Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time 11)

"Somewhat good, I said." Reanne sighed. "In Marli's opinion, she might as well have admitted she kills children. Now she insists that she must be collared. She begs for the a'dam. It makes my skin creep. I don't know what to do with her."

"Send her back to the Seanchan as soon as we can," Elayne replied.

Reanne stopped dead in shock, her eyebrows climbing. Birgitte cleared her throat loudly—impatience filled the bond before being stifled—and the Kinswoman gave a start, then began walking again, at a faster pace than before. "But they'll make her a damane. I can't condemn any woman to that."

Elayne gave her Warder a look that slid off like a dagger sliding off good armor. Birgitte's expression was . . . bland. To the golden-haired woman, being a Warder contained strong elements of older sister. And worse, sometimes mother.

"I can," she said emphatically, lengthening her own stride. Well, it would not hurt to get dry a little sooner rather than later. "She helped hold enough others prisoner that she deserves a taste of it herself, Reanne. But that's not why I mean to send her back. If any of the others wants to stay and learn, and make up for what she's done, I certainly won't hand her to the Seanchan, but Light's truth, I hope they all feel like Marli. They'll put an a'dam on her, Reanne, but they won't be able to keep secret who she was. Every one-time sul'dam I can send the Seanchan to collar will be a mattock digging at their roots."

"A harsh decision," Reanne said sadly. She plucked at her skirts in an agitated manner, smoothed them, then plucked at them again. "Perhaps you might consider thinking on it for a few days? Surely it isn't anything that has to be done immediately."

Elayne gritted her teeth. The woman had as much as implied that she had reached this decision in one of her swinging moods! But had she? It seemed reasonable and logical. They could not keep the sul'dam imprisoned forever. Sending those who did not want to be free back to the Seanchan was a way to be rid of them and strike a blow at the Seanchan at the same time. It was more than hatred of any Seanchan. Of course, it was. Burn her, but she bloody well hated being unsure whether her own decisions were sound! She could not afford to make unsound decisions. Still, there was no hurry. Better to send back a group, if possible, in any event. There was less chance of someone arranging an "accident," that way. She did not put that sort of thing past the Seanchan.

"I will think on it, Reanne, but I doubt I'll change my mind."

Reanne sighed again, deeply. Eager for her promised return to the White Tower and novice white—she had been heard to say she envied Kirstian and Zarya—she wanted very much to enter the Green Ajah, but Elayne had her doubts. Reanne was kindhearted, softhearted in fact, and Elayne had never met any Green who could be called soft. Even those who seemed frilly or frail on the surface were cold steel inside.

Ahead of them, Vandene glided from a crossing corridor, slender, white-haired and graceful in dark gray wool with deep brown trim, and turned in the same direction they were going, apparently without noticing them. She was Green, and as hard as a hammerhead. Jaem, her Warder, walked beside her, head bent in close conversation, now and then raking a hand through his thinning gray hair. Gnarled and lean, his dark green coat hanging loose on him, he was old, but every scrap as hard as she, an old root that could dull axes. Kirstian and Zarya, both in plain novice white, followed meekly with their hands folded at their waists, the one pale as a Cairhienin, the other short and slim-hipped. For runaways who had succeeded in what so few did, remaining free of the White Tower for years, over three hundred years in Kirstian's case, they had resettled into their places as novices with remarkable ease. But then, the Kin's Rule was a blending of the rules that governed novices and those that Accepted lived by. Perhaps, to them, the white woolen dresses and the loss of freedom to come and go as they chose were the only real change, though the Kin regulated that last to some extent.

"I'm very glad she has those two to occupy her," Reanne murmured in tones of sympathy. Pained caring shone in her eyes. "It's good that she mourns her sister, but I fear she'd be obsessed with Adeleas' death without Kirstian and Zarya. She may be anyway. I believe that dress she's wearing belonged to Adeleas. I've tried offering solace—I have experience helping people overcome grief; I've been a village Wise Woman as well as wearing the red belt in Ebou Dar many years ago— but she won't give me two words."

In fact, Vandene wore only her dead sister's clothing, now, and Adeleas' flowery perfume, as well. At times, Elayne thought Vandene was trying to become Adeleas, to offer up herself in order to bring her sister back to life. But could you fault someone for being obsessed with finding who had murdered her sister? Not that more than a handful of people knew that was what she was doing. Everyone else believed as Reanne did, that she was absorbed with teaching Kirstian and Zarya, that and beginning their punishment for running away. Vandene was doing both, of course, and with a will, yet it was really just a

cover for her true purpose.

Elayne reached out without looking, and found Aviendha's hand waiting to take hers, a comforting grip. She squeezed back, unable to imagine the grief of losing Aviendha. They shared a quick glance, and Aviendha's eyes mirrored her own feelings. Had she really once thought Aiel faces impassive and unreadable?

"As you say, Reanne, she has Kirstian and Zarya to occupy her." Reanne was not among the handful who knew the truth. "We all mourn in our own way. Vandene will find solace along her own path."

When she found Adeleas' murderer, it was to be hoped. If that failed to at least begin assuaging the pain. . . . Well, that was to be faced when it must be. For now, she must allow Vandene her head. Especially since she had no doubt the Green would ignore any attempt to rein her in. That was more than irritating; it was infuriating. She had to watch Vandene perhaps destroying herself, and worse, make use of it. Having no alternative made that no less unpalatable.

