“I don’t care if she has the Creator himself with her,” Mat snapped, walking back toward the balcony. “I’m going to go sit her down and explain some things to her.”

Selucia followed and leaned against the doorway, raising a skeptical gaze to him.

“Well, maybe I won’t sit her down, really,” Mat said, looking through the open screen at the gardens below. “But I will explain to her—logically—why she can’t just go wandering in the night like this. At least, I’ll mention it to her. Blood and bloody ashes. We really are high up, aren’t we?”

“Normal people use stairs.”

“Every soldier in the city is looking for me,” Mat said. “I think Galgan is trying to make me vanish.”

Selucia pursed her lips.

“You didn’t know about this?” Mat asked.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s not impossible that Galgan would be on the watch for you. The Prince of the Ravens would be competition, under normal circumstances. He is general of our armies, but that is a task often assigned to the Prince of the Ravens.”

Prince of the Ravens. “Don’t bloody remind me,” Mat said. “I thought that was my title when I was married to the Daughter of the Nine Moons. It hasn’t changed at her elevation?”

“No,” Selucia said. “Not yet.”

Mat nodded, then sighed as he looked at the climb ahead of him. He lifted one leg up onto the railing.

“There is another way,” Selucia said. “Come before you break your fool neck. I do not know yet what she wants with you, but I doubt it involves you falling to your death.”

Mat gratefully hopped off the balcony railing, following Selucia into the room. She opened a wardrobe, and then opened the back into a dark passageway enclosed in the wood and stone of the palace.

“Blood and bloody ashes,” Mat said, sticking his head in. “This was here all along?”

“Yes.”

“This might be how it got in,” Mat murmured. “You need to board this thing up, Selucia.”

“I’ve done better. When the Empress sleeps—may she live forever—she sleeps in the attic. She never slumbers in this room. We have not forgotten how easily Tylin was taken.”

“That’s good,” Mat said. He shuddered. “I found the thing that did that. He won’t be ripping out any more throats. Tylin and Nalesean can have a little dance together about that. Farewell, Selucia. Thank you.”

“For the passageway?” she asked. “Or for failing to kill you with the crossbow?”

“For not bloody calling me Highness like Musenge and the others,” Mat muttered, entering the passage. He found a lantern hung on the wall, and lit it with his flint and tinder.

Behind him, Selucia laughed. “If that bothers you, Cauthon, you have a very irritating life ahead of you. There is only one way to stop being the Prince of the Ravens, and that is to find your neck in a cord.” She closed the door to the wardrobe.

What a pleasant woman she is, Mat thought. He almost preferred the days when she would not talk to him. Shaking his head, he started down the passage, realizing she had never told him exactly where it led.

Rand strode through Elayne’s camp at the eastern edge of Braem Wood, accompanied by a pair of Maidens. The camp was dark, evening upon them, but few slept. They were making preparations to break camp and move the army east toward Cairhien the next morning.

Only two guards for Rand tonight. He felt almost exposed with two guards, though once he had thought any number of guards at all to be excessive. The inevitable turning of the Wheel had changed his perception as surely as it changed the seasons.

He walked a lantern-lit pathway that had obviously once been a game trail. This camp hadn’t been here long enough to have pathways otherwise. Soft noises broke the nights calm: supplies being loaded on to carts, sword blades being ground on whetstones, meals being distributed to hungry soldiers.

The men did not call to one another. Not only was it night, but the Shadow’s forces were near in the forest, and Trollocs had good ears. Best to be in the habit of speaking softly, not shouting from one side of the camp to another. The lanterns had shields to give only a soft light, and cook fires were kept to a minimum.

Rand left the trail, carrying his long bundle, passing through rustling high grass in the clearing on his way to Tam’s tent. This would be a quick trip. He nodded to those soldiers who saluted as he passed on the path. They were shocked to see him, but not surprised that he walked the camp. Elayne had made her armies aware of his earlier visit.

I lead these armies, she had said as they parted last time, but you are their heart. You gathered them, Rand. They fight for you. Please let them see you when you come.

And so he did. He wished he could protect them better, but he would simply have to carry that burden. The secret, it turned out, had not been to harden himself to the point of breaking. It had not been to become numb. It had been to walk in pain, like the pain of the wounds at his side, and accept that pain as part of him.

Two men from Emond’s Field guarded Tam’s tent. Rand nodded to them as they straightened up, saluting. Ban al’Seen and Dav al’Thone—once, he would never have thought to see them salute. They did it well, too.

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