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Anaya welcomes Moiraine and Swan home. They are taken to their new quarters, decorated in shades of blue. Edith, the first selector and sitter, warns them of a danger. Moiraine and Swan are given the option to change rooms. Moiraine wonders about the behavior of the three sisters. They await a meeting with Edith to learn more. Moiraine changes into a new dress and prepares herself for the meeting. Natassia gives them directions to Edith's rooms. Edith seems reluctant to speak and there is no warm welcome. Moiraine and Swan eagerly await the information Edith has to share. CHAPTER TWELVE ENTERING HOME Anaya was the first to step forward and kiss their cheeks, saying, "'Welcome home, sister. We have waited long for you.' Eldra told me how she stole my pies,' she added, giving her shawl a twitch of irritation that was obvious pretense, betrayed by a laugh. It wasn't fair of her to take advantage of her position that way. "'Or mine, perhaps, if I'd been a trifle quicker,' Chiron said, after giving the formal greeting. A beautiful woman and not overly tall, her smile belied the coolness of her steady blue eyes. "'May we at least hope you two bake poorly? Eldra likes pranks almost as much as you two, and it would be nice to see her repaid properly.' Chiron laughed and hugged Swan. She could not help it. She truly had come home. They had come home." The blue quarters held none of the flamboyance of the greens and yellows, though they were not so plain as the browns or the whites. The brightly colored winter wall hangings along the main corridor were scenes of spring gardens and fields of wildflowers, brooks running over stones and birds in flight. The stand lamps against the pale walls were gilded, but quite simple in decoration. Only the floor tiles, in every shade of blue from a pale morning sky to the deep violet of twilight and laid in a wavy pattern, gave any hint of grandeur. Moving slowly along those waves, she and Swan received the welcome kiss thirty-nine more times before reaching Edith and the other two sitters. "'Rooms have been prepared for you,' the round-faced sister told them, "'along with proper clothing and some breakfast, but change and eat quickly. There are things I must tell you, things you must know before it is really safe for you to set foot outside our quarters, or even to walk within it, in truth, though most are tolerant of a new sister. Cabriana, will you show them the way?' A pale-eyed sister, light golden hair hanging almost to her waist, spread her blue-slashed skirts in a slight curtsy. Not all sisters taught classes by far, and Moiraine did not recognize her. There was a fierce directness in her gaze, suitable for a green, yet her tone was quite meek as she said, "'As you say, Edith,' and to Swan and Moiraine almost as meekly, "'Will you come with me, please?' It was very odd, that blend of fierceness and, well, docility seemed the closest description." "'Is she the first selector?' Moiraine asked cautiously, as soon as they were out of Edith's earshot, and of anyone else's, she hoped. The sisters who had gathered were dispersing by ones and twos, removing their shawls. "'Oh yes,' Anaya said, joining them with Chiron. Moiraine had her mouth open to answer, but she closed it without a trace of protest at being overridden. "'It's unusual for the first selector also to be a sitter,' Anaya went on, "'but unlike some we blues like to make full use of ability.' Folding her shawl and laying it across one arm, Chiron nodded. "'Edith is perhaps the most capable blue in the last hundred years, but if she were a brown or a white, they'd let her potter off wherever she wanted.' "'Oh yes,' Cabriana said, making a tisking sound. "'Some of the brown sitters have been disgraceful, for sitters at least, but browns always let their minds wander. In any case, you may rest assured that whatever talents you have, a use will be found for them.' Disliking the sound of that, Moiraine exchanged a guarded glance with Swan. "'Well, neither of them had any special abilities. But what danger was Edith going to warn them about? A danger even here. She wanted to ask the three sisters escorting them down the hallway, but she was certain the information had to come from Edith, and in private, otherwise she would simply have told them then and there. Light, their new home might have as many undercurrents as the Sun Palace. A definite time for caution, a time to listen and observe and say little.' The apartments chosen for Swan and her were side by side, a little off the main corridor, each containing a spacious bedchamber, a large sitting-room, a dressing-room, and a study, with fireplaces of carved marble whose crackling fires had taken the chill from the air. The polished wall-panels were bare, but patterned carpets, some fringed from half a dozen countries, lay on the blue-tiled floors. The furniture was disparate, too, here a table inlaid with mother-of-pearl in a fashion used in Kyrian a hundred years ago, there a chair with vine-carved legs from the light alone knew where, and the