The Gathering Storm

16 In the White Tower

“I’m curious to hear the novice speak. Tell me, Egwene al’Vere, how I would you have handled the situation?”

Egwene looked up from the bowl of shells, two-legged steel nutcracker in one hand, a bulbous walnut in the other. It was the first time any of the Aes Sedai present had addressed her. She had begun to think that attending the three Whites would turn out to be another waste of time.

The afternoon’s location was a small inset balcony on the third level of the White Tower. Sitters could demand rooms with not only full windows, but balconies as well, something that was uncommon—though not unheard-of—for regular sisters. This one was shaped like a small turret, with a sturdy stone wall running around the rim in a curve, a similar stone hanging from the outcropping above. There was generous space between the two and the view was quite beautiful, eastward across the rising hills that eventually climbed to Kinslayer’s Dagger. The Dagger itself might have been distantly visible on a clear day.

A cool breeze blew across the balcony, and this high up it was fresh and unsullied by the stink of the city below. A sinuous pair of sticklesharps—with their three-pronged leaves and clinging vines—grew on each side of the balcony, their creeping tendrils covering the inside of the stonework and making it look almost like a deep forest ruin. The plants were more ornamentation than Egwene would have expected in the quarters of a White, but Ferane was reported to be a shade on the vain side. She probably liked it that her balcony was so distinctive, even if protocol required her to keep the vines pruned as to not mar the gleaming profile of the Tower itself.

The three Whites sat in wicker chairs at a low table. Egwene sat before them on a wicker stool, back to the open air, denied the view as she cracked nuts for the others. Any number of servants or kitchen workers could have done the work. But this was the sort of thing that sisters found to fill the time of novices whom they thought might be lounging about too much.

Egwene had thought that cracking the walnuts was just a pretense. After being ignored for the better part of an hour, she had begun to wonder, but all three were looking at her now. She shouldn’t have doubted her instincts.

Ferane had the coppery skin of a Domani, and a temperament to match, odd for a White. She was short, with an apple-shaped face and dark, lustrous hair. Her auburn dress was filmy but decent with a wide white sash at the waist to match her shawl, which she was currently wearing. The dress didn’t lack for embroidery, and the fabric did seem an indication, perhaps intentional, of her Domani heritage.

The other two, Miyasi and Tesan, both wore white, as if they feared that dresses of any other colors were a betrayal of their Ajah. That notion was becoming more and more common among all of the Aes Sedai. Tesan was a Taraboner, with her dark hair in beaded braids. The beads were white and gold, and they framed a narrow face that looked as if it had been pinched at top and bottom and pulled. She always looked worried about something. Though perhaps that was just the times. Light knew they all had a great deal to worry over.

Miyasi was more calm, her head topped by iron-gray hair in a bun. Her Aes Sedai face betrayed none of the many years that she must have seen for her hair to silver so fully. She was tall and plump, and she preferred her walnuts shelled very particularly. No fragments or broken pieces of nut for her, only full halves. Egwene carefully pried one from the shell she had cracked, then handed it over; the small brown lump was wrinkled and ridged, like the brain of a tiny animal.

“What was it you asked, Ferane?” Egwene asked, cracking another walnut and discarding the shell in a pail at her feet.

The White barely frowned at Egwene’s improper response. They were all growing accustomed to the fact that this “novice” seldom acted her presumed station. “I asked,” Ferane said coolly, “what you would have done in the Amyrlin’s place. Consider this part of your instruction. You know that the Dragon has been reborn and you know that the Tower must control him in order for the Last Battle to proceed. How would you handle him?”

A curious question. It didn’t sound much like “instruction.” But Ferane’s tone didn’t make it sound like an offer to complain about Elaida either. There was too much contempt for Egwene in that voice.

The other two Whites remained quiet. Ferane was a Sitter, and they deferred to her.

She’s heard how often I mention Elaida’s failure with Rand, Egwene thought, looking into Ferane’s steely black eyes. So. A test, is it? This would have to be handled very carefully.

Egwene reached for another walnut. “First, I would send a group of sisters to his home village.”

Ferane raised an eyebrow. “To intimidate his family?”

“Of course not,” Egwene said. “To interrogate them. Who is this Dragon Reborn? Is he a man of temper, a man of passions? Or is he a calm man, careful and cautious? Was he the type to spend time alone in the fields, or did he make quick friends of the other youths? Would you be more likely to find him in a tavern or a workshop?”

“But you already know him,” Tesan piped in.

“I do,” Egwene said, cracking the walnut. “But we were speaking of a hypothetical situation.” Best you remember that in the real world, I know the Dragon Reborn personally. As nobody else in this Tower does.

“Let us assume that you are you,” Ferane said. “And that he is Rand al’Thor, your childhood friend.”

“Very well.”

“Tell me,” Ferane said, leaning forward. “Of the types of men you listed just before, which best fits this Rand al’Thor?”

Egwene hesitated. “All of them,” she said, dropping a fragmented walnut into a small bowl with others. Miyasi wouldn’t touch it, but the other two weren’t so picky. “If I were me and the Dragon were Rand, I’d know him to be a rational person, for a man—if somewhat bullheaded at times. Well, most of the time. More importantly, I’d know him to be a good man at heart. And so, my next step would be to send sisters to him to offer guidance.”

“And if he rejected them?” Ferane asked.

“Then I’d send spies,” Egwene said, “and watch to see if he has changed from the man I once knew.”

“And while you waited and spied, he would terrorize the countryside, wreaking havoc and bringing armies to his banner.”

“And is that not what we want him to do?” Egwene asked. “I don’t believe he could have been prevented from taking Callandor, should we have wanted him to be. He has managed to restore order to Cairhien, unite Tear and Illian beneath one ruler, and presumably has gained the favor of Andor as well.”

“Not to mention subjugating those Aiel,” Miyasi said, reaching for a handful of nuts.

Egwene caught her with a sharp gaze. “Nobody subjugates the Aiel. Rand gained their respect. I was with him at the time.”

Miyasi froze, hand partway to the bowl of nutmeats. She shook herself, breaking Egwene’s gaze, grabbing the bowl and retreating back to her chair. A cool breeze blew across the balcony, rustling the vines, which Ferane had complained were not greening this spring like they should. Egwene returned to shelling walnuts.

“It seems,” Ferane said, “that you would simply let him sow chaos as he saw fit.”

