He sat on a great gilded throne that seemed made entirely of Dragons, in a red coat worked heavily with gold, holding some sort of green-and-white tasseled spearhead of all things. Another throne stood on a tall pedestal behind him, gilded also, but with a lion picked out in white gemstones against red. The Lion Throne, so the rumors said. At that moment, he could have been using it for a footstool for all she cared. He looked tired: He was so beautiful, her heart ached. Images danced around him continuously. With Aes Sedai and Warders, that deluge was something she tried to escape; she could not tell what they meant any more often than with anyone else, but they were always there. With Rand, she had to make herself see them, because otherwise she would just stare at his face. One of those images she had seen every time she saw him. Countless thousands of sparkling lights, like stars or fireflies, rushed into a great blackness, trying to fill it up, rushed in and were swallowed. There seemed to be more lights than she had ever seen before, but the darkness swallowed them at a greater rate, too. And there was something else, something new, an aura of yellow and brown and purple that made her stomach clench.
She tried viewing the nobles facing him — surely that was what they were, in all those fine embroidered coats and rich silk gowns — but there was nothing to see. That was true of most people most of the time, and when she did see something, most often she had no notion what it foretold. Even so, she narrowed her eyes, straining. If she could make out just one image, one aura, it might be a help to him. From the stories she had heard since entering Andor, he could use all the help he could find.
With a heavy sigh, she gave it up finally. Squinting and straining did no good unless there was something to see in the first place.
Suddenly she realized the nobles were withdrawing, Rand was on his feet, and Enaila was waving, motioning her to enter. Rand was smiling. Min thought her heart might burst out of her chest. So this was what it felt like for all those women she had laughed at, throwing themselves at a man’s feet. No. She was not a giddy girl; she was older than he, she had had her first kiss while he still thought getting out of tending sheep was the most fun in the world, she . . . Light, please, don’t let my knees give way.
Tossing the Dragon Scepter down carelessly where he had been sitting, Rand bounded from the dais in one leap and rushed down the Grand Hall. As soon as he reached Min, he caught her under the arms and swung her into the air and around and around before Dyelin and the others were gone. Some of the nobles stared, and were welcome to for all of him. “Light, Min, but it’s good to see your face,” he laughed. Considerably better than Dyelin’s stony features or Ellorien’s. But if Aemlyn and Arathelle and Pelivar and Luan and all of them had every one proclaimed their joy that Elayne was on her way to Caemlyn instead of staring at him with doubt or even “liar” in their eyes, he would have been as overjoyed to see Min.
When he put her feet back on the floor, she sagged against his chest, clutching his arms and breathing hard. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you dizzy. It’s just that I really am glad to see you.”
“Well, you did make me dizzy, you wool-headed sheepherder,” she mumbled against his chest. Pushing herself away, she glared up at him through long lashes. “I had a very long ride, I arrived in the middle of the night, or might as well, and you toss me around like a sack of oats. Did you never learn any manners?”
“Woolhead,” he laughed softly. “Min, you can name me liar, but I’ve actually missed hearing you call me that.” She did not call him anything; she merely peered up at him, the glare gone completely. Her eyelashes did seem longer than he remembered.
Realizing where they were, he took her hand. A throne room was no place for meeting old friends. “Come on, Min. We can have some cool punch in my sitting room. Somara, I am going to my apartments; you can send everybody away.”
Somara did not look happy about it, but she dismissed all the Maidens except for herself and Enaila. Both looked a bit sullen, which he did not understand. He had allowed Somara to gather so many inside the palace in the first place only because Dyelin and the others were coming. Bashere was out at his horsemen’s camp north of the city for the same reason. Maidens for a reminder, Bashere because there could be too many reminders. He hoped the two Maidens were not planning on any mothering. They took turns as his guards more than their share, it seemed to him, but Nandera was as adamant as Sulin had been when it came to him saying who specifically was to do what. He could command Far Dareis Mai, but he was not a Maiden, and the other was none of his business.
