The Wheel of Time, page 872
The palace required the population of a large village to keep running, and servants had begun to appear, liveried men and women scurrying along the corridors, flattening themselves against the walls or ducking into crossing hallways to make room for Elayne’s escort, so she explained the little she knew in as soft a voice and as few words as possible. Some rumors she did not mind reaching the streets, and inevitably Arymilla, but tales of Rand could be as bad as tales of the Forsaken by the time they were twisted through a few retellings. Worse, in a way. No one would believe the Forsaken were trying to put her on the throne as a puppet. “In any event,” she finished, “it’s nothing to do with us here.”
She thought she sounded very convincing, very cool and detached, but Aviendha reached out to squeeze her hand, for an Aiel as much as a comforting hug with so many people to see, and Birgitte’s sympathy flooded through the bond. It was more than commiseration; it was the shared feeling of a woman who had already suffered the loss she herself feared and more. Gaidal Cain was lost to Birgitte as surely as if he were dead, and on top of that, her memories of her past lives were fading. She remembered almost nothing clearly before the founding of the White Tower, and not all of that. Some nights, the fear that Gaidal would fade from her memory, too, that she would lose any remembrance of actually having known and loved him, left her unable to sleep until she drank as much brandy as she could hold. That was a poor solution, and Elayne wished she could offer a better, yet she knew her own memories of Rand would not die until she did, and she could not imagine the horror of knowing those memories might leave her. Still, she hoped someone Healed Birgitte’s morning-after head soon, before her own split open like an over-ripe melon. Her ability with Healing fell short of the task, and Aviendha’s was no stronger.
Despite the emotion she could feel in Birgitte, the other woman kept her face smooth and unconcerned. “The Forsaken,” she muttered dryly. And softly. That was not a name to bandy about. “Well, as long as it has nothing to do with us, we’re bloody all right.” A grunt that might have been a laugh gave her the lie. But then, although Birgitte said she had never been a soldier before, she had a soldier’s view. Long odds were usually the only odds you could find, but you still had to get the job done. “I wonder what they think of it?” she added, nodding toward the four Aes Sedai who had just stepped out of a crossing corridor down the hallway.
Vandene, Merilille, Sareitha and Careane had their heads together as they walked, or rather, the last three were clustered around Vandene, leaning toward her and talking with urgent gestures that made the fringes on their shawls sway. Vandene glided along slowly as if she were alone, paying no heed. She had always been slender, but her dark green dress, embroidered with flowers on the sleeves and shoulders, hung on her as though made for a stouter woman, and the white hair gathered at the nape of her neck seemed in need of a brush. Her expression was bleak, but that might have had nothing to do with whatever the other sisters were saying. She had been joyless ever since her sister’s murder. Elayne would have wagered that dress had belonged to Adeleas. Since the murder, Vandene wore her sister’s clothes more often than her own. Not that that accounted for the fit. The two women had been of a size, but Vandene’s appetite for food had died with her sister. Her taste for most things seemed to have died then.
Sareitha, a Brown whose dark square face was not yet touched with agelessness, saw Elayne just then, and put a hand on Vandene’s arm as if to draw her up the corridor. Vandene brushed the Tairen woman’s hand away and glided on with the merest glance at Elayne, disappearing on along the hallway they had come out of. Two women in novice white, who had been following the others at a respectful distance, offered quick curtsies to the remaining sisters and hastened after Vandene. Merilille, a tiny woman in dark gray that made her Cairhienin paleness seem like ivory, stared as if she might follow. Careane adjusted her green-fringed shawl on shoulders wider than those of many men and exchanged quiet words with Sareitha. The pair of them turned to meet Elayne as she approached, making her curtsies almost as deep as the novices had given them. Merilille noticed the Guardswomen and blinked, then noticed Elayne and gave a start. Her curtsy matched the novices’.
