“Ready?” Nynaeve asked. The other two nodded, and they yanked the sacking off their prisoner.
The sul’dam wheezed, blue eyes teary from dust, but her red face was red as much from anger as from the sack. She darted for the door, but they caught her in the first step. She was not weak, yet they were three, and when they were done the sul’dam was stripped to her shift and lying in one of the stalls, bound hand and foot with stout cord, with another piece of cord to keep her from forcing the gag out.
Soothing a puffy lip, Min eyed the lightning-paneled dress and soft boots they
had laid out. “It might fit you, Nynaeve. It won’t fit Elayne or me.” Elayne was picking straw out of her hair.
“I can see that. You were never a choice anyway, not really. They know you too well.” Nynaeve hurriedly removed her own clothes. She tossed them aside and donned the sul’dam’s dress. Min helped with the buttons.
Nynaeve wiggled her toes in the boots; they were a little tight. The dress was tight, too, across the bosom, and loose elsewhere. The hem hung almost to the ground, lower than sul’dam wore them, but the fit would have been even worse on any of the others. Snatching up the bracelet, she took a deep breath and closed it around her left wrist. The ends merged, and it seemed solid. It did not feel like anything except a bracelet. She had been afraid that it would.
“Get the dress, Elayne.” They had dyed a pair of dresses—one of hers and one of Elayne’s—to the gray damane were, or as close as they could manage, and hidden them here. Elayne did not move except to stare at the open collar and lick her lips. “Elayne, you have to wear it. Too many of them have seen Min for her to do it. I would have worn it, if this dress had fit you instead.” She thought she would have gone mad if she had had to wear the collar; that was why she could not make her voice sharp with Elayne now.
“I know.” Elayne sighed. “I just wish I knew more of what it does to you.” She drew her red-gold hair out of the way. “Min, help me, please.” Min began undoing the buttons down the back of her dress.
Nynaeve managed to pick up the silver collar without flinching. “There is one way to find out.” With only a moment of hesitation, she bent and snapped it around the neck of the sul’dam. She deserves it if anyone does, she told herself firmly. “She might be able to tell us something useful, anyway.” The blue-eyed woman glanced at the leash trailing from her neck to Nynaeve’s wrist, then glared up at her contemptuously.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Min said, but Nynaeve barely heard.
She was . . . aware . . . of the other woman, aware of what she was feeling, cord digging into her ankles and into her wrists behind her back, the rank fish taste of the rags in her mouth, straw pricking her through the thin cloth of her shift. It was not as if she, Nynaeve, felt these things, but in her head was a lump of sensations that she knew belonged to the sul’dam.
She swallowed, trying to ignore them—they would not go away—and addressed the bound woman. “I won’t hurt you if you answer my questions truthfully. We aren’t Seanchan. But if you lie to me. . . .” She lifted the leash threateningly.
The woman’s shoulders shook, and her mouth curled around the gag in a sneer. It took Nynaeve a moment to realize the sul’dam was laughing.
Her mouth tightened, but then a thought came to her. That bundle of sensation inside her head seemed to be everything physical that the other woman felt. Experimentally, she tried adding to it.
Eyes suddenly bulging out of her head, the sul’dam gave a cry that the gag only partially stopped. Fanning her hands behind her as if trying to ward off something, she humped through the straw in a vain effort to escape.
Nynaeve gaped, and hastily rid herself of the extra feelings she had added. The sul’dam sagged, weeping.
“What. . . . What did you . . . do to her?” Elayne asked faintly. Min only stared, her mouth hanging open.
Nynaeve answered gruffly. “The same thing Sheriam did to you when you threw a cup at Marith.” Light, but this is a filthy thing.
Elayne gulped loudly. “Oh.”
“But an a’dam isn’t supposed to work that way,” Min said. “They always claimed it won’t work on any woman who cannot channel.”
“I do not care how it is supposed to work, so long as it does.” Nynaeve seized the silver metal leash right where it joined the collar, and pulled the woman up enough to look her in the eyes. Frightened eyes, she saw. “You listen to me, and listen well. I want answers, and if I don’t get them, I’ll make you think I have had the hide off you.” Stark terror rolled across the woman’s face, and Nynaeve’s stomach heaved as she suddenly realized the sul’dam had taken her literally. If she thinks I can, it’s because she knows. That is what these leashes are for. She took firm hold of herself to stop from clawing the bracelet off her wrist. Instead, she hardened her face. “Are you ready to answer me? Or do you need more convincing?”
The frantic head-shaking was answer enough. When Nynaeve removed the gag, the woman only paused to swallow once before babbling, “I will not report you. I swear it. Only take this from my neck. I have gold. Take it. I swear, I will never tell anyone.”
“Be quiet,” Nynaeve snapped, and the woman shut her mouth immediately. “What is your name?”
“Seta. Please. I will answer you, but please take—it—off! If anyone sees it on me. . . .” Seta’s eyes rolled down to stare at the leash, then squeezed shut. “Please?” she whispered.
Nynaeve realized something. She could never make Elayne wear that collar.
“Best we get on with it,” Elayne said firmly. She was down to her shift, too, now. “Give me a moment to put this other dress on, and—”
“Put your own clothes back on,” Nynaeve said.
“Someone has to pretend to be a damane,” Elayne said, “or we will never reach Egwene. That dress fits you, and it cannot be Min. That leaves me.”
“I said put your clothes on. We have somebody to be our Leashed One.” Nynaeve tugged at the leash that held Seta, and the sul’dam gasped.
“No! No, please! If anyone sees me—” She cut off at Nynaeve’s cold stare.