“Rand al’Thor is like a river,” Egwene said. “Calm and placid when not agitated, but a furious and deadly current when squeezed too tightly. What Elaida did to him was the equivalent of trying to force the Manetherendrelle through a canyon only two feet wide. Waiting to discover a man’s temperament is not foolish, nor is it a sign of weakness. Acting without information is lunacy, and the White Tower deserved the tempest it riled up.”

“Perhaps,” Ferane said. “But you have still not told me how you would deal with the situation, once your information was collected and the time for waiting had passed.” Ferane was known for her temper, but at the moment her voice held the coldness common among Whites. It was the coldness of one who spoke without emotion, thinking about logic without tolerating outside influences.

It was not the best way to approach problems. People were much more complex than a set of rules or numbers. There was a time for logic, true, but there was also a time for emotion.

Rand was a problem she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on—she needed to deal with one problem at a time. But there was also much to be said for planning ahead. If she didn’t consider how to deal with the Dragon Reborn, she’d eventually find herself in as bad a situation as Elaida.

He had changed from the man she had known. And yet the seeds of personality within him must be the same. She’d seen his rage during their months traveling together into the Aiel Waste. That hadn’t often come out during his childhood, but she could see now that it must have been lurking. It wasn’t that he had suddenly developed a temper; it was simply that nothing in the Two Rivers had upset him.

During the months she’d traveled with him, he’d seemed to harden with each step. He was under extraordinary pressures. How did one deal with such a man? She frankly had no idea.

But this conversation wasn’t about what to do with Rand, not really. It was about Ferane trying to determine what kind of woman Egwene was.

“Rand al’Thor sees himself as an emperor,” Egwene said. “And I suppose he is one, now. He will react poorly if he thinks he is being pushed or shoved in any particular direction. If I were to deal with him, I would send a delegation to honor him.”

“A lavish procession?” Ferane asked.

“No,” Egwene said. “But not a threadbare one either. A group of three Aes Sedai, led by a Gray, accompanied by a Green and a Blue. He views the Blue favorably because of past associations, and Greens are often perceived as the opposites to Reds, a subtle indication that we are willing to work with him rather than gentle him. A Gray because it would be expected, but also because if a Gray is sent, then it means negotiations, not armies, will follow.”

“Good logic,” Tesan said, nodding.

Ferane was not so easily convinced. “Delegations like this one have failed in the past. I believe that Elaida’s own delegation was led by a Gray.”

“Yes, but Elaida’s delegation was fundamentally flawed,” Egwene said.

“And why is that?”

“Why, because it was sent by a Red, of course,” Egwene said, cracking a nut. “I have trouble seeing the logic in raising a member of the Red Ajah to Amyrlin during the days of the Dragon Reborn. Doesn’t that seem destined to create animosity between him and the Tower?”

“One might say,” Ferane countered, “that a Red is needed during these troubled times, for the Red are the most experienced at dealing with men who can channel.”

“ ‘Dealing’ with is different from ‘working’ with,” Egwene said. “The Dragon Reborn should not have been left to run free, but since when has the White Tower been in the business of kidnapping and forcing people to our will? Are we not known as the most subtle and careful of all people? Do we not pride ourselves on being able to make others do as they should, all the while letting them think it was their idea? When in the past have we locked kings in boxes and beaten them for disobedience? Why now—of all the times under the Light—have we forsaken our fine practice and become simple footpads instead?”

Ferane selected a walnut. The other two Whites were sharing an unsettled look. “There is sense in what you say,” the Sitter finally admitted.

Egwene set aside the nutcracker. “Rand al’Thor is a good man, in his heart, but he needs guidance. These days are when we should have been at our most subtle. He should have been led to trust Aes Sedai above all others, to rely on our counsel. He should have been shown the wisdom in listening. Instead, he has been shown that we will treat him like an unruly child. If he is one, he cannot be allowed to think we regard him in such a way. Because of our bungling, he has taken some Aes Sedai captive, and has allowed still others to be bonded to those Asha’man of his.”

Ferane sat up stiffly. “Best not to mention that atrocity.”

“What is this?” Tesan said, shocked, hand raised to her breast. Some Whites never seemed to pay attention to the world around them. “Ferane? Did you know of this?”

Ferane didn’t respond.

“I’ve . . . heard this rumor,” said stout Miyasi. “If it is true, then something must be done.”

“Yes,” Egwene said. “Unfortunately, we cannot focus on al’Thor right now.”

“He is the greatest problem facing the world,” pinch-faced Tesan said, leaning forward. “We must deal with him first.”

“No,” Egwene said. “There are other issues.”

Miyasi frowned. “With the Last Battle impending, I can’t see any other issues of importance.”

Egwene shook her head. “In dealing with Rand now, we’d be like a farmer, looking at his wagon and worrying that there aren’t any goods in the bed for him to sell—but ignoring the fact that his axle is cracked. Fill the bed before it is time, and you’ll just break the wagon and be worse off than when you started.”

“And what, exactly, are you implying?” Tesan demanded.

Egwene looked back at Ferane.

“I see,” Ferane said. “You are referring to the division in the White Tower.”

“Can a cracked stone be a good foundation for a building?” Egwene asked. “Can a frayed rope hold a panicky horse? How can we, in our current state, hope to manage the Dragon Reborn himself?”

Ferane said, “Why, then, do you continue to enforce the division by insisting that you are the Amyrlin Seat? You defy your own logic.”

“And renouncing my claim on the Amyrlin Seat would mend the Tower?” Egwene asked.

“It would help.”

Egwene raised an eyebrow. “Let us assume, for a moment, that by renouncing my claim, I could persuade the rebel faction to rejoin the White Tower and accept Elaida’s leadership.” She raised the eyebrow further, indicating how likely she thought that was. “Would the divisions be healed?”

“You just said they would be,” Tesan said, frowning.

“Oh?” Egwene said. “Would sisters stop scurrying through the hallways, frightened to be alone? Would groups of women from different Ajahs stop regarding each other with hostility when they pass in the hallways? With all due respect, would we no longer feel the need to wear our shawls at all times to reinforce who we are and where our allegiance is?”

Ferane glanced down, briefly, at her white-fringed shawl.

Egwene leaned forward, continuing. “Surely you, of all women in the White Tower, can see the importance of the Ajahs working together. We need women with different skills and interests to gather into Ajahs. But does it make sense for us to refuse to work together?”

“The White has not caused this . . . regrettable tension,” Miyasi said with a little snort. “The others acting with such abundance of emotion have created it.”

