CHAPTER 43

Sealed to the Flame

Egwene sat quietly in her tent, hands in her lap. She controlled her shock, her burning anger and her incredulity.

Plump, pretty Chesa sat silently on a cushion in the corner, sewing embroidery on the hem of one of Egwene’s dresses, looking as content as a person could be, now that her mistress had returned. The tent was secluded, set in its own grove within the Aes Sedai camp. Egwene had allowed no attendants besides Chesa this morning. She had even turned away Siuan, who had undoubtedly come to offer some kind of apology. Egwene needed time to think, to prepare, to deal with her failure.

And it was a failure. Yes, it had been forced on her by others, but those others were her followers and friends. They would know her anger for their part in this fiasco. But first she needed to look inward, to judge what she should have done better.

She sat in her wooden chair, high-backed, with scrollwork patterns across the armrests. Her tent was as she had left it, desk orderly, blankets folded, pillows stacked in the corner, obviously kept dusted by Chesa. Like a museum used to instruct children of days past.

Egwene had been as forceful as possible with Siuan during their meetings in Tel’aran’rhiod, and yet they’d still come against her wishes. Perhaps she had been too secretive. It was a danger—secrecy. It was what had pulled down Siuan. The woman’s time as head of the Blue Ajah’s eyes-and-ears had taught her to be parsimonious with information, doling it out like a stingy employer on payday. If the others had known the importance of Siuan’s work, perhaps they wouldn’t have decided to work against her.

Egwene ran her fingers along the smooth, tightly woven pouch she wore tied to her belt. Inside was a long, thin item, retrieved secretly from the White Tower earlier in the morning.

Had she fallen into the same trap as Siuan? It was a danger. She had been trained by Siuan, after all. If Egwene had explained in more detail how well her work in the White Tower was going, would the others have stayed their hands?

It was a difficult line to walk. There were many secrets that an Amyrlin had to hold. To be transparent would be to lose her edge of authority. But with Siuan herself, Egwene should have been more forthcoming. The woman was too accustomed to taking action on her own. The way she had kept that dream ter’angreal against the Hall’s knowledge and wishes was an indication of that. Yet Egwene had approved of that, unconsciously encouraging Siuan to defy authority.

Yes, Egwene had made mistakes. She could not lay all the blame on Siuan, Bryne and Gawyn. She had likely made other mistakes as well; she would need to look at her own actions in more detail later.

For now, she turned her attention to a greater problem. Disaster had struck. She’d been pulled from the White Tower on the brink of success. What was to be done? She did not get up and pace in thought. To pace was to show nervousness or frustration, and she had to learn to be reserved at all times, lest she unwittingly fall into bad habits. So she remained seated, arms on the hand rests, wearing a fine silken gown of green with yellow patterns on the bodice.

How odd it felt to be in that skirt. How wrong. Her white dresses, though forced upon her, had become something of a symbol of defiance. To change now meant an end to her strike. She was tired, emotionally and physically, from the night’s battle. But she couldn’t give in to that. This wouldn’t be her first near-sleepless night before a very important day of decisions and problems.

She found herself tapping her armrest and forced herself to stop.

There was no way she could return to the White Tower as a novice now. Her defiance had worked only because she had been a captive Amyrlin. If she went back willingly, she would be seen as subservient, or as arrogant. Besides, Elaida would certainly have her executed this time.

And so she was stuck, just as she had been when she’d first been taken by the White Tower’s agents. She gritted her teeth. She’d once thought, mistakenly, that the Amyrlin wouldn’t be so easily tossed about by random twists in the Pattern. She was supposed to be in control. Everyone else spent their days reacting, but the Amyrlin was a woman of action!

She was realizing more and more that being the Amyrlin wasn’t different. Life was a tempest, whether you were a milkmaid or a queen. The queens were simply better at projecting control in the middle of that storm. If Egwene looked like a statue unaffected by the winds, it was actually because she saw how to bend with those winds. That gave the illusion of control.

No. It was not just an illusion. The Amyrlin did have more control, if only because she controlled herself and kept the tempest outside her. She swayed before the needs of the moment, but her actions were well-considered. She had to be as logical as a White, as thoughtful as a Brown, as passionate as a Blue, as decisive as a Green, as merciful as a Yellow, as diplomatic as a Gray. And yes, as vengeful as a Red, when necessary.

There was no returning to the White Tower as a novice, and she couldn’t wait for negotiations. Not with the Seanchan bold enough to strike the White Tower, not with Rand completely unwatched, not with the world in chaos and the Shadow gathering its forces for the Last Battle. That left her with a difficult decision. She had a fresh army of fifty thousand troops, and the White Tower had suffered an incredible blow. The Aes Sedai would be exhausted, the Tower Guard broken and wounded.

In a few days’ time, the Healings would be finished and the women rested. She didn’t know if Elaida had survived the attack or not, but Egwene had to assume she was still in control. That gave Egwene a very narrow window for action.

