“You are also of the . . . a noble?” Egeanin asked, and Nynaeve snorted.
“My mother was a farmwife, and my father herded sheep and farmed tabac. Few where I come from can make do without wool and tabac both to sell. What of your parents, Egeanin?”
“My father was a soldier, my mother the . . . an officer on a ship.” For a moment she sipped her unsweetened tea, studying them. “You are searching for someone,” she said at last. “For these women the dark man spoke of. I do some small trade in information, among other things. I have sources who tell me things. Perhaps I can help. I would not charge, except to ask you to tell me more of Aes Sedai.”
“You have helped too much already,” Elayne said hastily, remembering Nynaeve telling almost everything to Bayle Domon. “I am grateful, but we could not accept more.” Letting this woman know about the Black Ajah and letting her become involved without knowing were equally out of the question. “Truly we could not.”
Caught with her mouth half-open, Nynaeve glared at her. “I was about to say the same,” she said in a flat voice, then went on more brightly. “Our gratitude certainly extends to answering questions, Egeanin. As much as we can.” She surely meant there were a good many questions for which they had no answers, but Egeanin took it differently.
“Of course. I will not pry into the secret affairs of your White Tower.”
“You seem very interested in Aes Sedai,” Elayne said. “I cannot sense the ability in you, but perhaps you can learn to channel.”
Egeanin almost dropped her porcelain cup. “It . . . can be learned? I did not . . . . No. No, I do not want to . . . to learn.”
Her agitation made Elayne sad. Even among people not fearful of Aes Sedai, too many still feared anything to do with the One Power. “What do you want to know, Egeanin?”
Before the woman could speak, a rap at the door was followed by Thom, in the rich brown cloak he had taken to wearing when he went out. It certainly attracted less notice than the gleeman’s patch-covered garment. In fact, it made him appear quite dignified, with that mane of white hair, though he should brush it more. Imagining him younger, Elayne thought she could see what had first attracted her mother. That did not absolve him of leaving, of course. She smoothed her face before he could see her frown.
“I was told you were not alone,” he said, giving Egeanin a guarded look almost identical to Juilin’s; men were always suspicious of anyone they did not know. “But I thought you might like to hear that the Children of the Light surrounded the Panarch’s Palace this morning. The streets are beginning to buzz over it. It seems the Lady Amathera is to be invested as Panarch tomorrow.”
“Thom,” Nynaeve said wearily, “unless this Amathera is really Liandrin, I do not care if she becomes Panarch, King, and Wisdom of the whole Two Rivers all rolled together.”
“The interesting thing,” Thom said, limping to the table, “is that rumor says the Assembly refused to choose Amathera. Refused. So why is she being invested? Things this odd are worth noting, Nynaeve.”
As he started to lower himself into a chair, she said quietly, “We are having a private conversation, Thom. I am sure you will find the common room more congenial.” She took a sip of tea, eyeing him over the cup in clear expectation of his departure.
Flushing, he levered himself back up without ever having actually sat, but he did not leave immediately. “Whether the Assembly has changed its mind or not, this will likely cause riots. The streets still believe Amathera has been rejected. If you must insist on going out, you cannot go alone.” He was looking at Nynaeve, but Elayne had the impression that he almost put a hand on her shoulder. “Bayle Domon is mired in that little room down near the docks, tying up his affairs in case he has to run, but he has agreed to provide fifty picked men, tough fellows used to a brawl and handy with knife or sword.”
Nynaeve opened her mouth, but Elayne cut her off. “We are grateful, Thom, to you and Master Domon both. Please tell him we accept his kind and generous offer.” Meeting Nynaeve’s flat stare, she added meaningfully, “I would not want to be kidnapped on the streets in broad daylight.”
“No,” Thom said. “We would not want that.” Elayne thought she heard a half-said “child” at the end of that, and this time he did touch her shoulder, a swift brush of fingers. “Actually,” he went on, “the men are already waiting in the street outside. I am trying to find a carriage; those chairs are too vulnerable.” He seemed to know he had gone too far, bringing Domon’s men before they agreed, not to mention this talk of a carriage without a hint of asking first, but he faced them like an old wolf at bay, bushy eyebrows drawn down. “I would . . . regret . . . personally, if anything happened to you. The carriage will be here as soon as I can find a team. If there is one to be found.”