“The present leadership has caused it,” Egwene said, “a leadership which teaches that it’s all right to still fellow sisters in secret, to execute Warders before their Aes Sedai are even brought to trial. That there’s nothing wrong with removing a sister’s shawl and reducing her to an Accepted, that there’s nothing wrong with disbanding an entire Ajah. And what of acting without the counsel of the Hall in something as dangerous as kidnapping and imprisoning the Dragon Reborn? Is it unexpected that the sisters would be so frightened and worried? Is it not all completely logical, what has happened to us?”

The three Whites were quiet.

“I will not submit,” Egwene said. “Not while doing so leaves us fractured. I will continue to assert that Elaida is not the Amyrlin. Her actions have proven it. You want to help battle the Dark One? Well, your first step is not to deal with the Dragon Reborn. Your first step should be to reach out to sisters of the other Ajahs.”

“Why us?” Tesan said. “The actions of others are not our responsibility.”

“And you are not to blame at all?” Egwene asked, letting a little of her anger seep through. Would none of her sisters accept a modicum of responsibility? “You, of the White, should have seen where this road would lead. Yes, Siuan and the Blue were not without their flaws—but you should have seen the flaw in pulling her down, then allowing Elaida to disband the Blue. Besides, I believe that several members of your own Ajah were integral to the act of setting up Elaida as Amyrlin.”

Miyasi recoiled slightly. The Whites did not like to be reminded of Alviarin and her failure as Elaida’s Keeper. Instead of turning against Elaida for ousting the White, they seemed to have turned against their own member for the shame she had caused them.

“I still think that this is work for the Grays,” Tesan said, but she sounded less convinced than she had just moments before. “You should speak with them.”

“I have,” Egwene said. Her patience was beginning to fray. “Some will not speak with me and continue to send me to penance. Others say these rifts are not their fault, but with some coaxing have agreed to do what they can. The Yellows have been very reasonable, and I think they’re beginning to see the problems in the Tower as a wound to be healed. I’m still working with several Brown sisters—they seem more fascinated by the problems than worried about them. I’ve sent several of them looking through the histories for examples of division, hoping they’ll run across the story of Renala Merlon. The connection should be easy to make, and perhaps they will begin to see that our problems here can be solved.

“The Greens have, ironically, been the most stubborn. They can be very like Reds in many ways, which is infuriating as they really should be willing to accept me as one who would have been among them. That only leaves the Blue, who have been banished, and the Red. I doubt that sisters of that last Ajah are going to be very receptive to my suggestions.”

Ferane sat back, thoughtful, and Tesan sat with three forgotten walnuts in her hand, staring at Egwene. Miyasi scratched at her iron-gray hair, eyes wide with surprise.

Had Egwene given away too much? Aes Sedai were remarkably like Rand al’Thor; they did not like to know when they were being maneuvered.

“You are shocked,” she said. “What, do you think I should simply sit—like most—and do nothing while the Tower crumbles? This white dress has been forced upon me, and I do not accept what it represents, but I will use it. A woman in novice white is one of the few who can pass from one Ajah quarter to another these days. Someone has to work to mend the Tower, and I am the best choice. Besides, it is my duty.”

“How very . . . reasonable of you,” Ferane said, her ageless brow furrowed.

“Thank you,” Egwene said. Were they worried that she’d overstepped her bounds? Angered that she’d been manipulating Aes Sedai? Coldly determined to see her punished yet again?

Ferane leaned forward. “Let us say that we wished to work toward mending the Tower. What path would you recommend?”

Egwene felt a surge of excitement. She’d had nothing but setbacks during the last few days. Idiot Greens! They would feel foolish indeed once she was accepted as Amyrlin.

“Suana, of the Yellow Ajah, will soon be inviting you three to share a meal with her,” Egwene said. At least, Suana would make the offer, once Egwene prodded her. “Accept and take your meal in a public place, perhaps one of the Tower gardens. Be seen enjoying one another’s company. I will try to get a Brown sister to invite you next. Let yourself be seen by the other sisters mixing among the Ajahs.”

“Simple enough,” Miyasi said. “Very little effort required, but excellent potential for gain.”

“We shall see,” Ferane said. “You may withdraw, Egwene.”

She didn’t like being dismissed so, but there was no helping it. Still, the woman had shown Egwene respect by using her name. Egwene stood up, and then—very carefully—nodded her head to Ferane. Though Tesan and Miyasi gave no strong reactions, both pairs of eyes widened slightly. By now, it was well known in the Tower that Egwene never curtsied. And, shockingly, Ferane bowed her head, just a degree, returning the gesture.

“Should you decide to choose the White, Egwene al’Vere,” the woman said, “know that you will find a welcome here. Your logic this day was remarkable for one so young.”

Egwene hid a smile. Just four days back, Bennae Nalsad had all but offered Egwene a place in the Brown, and Egwene was still surprised at how vigilantly Suana recommended the Yellow to her. Almost they made her change her mind—but that was mostly her frustration with the Green at the moment. “Thank you,” she said. “But you must remember that the Amyrlin must represent all Ajahs. Our discussion was enjoyable, however. I hope that you will allow me to join you again in the future.”

With that, Egwene withdrew, letting herself smile broadly as she nodded to Ferane’s sturdy, bowlegged Warder standing guard just inside the balcony. Her smile lasted right up until she left the White sector of the Tower and found Katerine waiting in the hallway. The Red was not one of the two assigned to Egwene earlier in the day, and talk about the Tower said that Elaida was relying on Katerine more and more now that her Keeper had vanished on a mysterious mission.

Katerine’s sharp face bore a smile of its own. That was not a good sign. “Here,” the woman said, offering a wooden cup holding a clear liquid. It was time for Egwene’s afternoon dose of forkroot.

Egwene grimaced, but took the cup and drank the contents. She wiped her mouth with her handkerchief, then began to walk down the hallway.

“And where are you going?” Katerine asked.

The smugness in her tone made Egwene hesitate. Egwene turned, frowning. “My next lesson—”

“You will have no further lessons,” Katerine said. “At least, not of the kind you have been receiving. All agree that your skill with weaves is impressive, for a novice.”

Egwene frowned. Were they going to raise her to Accepted again? She doubted that Elaida would allow her any more freedom, and she rarely spent any time in her quarters, so the extra space would be unimportant.

“No,” Katerine said, toying idly with the fringe on her shawl. “What you need to learn, it has been decided, is humility. The Amyrlin has heard of your foolish refusal to curtsy to sisters. In her opinion, it’s the last symbol of your defiant nature, and so you are to receive a new form of instruction.”

