Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11)

Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11) Page 150

“A very pleasant surprise,” an elderly man in a coat with red-and-blue striped sleeves said as he rose to bow, stroking his oiled beard, trimmed to a point. The High Lord Astoril Damara’s face was creased, the hair that hung to his shoulders snow white and thinning, but his back was straight and his dark eyes sharp. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for some time.” He bowed again, to Cadsuane, and after a moment, to Nynaeve. “Aes Sedai,” he said. Very civil for Tear, where channeling if not Aes Sedai themselves had been outlawed before Rand altered the law.

Darlin Sisnera, High Lord and Steward in Tear for the Dragon Reborn, in a green silk coat with yellow-striped sleeves and gold-worked boots, was less than a head shorter than Rand, with close-cut hair and a pointed beard, a bold nose and blue eyes that were rare in Tear. Those eyes widened as he turned from a conversation with Caraline Damodred near the fireplace. The Cairhienin noblewoman gave Rand a jolt, though he had expected to see her here. The litany he used to forge his soul in fire almost started up in his head before he could stop it. Short and slim and pale, with large dark eyes and a small ruby dangling onto her forehead from a golden chain woven into the black hair falling in waves to her shoulders, she was the very image of her cousin Moiraine. Of all things, she wore a long blue coat, embroidered in golden scrolls except for the horizontal stripes of red, green and white that ran from neck to hem, over snug green breeches and heeled blue boots. It seemed the fashion had traveled after all. She made a curtsy, even so, though it looked odd in that garb. Lews Therin hummed even harder, making Rand wish the man had a face so he could hit him. Moiraine was a memory for hardening his soul, not for humming at.

“My Lord Dragon,” Darlin said, bowing stiffly. He was not a man accustomed to offering the first courtesy. He gave no bow for Cadsuane, just a sharp look before he seemed to dismiss her presence entirely. She had kept him and Caraline as “guests” for a time in Cairhien. He was unlikely to forget that, or forgive.

At his gesture, the two serving women moved quickly to offer wine. As might have been expected, Cadsuane with her ageless face received the first goblet, but surprisingly, Nynaeve got the second. The Dragon Reborn was one thing, a woman wearing the Great Serpent ring something else again, even in Tear.

Throwing her cloak back, Cadsuane retreated to the wall. It was unlike her to be retiring. But then, from there, she could observe everyone at once. Alivia took a place by the door, doubtless for much the same reason.

“I am glad to see you better than when I saw you last,” Darlin went on. “You’ve done me great honor. Though I may yet lose my head for it, if your Aes Sedai make no more progress than they have.

“Do not be sulky, Darlin,” Caraline murmured, her throaty voice sounding amused. “Men do sulk, do they not, Min?” For some reason, Min barked a laugh.

“What are you doing here?” Rand demanded of the two people he had not expected to see. He took a goblet from one of the serving women while the other hesitated between Min and Alivia. Min won out, perhaps because Alivia’s blue dress was plain. Sipping her wine, Min strolled over to Caraline—at a glance from the Cairhienin woman. Darlin moved away, grinning—and the two women stood with their heads together, whispering. Filled with the Power, Rand could catch the occasional word. His name, Darlin’s.

Weiramon Saniago, also a High Lord of Tear, was not short, and he stood as straight as a sword, yet there was something of a strutting rooster about him. His gray-streaked beard, trimmed to a point and oiled, practically quivered with pride. “Hail to the Lord of the Morning,” he said, bowing. Or rather, he intoned it. Weiramon was a great one for intoning and declaiming. “Why am I here, my Lord Dragon?” He sounded puzzled at the question. “Why, when I heard that Darlin was besieged in the Stone, what could I do but come to his aid? Burn my soul, I tried to talk some of the others into accompanying me. We’d have put a quick end to Estanda and that lot, I vow!” He clutched a fist to demonstrate how he would have crushed the rebels. “But only Anaiyella had the courage. The Cairhienin were a complete lot of lily-hearts!”

Caraline paused her talk with Min to give him a look that would have had him hunting for the stab wound had he noticed it. Astoril pursed his lips and commenced a study of his wine.

The High Lady Anaiyella Narencelona also wore a coat and snug breeches with heeled boots, though she had added a white lace ruff, and her green coat was sewn with pearls. A close cap of pearls sat atop her dark hair. A slim, pretty woman, she offered a simpering curtsy, and somehow made it seem she wanted to kiss Rand’s hand. Courage was not a word he would have applied to her. Nerve, on the other hand. . . .

“My Lord Dragon,” she cooed. “I wish we could report complete success, but my Master of the Horse died fighting the Seanchan, and you left most of my armsmen in Illian. Still, we managed to strike a blow in your name.”

“Success? A blow?” Alanna’s scowl took in Weiramon and Anaiyella both before she twisted back around to face Rand. “They landed at the Stone’s docks with one ship, but they put most of their armsmen and all the mercenaries they hired in Cairhien ashore from the rest upriver. With orders to enter the city and attack the rebels.” She made a sound of disgust. “The only result was a great many men dead and our negotiations with the rebels thrown back to the beginning.” Anaiyella’s simper took on a sickly twist.

“My plan was to sortie from the Stone and attack them from both sides,” Weiramon protested. “Darlin refused. Refused!”

Darlin was not grinning now. He stood with his feet apart, and looked a man who wished he had a sword in his hand rather than a goblet. “I told you then, Weiramon. If I stripped the Stone of Defenders, the rebels would still have outnumbered us badly. Too badly. They’ve hired every sell-sword from the Erinin to the Bay of Remara.”

Rand took a chair, flinging one arm over the back. The heavy arms had no supports at the front, so his sword was no problem. Caraline and Min seemed to have switched their talk to clothing. At least, they were fingering each other’s coats, and he heard words like back-stitch and bias-cut, whatever that meant. Alanna’s gaze drifted between him and Min, and he felt disbelief warring with suspicion along the bond. “I left you two in Cairhien because I wanted you in Cairhien,” he said. He trusted neither, but they could cause small harm in Cairhien, where they were outlanders without power. Anger heated by nausea entered his voice. “You will make plans to return there as soon as possible. As soon as possible.” Anaiyella’s simper grew more sickly,