A Crown of Swords (The Wheel of Time 7)

The short run ended when they were allowed to settle their heels in front of Mistress Corly and the other two, all three seated against the wall in red chairs, all surrounded by the glow of saidar.

“You were told to be quiet,” Reanne said firmly. “If we decide to help you, you will have to learn that we expect strict obedience no less than the White Tower itself.” She imbued those last words with a tone of reverence. “I will tell you that you would have been treated more gently if you had not come to us in this irregular fashion.” The flow gripping Nynaeve’s braid vanished. Elayne tossed her head angrily as she was released.

Appalled astonishment became fiery outrage as Nynaeve realized that Berowin held her shield. Most Aes Sedai she had met stood above Berowin; nearly all. Gathering herself, she strained to reach the Source, expecting the weaves to shatter. She would at least show these women she would not be . . . The weaves . . . stretched. The round Cairhienin woman smiled, and Nynaeve’s face darkened. The shield stretched further, further, bulging like a ball. It would not break. That was impossible. Anyone could block her from the Source if they caught her by surprise, of course, and someone weaker could hold the shield once woven, but not this much weaker. And a shield did not bend that far without breaking. It was impossible!

“You could burst a blood vessel if you keep at that,” Berowin said, almost companionably. “We do not try to reach above our station, but skills are honed with time, and this was always nearly a Talent with me. I could hold one of the Forsaken.”

Scowling, Nynaeve gave over. She could wait. Since she had no choice, she could.

Derys came bearing her tray, distributing cups of dark tea. To the three seated women. She never so much as glanced at Nynaeve or Elayne before making a perfect curtsy and returning to her table.

“We could have been drinking blueberry tea, Nynaeve,” Elayne said, shooting such a look at her that she came close to stepping back. Maybe it would be best not to wait too long.

“Be quiet, girl.” Mistress Corly’s tone might be calm, but she patted her handkerchief to her face angrily. “Our report of you says you both are froward and contentious, that you chase after men and lie. To which I add that you cannot follow simple instructions. All of which must change if you seek our help. All of it. This is most irregular. Be grateful we’re willing to speak to you.”

“We do seek your help,” Nynaeve said. She wished Elayne would stop glaring so. It was worse than the Corly woman’s hard stare. Well, as bad, anyway. “We desperately need to find a ter’angreal — “

Reanne Corly broke in as if she had been standing there silent. “Usually, we know the girls brought to us beforehand, but we must make certain you are what you say. How many doors to the Tower Library may a novice use, and which?” She took a sip of tea, waiting.

“Two.” The word dripped venom from Elayne’s mouth. “The main door to the east, when a sister sends her, or the small door at the southwest corner, called the Novice Door, when she goes for herself. How long, Nynaeve?”

Garenia, who held Elayne’s shield, channeled another slender flow of Air, not gently. Elayne quivered, then again, and Nynaeve winced, wondering that she did not grab at the back of her skirt. “A civil tongue is another requirement,” Garenia murmured wryly into her cup.

“That is the right answer,” Mistress Corly said, as if nothing else had happened. Although she did eye the Saldaean woman briefly over her tea. “Now, how many bridges in the Water Garden?”

“Three,” Nynaeve snapped, mainly because she knew. She had not known about the library, having never been a novice. “We need to know — ” Berowin could not spare anything to channel a flow of Air, but Mistress Corly could, and did. Barely keeping her face smooth, Nynaeve knotted her hands in her skirts to hold them still. Elayne had the gall to give her a small, chilly smile. Chilly, but satisfied.

A dozen more questions hammered at them, from how many floors the novice quarters contained — twelve — to under what circumstances a novice was allowed into the Hall of the Tower — to carry messages or to be expelled from the Tower for a crime; no others — hammered without Nynaeve getting in more than two words, and those two answered silently by the horrible Corly woman. She began to feel like a novice in the Hall; they were not allowed to speak a word either. That was one of the few answers she knew, but luckily Elayne responded promptly when she did not. Nynaeve might have done better had they asked about Accepted, a little better at least, but it was what a novice should know that interested them. She was just glad Elayne was willing to go along, though by her pale cheeks and raised chin, that could not last much longer.