Egwene felt a moment of fear. “What kind of instruction?” she said, keeping her voice even.

“Chores and work,” Katerine said.

“I already do chores, just like the novices.”

“You mistake me,” Katerine said. “From now on, all you will do is chores. You are to report to the kitchens immediately—you will spend every afternoon working there. In the evenings, you will scrub floors. In the mornings you will report to the groundsmaster and work the gardens. This will be your life, those same three activities every day—five hours at each one—until you give up your foolish pride and learn to curtsy to your betters.”

It was an end to Egwene’s freedom, what little she had. There was glee in Katerine’s eyes.

“Ah, so you understand,” Katerine said. “No more visiting sisters in their quarters, wasting their time as you practice weaves that you have already mastered. No more laziness; now you will work instead. What think you of that?”

It wasn’t the difficulty of the work that worried Egwene—she didn’t mind the chores she did each day. It was the lack of contact with other sisters that would ruin her. How would she mend the White Tower? Light! It was a disaster.

She gritted her teeth and forced down her emotion. She met Katerine’s eyes, saying, “Very well. Let us go.”

Katerine blinked. She’d obviously expected a tantrum, or at least a fight. But this was not the time. Egwene turned her step toward the kitchens, leaving the quarters of the Whites behind. She couldn’t let them know how effective this punishment was.

She forced down her panic as she walked, the cavernous hallways of the inner Tower lined with bracketed lamps, long and sinuous, like the heads of serpents spouting tiny flames up toward the stone ceiling. She could deal with this. She would deal with this. They would not break her.

Perhaps she should work for a few days, then pretend that she had been humbled. Should she give the curtsy Elaida demanded? It was a simple thing, really. One curtsy, and she could go back to her more important duties.

No, she thought. No, that would not be the end of it. I’d lose the moment I gave that first curtsy. Giving in would prove to Elaida that Egwene could be broken. Curtsying would begin a descent into destruction. Soon, Elaida would decide that Egwene needed to start using honorifics for the Aes Sedai. The false Amyrlin would send Egwene back to work detail, knowing it had been effective before. Would Egwene bend there too? How long before any credibility she had ended up forgotten, trampled into the tiles of the Tower hallways?

She could not bend. The beatings had not changed her behavior; work detail must not change her either.

Three hours of working the kitchens did little to improve her mood. Laras, the hefty Mistress of Kitchens, had set Egwene at scrubbing out one of the ovenlike fireplaces. It was dirty, grimy work, not conducive to thinking. Not that there were many ways out of her situation.

Egwene knelt back on her heels, raising an arm and wiping her brow. The arm came away smeared with soot. Egwene sighed softly, her mouth and nose protected by a damp cloth to keep her from breathing too much ash. Her breath was hot and stuffy against her face, and her skin was sticky with sweat. The drops that fell from her face were stained with black soot; through the cloth she could smell the dull, crusty scent of ash that had been burned over and over and over again.

The fireplace was a large square construction of burned red bricks. It was open on both sides and more than large enough to crawl into—which was exactly what Egwene had to do. Dark crusts built up on the inside of the flue and chimney, and they needed to be scrubbed free lest they clog the chimney or break free and fall into the food. Outside in the dining room, Egwene could hear Katerine and Lirene chatting and laughing with each other. The Reds periodically poked heads in to check on her, but her real supervisor was Laras, who was scrubbing pots on the other side of the room.

Egwene had changed into a work dress for the duty. While it had once been white, it had been repeatedly used by novices cleaning the fireplaces, and the soot had been ground into the fibers. Patches of gray stained the cloth, like shadows.

She rubbed the small of her back, got back on her hands and knees, and crawled farther into the fireplace. Using a small wooden scrape, she worked clumps of ash free from seams between the bricks, then gathered it up and deposited it in brass buckets, the rims of which were powdered white and gray with ash. Her first task had been to dig out all of the loose soot and pile it into the buckets. Her hands were so blackened from the work she worried that the most furious scrubbing wouldn’t get them clean. Her knees ached, and they seemed a strange counterpart to her backside, which still stung from her regular morning beating.

She continued, scratching with her scrape at a blackened section of brick, dimly lit by the lantern she’d left burning in a corner inside the fireplace. She itched to use the One Power; but the Reds outside would sense her channeling, and she’d discovered that her afternoon dose of forkroot had been uncharacteristically strong, leaving her unable to channel as much as a trickle. In fact, it had been strong enough to leave her drowsy, which made the work even harder.

Was this to be her life? Trapped inside a fireplace, scrubbing at bricks nobody saw, locked away from the world? She couldn’t stand up to Elaida if everyone forgot about her. She coughed quietly, the sound echoing against the inside of the fireplace.

She needed a plan. Her only recourse seemed to be to use the sisters who were trying to root out the Black Ajah. But how to visit them? Without being trained by sisters, she had no way to escape her Red handlers by entering the domains of other Ajahs. Could she sneak away somehow while doing labor? If her absence were discovered, she’d probably end up in an even worse situation.

But she couldn’t let her life be dominated by this menial labor! The Last Battle was approaching, the Dragon Reborn ran free, and the Amyrlin Seat was on her hands and knees cleaning fireplaces! She gritted her teeth, scrubbing furiously. The soot had been baked on for so long that it formed a glossy black patina on the stone. She’d never get it all off. She just needed to make sure it was clean enough that none would break free.

Reflected in that glossy patina, she saw a shadow move across the opening of the far side of the fireplace. Egwene immediately reached for the Source—but, of course, she found nothing. Not with forkroot clouding her mind. But there was definitely someone outside the fireplace, crouching down, moving quietly. . . .

Egwene gripped the scrape in one hand, slowly reaching down with the other to grab the brush she’d been using to scoop up ash. Then she spun.

Laras froze, peeking into the fireplace. The Mistress of Kitchens wore a large white apron, stained with a few soot marks itself. Her pudgy round face had seen its share of winters; her hair was starting to gray, and lines creased the sides of her eyes. Leaning over as she was, her jowls formed a second, third and fourth chin, and she gripped the side of the fireplace opening with a thick-fingered hand.

Egwene relaxed. Why had she been so certain that someone had been sneaking up on her? It was just Laras coming to check on her.

Yet why had the woman moved so silently? Laras glanced to the side, eyes narrowing. Then she raised a finger to her lips. Egwene felt herself tense again. What was going on?

