A Crown of Swords (The Wheel of Time 7)

“I want you — I command you — to undertake an inquiry. And you must indeed hold it in your heart. The wrong ear hearing of it might mean death, and disaster for the whole Tower.”

Seaine’s eyebrows twitched. Death and disaster for the whole Tower? “In my heart,” she said again. “Will you sit yourself, Mother?” That was proper, in her own apartments. “May I pour you some mint tea? Or plum punch?”

Waving away the offer of refreshment, Elaida took the most comfortable chair, carved by Seaine’s father as a gift when she received the shawl, though of course the cushions had been replaced many times since. The Amyrlin made the country chair seem a throne, all stiff back and iron countenance. Most ungraciously, she did not give permission for Seaine to sit, too, so Seaine folded her hands and remained standing.

“I have thought long and hard on treason, Seaine, since my predecessor and her Keeper were allowed to escape. Helped to escape. Treason must have been at the core of that, and I fear only a sister, or sisters, could have effected it.”

“That would certainly be a possibility, Mother.”

Elaida frowned at the interruption. “We can never be sure who has the shadow of treason in her heart, Seaine. Why, I suspect that someone arranged for an order of mine to be countermanded. And I have reason to believe that someone has communicated privately with Rand al’Thor; to what end, I cannot say, but that surely is treason against me, and against the Tower.”

Seaine waited for more, but the Amyrlin only looked back at her, slowly smoothing her red-slashed skirts. “Exactly what inquiry do you wish me to make, Mother?” she asked cautiously.

Elaida bounded to her feet. “I charge you to follow the stench of treason, no matter where it leads or how high, even to the Keeper herself. Yes, even to her. What you find, whoever it leads to, you will bring before the Amyrlin Seat alone, Seaine. No one else must know. Do you understand me?”

“I understand your commands, Mother.”

Which, she thought, once Elaida had departed even more swiftly than she had come, was about all she did understand. In order to think she took the chair the Amyrlin had vacated, fists pressed beneath her chin in just the way her father had always sat thinking. Everything fell to logic, eventually.

She would not have stood against Siuan Sanche — she had proposed the girl as Amyrlin in the first place! — but once it was done and all the forms were followed, however sparely, aiding her escape certainly had been treason, and deliberately countermanding an Amyrlin’s order just as much. Possibly communicating with al’Thor was, too; that depended on what was communicated, with what intent. Finding who had changed the Amyrlin’s command would be difficult without knowing what command. At this late date learning who might have helped Siuan escape stood about as much chance of success as learning who might be writing to al’Thor. So many pigeons flew into and out of the Tower cotes every day that at times the sky seemed to be raining feathers. If Elaida knew more than she had said, she had certainly gone around the barn. This all made very little sense. Treason ought to make Elaida boil with rage, but she had not been angry. She had been nervous. And anxious to be gone. And secretive, as if she did not want to tell everything she knew or suspected. Almost as though she was afraid to. What kind of treason would make Elaida nervous or afraid? Death and disaster for the whole Tower.

Like the pieces of a blacksmith’s puzzle, all fell into place, and Seaine’s eyebrows tried to climb onto her scalp. It fit; it all fit. She felt the blood draining from her face; her hands and feet were suddenly icy. Sealed to the Flame. She had said she would keep this in her heart, but everything had changed since she spoke those words. She only let herself be afraid when it was logical to be, and right then, she was terrified. She could not face this alone. But who? Under the circumstances, who? This answer came much more easily. Gathering herself took a little time, but she hurried from her rooms and out of the White quarters walking a good deal faster than she usually did.

Servants scurried through the corridors as always, though she walked so quickly that she was past most before they could begin bow or curtsy, but there seemed fewer sisters about than the early hour could account for. Many fewer. Yet if most were staying close to their quarte

rs for some reason, the few she saw made up for it in one way. Sisters swarmed along the tapestry-hung hallways, faces all serenity, and their eyes seemed to have steam behind them. Here and there two or three women spoke together, with sharp eyes darting to see who might be listening. Always two or three of the same Ajah. Even yesterday, she was sure she had still seen women sharing friendship between Ajahs. Whites were supposed to put emotion away entirely, but she had never seen the reason for blinding herself, as some did. Suspicion made the air in the Tower like hot jelly. Not a new thing, unfortunately — the Amyrlin had begun it with her harsh measures, and the rumors about Logain had only exacerbated the situation — but this morning seemed worse than ever.

Talene Minly came around a corner ahead of her, her shawl not just across her shoulders, but spread down her arms as though to display the green fringe. For that matter, she realized that every Green she had seen this morning wore her shawl. Talene, golden-baked and statuesque and lovely, had stood to depose Siuan, but she had come to the Tower while Seaine was Accepted, and that decision had not dented their long friendship. Talene had had reasons Seaine accepted if not agreed with. Today, her friend stopped, watching her warily. So many sisters seemed to watch one another that way of late. Another time, she would have stopped, but not with what made her head want to burst open like a spoiled melon. Talene was a friend, and she thought she could be sure of her, but thinking was not enough for this. Later, if possible, she would approach Talene. Hoping it would be possible, she hurried past with only a nod.

In the Red quarters, the mood was even worse, the air thicker. As with the other Ajahs, there were many more rooms than there were sisters to fill them now — that had been so long before the first rebel fled — but the Red was the largest of the Ajahs, and sisters filled the levels still in use. Reds frequently wore their shawls when there was no need, but now every last woman sported her red fringe like a banner. Conversations stopped as Seaine approached, and cold eyes followed her in a bubble of icy silence. She felt an invader deep in enemy country as she crossed those peculiar floor tiles, white with the teardrop Flame of Tar Valon in red. But then, any part of the Tower might be enemy country. Looking another way, those scarlet flames might be taken for red Dragon’s Fangs. She had never believed those irrational tales about the Reds and false Dragons, but . . . Why would none of them deny it?