lamps and mirrors in as many styles as there were lamps and mirrors, but nothing was chipped or cracked, and every piece of wood or metal had been polished till it shone softly. The belongings they had left laid out in the accepted quarters had been brought up, and Moiraine's own brush and comb on the washstand, her black wood lap-desk on the writing-table in the study, her jewellery-box on a side-table in the bed-chamber, already put her mark on her rooms. "'We thought you'd like to be close together,' Anaya said when they finished up in Moiraine's sitting-room. Kyrian and Cabriana stood flanking her on the scroll-worked carpet, and looking to her as often as at Swan or Moiraine as well. They talked among themselves with the ease of long friendship, yet Kyrian and Cabriana clearly took their lead from Anaya. It was quite subtle, but obvious to eyes trained in the Sun Palace. Not that it meant anything. In any group there was always one who took the lead, but Moiraine filed it away. "'You can choose other rooms if you wish,' Kyrian added. "'We have all too many empty, though I fear some are as dusty as the worst of the basements.' She was leaving Tarvalon soon, had spoken casually of some business she had in Tyr. Could she be one of Tamra's searchers? There was no way to know. I said I were always leaving the Tower, and others returning. "'If you want to change rooms, I can arrange for the cleaning,' Cabriana said, gathering her skirts as if to see to it immediately. She sounded almost anxious. Why was she behaving so strangely? Plainly she was the low woman among the three, yet she acted the same way towards Swan and her too. "'Thank you, no.' Fingering the lace edging a chair's cushion, she tried to say the rooms were very nice. The three sisters had seemed preparing everything, though the carpets and furnishings were a gift from the Adra, but her tongue refused to form the lie, so she settled for, these are more than adequate. Every last cushion in the rooms had lace ruffles, and so did the coverlets on the beds and the pillowcases. Some of the ruffles seemed to have ruffles. The room would be much more than adequate once she got rid of all those frills. Swan had actually smiled at the lace on her bed as though she would enjoy sleeping in a sea of froth. Moiraine shuddered at the thought. She offered tea or hot spiced wine, before realizing she had no idea how to procure either, but Anaya said they must be eager to change and have breakfast, with the other two nodding in agreement, and they gathered their skirts together. Food can wait, Swan said as soon as the door closed behind the three sisters. Edith first. Have you winkled out any hint of what she has to tell us? It sounds like your game of houses to me. Edith first, breakfast later, Moiraine agreed, though the smell of warm porridge and stewed apricots from the cloth-covered tray on a side table made her mouth water. But I have no clue, Swan, none. Yet it was reminiscent of Desdemar. Four dresses of fine blue wool, plain but well cut, were hanging in the dressing-room, two of them with skirts divided for riding, and she changed into one with a full skirt and left the bandit-acceptance dress folded in the wicker laundry-basket. The small notebook she transferred from the white belt pouch that would be taken away to the plain blue pouch she found in the capacious wardrobe. Even here, perhaps especially here, there seemed no safer place than on her own person. Unsurprisingly, the new dress fit perfectly. It was said the Tower knew more of its initiates than their seamstresses and hairdressers combined. Not that she had had either in some time, of course, a lack she intended to remedy, the seamstress at least. She had grown accustomed to wearing her hair loose, but she would need more than four dresses before she left Tarvallen, and in better than wool. Silk was hardly cheap, but it did wear wonderfully. From her carved jewelry-box she took her favorite piece, a cassiera. She had regretted not being able to wear that here, but even after six years her hands remembered how to weave the thin gold chain into her hair, so the small sapphire hung in the middle of her forehead. Seeing herself in a wall mirror with a scroll-worked wooden frame, she smiled. She might lack the ageless face yet, but now she looked the Lady Moiraine d'Amordred, and Lady Moiraine d'Amordred had navigated the Sun Palace, where hidden currents could pull you under even at fifteen or sixteen. Now she was ready to navigate the currents here. Settling her blue-fringed shawl on her shoulders, she went in search of Swan, and met her in the hall, wrapped in her own shawl and coming the other way. The first sister they saw, Natassia, a slim Saldaean with dark-tilted eyes and high cheekbones who was a lenient teacher, gave them directions to Edith's rooms with a twist of distaste on her full lips. Moiraine wondered whether Natassia had some dislike for Edith, which it surely would be odd for her to display openly, but Edith herself imitated the expression with near exactness as she showed them to tall cushioned chairs