“It has to do,” Perrin said firmly, “with what happened to me the first time I met with them. And what I’d begun to discover in the days before.”
Faile frowned.
“I’ve told you that I killed two Whitecloaks,” he said. “Before I met you.”
“Yes.”
“Settle back,” he said. “You need to know the whole story.”
And so he told her. Hesitantly at first, but the words soon grew easier. He spoke of Shadar Logoth, and of their group being scattered. Of Egwene letting him take the lead, perhaps the first time he’d been forced to do that.
He’d already told her of his meeting with Elyas. She knew much about Perrin, things that he’d never told anyone else, things he’d never even spoken of with Elyas. She knew about the wolf. She knew that he feared he’d lose himself.
But she didn’t know what he felt in battle. She didn’t know what it had felt like to kill those Whitecloaks, to taste their blood—either in his own mouth, or through his link with the wolves. She didn’t know what it had been like to be consumed by anger, fear and desperation when she’d been taken. These were the things he haltingly explained.
He told her of the frenzy he’d gone into when searching for her in the wolf dream. He spoke of Noam and what he feared would happen to him. And of how it related to how he acted when he fought.
Faile listened, sitting quietly atop the hilltop, arms wrapped around her legs, lit by candlelight. Her scents were subdued. Perhaps he should have held some things back. No woman wanted to know what a beast her husband became when he killed, did she? But now that he was speaking, he wanted to be rid of his secrets. He was tired of them.
Each word spoken made him relax more. It did what the meal—touching though it had been—hadn’t been able to. In telling her of his struggles, he felt some of his burden lift.
He finished by speaking of Hopper. He wasn’t certain why he’d saved the wolf for last; Hopper was part of much Perrin had told before—the Whitecloaks, the wolf dream. But it felt right to reserve Hopper until the end, so he did.
As he finished, he stared at the flame of one of the candles. Two of them had gone out, leaving others still to flicker. That wasn’t dim light to his eyes. He had trouble remembering what the days had been like when his senses had been as weak as an ordinary man’s.
Faile leaned against him, wrapping his arm around her. “Thank you,” she said.
He let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the stump behind him, feeling her warmth.
“I want to tell you about Malden,” she said.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “Just because I—”
“Hush. I was quiet while you spoke. It’s my turn.”
“All right.”
It should have been worrying for him to hear about Malden. He lay with his back to the stump, sky crackling with energy above, the Pattern itself in danger of unraveling, while his wife spoke of being captured and beaten. Yet it was one of the most oddly relaxing things he’d ever experienced.
The events in that city had been important to her, maybe even good for her. Though he was angered at hearing how Sevanna had trussed Faile up nak*d and left her overnight. Someday he’d hunt that woman down.
Not today, however. Today he had his wife in his arms, and her strong voice was a comfort. He should have realized she would have planned her own escape. In fact, listening to her careful preparation, he began to feel a fool. She’d been worried that he’d get himself killed trying to rescue her—she didn’t say it, but he could infer it. How well she knew him.
Faile left some things out. He didn’t mind. Faile would be like a penned and caged animal without her secrets. He got a good hint of what she was hiding, though. It was something to do with that Brotherless who had captured her, something about Faile’s plans to trick the man and his friends into helping her escape. Perhaps she’d felt a fondness for him, and didn’t wish Perrin to regret killing him. That wasn’t necessary. Those Brotherless had been with the Shaido, and they had attacked and killed men under Perrin’s protection. No act of kindness would redeem that. They deserved their deaths.
That gave him pause. The Whitecloaks probably said very similar things about him. But the Whitecloaks had attacked first.
She finished. It was very late, now, and Perrin reached over to a bundle that Faile’s servants had brought up, pulling out a blanket.
“Well?” Faile asked as he settled back, putting his arm around her again.
“I’m surprised that you didn’t give me an earful for barreling in like a wild bull and stomping all over your plans.”
That made her smell satisfied. It wasn’t the emotion he’d expected, but he’d long ago stopped trying to decipher the ways of women’s thought.
“I almost brought the matter up tonight,” Faile said, “so that we could have a proper argument and a proper reconciliation.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I decided that this night should be done in the Two Rivers way.”
“And you think husbands and wives don’t argue in the Two Rivers?” he asked, amused.
“Well, perhaps they do. But you, husband, always seem uncomfortable when we yell. I’m very glad you’ve begun to stand up for yourself, as is proper. But I have asked much from you to adapt to my ways. I thought, tonight, I would try to adapt to yours.”
Those were words that he had never expected to hear from Faile. It seemed the most personal thing she could ever have given him. Embarrassingly, he felt tears in his eyes, and he pulled her tight.
“Now,” she said, “I’m not a docile sheep, mind you.”
