“Are there none but fools in the world, now?” the deep voice said harshly. “Do you think I could move in Tear without him knowing? I do not mean to fight him, not now, not yet. Bring me the girl’s head, Comar. Bring me all three heads, or you will pray for me to take yours!”
“Yes, Great Master. It shall be as you say. Yes. Yes.”
The soldiers crunched past, never looking to either side. Mat only waited for their backs to pass before leaping up to catch the broad stone windowsill and pull himself high enough to see through the window.
He barely noticed the fringed Tarabon carpet on the floor, worth a fat purse of silver. One of the broad, carved doors was swinging shut. A tall man, with wide shoulders and a deep chest straining the green silk of his silver-embroidered coat, was staring at the door with dark blue eyes. His black beard was close cut, with a streak of white over his chin. All in all, he looked a hard man, and one used to giving orders.
“Yes, Great Master,” he said suddenly, and Mat almost lost his grip on the sill. He had thought this must be the man with the deep voice, but it was the cringing voice he heard. Not cringing now, but still the same. “It shall be as you say, Great Master,” the man said bitterly. “I will cut the three wenches’ heads off myself. As soon as I can find them!” He strode through the door, and Mat let himself back down.
For a moment he crouched there behind the rose frames. Someone in the Palace wanted Elayne dead, and had thrown in Egwene and Nynaeve as afterthoughts. What under the Light are they doing, going to Tear? It had to be them.
He pulled the Daughter-Heir’s letter out of the lining of his coat and frowned at it. Maybe, with this in his hand, Morgase would believe him. He could describe one of the men. But the time for skulking was past; the big fellow could be off to Tear before he even found Morgase, and whatever she did then, there was no guarantee it could stop him.
Taking a deep breath, Mat wiggled between two of the rose frames at the cost of only a few pricks and snags from the thorns, and started down the flagstone path after the soldiers. He held Elayne’s letter out in front of him so the golden lily seal was plainly visible, and went over in his mind exactly what he meant to say. When he had been sneaking about, guardsmen kept popping up like mushrooms after rain, but now he walked almost the length of the garden without seeing even one. He passed several doors. It would not be so good to enter the Palace without permission—the Guards might do nasty things first and listen after—but he was beginning to think about going through a door when it opened and a helmetless young officer with one golden knot on his shoulder strode out.
The man’s hand immediately went to his sword hilt, and he had a foot of steel bared before Mat could push the letter toward him. “Elayne, the Daughter-Heir, sends this letter to her mother, Queen Morgase, Captain.” He held the letter so the lily seal was prominent.
The officer’s dark eyes flickered to either side, as if searching for other people, without really ever leaving Mat. “How did you come into this garden?” He did not draw his sword further, but he did not sheath it, either. “Elber is on the main gates. He’s a fool, but he would never let anyone wander loose into the Palace.”
“A fat man with eyes like a rat?” Mat cursed his tongue, but the officer gave a sharp nod; he almost smiled, too, but it did not seem to lessen his vigilance, or his suspicion. “He grew angry when he learned I had come from Tar Valon, and he wouldn’t even give me a chance to show the letter or mention the Daughter-Heir’s name. He said he would arrest me if I did not go, so I climbed the wall. I promised I would deliver this to Queen Morgase herself, you see, Captain. I promised it, and I always keep my promises. You see the seal?”
“That bloody garden wall again,” the officer muttered. “It should be built three times so high.” He eyed Mat. “Guardsman-lieutenant, not captain. I am Guardsman-lieutenant Tallanvor. I recognize the Daughter-Heir’s seal.” His sword finally slid all the way back into the sheath. He stretched out a hand; not his sword hand. “Give me the letter, and I will take it to the Queen. After I show you out. Some would not be so gentle at finding you walking about loose.”
“I promised to put it in her hands myself,” Mat said. Light, I never thought they might not let me give it to her. “I did promise. To the Daughter-Heir.”
Mat hardly realized Tallanvor’s hand was moving before the officer’s sword was resting against his neck. “I will take you to the Queen, countryman,” Tallanvor said softly. “But know that I can take your head before you blink if you so much as think of harming her.”
Mat put on his best grin. That slightly curved blade felt sharp on the side of his neck. “I am a loyal Andorman,” he said, “and a faithful subject of the Queen, the Light illumine her. Why, if I had been here during the winter, I’d have followed Lord Gaebril for sure.”