Merilille had worn the shawl for over a hundred years, Careane for more than fifty, and even Sareitha had worn it longer than Elayne Trakand, but standing among Aes Sedai went with strength in the Power, and none of these three was more than middling strong among sisters. In Aes Sedai eyes, increased strength gave, if not increased wisdom, at least increased weight to your opinions. With a sufficient gap, those opinions became commands. Sometimes, Elayne thought the Kin’s way was better.
“I don’t know what it is,” she said before any of the other Aes Sedai could speak, “but there is nothing we can do about it, so we might as well quit worrying. We have enough right in front of us without fretting over things we can’t affect.”
Rasoria half-turned her head, frowning and plainly wondering what she had missed, but the words smoothed the anxiety from Sareitha’s dark eyes. Perhaps not from the rest of her, since her hands moved as if she wanted to smooth her brown skirts, yet she was willing to follow the lead of a sister who stood as high as Elayne. Sometimes, there were advantages to standing high enough that you could quell objections with a sentence. Careane had already regained serenity, if she had ever lost it. It sat easily on her, though she looked more like a wagon driver than an Aes Sedai despite her beryl-slashed silks and smooth, ageless coppery face. But then, Greens usually were made of tougher stuff than Browns. Merilille did not look at all serene. Wide eyes and half-parted lips gave her the appearance of startlement. That was usual for her, though.
Elayne continued along the hallway, hoping they would go about their business, but Merilille fell in beside Birgitte. The Gray should have taken primacy among the three, but she had developed a tendency to wait for someone to tell her what to do, and she shifted over without a word when Sareitha politely asked Birgitte to give her room. The sisters were unfailingly courteous to Elayne’s Warder when she was acting as Captain-General. It was Birgitte as Warder they tried to ignore. Aviendha received no such civility from Careane, who elbowed in between her and Elayne. Anyone not trained in the White Tower was a wilder by definition, and Careane despised wilders. Aviendha pursed her lips though she did not draw her belt knife or even suggest that she might, for which Elayne was grateful. Her first-sister could be . . . precipitate, at times. On second thought, she would have forgiven a little hastiness from Aviendha right then. Custom forbade rudeness toward another Aes Sedai under any circumstances, but Aviendha could have growled threats and waved her knife to her heart’s content. That might have been enough to make the threesome leave, even if in a tizzy. Careane did not seem to notice the cool green gaze marking her.
“I told Merilille and Sareitha it was nothing we could do anything about,” she said calmly. “But shouldn’t we be ready to flee if it comes closer? There’s no shame flying from that. Even linked, we would be moths fighting a forest fire. Vandene wouldn’t bother to listen.”
“We really should make some sort of preparations, Elayne,” Sareitha murmured absently, as if making lists in her head. “It’s when you don’t make plans that you wish you had. There are a number of volumes in the library here that mustn’t be left behind. I believe several can’t be found in the Tower library.”
“Yes.” Merilille’s voice was breathless, and as anxious as her large dark eyes. “Yes, we really should be ready to go. Perhaps . . . Perhaps we should not wait. Surely going from necessity would not violate our agreement. I am sure it would not.” Only Birgitte as much as glanced at her, but she flinched.
“If we do go,” Careane said as if Merilille had not spoken, “we’ll have to take all of the Kin with us. Allow them to scatter, and the Light only knows what they’ll do or when we will ever catch them again, especially now that some have learned to Travel.” There was no bitterness in her voice, though only Elayne among the sisters in the palace could Travel. It seemed to make a difference to Careane that the Kinswomen had begun in the White Tower, even if most had been put out and a few had run away. She had identified no fewer than four of them herself. At least they were not wilders.
Sareitha’s mouth tightened, though. It weighed on her that several Kinswomen could weave gateways, and she had very different notions of the Kin. Normally, she limited her objections to the occasional frown or disparaging grimace, since Elayne had made her own views clear, but the stress of the morning seemed to have loosened her tongue. “We do indeed need to take them with us,” she said in a cutting tone, “else they’ll all be claiming to be Aes Sedai as soon as they’re out of our sight. Any woman who maintains she was put out of the Tower over three hundred years ago will claim anything! They need to be kept under a close watch, if you ask me, instead of going about as they please, most especially those who can Travel. They may have gone where you told them and come back so far, Elayne, but how long before one of them doesn’t return? Mark my words, once one of them escapes, others will follow, and we will have a mess on our hands we’ll never clean up.”
