“Does that satisfy?” he asked Barada. “You can escort the rest of us to Rand, if you don’t want us running loose.”
“I think. . . .” Barada’s dark eyes darted to Faile and away. “I think that would be best.”
As Faile straightened, Bain and Chiad trotted to the line of horsemen and pushed through as if they were not there. The Saldaeans did not even look surprised, but then, they must be used to Aiel; all the rumors said Caemlyn was full of Aiel already.
“I must find my spear-brothers,” Gaul said abruptly. “May you always find water and shade, Perrin Aybara.” And away he darted after the women. Faile hid an amused smile behind a gray-gloved hand.
Perrin shook his head. Gaul wanted Chiad to marry him, but by Aiel custom, she had to ask him, and though according to Faile she was willing to become his lover, she would not give up the spear and marry. He seemed as affronted as a Two Rivers girl would have been in the same circumstance. Bain seemed to be part of it too, somehow; Perrin did not understand how. Faile professed not to know, if a bit too quickly, and Gaul grew sullen when asked. An odd people.
The Saldaeans made a way through the crowds, but Perrin paid little mind to crowds or city. He had seen Caemlyn once, some of it, and he did not much like cities anymore. Wolves seldom came close to a city; he had not sensed one for two days. What he did do was study his wife with sideways looks, trying not to let her notice. He might as well have stared. She always rode erect, but now she was stiff in her saddle, glaring at Barada’s back. The man’s shoulders were hunched as if he could feel her eyes. A falcon could not glare as well as Faile.
Perrin expected she was thinking of the same thing as he, though maybe not along the same lines. Her father. She might have a few explanations to make—she had run away, after all, to become a Hunter for the Horn—but Perrin was the one who had to face the Lord of Bashere, Tyr and Sidona and tell the man a blacksmith had married his daughter and heir. It was not something Perrin looked forward to. He did not think he was particularly brave—doing what you had to do was not bravery—but he had never really thought he might be a coward until now. The thought of Faile’s father dried his mouth. Maybe he should see to setting up the camp. A letter sent to Lord Bashere could explain everything. A carefully composed letter might take two or three days to write. Maybe more. He was no hand with words.
A glimpse of the crimson banner waving lazily above the Royal Palace brought him back with a thump. The rumors had spoken of that. Perrin knew it was not the Dragon banner, whatever the rumors said—some claimed it meant the Aes Sedai served Rand; others that he served them—and he wondered why Rand was not flying the Dragon banner itself. Rand. He could still feel Rand pulling at him, greater ta’veren tugging at lesser. It did not tell him where Rand was; it was not that kind of pull. He had left the Two Rivers expecting to ride to Tear or maybe the Light alone knew where, and only a river of rumors and tales flowing west across Andor had brought him here. Some very disturbing tales and rumors. No, what he felt was more a need to be near Rand, or maybe Rand’s need for him, like an itch between his shoulders he could not scratch. Now it was close to being scratched, and he almost wished it was not. He had a dream, one that Faile would laugh at, adventurous as she was. He dreamed of living in a small house with her, somewhere in the country, far from cities and strife. There was always strife around Rand. But Rand needed him, and he would do what he had to.
In a great, column-ringed courtyard overlooked by marble balconies and pointed spires, Perrin slung his belt, weighted by his axe, on the saddle—it was a relief to be rid of it for a while—and a white-robed man and woman took Stepper and Swallow. With a few words Barada turned Faile and him over to cold-eyed Aielmen, many wearing scarlet headbands marked with the black-and-white disc, who led them inside and with even fewer words handed them to Maidens who were just as frosty. Perrin did not recognize any of them from the Stone, and his efforts at making conversation were met with blank looks. Their hands flashed Maiden handtalk, and one was chosen out to take him and Faile deeper into the Palace, a lean sandy-haired woman he thought might be about Faile’s age. She named herself Lerian, the only words she spoke except to warn them not to wander. He wished Bain or Chiad were there; a familiar face would have been pleasant. Faile glided down the corridors like the grand lady she was, yet at every crossing hallway she looked both ways quickly. Plainly she did not want to be surprised by her father.
Finally they reached a pair of doors, each carved with a lion, where two more Maidens rose from squatting on their heels and still more handtalk flickered before the sandy-haired Maiden went in without knocking.
Perrin was wondering whether it was always like this around Rand now, Aiel guards and nobody speaking, when suddenly the doors were flung open, and there was Rand in his shirtsleeves.
“Perrin! Faile! The Light shine on your wedding day,” he laughed, kissing Faile lightly. “I wish I could have been there for it.” She looked as confused as Perrin felt.
“How did you know?” he exclaimed, and Rand laughed again, clapping him on the shoulder
“Bode’s here, Perrin. Bode and Jancy and all of them. In Caemlyn, anyway. This is as far as Verin and Alanna got them before they heard about the Tower.” He looked tired, his eyes drawn, though his laughter did not sound it. “Light, Perrin, the things they told me you’ve been up to. Lord Perrin of the Two Rivers. What does Mistress Luhhan say to that?”
“She calls me Lord Perrin,” Perrin muttered wryly. Alsbet Luhhan had smacked his bottom more often growing up than his mother had. “She curtsies, Rand. She actually curtsies.” Faile eyed him askance. She said he embarrassed people when he tried to stop all the bowing and curtsying, as for his embarrassment when they did, she said it was part of the price he had to pay.
The Maiden who had gone in squeezed by Rand coming out, and he gave a start. “Light, I’m keeping you in the door. Come in; come in. Lerian, tell Sulin I need more punch. The melon. And tell her to hop.” For some reason the three Maidens laughed as if Rand had said something funny.
One step inside the sitting room, a floral scent of perfume told Perrin there was another woman there before he saw her. When he did, he stared. “Min?” The hair in short curls, the embroidered blue coat and breeches were wrong, but the face was right. “Min, it is you!” Laughing, he caught her up in a hug. “We are gathering everybody, aren’t we? Faile, this is Min. I
