The nearest man was three tables away, and he wore a dark blue woolen coat, a prosperous tradesman perhaps, but they did not talk. Plenty of time for that when they were on the road again, and could be sure that there was no danger of sharp ears. Nynaeve finished her food well before Elayne. The way the girl took her time quartering a pear, you would think they had all day to sit at table.
Suddenly Elayne's eyes went wide with shock, and the short knife clattered to the table. Nynaeve's head whipped around to find a man taking the bench on the other side of the table.
“I thought it was you, Elayne, but the hair put me off at first.”
Nynaeve stared at Galad, Elayne's halfbrother. Stared was the word, of course. Tall and steely slender, dark of hair and eye, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen. Handsome was not enough; he was gorgeous. She had seen women cluster around him in the Tower, even Aes Sedai, all of them smiling like fools. She wiped the smile from her own face. But she could do nothing about her racing heart, nor make herself breathe properly. She did not feel anything for him; it was just that he was beautiful. Take hold of yourself woman!
“What are you doing here?” She was pleased that she did not sound strangled. It was not fair for a man to look like that.
“And what are you doing wearing that?” Elayne's voice was low, but it still held a snap.
Nynaeve blinked, and realized he wore a shirt of shining mail and a white cloak with two golden knots of rank beneath a flaring sun. She felt color rising in her cheeks. Staring at a man's face so hard that she had not even seen what he was wearing! She wanted to hide her own face from humiliation.
He smiled, and Nynaeve had to take a deep breath. “I am here because I was one of the Children recalled from the north. And I am a Child of the Light because it seemed the right thing to do. Elayne, when you two and Egwene vanished, it did not take long for Gawyn and me to find out that you were not doing penance on a farm, whatever we were told. They had no right to involve you in their plots, Elayne. Any of you.”
“You seem to have attained rank very quickly,” Nynaeve said. Did the fool man not realize that talking of Aes Sedai plots here was a good way to get them both killed?
“Eamon Valda seemed to think my experience warranted it, wherever gained.” His shrug dismissed rank as unimportant. It was not modesty, precisely, but not pretense either. The finest swordsman among those who came to study with the Warders in the Tower, he had also stood high in the classes on strategy and tactics, but Nynaeve could not remember him boasting about his prowess, even in jest. Accomplishments meant nothing to him, perhaps because they came so easily.
“Does Mother know of this?” Elayne demanded, still in that quiet voice. Her scowl would have frightened a wild boar, though.
Galad shifted just a hair, uneasily. “There has been no good time to write her. But do not be so sure she will disapprove, Elayne. She is not so friendly with the north as she was. I hear a ban may be made law.”
“I sent her a letter, explaining.” Elayne's glare had transformed to puzzlement. “She must understand. She trained in the Tower, too.”
“Keep your voice down,” he said, low and hard. “Remember where you are.” Elayne flushed a deep red, but whether in anger or embarrassment, Nynaeve could not say.
Abruptly she realized that he had been speaking as quietly as they, and carefully, too. He had not mentioned the Tower once, or Aes Sedai.
“Is Egwene with you?” he went on.
“No,” she replied, and he sighed deeply.
“I had hoped... Gawyn was nearly unhinged with worry when she disappeared. He cares for her, too. Will you tell me where she is?”
Nynaeve took note of that “too.” The man had become a Whitecloak, yet he “cared for” a woman who wanted to be Aes Sedai. Men were so strange they were hardly human sometimes.
“We will not,” Elayne said firmly, the crimson receding from her cheeks. “Is Gawyn here, too? I will not believe he has become a —” She had the wit to lower her voice further, but she still said, “A Whitecloak!”
“He remains in the north, Elayne.” Nynaeve supposed that he meant Tar Valon, but surely Gawyn had gone from there. Surely he could not support Elaida. “You cannot know what has happened there, Elayne,” he continued. “All the corruption and vileness in that place bubbled to the top, as it had to. The woman who sent you away has been deposed.” He looked around and dropped his voice to a momentary whisper, despite no one being close enough to overhear. “Stilled and executed.” Taking a deep breath, he made a disgusted sound. “It was never a place for you. Or for Egwene. I have not been long with the Children, but, I am certain my captain will give me leave to escort my sister home. That is where you should be, with Mother. Tell me where Egwene is, and I will see that she is brought to Caemlyn, too. You will both be safe there.”
Nynaeve's face felt numb. Stilled. And executed. Not an accidental death, or illness. That she had considered the possibility did not make the fact less shocking. Rand had to be the reason. If there had ever been any small hope that the Tower might not oppose him, it was gone. Elayne showed no expression at all, her eyes staring at the distance.
“I see my news shocks you,” he said in a low voice. “I do not know how deeply that woman meshed you in her plot, but you are free of her now. Let me see you safely to Caemlyn. No one need know you had any more contact with her than the other girls who went there to learn. Either of you.”
Nynaeve showed him her teeth, in what she hoped looked like a smile. It was nice to be included, finally. She could have smacked him. If only he were not so goodlooking.
“I will think on it,” Elayne said slowly. “What you say makes sense, but you must give me time to think. I must think.”
Nynaeve stared at her. It made sense? The girl was blathering.
“I can give you a little time,” he said, "but I do not have much if I am to ask leave. We may be ordered —
Suddenly there was a squarefaced, blackhaired Whitecloak clapping Galad on the shoulder and grinning widely. Older, he wore the same two knots of rank on his cloak. “Well, young Galad, you can't keep all the pretty women for yourself. Every girl in town sighs when you walk by, and most of their mothers as well. Introduce me.”
Galad scraped back his bench to stand. “I... thought I knew them when they came downstairs, Trom. But whatever charm you think I possess, it does not work on this lady. She does not like me, and I think she will not like any friend of mine. If you practice the sword with me this afternoon, perhaps you can
