“Which is why I wanted to talk later,” she said. “Are you going to let me pass?”
He stepped aside with obvious reluctance. “We’re not finished with this talk,” he warned. “I’ve finally made up my mind about something, and I don’t intend to stop chasing it until I have it.”
“Fine,” Egwene said, passing him. “I can’t think about that now. I have to go order people I care about to slaughter another group of people I care about.”
“You’ll d
o it, then?” Gawyn said from behind. “There’s speculation in camp; I heard it though I barely left this place all morning. Some think you’ll command Bryne to assault the city.”
She hesitated.
“It would be a shame if it happened,” he said. “I don’t care a whit about Tar Valon, but I think I know what it would do to you to attack it.”
She turned back to him. “I will do what must be done, Gawyn,” she said, meeting his eyes. “For the good of the Aes Sedai and the White Tower. Even if it is painful. Even if it tears me apart inside. I will do it if it needs to be done. Always.”
He nodded slowly. She headed for the pavilion at the center of camp.
“This was your fault, Jesse,” Adelorna said. Her eyes were still red; she’d lost a Warder the night before. She was one of many. But she was also tough as a feral hound, and was obviously determined not to let her pain show.
Jesse Bilal warmed her hands on her cup of gooseberry tea, refusing to let herself be goaded. Adelorna’s question had been inevitable. And perhaps Jesse deserved the reprimand. Of course, they all deserved it, in one way or another. Except perhaps for Tsutama, who hadn’t been an Ajah head at the time. That was part of why the woman hadn’t been invited to this particular meeting. That, and the fact that the Red Ajah wasn’t in good favor with the others at the moment.
The small, cramped room was barely large enough for five chairs and the small potbellied stove at the wall, radiating a calm warmth. There wasn’t room for a table, let alone a hearth. Just enough space for five women. The most powerful women in the world. And the five most foolish, it seemed.
They were a sorry sisterhood this morning, the morning following the greatest disaster in the history of the White Tower. Jesse glanced at the woman beside her. Ferane Neheran—First Reasoner of the White—was a small, stout woman who, oddly in a White, often seemed more temper than logic. Today was one of those times: she sat scowling, her arms folded. She’d refused a cup of tea.
Next to her was Suana Dragand, First Weaver of the Yellow Ajah. She was a beefy thing with a thrusting chin that matched her unyielding demeanor. Adelorna, the one to make the accusation against Jesse, was beside her. Who could blame the Captain-General for her spitefulness? She who had been birched by Elaida, and who had last night suffered near death at the hands of the Seanchan? The slim woman looked uncharacteristically disheveled. Her hair was pulled back in a serviceable bun, and her pale dress was wrinkled.
The last woman in the room was Serancha Colvine, Head Clerk of the Gray Ajah. She had light brown hair and a pinched face; she looked perpetually as if she’d tasted something very sour. The trait seemed more manifest today than usual.
“She has a point, Jesse,” Ferane said, her logical tone a contrast with her obvious pique. “You were the one to suggest this course of action.”
“ ‘Suggest’ is a strong word.” Jesse took a sip of her drink. “I simply mentioned that in some of the . . . more private Tower records, there are accounts of times when the Ajah heads ruled instead of the Amyrlin.” The Thirteenth Depository was known to the Ajah heads, though they could not visit it unless they were also Sitters. That didn’t stop most of them from sending Sitters to gather information from it for them. “I may have been the messenger, but that is often the role of the Brown. You all were not so hesitant as to be forced into this course of action.”
There were a few sideways glances at that, and the women found opportunity to study their tea. Yes, they were all implicated, and they understood it. Jesse would not take the blame for this disaster.
“There is little use in assigning blame.” Suana attempted to be soothing, though her voice was laced with bitterness.
“I won’t be deflected so easily,” Adelorna growled. Some reacted to the loss of a Warder with sadness, others with anger. There was little doubt which was Adelorna’s way. “A grave, grave error has been made. The White Tower burns, the Amyrlin has been captured by invaders, and the Dragon Reborn still walks the earth unfettered. The entire world will soon know of our disgrace!”
“And what good will it do to blame one another?” Suana replied. “Are we so childish that we will spend this meeting squabbling about which one of us will hang, in a useless attempt to evade our responsibility?”
Jesse gave quiet thanks for the sturdy Yellow’s words. Of course, Suana had been the first of the Ajah heads to agree to Jesse’s plan. So she’d be next in line for the metaphorical hanging.
“She has a point.” Serancha took a sip of her tea. “We must make peace among ourselves. The Tower needs leadership, and we’re not going to get it from the Hall.”
“That’s partly our fault as well,” Ferane admitted, looking sick.
It was. It had seemed like a brilliant plan. The division of the Tower, the departure of so many in rebellion and the raising of a new Amyrlin, had not been their fault. But it had presented several opportunities. The first had been the easiest to take hold of: send Sitters to the rebels to steer them and hasten a reconciliation. The most youthful of Sitters had been chosen, their replacements in the Tower intended to serve only a short time. The Ajah heads had been certain this ripple of a rebellion could be easily smoothed over.
They hadn’t taken it seriously enough. That had been their first mistake. The second was more dire. There were indeed times in the past where the Ajah heads—not the Amyrlin Seat or the Hall of the Tower—had led the Aes Sedai. It had been done secretly, of course, but it had been very successful. Why, the reign of Cemaile Sorenthaine would have been a complete disaster if the Ajah heads hadn’t stepped in.
This had seemed like a similar occasion. The days of the Last Battle’s approach were a special time, requiring special attention. Attention from women of sound, rational minds and great experience. Women who could speak together in confidence and decide on the best course, avoiding the arguments that the Hall got into.
“Where did we go wrong, do you think?” Serancha asked quietly.
The women fell silent. None of them wanted to admit outright that the plan had backfired. Adelorna settled back in her chair, arms folded, smoldering but no longer flinging out accusations.
“It was Elaida,” Ferane said. “She wasn’t ever . . . very logical.”