before her sitting-room's broad fireplace, where flames danced. And then she stood warming her hands as though reluctant to speak. There was no offer of tea or wine or any sort of welcome. Swan fidgeted impatiently on the edge of her chair, but Moiraine schooled herself to stillness, with difficulty, but she did it. The tightness of the three oaths was particularly harsh, sitting. Be quiet, listen, and observe. Edith's sitting-room was larger than theirs, with a cornice carved in rolling waves and two tapestries of flowers and brightly colored birds on the walls, though her stand-lamps were as plain. The massive furnishings were of dark wood inlaid with ivory and turquoise, except for one delicate little table that appeared to be carved ivory or bone. Before long Edith had occupied these rooms, she had added few personal touches here, just a tall vase of glistening yellow seafolk porcelain, a wide bowl of hammered silver, and a pair of crystal figures, a man and a woman each reaching a hand toward the other, on the mantle above the fireplace. All of which told her nothing except that the white-haired sister had good taste and restraint. Be silent, listen, and observe. Worming on her seat-cushion, Swan appeared about to stand when Edith finally turned to face them. Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she took a deep breath. For six years you have been taught that the second greatest rudeness is to speak directly of someone's strength in the one power. Her mouth twisted again briefly. In truth I find it difficult to do so now, necessary though it is. For six years you have been strongly discouraged from thinking of your own strengths in the power or anyone else's. Now you must learn to compare your strengths to that of every sister you meet. In time it will become second nature, and you will do it without thought. But you must be very careful until you reach that point. If another sister stands higher than you in the power, whatever her age, you must defer to her. The higher she stands above you, the greater your deference. Failure in that is the third greatest rudeness, and third only by a hair. The most common reason for new sisters to be given penance is a misstep of that sort, and since the penance is set by the offended sister, it is seldom light. A month or two of labor or deprivation is the least you can expect. Mortification of the spirit and mortification of the flesh are not unheard of." Moiré nodded slowly. Of course. That explained Elida's deference to Malen, and Rafaela yielding to Liana. And Cabriana. Cabriana was not very strong at all. That thought came very hard. When the White Tower wanted to strongly discourage something, it was well and truly discouraged. Light! The Tower rooted something out of you, then made you use that very thing to determine precedence. What a tangle! At least she and Swan were near identical in strength, and likely would be as they gained their full potential. They had moved in lockstep so far. It would have seemed unnatural if Swan had been forced to defer to her. Do we have to obey them? Swan asked, finally giving in and standing, and Edith sighed heavily. I thought I was quite clear, Swan. The higher she stands above you, the greater your deference. I truly dislike talking about this, so please don't make me repeat myself. It works the other way around as well, of course, but remember that it doesn't apply if your Aja or the Tower has set someone above you. If you're attached to an embassy, for example, you obey the Tower's emissary as you would me if she was barely allowed to test for accepted. Now, do you have that clear in your heads? Good, because I myself feel an urgent need to clean my teeth. As she hustled them from her rooms, as if she really did intend to rush for the salt and soda. I was scared half out of my wits, Swan said once they were back in the corridor. But that wasn't so bad. I thought we'd have to start at the bottom, but we're not so far from the top already. In another five years we'll be close. Whether or not they thought about it, everyone knew when they would reach their full strength. The lengths of time could vary considerably from woman to woman, but it was always a smooth climb in a straight line. I was frightened too, Moiraine said with a sigh. But it is not as simple as you make it sound. At what point does deference become obedience? Even if she did not call it so, that is what she meant. We must observe the other sisters closely, and until we know for certain we must err on the side of prudence. A month from now I mean to be leagues from Tar-Vallon, not sweating on a farm across the river. Swan snorted. So we step carefully. What else have we been doing for six years? But it still could be worse. What say I bring my tray to your rooms and we breakfast together? Before they reached their rooms, however, another eye of Zadai intercepted them. A tall, square-faced woman in sky-blue silk, with her steel-gray hair and a multitude of blue-beaded braids that hung to her waist. Moiraine had been certain that every blue in the Tower had been at the