She knew what the only right decision was. She didn’t have time to wait for the sisters in the White Tower to make the right decision, she would have to force them to accept her.

She hoped that history would eventually forgive her.

She rose, threw open the flaps of her tent, and stopped dead. A man was sitting on the ground directly in front of her.

Gawyn scrambled to his feet, every bit as handsome as she remembered. He wasn’t beautiful, like his half-brother. Gawyn was more solid, more real. Strikingly, that now made him more attractive to Egwene than Galad. Galad was like a being from beyond reality, a figure of legends and stories. He was like a glass statue to be placed on a table for admiration, but never touched.

Gawyn was different. Handsome, with that brilliant reddish gold hair and those tender eyes. While Galad never worried about anything, Gawyn’s concern made him genuine. As did his ability to make mistakes, unfortunately.

“Egwene,” he said, righting his sword and dusting off his trouser legs. Light! Had he slept there in front of her tent? The sun was already halfway to its zenith. The man should have gone to take some rest!

Egwene squelched her concern and worry for him. It was not time to be a lovesick girl. It was time to be Amyrlin. “Gawyn,” she said, raising a hand, stopping him as he stepped toward her. “I haven’t begun to think about what to do with you. Other matters demand my attention. Has the Hall gathered, as I requested?”

“I think so,” he said, turning to glance toward the center of camp. She could just barely make out the large gathering tent of the Hall through the scrub trees.

“Then I must appear before them,” Egwene said, taking a deep breath. She began to walk forward.

“No,” Gawyn said, stepping in front of her. “Egwene, we need to talk.”

“Later.”

“No, not later, burn it! I’ve waited months. I need to know how we stand. I need to know if you—”

“Stop!” she said.

He froze. She would not be taken in by those eyes, burn him! Not right now. “I said that I hadn’t sorted through my feelings yet,” she said coolly, “and I meant it.”

He set his jaw. “I don’t believe that Aes Sedai calmness, Egwene,” he said. “Not when your eyes are so much more truthful. I’ve sacrificed—”

“You’ve sacrificed?” Egwene interrupted, letting a little anger show. “What about what I sacrificed to rebuild the White Tower? Sacrifices that you undermined by acting against my express wishes? Did Siuan not tell you that I had forbidden a rescue?”

“She did,” he said stiffly. “But we were worried about you!”

“Well, that worry was the sacrifice I demanded, Gawyn,” she said, exasperated. “Don’t you see what a distrust you have shown me? How can I trust you if you will disobey me in order to feel more comfortable?”

Gawyn didn’t look ashamed; he just looked perturbed. That was actually a good sign—as Amyrlin, she needed a man who would speak his mind. In private. But in public she’d need someone who supported her. Couldn’t he see that?

“You love me, Egwene,” he said stubbornly. “I can see it.”

“Egwene the woman loves you,” she said. “But Egwene the Amyrlin is furious with you. Gawyn, if you’d be with me, you have to be with both the woman and the Amyrlin. I would expect you—a man who was trained to be First Prince of the Sword—to understand that distinction.”

Gawyn looked away.

“You don’t believe it, do you?” she asked.

“What?”

“That I’m Amyrlin,” she said. “You don’t accept my title.”

“I’m trying to,” he said as he looked back at her. “But bloody ashes, Egwene. When we parted you were just an Accepted, and that wasn’t so long ago. Now they’ve named you Amyrlin? I don’t know what to think.”

“And you can’t see how your uncertainty undermines anything we could have together?”

“I can change. But you have to help me.”

“Which is why I wanted to talk later,” she said. “Are you going to let me pass?”

He stepped aside with obvious reluctance. “We’re not finished with this talk,” he warned. “I’ve finally made up my mind about something, and I don’t intend to stop chasing it until I have it.”

“Fine,” Egwene said, passing him. “I can’t think about that now. I have to go order people I care about to slaughter another group of people I care about.”

“You’ll do it, then?” Gawyn said from behind. “There’s speculation in camp; I heard it though I barely left this place all morning. Some think you’ll command Bryne to assault the city.”

She hesitated.

“It would be a shame if it happened,” he said. “I don’t care a whit about Tar Valon, but I think I know what it would do to you to attack it.”

She turned back to him. “I will do what must be done, Gawyn,” she said, meeting his eyes. “For the good of the Aes Sedai and the White Tower. Even if it is painful. Even if it tears me apart inside. I will do it if it needs to be done. Always.”

He nodded slowly. She headed for the pavilion at the center of camp.

“This was your fault, Jesse,” Adelorna said. Her eyes were still red; she’d lost a Warder the night before. She was one of many. But she was also tough as a feral hound, and was obviously determined not to let her pain show.

Jesse Bilal warmed her hands on her cup of gooseberry tea, refusing to let herself be goaded. Adelorna’s question had been inevitable. And perhaps Jesse deserved the reprimand. Of course, they all deserved it, in one way or another. Except perhaps for Tsutama, who hadn’t been an Ajah head at the time. That was part of why the woman hadn’t been invited to this particular meeting. That, and the fact that the Red Ajah wasn’t in good favor with the others at the moment.

