Lord of Chaos by Robert Jordan

heard that the Whitecloaks were the true power in Amadicia, and she was certain she had just heard proof.
    Niall was slightly more formal in his leaving than in coming, making a bow that might have done for an equal. One way and another, he was letting her know that she had no choice.
    No sooner had he gone than Morgase pushed to her feet, but Breane was still quicker in darting for the doors. Even so, before either woman had gone three steps, one of them banged open, Tallanvor and the other two men spilling into the room.
    “Morgase,” Tallanvor breathed, trying to absorb her with his eyes. “I was afraid—”
    “Afraid?” she said contemptuously. It was too much; he would not learn. “Is this how you protect me? A boy could have done as much! But then, a boy did.”
    That smoldering gaze remained on her a moment longer; then he turned and pushed his way past Basel and Lamgwin.
    The innkeeper stood wringing his hands. “They were at least thirty, my Queen. Tallanvor would have fought; he tried to cry out, to warn you, but they clubbed him with a hilt. The old one said they didn’t mean to hurt you, but they didn’t need any but you, and if they had to kill us. . . .” His eyes went to Lini and Breane, who was staring Lamgwin up and down to make sure he had taken no injury. The man appeared as concerned for her. “My Queen, if I’d thought we could do any good. . . . I’m sorry. I failed you.”
    “ ‘The right medicine always tastes bitter,’ ” Lini murmured softly. “Most of all for a child who throws a sulky tantrum.” At least for once she did not say it for the whole room to hear.
    She was right. Morgase knew that. Except about the tantrum, of course. Basel looked miserable enough to welcome beheading. “You did not fail me, Master Gill. I may ask you to die for me one day, but only when there’s greater good to come of it. Niall only wanted to talk.” Basel perked up right away, but Morgase could feel Lini’s eyes on her. Very bitter. “Will you ask Tallanvor to come to me. I—I wish to apologize to him for my hasty words.”
    “The best way to apologize to a man,” Breane said, “is to trip him in a secluded part of the garden.”
    Something snapped in Morgase. Before she knew it she had hurled her goblet at the woman, spraying punch across the carpet. “Get out!” she shrieked. “All of you, get out! You can deliver my apologies to Tallanvor, Master Gill.”
    Breane calmly brushed punch from her dress, then took her timewalking to Lamgwin and linking her arm through his. Basel was all but bouncing on his toes trying to herd them out.
    To Morgase’s surprise, Lini went, too. That was not Lini’s way; she was much more likely to remain and lecture her old charge as if she were still ten. Morgase did not know why she put up with it. Still, she almost told Lini to stay. But then they were all gone, the door was shut—and she had more important matters to worry about than whether Lini’s feelings were bruised.
    Pacing across the carpet, she tried to think. Ailron would demand trade concessions—and maybe Niall’s “sacrifice”—for help. She was willing to give him the trade concessions, but she feared Niall might be right about how many soldiers Ailron would spare her. Niall’s demands would be easier to grant, in a way. Probably free access to Andor for as many Whitecloaks as he chose. And freedom for them to root out the Darkfriends they found in every attic, to rouse mobs against friendless women they accused of being Aes Sedai, to kill real Aes Sedai. Niall might even demand a law against channeling, against women going to the White Tower.
    It would be possible—but difficult, and bloody—to oust the Whitecloaks once they entrenched themselves, but was it necessary to let them in at all? Rand al’Thor was the Dragon Reborn—she was certain of that no matter what Niall said; she was almost certain—yet ruling nations was no part of the Prophecies of the Dragon that