welcome, but she did not recall seeing this sister ever before. She made herself aware of the woman's ability, her strengths, and realized that it was nearly as great as her own and Swan's would be eventually. Surely more than simple deference was required here. Should she curtsy? She settled for waiting politely, with her hands folded at her waist. I am Cetalia Dalarm, the sister said in a strong Tarabonner accent, eyeing her up and down. By your description, the pretty little porcelain doll, you are Moiraine. Moiraine stiffened. A pretty little porcelain doll? It was all she could do to keep her face smooth, to keep her hands from clutching her shawl in cysts. The thought of that farm helped. But Cetalia's attention had already left her. Which makes you Swan, no? I'm told you are a great solver of puzzles. What do you make of this little puzzle? she said, thrusting a thin stack of pages at Swan. Swan frowned as she read, and so did Moiraine, reading past her friend's shoulder. Swan riffled through the pages too quickly for her to catch everything, but it seemed to be nothing but the names of playing cards, in no particular order she could see. The ruler of cups was followed by the lord of winds, the ruler of flames by the lady of rods, but then it was the five of coins followed by the four of cups. A puzzle? It was nonsense. I'm not certain, Swan said finally, handing the pages back. Which settled it. If the thing were a puzzle, she would have seen the solution. Oh? That word held a world of disappointment, but after a moment Cetalia went on, the beads in her braids rattling softly as she tilted her head thoughtfully. You don't say you do not know, so you have the glimmer of something. Of what are you uncertain? There's a game I've read about, Swan said slowly. A game wealthy women play with cards called arrays. You have to put the cards in descending order in one of a set of patterns, but only certain suits can be played on others. I think someone wrote down each card as it was played in a winning game. Cetalia arched one eyebrow. You have only read of the game? Fisherman's daughters can't afford playing cards, Swan replied dryly, and Cetalia's eyes took on a dangerous look. For a moment, Moiraine thought a penance hovered. But all the Taraboner sister said was, I'll wager Moiraine has played the arrays, yet I suspect she would have called it just a nonsensical list of playing cards or some such. Most would. But you, who have only read of the game, deduced a correct answer. Come with me. I have some more puzzles I wish to test you on. I haven't had my breakfast yet, Swan protested. You can eat later. Come. Obviously Cetalia thought more than mere deference was due. Watching a reluctant Swan follow Cetalia up the corridor, Moiraine let herself glare at the woman's back. Surely that behavior at least skirted rudeness. Apparently there were gradations. Well, nuance was everything in the Sun Palace, too. They would only have to bear it a short time, though. Inside the week they would be gone, and she for one did not intend to return until she was at her full strength, except to let Tamra know where the boy-child was, of course. Actually being the ones to find him would be wonderful. Her own breakfast porridge still held enough warmth to be edible, and she settled gingerly onto a plump cushioned chair at the table, but before she could take a second bite, Anaya walked in. Anaya was nearly as strong in the power as Cetalia, so she set down her silver spoon and stood. "'I tell you to sit down and eat,' the motherly woman said, 'but Tamra sent a novice to fetch you. I told the child I'd carry her message because I wanted to offer you healing. It can help with the tightness of the obes in some cases.' Moiraine reddened. Of course everyone knew by now. Light. "'Thank you,' she said, both for the healing—the tightness did not loosen by a hair, but it was much more comfortable after—and for the clue. If she did not have to stand for Anaya, she surely did not have to obey her. Unless Anaya was simply being courteous, of course.' She very nearly sighed. More observation was in order before she reached any conclusions. Leaving the blue quarters with her shawl wrapped firmly around her shoulders, she did not mean to go without that just yet. For one thing it helped with the chill. She wondered what Tamra wanted with her. Only one possibility came to mind. Now that she and Swan were full sisters, Tamra might mean to put them among her searchers. After all, they already knew. Nothing else made sense. Her steps quickened eagerly. "'But I don't want a job,' Swan protested, her belly rumbling with hunger yet again. She felt wrung out after hours in Satalia's rooms, so full of books and stacked boxes of papers that they seemed to belong to a brown. And the woman seemed never to have heard of a chair cushion. Her chairs were hard as stone.' "'Don't be ridiculous,' the gray-haired sister said dismissively, crossing her legs. She tossed the last pages she had given Swan carelessly onto a writing table already littered six deep with others. "'You didn't