Laras backed out of the fireplace, waving for Egwene to follow. The Mistress of Kitchens moved on light feet, far quieter than Egwene would have thought possible. Assistant cooks and scullions clanged away in other parts of the kitchen, but none were directly visible. Egwene crept free of the fireplace, tucking the scrape into her belt and wiping her hands on her dress. She pulled the cloth free from her face, breathing sweet, soot-free air. She took a deep breath, and received a harsh glare from Laras, followed by another finger to the lips.

Egwene nodded, following Laras through the kitchens. In a few moments she and Egwene stood in a pantry, thick with the scent of dried grains and aging cheeses. The tiles gave way to more durable brickwork here. Laras shoved aside a few sacks, then pulled open a piece of the floor. It was a wooden trapdoor, capped with shaved brickwork on the top to make it seem part of the floor. It revealed a small, rock-walled chamber underneath the pantry, large enough to hold a person, though a tall man would be cramped.

“You wait here until night,” Laras said in a low voice. “I can’t get you out right now, not with the Tower fluttery as a yard full of hens when the fox is about. But the garbage goes out late at night, and I’ll hide you among the girls who unload it. A dockworker will take you to a small boat and row you across the river. I have some friends among the guard; they’ll turn the other way. Once you reach the other side, it’s up to you what you do. I’d advise against going back to those fools who made you their puppet. Find some place to lie low until this all blows over, then come back and see if whoever’s in charge will take you in. Isn’t likely it will be Elaida, the way things are going. . . .”

Egwene blinked in surprise.

“Well,” the heavyset woman said. “In you go.”

“No time for jabbering!” Laras said, as if she weren’t the one doing all of the talking. She was obviously nervous, the way she kept glancing about and tapping her foot. But she’d obviously also done this sort of thing before. Why was the simple cook in the White Tower so skilled at sneaking, so handy with a plan to get Egwene out of the fortified and besieged city? And why did she have a bolt-hole in the kitchens in the first place? Light! How had she created it?

“Don’t worry about me,” Laras said, eyeing Egwene. “I can handle myself. I’ll keep all of the kitchen servants away from where you were working. Those Aes Sedai only check on you every half-hour or so—and since they just checked a minute ago, it will be a while before they look in again. When they do check, I can plead ignorance and everyone will assume you slipped out of the kitchens. We’ll soon have you out of the city and nobody will be the wiser.”

“Yes,” Egwene said, finally finding her tongue, “but why?” She had assumed that, after helping Min and Siuan, Laras wouldn’t be eager to help another fugitive.

Laras looked back at her, in the woman’s eyes a determination as hard as any Aes Sedai’s. Egwene certainly had overlooked this woman! Who was she really?

“I won’t be a party to the breaking of a girl’s spirit,” Laras said sternly. “Those beatings are shameful! Fool Aes Sedai. I’ve served loyally these years, I have, but now they’ve told me that you’re to be worked as hard as I can push you, indefinitely. Well, I can see when a girl has moved away from being instructed and into being beaten down. I won’t have it, not in my kitchens. Light burn Elaida for thinking she could do such a thing! Execute you or make you a novice, I don’t care. But this breaking is unacceptable!”

The woman stood, setting hands on hips, a puff of flour rising from her apron. Oddly, Egwene found herself considering the offer. She’d denied Siuan s offer to save her, but if she fled now, she would return to the rebel camp having freed herself. That would be far superior to being rescued. She could get away from all this, away from the beatings, away from the drudgery.

To do what? To sit on the outside and watch the Tower collapse?

“No,” she said to Laras. “Your offer is very kind, but I can’t take it. I’m sorry.”

Laras frowned. “Now, you listen—”

“Laras,” Egwene interrupted, “one does not take that tone with an Aes Sedai, no matter that one is the Mistress of Kitchens.”

Laras hesitated. “Fool girl. You ain’t Aes Sedai.”

“Accept it or not, I still can’t go. Unless you intend to try stuffing me into that hole yourself—gagging and tying me to keep me from crying out, followed by escorting me across the river in person—then I suggest letting me return to my work.”

“But why?”

“Because,” Egwene said, glancing back at the fireplace. “Someone has to fight her.”

“You can’t fight like this,” Laras said.

“Each day is a battle,” Egwene said. “Each day I refuse to bend means something. Even if Elaida and her Reds are the only ones who know it, that’s something. A small something, but more than I could do from the outside. Come. I’ve still got two hours of work left.”

She turned and began to walk back toward the fireplace. A reluctant Laras closed the hatch on her hidden chamber, then joined her. The woman made much more noise now as she walked, brushing against counters, her footfalls sounding on the bricks. Curious how she’d been able to be so quiet when she wanted to.

A flash of red cloth, like the blood of a dead rabbit in the snow, moved through the kitchens. Egwene froze as Katerine, wearing a dress with crimson skirts and yellow trim, spotted her. The Red’s mouth was thin-lipped, her eyes narrow. Had she seen Egwene and Laras walk off?

Laras froze.

“I see now what I was doing wrong,” Egwene quickly said to the Mistress of Kitchens, eyeing a second hearth, which lay near where they had been standing in the pantry. “Thank you for showing it to me. I’ll be more careful now.”

“See that you are,” Laras said, shaking out of her shock. “Otherwise, you’ll see what a real punishment is like, not those halfhearted paddlings the Mistress of Novices gives. Now back to work with you.”

Egwene nodded, hurrying back toward the fireplace. Katerine held up a hand to forestall her. Egwene’s heart thumped traitorously.

“No need,” Katerine said. “The Amyrlin has demanded that the novice attend her tonight at dinner. I told the Amyrlin that one day of work would hardly break someone as foolishly stubborn as this child, but she is insistent. I guess you are to be given your first chance to prove your humility, child. I suggest you take it.”

Egwene glanced down at her blackened hands and soiled dress.

“Go, run,” Katerine said. “Wash up and clean yourself. The Amyrlin will not be kept waiting.”

Washing up proved to be nearly as difficult as cleaning the fireplace. The soot had stained her hands much in the way it had the work dress. Egwene spent the better part of an hour washing in a tub full of lukewarm water, trying to make herself presentable. Her fingernails were ragged from scraping the bricks, and it seemed that each time she rinsed her hair, she washed out an entire bucket’s worth of soot flakes.

However, she was glad for the chance. She rarely had much time for bathing; usually she could not stop for more than a quick scrub. As she rinsed and scrubbed in the small, gray-tiled bathing chamber, she considered her next step.

She had turned down the opportunity to flee. That meant she had to work with Elaida and her Reds, the only sisters she saw. But could they be made to see their errors? She wished she could send the whole lot of them for penance and be rid of them.

