeches of yours, he’ll follow anywhere you lead.”
Elayne . . . shrugged off . . . the pure fury welling up in her. Not her fury, any more than it had been her anger at Dyelin in the first place, or her anger at Birgitte splashing wine about. It was Birgitte’s. She did not want to slap Rand’s face. Well, she did, but that was beside the point. Light, Conail had been looking at Birgitte, too? “They are the High Seats of their Houses, Aviendha. No one in their Houses would thank me for treating them as less; far from it. The men who ride for them will fight to keep them alive, but it is Perival and Branlet, Conail and Catalyn they ride for, not me. Because they are the High Seats.” Aviendha frowned, and folded her arms as though pulling a shawl around herself, but she nodded. Abruptly, and reluctantly—no one rose to such prominence among the Aiel without years of experience, and the approval of the Wise Ones—but she nodded.
“Birgitte, you will have to deal with them, Captain-General to High Seat. White hair wouldn’t necessarily make them any wiser, and it definitely wouldn’t make them any easier to deal with. They’d still have their own opinions, and with years of experience to give them weight, most likely they’d be ten times as certain they knew what needs to be done better than you do. Or than I do.” She made a great effort to keep her tone clear of sharpness, and no doubt Birgitte felt the effort. At least, the flow of rage through the bond suddenly diminished. It was only tamped down, not gone—Birgitte enjoyed having men look, at least when she wanted them to look, but she very much did not like anyone saying she was trying to attract their attention—yet even so, she knew the danger to both of them of letting their emotions run too free.
Dyelin had begun sipping at her wine, still studying Birgitte. Only a bare handful knew the truth that Birgitte desperately wanted to keep hidden, and Dyelin was not among them, yet Birgitte had been careless enough, a slip of the tongue here, a slip there, that the older woman was certain that some mystery hid behind Birgitte’s blue eyes. The Light only knew what she would think if she solved that riddle. As it was, the two were oil and water. They could argue over which way was up, and certainly over everything else. This time, Dyelin clearly thought she had won, foot and horse.
“Be that as it may, Dyelin,” Elayne continued, “I would have been more pleased if you had brought their advisors with them. What’s done is done, but Branlet troubles me in particular. If Gilyard accuses me of kidnapping him, matters become worse than they were, not better.”
Dyelin waved that away. “You don’t know the Gilyards well, do you? The way they squabble among themselves, they may not notice the boy is gone before summer, and if they do, none will repudiate what he’s done. None of them will admit they were so busy in arguing over who’s to be his guardian that they forgot to keep an eye on him. And second, none of them will admit they weren’t consulted beforehand. In any event, Gilyard would stand for Zaida before standing for Marne, and they don’t like Arawn or Sarand much better.”
“I hope you’re right, Dyelin, because I’m appointing you to deal with any angry Gilyards who appear. And while you’re advising the other three, you can keep a thumb on Conail so he doesn’t do anything completely harebrained.”
For all her talk, the first suggestion made Dyelin wince slightly. The second made her sigh.
It made Birgitte laugh out loud. “If you have any problems, I’ll lend you a pair of breeches and some boots, and you can walk for him.”
“Some women,” Dyelin murmured into her wine, “can make a fish bite by crooking a finger, Lady Birgitte. Other women have to drag their bait all over the pond.” Aviendha laughed at that, but Birgitte’s anger began to edge upward in the bond.
A wave of cold air swept into the room as the door opened, and Rasoria entered, coming to a stiff attention. “The First Maid and the First Clerk have come, my Lady Elayne,” she announced. Her voice faltered at the end, as she caught the mood in the room.
A blind goat could have caught it, with Dyelin smug as a cat in the creamery, and Birgitte scowling at her and Aviendha both, and Aviendha choosing this moment to remember that Birgitte was Birgitte Silverbow, which on this occasion made her stare at the floor, as abashed as if she had been laughing at a Wise One. Now and again Elayne wished her friends could all get on as well as she and Aviendha did, but somehow they managed to rub on together, and she supposed that was really all she could ask from real people. Perfection was a thing for books and gleemen’s stories.
“Send them in,” she told Rasoria. “And don’t disturb us unless the city is under attack. Unless it is important,” she amended. In stories, women who gave orders like that were always setting themselves up for disaster. Sometimes, there were lessons in stories, if you looked for them.
CHAPTER
14
What Wise Ones Know
Halwin Norry, the First Clerk, and Reene Harfor, the First Maid, entered together, him making a jerky, unpracticed bow, and her a graceful curtsy that was neither too low nor too shallow. They could not have been more different. Mistress Harfor was round-faced and regally dignified, her hair in a neat gray bun atop her head, Master Norry tall and gawky as a wading-bird, with his little remaining hair sticking up behind his ears like sprays of white feathers. Each carried an embossed leather folder stuffed with papers, but she held hers at her side as if not to rumple her formal scarlet tabard, unwrinkled as it always seemed to be, no matter the hour or how long she had been on her feet, while he clutched his folder to his narrow chest as if to hide old inkstains, of which several spotted his tabard, including a large blot that made the White Lion’s tail end in a black tuft. Courtesies done, they immediately put a little distance between them, each not quite watching the other.
As soon as the door closed behind Rasoria, the glow of saidar sprung up around Aviendha, and she wove a ward against eavesdropping that clung to the walls of the room. What was said between them was now as safe as they could make it, and Aviendha would know if anyone even tried to listen with the Power. She was very good with this sort of weave.
“Mistress Harfor,” Elayne said, “if you will begin.” She did not offer wine or seats, of course. Master Norry would have been shocked to his toenails by such a lapse in the proprieties, and Mistress Harfor might well have been offended. As it was, Norry twitched and glanced sideways at Reene, and her mouth thinned.
Even after a week’s meetings, their dislike for giving their reports where the other could hear was palpable. They were jealous of their fiefs, the more so since the First Maid had moved into territory that once might have been considered Master Norry’s responsibility. Of course, running the Royal Palace had always been the First Maid’s charge, and it might be said that her new duties were only an extension of that. It would not be said by Halwin Norry, though. The blazing logs settled in the fireplace with a loud crack, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
“I am convinced the Second Librarian is . . . a spy, my Lady,” Mistress Harfor said finally, ignoring Norry as if to make him disappear. She had resisted letting anyone else know that she was searching out spies in the palace, yet the First Clerk knowing seemed to grate on her worst of all. His only authority over her, if such it was, came from paying the palace accounts, and he never questioned an expenditure, but even that little was more than she wished. “Every three or four days Master Harnder visits an inn called the Hoop and Arrow, supposedly for the ale made by the innkeeper, one Millis Fendry, but Mistress Fendry also keeps pigeons, and whenever Master Harnder visits, she sends off a pigeon that flies north. Yesterday, three of the Aes Sedai staying at the Silver Swan found reason to visit the Hoop and Arrow, though it caters to a much poorer crowd than the Swan. They came and went hooded, and were closeted with Mistress Fendry in private for over an hour. All three are Brown Ajah. I fear that indicates Master Harnder’s employer.”
“Hairdressers, footmen, cooks, the master cabinetmaker, no fewer than five of Master Norry’s clerks, and now one of the librarians.” Leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs, Dyelin glowered sourly. “Is there anyone we won’t eventually learn is a spy, Mistress Harfor?” Norry stretched his neck uncomfortably; he took the malfeasance of his clerks as a personal affront.
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