The small, cramped room was barely large enough for five chairs and the small potbellied stove at the wall, radiating a calm warmth. There wasn’t room for a table, let alone a hearth. Just enough space for five women. The most powerful women in the world. And the five most foolish, it seemed.

They were a sorry sisterhood this morning, the morning following the greatest disaster in the history of the White Tower. Jesse glanced at the woman beside her. Ferane Neheran—First Reasoner of the White—was a small, stout woman who, oddly in a White, often seemed more temper than logic. Today was one of those times: she sat scowling, her arms folded. She’d refused a cup of tea.

Next to her was Suana Dragand, First Weaver of the Yellow Ajah. She was a beefy thing with a thrusting chin that matched her unyielding demeanor. Adelorna, the one to make the accusation against Jesse, was beside her. Who could blame the Captain-General for her spitefulness? She who had been birched by Elaida, and who had last night suffered near death at the hands of the Seanchan? The slim woman looked uncharacteristically disheveled. Her hair was pulled back in a serviceable bun, and her pale dress was wrinkled.

The last woman in the room was Serancha Colvine, Head Clerk of the Gray Ajah. She had light brown hair and a pinched face; she looked perpetually as if she’d tasted something very sour. The trait seemed more manifest today than usual.

“She has a point, Jesse,” Ferane said, her logical tone a contrast with her obvious pique. “You were the one to suggest this course of action.”

“ ‘Suggest’ is a strong word.” Jesse took a sip of her drink. “I simply mentioned that in some of the . . . more private Tower records, there are accounts of times when the Ajah heads ruled instead of the Amyrlin.” The Thirteenth Depository was known to the Ajah heads, though they could not visit it unless they were also Sitters. That didn’t stop most of them from sending Sitters to gather information from it for them. “I may have been the messenger, but that is often the role of the Brown. You all were not so hesitant as to be forced into this course of action.”

There were a few sideways glances at that, and the women found opportunity to study their tea. Yes, they were all implicated, and they understood it. Jesse would not take the blame for this disaster.

“There is little use in assigning blame.” Suana attempted to be soothing, though her voice was laced with bitterness.

“I won’t be deflected so easily,” Adelorna growled. Some reacted to the loss of a Warder with sadness, others with anger. There was little doubt which was Adelorna’s way. “A grave, grave error has been made. The White Tower burns, the Amyrlin has been captured by invaders, and the Dragon Reborn still walks the earth unfettered. The entire world will soon know of our disgrace!”

“And what good will it do to blame one another?” Suana replied. “Are we so childish that we will spend this meeting squabbling about which one of us will hang, in a useless attempt to evade our responsibility?”

Jesse gave quiet thanks for the sturdy Yellow’s words. Of course, Suana had been the first of the Ajah heads to agree to Jesse’s plan. So she’d be next in line for the metaphorical hanging.

“She has a point.” Serancha took a sip of her tea. “We must make peace among ourselves. The Tower needs leadership, and we’re not going to get it from the Hall.”

“That’s partly our fault as well,” Ferane admitted, looking sick.

It was. It had seemed like a brilliant plan. The division of the Tower, the departure of so many in rebellion and the raising of a new Amyrlin, had not been their fault. But it had presented several opportunities. The first had been the easiest to take hold of: send Sitters to the rebels to steer them and hasten a reconciliation. The most youthful of Sitters had been chosen, their replacements in the Tower intended to serve only a short time. The Ajah heads had been certain this ripple of a rebellion could be easily smoothed over.

They hadn’t taken it seriously enough. That had been their first mistake. The second was more dire. There were indeed times in the past where the Ajah heads—not the Amyrlin Seat or the Hall of the Tower—had led the Aes Sedai. It had been done secretly, of course, but it had been very successful. Why, the reign of Cemaile Sorenthaine would have been a complete disaster if the Ajah heads hadn’t stepped in.

This had seemed like a similar occasion. The days of the Last Battle’s approach were a special time, requiring special attention. Attention from women of sound, rational minds and great experience. Women who could speak together in confidence and decide on the best course, avoiding the arguments that the Hall got into.

“Where did we go wrong, do you think?” Serancha asked quietly.

The women fell silent. None of them wanted to admit outright that the plan had backfired. Adelorna settled back in her chair, arms folded, smoldering but no longer flinging out accusations.

“It was Elaida,” Ferane said. “She wasn’t ever . . . very logical.”

“She was a bloody disaster is what she was,” Adelorna muttered.

“It was more than that,” Jesse admitted. “Directly choosing Sitters we could control to replace those sent to the rebels was a good decision, but perhaps too obvious. The women of our own Ajahs became suspicious; I know of several comments made by women of the Brown. We are not so oblivious as others would like to think us.”

Serancha nodded. “It smelled of conspiracy,” she said. “That made the women less trusting. And then there were the rebels. Far more difficult to control than presumed.”