She had to ask directions. “I will not disturb her if she is busy,” she said. “We were close friends once, and I would like us to be again. Now more than ever, the Ajahs cannot afford to drift apart.” All true, though the Ajahs seemed to splitting apart rather than drifting, but the Domani woman listened with a face that could have been cast in copper. There were not many Domani Reds, and those few usually meaner than snakes caught in a fence.

“I will show you, Sitter,” the woman said at last, and not very respectfully. She led the way, then watched while Seaine knocked on the door, as though she could not be trusted here alone. The door panels were carved with the Flame, too, lacquered the color of fresh blood.

“Come!” a brisk voice called from within. Seaine opened the door hoping she was right.

“Seaine!” Pevara exclaimed cheerfully. “What brings you here this morning? Come! Shut the door and sit!” It was as if all the years since they were novice and Accepted together had melted away. Quite plump and not tall — in truth, for a Kandori, she was short — Pevara was also quite pretty, with a merry twinkle in her dark eyes and a ready smile. It was sad that she had chosen Red, no matter how good her reasons, because she still liked men. The Red did attract women who were naturally suspicious of men, of course, but others chose it because the task of finding men who could channel was important. Whether they liked men, or disliked them, or did not care one way or the other in the beginning, however, not many women could belong to the Red for long without taking a jaundiced view of all men. Seaine had reason to believe Pevara had served a penance shortly after attaining the shawl for saying that she wished she had a Warder; since reaching the safer heights of the Hall, she had openly said Warders would make the Red Ajah’s work easier. Not that that had any part in Seaine trusting her. Of all the sisters in the Tower, though, Pevara was the one she was sure she could trust with this.

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you,” Pevara said once they were ensconced in armchairs carved in the spirals popular in Kandor a hundred years ago, with delicate, butterfly-painted cups of blueberry tea in hand. “I’ve often thought how I should go to you, but I admit to fearing what you would say after I gave you the cut direct so many years ago. Sworn on the blade, Seaine, I’d not have done it, except Tesien Jorhald practically had me by the scruff of my neck, and I was too new to the shawl to have much backbone yet. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, I can,” Seaine replied. “I understood.” The Red firmly discouraged friendships outside the Ajah. Quite firmly, and quite efficiently. “We cannot go against our Ajahs when we are young and later, it seems impossible to retrace our steps. A thousand times I’ve remembered us whispering together after Last — oh, and the pranks! do you recall when we dusted Serancha’s shift with powdered itchoak? — but I’m shamed to say it took being terrified out of my wits to stir my feet. I do want us to be friends again, but I need your help, too. You are the only one I’m sure I can trust.”

“Serancha was a prig then, and still is.” Pevara laughed. “The Gray is a good place for her. But I can’t believe you terrified at anything. Why, you never decided it was logical to be afraid until we were back in our beds. Short of a promise to stand in the Hall without knowing what for, whatever help I can give is yours, Seaine. What do you need?”

Brought to the point, Seaine hesitated, sipping her tea. Not that she had any doubts about Pevara, but pushing the words out of her mouth was . . . difficult. “The Amyrlin came to see me this morning,” she said finally. “She instructed me to make an inquiry, Sealed to the Flame.” Pevara frowned slightly, but she did not say that in that case Seaine should not be speaking of it. Seaine might have planned how to carry out most of their pranks as girls, but Pevara had been the one with the audacity to think most of them up, and she had provided most of the nerve to go through with them. “She was very circumspect, but after a little thought, it was clear to me what she wanted. I am to hunt out . . . ” At the last, courage failed her tongue. “ . . . Darkfriends in the Tower.”

Pevara’s eyes, as dark as her own were blue, became stone, and swept to the mantel above her fireplace, where miniatures of her own family made a precise line. They had all died while she was a novice, parents, brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and all, murdered in a quickly suppressed uprising of Darkfriends who had become convinced the Dark One was about to break free. That was why Seaine had been sure she could trust her. That was why Pevara had chosen Red — though Seaine still thought she could have done as well and been happier as a Green — because she believed a Red hunting men who could channel had the best chance of finding Darkfriends. She had been very good at it; that plump exterior covered a core of steel. And she possessed the courage to say calmly what Seaine had been unable to bring herself to utter.

“The Black Ajah. Well. No wonder Elaida would be circumspect.”

“Pevara, I know she’s always denied its existence harder than any three other sisters combined, but I’m certain sure that’s what she meant, and if she is convinced . . . ”

Her friend waved her off. “You have no need to convince me, Seaine. I have been sure the Black Ajah exists for . . . ” Strangely, Pevara became hesitant, peering into her teacup like a fortune-teller at a fair. “What do you know of events right after the Aiel War?”

“Two Amyrlins dying suddenly in the space of five years,” Seaine said carefully. She assumed the other woman meant events in the Tower. Truth to tell, until being raised a Sitter nearly fifteen years ago, just a year after Pevara, she had not given much attention to anything outside the Tower. And not that much inside, really. “A great many sisters died in those years, as I recall. Do you mean to say you think the . . . the Black Ajah had a hand in that?” There; she had said it, and the name had not burned her tongue.

“I don’t know,” Pevara said softly, shaking her head “You’ve done well to wrap yourself deep in philosophy. There were . . . things . . . done then, and Sealed to the Flame.” She drew a troubled breath.