“I did not ask Aviendha the silly girl,” Amys said curtly. “I asked Aviendha the Wise One.”
“He is a man of many burdens,” Aviendha said more carefully. “I fear that he makes many of those burdens heavier than they need be. I once thought that there was only one way to be strong, but I have learned from my first-sister that I was wrong. Rand al’Thor . . . I do not think he has learned this yet. I worry that he mistakes hardness for strength.”
Amys nodded again, as if in approval. Were these questions a test of some sort?
“You would marry him?” Amys asked.
I thought we weren’t talking about Aviendha the “silly girl,” Aviendha thought, but of course didn’t say it. One did not say such things to Amys.
“I will marry him,” she said instead. “It is not a possibility, but a certainty.” The tone earned her a glance from Amys, but Aviendha held her ground. Any Wise One who misspoke deserved to be corrected.
“And the wetlander Min Farshaw?” Amys asked. “She obviously loves him. What will you do about her?”
“She is my concern,” Aviendha said. “We will reach an accommodation
. I have spoken with Min Farshaw, and I believe she will be easy to work with.”
“You would become first-sisters with her as well?” Amys asked, sounding just faintly amused.
“We will reach an accommodation, Wise One.”
“And if you cannot?”
“We will,” Aviendha said firmly.
“And how can you be so certain?”
Aviendha hesitated. Part of her wished to return only silence to that question, passing the leafless brush thickets and giving Amys no answer. But she was just an apprentice, and while she could not be forced to speak, she knew that Amys would keep pushing until the answer came out. Aviendha hoped she would not incur too much toh by her response.
“You know of the woman Min’s viewings?” Aviendha said.
Amys nodded.
“One of those viewings relates to Rand al’Thor and the three women he will love. Another relates to my children by the Car’a’carn.”
She said no more, and Amys pressed no more. It was enough. Both knew that one would sooner find a Stone Dog who would retreat than find a viewing of Min’s that went wrong.
On one hand, it was good to know that Rand al’Thor would be hers, although she would have to share him. She did not begrudge Elayne, of course, but Min . . . well, Aviendha did not really know her. Regardless, the viewing was a comfort. But it was also bothersome. Aviendha loved Rand al’Thor because she chose to, not because she was destined to. Of course, Min’s viewing didn’t guarantee that Aviendha would actually be able to marry Rand, so perhaps she had misspoken to Amys. Yes, he would love three women and three women would love him, but would Aviendha find a way to marry him?
No, the future was not certain, and for some reason that brought her comfort. Perhaps she should have worried, but she did not. She would get her honor back, and then she would marry Rand al’Thor. Perhaps he would die soon after, but perhaps an ambush would come and she would fall to an arrow this day. Worrying solved nothing.
Toh, however, was another matter.
“I misspoke, Wise One,” Aviendha said. “I implied that the viewing said I would marry Rand al’Thor. That is not true. All three of us will love him, and while that implies marriage, I do not know for certain.”
Amys nodded. There was no toh; Aviendha had corrected herself quickly enough. That was well. She would not add more shame on top of what she had already earned.
“Very well, then,” Amys said, watching the path ahead of her. “Let us discuss today’s punishment.”
Aviendha relaxed slightly. So she still had time to discover what she had done wrong. Wetlanders often seemed confused by Aiel ways with punishment, but wetlanders had little understanding of honor. Honor didn’t come from being punished, but accepting a punishment and bearing it restored honor. That was the soul of toh—the willing lowering of oneself in order to recover that which had been lost. It was strange to her that wetlanders couldn’t see this; indeed, it was strange that they didn’t follow ji’e’toh instinctively. What was life without honor?
Amys, rightly, wouldn’t tell Aviendha what she had done wrong. However, she was having no success thinking through the answer on her own, and it would cause less shame if she discovered the answer through conversation. “Yes,” Aviendha said carefully. “I should be punished. My time in Caemlyn threatened to make me weak.”
Amys sniffed. “You are no more weak than you were when you carried the spears, girl. A fair bit stronger, I should think. Your time with your first-sister was important for you.”
So that wasn’t it. When Dorindha and Nadere had come for her, they had said she needed to continue her training as an apprentice. Yet in the time since the Aiel had departed for Arad Doman, Aviendha had been given no lessons. She had been assigned to carry water, to mend shawls, and to serve tea. She had been given all manner of punishments with little explanation of what she had done wrong. And when she did something obvious—like going scouting when she shouldn’t have—the severity of her punishment was always greater than the infraction should have merited.
It was almost as if the punishment was the thing the Wise Ones wanted her to learn, but that could not be. She was not some wetlander who needed to be taught the ways of honor. What good would constant and unexplained punishment do, other than to warn of some grave mistake she had made?