It would be a shame to execute her.
Just one day, he thought to himself, and already I think of executing a woman for not agreeing to follow me. There was a time when I could barely stand to execute deserving criminals. But he would do what must be done.
Milisair's deep curtsy seemed to imply that she accepted his authority. Or perhaps it was simply a means of allowing him a better view of what the dress accentuated. A very Domani thing to do. Unfortunately for her, he already had more problems with women than he knew how to handle.
"My Lord Dragon," Milisair said, rising from her curtsy. "How may I serve you?"
"When was the last communication you had from King Alsalam?"
Rand asked. He pointedly didn't give her leave to sit in one of the room's chairs.
"The King?" she asked, surprised. "It has been weeks now."
"I will need to speak to the messenger who brought the latest message," Rand said.
"I am not certain he can be found." The woman sounded, flustered. "I do not keep track of the coming and going of every messenger in the city, my Lord."
Rand leaned forward. "Do you lie to me?" he asked softly.
Her mouth opened, perhaps in shock at his bluntness. The Domani were no Cairhienin—who had a seemingly inborn political craftiness— but they were a subtle people. Particularly the women.
Rand was neither subtle nor crafty. He was a sheepherder turned conqueror, and his heart was that of a Two Rivers man, even if his blood was Aiel. Whatever politicking she was used to playing, it wouldn't work on him. He had no patience for games.
"I . . ." Milisair said, staring at him. "My Lord Dragon. . . ."
What was she hiding? "What did you do with him?" Rand asked, making a guess. "The messenger?"
"He knew nothing of the King's location," Milisair said quickly, the words seeming to spill from her. "My questioners were quite thorough."
the moment when he had used the unnamed power.
That other force called to him, sang to him, tempted him. So much power, so much divine wonder. But it terrified him. He didn't dare touch it, not again.
And so he carried the key. He was not certain which of the two sources of energy was more dangerous, but as long as both called to him, he was able to resist both. Like two people, both yelling for his attention, they drowned one another out. For the moment.
Beside, he would not be collared again. The access key wouldn't have helped him against Semirhage—no amount of the One Power would aid a man if he were caught unaware—but perhaps it would in the future. Once, he hadn't dared carry it for fear of what it offered. He no longer had room to indulge such weakness.
The destination was easy to pick out; about five hundred Cairhienin armsmen were camped on the grounds of a spacious, stately mansion. Aiel also had tents on the grounds—but they had also claimed nearby buildings, and several nearby roofs. For the Aiel, camping in a place was essentially the same thing as guarding it, as an Aiel resting was about twice as alert as a regular soldier on patrol. Rand had left the larger bulk of his force outside the city; he would leave it to Dobraine and his stewards to find quarters for Rand's men within the walls.
Rand halted Tai'daishar, then surveyed his new home.
We have no home, Lews Therin whispered. We destroyed it. Burned it away, melted to slag, like sand in afire.
The mansion was certainly a step up from the mostly log manor. Its large grounds were bordered by iron gates. The flower beds were empty— flowers were hesitant to bloom this spring—but the lawn was greener than most he had seen. Oh, it was mostly yellow and brown, but there were patches of green. The groundskeepers were trying very hard, their efforts also manifest in the rows of Aryth yews cut in the shapes of fanciful animals at the sides of the lawn.
The mansion itself was nearly a palace; there was one of those in the city, of course, belonging to the king. But it was said to be inferior to the homes of the Council of Merchants. The banner flapping tall atop the manor was of brilliant gold and black, and it proclaimed this to be the seat of House Chadmar. Perhaps this Milisair had seen the departure of the others as an opportunity. If so, the only real opportunity she'd gained was the chance to be taken by Rand.
The gates to the mansion grounds were open, and the Aiel in his entourage were already hurrying in, joining clusters of society or clan members. It was irksome that they rarely waited on Rand's commands or orders, but Aiel were Aiel. Any suggestion that they should wait was simply met with laughter, as if he had made a grand joke. It would be easier to tame the wind itself than to get them to behave like wetlanders.
That made him think of Aviendha. Where had she gone, so suddenly? He could feel her through the bond, but it was faint—she was very far away. To the east. What business was there for her in the Waste?
He shook his head. All women were difficult to understand, and an Aiel woman was tenfold more incomprehensible. He had hoped that he would be able to spend some time with her, but she'd pointedly avoided him. Well, perhaps it was Min's presence that kept her away. Perhaps he would be able to keep himself from hurting her before death came. Better that Aviendha fled. His enemies didn't know of her yet.
He urged Tai'daishar through the gates, riding up the drive to the manor house itself. He dismounted, plucking the statuette from its strap and sliding it into the oversized pocket of his coat, which had been quickly tailored to hold it. He handed his mount off to a groom—one of the manor house's own servants, wearing a coat of green with a bright white shirt beneath, the collar and cuffs ruffled. The manor's servants had already been apprised that Rand would be using the place as his own, now that its former occupant had been . . . given his protection.
Dobraine joined him as he strode up the steps to the building. It was washed a crisp white, with wooden pillars lining the front landing. He stepped inside the front doors. After living in several palaces, he was still impressed. And disgusted. The opulence he found beyond the manor's front doors would never have indicated that the people of the city starved. A line of very nervous servants stood in a row along the back of the en-tryway. He could sense their fear. It was not every day that one's dwelling was annexed by the Dragon Reborn himself.
Rand pulled off his riding glove by tucking his hand between his arm and his side, then slipped the glove in his belt. "Where is she?" he asked, turning to the pair of Maidens—Beralna and Riallin—who were keeping an eye on the servants.