Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time 13)

Faile opened her mouth, but Elayne cut her off with a wave of the hand. "This isn't negotiable. I'll need some way to convince the other lords and ladies that I'm right to give the Two Rivers so much autonomy. If the lands are granted to the Dragon Reborn, giving him a title in Andor and making the Two Rivers his seat, then it will make sense for your home to be treated differently.

"The noble Houses of Andor will accept this, since the Two Rivers is where Rand came from, and Andor does owe him a debt. We'll have him appoint Perrin's line as his stewards. Instead of capitulating to tebels within my borders, I'll be seen allowing the Dragon Reborn, the man I love, to elevate his good friend. It might also give us some ground against the Illian-Tear pact you mentioned, who are bound to claim that theit ties to Rand give them the right of conquest." She grew thoughtful, tapping the side of her cup.

"That seems reasonable," Perrin said, nodding. "Steward of the Two Rivers. I like the sound of that."

"Yes, well," Faile said. "I guess it's settled, then."

"The taxes," Elayne said, as if she hadn't heard. "You put them into a trust to be administered by Perrin and his line, with the understanding that if the Dragon ever returns, he can call upon them. Yes. That gives us a legal excuse for your exemption. Of course, Perrin will have authority to dip into those funds to improve the Two Rivers. Roads, food stores, defenses."

Elayne looked at Faile, then smiled, taking a long drink of tea. "I'm beginning to think it was a good idea not to execute you."

"That's certainly a relief," Alliandre said, smiling. As the least power-ful one in the union, she stood to gain a lot from the alliances.

"Your Majesty " Faile said.

"Call me Elayne," she said, pouring a goblet of wine for Faile.

"Very well, Elayne," Faile said, smiling and putting aside her tea, then accepting the wine. "I need to ask. Do you know what is happening with the Dtagon Reborn?"

"Ox-brained lummox," Elayne said, shaking her head. "The bloody man's got Egwene all riled up."

"Egwene?" Perrin asked.

"She's Amyrlin, finally," Elayne said, as if the fact had been inevitable. Perrin nodded, though Faile found herself amazed. How had that happened, and why wasn't Petrin surprised by it?

"What's he gone and done?" Perrin asked.

"He says he's going to break the remaining seals of the Dark One's prison," Elayne said, frowning. "We'll need to stop him, of course. Foolish plan. You could help with that. Egwene's gathering a force to persuade him."

"I think I could be of help," Perrin said.

"Do you know where he is currently?" Faile asked. Perrin had a good idea, from his visions, but she wanted to know what Elayne knew. "I don't know," Elayne said. "But I do know where he will be . . ."

Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag, ruler of the Glorious Seanchan Empire, marched into her Teaching Chamber. She wore a magnificent gown of golden cloth, cut after the highest Imperial fashion. The skirt split at the front to just above the knees, and was so long that it took five da'covale to catry the sides and train.

She wore an ornate headdress, of gold and crimson silk with beautiful silken wings shaped like those of an owl taking flight, and her arms glittered with thirteen bracelets, each of a different gemstone combination. She wore crystal at her throat in a long strand. She had heard an owl above her window the last night, and it had not flown away when she looked out. An omen indicating great care should be taken, that the next days would be ones of important decisions. The proper response was to weat jewelty with powetful symbolism.

When she entered the chamber, those inside prostrated themselves. Only the Deathwatch Guard men in armor of blood red and deep green was exempt; they bowed, but kept theit eyes up, watching for danger.

The large chamber was windowless. Lines of stacked pottery stood at one end, a place for damane to practice weaves of destruction. The floor was covered in woven mats where stubborn damane were sent to the ground, writhing in pain. It would not do for them to be harmed physically. Damane were among the most important tools the Empire had, more valuable than horses or raken. You did not destroy a beast because it was slow to learn; you punished it until it learned.

Fortuona crossed the chambet to whete a proper Imperial Throne had been set up. She commonly came here, to watch the damane being worked or broken. It soothed her. The throne was atop a small dais; she climbed the steps, train rustling as her da'covale carried it. She turned to face the room, allowing the servants to arrange her dress. They took her by her arms and lifted her back into the throne, draping her long golden skirts down the front of the dais like a tapestry.

Those skirts were sewn with the writings of Imperial power. The Empress IS Seanchan. The Empress WILL live forever. The Empress MUST be obeyed. She sat as a living banner to the might of the Empire.

Selucia took her position on the lower steps of the dais. This done, the

courtiers raised themselves. The damane, of course, remained kneeling. There were ten of them, with heads bowed, their suldam holding their leashes and in a few cases patting them affectionately on the heads.

King Beslan entered. He'd shaved most of his head, leaving only a dark strip on the top, and seven of his fingernails had been lacquered. One more fingernail than anyone on this side of the ocean, excepting Fortuona herself. He still wore Altaran clothing a uniform of green and white rather than Seanchan robes. She had not pressed him on this.

So far as she knew, since his raising, Beslan hadn't made any plans to have her assassinated. Remarkable. Any Seanchan would have immediately begun scheming. Some would have tried an assassination; others would have decided to make only plans, but remain supportive. But all would have considered killing her.

Many on this side of the ocean thought differently. She'd never have believed it, if not for her time with Matrim. That was obviously one reason why Fortuona had been required to go with him. She just wished she'd interpreted the omens earlier.

Beslan was joined by Captain-General Lunal Galgan and a few members of the low Blood. Galgan was a wide-shouldered fellow with a crest of white hair atop his head. The other members of the Blood deferred to him; they knew he had her favor. If things went well here and with the reclamation of Seanchan, there was a good chance she'd raise him to the Imperial family. The ranks of the family would need to be refilled, after all, once Fortuona returned and restored order. Undoubtedly, many had been assassinated or executed. Galgan was a valuable ally. He'd not only worked openly against Suroth, but had suggested the assault on the White Tower, which had gone well. Extremely well.

Melitene, Fortuona's der'suldam, stepped forward and bowed again. The stout, graying woman led a damane with dark brown hair and bloodshot eyes. Apparently this one wept often.