The women nodded. They, like Jesse, had assumed that with proper direction, the rebels would find their way back to the Tower and ask forgiveness. This division should have ended with no more damage than a few bruised egos.

But they hadn’t counted on how resilient, or effective, the rebels would be. A full army, appearing on the shores around Tar Valon in the middle of a snowstorm? Led by one of the greatest military minds of the Age? With a new Amyrlin and a frustratingly effective siege? Who could have expected it? And some of the Sitters they had sent had begun siding with the rebels more than the White Tower!

We never should have let Elaida disband the Blue Ajah, Jesse thought. The Blues might have been willing to come back, had it not happened. But it was such a dishonor that they dug in. Light only knew how dangerous that was; the histories were filled with accounts of how dogged the Blues could be at getting their way, particularly when they were forced into a corner.

“I think it is time to admit that there is no hope to save our plans,” Suana said. “Are we agreed?”

“Agreed,” Adelorna said.

One by one, the sisters nodded their heads, and so did Jesse herself. Even in this room, it was difficult to admit fault. But it was time to cut their losses and begin rebuilding.

“This has its own problems,” Serancha said, voice more calm now. The other women looked more assured as well. They didn’t trust one another, these five, but they were far closer to doing so than any other group with any authority in the Hall.

“Care must be taken,” Ferane added. “The division must be mended.”

“The rebellion was against Elaida,” Adelorna said. “If she is no longer Amyrlin, then what is there to rebel against?”

“So we abandon her?” Jesse asked.

“She deserves it,” Adelorna said. “She said time and time again that Seanchan were no threat. Well, now she is paying for her foolishness firsthand.”

“Elaida is beyond rescue,” Ferane added. “The Hall has already discussed this. The Amyrlin is buried somewhere in a mass of Seanchan captives, and we have neither the resources nor the information for a rescue.”

Not to mention our total lack of desire, Jesse added to herself. Many of the Sitters who had brought those points before the Hall were ones who had been sent to penance by Elaida. Jesse wasn’t one of those, but she did agree that Elaida had earned her reward, if only for the way she had driven the Ajahs to one another’s throats.

“Then we need a replacement,” Serancha said. “But who?”

“It has to be someone strong,” Suana said. “But someone cautious, unlike Elaida. Someone whom the sisters can rally around.”

“What about Saerin Asnobar?” Jesse asked. “She has shown uncanny wisdom of late, and she is well liked.”

“Of course you’d choose a Brown,” Adelorna said.

“And why not?” Jesse said, taken aback. “You all heard, I think, how well she did assuming command during the attack last night?”

“Seaine Herimon led her own pocket of resistance,” Ferane said. “I should think this would be a time for a woman to lead who is of an unemotional temperament. Someone who can provide rational guidance.”

“Nonsense,” Suana said. “Whites are too emotionless; we don’t want to alienate sisters, we want to bring them together. Heal them! Why, a Yellow—”

“You’re all forgetting something,” Serancha interjected. “What is needed now? A reconciliation. The Gray Ajah is the one that has spent centuries practicing the art of negotiation. Who better to deal with a divided Tower, and the Dragon Reborn himself?”

Adelorna gripped the armrests of her chair and straightened her back. The others were growing tense as well. As Adelorna opened her mouth to speak, Jesse cut her off.

“Enough!” she interjected. “Are we just going to squabble as the Hall has been doing all morning? Each Ajah offering its own members, and the others summarily rejecting them?”

The room fell silent again. It was true; the Hall had been in session for hours and had only just gone into a short recess. No one Ajah was close to getting enough support for one of its candidates. The Sitters would not stand for anyone not of their own Ajah; there was too much animosity between them. Light, but this was a mess!

“Ideally, it should be one of us five,” Ferane said. “That makes sense.”

The five looked at each other, and Jesse could read their answers to that in their eyes. They were the Ajah heads, the most powerful women in the world. Right now, they were balanced in power, and while they trusted each other more than most, there was no way any of them would allow the elevation of another Ajah head to the Amyrlin Seat. It would give the woman far too much power. After the failure of their plan, trust was wearing very thin.

“If we don’t decide soon,” Suana noted, “the Hall may take the decision from us.”

“Bah.” Adelorna waved a hand. “They’re so divided they can’t agree on what color the sky is. The Sitters have no idea what they’re doing.”

“At least some of us didn’t choose Sitters who were years too young to be placed in the Hall,” Ferane said.

“Oh?” Adelorna said. “And you got around that how, Ferane? By choosing yourself as a Sitter?”

Ferane’s eyes widened with rage. It was not a good idea to rile that woman’s temper.

“We all made mistakes,” Jesse said quickly. “Many sisters we chose were odd. We wanted women who would do exactly as we said, but instead we got a group of squabbling brats with inflated opinions of themselves, too immature for more temperate minds to influence.”

Adelorna and Ferane made a point of not looking at each other.