“There is no reason for us to go anywhere,” Elayne said firmly, as much for the Guards as for the sisters. That distant beacon was still in the same spot where she had first sensed it, and if it did move, the chance seemed small that it would move toward Caemlyn, much less actually come there, but a rumor that Aes Sedai were planning flight might be enough to engender a stampede, mobs clawing to reach the gates ahead of whatever could frighten Aes Sedai. An army sacking the city would not kill as many. And these three chattered away as if there were no one to hear but the wall hangings! There was some excuse for Merilille, but not the others. “We will remain here, as the Amyrlin Seat has commanded, until the Amyrlin commands otherwise. The Kinswomen will continue to receive every courtesy until they are welcomed back into the Tower, and that is the Amyrlin’s command, too, as you very well know. And you will continue teaching the Windfinders and go about your lives as Aes Sedai should. We are supposed to deal with people’s fears and soothe them, not spread senseless gossip and panic.”
Well, perhaps she had been a touch more than firm. Sareitha put her gaze on the floor tiles like a rebuked novice. Merilille flinched again at mention of the Windfinders, but that was to be expected. The others gave lessons, but the Sea Folk held Merilille as tightly as they did one of their apprentices. She slept in their quarters and normally was not seen without two or three of them, and her trailing meekly at their heels. They refused to accept anything less than meekness from her.
“Of course, Elayne,” Careane said hastily. “Of course. None of us would suggest disobeying the Amyrlin.” Hesitating, she adjusted her green-fringed shawl over her arms, seemingly occupied with setting it just so. She did spare a pitying look for Merilille. “But speaking of the Sea Folk, could you tell Vandene to take her share of the lessons?” When Elayne said nothing, her voice took on an edge that would have been called sullen in anyone not Aes Sedai. “She says she’s too busy with those two runaways, but she finds enough time to keep me talking some nights until I’m half asleep. That pair is already so cowed they wouldn’t squeak if their dresses caught fire. They don’t need her attention. She could take her portion of teaching those cursed wilders. Vandene needs to start behaving as an Aes Sedai, too!”
Standing or no, rebuke or no, she gave Elayne a baleful glare that took her a moment to smother. Elayne had been the one who made the bargain that led to Aes Sedai having to teach Windfinders, but so far she herself had managed to miss giving more than a handful of lessons, claiming the press of other, more important duties. Besides, the Sea Folk saw a shorebound teacher as a hireling, even an Aes Sedai, and a hireling with less standing than a scullion at that. A scullion who might try to cheat on her labor. She still thought Nynaeve had gone away just to avoid giving those lessons. Certainly no one expected to end up in Merilille’s state, but even a few hours at a time was bad enough.
“Oh, no, Careane,” Sareitha put in, still avoiding Elayne’s eye. And Merilille’s. In her opinion, the Gray had gotten herself into this fix and thus deserved what came of it, but she did try not to rub salt in the wounds. “Vandene is distraught over her sister, and Kirstian and Zarya help her occupy her mind.” Whatever she thought of the other Kin, she accepted that Zarya was a runaway, as she had to, since Adeleas had recognized her, and if Kirstian must be a liar, her own lie would make her pay in full for that. Runaways were not treated kindly. “I spend hours with her, too, and she almost never talks of anything but Adeleas. It’s as if she wants to add my memories to her own. I think she needs to be allowed as much time as she needs, and those two keep her from being alone too often.” Giving Elayne a sidelong glance, she drew breath. “Still, teaching the Windfinders is certainly . . . challenging. Perhaps an hour now and then would help pull her out of despondency, if only by making her angry. Don’t you agree, Elayne? Just an hour or two, now and then.”
