“Men, on the other hand,” Jalani put in, “are very simple.” He stared at her, with the baby fat still on her cheeks, and she colored faintly. Nandera looked ready to laugh out loud.
Death, Lews Therin whispered.
Rand forgot everything else. Death? What do you mean?
Death comes.
What kind of death? Rand demanded. What are you talking about?
Who are you? Where am I?
Rand felt as though a fist had clutched his throat. He had been sure, but . . . This was the first time Lews Therin had said anything to him, something clearly and plainly addressed to him. I am Rand al’Thor. You are inside my head.
Inside . . . ? No! I am myself! I am Lews Therin Telamon! I am meeeeeeeeee! The cry faded away into the distance.
Come back, Rand shouted. What death? Answer me, burn you! Silence. He shifted uneasily. Knowing was one thing, but a dead man, inside him, talking of death, made him feel unclean, like the faintest brush of the taint on saidin.
Something touched his arm, and he nearly seized at the Source again before he realized it was Aviendha. She must have flown into her clothes, yet she looked as if she had taken an hour to arrange every hair to her liking. People said Aiel showed no emotion, but it was just that they were more reserved than most. Their faces told as much as anyone else’s if you knew what to look for. Aviendha was torn between concern and wanting to be angry.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“I was just thinking,” he told her. True enough. Answer me, Lews Therin! Come back and answer me! Why had he ever thought silence suited the morning?
Unfortunately, Aviendha took him at his word, and if there was nothing to be concerned about . . . She put her fists on her hips. That was one thing he understood about women, Aiel, Two Rivers or whoever; fists on hips meant trouble. He need not have bothered lighting the lamps; her eyes were hot enough to light the room. “You went away without me again. I promised the Wise Ones to stay near you until I must go, but you make my promise nothing. You have toh to me for this, Rand al’Thor. Nandera, from now on I must be told where he is going and when. He must not be allowed to go without me if I should accompany him.”
Nandera hesitated not a moment before nodding. “It shall be as you wish, Aviendha.”
Rand squared around on both women. “Now, just you wait! Nobody is to be told my comings and goings unless I say so.”
“I have given my word, Rand al’Thor,” Nandera said in a flat voice. She looked him in the eye with no notion of backing up.
“As do I,” Jalani said just as levelly.
Rand opened his mouth, then closed it again. Bloody ji’e’toh. No use mentioning he was the Car’a’carn, of course. Aviendha looked faintly surprised that he had even protested; apparently to her it was a foregone conclusion. He shifted his shoulders uneasily, though not because of Aviendha. That unclean feel was still there, and stronger. Maybe Lews Therin had come back. Silently Rand called to him, but there was still no answer.
A tap on the door barely preceded Mistress Harfor, who made her usual deep curtsy. The First Maid showed no sign of the early hour, of course; whatever the time of day, Reene Harfor always looked as if she had just gotten dressed. “There have been arrivals in the city, my Lord Dragon, which Lord Bashere thought you should be told of as soon as possible. Lady Aemlyn and Lord Culhan entered yesterday at noon, and are staying with Lord Pelivar. Lady Arathelle came an hour later, with a large retinue. Lord Barel and Lord Macharan, Lady Sergase and Lady Negara entered separately in the night, with only a few retainers each. None has presented their respects at the Palace.” She delivered the last in the same even tone, with no hint of her own opinion.
“That is good news,” he told her, and it was, whether they had left respects or not. Aemlyn and her husband Culhan were nearly as powerful as Pelivar, Arathelle more powerful than any except Dyelin and Luan. The others were of minor Houses, and only Bare
l among them High Seat of his House, but the nobles who had opposed “Gaebril” were beginning to gather. At least, it was good news provided he found Elayne before they decided to try taking Caemlyn away from him.
Mistress Harfor eyed him a moment, then extended a blue-sealed letter. “This was delivered late last evening, my Lord Dragon. By a stableboy. A dirty stableboy. The Sea Folk Wavemistress was not well pleased that you were gone when she appeared for her audience.” This time her disapproval was clear in her voice, though not whether it was for the Wavemistress or Rand missing the audience or the means of the letter’s delivery.
He sighed; he had forgotten all about the Sea Folk here in Caemlyn. That reminded him of the letter he had been given in Cairhien, and he dug it out. Both green wax and blue bore the same impression, though he could not make out what it was supposed to be. Two things like flattened bowls with a thick ornate line running from one through the other. Each was addressed to “The Coramoor,” whoever or whatever that was. Himself, he supposed. Maybe that was what the Sea Folk called the Dragon Reborn. He broke the blue seal first. There was no salutation, and it was certainly unlike anything else Rand had ever seen addressed to the Dragon Reborn.
The Light willing, you will perhaps return to Caemlyn eventually. As I have traveled far to see you, perhaps I will find time for it when you do.
Zaida din Parede Blackwing
of Clan Catelar, Wavemistress
It seemed Mistress Harfor was right; the Wavemistress was not best pleased. The green seal hid little better.
If it pleases the Light, I will receive you on the deck of White Spray at your earliest convenience.
Harine din Togara Two Winds
of Clan Shodein, Wavemistress