“This still leaves us with a problem,” Suana said. “We need an Amyrlin. Healing must begin quickly, whatever the cost.”

Serancha shook her head. “I honestly can’t think of a single woman that a sufficient number of Sitters would support.”

“I can,” Adelorna said softly. “She was mentioned in the Hall several times today. You know of whom I speak. She is young, and her circumstances are unusual, but everything is unusual at the moment.”

“I don’t know,” Suana said, frowning. “She was mentioned, yes, but by those whose motives I don’t trust.”

“Saerin seems quite taken with her,” Jesse admitted.

“She’s too young,” Serancha said. “Weren’t we just berating ourselves for choosing Sitters who lacked the necessary experience?”

“She is young, yes,” Ferane noted, “but you have to admit, there’s a certain . . . flair to her. I hardly think that anyone in the Tower stood up to Elaida as effectively as she. And while in such a position as she was, no less!”

“You’ve heard the reports of her actions during the attack,” Adelorna said. “I can confirm that they are true. I was there with her for most of it.”

Jesse started at this. She hadn’t realized that Adelorna had been on the twenty-second level during the fighting. “Surely some of what was said is exaggeration.”

Adelorna shook her head grimly. “No. It isn’t. It sounds incredible . . . but it . . . well, it happened. All of it.”

“The novices all but worship her,” Ferane said. “If the Sitters will not stand for someone of another Ajah, what of a woman who never picked an Ajah? A woman who has some experience—however unjustified—in holding the very position we are discussing?”

Jesse found herself nodding. But how had the young rebel gained such respect from Ferane and Adelorna?

“I am uncertain,” Suana said. “It seems like another rash decision.”

“Didn’t you yourself say that we had to heal the Tower, no matter what the cost?” Adelorna asked. “Can you honestly think of a better way to bring the rebels back to us?” She turned to Serancha. “What is the best method of appeasing an offended party? Would it not be to give some ground to them, acknowledge what they have done right?”

“She has a point,” Suana admitted. She grimaced, then downed the rest of her tea in one gulp. “Light, but she’s right, Serancha. We have to do it.”

The Gray looked at each of them in turn. “You aren’t foolish enough to assume this woman will be led by the nose, are you? I won’t stand for this if we’re simply trying to create another puppet. That plan failed. It failed miserably.”

“I doubt we’ll find ourselves in that situation again,” Ferane said, smiling faintly. “This one . . . is not the type to be bullied. Just look at how she dealt with Elaida’s restrictions.”

“Yes,” Jesse found herself saying, to her own surprise. “Sisters, if we agree to this, it will end our dream of ruling from the shadows. For better or worse, we’ll be setting up an Amyrlin of strength.”

“I, for one,” Adelorna said, “think that’s a splendid idea. It’s been too long.”

One by one, the others agreed.

Siuan stood, unmoving, beneath the boughs of a small oak. The tree had been engulfed by the camp, and its shade had become a favored location for Accepted and novices taking lunches. There were none doing so at the moment; the sisters, showing remarkably good judgment this time, had set them tasks to keep them from congregating around the tent where the Hall was meeting.

And so Siuan stood alone, watching as Sheriam pulled the flaps to the large pavilion closed. She was able to attend now that Egwene was back. It was easy to sense when the ward against eavesdropping was woven, Sealing the meeting to the Flame and excluding prying ears.

A hand fell on Siuan’s shoulder. She didn’t jump; she’d sensed Bryne approaching. The general walked with stealth, although there was no need. He was going to make an excellent Warder.

He stepped up beside her, hand still comfortably on her shoulder, and she allowed herself the luxury of taking just a small step closer to him. His height and sturdiness felt good beside her. Like knowing that though the sky stormed and the sea raged, your hull was caulked and your sail crafted of the strongest cloth.

“What do you think she will tell them?” Bryne asked, his voice subdued.

“I honestly have no idea. She could call for my stilling, I suppose.”

“I doubt that she will,” Bryne asked. “She is not the vengeful type. Besides, she knows that you did what you felt you had to. For her own good.”

Siuan grimaced. “Nobody likes being disobeyed, least of all the Amyrlin. I will pay for last night, Bryne. You’re right that it probably won’t be in a public way, but I worry that I’ve lost the girl’s trust.”

“And was it worth the cost?”

“Yes,” Siuan said. “She didn’t realize how close this band was to slipping away from her. And we couldn’t know that she’d be safe within the Tower during the attack. If there’s one thing my time in the White Tower taught me, it’s that there is a time for gathering and planning, but one also has to act. You can’t always wait for certainty.”

She could feel Bryne’s smile through the bond. Light, but it was good to have a Warder again. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that comforting knot of emotions in the back of her mind. That stability. Men thought differently from women, and things she found complicated and baffling, Bryne saw as straightforward and simple. Make your decision and go. There was a helpful clarity to his way of reasoning. Not that he was simple—just less inclined to regret decisions he’d already made.

“And what of the other costs?” Bryne added.