Min studied the tapestries as he led her along the corridor by the hand. She peered at inlaid chests and tables, at golden bowls and tall vases of Sea Folk porcelain in niches. She examined Enaila and Somara head to toe three times each. But she neither looked at him nor spoke a word. His hand engulfed hers, and he could feel the pulse in her wrist racing to beat horses. He hoped she was not really angry over being whirled about.
To his great relief, Somara and Enaila took places on either side of his door, though they both looked at him when he asked for punch, and he had to repeat himself. In the sitting room, he took off his coat and tossed it over a chair. “Sit, Min. Sit. Rest and relax. The punch will be here shortly. You have to tell me everything. Where you’ve been, how you got here, why you arrived in the night. It isn’t safe traveling at night, Min. Now less than ever. I’ll give you the best rooms in the Palace — well, the second-best; these are the best — and an Aiel escort to take you wherever you want. Any bullyboy or strongarm will doff his cap and duck his head, if he doesn’t run right up the side of a building to get away.”
For a moment he thought she might laugh, standing there by the door, but instead she drew a deep breath and took a letter from her pocket. “I can’t tell y
ou where I came from — I promised, Rand — but Elayne is there, and — ”
“Salidar,” he said, and smiled at the way her eyes widened. “I know a few things, Min. Maybe more than some think I do.”
“I . . . see that you do,” she said faintly. She pushed the letter into his hands then backed away again. Her voice firmed as she added, “I swore I would give that to you first off. Go ahead and read it.”
He recognized the seal, a lily in dark yellow wax, and Elayne’s flowing hand in his name, and he hesitated before opening it. Clean breaks were best, and he had made one, but with the letter in his hand, he could not stop himself. He read, then sat down atop his coat and read again. It was certainly short.
Rand,
I have made my feelings clear to you. Know that they have not changed. I hope that you feel for me what I feel for you. Min can help you, if you will only listen to her. I love her like a sister, and hope you love her as I do.
Elayne
Her ink must have been running out, because the last lines were a hurried scrawl, quite unlike the elegance of the rest. Min had been sidling and twisting her head, trying to read the letter without being too obvious, but when he lifted himself to pull his coat out — the fat-little-man angreal was in the pocket — she scurried back again. “Do women all try to drive a man crazy?” he muttered.
“What!”
He stared at the letter, talking half to himself. “Elayne is so beautiful I can’t help staring, but half the time I don’t know whether she wants me to kiss her or kneel at her feet. Truth to tell, sometimes I did want to kneel . . . and worship, the Light help me. She says here I know how she feels. Two letters she’s written me before this, one full of love, the other saying she never wanted the sight of me again. The times I’ve sat wishing the first one was true and the other some sort of joke, or mistake, or . . . And Aviendha. She’s beautiful too, but every day with her was a battle. No kisses from her, not anymore, and no doubts how she feels. She was even happier to get away from me than I was to see her go. Only, I keep expecting to see her when I turn around, and when she isn’t there, it’s as if something inside me is missing. I actually miss the battle, and there are moments when I find myself thinking, There are things worth fighting for.” Something in Min’s silence made him look up. She was staring at him with a face as blank as an Aes Sedai.
“Did nobody ever tell you it isn’t polite to talk to one woman about another?” Her voice was absolutely flat. “Much less two other women.”
“Min, you’re a friend,” he protested. “I don’t think of you as a woman.” It was the wrong thing to say; he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Oh?” Tossing back her coat, she placed her hands on her hips. It was not the all-too-familiar angry pose. Her wrists were twisted so her fingers pointed up, and somehow that made it very different. She stood with one knee bent, and that . . . For the first time he really saw her; not just Min, but the way she looked. Not the usual plain brown coat and breeches, but pale red, and embroidered. Not the usual rough-cut hair that barely covered her ears, but ringlets brushing her neck. “Do I look like a boy?”
“Min, I —”
“Do I look like a man? A horse?” In one quick stride she reached him and plumped herself down in his lap.
“Min,” he said, aghast, “what are you doing?”
“Convincing you I’m a woman, woolhead. Don’t I look like a woman? Don’t I smell like a woman?” She smelled faintly of flowers, now that he noticed. “Don’t I feel —? Well, enough of that. Answer the question, sheepherder.”