Tallanvor gave him a tight-mouthed stare, then finally took his sword away. Mat swallowed and stopped himself from touching his throat to see if he had been cut.
“Take the flower out of your hair,” Tallanvor said as he sheathed his blade. “Do you think you came here courting?”
Mat snatched the starblaze blossom out of his hair and followed the officer. Bloody fool, putting a flower in my hair. I have to stop playing the fool, now.
It was not so much following, really, for Tallanvor kept an eye on him even while he led the way. The result was an odd sort of procession, with the officer to one side of him and ahead, but half turned in case Mat tried anything. For his part, Mat attempted to look as innocent as a babe splashing in his bathwater.
The colorful tapestries on the walls had earned their weavers silver, and so had the rugs on the white tile floors, even here in the halls. Gold and silver stood everywhere, plates and platters, bowls and cups, on chests and low cabinets of polished wood, as fine as anything he had seen in the Tower. Servants darted everywhere, in red livery with white collars and cuffs and the White Lion of Andor on their breasts. He found himself wondering if Morgase played at dice. Wool-headed thought. Queens don’t toss dice. But when I give her this letter and tell her somebody in her Palace means to kill Elayne, I’ll wager she gives me a fat purse. He indulged himself in a small fancy of being made a lord; surely the man who revealed a plot to murder the Daughter-Heir could expect some such reward.
Tallanvor led him down so many corridors and across so many courtyards that he was beginning to wonder if he could find his way out again without help, when suddenly one of the courts had more than servants in it. A columned walk surrounded the court, with a round pool in the middle with white and yellow fish swimming beneath lily pads and floating white water lilies. Men in colorful coats embroidered in gold or silver, women with wide dresses worked even more elaborately, stood attendance on a woman with red-gold hair who sat on the raised rim of the pool, trailing her fingers in the water and staring sadly at the fish that rose to her fingertips in hopes of food. A Great Serpent ring encircled the third finger of her left hand. A tall, dark man stood at her shoulder, the red silk of his coat almost hidden by the gold leaves and scrolls worked on it, but it was the woman who held Mat’s eye.
He did not need the wreath of finely made golden roses in her hair, or the stole hanging over her dress of white slashed with red, the red length of the stole embroidered with the Lions of Andor, to know he was looking at Morgase, by the Grace of the Light, Queen of Andor, Defender of the Realm, Protector of the People, High Seat of House Trakand. She had Elayne’s face and beauty, but it was what Elayne would have when she had ripened. Every other woman in the courtyard fad
ed into the background by her very presence.
I’d dance a jig with her, and steal a kiss in the moonlight, too, no matter how old she is. He shook himself. Remember exactly who she is!
Tallanvor went to one knee, a fist pressed to the white stone of the courtyard. “My Queen, I bring a messenger who bears a letter from the Lady Elayne.”
Mat eyed the man’s posture, then contented himself with a deep bow. “From the Daughter-Heir . . . uh . . . my Queen.” He held out the letter as he bowed, so the golden yellow wax of the seal was visible. Once she reads it, and knows Elayne is all right, I will tell her. Morgase turned her deep blue eyes on him. Light! As soon as she’s in a good mood.
“You bring a letter from my scapegrace child?” Her voice was cold, but with an edge that spoke of heat ready to rise. “That must mean she is alive, at least! Where is she?”
“In Tar Valon, my Queen,” he managed to get out. Light, wouldn’t I like to see a staring match between her and the Amyrlin. On second thought, he decided he would rather not. “At least, she was when I left.”
Morgase waved a hand impatiently, and Tallanvor rose to take the letter from Mat and hand it to her. For a moment she frowned at the lily seal, then broke it with a sharp twist of her wrists. She murmured to herself as she read, shaking her head at every other line. “She can say no more, can she?” she muttered. “We shall see whether she holds to that. . . .” Abruptly her face brightened. “Gaebril, she has been raised to the Accepted. Less than a year in the Tower, and raised already.” The smile went as suddenly as it had come, and her mouth tightened. “When I put my hands on the wretched child, she will wish she were still a novice.”
Light, Mat thought, will nothing put her in a good mood? He decided he was just going to have to say it out, but he wished she did not look as if she meant to cut someone’s head off. “My Queen, by chance I overheard—”