She could feel his hesitation, his worry. She turned to him, smiling in amusement. “You’re a fool, Gareth Bryne.”

He frowned.

“Bonding you was never a cost,” she said. “Whatever else happens because of this fiasco, that aspect of the night’s events were pure profit on my part.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’ll have to make extra certain that my second demand is more unreasonable, then.”

Fish guts, Siuan thought. She’d almost forgotten about that. Burning unlikely that Bryne would, though. “And when, precisely, are you going to make this unreasonable demand of me?”

He didn’t respond immediately, instead looking down at her, rubbing his chin. “You know,” he said, “I think I actually understand you now, Siuan Sanche. You are a woman of honor. It’s just that nobody else’s requirements of you can ever be more harsh or more demanding than your own requirements of yourself. You owe such a self-imposed debt to your own sense of duty that I doubt any mortal being could pay it back.”

“You make me sound centered on myself,” she said.

“At least I’m not comparing you to a boar again.”

“So you do think I’m self-centered!” she said. Burn him! He could probably sense that she was actually bothered by his statement, rather than making argument for the sake of it. Burn him again!

“You’re a driven woman, Siuan Sanche,” he said. “Driven to save the world from itself. That’s how you can shrug off an oath or an order so easily.”

Siuan took a deep breath. “This conversation grew very tedious very quickly, Gareth Bryne. Are you going to tell me that other demand, or are you going to make me wait?”

He studied her stone face thoughtfully. “Well, frankly, I’m planning to demand that you marry me.”

She blinked in surprise. Light! The bond said that he was honest.

“But only after you feel the world can care for itself. I won’t agree to it before then, Siuan. You’ve given your life to something. I’ll see that you survive through it; I hope that once you’re done, you’ll be willing to give your life to something else instead.”

She reined in her shock. She wouldn’t let a fool man make her speechless. “Well,” she forced herself to say. “I see you have some sense after all. We shall see if I agree to this ‘demand’ of yours or not. I will think on it.”

Bryne chuckled as she turned around to regard the pavilion, waiting for Egwene’s reappearance. He could sense the truth from inside her, just as she could sense it from him. Light! Now she knew why Greens married their Warders so often. Feeling his affection for her while she felt the same for him made her giddy.

He was a fool of a man. And she no less a fool of a woman. She shook her head ruefully, but she did let herself lean back against him softly as they waited, and he replaced his hand on her shoulder. Soft, not forceful. Willing to wait. He did understand her.

Egwene stood before a group of smooth faces that were far too good at hiding their anxiety. By custom, she had ordered Kwamesa to weave the ward against eavesdropping, as the sharp-nosed Gray was the youngest among the Sitters in the large tent. It looked almost empty with so few places taken. A dozen women, two from each Ajah—there would have been three of each, but the Ajahs had all sent one Sitter with the envoy to the Black Tower. The Grays had already replaced Delana with Naorisa Cambral.

Twelve Sitters, along with Egwene and one other. Egwene did not look at Sheriam, who sat in her place to the side. Sheriam had seemed troubled as she entered. Did she realize what Egwene knew? She couldn’t. If she had, she’d never have come to the meeting.

Still, knowing she was there—and knowing what she was—made Egwene nervous. In the chaos of the Seanchan attack, Siuan hadn’t been able to watch Sheriam. Why did the Keeper wear a bandage on her left hand? Egwene didn’t believe her excuse of an accident while riding, her little finger getting caught in her reins. Why had she refused Healing? Blast Siuan! Instead of watching Sheriam, she’d come to kidnap Egwene!

The Hall grew still, the women waiting to see what Egwene’s response would be to her “freedom.” Romanda, gray-streaked hair up in a bun, sat primly in a yellow dress. She oozed satisfaction, while Lelaine—on the opposite side of the room—sulked while trying to act pleased at Egwene’s return. After what Egwene had been through in the White Tower, this squabbling felt ridiculously petty.

Egwene took a deep breath, then embraced the Source. It felt so good! No bitter forkroot to squeeze her power to a trickle, no need to reach through other women to lend her strength. No need for a sa’angreal. Sweet though the fluted wand’s power had been, being strong in and of herself was even more satisfying.

Several of the women frowned at the action, and not a few of them embraced the Source themselves, as if by reflex, looking about as if for danger.

“There will be no need for that,” Egwene said to the women. “Not yet. Please release the Source.”

They were hesitant, but—ostensibly—they accepted her as Amyrlin. One by one their power winked away. Egwene did not release it herself.

“I am very glad to see that you returned safely, Mother,” Lelaine said. She skirted the Three Oaths by adding the word “safely.”

“Thank you,” Egwene said calmly.

“You said that there were important revelations to make,” Varilin added. “Is this regarding the Seanchan attack?”

Egwene reached to the pouch on her skirt and pulled its contents free. A smooth white rod with the numeral three inscribed on it in the script of the Age of Legends, near the base. There were several gasps.