do too badly for a beginner. I have need of you, and that is that. I expect you here at second rise tomorrow morning. Now go get something to eat. Your eyes should die now. You cannot go around sounding like the leaky drain-pipe.' There was no point in protesting again. The bloody woman had already made it clear that two protests in succession came dangerously close to rudeness in her book. Bloody, bloody woman! She let nothing of anger touch her face, a lesson learned long before Tar-Vallon. On the fishing-docks, displaying anger or fear, either one could lead to trouble. Sometimes it could lead to a knife in your back. "'As you say, Settalia,' she muttered, earning yet another raised eyebrow, and just managed not to stalk out of the woman's apartments. Outside she did stalk, and the dark one take anyone who did not like it. "'Burn her! Why had she been fool enough to let the woman goad her?' Moiraine had counseled caution, and instead she had tried to wipe the doubt from bloody Settalia's bloody voice by thinking like Moiraine. The hands on the tiller put the boat aground when they did not capsize it. Her unskilled steering meant she would not be leaving the tower any time soon, not for years until she was strong enough to tell Settalia what she could do with her job. At least the woman had not gotten her claws on Moiraine. With her mind she would have been a wondrous Settalia's assistant. Hungry or not, she went in search of Moiraine rather than dinner to let her know she would be searching by herself. The sight of Moiraine always made her smile. Settalia had been wrong in one particular. She was not a pretty little porcelain doll. She was a beautiful little porcelain doll. On the outside, anyway. Inside, where it counted, was another matter. The first time Swan saw her, she had been sure the Kyrienan girl would crack like a spindle shell in a matter of days. But Moiraine had turned out to be as tough as she herself, if not tougher. No matter how often she was knocked down, she climbed back to her feet straight away. Moiraine did not know the meaning of give up. Which was why it was a surprise to find her slumped in a chair in her sitting room, her shawl swung over the chair back with a sulky expression on her face. A green-glazed teapot on a tray gave off the smell of hot tea, but the white cups looked unused. What happened to you? Swan asked. You haven't earned a penance already, have you? Worse, Moiraine replied disconsolately. Her voice usually minded Swan of silver bells, but Moiraine hated hearing that. Tamra has put me in charge of distributing the bounty. Blood and bloody ashes! Swan tested the words on her tongue. There would be no switchings now for speaking like herself. She had heard eyes sedi who could have made any dockman blush. She did seem to sense a faint taste of soap, though. Does she suspect? Is she trying to make sure you can't interfere? Maybe that was why Cetalia had latched hold of her. No, she had done well on the bloody woman's tests. The more fool her. I think not, Swan. I was taught to manage an estate, though I only did it for a few months before coming to the Tower. She said that gave me all the skills I needed. Her mouth twisted wryly. I was lying around loose, as she put it, and I suspect she decided to give an onerous task to a blue as a way of being fair. What about you? What sort of puzzles did Cetalia want you to look at? A lot of old reports, Swan grumbled, easing down onto a cushioned chair. If only her skin did not feel three sizes too small. Without asking, she poured herself a cup of tea. They never asked about things like that. She wanted me to puzzle out what happened forty or fifty years ago in Tarabon and Saldeia and Alpara. As soon as the words were out of her, she wanted to clap a hand over her mouth, but it was too late for that. Moraine sat up straight, suddenly very interested. Cetalia heads the blue Aja eyes and ears. It was not a question. Trust her to see to the heart right away. Don't even whisper that. The bloody woman will boil me down like an oil fish if she learns I let it slip. She'll probably have it anyway, but I don't want to give her cause before she finds it. She certainly would, if today had been any guide. Look now, handing out the bounty can't last more than a few months, after you're free to go. Let me know where you're going, and if I learn anything, I'll try to get word to you." The blue had an extensive network of eyes and ears, as useful for passing messages out as for sending reports in. I do not know that I can afford a few months, Moraine said in a small voice, dropping her eyes, very unlike herself. I... I have been keeping a secret from you, Swan, but they never kept secrets from each other. I am very afraid the Hall means to put me on the sun's throne. Swan blinked. Moraine? A queen? You'd make a wonderful queen. And don't bring up those eyes-to-die queens who came to bad ends. That was a very long time ago. There's hardly a ruler anywhere who doesn't have an eyes-to-die advisor. Who's ever said a word against them except the White Cloaks? It is a long