“There’s something seriously amiss,” she said, swirling the wine in her goblet without drinking. A frown deepened the fine lines at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve been in this palace more times than I can remember, and today I got lost twice.”
“We know about that,” Elayne told her, and quickly explained what little they had puzzled out, what she intended to do. Belatedly, she wove a ward against eavesdropping and was unsurprised to feel it slice through saidar. At least whoever had been listening in would get a jolt from that. A small jolt, since so little of the power was involved that she had not sensed it. Maybe there was a way to make it a hard jolt next time, though. Maybe that would begin to discourage eavesdroppers.
“So it might happen again,” Dyelin said when Elayne was done. Her tone was calm, but she licked her lips and took a swallow of wine, as if her mouth was suddenly dry. “Well. Well, then. If you don’t know what caused it, and you don’t know whether it will happen again, what are we to do?”
Elayne stared. Again someone seemed to think she had answers she did not. But then, that was what it meant to be queen. You were always expected to have an answer, to find one. That was what it meant to be Aes Sedai. “We can’t stop it, so we’ll live with it, Dyelin, and try to keep people from growing too afraid. I’ll announce what happened, as much as we know, and have the other sisters do the same. That way, people will know that Aes Sedai are aware, and that should provide some comfort. A little. They’ll still be frightened, of course, but not as much as they’ll be if we say nothing and it does happen again.”
That seemed a feeble effort to her, but surprisingly Dyelin agreed without hesitation. “I myself can suggest nothing else to be done. Most people think you Aes Sedai can handle anything. It should suffice, in the circumstances.”
And when they realized that Aes Sedai could not handle anything, that she could not? Well, that was a river that she would cross when she reached it. “Is the news good, or bad?” Before Dyelin could answer, the door opened again.
“I heard that Lady Dyelin had returned. You should have sent for us, Elayne. You aren’t queen yet, and I dislike you keeping secrets from me. Where is Aviendha?” Catalyn Haevin, a cool-eyed, ungovernable young woman—a girl in truth, still long months short of her majority, though her guardian had abandoned her to go her own way—was pride to her toenails, her plump chin held high. Of course, that might have been because of the large enameled pin of Haevin’s Blue Bear that decorated the high neck of her blue riding dress. She had begun showing Dyelin respect, and a certain wariness, shortly after she started sharing a bed with her and Sergase, but with Elayne she insisted on every perquisite of a High Seat.
“We all heard,” Conail Northan said. Lean and tall in a red silk coat, with laughing eyes and an eagle’s beak of a nose, he was of age, just, a few months past his sixteenth name day. He swaggered and caressed the hilt of his sword much too fondly, but there seemed no harm in him. Only boyishness, an unfortunate trait in a High Seat. “And none of us could wait to hear when Luan and the others will join us. This pair would have run the whole way.” He ruffled the hair of the two younger boys with him, Perival Mantear and Branlet Gilyard, who gave him a dark look and raked fingers through his hair to straighten it. Perival blushed. Quite short but already pretty, he was the youngest at twelve, yet Branlet had only a year on him.
Elayne sighed, but she could not ask them to leave. Children most of them might be—perhaps all, considering Conail’s behavior—yet they were the High Seats of their Houses, and along with Dyelin, her most important allies. She did wish she knew how they had learned the purpose of Dyelin’s journey. That had been intended to be a secret until she knew what news Dyelin brought. Another task for Reene. Gossip unchecked, the wrong gossip, could be as dangerous as spies.
“Where is Aviendha?” Catalyn demanded. Strangely, she had become quite taken with Aviendha. Fascinated might have been a better word. Of all things, she had persisted in trying to make Aviendha teach her to use a spear!
“So, my Lady,” Conail said, strolling over to fill a blue goblet with wine, “when are they joining us?”
“The bad news is that they aren’t,” Dyelin said calmly. “The good news is that they’ve each rejected an invitation to join Arymilla.” She cleared her throat loudly as Branlet reached for the wine pitcher. His cheeks reddened, and he picked up the other pitcher as if he had really meant to all along. The High Seat of House Gilyard, yet still a boy for all of the sword on his hip. Perival also wore a sword, one that dragged on the floor tiles and looked too big for him, but he had already taken goat’s milk. Pouring her own wine, Catalyn smirked at the younger boys, a superior smile that vanished when she noticed Dyelin looking at her.
“That’s small turnips to call good news,” Birgitte said. “Burn me, if it isn’t. You bring back a bloody half-starved squirrel and call it a side of beef.”
“Pungent as always,” Dyelin said dryly. The two women glared at each other, Birgitte’s hands balling into fists, Dyelin fingering the dagger at her belt.
“No arguing,” Elayne said, making her voice sharp. The anger in the bond helped. At times she feared the pair might come to blows. “I won’t put up with your bickering today.”
“Where is Aviendha?”
“Gone, Catalyn. What else did you learn, Dyelin?”
“Gone where?”
“Gone away,” Elayne said calmly. Saidar or no saidar, she wanted to slap the girl’s face. “Dyelin?”
The older woman took a sip of wine to cover breaking off her staring match with Birgitte. Coming to stand beside Elayne, she picked up the silver swordsman, turned him over, set him down again. “Aemlyn, Arathelle and Pelivar tried to convince me to announce a claim to the throne, but they were less adamant than when I spoke with them last. I believe I’ve almost convinced them I won’t do it.”
“Almost?” Birgitte put a hundredweight of derision in the word. Dyelin ignored her pointedly. Elayne frowned at Birgitte, who shifted uncomfortably and stalked off long enough to get herself a goblet of wine. Very satisfying. Whatever she was doing right, she hoped it continued to work.
“My Lady,” Perival said with a bow, extending one of two goblets he held to Elayne. She managed a smile and a curtsy before taking the offering. Goat’s milk. Light, but she was begi