Eyes wide, Nynaeve was obviously teetering on the edge of whether or not to give him an upbraiding he would never forget, and Elayne would not have minded adding a gentler admonishment. Somewhat gentler; child, indeed!
He took advantage of their hesitation to sweep a bow that would have graced any palace and departed while he had the chance.
Egeanin had set down her cup and was staring at them in consternation. Elayne supposed they had not given a very good appearance of being Aes Sedai, letting Thom bully them. “I must go,” the woman said, rising and taking her staff from against the wall.
“But you have not asked your questions,” Elayne protested. “We owe you answers to them, at the very least.”
“Another time,” Egeanin said after a moment. “If it is permitted, I will come another time. I need to learn about you. You are not what I expected.” They assured her she could come any time they were there and tried to convince her to stay long enough to finish her tea and cakes, but she was adamant that she had to leave now.
Turning from seeing the woman to the door, Nynaeve put her fists on her hips. “Kidnap you? If you have forgotten, Elayne, it was me those men tried to grab!”
“To take you out of the way so they could seize me,” Elayne said. “If you have forgotten, I am the Daughter-Heir of Andor. My mother would have made them wealthy to have me back.”
“Perhaps,” Nynaeve muttered doubtfully. “Well, at least they were nothing to do with Liandrin. That lot wouldn’t send a pack of louts to try stuffing us in a sack. Why do men always do things without asking? Does growing hair on their chests sap their brains?”
The sudden change did not confuse Elayne. “We do not have to worry about finding bodyguards, at any rate. You do agree they are necessary, even if Thom did overstep himself?”
“I suppose so.” Nynaeve had a remarkable dislike for admitting she was wrong. Thinking those men had been after her, for instance. “Elayne, do you realize we still have nothing except an empty house? If Juilin—or Thom—slips and lets himself be found out . . . . We must find the Black sisters without them suspecting, or we will never have a chance of following them to whatever this thing is that’s dangerous to Rand.”
“I know,” Elayne said patiently. “We have discussed it.”
The older woman frowned at nothing. “We still have not a glimmer as to what it is, or where.”
“I know.”
“Even if we could bag Liandrin and the rest right this minute, we cannot leave it floating about out there, waiting for someone else to find.”
“I know that, Nynaeve.” Reminding herself to be patient, Elayne softened her tone. “We will find them. They must make some sort of slip, and between Thom’s rumors, and Juilin’s thieves, and Bayle Domon’s sailors, we will learn of it.”
Nynaeve’s frown became thoughtful. “Did you notice Egeanin’s eyes when Thom mentioned Domon?”
“No. Do you think she knows him? Why would she not say so?”
“I do not know,” Nynaeve said vexedly. “Her face did not change, but her eyes . . . . She was startled. She knows him. I wonder what—” Someone tapped softly on the door. “Is everyone in Tanchico going to march in on us?” she growled, jerking it
open.
Rendra gave a start at the look on Nynaeve’s face, but her ever-present smile returned immediately. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but there is a woman below who asks for you. Not by name, but she describes you as you stand. She says that she believes she knows you. She is . . . .” That rosebud mouth tightened in a slight grimace. “I forgot to ask her name. This morning I am the witless goat. She is a well-dressed woman, not yet to her middle years. Not of Tarabon.” She gave a little shiver. “A stern woman, I think. When first she saw me, she looked at me as my older sister did when we were children and she was thinking of tying my braids to the bush.”
“Or have they found us first?” Nynaeve said softly.
Elayne embraced the True Source before she thought of it, and felt a shudder of relief that she could, that she had not been shielded unaware. If the woman below was Black Ajah . . . . But if she was, why announce herself? Even so, she wished the glow of saidar surrounded Nynaeve, too. If only the woman could channel without anger.