Egwene wove Spirit into the Rod, then spoke in a clear voice. “I vow that I will speak no word that is not true.” She felt the oath fall over her like a physical thing, her skin growing tighter, prickling. It was easy to ignore; the pain was nothing compared with what she had been through. “I vow that I will make no weapon for one man to kill another. I vow that I will never use the One Power as a weapon except against Darkfriends and Shadowspawn, or in the last extreme of defending my life or that of my Warder or of another sister.”

The Hall was silent. Egwene released her weave. Her skin felt so odd! As if someone had pinched the excess up at the base of her neck and along her spine, yanking it and binding it in place.

“Let it no longer be thought that I can avoid keeping the Three Oaths,” Egwene announced. “Let it no longer be breathed that I am not fully Aes Sedai.” None of them said anything about her not having taken the test to gain the shawl. She would see to that another day. “And now that you’ve seen me use the Oath Rod and know that I cannot lie, I will tell you something. During my time in the White Tower, a sister came to me and confided that she was Black Ajah.”

The women’s eyes bulged, and several gasped quietly.

“Yes,” Egwene said. “I know we don’t like to speak of them, but can any of us honestly claim that the Black Ajah does not exist? Can you hold to the oaths while saying that you’ve never considered the possibility—even the likelihood—of there being Darkfriends among us?”

Nobody dared to. The tent felt hot despite the early hour. Stuffy. None of them sweated, of course—they knew the age-old trick of avoiding that.

“Yes,” Egwene said, “It is shameful, but it is a truth that we—as the leaders of our people—must admit. Not in public; but among ourselves there is no avoiding it. I have seen firsthand what distrust and quiet politicking can do to a people. I will not see the same disease infect us here. We are of different Ajahs, but we are single in purpose. We need to know that we can trust one another implicitly, because there is very little else in this world that can be trusted.”

Egwene looked down at the Oath Rod, which she’d fetched early in the morning from Saerin. She rubbed her thumb on it. I wish you’d been able to find this when you visited, Verin, she thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t have saved you, but I would have liked to try. I could use your aid.

Egwene looked up. “I am not a Darkfriend,” she announced to the room. “And you know it cannot be a lie.”

The Sitters looked perplexed. Well, they would soon see the point.

“It is time for us to prove ourselves,” Egwene said. “Some clever women in the White Tower hit upon this idea, and I intend to expand it. We will each in turn use the Oath Rod to release ourselves from the Three Oaths, then reswear them in turn. Once we are all bound, we will be able to promise that we are not servants of—”

Sheriam embraced the Source. Egwene had been anticipating that. She slammed a shield between Sheriam and the Source, causing the woman to gasp. Berana cried out in shock, and several other women embraced the Source, looking this way and that.

Egwene turned and met Sheriam’s eyes. The woman’s face was nearly as red as her hair, and she was breathing in and out quickly. Like a captured rabbit, its leg in a snare, eyes wide with fright. She clutched her bandaged hand.

Oh, Sheriam, Egwene thought. I had hoped that Verin was wrong about you.

“Egwene?” Sheriam asked uncomfortably. “I was just—”

Egwene stepped forward. “Are you Black Ajah, Sheriam?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Do you consort with the Forsaken?”

“No!” Sheriam said, glancing to the sides.

“Do you serve the Dark One?”

“No!”

“Have you been released from your oaths?”

“No!”

“Do you have red hair?”

“Of course not, I never—” She froze.

And thank you for that trick as well, Verin, Egwene thought with a mental sigh.

The tent grew very, very still.

“I misspoke, of course,” Sheriam said, sweating nervously. “I didn’t know what question I was answering. I can’t lie, of course. None of us can. . . .”

She trailed off as Egwene held out the Oath Rod. “Prove it, Sheriam. The woman who came to me in the Tower gave me your name as a leader among the Black Ajah.”

Sheriam met Egwene’s eyes. “Ah, then,” the woman said softly, eyes mournful. “Who was it, now, who came to you?”

“Verin Mathwin.”

“Well, well,” Sheriam said, settling back on her chair. “Never expected it of her, I’ll say. How did she get past the oaths to the Great Lord?”

“She drank poison,” Egwene said, heart twisting.

“Very clever.” The flame-haired woman nodded. “I could never bring myself to do such a thing. Never indeed. . . .”

Egwene wove bonds of Air and wrapped Sheriam in them, then tied off the weaves. She turned back to an incredulous group of women, white-faced. Some terrified. “The world marches to the Last Battle,” Egwene said sternly. “Did you expect that our enemies would leave us alone?”

“Who else?” Lelaine whispered. “Who else was mentioned?”

“Many others,” Egwene said. “Sitters among them.”

Moria leaped to her feet and ran for the exit. She barely made it two steps. A dozen different sisters enclosed the former Blue with shields and bound her in weaves of Air. In seconds, she was hanging, gagged, tears leaking down the sides of her oval face.

Romanda clicked her tongue, walking around the woman. “Both from the Blue,” she noted. “This was a dramatic way to make the revelations, Egwene.”

