Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11)

Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11) Page 107

“A harsh decision,” Reanne said sadly. She plucked at her skirts in an agitated manner, smoothed them, then plucked at them again. “Perhaps you might consider thinking on it for a few days? Surely it isn’t anything that has to be done immediately.”

Elayne gritted her teeth. The woman had as much as implied that she had reached this decision in one of her swinging moods! But had she? It seemed reasonable and logical. They could not keep the sul’dam imprisoned forever. Sending those who did not want to be free back to the Seanchan was a way to be rid of them and strike a blow at the Seanchan at the same time. It was more than hatred of any Seanchan. Of course, it was. Burn her, but she bloody well hated being unsure whether her own decisions were sound! She could not afford to make unsound decisions. Still, there was no hurry. Better to send back a group, if possible, in any event. There was less chance of someone arranging an “accident,” that way. She did not put that sort of thing past the Seanchan.

“I will think on it, Reanne, but I doubt I’ll change my mind.”

Reanne sighed again, deeply. Eager for her promised return to the White Tower and novice white—she had been heard to say she envied Kirstian and Zarya—she wanted very much to enter the Green Ajah, but Elayne had her doubts. Reanne was kindhearted, softhearted in fact, and Elayne had never met any Green who could be called soft. Even those who seemed frilly or frail on the surface were cold steel inside.

Ahead of them, Vandene glided from a crossing corridor, slender, white-haired and graceful in dark gray wool with deep brown trim, and turned in the same direction they were going, apparently without noticing them. She was Green, and as hard as a hammerhead. Jaem, her Warder, walked beside her, head bent in close conversation, now and then raking a hand through his thinning gray hair. Gnarled and lean, his dark green coat hanging loose on him, he was old, but every scrap as hard as she, an old root that could dull axes. Kirstian and Zarya, both in plain novice white, followed meekly with their hands folded at their waists, the one pale as a Cairhienin, the other short and slim-hipped. For runaways who had succeeded in what so few did, remaining free of the White Tower for years, over three hundred years in Kirstian’s case, they had resettled into their places as novices with remarkable ease. But then, the Kin’s Rule was a blending of the rules that governed novices and those that Accepted lived by. Perhaps, to them, the white woolen dresses and the loss of freedom to come and go as they chose were the only real change, though the Kin regulated that last to some extent.

“I’m very glad she has those two to occupy her,” Reanne murmured in tones of sympathy. Pained caring shone in her eyes. “It’s good that she mourns her sister, but I fear she’d be obsessed with Adeleas’ death without Kirstian and Zarya. She may be anyway. I believe that dress she’s wearing belonged to Adeleas. I’ve tried offering solace—I have experience helping people overcome grief; I’ve been a village Wise Woman as well as wearing the red belt in Ebou Dar many years ago— but she won’t give me two words.”

In fact, Vandene wore only her dead sister’s clothing, now, and Adeleas’ flowery perfume, as well. At times, Elayne thought Vandene was trying to become Adeleas, to offer up herself in order to bring her sister back to life. But could you fault someone for being obsessed with finding who had murdered her sister? Not that more than a handful of people knew that was what she was doing. Everyone else believed as Reanne did, that she was absorbed with teaching Kirstian and Zarya, that and beginning their punishment for running away. Vandene was doing both, of course, and with a will, yet it was really just a cover for her true purpose.

Elayne reached out without looking, and found Aviendha’s hand waiting to take hers, a comforting grip. She squeezed back, unable to imagine the grief of losing Aviendha. They shared a quick glance, and Aviendha’s eyes mirrored her own feelings. Had she really once thought Aiel faces impassive and unreadable?

“As you say, Reanne, she has Kirstian and Zarya to occupy her.” Reanne was not among the handful who knew the truth. “We all mourn in our own way. Vandene will find solace along her own path.”

When she found Adeleas’ murderer, it was to be hoped. If that failed to at least begin assuaging the pain. . . . Well, that was to be faced when it must be. For now, she must allow Vandene her head. Especially since she had no doubt the Green would ignore any attempt to rein her in. That was more than irritating; it was infuriating. She had to watch Vandene perhaps destroying herself, and worse, make use of it. Having no alternative made that no less unpalatable.

As Vandene and her companions turned aside down another hallway, Reene Harfor appeared out of a side corridor right in front of Elayne, a stout, quiet woman with a graying bun atop her head and an air of regal dignity, her formal scarlet tabard with the White Lion of Andor as always looking freshly ironed. Elayne had never seen her with a hair out of place or looking even slightly the worse for a long day spent overseeing the workings of the palace. And more besides. Her round face appeared puzzled for some reason, but it took on a look of concern at the sight of Elayne. “Why, my Lady, you’re drenched,” she said, sounding shocked, as she made her curtsy. “You need to get out of those wet things right away.”

“Thank you, Mistress Harfor,” Elayne said through her teeth. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She regretted the outburst instantly—the First Maid had been as faithful to her as to her mother—but what made matters worse was that Mistress Harfor took her flare-up in stride, never so much as blinking. Elayne Trakand’s moods were no longer anything to be surprised at.

“I will walk with you if I may, my Lady,” she said calmly, falling in at Elayne’s side. A freckled young serving woman carrying a basket of folded bed linens began to offer her courtesies, only a hair more directed at Elayne than the First Maid, but Reene made a quick gesture that sent the girl scurrying before she completed bending her knees. Perhaps it was just to keep her from overhearing. Reene did not stop talking. “Three of the mercenary captains are demanding to meet with you. I put them in the Blue Reception Room, and told the servants to keep watch so no small valuables accidentally fall into their pockets. Not that I had to, as it turned out. Careane Sedai and Sareitha Sedai appeared soon after and settled in to keep the captains company. Captain Mellar is with them, too.”

Elayne frowned. Mellar. She was trying to keep him too busy for mischief, yet he had a way of turning up where and when she least wanted him. For that matter, so did Careane and Sareitha. One of them had to be the Black Ajah killer. Unless it was Merilille, and she was beyond reach, it seemed. Reene knew about that. Keeping her in the dark would have been criminal. She had eyes everywhere, and they might notice a vital clue. “What do the mercenaries wan