“Send her in,” Nynaeve said, and Elayne realized she was very much aware of her lack, and afraid. As Rendra turned to go, Elayne began weaving flows of Air, thick as cables and ready to bind, flows of Spirit to shield another from the Source. If this woman so much as resembled one on their list, if she tried to channel a spark . . . .
The woman who stepped into the Chamber of Falling Blossoms, in a shimmering black silk gown of unfamiliar cut, was no one Elayne had ever seen before, and surely not on the list of the women who had gone with Liandrin. Dark hair spilling loose to her shoulders framed a sturdily handsome face with large, dark eyes and smooth cheeks, but not with Aes Sedai agelessness. Smiling, she closed the door behind her. “Forgive me, but I thought you were—” The glow of saidar surrounded her, and she . . . .
Elayne released the True Source. There was something very commanding in those dark eyes, in the halo around her, the pale radiance of the One Power. She was the most regal woman Elayne had ever seen. Elayne found herself hurriedly curtsying, flushing that she had considered . . . . What had she considered? So hard to think.
The woman studied them for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod and swept to the table, taking the carved chair at its head. “Come here where I can see you both more closely,” she said in a peremptory voice. “Come. Yes. That’s it.”
Elayne realized she was standing beside the table, looking down at the dark-eyed, glowing woman. She did hope that was all right. On the other side of the table Nynaeve had a tangle of her long, thin braids gripped in her fist, but she stared at the visitor with a foolishly rapt expression. It made Elayne want to giggle.
“About what I have come to expect,” the woman said. “Little more than girls, and obviously not close to half-trained. Strong, though; strong enough to be more than troublesome. Especially you.” She fixed Nynaeve with her eyes. “You might become something one day. But you’ve blocked yourself, haven’t you? We would have had that out of you though you howled for it.”
Nynaeve still had that tight hold on her braids, but her face went from a pleased, girlish smile at praise to shamed lip-trembling. “I am sorry I blocked myself,” she almost whimpered. “I’m afraid of it . . . all that power . . . the One Power . . . how can I—?”
“Be silent unless I ask a question,” the woman said firmly. “And do not start crying. You are joyful at seeing me, ecstatic. All you want is to please me and answer my questions truthfully.”
Nynaeve nodded vigorously, smiling even more rapturously than before. Elayne realized that she was, too. She was sure she could answer the questions first. Anything to please this woman.
“Now. Are you alone? Are there any other Aes Sedai with you?”
“No,” Elayne said quickly in answer to the first question, and just as fast, to the second, “There are no Aes Sedai with us.” Perhaps she should tell that they were not really Aes Sedai either. But she had not been asked that. Nynaeve glared at her, knuckles white on her braids, furious at being beaten to the answer.
“Why are you in this city?” the woman said.
“We are hunting Black sisters,” Nynaeve burst out, shooting Elayne a triumphant look.
The handsome woman laughed. “So that is why I have not felt you channel before today. Wise of you to keep low when it is eleven to two. I have always followed that policy myself. Let other fools leap about in full view. They can be brought low by a spider hiding in the cracks, a spider they never see until it is too late. Tell me all you have discovered about these Black sisters, all you know of them.”
Elayne spilled out everything, battling with Nynaeve to be first. It was not very much. Their descriptions, the ter’angreal they had stolen, the murders in the Tower and the fear of more Black sisters still there, aiding one of the Forsaken in Tear before the Stone fell, their flight here seeking something dangerous to Rand. “They were all staying in a house together,” Elayne finished up, panting, “but they left last night.”
“It seems you came very close,” the woman said slowly. “Very close. Ter’angreal. Turn out your purses on the table, your pouches.” They did, and she fingered quickly through coins and sewing kits and handkerchiefs and the like. “Do you have any ter’angreal in your rooms? Angreal or sa’angreal?”
Elayne was conscious of the twisted stone ring hanging between her breasts and the amber plaque dream ter’angreal secure in a pocket inside her skirt for safekeeping—Nynaeve had the iron disc ter’angreal in a pocket beneath her skirts; those things could not be left lying about—but that was not the question. “No,” she said. They had none of those things in their room.
