Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time 11)

Coloring faintly, Norine rose and glided away from the benches toward Egwene. The other two followed her with their eyes, and she seemed to feel their gazes, shifting her shawl uncomfortably first one way than another. "Child, you look exhausted. Go to your bed now."

Egwene wanted nothing more than her bed, but she had a question to be answered first. Only she had to be careful. The three Whites were all paying attention now. "Leane, do the sisters who visit you still ask the same questions?"

"I told you to go to your bed," Norine said sharply. She clapped her hands together as if that would somehow make Egwene obey.

"Yes," Leane said. "I see what you mean. Perhaps there can be a measure of trust."

"A small measure," Egwene said.

Norine planted her fists on her hips. There was little coolness in her face or her voice, and no vagueness at all about her. "Since you refuse to go to your bed, you can go to the Mistress of Novices and tell her you disobeyed a sister."

"Of course," Egwene said quickly, turning to go. She had her answer—Beonin had not passed on Traveling, and that meant she likely had not passed on anything else; perhaps there could be a little trust—and besides. Nagora and Miyasi were advancing on her. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged bodily to Silviana's study, something Miyasi at least was quite capable of. She had even stronger arms than Ferane.

On the morning of her ninth day back in the Tower, before first light, Doesine herself came to Egwene's small room to give her her morning dose of Healing. Outside, rain was falling with a dull roar. The two Reds who had been watching over her sleep gave her her forkroot, frowning at Doesine, and hurried away. The Yellow Sitter snorted in contempt when the door closed behind them. She used the old method of Healing that made Egwene gasp as though doused in an icy pond and left her ravenously eager for breakfast. As well as free of the pain in her bottom. That actually felt peculiar; you could adapt to anything over time, and a bruised bottom already seemed normal. But the use of the old way, the way used every time she had been given Healing since being captured, reaffirmed that Beonin had kept some secrets, though how she had managed it was still a mystery. Beonin herself had only said that most sisters thought the tales of new weaves were merely rumors.

"You don't mean to bloody surrender, do you, child?" Doesine said while Egwene was pulling her dress over her head. The woman's language was very much at odds with her elegant appearance, in gold-embroidered blue with sapphires at her ears and in her hair.

"Should the Amyrlin Seat ever surrender?" Egwene asked as her head popped out at the top of her dress. She doubled her arms behind her to do up the buttons of white-dyed horn.

Doesine snorted again, though not in contempt, Egwene thought. "A brave course, child. Still, my wager is that Silviana will bloody well have you sitting straight and walking right before much longer." But she left without calling Egwene down for naming herself the Amyrlin Seat.

Egwene had yet another appointment with the Mistress of Novices before breakfast—she had not missed a day, so far—and following a determined effort to undo Doesine's work in one go, her tears ceased as soon as Silviana's strap stopped falling. When she lifted herself off the end of the writing table, where a leather pad was attached just for bending over, its surface worn down by who knew how many women, and her skirt and shift fell against her fiery skin, she felt no urge to flinch. She accepted the painful heat, welcomed it, warmed herself with it as she would have warmed her hands in front of a fireplace on a cold winter morning. There seemed a strong resemblance between her bottom and a blazing fireplace right at that moment. Yet looking into the mirror, she saw an unruffled face. Red-cheeked, but calm.

"How could Shemerin have been reduced to Accepted?'' she asked, wiping her tears away with her handkerchief. "I've inquired, and there's no provision for it in Tower law."

"How often have you been sent to me because of those 'inquiries'?" Silviana asked, hanging the split-tailed strap in the narrow cabinet alongside the leather paddle and the limber switch. "I'd think you would have given over long since."

"I'm curious. How, when there's no provision?"

"No provision, child," Silviana said gently, as if explaining to a child in truth, "but no prohibition, either. A loophole that. . . . Well, we won't go into that. You'd only find a way to get yourself another strapping with it." Shaking her head, she took her seat behind the writing table and rested her hands on the tabletop. "The problem was that Shemerin accepted it. Other sisters told her to ignore the edict, but once she realized pleading wouldn't change the Amyrlin's mind, she moved into the Accepted's quarters."

Egwene's stomach growled loudly, anxious for breakfast, but she was not done. She was actually having a conversation with Silviana. A conversation, however odd the topic. "But why would she run away? Surely her friends didn't stop trying to talk sense into her."

"Some talked sense," Silviana said dryly. "Others. ..." She moved her hands like the pans of a balance scale, first one up then the other. "Others tried to force her to see sense. They sent her to me nearly as often as you are sent. I treated her visits as private penances, but she lacked your—" She stopped abruptly, leaning back in her chair and studying Egwene over steepled fingers. "Well, now. You actually have me chatting. Not prohibited certainly, yet hardly proper in these circumstances. Go on to breakfast," she said, picking up her pen and opening the silver cap of her ink jar. "I'll mark you down for midday again, since I know you have no intention of curtsying." The faintest hint of resignation tinged her voice.