As Vandene and her companions turned aside down another hallway, Reene Harfor appeared out of a side corridor right in front of Elayne, a stout, quiet woman with a graying bun atop her head and an air of regal dignity, her formal scarlet tabard with the White Lion of Andor as always looking freshly ironed. Elayne had never seen her with a hair out of place or looking even slightly the worse for a long day spent overseeing the workings of the palace. And more besides. Her round face appeared puzzled for some reason, but it took on a look of concern at the sight of Elayne. "Why, my Lady, you're drenched," she said, sounding shocked, as she made her curtsy. "You need to get out of those wet things right away."

"Thank you, Mistress Harfor," Elayne said through her teeth. "I hadn't noticed."

She regretted the outburst instantly—the First Maid had been as faithful to her as to her mother—but what made matters worse was that Mistress Harfor took her flare-up in stride, never so much as blinking. Elayne Trakand's moods were no longer anything to be surprised at.

"I will walk with you if I may, my Lady," she said calmly, falling in at Elayne's side. A freckled young serving woman carrying a basket of folded bed linens began to offer her courtesies, only a hair more directed at Elayne than the First Maid, but Reene made a quick gesture that sent the girl scurrying before she completed bending her knees. Perhaps it was just to keep her from overhearing. Reene did not stop talking. "Three of the mercenary captains are demanding to meet with you. I put them in the Blue Reception Room, and told the servants to keep watch so no small valuables accidentally fall into their pockets. Not that I had to, as it turned out. Careane Sedai and Sareitha Sedai appeared soon after and settled in to keep the captains company. Captain Mellar is with them, too."

Elayne frowned. Mellar. She was trying to keep him too busy for mischief, yet he had a way of turning up where and when she least wanted him. For that matter, so did Careane and Sareitha. One of them had to be the Black Ajah killer. Unless it was Merilille, and she was beyond reach, it seemed. Reene knew about that. Keeping her in the dark would have been criminal. She had eyes everywhere, and they might notice a vital clue. "What do the mercenaries want, Mistress Harfor?"

"More money, is my guess," Birgitte growled, and swung her unstrung bow like a club.

"Most likely," Reene agreed, "but they refused to tell me." Her mouth tightened slightly. No more than that, yet it seemed these mercenaries had managed to offend her. If they were stupid enough not to see that she was more than a superior serving woman, then they were very dense indeed.

"Has Dyelin returned?" Elayne asked, and when the First Maid said not, added, "Then I will see these mercenaries as soon as I've changed clothes." She might as well get them out of the way.

Rounding a corner, she found herself face-to-face with two of the Windfinders and barely suppressed a sigh. The Sea Folk were the last people on earth she wanted to confront right then. Lean and dark and barefoot in red brocaded silk trousers and a blue brocaded silk blouse with a green sash tied in an elaborate knot, Chanelle din Seran White Shark was aptly named. Elayne had no idea what a white shark looked like—it might well have been a little thing—but Chanelle's big eyes were hard enough to belong on a fierce predator, especially when she took in Aviendha. There was bad blood, there. A tattooed hand raised the gold piercework scent box hanging on a chain about Chanelle's neck, and she inhaled the sharp, spicy scent deeply, as though covering some foul odor. Aviendha laughed out loud, which made Chanelle's full lips grow thin. Thinner, at least. Thin was beyond them.

The other was Renaile din Calon, once Windfinder to the Mistress of the Ships, in blue linen trousers and a red blouse sashed with blue, tied in a much less intricate knot. Both women wore the long white mourning stoles for Nesta din Reas, yet Renaile must have felt Nesta's death most keenly. She was carrying a carved wooden writing box with a capped ink jar set in one corner and a sheet of paper with a few scrawled lines clipped to its top. Wings of white in her black hair hid the six gold earrings in her ears, much thinner rings than the eight she had worn before learning of Nesta's fate, and the gold honor chain crossing her dark left cheek looked stark supporting only the medallion that named her clan. After Sea Folk custom, Nesta's death had meant starting over for Renaile, with no more rank than a woman raised from apprentice on the day she herself had put off her honors. Her face still held dignity, though much subdued now that she was acting as Chanelle's secretary.

"I am on my way—" Elayne began, but Chanelle cut her off imperiously.

"What news do you have of Talaan? And of Merilille. Are you even trying to find them?"

Elayne took a deep breath. Shouting at Chanelle never did any good. The woman was more than willing to shout back and seldom willing to listen to reason. She would not engage in another screaming match. Servants slipping by to either side did not pause to offer bows or curtsies—they could sense the mood here—but they shot grim looks at the Sea Folk women. That was pleasing, though it should not have been. However upsetting they were, the Windfinders were guests. In a way, they were, bargain or no bargain. Chanelle had complained more than once of slow-footed servants and tepid bathwater. And that was pleasing, too. Still, she would maintain her dignity, and civility.

"The news is the same as yesterday," she replied in tones of moderation. Well, she attempted tones of moderation. If traces of sharpness remained, the Windfinder would have to live with them. "The same as last week, and the week before that. Inquiries have been made at every inn in Caemlyn. Your apprentice is not to be found. Merilille is not to be found. It seems they must have managed to leave the city." The gate guards had been warned to watch for a Sea Folk woman with tattooed hands, but they would not have tried to stop an Aes Sedai leaving, or taking anyone with her that she wanted. For that matter, the mercenaries would let anyone at all pass who offered a few coins. "And now, if you will excuse me, I am on my way—"