Pushing everything away, the woman leaned back, speaking half to herself. “Rand al’Thor. So that is his name now.” Her face crumpled in a momentary grimace. “An arrogant man who stank of piety and goodness. Is he still the same? No, do not bother to answer that. An idle question. So Be’lal is dead. The other sounds like Ishamael, to me. All his pride at being only half-caught, whatever the price—there was less human left in him than any of us when I saw him again; I think he half-believed he was the Great Lord of the Dark—all his three thousand years of machinations, and it comes to an untaught boy hunting him down. My way is best. Softly, softly, in the shadows. Something to control a man who can channel. Yes, it would have to be that.” Her eyes turned sharp, studying them in turn. “Now. What to do with you.”
Elayne waited patiently. Nynaeve wore a silly smile, her lips parted expectantly; it looked especially foolish with the way she was gripping her braids.
“You are too strong to waste; you may be useful one day. I would love to see Rahvin’s eyes the day he meets you unblocked,” she told Nynaeve. “I would put you off this hunt of yours, if I could. A pity compulsion is so limited. Still, with the little you have learned, you are too far behind to catch up now. I suppose I must collect you later and see to your . . . retraining.” She stood, and suddenly Elayne’s entire body tingled. Her brain seemed to shiver; she was conscious of nothing but the woman’s voice, roaring in her ears from a great distance. “You will pick up your things from the table, and when you have replaced them where they belong, you will remember nothing of what happened here except that I came thinking you were friends I knew from the country. I was mistaken, I had a cup of tea, and I left.”
Elayne blinked and wondered why she was tying her purse back beside her belt pouch. Nynaeve was frowning at her own hands, adjusting her pouch.
“A nice woman,” Elayne said, rubbing her forehead. She had a headache coming on. “Did she give her name? I don’t remember.”
“Nice?” Nynaeve’s hand came up and gave a sharp tug to her braids; she stared as if it had moved of its own accord. “I . . . do not think she did.”
“What were we talking of when she came in?” Egeanin had just gone. What had it been?
“I remember what I was about to say.” Nynaeve’s voice firmed. “We must find the Black sisters without them suspecting, or we will never have a chance of following them to
whatever this thing is that’s dangerous to Rand.”
“I know,” Elayne said patiently. Had she said that already? Of course not. “We have discussed it.”
At the arched gates leading from the inn’s small courtyard, Egeanin paused, studying the hard-faced men who lounged, barefoot and often bare-chested, among the idlers on this side of the narrow street. They looked as if they could use the curved boarding swords hanging at their belts or thrust through their sashes, but none of those faces looked familiar. If any of them had been on Bayle Domon’s ship when she took him and it to Falme, she did not remember. If any had been, it was to be hoped none connected a woman in a riding dress to the woman in armor who had captured their vessel.
Suddenly she realized her palms were damp. Aes Sedai. Women who could wield the Power, and not decently leashed. She had sat at the same table with them, talked with them. They were not at all what she had expected; she could not dig that thought out of her head. They could channel, therefore they were dangerous to proper order, therefore they must be safely leashed—and yet . . . . Not at all what she had been taught. It could be learned. Learned! As long as she could avoid Bayle Domon—he would surely recognize her—she should be able to return. She had to learn more. More than ever, she had to.
Wishing she had a hooded cloak, she took a firm grip on her staff and started up the street, threading her way into the passing throng. None of the sailors looked at her twice, and she watched them to be sure.
She did not see the pale-haired man in filthy Tanchican garb huddled against the front of a white-plastered wineshop on the other side of the street. His eyes, blue above a dingy veil and a thick mustache held in place with glue, followed her before sliding back to the Three Plum Court. Standing, he crossed the street, ignoring the disgusting way people brushed against him. Egeanin had nearly spotted him when he had forgotten himself enough to break that fool’s arm. One of the Blood, as such things were reckoned in these lands, reduced to begging and without enough honor to open his veins. Disgusting. Perhaps he could learn more of what she was up to, in this inn, once they realized he had more coin than his clothes suggested.
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