As the servants with the cloaks and trays bowed and curtsied themselves off, Cadsuane finally turned to the three sisters among the columns. They were all looking at her, ignoring Kumira and Daigian. Corgaide remained, but she stayed well back, giving the Aes Sedai privacy. “I hardly expected to find you strolling about at your ease,” Cadsuane said. “I thought the Aiel worked their apprentices hard.”
Faeldrin barely reacted, merely a slight jerk of her head that softly rattled the colored beads in her thin braids, but Merana colored with embarrassment, and her hands clenched in her skirts. Events had shaken Merana so deeply that Cadsuane was unsure she would ever recover. Bera, of course, was very nearly unflappable.
“Most of us were given a freeday because of the rain,” Bera replied calmly. A sturdy woman in plain wool — fine and wellcut, but decidedly plain — you might have thought her more at home on a farm than in a palace. You might if you were a fool; Bera had a keen mind, a strong will, and Cadsuane did not believe she ever made the same mistake twice. Like most sisters, she had not entirely gotten over meeting Cadsuane Melaidhrin, alive and in the flesh, yet she did not let awe rule her. After only the slightest of deep breaths, she went on. “I cannot understand why you keep coming back, Cadsuane. Clearly, you want something from us, but unless you tell us what it is, we cannot help you. We know what you did for the Lord Dragon” — she stumbled a little over the title; they still were not quite sure what to call the boy — “but it’s obvious you came to Cairhien because of him, and until you tell us why and what you intend, you must understand that you’ll find no aid from us.” Faeldrin, another Green, gave a start at Bera’s bold tone, but she was nodding agreement before Bera finished.
“You must understand this, too,” Merana added, her serenity regained. “If we decide we must oppose you, we will.” Beta’s face did not change, but Faeldrin’s mouth tightened briefly. Perhaps she disagreed, and perhaps she did not want to reveal too much.
Cadsuane favored them with a thin smile. Tell them why and what? If they decided? So far they had managed to stuff themselves into young al’Thor’s saddlebags tied hand and foot, even Bera. Small recommendation for letting them decide so much as what to wear in the morning! “I did not come to see you,” she said. “Though I suppose Kumira and Daigian would enjoy a visit, since you have a freeday. You will excuse me.”
Motioning Corgaide to lead on, she followed the woman across the entry hall. She only glanced back once. Bera and the others had already gathered up Kumira and Daigian and were hustling them away, but hardly like welcome guests. More like herded geese. Cadsuane smiled. Most sisters considered Daigian little better than a wilder and treated her little better than a servant. In that company, Kumira hardly stood much higher. The most suspicious could not think they were there to try to convince anyone of anything. So Daigian would pour the tea and sit quietly except when addressed — and apply her excellent mind to everything she heard. Kumira would let everyone except Daigian speak before her — and sort and file away every word, every gesture and grimace. Bera and the rest would keep their oaths to the boy, of course — that went without saying — but how assiduously was another question. Even Merana might be unwilling to go too far beyond bare obedience. That was bad enough, yet it left considerable room for them to maneuver. Or be maneuvered.
Darkliveried servants hurrying at their tasks along the broad, tapestryhung hallways darted aside for Cadsuane and Corgaide, and the two of them progressed to a flurry of deep bows and curtsies made over baskets and trays and armloads of towels. From the way eyes watched Corgaide, Cadsuane suspected the deference was as much for the Holder of the Keys as for an Aes Sedai. There were a few Aiel about, too, huge men like coldeyed lions and women like coldereyed leopards. Some of those gazes followed her icily enough to bring on the snow threatened by the rain outside, but other Aiel nodded to her gravely, and here and there one of the fierceeyed women went so far as to smile. She had never claimed to be responsible for saving their Car’a’carn, but tales became twisted in retelling, and the belief granted her more respect than any other sister, and certainly more freedom of movement around the Palace. She wondered how they would feel if they knew that had she had the boy in front of her right then, she would have been hardpressed to stop herself from blistering his hide for him! Barely more than a week since he nearly got himself killed, and not only had he managed to elude her completely, he had made her task even more difficult, if half what she heard was true. A pity he had not been raised in Far Madding. But then, that might have led to its own catastrophe.
The room Corgaide took her to was comfortably warm, with fires blazing in marble fireplaces at either end of the chamber and lamps lit, mirrored flames in glass towers that chased the day’s gloom. Plainly Corgaide had sent orders ahead to prepare while she was waiting in the entry hall. A serving woman appeared almost as soon as they, with both hot tea and spiced wine on a tray, and small cakes glazed with honey.
“Will there be anything else, Aes Sedai?” Corgaide asked as Cadsuane set her sewing basket beside the tray on a table with edge and legs thickly gilded. Rigidly carved, too, as was the wide cornice, also covered with gilt. Cadsuane always felt she was in a golden fish weir when she visited Cairhien. Despite the light and warmth inside, rain dripping outside the tall narrow windows and the gray sky outside heightened the sensation.
“The tea will do nicely,” she said. “If you will, tell Alanna Mosvani that I want to see her. Tell her, without delay.”
Corgaide’s keys jingled as she curtsied, murmuring respectfully that she would find “Alanna Aes Sedai” herself. Her grave expression never altered as she left. Very likely she was examining the request for subtleties. Cadsuane preferred to be direct, when possible. She had tripped up any number of clever people who had not believed she meant exactly what she said.
Opening the lid of her sewing basket, she took out her embroidery hoop with a less than halfdone piece of work wrapped around it. The basket had pockets woven inside to hold items that had nothing to do with sewing. Her ivory hand mirror and hairbrush and comb, a pen case and tightly stoppered ink bottle, a number of things that she had found useful to have at hand over the years, including some that would have surprised anyone with nerve enough to search the basket. Not that she often left it out of her sight. Setting the polished silver thread box carefully on the table, she selected the skeins she needed and sat with her back to the door. The major image on her piece of embroidery was finished, a man’s hand clutching the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai. Cracks ran across the blackandwhite disc, and there was no telling whether the hand was trying to hold it together or crush it. She knew what she intended, but time