But no. She was Amyrlin; she represented all Ajahs, including the Red. She couldn’t treat them as Elaida had treated the Blues. They were the most antagonistic toward her, but that meant a greater challenge. She seemed to be making some headway with Silviana, and hadn’t Lirene Doirellin admitted that Elaida had made serious mistakes?

Maybe the Reds weren’t the only ones she could influence. There were always chance meetings with other sisters in the hallways. If one of them approached her to speak, the Reds couldn’t very well tow her away. They would show some decorum, and that would give Egwene a chance to interact a bit with other sisters.

But how to treat Elaida herself? Was it wise to let the false Amyrlin continue to think that Egwene was nearly cowed? Or was it time to make a stand?

By the end of her bath, Egwene felt a great deal cleaner and a great deal more confident. Her war had taken a serious turn for the worse, but she could still fight. She ran a hurried brush through her wet hair, threw on a new novice dress—my, how good it felt to have the soft, clean fabric on her skin!—and left to join her handlers.

They escorted her up to the Amyrlin’s chambers. Egwene passed several groups of sisters, and she held herself carefully erect for their benefit. The handlers took her through the Red sector of the Tower, the tiles on the floor shifting to a pattern of red and charcoal. There were more people walking about here, women in their shawls, servants bearing the Flame of Tar Valon on their chests. Never any Warders; that always felt strange to Egwene, since they were so common in other parts of the Tower.

A long climb and a few twists later, they arrived at Elaida’s quarters. Egwene checked her skirts unconsciously. She had determined during the walk that she needed to approach Elaida with silence, just as she had last time. Riling her further would only lead to more restrictions. Egwene would not debase herself, but neither would she go out of her way to insult Elaida. Let the woman think as she wished.

A servant opened the door, leading Egwene in, and into the dining chamber. There, she was shocked by what she found. She had assumed she’d attend Elaida alone, or maybe with Meidani. Egwene hadn’t for a moment considered that the dining room would be filled with women. There were five, one from each Ajah save the Red and the Blue. And each woman was a Sitter. Yukiri was there, as was Doesine, both from the clandestine hunters of the Black Ajah. Ferane was there, though she seemed surprised to see Egwene; had the White not known about this dinner earlier, or had she simply not mentioned it?

Rubinde, of the Green Ajah, sat beside Shevan of the Brown, a sister whom Egwene had been wanting to meet. Shevan was one of those who supported negotiating with the rebel Aes Sedai, and Egwene hoped to be able to nudge her more toward helping unify the White Tower from within.

There wasn’t a Red sister at the table other than Elaida. Was that because the Red Sitters were all out of the Tower? Perhaps Elaida thought the room balanced with her there, as she still thought of herself as Red, although she wasn’t supposed to.

It was a long table, crystal goblets sparkling and reflecting light from the ornate bronze standlamps, running along the walls painted a rusty red-yellow in color. Each woman wore a fine gown in the color of her Ajah. The room smelled of succulent meats and steamed carrots. The women chatted. Amicable, but forced. Tense. They didn’t want to be there.

Across the room, Doesine nodded to Egwene, almost in respect. It was an indication of something. “I’m here because you said that this sort of thing was important,” it seemed to say. Elaida sat at the head of the table, wearing a red dress with full sleeves, uncut garnets trimming them and the bodice, her face bearing a satisfied smile. Servants bustled back and forth, pouring wine and bringing food. Why had Elaida called a dinner of Sitters? Was this an attempt to heal the rifts in the White Tower? Had Egwene misjudged her?

“Ah, good,” Elaida said, noticing Egwene. “You’ve finally arrived. Come here, child.”

Egwene did so, walking through the room, the last few Sitters catching notice of her. Some seemed confused, others made curious, by her presence. As she walked, Egwene realized something.

This one evening could easily undo all that she’d worked for.

If the Aes Sedai here saw her subserviently waiting on Elaida, Egwene would lose integrity in their eyes. Elaida had declared that Egwene was cowed—but Egwene had proven otherwise. If she bent to Elaida’s will here, even a little, it would be seen as proof.

Light burn the woman! Why had she invited so many of the women that Egwene had been working to influence? Was it simple happenstance? Egwene joined the false Amyrlin at the head of the table, and a servant handed her a crystal pitcher of glistening red wine. “You are to keep my cup full,” Elaida said. “Wait there, but don’t come too close. I’d rather not have to smell the soot on you from your punishments this afternoon.”

Egwene clenched her jaw. Smell the soot? After an hour of scrubbing? Doubtful. From the side, she could see the satisfaction in Elaida’s eyes as she sipped her wine. Then Elaida turned to Shevan, who sat in the chair to Elaida’s right. The Brown was a lanky woman, with knobbed arms and an angular face, like a person made of gnarled sticks. Her eyes were thoughtful as she studied her hostess.

“Tell me, Shevan,” Elaida said. “Do you still insist on those foolish talks with the rebels?”

Shevan responded. “The sisters must be given a chance to reconcile.”

“They’ve had their chance,” Elaida said. “Honestly, I expected more of a Brown. You’re behaving doggedly, without a whit of understanding how the real world works. Why, even Meidani agrees with me, and she’s a Gray! You know how they are.”

Shevan turned away, seeming more disturbed than before. Why did Elaida invite them to dinner, if only to insult them and their Ajahs? As Egwene watched, the Red turned her attention to Ferane, and complained to her about Rubinde, a Sitter from the Green who also resisted Elaida’s efforts to end the talks. As she spoke, she raised her cup to Egwene, tapping it. Elaida had barely taken a few sips.

Egwene ground her teeth, filling the cup. The others had seen her do labor before—why, she’d cracked walnuts for Ferane. This wouldn’t ruin her reputation, not unless Elaida forced her to abase herself somehow.

But what was the point of this dinner? Elaida didn’t seem to be making any attempt to bring the Ajahs together. If anything, she was prying those rifts wider, the way she was dismissing those who disagreed with her. Occasionally, she would have Egwene refill her cup, but it never had room for more than a sip or two.

Slowly, Egwene began to understand. This dinner wasn’t about working with the Ajahs. It was about bullying the Sitters into doing as Elaida felt they should. And Egwene was simply there to be shown off! This was all about proving to the others how much power Elaida had—she could take someone that others had named Amyrlin, put a novice dress on her and send her to penance every day.

Egwene felt herself grow angry again. Why could Elaida always stir her emotions? Soup bowls were removed and plates of steamed, buttered carrots were brought, a hint of cinnamon striking the air. Egwene had not been given dinner, but she felt too sick to care about eating.

