“You trouble me so, Rand al’Thor,” she said without a bit of heat. “Light, sometimes I think
the Creator made you just to trouble me.”
He wanted to tell her it was her own fault — more than once he had offered to send her back to the Wise Ones, though it would just mean them putting someone else in her place — but before he could open his mouth, Jalani and Liah caught up, followed almost immediately by two Red Shields, one a graying fellow with three times the scars Liah had on her face. Rand directed Jalani and the scarred man back to the throne room, which nearly precipitated an argument. Not from the Red Shield, who merely glanced at his fellow, shrugged and went, but Jalani drew herself up.
Rand pointed to the door leading to the Grand Hall. “The Car’a’carn expects Far Dareis Mai to go where he commands.”
“You may be a king to the wetlanders, Rand al’Thor, but not to Aiel.” A tough sullenness marred Jalani’s dignity, reminding him how young she was. “The Maidens will never fail you in the dance of spears, but this is not the dance.” Still, she went, after a rapid exchange of handtalk with Liah.
With Liah and the lean Red Shield, a yellow-haired man named Cassin who stood a good inch taller than Rand, Rand strode quickly through the palace to his rooms. And with Aviendha, of course. If he had thought those bulky skirts might make her fall behind, he was mistaken. Liah and Cassin remained in the hallway outside his sitting room, a large chamber with a marble frieze of lions below the high ceiling and tapestries of hunting scenes and misty mountains, but Aviendha followed him inside.
“Shouldn’t you be with Melaine?” he demanded. “Business of the Wise Ones and all that?”
“No,” she said curtly. “Melaine would not be pleased if I interfered right now.”
Light, but he should not be pleased that she was not going. Tossing the Dragon Scepter atop a table with gilded vine-carved legs, he undid his sword belt and added that. “Did Amys and the others tell you where Elayne is?”
For a long moment Aviendha stood in the middle of the blue-tiled floor looking at him, her expression unreadable. “They do not know,” she said finally. “I asked.” He had expected she would. She had not done it in months, but before coming to Caemlyn the first time with him, every second word out of her mouth had been a reminder that he belonged to Elayne. In her view he did, and what had happened between them beyond that gateway she had made clearly did not alter the fact, and would not happen again, something else she had made quite clear. Exactly as he wanted it; he was worse than a pig to feel regret. Ignoring all the fine gilded chairs, she settled cross-legged on the floor, arranging her skirts gracefully. “They did speak of you, though.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” he said dryly, and to his surprise her cheeks reddened. Aviendha was not a woman for blushes, and this made twice in one day.
“They have shared dreams, some of which concern you.” She sounded slightly strangled until she paused to clear her throat, then fixed him with a steady, determined gaze. “Melaine and Bair dreamed of you on a boat,” she said, the word still awkward after all these months in the wetlands, “with three women whose faces they could not see, and a scale tilting first one way then the other. Melaine and Amys dreamed of a man standing by your side with a dagger to your throat, but you did not see him. Bair and Amys dreamed of you cutting the wetlands in two with a sword.” For an instant her eyes darted contemptuously to the scabbarded blade lying atop the Dragon Scepter. Contemptuously, and a bit guiltily. She had given him that, once the property of King Laman, carefully wrapped in a blanket so she could not be said to have actually touched it. “They cannot interpret the dreams, but they thought you should know.”
The first was as opaque to him as to the Wise Ones, but the second seemed obvious. A man he could not see with a dagger had to be a Gray Man; their souls given up to the Shadow — not merely pledged, but given away — they could slip past notice even when you looked right at them, and their only real purpose was assassination. Why had the Wise Ones not understood something so plain? As for the last, he feared that was plain as well. He already was cutting lands apart. Tarabon and Arad Doman were ruins, the rebellions in Tear and Cairhien could become more than skulking talk at any time, and Illian would certainly feel the weight of his sword. And that was aside from the Prophet, and the Dragonsworn down in Altara and Murandy.
“I don’t see any mystery in two of those, Aviendha.” But when he explained, she gave him a doubtful look. Of course. If Wise One dreamwalkers could not interpret a dream, certainly no one else could. He grunted sourly and flung himself into a chair facing her. “What else did they dream?”
“There is one other I can tell you, though it may not concern you.” Which meant there were some she would not tell, which made him wonder why the Wise Ones had discussed them with her, since she was not a dreamwalker. “All three had this dream, which makes it especially significant. Rain,” that word still came clumsily too, “coming from a bowl. There are snares and pitfalls around the bowl. If the right hands pick it up, they will find a treasure perhaps as great as the bowl. If the wrong hands, the world is doomed. The key to finding the bowl is to find the one who is no longer.”
