Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13)

Towers of Midnight (The Wheel of Time #13) Page 224

“Yes, it appears that it is,” Faile replied.

Both fell silent. Alliandre raised an eyebrow, but did not say anything. Something was going on between those two. Why suddenly start pretending they were the greatest of friends? The act seemed to fool many of the men in camp, but Alliandre could see the truth in the way their lips tightened when they saw one another. It had lessened after Faile had saved Berelain’s life, but not vanished entirely.

“You were right about him,” Berelain said.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am not often wrong when it comes to men.”

“My husband is not like other men. It—” Faile cut off. She looked toward Alliandre, eyes narrowing.

Bloody ashes, Alliandre thought. She’d sat too far away, which made her strain, turning to eavesdrop. That was suspicious.

The two of them fell silent again, and Alliandre held up a hand, as if inspecting her nails. Yes, she thought. Ignore me. I don’t matter, I’m just a woman in over her head and struggling to keep up. Faile and Berelain didn’t think that, of course, any more than the Two Rivers men had ever thought Perrin had been unfaithful. If you sat them down and asked them—really made them think about it—they’d come to the conclusion that something else must have happened.

But things like superstition and bias ran deeper than mere thoughts. What the other two thought about Alliandre and what they instinctively felt were different. Besides, Alliandre really was a woman who was in over her head and struggling to keep up.

Best to know what your strengths were.

Alliandre turned back to cutting bandages. Faile and Berelain had insisted on staying to help; Alliandre couldn’t go. Not with the two of them acting so bloody fascinating lately. Besides, she didn’t mind the work. Compared to their captivity by the Aiel, this was really quite pleasant. Unfortunately, the two didn’t go back to their conversation. In fact, Berelain rose, looking frustrated, and walked toward the other side of the clearing.

Alliandre could practically feel the frost coming off the woman. Berelain stopped over where others were rolling the strips of cloth. Alliandre stood up, carrying her stool, scissors and cloths over to Faile. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her this unsettled,” Alliandre said.

“She’s not fond of being wrong,” Faile noted. She took a deep breath, then shook her head. “She sees the world as a network of half-truths and inferences, ascribing complex motivations to the simplest of men. I suspect it makes her very good at court politics. But I wouldn’t want to live that way.”

“She’s very wise,” Alliandre said. “She does see things, Faile. She understands the world; she merely has a few blind spots, like most of us.”

Faile nodded absently. “The thing I pity most is the fact that, despite all of this, I don’t believe she was ever in love with Perrin. She chased him for sport, for political advantage, and for Mayene. In the end, it was more the challenge than anything else. She may be fond of him, but nothing more. I could, perhaps, understand her if it had been for love.”

Alliandre kept her tongue after that, cutting bandages. She ran across a fine blue silk shirt in the pile. Surely there could be something better done with that! She stuffed it between two others and set those beside her, as if in a pile she intended to cut.

Perrin eventually tramped into the clearing, followed by some workers in bloodied clothing. He made instantly for Faile, sitting down on Berelain’s stool, setting his marvelous hammer down in the weeds beside him. He looked exhausted. Faile got him something to drink and then rubbed his shoulder.

Alliandre excused herself, leaving Perrin and his wife. She made her way over to where Berelain stood at the edge of the clearing, sipping a cup of tea taken from the pot on the fire. Berelain eyed her.

Alliandre poured herself a cup of tea, then blew on it for a moment. “They are good for one another, Berelain,” she said. “I cannot say I’m sorry to see this result.”

“Every relationship deserves to be challenged,” Berelain replied. “And if she had fallen in Malden—an outcome all too possible—he would have needed someone. It is not a great loss to me, however, to take my eyes off Perrin Aybara. I would have liked to make a connection to the Dragon Reborn through him, but there will be other opportunities.” She seemed far less frustrated now than she had moments ago. In fact, she seemed to have returned to her calculating self.

Alliandre smiled. Clever woman. Faile needed to see her rival completely beaten down, so that she would consider the threat passed. This was why Berelain let some of her frustration show, more than she normally would have.

Alliandre sipped her tea. “Marriage seems nothing to you other than a calculation, then? The advantages gained?”

“There’s also the joy of the hunt, the thrill of the game.”

“And what of love?”

“Love is for those who do not rule,” Berelain said. “A woman is worth far more than her ability to make a match, but I must care for Mayene. If we enter the Last Battle without my having secured a husband, that puts the succession in danger. And when Mayene has a succession crisis, Tear is all too quick to assert itself. Romance is an unaffordable distraction I…”

She trailed off suddenly, her expression changing. What was going on? Alliandre turned to the side, frowning until she saw the cause.

Galad Damodred had entered the clearing.

He had blood on his white uniform, and he looked exhausted. Yet he stood upright, straight-backed, and his face was clean. He almost seemed too beautiful to be human, with that perfectly masculine face and graceful, lean figure. And those eyes! Like deep, dark pools. He practically seemed to glow.

“I…What was I saying?” Berelain asked, eyes on Damodred.

“That there is no place for romance in a leader’s life?”

“Yes,” Berelain said, sounding distracted. “It’s just not reasonable at all.”

“Not at all.”

“I—” Berelain began, but Damodred turned toward them. She cut off as their eyes met.

Alliandre suppressed a smile as Damodred crossed the clearing. He executed another set of perfect bows, one for each of them, though he barely seemed to notice Alliandre.

“My…Lady First,” he said. “Lord Aybara says that, when he first approached this battle, you pled to