No, she thought, steeling herself. I will not end this early, like last time. I will endure. I am stronger than Elaida. I’m stronger than her madness.

The conversation continued, Elaida making insulting comments to the others, sometimes with intent, sometimes with apparent unawareness. The others steered the talk away from the rebels and toward the strangely overcast skies. Eventually, Shevan mentioned a rumor about the Seanchan working with Aiel far to the south.

“The Seanchan again?” Elaida said with a sigh. “You needn’t worry about them.”

“My sources say otherwise, Mother,” Shevan said stiffly. “I think we need to pay close attention to what they are doing. I have had some sisters ask this child about her experience with them, which has been extensive. You should hear the things they do to Aes Sedai.”

Elaida laughed a tinkling, melodic laugh. “Surely you know how the child is prone to exaggerate!” She glanced at Egwene. “Have you been spreading lies for your friend, the fool al’Thor? What did he tell you to say about these invaders? They are working for him, are they not?”

Egwene didn’t respond.

“Speak,” Elaida said, gesturing with her cup. “Tell these women you have been speaking lies. Confess or I’ll have you in penance again, girl.”

The penance she would take for not speaking would be better than suffering Elaida’s rage at contradicting her. Silence was the path to victory.

And yet, as Egwene glanced down the long mahogany table, set with bright white Sea Folk porcelain and flickering red candles, she saw five pairs of eyes studying her. She could see their questions. Egwene had spoken boldly to them when alone, but would she hold to her assertions now, faced by the most powerful woman in the world? A woman who held Egwene’s life in her hands?

Was Egwene the Amyrlin? Or was she just a girl who liked to pretend?

Light hum you, Elaida, she thought, gritting her teeth, seeing that she had been wrong. Silence wouldn’t lead to victory, not in front of these women. You are not going to like how this proceeds.

“The Seanchan are not working for Rand,” Egwene said. “And they are a severe danger to the White Tower. I have spread no lies. To say otherwise would be to betray the Three Oaths.”

“You haven’t taken the Three Oaths,” Elaida said sternly, turning toward her.

“I have,” Egwene said. “I’ve held no Oath Rod, but it isn’t the Rod that makes my words true. I have spoken the words of the oaths in my heart, and to me they are more dear, for I have nothing forcing me to hold to them. And by that oath holding me, I tell you again. I am a Dreamer, and I have Dreamed that the Seanchan will attack the White Tower.”

Elaida’s eyes flared for a moment, and she gripped her fork until her knuckles whitened. Egwene held her eyes, and finally Elaida laughed again. “Ah, stubborn as ever, I see. I shall have to tell Katerine that she was right. You’ll have penance for your exaggerations, child.”

“These women know I don’t speak lies,” Egwene said calmly. “And each time you insist that I do, you lower yourself in their eyes. Even if you disbelieve my Dream, you must admit that the Seanchan are a threat. They leash women who can channel, using them as weapons with a kind of twisted ter’angreal. I have felt the collar on my neck. I still feel it, sometimes. In my dreams. My nightmares.”

The room fell still.

“You are a foolish child,” Elaida said, obviously trying to pretend that Egwene was no threat. She should have turned to look at the eyes of the others. If she had, she’d have seen the truth. “Well, you have forced my hand. You will kneel before me, child, and beg forgiveness. Right now. Otherwise, I will lock you away alone. Is that what you want? Don’t think that the beatings will stop, however. You’ll still get your daily penance, you’ll just be thrown back into your cell after each one. Now, kneel and beg forgiveness.”

The Sitters glanced at one another. There was no backing down now. Egwene wished it hadn’t come to this. But it had, and Elaida had demanded a fight.

It was time to give her one. “And if I do not bow before you?” Egwene asked, meeting the woman’s eyes. “What then?”

“You will kneel, one way or another,” Elaida growled, embracing the Source.

“You’ll use the Power on me?” Egwene asked calmly. “Do you have to resort to that? Have you no authority without channeling?”

Elaida paused. “It is within my rights to discipline one who isn’t showing proper respect.”

“And so you will make me obey,” Egwene said. “Is this what you will do to everyone in the Tower, Elaida? An Ajah opposes you, and it is disbanded. Someone displeases you, and you try to destroy her right to be Aes Sedai. You will have every sister bowing down before you by the end of this.”

“Nonsense!”

“Oh?” Egwene asked. “And have you told them about your idea for a new oath? Sworn on the Oath Rod by every sister, an oath to obey the Amyrlin and support her?”

“Deny it,” Egwene said. “Deny that you made the statement. Will the Oaths let you?”

Elaida froze. If she were Black, she could deny it, Oath Rod or not. But either way, Meidani could substantiate what Egwene had said.

“It was idle talk,” Elaida said. “Just speculation, thoughts spoken out loud.”

“There is often truth in speculation,” Egwene said. “You locked the Dragon Reborn himself in a box; you just threatened to do the same to me, in front of all of these witnesses. People call him a tyrant, but you are the one destroying our laws and ruling by fear.”

Elaida’s eyes opened wide, her anger visible. She seemed . . . shocked. As if she couldn’t understand how she’d gone from disciplining an unruly novice into debating an equal. Egwene saw the woman begin to weave a thread of Air. That had to be stopped. A gag of Air would end this debate.

“Go ahead,” Egwene said calmly. “Use the Power to silence me. As Amyrlin, shouldn’t you be able to talk an opponent into obedience, rather than resorting to force?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Egwene saw diminutive Yukiri, of the Gray, nod at that comment.

Elaida’s eyes flared in anger as she dropped the thread of Air. “I don’t need to rebut a mere novice,” Elaida snapped. “The Amyrlin doesn’t explain herself to one such as you.”

“ ‘The Amyrlin understands the most complex of creeds and debates,’ ” Egwene said, quoting from memory. “ ‘Yet in the end, she is the servant of all, even the lowest of laborers.’” That had been said by Balladare Arandaille, the first Amyrlin to be raised from the Brown Ajah. She’d used the words in her last writings before her death; those writings had been an explanation of her reign and what she had done during the Kavarthen wars. Arandaille had felt that once a crisis was passed, it was the moral duty of an Amyrlin to explain herself to the common people.

Sitting beside Elaida, Shevan nodded appreciatively. The quote was somewhat obscure; Egwene blessed Siuan’s quiet training in the wisdom of the former Amyrlins. Much of what she’d said had come from the secret histories, but there had been a number of nuggets from women such as Balladare as well.