“No longer what?” This certainly sounded more important than the rest. “Do you mean somebody who’s dead?”
Aviendha’s dark reddish hair swung below her shoulders as she shook her head. “They know no more than I said.” To his surprise, she rose smoothly with those automatic adjustments to her clothes that women always made.
“Do you — ” He coughed deliberately. Do you have to go? he had been about to say. Light, he wanted her to go. Every minute around her was torture. But then, every minute away from her was torture too. Well, he could do what was right and what was good for him, and best for her. “Do you want to go back to the Wise Ones, Aviendha? To resume your studies? There really isn’t any point to your staying longer. You’ve taught me so much, I might as well have been raised Aiel.”
Her sniff said volumes, but of course she did not leave it at that. “You know less than a boy of six. Why does a man listen to his second-mother before his own mother, and a woman to her second-father before her own? When can a woman marry a man without making a bridal wreath? When must a roofmistress obey a blacksmith? If you take a silversmith gai’shain, why must you let her work one day for herself for each she works for you? Why is the same not true of a weaver?” He floundered for answers short of admitting he did not know, but she suddenly fiddled with her shawl as if she had forgotten him. “Sometimes ji’e’toh makes for very great jokes. I would laugh my sides apart if I were not the butt of this one.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I will meet my toh.”
He thought she was talking to herself, but he answered. Carefully. “If you mean about Lanfear, it wasn’t me who saved you. Moiraine did. She died saving all of us.” Laman’s sword had rid her of her only other toh to him, though he had never been able to understand what that was. The only obligation she knew. He prayed she never learned of the other; she would see it as one, though he certainly did not.
Aviendha peered at him, head tilted and a slight smile flickering on her lips. She had regained a self-possession that would have done Sorilea proud. “Thank you, Rand al’Thor. Bair says it is well to be reminded now and then that a man does not know everything. Be sure to let me know when you mean to go to sleep. I would not come late and wake you.”
Rand sat there staring at the door after she had gone. A Cairhienin playing the Game of Houses was usually easier to understand than any woman making no effort to be enigmatic at all. He suspected that what he felt for Aviendha, whatever that was, tangled things up worse.
What I love, I destroy, Lews Therin laughed. What I destroy, I love.
Shut up! Rand thought furiously, and the thin-edged laughter vanished. He did not know who he loved, but he knew who he was going to save. From whatever he could, but from him most of all.
In the hallway, Aviendha sagged against the door, taking deep calming breaths. Meant to be calming, anyway. Her heart still tried to tear through her rib cage. Being near Rand al’Th
or stretched her naked over hot coals, stretched her till she thought her bones would pop apart. He brought such shame to her as she had never thought she would know. A great joke, she had told him, and part of her did want to laugh. She had toh toward him, but much more toward Elayne. All he had done was save her life. Lanfear would have killed her without him. Lanfear had wanted to kill her in particular, as painfully as possible. Somehow, Lanfear had known. Beside what she had incurred toward Elayne, her toh toward Rand was a termite mound beside the Spine of the World.
Cassin — the cut of his coat told her he was Goshien as well as Aethan Dor; she did not recognize his sept — merely glanced at her from where he squatted with his spears across his knees; he knew nothing, of course. But Liah smiled at her, entirely too encouragingly for a woman she did not know, entirely too knowingly for anyone. Aviendha was shocked to find herself thinking that Chareen, as Lian’s coat marked her, were often sneaking cats; she had never thought of any Maiden as anything but Far Dareis Mai. Rand al’Thor had unstrung her brain.
Still, her fingers flashed angrily. Why do you smile, girl? Have you no better use for your time?
Liah’s eyebrows raised slightly, and if anything her smile became amused. Her fingers moved in answer. Who do you call girl, girl? You are not yet wise, but no longer Maiden. I think you will put your soul in a wreath to lay at a man’s feet.
Aviendha took a furious step forward — there were few insults worse among Far Dareis Mai — then stopped. In cadin’sor she did not think Liah could match her, but in skirts, she would be defeated. Worse, Liah would probably refuse to make her gai’shain; she could, attacked by a woman who was not a Maiden and not yet a Wise One, or demand the right to beat Aviendha before any of the Taardad who could be gathered. A lesser shame than the refusal, but not small. Worst of all, whether she won or lost, Melaine surely would choose a method to remind her she had left the spear behind that would make her wish Liah had drubbed her ten times before all the clans. In a Wise One’s hands, shame was keener than a flaying knife. Liah never moved a muscle; she knew all that as well as Aviendha did.