“But you still want to be Aes Sedai. Don't you?”
Egwene hesitated, but there was never any real question as to her answer. “Yes,” she said. “I still do. It is the only way we will ever be safe. But I will tell you this. I'll not let myself be stilled.” That was a new thought, voiced as soon as it came to her, but she realized she did not want to take it back. Give up touching the True Source? She could sense it there, even now, the glow just over her shoulder, the shining just out of sight. She resisted the desire to reach out to it. Give up being filled with the One Power, feeling more alive than I ever have before? I won't! “Not without a fight.”
There was a long silence from the other side of the wall. “How could you stop it? You may be as strong as any of them, now, but neither one of us knows enough yet to stop even one Aes Sedai from shielding us from the Source, and there are dozens of them here.”
Egwene considered. Finally she said, “I could run away. Really run away, this time.”
“They would come after us, Egwene. I'm sure they would. Once you show any ability at all, they don't let you go until you've learned enough not to kill yourself. Or just die from it.”
“I am not a simple village girl anymore. I have seen something of the world. I can keep out of Aes Sedai hands if I want to.” She was trying to convince herself as much as Elayne. And what if I don't know enough, yet? Enough about the world, enough about the Power? What if just channeling can still kill me? She refused to think of that. So much I have to learn yet. I won't let them stop me.
“My mother might protect us,” Elayne said, “if what that Whitecloak said is true. I never thought I would hope something like that was the truth. But if it isn't, Mother is just as likely to send us both back in chains. Will you teach me how to live in a village?”
Egwene blinked at the wall. “You will come with me? If it comes to that, I mean?”
There was another long silence, then a faint whisper. “I do not want to be stilled, Egwene. I will not be. I will not be!”
The door swung open, crashing against the wall, and Egwene sat up with a start. She heard the bang of a door from the other side of the wall. Faolain stepped into Egwene's room, smiling as her eyes went to the tiny hole. Similar holes joined most of the novice rooms; any woman who had been a novice knew of them.
“Whispering with your friend, eh?” the curlyhaired Accepted said with surprising warmth. “Well, it grows lonely, waiting by yourself. Did you have a nice chat?”
Egwene opened her mouth, then closed it again hastily. She could answer Aes Sedai, Sheriam had said. No one else. She regarded the Accepted with a level expression and waited.
The false sympathy slid off Faolain's face like water running off a roof. “On your feet. The Amyrlin's not to be kept waiting by the likes of you. You are lucky I did not come in in time to hear you. Move!”
Novices were supposed to obey the Accepted almost as quickly as they obeyed Aes Sedai, but Egwene got to her feet slowly, and took as much time as she dared in smoothing her dress. She gave Faolain a small curtsy and a tiny smile. The scowl that rolled across the Accepted's face made Egwene's smile grow before she remembered to rein it in; there was no point in pushing Faolain too far. Holding herself straight, pretending her knees were not shaking, she preceded the Accepted out of the room.
Elayne was already waiting outside with the applecheeked Accepted, looking fiercely determined to be brave. Somehow, she managed to give the impression that the Accepted was a handmaid carrying her gloves. Egwene hoped that she herself was doing half so well.
The railed galleries of the novices' quarters rose tier on tier above, in a hollow column, and fell as many below, to the Novices' Court. There were no other women in sight. Even if every novice in the Tower had been there, though, less than a quarter of the rooms would have been filled. The four of them walked 'round the empty galleries and down the spiraling ramps in silence; none could bear to have the sounds of voices emphasize the emptiness.
Egwene had never before been into the part of the Tower where the Amyrlin had her rooms. The corridors there were wide enough for a wagon to pass down easily, and taller than they were wide. Colorful tapestries hung on the walls, tapestries in a dozen styles, of floral designs and forest scenes, of heroic deeds and intricate patterns, some so old they looked as if they might break if handled. Their shoes made loud clicks on diamondshaped floor tiles that repeated the colors of the seven Ajahs.
There were few other women in evidence — an Aes Sedai now and then, sweeping majestically along with no time to notice Accepted or novices; five or six Accepted hurrying selfimportantly about their tasks or studies; a sprinkling of serving women with trays, or mops, or armfuls of sheets or towels; a few novices moving on errands even more quickly than the servants.
Nynaeve and her slimnecked escort, Theodrin, joined them. Neither spoke. Nynaeve wore an Accepted's dress, now, white with the seven colored bands at the hem, but her belt and pouch were her own. She gave Egwene and Elayne each a reassuring smile and a hug — Egwene was so relieved to see another friendly face that she returned the hug with barely a thought that Nynaeve was behaving as if she were comforting children — but as they walked on, Nynaeve gave her thick braid a sharp tug from time to time, too.
Very few men came into that part of the Tower, and Egwene saw only two: Warders walking side by side in conversation, one with his sword on his hip, the other with his on his back. One was short and slender, even slight, the other almost as wide as he was tall, yet both moved with a dangerous grace. The colorshifting Warder cloaks made them queasymaking to watch for long, parts of them sometimes seeming to fade into the walls bond. She saw Nynaeve looking at them, and shook her head. She has to do something about Lan. If any of us can do anything about anyone after today.
The antechamber of the Amyrlin Seat's study was grand enough for any palace, though the chairs scattered about for those who might wait were plain, but Egwene had eyes only for Leane Sedai. The Keeper wore her narrow stole of office, blue to show she had been raised from the Blue Ajah, and her face could have been carved from smooth, brownish stone. There was no one else there.
“Did they give any trouble?” The Keeper's clipped way of talking gave no hint now of either anger or sympathy.
“No, Aes Sedai,” Theodrin and the applecheek