The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time #8)

The Path of Daggers (The Wheel of Time #8) Page 3

Ethenielle exchanged glances with Serailla and Baldhere while Paitar and Easar began telling Tenobia that they also meant to keep on. Serailla gave her head the smallest shake, made the slightest shrug. Baldhere rolled his eyes openly. Ethenielle had not exactly hoped Tenobia might decide at the last to stay away, but the girl would surely make difficulties.

Saldaeans were a strange lot — Ethenielle had often wondered how her sister Einone managed so well married to yet another of Tenobia’s uncles — yet Tenobia carried that strangeness to extremes. You expected showiness from any Saldaean, but Tenobia took delight in shocking Domani and making Altarans seem drab. Saldaean tempers were legendary; hers was wildfire in a high wind, and you could never tell what would provide the spark. Ethenielle did not even want to think of the difficulty in getting the woman to listen to reason when she did not want to; only Davram Bashere had ever been able to do that. And then there was the question of marriage.

Tenobia was still young, though years past the age she should have wed — marriage was a duty for any member of a ruling House, the more so for a ruler; alliances had to be made, an heir provided — yet Ethenielle had never considered the girl for any of her own sons. Tenobia’s requirements for a husband were on a level with everything else about her. He must be able to face and slay a dozen Myrddraal at once. While playing the harp and composing poetry. He must be able to confound scholars while riding a horse down a sheer cliff. Or perhaps up it. Of course he would have to defer to her — she was a queen, after all — except that sometimes Tenobia would expect him to ignore whatever she said and toss her over his shoulder. The girl wanted exactly that! And the Light help him if he chose to toss when she wanted deference, or to defer when she wanted the other. She never said any of this right out, but any woman with wits who had heard her talk about men could piece it together in short order. Tenobia would die a maiden. Which meant her uncle Davram would succeed, if she left him alive after this, or else Davram’s heir.

A word caught Ethenielle’s ear and jerked her upright in her saddle. She should have been paying attention; too much was at stake. “Aes Sedai?” she said sharply. “What about Aes Sedai?” Save for Paitar’s, their White Tower advisors had all left at news of the troubles in the Tower, her own Nianh and Easar’s Aisling vanishing without a trace. If Aes Sedai had gained a hint of their plans... Well, Aes Sedai always had plans of their own. Always. She would dislike discovering that she was putting her hands into two hornet nests, not just one.

Paitar shrugged, looking a trifle embarrassed. That was no small trick for him; he, like Serailla, let nothing upset him. “You hardly expected me to leave Coladara behind, Ethenielle,” he said in soothing tones, “even if I could have kept the preparations from her.” She had not; his favorite sister was Aes Sedai, and Kiruna had given him a deep fondness for the Tower. Ethenielle had not expected it, but she had hoped. “Coladara had visitors,” he continued. “Seven of them. Bringing them along seemed prudent, under the circumstances. Fortunately, they require little convincing. None, in truth.”

“The Light illumine and preserve our souls,” Ethenielle breathed, and heard near echoes from Serailla and Baldhere. “Eight sisters, Paitar? Eight?” The White Tower surely knew every move they intended, now.

“And I have five more,” Tenobia put in as if announcing she had a new pair of slippers. “They found me just before I left Saldaea. By chance, I’m sure; they appeared as surprised as I was. Once they learned what I was doing — I still don’t know how they did, but they did — once they learned, I was sure they’d go scurrying to find Memara.” Her brows furrowed in a momentary glare. Elaida had miscalculated badly in sending a sister to try bullying Tenobia. “Instead,” she finished, “Illeisien and the rest were more intent on secrecy than I.”

“Even so,” Ethenielle insisted. “Thirteen sisters. All that is needed is for one of them to find some way to send a message. A few lines. A soldier or a maid intimidated. Does any of you think you can stop them?”

“The dice are out of the cup,” Paitar said simply. What was done, was done. Arafellin were almost as odd as Saldaeans, in Ethenielle’s book.

“Further south,” Easar added, “it may be well to have thirteen Aes Sedai with us.” That brought a silence while the implications hung in the air. No one wanted to voice them. This was far different from facing the Blight.

Tenobia gave a sudden, shocking laugh. Her gelding tried to dance, but she settled him. “I mean to press south as fast as I can, but I invite you all to dine with me in my camp tonight. You can speak with Illeisien and her friends, and see whether your judgment matches mine. Perhaps tomorrow night we can all gather in Paitar’s camp and question his Coladara’s friends.” The suggestion was so sensible, so obviously necessary, that it brought instant agreement. And then Tenobia added, as if an afterthought, “My uncle Kalyan would be honored if you allowed him to sit beside you tonight, Ethenielle. He admires you greatly.”

Ethenielle glanced toward Kalyan Ramsin — the fellow had sat his horse silently behind Tenobia, never speaking, hardly seeming to breathe — she merely glanced at him, and for an instant that grizzled eagle unhooded his eyes. For an instant, she saw something she had not seen since her Brys died, a man looking not at a queen, but at a woman. The shock of it was a blow taking her breath. Tenobia’s eyes darted from her uncle to Ethenielle, her tiny smile quite satisfied.

Outrage flared in Ethenielle. That smile made it all clear as spring water, if Kalyan’s eyes had not. This chit of a girl thought to marry off this fellow to her? This child presumed to...? Suddenly, ruefulness replaced fury. She herself had been younger when she arranged her widowed sister Nazelle’s wedding. A matter of state, yet Nazelle had come to love Lord Ismic despite all her protests in the beginning. Ethenielle had been arranging others’ marriages for so long that she had never considered that her own would make a very strong tie. She looked at Kalyan again, a longer look. His leathery face was all proper respect once more, yet she saw his eyes as they had been. Any consort she chose would have to be a hard man, but she had always demanded a chance of love for her children’s marriages, if not her siblings’, and she would do no less for herself.

“Instead of wasting daylight on chatter,” she said, more breathless than she could have wished, “let us do what we came for.” The Light sear her soul, she was a woman grown, not a girl meeting a prospective suitor for the first time. “Well?” she demanded. This time, h