“Well, do not let any Red sister hear you thinking it aloud. Egwene, they did try. For three hundred years after the White Tower was built, they tried. They gave up because there was nothing to find. Come on. I want you to meet Min. Not in the garden where Logain is going, thank the Light.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar to Egwene, and when she saw the young woman, she knew why. There was a narrow stream in the garden, with a low stone bridge over it, and Min sat cross-legged on the wall of the bridge. She wore a man’s tight breeches and baggy shirt, and with her dark hair cut short she could almost pass for a boy, though an uncommonly pretty one. A gray coat lay beside her on the coping.
“I know you,” Egwene said. “You worked at the inn in Baerlon.” A light breeze riffled the water beneath the bridge, and graywings warbled in the trees of the garden.
Min smiled. “And you were one of those who brought the Darkfriends down on us to burn it down. No, don’t worry. The messenger who came to fetch me brought enough gold that Master Fitch is building it back again twice as big. Good morning, Elayne. Not slaving over your lessons? Or over some pots?” It was said in a bantering tone, as between friends, as Elayne’s answering grin proved.
“I see Sheriam has not yet managed to get you into a dress.”
Min’s laugh was wicked. “I’m no novice.” She made her voice squeaky. “Yes, Aes Sedai. No, Aes Sedai. May I sweep another floor, Aes Sedai? I,” she said, resuming her own low voice, “clothe myself the way I want.” She turned to Egwene. “Is Rand well?”
Egwene’s mouth tightened. He should wear ram’s horns like a Trolloc, she thought angrily. “I was sorry when your inn caught fire, and I am glad Master Fitch was able to rebuild. Why have you come to Tar Valon? It’s clear you do not mean to be an Aes Sedai.” Min arched an eyebrow in what Egwene was sure was amusement.
“She likes him,” Elayne explained.
“I know.” Min glanced at Egwene, and for an instant Egwene thought she saw sadness—or regret?—in her eyes. “I am here,” Min said carefully, “because I was sent for, and was given the choice between riding and coming tied in a sack.”
“You always exaggerate it,” Elayne said. “Sheriam Sedai saw the letter, and she says it was a request. Min sees things, Egwene. That’s why she’s here; so the Aes Sedai can study how she does it. It isn’t the Power.”
“Request,” Min snorted. “When an Aes Sedai requests your presence, it’s like a command from a queen with a hundred soldiers to back it up.”
“Everybody sees things,” Egwene said.
Elayne shook her head. “Not like Min. She sees—auras—around people. And images.”
“Not all the time,” Min put in. “Not around everybody.”
“And she can read things about you from them, though I’m not sure she always tells the truth. She said I’d have to share my husband with two other women, and I’d never put up with that. She just laughs, and says it was never her idea of how to run things, either. But she said I would be a queen before she knew who I was; she said she saw a crown, and it was the Rose Crown of Andor.”
Despite herself, Egwene asked, “What do you see when you look at me?”
Min glanced at her. “A white flame, and. . . . Oh, all sorts of things. Idon’t know what it means.”
“She says that a great deal,” Elayne said dryly. “One of the things she said she saw looking at me was a severed hand. Not mine, she says. She claims she does not know what it means, either.”
“Because I don’t,” Min said. “I don’t know what half of it means.”
The crunch of boots on the walk brought them around to look at two young men with their shirts and coats across their arms, leaving sweaty chests bare, and scabbarded swords in their hands. Egwene found herself staring at the most handsome man she had ever seen. Tall and slim, but hard, he moved with a cat-like grace. She suddenly realized he w
as bowing over her hand—she had not even felt him take it in his—and fumbled in her mind for the name she had heard.
“Galad,” she murmured. His dark eyes stared back into hers. He was older than she. Older than Rand. At the thought of Rand, she gave a start and came to herself.
“And I am Gawyn”—the other young man grinned—“since I don’t think you heard the first time.” Min was grinning, too, and only Elayne wore a frown.
Egwene abruptly remembered her hand, still held by Galad, and freed it.
“If your duties allow,” Galad said, “I would like to see you again, Egwene. We could walk, or if you obtain permission to leave the Tower, we could picnic outside the city.”
“That—that would be nice.” She was uncomfortably aware of the others, Min and Gawyn still with their amused grins, Elayne still with her scowl. She tried to settle herself, to think of Rand. He’s so . . . beautiful. She gave a jump, half afraid she had spoken aloud.
“Until then.” Finally taking his eyes from hers, Galad bowed to Elayne. “Sister.” Lithe as a blade, he strolled on across the bridge.
“That one,” Min murmured, peering after him, “will always do what is right. No matter who it hurts.”
“Sister?” Egwene said. Elayne’s scowl had lessened only slightly. “I thought he was your. . . . I mean, the way you’re frowning. . . .” She had thought Elayne was jealous, and she still was not sure.
“I am not his sister,” Elayne said firmly. “I refuse to be.”