“I suppose Nynaeve was really there,” Reanne said finally, exchanging glances with the other two. “If Elayne taught her to pass, I think she would have done a better job. Some people live in perpetual fog.” Garenia sniffed, then nodded slowly. Berowin’s nod came entirely too promptly for Nynaeve’s liking.

“Please,” she said politely. She could be polite when there was reason, whatever anyone said. “We truly need

to find a ter’angreal the Sea Folk call the Bowl of the Winds. It’s in a dusty old storeroom somewhere in the Rahad, and I think your guild, your Circle, must know where. Please help us.” Three suddenly stony faces stared at her.

“There is no guild,” Mistress Corly said coolly, “only a few friends who found no place in the White Tower . . . ” Again, that reverential tone. “ . . . and who are foolish enough occasionally to reach out a hand where it’s needed. We have no truck with ter’angreal, or angreal, or sa’angreal either. We are not Aes Sedai.” “Aes Sedai” echoed with veneration, as well. “In any case, you are not here to ask questions. We have more for you, to see how far you’ve gone, after which you will be taken to the country and given into the care of a friend. She will keep you until we decide what to do next. Until we can be sure the sisters are not looking for you. You have a new life ahead of you, a new chance, if you can only let yourself see it. Whatever held you back in the Tower does not apply here, whether a lack of dexterity or fear or anything else. No one will push you to learn or do what you cannot. What you are is sufficient. Now.”

“Enough,” Elayne said in a wintery voice. “Long enough, Nynaeve. Or do you intend to wait in the country for however long? They do not have it, Nynaeve.” Removing her Great Serpent ring from her belt pouch, she thrust the circle of gold onto her finger. From the way she looked at the seated women, no one would believe her shielded. She was a queen out of patience. She was Aes Sedai to her hair was what she was. “I am Elayne Trakand, High Seat of House Trakand. I am Daughter-Heir of Andor and Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, and I demand you release me immediately.” Nynaeve groaned.

Garenia grimaced with disgust, and Berowin’s eyes widened in-horror. Reanne Corly shook her head ruefully, but when she spoke, her voice was iron. “I had hoped Setalle had changed your mind concerning that particular lie. I know how hard it is, to set out proudly for the White Tower then find yourself faced with returning home to admit failure. But that is never said, even in joke!”

“I made no joke,” Elayne said lightly. Snow was light.

Garenia leaned forward with a scowl, a flow of Air already forming until Mistress Corly raised her hand. “And you, Nynaeve? Do you persist in this . . . madness, too?”

Nynaeve filled her lungs. These women had to know where the Bowl was; they just had to!

“Nynaeve!” Elayne said peevishly. She was not going to let her forget this even if they did have to effect an escape. She had a way of harping on every little misstep in a manner that cut the ground right from under your feet.

“I am an Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah,” Nynaeve said wearily. “The true Amyrlin Seat, Egwene al’Vere, raised us to the shawl in Salidar. She’s no older than Elayne; you must have heard.” Not a glimmer of change in those three hard faces. “She sent us to find the Bowl of the Winds. With it, we can mend the weather.” Not a flicker of change. She tried to hold her anger down; she truly did. It just oozed up despite her. “You must want that! Look around you! The Dark One is strangling the world! If you have even a hint of where the Bowl might be, tell us!”

Mistress Corly motioned for Derys, who came and took the cups, casting fearful, wide-eyed looks at Nynaeve and Elayne. When she scurried away, out of the room in fact, the three women stood slowly, standing like grim magistrates pronouncing sentence.

“I regret that you will not accept our help,” Mistress Corly said coldly. “I regret this whole affair.” Reaching into her pouch, she pressed three silver marks into Nynaeve’s hand and another three into Elayne’s. “These will take you a little way. You can also get something for those dresses, I should think, if not what you paid. Those are hardly suitable garments for a journey. By tomorrow sunrise, you will be gone from Ebou Dar.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” Nynaeve told her. “Please, if you know — ”She might as well have kept silent. The measured flow of words did not slow.

“At that time we will begin circulating your descriptions, and we will make certain they reach the sisters in the Tarasin Palace. If you are seen after sunrise, we will see that the sisters know where you are, and the Whitecloaks as well. Your choice then will be to run, surrender to the sisters, or die. Go, do not return, and you should live long if you give over this repulsive and dangerous ruse. We are done with you. Berowin, see to them, please.” Brushing between them, she went from the room without looking back.