She closed her eyes, then opened them to blackness. Her body suddenly exploded with pain, her backside pounded raw from the strap, her arms and legs cramped from being forced to lie curled in the small room. It smelled of old straw and mold, and she knew that if her nose hadn't been used to it, she would have smelled the stench of her own unwashed body as well. She stifled a groan—there were women outside, guarding her and maintaining her shield. She wouldn't let them hear her offer complaint, not even in the form of a groan.
She sat up, wearing the same novice dress that she'd worn to Elaida's dinner party. The sleeves of the dress were stiff with dried blood, and this cracked as she moved, scraping against her skin. She was parched; they never gave her enough water. But she did not complain. No yells, no cries, no begging. She forced herself to sit up despite the pain, smiling to herself at how it felt. She crossed her legs, then leaned back and—one by one—stretched the muscles in her arms. Then she stood and stooped over, stretching her back and shoulders. Finally, she lay down on her back and stretched her legs up into the air, cringing as they complained. She needed to remain limber. Pain was nothing. Nothing at all compared with the danger the White Tower was in.
She sat back down, cross-legged, and took deep breaths, repeating to herself that she wanted to be locked in this room. She could escape if she wished, but she remained. By remaining she undermined Elaida. By remaining she proved that some would not bow and quietly accept the fall of the White Tower. This imprisonment meant something.
The words, repeated in her head, helped stave off the panic at considering yet another day within this cell. What would she have done without the nightly dreams to keep her sane? Again, she thought of poor Rand, locked away. She and he shared something now. A kinship beyond a common childhood in the Two Rivers. They had both suffered Elaida's punishments. And it hadn't broken either of them.
There was nothing to do but wait. Around noon, they would open the doors and drag her out to be beaten. It wouldn't be Silviana who did the punishing. Giving the beatings was seen as a reward, compensation to the Red sisters for having to spend all day sitting in the dungeons guarding her.
After the beating, Egwene would go back in the cell and be given a bowl of tasteless gruel. Day after day it was the same. But she would not break, particularly not while she could spend the nights in Tel'aran'rbiod. In fact, in many ways, those were her days—spent free and active—while these were her nights, in inactive darkness. She told herself that.
The morning passed slowly. Eventually, iron keys clanked as one turned in the ancient lock. The door opened, and a pair of slender Red sisters stood outside, barely silhouettes, the light so unfamiliar to Egwene that she couldn't make out their features. The Reds grabbed her roughly by the arms, though she never resisted. They pulled her out and threw her to the ground. She heard the strap as one slapped it against her hand in anticipation, and Egwene steeled herself for the blows. They would hear her laugh, just as they had every day before.
"Wait," a voice said.
The arms holding Egwene down grew stiff. Egwene frowned, cheek pressed against the cold tile floor. That voice ... it had been Katerine's.
Slowly, the sisters holding Egwene relaxed their grips, pulling her to her feet. She blinked against the blazing light of the lamps to find Kater-ine standing in the hallway a short distance away, her arms folded. "She is to be released," the Red said, sounding strangely smug.
"What?" asked one of Egwene's captors. As her eyes adjusted, Egwene could see that it was lanky Barasine.
"The Amyrlin has realized that she is punishing the wrong person," Katerine said. "The failure lies not completely on the head of this . . . insect of a novice, but on the one who was to be manipulating her."
Egwene eyed Katerine. And then it clicked into place. "Silviana," she said.
"Indeed," Katerine said. "If the novices are out of control, then should not the blame fall on the one who was to train them?"
So Elaida had realized that she could not prove Egwene was a Dark-friend. Deflecting attention to Silviana was a clever move; if Elaida was punished for using the Power to beat Egwene, but Silviana was punished far more for letting Egwene get out of control, it would save face for the Amyrlin.
"I think the Amyrlin made a wise choice," Katerine said. "Egwene, you are to be ... instructed from now on only by the Mistress of Novices."
"But Silviana is the one you said has failed," Egwene said, confused.
"Not Silviana," Katerine said; her smugness seemed to grow even further. "The new Mistress of Novices."
Egwene locked gazes with the woman. "Ah," she said. "And you believe that you will succeed where Silviana failed?"
"You will see." Katerine turned away and headed down the tiled hallway. "Take her to her quarters."
Egwene shook her head. Elaida was more competent than Egwene had assumed. She'd seen that the imprisonment wasn't working and had found a scapegoat to punish instead. But Silviana, removed from her position as Mistress of Novices? That would be a blow to the morale of the Tower itself, for many sisters considered Silviana an exemplary Mistress of Novices.
The Reds reluctantly began to walk Egwene toward the novices' quarters, now in their new location on the twenty-second level. They seemed annoyed to have missed out on the opportunity to beat her.
She ignored them. After spending so long locked up, it felt wonderful simply to be able to walk. It wasn't freedom, not with a pair of guards, but it certainly did feel like it! Light! She wasn't certain how many more days in that dank hole of a cell she'd have been able to stand!
But she'd won. The realization was just beginning to dawn on her. She'd won\ She'd resisted the worst punishment Elaida could contrive, and had come out victorious! The Amyrlin would be punished by the Hall, and Egwene would go free.
Each familiar hallway seemed to shine with a congratulatory light, and each step she took seemed like the victory march of a thousand men across the battlefield. She had won! The war was not over, but this battle went to Egwene. They climbed some stairs, then entered the more populated sections of the Tower. Soon, she saw a group of novices passing; they whispered to one another as they saw Egwene, then scattered away.
Within minutes, Egwene s little procession of three began to pass more and more people in the hallways. Sisters of all Ajahs, looking busy—yet their steps slowed as they watched Egwene pass. Accepted in their banded dresses were far less covert; they stood at intersections, gawking as Egwene was led past. In all of their eyes there was surprise. Why was she free? They seemed tense. Had something happened that Egwene wasn't aware of?
"Ah, Egwene," a voice said as they passed a hallway. "Excellent, you are already free. I would speak with you."
Egwene turned with shock to see Saerin, the purposeful Brown Sitter.
The scar on the woman's cheek always made her seem far more . . . daunting than most other Aes Sedai, an air enhanced by the white locks of hair, indicating her great age. Few members of the Brown could be described as intimidating, but Saerin was certainly one of that select group.
"We are taking her to her rooms," Barasine said.