She dusted the cushions before replacing them in the chair with a fond thought for Chesa. After two days, she did not need them any longer, not really, but either she gave up bathing or accepted cushions until not a hint of a bruise showed. Chesa would remove the cushions if Egwene said to. Sweaty face or cool, Egwene was the Amyrlin Seat, before whom kings bowed and queens curtsied, even if none had yet, who would have Elaida tried and executed in short order and all put right with the White Tower, and thus with the world. Chesa would do it, and give Egwene such hurt, reproachful glances for not being allowed to take care of her that leaving the cushions there was much easier to bear.
Settling herself with her hands folded on the table, she said, “Mat—” He broke in immediately.
“This really is madness, you know,” he said quietly. Quietly, but quite firmly. “You will end with your head off, Egwene. All of you will. Your heads—cut—off.”
“Mat,” she said in a stronger tone, but he went right on.
“Listen, you can still get out of this. If they think you’re the Amyrlin, you can come out with me to . . . to inspect the Band. You make a gateway, and we’ll be gone before this bunch of goat-brained lunatics can blink.”
Nynaeve had seen saidar fail around him, but she had dealt with recalcitrant men long before she learned to channel. With a muttered growl of “Warm my bottom?” that Egwene did not think was intended to be heard, Nynaeve deftly hiked up her skirts and kicked Mat squarely in his, so hard that he staggered all the way to the wall before catching himself with a hand. Elayne burst into laughter, and suppressed it just as quickly, but she still quivered, and her eyes shone.
Egwene bit her lip to keep from laughing too. It really was comical. Mat turned his head slowly to stare at Nynaeve, all wide-eyed indignation and outrage. Then his brows lowered, and jerking his undone coat as if to straighten it, he began to stalk slowly toward her. Slowly because he was limping. Egwene covered her mouth. It really would not do to laugh.
Nynaeve drew herself up sternly, and then perhaps a few things occurred to her. She might be angry enough to channel, but saidar was apparently useless with him. Mat was tall for a Two Rivers man, considerably taller than she, considerably stronger, and there was a decidedly dangerous glint in his eye. She glanced at Egwene, and smoothed her dress, trying to maintain her stern face. Mat stalked nearer, face like thunder. Another hasty glance, worry beginning to show, was followed by a small step back.
“Mat,” Egwene said in a level tone. He did not stop. “Mat, stop cutting the fool. You are in quite a predicament, but I should be able to get you out of it, if you listen to reason.”
Finally he halted. With a glare and a warning shake of his finger at Nynaeve, he turned his back on her and planted his fists on the writing table. “I am in a predicament? Egwene, you’ve jumped out of a tree toward a bear pit, and you think everything is fine because you haven’t landed yet!”
She smiled at him calmly. “Mat, not many here in Salidar think very well of Dragonsworn. Lord Bryne certainly doesn’t, nor his soldiers. We have heard some very disturbing stories. And some sickening ones.”
“Dragonsworn!” he yelped. “What do they have to do with me? I’m no bloody Dragonsworn!”
“Of course you are, Mat.” She made it sound the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was, if you only thought. “You go where Rand sends you. What else are you but Dragonsworn? But if you listen to me, I can stop them from putting your head on a pike. Actually, I don’t think Lord Bryne would use a pike—he always complains he doesn’t have enough—but I am sure he would figure out something.”
Mat looked at the other two women, and Egwene compressed her lips for an instant. She had made herself plain, but he appeared to be hunting for a clue to what she was talking about. Elayne gave him back a tight smile and a decisively confirming nod. She might not see where Egwene was going, yet she knew she was not talking for the sound of her voice. Nynaeve, still struggling to keep a severe face and tugging at her braid, only glared at him, but maybe that was even better. Though she was beginning to sweat; Nynaeve lost concentration when she grew angry.
“Now, listen, Egwene,” Mat said. Then again, maybe neither response was really enough. He managed to combine a reasonable tone with indulgence in the most offensive way possible. “If you want to call yourself Amyrlin, you can call yourself Amyrlin. Rand would welcome you with open arms in Caemlyn even if you don’t bring all these Aes Sedai to him, but I know he will be overjoyed if you do. Whatever your problems are with Elaida, he can work them out. She knows he’s the Dragon Reborn. Light, you remember her letter. Why, you will have your White Tower all mended before you can say Jak o’ the Wisps. No battles. No bloodshed. You know you don’t want bloodshed, Egwene.”
That she did not. Once the first blood was shed between Salidar and Tar Valon, it would be difficult to make the Tower whole again. Once the first Aes Sedai blood was shed, it might be impossible. Still, Elaida had to be brought down, and Egwene would do what she had to do. She just did not like it. And she did not like Mat telling her what she knew, liked it the less so for being right. Definitely the less so in that tone. It was a real effort to keep her hands still on the table. She wanted to stand and box his ears.
“However I deal with Rand,” she said coolly, “you can be sure it will not be by leading Aes Sedai to swear fealty to him or any other man.” Cool, and not at all arguing; a calm statement of simple facts. “How I deal with Elaida is my concern, and none of yours. If you have any sense at all, Mat, you will keep your mouth shut as long as you are in Salidar and walk small. You start telling other Aes Sedai what Rand is going to do just as soon they kneel to him, and you might not like the answers you get. Talk about carrying me off, or Nynaeve or Elayne, and you will be very lucky not to get a sword through you.”
He jerked upright with a glare. “I’ll talk to you again when you’re ready to listen to reason, Egwene. Is Thom Merrilin around?” She gave a curt nod. What did he want with Thom? Probably to douse himself in wine. Well, good luck to him finding a tavern here. “When you’re ready to listen,” he repeated grimly, and stalked—limped—to the door.
“Mat,” Elayne said, “I would not try to leave were I you. Getting into Salidar is much easie