“You will address me as ‘Mother,’ Romanda,” Egwene said, walking down from the dais. “And it is not so odd that there would be a higher percentage of them among the Blue here, since that entire Ajah fled the White Tower.” She held up the Oath Rod. “The reason I had to make the revelation this way was simple. How would you have responded if I’d simply declared them to be Black without offering proof?”

Romanda nodded her head. “You are correct on both counts, Mother,” she admitted.

“Then you wouldn’t mind being the first to retake the oaths, I presume?”

Romanda hesitated only briefly, glancing at the two women bound in Air. Almost everyone in the room held to the Source, eyeing the others as if they might grow coppersnakes for hair at any moment.

Romanda took the Oath Rod, and did as instructed, releasing herself from the oaths. The process was obviously painful, but she held herself to a controlled, hissing intake of breath. The others watched carefully for a trick, but Romanda was straightforward in reswearing. She handed the rod back to Egwene. “I am not a Darkfriend,” she said. “And I never have been.”

Egwene accepted the Oath Rod back. “Thank you, Romanda,” she said. “Lelaine, do you wish to be next?”

“Gladly,” the woman said. She probably felt a need to vindicate the Blue. One by one, the other women forswore—gasping or hissing at the pain of it—then swore again and promised that they were not Darkfriends. Egwene let out a silent sigh of relief at each one. Verin had admitted that there would be sisters she didn’t get, and that Egwene might discover other members of the Black among the Sitters.

When Kwamesa, the last, handed the Rod back to Egwene and declared herself not a Darkfriend, there was a visible release of tension in the room.

“Very good,” Egwene said, returning to stand at the head of the room. “From now on, we continue as one. No more squabbling. No more fighting. We each have the best interests of the White Tower—and the world itself—at heart. The twelve of us, at least, are confident in one another.

“A cleansing is never easy. It is often painful. Today, we have cleansed ourselves, but what we have to do next will be nearly as painful.”

“You . . . know the names of many others?” Takima asked, for once looking not a bit distracted.

“Yes,” Egwene said. “Over two hundred total, some from each Ajah. Some seventy among us here in this camp. I have the names.” She had returned in the night to fetch Verin’s books from her room. They were now safely hidden in her tent, invisible. “I propose that we arrest them, though it will be difficult, as we will have to seize all of them as simultaneously as possible.” Their greatest advantage, beyond surprise, was going to be the inherently distrusting nature of the Black Ajah. Verin and other sources had indicated that few sisters in the Black knew more than a handful of other names. There was an entire write-up in the book about Black Ajah organization, and their system of groups known as “hearts” that had minimal interaction to keep them hidden. Hopefully, that very system would slow their realizing what was happening.

The Sitters looked daunted. “First,” Egwene said, “we will claim that we need to spread important news to every Sister, but can’t let it be overheard by the soldiers in camp. We’ll call the sisters into this pavilion by Ajah—it’s big enough to hold about two hundred people. I’ll distribute to each of you the names of all the Black sisters. When each Ajah enters, I’ll repeat to them what I told you and tell them they’re all going to have to reswear on the Oath Rod. We’ll be ready to seize Black sisters who try to escape. We’ll tie them up and deposit them in the audience tent.” That smaller tent was connected to the side of the Hall, and could be closed off so that entering sisters wouldn’t see the captives.

“We’ll have to do something about Warders,” Lelaine said grimly. “Let them come in with their sisters, I suppose, and be prepared to seize them.”

“Some of them will be Darkfriends,” Egwene said. “But not all. And I don’t know which ones.” Verin had had some notes about this, but not many, unfortunately.

“Light, what a mess,” Romanda muttered.

“It must be done,” haughty Berana said with a shake of her head.

“And it must be done quickly,” Egwene said. “So that the Black sisters don’t have time to escape. I’ll warn Lord Bryne to create a perimeter of archers and sisters we trust to stop any trying to escape, just in case. But that will only work for those too weak to make gateways.”

“We mustn’t let it come to that,” Lelaine said. “A war inside the camp itself . . .”

Egwene nodded.

“And what of the White Tower?” Lelaine said.

“Once we have cleansed ourselves,” Egwene said, “then we can do what must be done to reunify the Aes Sedai.”

“You mean—”

“Yes, Lelaine,” Egwene said. “I mean to begin an assault on Tar Valon by this evening. Pass the word and tell Lord Bryne to prepare his men. The news will serve to distract the Black members among us, and will make them less likely to notice what we are doing.”

Romanda glanced at Sheriam and Moria, hanging in the air at the side of the tent, both weeping openly, mouths bound with gags of Air. “It must be done. I put forth a motion before the Hall to take the action the Amyrlin has suggested.”

The tent grew still. Then, slowly, each women rose to give consensus. It was unanimous.

“Light preserve us,” Lelaine whispered. “And forgive us for what we are about to do.”

My thoughts exactly, Egwene added.