When Egwene entered the novices' dining hall, the first novice to see her stood, and suddenly there was a loud scraping of benches on the colorful floor tiles as the others rose, too. They stood there at their benches in

silence as Egwene walked down the center aisle toward the kitchen. Suddenly Ashelin, a plump, pretty girl from Altara, darted into the kitchen. Before Egwene reached the kitchen door. Ashelin was back with a tray in her hands that held the usual thick cup of steaming tea and plate of bread, olives and cheese. Egwene reached for the tray, but the olive-skinned girl hurried to the nearest table and set it down in front of an empty bench, offering a suggestion of a curtsy as she backed away. Lucky for her, neither of Egwene's escorts this morning had chosen that moment to peer into the dining hall. Lucky for all those novices on their feet.

A cushion rested on the bench in front of Egwene's tray. A tattered thing that was more patches in different colors than original material, but still a cushion. Egwene picked it up and set it on the end of the table before sitting down. Welcoming the pain was easy. She basked in the warmth of her own fires. A soft susurration gusted through the room, a collective sigh. Only when she popped an olive into her mouth did the novices sit.

She almost spat it out again—it was not far short of spoiled—but she was famished after her Healing, so she spat only the pit into the palm of her hand and deposited it on the plate, washing the taste away with a sip of tea. There was honey in the tea! Novices got honey only on special occasions. She tried not to smile as she cleaned her plate, and clean it she did, even picking up crumbs of bread and cheese with a dampened finger. Not smiling was difficult, though. First Doesine—a Sitter!—then Silviana's resignation, now this. The two sisters were far more important than the novices or the honey, but they all indicated the same thing. She was winning her war.

CHAPTER 25 Attending Elaida

Gold-embossed leather folder under her arm, Tarna kept to the central core of the Tower as she climbed toward Elaida's apartments, although it meant using a seemingly endless series of staircases—twice those stairs were not located where she remembered them, but so long as she continued upward, she would reach her destination—rather than the gently spiraling corridors. On the stairs, she met no one but occasional liveried servants who bowed or curtsied before hurrying on about their tasks. In either of the spiraling hallways she would have to pass the entrances to the Ajah quarters and perhaps encounter other sisters. Her Keeper's stole allowed her to enter any Ajah's quarters, yet she avoided all except the Red save when duty called. Among sisters of the other Ajahs she was all too aware that her narrow stole was red, all too aware of hot eyes watching her from cold faces. They did not unnerve her—little did; she took the shifting interior of the Tower in stride—but still. . . . She thought matters had not gone so far that anyone would actually attack the Keeper, yet she took no chances. Retrieving the situation was going to be a long, hard struggle, whatever Elaida thought, and an assault on the Keeper might make it irretrievable.

Besides, not having to watch over her shoulder allowed her to think on Pevara's troubling question, one she had not considered before suggesting the bonding of Asha'man. Who in the Red actually could be trusted with the task? Hunting men who could channel led Red sisters to look askance at all men, and a fair number hated them. A surviving brother or father might well escape hatred, a favorite cousin or uncle, but once they were all gone, so was affection. And trust. And there was another matter of trust. Bonding any man violated custom strong as law. Even with Tsutama's blessings, who might run to Elaida when bonding Asha'man was broached? She had removed three more names from her mental list of possibilities by the time she reached the entrance to Elaida's apartments, only two floors below the top of the Tower. After almost two weeks, her list of those she could be certain of still contained only a single name, and that one was impossible for the task.

Elaida was in her sitting room, where the furnishings were all gilt and ivory inlays and the large patterned carpet was one of Tear's finest creations. She was sitting in a low-backed chair before the marble fireplace sipping wine with Meidani. Seeing the Gray was no surprise despite the early hour. Meidani dined with the Amyrlin most nights, and visited often during the day by invitation. Elaida, her six-striped stole wide enough to cover her shoulders, was regarding the taller woman over her crystal goblet, a dark-eyed eagle regarding a mouse with big blue eyes. Meidani, emeralds at her ears and on a wide collar around her slim throat, seemed very conscious of that gaze. Her full lips smiled, but they seemed tremulous. The hand not holding her goblet moved constantly, touching the emerald comb over her left ear, patting her hair, covering her bosom, which was largely exposed by her snug bodice of brocaded silvery-gray silk. Her bosom was hardly excessive, yet her slenderness made it seem so, and she appeared about to pop free of the garment. The woman was garbed for a ball. Or a seduction.

"The morning reports are ready, Mother," Tarna said, bowing slightly. Light! She felt as if she had intruded on lovers!

"You won't mind leaving us, Meidani?" Even the smile Elaida directed at the yellow-haired woman was predatory.

"Of course not, Mother." Meidani set her goblet on the small table beside her chair and leaped to her feet, offering a curtsy that nearly had her out of her dress. "Of course not." She scurried from the room breathing hard, her eyes wide.

When the door closed behind her, Elaida laughed. "We were pillow-friends as novices," she said, rising, "and I believe she wants to renew the relationship. I may let her. She might reveal more on the pillows than she's let slip so far. Which is nothing, truth to tell." She strode to the nearest window and stood staring down toward where her fantastical palace would rise to overtop the Tower itself. Eventually. If sisters could be convinced to work on it again. The heavy rain that had begun during the night was still falling, and it seemed unlikely she could see anything of that palace's foundations, all that had been completed so far. "Help yourself to wine if you wish."