could channel? Maybe Verin had been right about
ta’veren
twisting chance. Samitsu could not begin to think of any other reason for thirty-one sisters,
five
of them Red, to take such an oath.
“The Lady Ailil has been approached by lords and ladies who represent most of House Riatin’s strength,” she replied, much more patiently than she felt. “They want her to take the High Seat of Riatin, and she wants White Tower approval. Aes Sedai approval, at least.” For something to do besides match stares—and likely lose—she moved to a blackwood table where a gold-worked silver pitcher sitting on a silver tray still gave off the faint scent of spices. Filling a cup with mulled wine provided an excuse to break the fleeting eye contact. Needing an excuse made her replace the pitcher on the tray with a sharp clink. She found herself avoiding looking at Sashalle too often. Even now, she realized she was looking at the other woman sideways. To her frustration, she could not quite make herself turn completely to meet her stare.
“Tell her no, Sashalle. Her brother was still alive when last seen, and rebellion against the Dragon Reborn is nothing that need concern the Tower; certainly not now it’s done with.” The memory arose of Toram Riatin as last seen, running off into a strange fog that could take on solid form and kill, a fog that resisted the One Power. The Shadow had walked outside the walls of Cairhien that day. Samitsu’s voice tightened from the effort to stop it short of trembling. Not with fear, but anger. That had been the day she failed at Healing young al’Thor. She hated failures, hated remembering them. And she should not have to explain herself. “Most of Riatin’s strength is not all. Those still tied to Toram will oppose her, with force of arms if necessary, and in any case, fostering upheaval inside the Houses themselves is no way to maintain the peace. There is a precarious balance in Cairhien now, Sashalle, but it
is
a balance, and we mustn’t disturb it.” She managed to stop short of saying Cadsuane would be displeased if they did. That would hardly carry weight with Sashalle.
“Upheaval will come whether or not we foster it,” the other sister said firmly. Her frown had faded as soon as Samitsu showed she had been listening, though the set of her jaw remained. Perhaps it was stubbornness rather than belligerence, yet that hardly mattered. The woman was not arguing or trying to convince her, just stating her own position. And most galling of all, plainly doing that much as a courtesy. “The Dragon Reborn is the herald of upheaval and change, Samitsu. The herald foretold. And if he weren’t, this is Cairhien. Do you think they have really stopped playingat
Daes Dae’mar?
The surface of the water may be still, but the fish never stop swimming.”
A
Red,
preaching the Dragon Reborn like a street-corner demagogue! Light! “And if you are wrong?” In spite of herself, Samitsu bit off the words. Sashalle—burn her!—maintained a perfect serenity.
“Ailil has forsworn any claim to the Sun Throne in favor of Elayne Trakand, which is what the Dragon Reborn desires, and she is ready to swear fealty to him, if I ask it. Toram led an army against Rand al’Thor. I say the change is worth making and the chance worth taking, and I will tell her so.”
The bells in Samitsu’s hair chimed at an irritated shake of her head, and she barely managed to stop herself from sighing again. Eighteen of those Dragonsworn sisters remained in Cairhien—Cadsuane had carried some away with her, then sent Alanna back to take off still more—and others of the eighteen besides Sashalle stood higher than she, but the Aiel Wise Ones kept them out of her way. In principle, she disapproved of how that was done—Aes Sedai
could
not be apprentices, not to anyone! It was outrageous!—but in practice, it did make her job easier. They could not meddle or try to take charge with Wise Ones running their lives and
ta’veren
twisting chance. Samitsu could not begin to think of any other reason for thirty-one sisters,
five
of them Red, to take such an oath.
“The Lady Ailil has been approached by lords and ladies who represent most of House Riatin’s strength,” she replied, much more patiently than she felt. “They want her to take the High Seat of Riatin, and she wants White Tower approval. Aes Sedai approval, at least.” For something to do besides match stares—and likely lose—she moved to a blackwood table where a gold-worked silver pitcher sitting on a silver tray still gave off the faint scent of spices. Filling a cup with mulled wine provided an excuse to break the fleeting eye contact. Needing an excuse made her replace the pitcher on the tray with a sharp clink. She found herself avoiding looking at Sashalle too often. Even now, she realized she was looking at the other woman sideways. To her frustration, she could not quite make herself turn completely to meet her stare.
“Tell her no, Sashalle. Her brother was still alive when last seen, and rebellion against the Dragon Reborn is nothing that need concern the Tower; certainly not now it’s done with.” The memory arose of Toram Riatin as last seen, running off into a strange fog that could take on solid form and kill, a fog that resisted the One Power. The Shadow had walked outside the walls of Cairhien that day. Samitsu’s voice tightened from the effort to stop it short of trembling. Not with fear, but anger. That had been the day she failed at Healing young al’Thor. She hated failures, hated remembering them. And she should not have to explain herself. “Most of Riatin’s strength is not all. Those still tied to Toram will oppose her, with force of arms if necessary, and in any case, fostering upheaval inside the Houses themselves is no way to maintain the peace. There is a precarious balance in Cairhien now, Sashalle, but it
is
a balance, and we mustn’t disturb it.” She managed to stop short of saying Cadsuane would be displeased if they did. That would hardly carry weight with Sashalle.
“Upheaval will come whether or not we foster it,” the other sister said firmly. Her frown had faded as soon as Samitsu showed she had been listening, though the set of her jaw remained. Perhaps it was stubbornness rather than belligerence, yet that hardly mattered. The woman was not arguing or trying to convince her, just stating her own position. And most galling of all, plainly doing that much as a courtesy. “The Dragon Reborn is the herald of upheaval and change, Samitsu. The herald foretold. And if he weren’t, this is Cairhien. Do you think they have really stopped playingat
Daes Dae’mar?
The surface of the water may be still, but the fish never stop swimming.”
A
Red,
preaching the Dragon Reborn like a street-corner demagogue! Light! “And if you are wrong?” In spite of herself, Samitsu bit off the words. Sashalle—burn her!—maintained a perfect serenity.
“Ailil has forsworn any claim to the Sun Throne in favor of Elayne Trakand, which is what the Dragon Reborn desires, and she is ready to swear fealty to him, if I ask it. Toram led an army against Rand al’Thor. I say the change is worth making and the chance worth taking, and I will tell her so.”
The bells in Samitsu’s hair chimed at an irritated shake of her head, and she barely managed to stop herself from sighing again. Eighteen of those Dragonsworn sisters remained in Cairhien—Cadsuane had carried some away with her, then sent Alanna back to take off still more—and others of the eighteen besides Sashalle stood higher than she, but the Aiel Wise Ones kept them out of her way. In principle, she disapproved of how that was done—Aes Sedai
could
not be apprentices, not to anyone! It was outrageous!—but in practice, it did make her job easier. They could not meddle or try to take charge with Wise Ones running their lives and
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