“What is this nonsense you’re sputtering?” Elaida spat.

“What did you intend to do with Rand al’Thor once you captured him?” Egwene said, ignoring the comment.

“I don’t—”

“You’re not answering me” Egwene said, nodding to the table of women, “but them. Have you explained yourself, Elaida? What were your plans? Or will you dodge this question just as you have the others I’ve asked?”

Elaida’s face was turning red, but she calmed herself with some effort. “I would have kept him secure, and well shielded, here in the Tower until it was time for the Last Battle. That would have prevented him from causing the suffering and chaos he’s created in many nations. It was worth the risk of angering him.”

“ ‘As the plow breaks the earth shall he break the lives of men, and all that was shall be consumed in the fire of his eyes,’ ” Egwene said. “ ‘The trumpets of war shall sound at his footsteps, the ravens feed at his voice, and he shall wear a crown of swords.’ ”

Elaida frowned, taken aback.

“The Karaethon Cycle, Elaida,” Egwene said. “When you had Rand locked away to be kept ‘secure,’ had he yet taken Illian? Had he yet worn what he was to name the Crown of Swords?”

“Well, no.”

“And how did you expect him to fulfill the prophecies if he was hidden away in the White Tower?” Egwene said. “How was he to cause war, as the prophecies say he must? How was he to break the nations and bind them to him? How could he ‘slay his people with the sword of peace’ or ‘bind the nine moons to serve him’ if he was locked away? Do the prophecies say that he will be ‘unfettered’? Do they not speak of the ‘chaos of his passing?’ How can anything pass at all if he is kept in chains?”

“I—”

“Your logic is astounding, Elaida,” Egwene said coldly. At that, Fer-ane smiled slyly; she was probably thinking yet again that Egwene would fit well in the White Ajah.

“Bah,” Elaida said, “you ask meaningless questions. The prophecies would have to have been fulfilled. There was no other way.”

“So you’re saying that your attempt to bind him was destined to fail.”

“No, not at all,” Elaida said, red-faced again. “We shouldn’t be bothering with this—it’s not for you to decide upon. No, we should be talking about your rebels, and what they’ve done to the White Tower!”

A good turn of the conversation, an attempt to put Egwene on the defensive. Elaida wasn’t completely incompetent. Just arrogant.

“I see them trying to heal the rift between us,” Egwene said. “We cannot change what has happened. We can’t change what you did to Siuan, even if those with me did discover a method of Healing her stilling. We can only move forward and try our best to smooth the scars. What are you doing, Elaida? Refusing talks, trying to bully the Sitters into withdrawing? Insulting Ajahs that are not your own?”

Doesine, of the Yellow, gave a quiet murmur of agreement. That drew Elaida’s eyes, and she fell silent for a moment, as if realizing that she had lost control of the debate. “Enough of this.”

“Coward,” Egwene said.

Elaida’s eyes flared wide. “How dare you!”

“I dare the truth, Elaida,” Egwene said quietly. “You are a coward and a tyrant. I’d name you Darkfriend as well, but I suspect that the Dark One would perhaps be embarrassed to associate with you.”

Elaida screeched, weaving in a flash of Power, slamming Egwene back against the wall, toppling the pitcher of wine from her hands. It shattered on a patch of wooden floor beside the rug, throwing a spray of bloodlike liquid across the table and half of its occupants, staining the white tablecloth with a smear of red.

“You name me Darkfriend?” Elaida screamed. “You are the Darkfriend. You and those rebels outside, who seek to distract me from doing what must be done.”

A blast of woven Air slammed Egwene against the wall again, and she dropped to the ground, hitting shards of the broken pitcher that sliced open her arms. A dozen switches beat her, ripping her clothing. Blood seeped from her arms, and it began to splash into the air, smirching the wall as Elaida beat her.

“Elaida, stop it!” Rubinde said, standing, green dress swishing. “Are you mad?”

Elaida turned, panting. “Do not tempt me, Green!”

The switches continuing to beat Egwene. She bore it silently. With effort, she stood up. She could feel her face and arms swelling already. But she maintained a calm gaze at Elaida.

“Elaida!” Ferane yelled, standing. “You violate Tower law! You cannot use the Power to punish an initiate!”

“I am Tower law!” Elaida raved. She pointed at the sisters. “You mock me. I know you do it. Behind my back. You show me deference when you see me, but I know what you say, what you whisper. You ungrateful fools! After what I’ve done for you! Do you think I’ll suffer you forever? Take this one as an example!”

She spun, pointing at Egwene, then stumbled back in shock to find Egwene calmly watching her. Elaida gasped softly, raising a hand to her breast as the switches beat. They could all see the weaves, and they could all see that Egwene did not scream, although her mouth was not gagged with Air. Her arms dripped blood, her body was beaten before them, and yet she found no reason to scream. Instead, she quietly blessed the Aiel Wise Ones for their wisdom.

“And what,” Egwene said evenly, “am I to be an example of, Elaida?”

The beating continued. Oh, how it hurt! Tears formed in the corners of Egwene’s eyes, but she had felt worse. Far worse. She felt it each time she thought of what this woman was doing to the institution she loved. Her true pain was not from the wounds, but from how Elaida had acted before the Sitters.

“By the Light,” Rubinde whispered.

“I wish I weren’t needed here, Elaida,” Egwene said softly. “I wish that the Tower had a grand Amyrlin in you. I wish I could step down and accept your rule. I wish you deserved it. I would willingly accept execution, if it would mean leaving a competent Amyrlin. The White Tower is more important than I am. Can you say the same?”

“You want execution!” Elaida bellowed, recovering her tongue. “Well, you shall not have it! Death is too good for you, Darkfriend! I shall see you beaten—everyone shall see you beaten—until I am through with you. Only then will you die!” She turned to the servants, who stood, gaping, at the sides of the room. “Send for soldiers! I want this one cast into the deepest cell this Tower can provide! Let it be voiced through the city that Egwene al’Vere is a Darkfriend who has rejected the Amyrlin’s grace!”

Servants ran to do as she demanded. The switches continued to beat, but Egwene was growing numb. She closed her eyes, feeling faint—she had lost much blood from her left arm, which bore the deepest of her gashes.

It had come to a head, as she’d feared that it would. She had cast her lot.

But she didn’t fear for her life. Instead, she feared for the White Tower. As she leaned back against the wall, thoughts fading, she was overcome with sorrow.

Her battle from within the Tower was at an end, one way or another.