step from advisor to queen, Swan. Moraine sat up, carefully arranging her skirts, and her voice took on that infuriatingly patient tone she used, explaining things. Obviously, the Hall thinks I could take the throne without bringing mobs into the streets, but I do not want to take the chance they are wrong. Kyrian has endured enough these last two years without that. And even if they are right, no one has ruled Kyrian for long without being willing to stoop to kidnapping, assassination, and worse. My great-grandmother, Carowyn, ruled more than fifty years, and the Tower calls her a very successful ruler because Kyrian prospered and had few wars under her, but her name is still used to frighten children. Better to be forgotten than remembered like Carowyn Domodred. But even with the Tower behind me, I will have to try matching her if the Hall succeeds. Suddenly her shoulders slumped and her face broke close to tears. What can I do, Swan? I am caught like a fox in a trap, and I cannot even chew off my own foot to escape. Setting her teak up on the tray, Swan knelt beside Moiraine's chair and put her hands on the other woman's shoulders. We'll find a way out, she said, putting far more confidence into her voice than she felt. We'll find a way. She was a little surprised the first oath allowed her to say those words. She could imagine no way out for either of them. If you say so, Swan. Moiraine did not sound as if she believed either. There is one thing I can remedy. May I offer you healing? Swan could have kissed her. In fact, she did. There was still considerable snow close to the mountains that rose up ahead of Lan, and the trampled tracks of a large body of men lay clear beneath the afternoon sun, leading straight across the hills toward the cloud-capped heights that reared higher and higher the deeper you looked. He raised his looking-glass, but he could discern no movement ahead. The Aiel must already be into the mountains. Cat Dancer stamped a hoof impatiently. Are those the Spine of the World, Rakin called in that rasping voice? Impressive, but somehow I thought they'd be taller. That skin-slayer's dagger, a well-traveled Arafelon laughed. Call them the Foothills to the Spine and you won't be far wrong. Why are we just standing here? Ganyadrin demanded, low-voiced enough not to be called down for it, but loud enough for Lan to hear. Ganyadrin liked to press the edges where he could. Bukama relieved him of the necessity to answer. Only fools try fighting Aiel in mountains, he said loudly. Twisting toward Lan in his saddle, he lowered his own voice to an air-whisper, and the creases of his permanent scowl deepened. The light-sent Phaedron Nihil doesn't choose not a painter's face. Nihil, Lord Captain-Commander of the Children of the Light, had the command today. He won't, Lan said simply. Only a handful knew war as well as Nihil, which meant that this particular war might very well end this day. He wondered whether it would be called a victory. Sliding the Looking-Glass back into its saddle-case, he found himself looking north. Feeling the pull, an iron filing, feeling the lodestone. It was almost pain after so long. Some wars could not be won, yet they still must be fought. Studying his face, Bukama shook his head. And only a fool jumps from one war straight into another. He did not bother to speak softly, and several Demoni in Lan's sight gave him odd looks, clearly wondering what Bukama was talking about. No borderlander needed to wonder. They knew who he was. A month or two will rest me, Bukama. That was how long it would take to ride home. A month with luck. A year, Lan. Just one year. Oh, all right, eight months. Bukama made that sound a great concession. Perhaps he felt tired. He'd always seemed made of iron, but he was no longer young. Four months, Lan conceded. He had borne waiting two years. He could bear another four months. And if Bukama still felt weary then, that was a chasm he would have to cross when he came to it. As it happened, Niall had not chosen to become a fool, which was very well indeed, given that above half the army had already departed in the belief the victory had been won days ago, if not when Niall first began their retreat. And they were calling it a great victory. At least those who had not fought were, the hangers-on and bystanders, and the historians already riding as if they knew everything. Lan was willing to let them. His mind was already two hundred leagues to the north. Saying their goodbyes, he and Bukama turned their faces southward toward softer lands, avoiding Tarvalon altogether. It was a great and wondrous city, by all accounts, but too full of ice to die for any comfort. Bukama talked animatedly of what they might see in Andor and perhaps Tyr. They had been in both lands, but contending with Eiel, they had not seen even the fabled stone of Tyr or any of the great cities. Lan did not speak at all unless Bukama addressed him. He felt the pull of home sharply. All he wanted was a return to the Blight, and no encounters with ice to die.
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