Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11)

Knife of Dreams (The Wheel of Time #11) Page 56

The woodcutter made as if to spit then glanced at her, and his face colored. He swallowed, instead. “That Galina ain’t going to help nobody, my Lady. Says she’s Aes Sedai and all, but she’s that Therava’s plaything if you ask me, and that Therava ain’t never going to let her go. Anyways, I know if we can get you free, you’ll come back for the rest of us. No need for you to swear and all that. You said you wanted the rod if anybody could lay hands on it without getting caught, and Theril got it for you, that’s all.”

“I want to be free,” Theril said suddenly, “but if we get anybody free, then we’ve beaten them.” He looked surprised that he had spoken, and blushed deep red. His father frowned at him, then nodded thoughtfully.

“Very well said,” Faile told the boy gently, “but I made my oath, and I stand by it. You and your father—” She cut off as Aravine, looking past her shoulder, laid a hand on her arm. The woman’s smile had been replaced by fright.

Turning her head, Faile saw Rolan standing beside her tent. A good two hands taller than Perrin, he wore his shoufa coiled around his neck with the black veil hanging down his broad chest. Rain slicked his face and made his short red hair cling to his scalp in curls. How long had he been there? Not long, or Aravine would have noticed him before. The tiny tent offered little concealment. Alvon and his son had their shoulders hunched, as if they were thinking about attacking the tall Mera’din. That was a very bad idea. Mice attacking a cat was not in it, as Perrin would have said.

“Go on about your duties, Alvon.” she said quickly. “You, too, Aravine. Go on, now.”

Aravine and Alvon had sense enough not to offer courtesies before leaving with final worried glances at Rolan, but Theril half raised a hand toward knuckling his forehead before catching himself. Blushing, he scurried away after his father.

Rolan came out from beside the tent to stand in front of her. Oddly, he had a small bunch of blue and yellow wildflowers in one hand. She was very conscious of the rod she was holding in her sleeve. Where was she to hide it? Once Therava discovered it missing, she likely would turn the camp upside down.

“You must be careful, Faile Bashere,” Rolan said, smiling down at her. Alliandre called him not quite pretty, but Faile had decided she was wrong. Those blue eyes and that smile made him very nearly beautiful. “What you are about is dangerous, and I may not be here to protect you much longer.”

“Dangerous?” She felt a chill in her middle. “What do you mean? Where are you going?” The thought of losing his protection made her stomach lurch. Few of the wetlander women had escaped the attentions of Shaido men. Without him. . . .

“Some of us are thinking of returning to the Three-fold Land.” His smile faded. “We cannot follow a false Car’a'cani, and a wetlander at that, but perhaps we will be allowed to live out our lives in our own holds. We think on it. We have been a long time from home, and these Shaido sicken us.”

She would find a way to deal with it once he was gone. She would have to. Somehow. “And what am I doing that is dangerous?” She tried to make her voice light, but it was difficult. Light, what would happen to her without him?

“These Shaido are blind even when they are not drunk, Faile Bashere.” he replied calmly. Pushing her cowl back, he tucked one of the wildflowers into her hair above her left ear. “We Mera’din use our eyes.” Another wildflower went into her hair, on the other side. “You have made many new friends lately, and you are planning to escape with them. A bold plan, but dangerous.”

“And will you tell the Wise Ones, or Sevanna?” She was startled when that came out in an even tone. Her stomach was trying to tie itself into knots.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, adding another flower to her decorations. “Jhoradin thinks he will take Lacile Aldorwin back to the Three-fold Land with him even if she is a Treekiller. He believes he may convince her to make a bridal wreath to lay at his feet.” Lacile had found her own protector by climbing into the blankets of the Mera’din who had made her gai’shain, and Arrela had done the same with one of the Maidens who had captured her, but Faile doubted that Jhoradin would attain his wish. Both women were focused on escape like arrows aimed at a target. “And now that I think on it, I may take you with me if we go.”

Faile stared up at him. The rain was beginning to soak through her hair. “To the Waste? Rolan, I love my husband. I’ve told you that, and it is true.”

“I know,” he said, continuing to add flowers. “But for the moment, you still wear white, and what happens while you wear white is forgotten when you put it off. Your husband cannot hold it against you. Besides, if we go, when we come near to a wetlander town, I will let you go. I should never have made you gai’shain in the first place. That collar and belt hold enough gold to get you safely back to your husband.”

Her mouth fell open in shock. It surprised her when her fist struck his wide chest. Gai’shain were never allowed to offer violence, but the man just grinned at her. “You—!” She struck him again, harder. She beat at him. “You—! I can’t think of a word bad enough. You let me think you were going to abandon me to these Shaido while all along you were meaning to help me escape?”

Finally he caught her fist and held it easily with a hand that enveloped hers completely. “If we go, Faile Bashere,” he laughed. The man laughed! “It is not decided. Anyway, a man cannot let a woman think he is too eager.”

Again she surprised herself, this time by beginning to laugh and cry at the same time, so hard that she had to lean against him or fall down. That bloody Aiel sense of humor!

“You are very beautiful with flowers in your hair, Faile Bashere,” he murmured, tucking in another blossom. “Or without them. And for the moment, you still wear white.”

Light! She had the rod, leaning against her arm so coolly, but there was no way to give it to Galina until Therava let her walk around freely again, no way to be sure that the woman would not betray her before then out of desperation. Rolan offered her escape, if the Mera’din decided to leave, but he would continue to try to inveigle her into his blankets so long as she wore white. And if the Alera’din decided not to go, would one of them betray her escape plans? If Rolan could be believed, they all knew! Hope and danger, all tied together in