Dyelin’s eyes widened slightly at almost the same instant as Luan’s, and only a moment ahead of the other two. For a moment they stared at Rand so closely it was plain they avoided looking at one another. Bashere was an outlander, but also the Marshal-General of Saldaea, three times a lord, and uncle to Queen Tenobia. If Rand used him like a servant . . .
“Excellent wine.” Staring into his goblet, Luan hesitated before adding, “My Lord Dragon.” It might have been pulled out of him with a rope.
“From the south,” Ellorien said after a sip. “A Tunaighan Hills vintage. A wonder you can find ice in Caemlyn this year. I have heard people already calling this “’The year without a winter.’ “
“Do you think I would waste time and effort finding ice,” Rand said, “when so many troubles inflict the world?”
Abelle’s angular face paled, and he seemed to force himself to take another swallow. On the other han
d, Luan emptied his winecup deliberately and thrust it out to be filled by a gai’shain whose green eyes flashed a fury at strong odds with the obstinate mildness of his sun-dark face. Serving wetlanders was like being a servant, and Aiel despised the very notion of servants. How that disgust squared with the very concept of gai’shain Rand had never been able to determine, but it was so.
Dyelin held her wine firmly on her knees and ignored it thereafter. This close, Rand could see touches of gray in her golden hair; she was still lovely, though in nothing except the hair did she look at all like Morgase or Elayne. Next in line for the throne, she must be a cousin at least, and close. Frowning briefly at him, she seemed on the point of shaking her head, but instead said, “We are concerned with the world’s troubles, but more with those inflicting Andor. Did you bring us here to find a cure?”
“If you know one,” Rand replied simply. “If not, I must look elsewhere. Many think they know the right cure. If I cannot find the one I want, I will have to accept the next best.” That tightened mouths. On the way here, Bashere had taken them through a courtyard where Arymilla and Lir and the rest of those had been left cooling their heels. Taking their ease in the Palace, it would seem. “I would think you’d want to help put Andor back together. You’ve heard my proclamation?” He did not have to say which one; in this context, there could be only one.
“A reward offered for news of Elayne,” Ellorien said flatly, her face becoming even stonier, “who is to be made queen now that Morgase is dead.”
Dyelin nodded. “That seemed well, to me.”
“Not to me!” Ellorien snapped. “Morgase betrayed her friends and spurned her oldest adherents. Let us see an end to House Trakand on the Lion Throne.” She seemed to have forgotten Rand. They all did.
“Dyelin,” Luari said curtly. She shook her head as if she had heard this before, but he went on. “She has the best claim. I speak for Dyelin.”
“Elayne is the Daughter-Heir,” the golden-haired woman told them levelly. “I speak for Elayne.”
“What does it matter who any of us speak for?” Abelle demanded. “If he killed Morgase, he will — ” Abelle cut off abruptly with a grimace, then looked at Rand, not exactly in defiance, but definitely daring him to do his worst. And expecting him to.
“Do you really believe that?” Rand glanced sadly at the Lion Throne on its pedestal. “Why under the Light would I kill Morgase only to hand that to Elayne?”
“Few know what to believe,” Ellorien said stiffly. Spots of color still stained her cheeks. “People say many things, most foolish.”
“Such as?” He directed the question to her, but it was Dyelin who answered, looking him straight in the eye.
“That you will fight the Last Battle and kill the Dark One. That you are a false Dragon, or an Aes Sedai puppet, or both. That you’re Morgase’s illegitimate son, or a Tairen High Lord, or an Aielman.” She frowned again for a moment, but did not stop. “That you are the son of an Aes Sedai by the Dark One. That you are the Dark One, or else the Creator clothed in flesh. That you will destroy the world, save it, subjugate it, bring a new Age. As many tales as there are mouths. Most say you killed Morgase. Many add Elayne. They say your proclamation is a mask to hide your crimes.”
Rand sighed. Some of those sayings were worse than any he had heard. “I won’t ask which you believe.” Why did she keep frowning at him? She was not the only one. Luan did too, and Abelle and Ellorien darted the sort of glances at him that he had come to expect from Arymilla’s bunch when they thought he was not looking. Watching. Watching. That was Lews Therin, a hoarse giggling whisper. I see you. Who sees me? “Instead, will you help me make Andor whole again? I don’t want Andor to become another Cairhien, or worse, a Tarabon or Arad Doman.”
“I know something of the Karaethon Cycle,” Abelle said. “I believe you are the Dragon Reborn, but nothing there speaks of you ruling, only fighting the Dark One at Tarmon Gai’don.”
Rand’s hand tightened on his goblet so hard the dark surface of the wine trembled. How much easier if these four were like most of the Tairen High Lords, or the Cairhienin, but not one of them wanted a shaving more power for themselves than they already had. However the wine had been chilled, he doubted the One Power would intimidate this lot. In all likelihood, they’d tell me to kill them and be burned for it!
Burn for it,
Lews Therin echoed morosely. “How many times must I say I don’t want to rule Andor? When Elayne sits on the Lion Throne, I will leave Andor. And never return, if I have my way.”
“If the throne belongs to anyone,” Ellorien said tightly, “it belongs to Dyelin. If you mean what you say, see her crowned, and go. Then Andor will be whole, and I don’t doubt Andoran soldiers will follow you to the Last Battle, if that’s what is called for.”
“I refuse still,” Dyelin answered in a strong voice, then turned to Rand. “I will wait and consider, my Lord Dragon. When I see Elayne alive and crowned, and you leave Andor, I will send my retainers to follow you whether anyone else in Andor does the same. But if time passes and you still reign here, or if your Aiel savages do here what I’ve heard they did in Cairhien and Tear” — she scowled at the Maidens and Red Shields, and the gai’shain too, as if she saw them looting and burning — “or you loose here those . . . men you gather with your amnesty, then I will come against you, whether anyone else in Andor does the same.”
“And I will ride beside you,” Luan said firmly.
“And I,” Ellorien said, echoed by Abelle.
Rand threw back his head and laughed in spite of himself, half mirth, half frustration. Light! And I thought honest opposition would be better than sneaking behind my back or licking my boots!
They eyed him uneasily, doubtless thinking it was madness at work. Maybe it was. He was not sure himself anymore.
“Consider what you must,” he told them, standing to end the audience. “I mean what I said. But consider this as well. Tarmon Gai’don is coming closer. I don’t know how long we have for you to spend considering.”