“I would never think that,” he said. “Never.”
She smelled satisfied.
“I’m sorry I didn’t give much thought to you escaping on your own,” Perrin said.
“I forgive you.”
He looked down at her, those beautiful dark eyes reflecting the candlelight. “Does this mean we can have the reconciliation without the argument?”
She smiled. “I will allow it, this once. And, of course, the servants have strict orders to ensure our solitude.”
He kissed her. It felt so very right, and he knew that the worries he’d had—and the awkwardness that had been between them since Malden—were gone. Whether it had been something real or something he imagined, it had passed.
He had Faile back, truly and completely.
Chapter 17
Partings, and a Meeting
The morning after the gholam attack, Mat woke from dreams rotten as last month’s eggs, feeling stiff and aching. He had spent the night sleeping in a hollow he’d found beneath Aludra’s supply wagon. He had chosen the location by random chance, using his dice.
He climbed out from under the wagon, standing and rolling his shoulder, feeling it pop. Bloody ashes. One of the best things about having money was not having to sleep in ditches. There were beggars who spent nights better than this.
The wagon smelled of sulphur and powders. He was tempted to peek under the oiled tarp that stretched over the back of it, but there would be no point. Aludra and her powders were incomprehensible. So long as the dragons performed, Mat did not mind not knowing how they worked. Well, he did not mind it much. Not enough to risk irritating her.
She was not there at the wagon, fortunately for Mat. She would complain at him again for not having gotten her a bellfounder. She seemed to think him her own personal messenger boy. An unruly one, who refused to do his job properly. Most women had moments like that.
He walked through camp, brushing bits of straw from his hair. He almost went searching for Lopin to have him draw a bath, until he remembered that Lopin was dead. Bloody ashes! Poor man.
Thinking about poor Lopin put Mat in an even more dour mood as he walked toward where he’d find some breakfast. Juilin found him first. The short Tairen thief-catcher wore his flat-topped conical hat and dark blue coat. “Mat,” he said. “Is it true? You’ve given permission for the Aes Sedai to go back to the Tower?”
“They didn’t need my permission,” Mat said, wincing. If the women heard it said that way, they would tan his hide and make saddle leather from it. “I’m planning to give them horses, though.”
“They have them already,” Juilin said, looking in the direction of the picket lines. “Said you gave them permission.”
Mat sighed. His stomach growled, but food would have to wait. He walked toward the picket lines; he would need to make sure the Aes Sedai did not make off with his best stock.
“I’ve been thinking I might go with them,” Juilin said, joining Mat. “Take Thera to Tar Valon.”
“You’re welcome to leave any time,” Mat said. “I won’t hold you here.” Juilin was a good enough fellow. A little stiff at times. Well, very stiff. Juilin could make a Whitecloak look relaxed. He was not the type you wanted to take with you dicing; he would spend the night scowling at everyone in the tavern and muttering about the crimes they had certainly committed. But he was reliable, and a good hand to have in a pinch.
“I want to get back to Tear,” Juilin said. “But the Seanchan would be so close, and Thera…It worries her. She doesn’t much like the idea of Tar Valon either, but we don’t have many choices, and the Aes Sedai promised that if I came with them, they’d get me work in Tar Valon.”
“So, this is parting, then?” Mat said, stopping and turning to him.
“For now,” Juilin said. He hesitated, then held out his hand. Mat took it and shook, and then the thief-catcher was off to gather his things and his woman.
Mat thought for a moment, then changed his mind and headed for the cook tent. Juilin would slow the Aes Sedai, probably, and he wanted to fetch something.
A short time later, he arrived at the picket lines fed and carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle under his arm. The Aes Sedai had, of course, created an inordinately large caravan out of some of his best horses. Teslyn and Joline also seemed to have decided they could commandeer some pack animals and some soldiers to do the loading. Mat sighed and walked into the mess, checking over the horses.
Joline sat on Moonglow, a mare of Tairen stock that had belonged to one of the men Mat had lost in the fighting to escape the Seanchan. The more reserved Edesina had mounted Firewisp, and was glancing occasionally at two women who stood to the side. Dark-skinned Bethamin and pale, yellow-haired Seta were former sul’dam.
The Seanchan women tried very hard to look aloof as the group gathered. Mat sauntered up to them.
“Highness,” Seta said, “it is true? You’re going to allow these to roam free of you?”
“Best to be rid of them,” Mat said, wincing at her choice of titles for him. Did they have to throw around such words like they were wooden pennies? Anyway, the two Seanchan women had changed a great deal since beginning with the group, but they still seemed to find it odd that Mat did not wish to use the Aes Sedai as weapons. “Do you want to go, or do you want to stay?”
“We will go,” Bethamin said firmly. She was determined to learn, it seemed.