Faile felt refreshed. She'd spent the entire night nuzzled against Perrin top their hill. She'd brought plenty of bedding and blankets. In some ways, the grassy hilltop had been more comfortable than their tent.

The scouts had returned from Cairhien this morning; their report would come soon. For now, Faile had bathed and eaten.

It was time to do something about Berelain.

She crossed the trampled grass toward the Mayener section of camp, seling her anger rise. Berelain had gone too far. Perrin claimed that the umors came from Berelain's maids, not the woman herself, but Faile saw he truth. The First was a master of manipulating and controlling rumor. That was one of the best ways to rule from a position of relative weakness. The First did so in Mayene, and she did the same here in camp, where Faile vas the stronger party as Perrin's wife.

A pair of Winged Guards stood at the en

trance to the Mayener section, heir breastplates painted crimson, winged helmets shaped like pots and xtending down the backs of their necks. They stood up taller as Faile teared, holding lances that were mostly ornamental, pennons flapping vith the golden hawk in flight stenciled on their blue lengths.

Faile had to crane to meet their eyes. "Escort me to your lady," she ordered.

The guards nodded, one holding up a gauntleted hand and waving for wo other men from inside the camp to take up the watch. "We were told to expect you," the guard told Faile in a deep voice.

Faile raised an eyebrow. "Today?"

"No. The First simply said that should you come, you were to be obeyed."

"Of course I'm to be obeyed. This is my husband's camp."

The guards did not argue with her, though they probably disagreed. Berelain had been sent to accompany Perrin, but he had not been given express command over her or her troops.

Faile followed the men. The ground was, by a miracle, actually starting to dry out. Faile had told Perrin that she wasn't bothered by the rumors, but she was frustrated by Berelain's boldness. That woman, Faile thought. How dare she

No. No, Faile couldn't continue down that path. A good shouting match would make her feel better, but it would reinforce the rumors. What else would people surmise if they saw her stalk to the First's tent, then scream at her? Faile had to be calm. That would be difficult.

The Mayener camp was arranged with lines of men radiating from a

central tent like spokes on a wheel. The Winged Guard didn't have tents those were with Master Gill but there was a very orderly arrangement to the groupings. They almost seemed too level, the folded blankets, the piles of lances, the horse poles and the periodic firepits. Berelain's central pavilion was lavender and maroon salvage from Maiden. Faile maintained her composure as the two towering guards led her up to the tent. One knocked on the post outside for permission to enter.

Berelain's tranquil voice responded, and the guard pushed back the entrance flap for Faile. As she moved to enter, rustling inside made her step back, and Annoura came out. The Aes Sedai nodded to Faile, the overlapping braids around her face swinging. She seemed displeased; she hadn't regained her mistress's favor yet.

Faile took a deep breath, then stepped into the pavilion. It was cool inside. The floor was covered with a maroon and green rug of a twisting ivy pattern. Though the pavilion looked empty without Berelain's usual travel furniture, she did have a pair of sturdy oak chairs and a light table from Maiden.

The First rose. "Lady Faile," she said calmly. Today, she wore the diadem of Mayene. The thin crown had a simple grandeur about it, unorna-mented save for the golden hawk taking flight as if leaping toward the sunlight streaming in patches through the tent ceiling. Flaps had been removed there to let in the light. The First's dress was gold and green, a very simple belt at her waist, the neckline plunging.

Faile sat in one of the chairs. This conversation was dangerous; it could lead to disaster. But it had to be done.

"I trust you are well?" Berelain said. "The rains of the last few days ve not been overly taxing?"

"The rains have been dreadful, Berelain," Faile said. "But I'm not here talk about them."

Berelain pursed perfect lips. Light, but the woman was beautiful! Faile t downright dingy by comparison, her nose too large, her bosom too îall. Her voice wasn't nearly as melodic as Berelain's. Why had the Creator made people as perfect as Berelain? Was it mockery of the rest of

them?

But Perrin didn't love Berelain. He loved Faile. Remember that.

"Very well," Berelain said. "I assumed this discussion would come. Let I promise you that the rumors are absolutely false; nothing inappropriate ppened between myself and your husband."

"He has told me that already," Faile said, "and I trust his word over yours."

This made Berelain frown. She was a master of political interactions, ssessing a skill and subtlety that Faile envied. Despite her youth, Berelain had kept her tiny city-state free from the much larger and powerful ar. Faile could only guess how much juggling, political double-dealing d sheer cleverness that must have required.

"So why have you come to me?" Berelain asked, sitting down. "If your art is at ease, then there is no problem."

"We both know that whether or not you slept with my husband is not issue here," Faile said, and Berelain's eyes widened. "It isn't what happened, but what is presumed, that angers me."

Tags: Robert Jordan The Wheel of Time Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net