“Vandene will be allowed as much time to grieve for her sister as she needs or wants,” Elayne said in level tones. “And there will be no more discussion of it.”
Careane sighed heavily and rearranged her shawl again. Sareitha sighed faintly and began twisting the Great Serpent ring on the forefinger of her left hand. Perhaps they had sensed her mood, or perhaps it was just that neither looked forward to another session with the Windfinders. Merilille’s permanently surprised expression did not change, but then, her sessions with the Sea Folk lasted all day and all night unless Elayne managed to pry her away, and the Windfinders were becoming less and less willing to let her go no matter how Elayne pried.
At least she had managed to avoid being curt with the three. It took an effort, especially with Aviendha there. Elayne did not know what she would do if she ever lost her sister. Vandene was not only grieving for a sister, she was searching for Adeleas’s murderer, and there could be no doubt that the killer was Merilille Ceandevin, Careane Fransi or Sareitha Tomares. One of them, or worse, more than one. The charge was hard to believe of Merilille, in her present condition, but it was not easy to believe of any sister. As Birgitte had pointed out, one of the worst Darkfriends she had ever met, during the Trolloc Wars, was a mild-as-milk lad who jumped at loud noises. And poisoned an entire city’s water supply. Aviendha’s suggestion was to put all three to the question, which had horrified Birgitte, but Aviendha was considerably less in awe of Aes Sedai than she once had been. The proper courtesies must be maintained, until there was evidence to convict. Then there would be no courtesy at all.
“Oh,” Sareitha said, brightening suddenly. “Here’s Captain Mellar. He was a hero again while you were gone, Elayne.”
Aviendha gripped the hilt of her belt knife, and Birgitte stiffened. Careane’s face went very still, very cold, and even Merilille managed a disapproving hauteur. Neither sister made any secret of her dislike for Doilan Mellar.
With a narrow face, he was not pretty, or even handsome, yet he moved with a swordsman’s lithe grace that spoke of physical strength. As Captain of Elayne’s bodyguard, he rated three golden knots of rank, and he wore them soldered to each shoulder of his brightly burnished breastplate. An ignorant observer might have thought he outranked Birgitte. The falls of snow-white lace at his throat and wrists were twice as thick and twice as long as those worn by any of the Guardswomen, but he had left off the sash again, perhaps because it would have obscured one set of golden knots. He claimed that he wanted nothing more in life than to command her bodyguard, yet he frequently talked of battles he had fought as a mercenary. It seemed he had never been on the losing side, and victory had often come from his unsung efforts on the field. He swept off his white-plumed hat in a deep, flourishing bow, managing his sword deftly with one hand, then offered a slightly lesser to Birgitte with an arm across his chest in salute.
Elayne arranged a smile on her face. “Sareitha says you were a hero again, Captain Mellar. How so?”
“Nothing more than my duty to my queen.” Despite a voice thick with self-deprecation, his answering smile was warmer than it should have been. Half the palace thought him the father of Elayne’s child. That she had not crushed that rumor seemed to make him believe he had prospects. The smile never reached his dark eyes, though. They remained as cold as death. “My duty to you is my pleasure, my Queen.”
“Captain Mellar led another sortie without orders yesterday,” Birgitte said in a carefully even voice. “This time the fighting almost spilled into the Far Madding Gate, which he had ordered left open against his return.” Elayne felt her face growing hard.
“Oh, no,” Sareitha protested. “It wasn’t like that at all. A hundred of Lord Luan’s armsmen tried to reach the city in the night, but they left it too late, and sunrise caught them. So did three times their number of Lord Nasin’s men. If Captain Mellar hadn’t opened the gates and led a rescue, they’d have been cut to pieces in sight of the walls. As it was, he managed to save eighty for your cause.” Smiling, Mellar basked in the Aes Sedai’s praise as if he had not heard Birgitte’s criticism. Of course, he seemed unaware of Careane and Merilille’s disapproving stares, too. He always managed to ignore disapproval.
