“Yes,” Seta said, “though I sometimes think it might be better to simply let us die, as opposed to…Well, what we are, what we represent, means that we are a danger to the Empire.”
Mat nodded. “Tuon is a sul’dam,” he said.
The two women looked down.
“Go with the Aes Sedai,” Mat said. “I’ll give you your own horses, so you don’t have to rely on them. Learn to channel. That’ll be more use than dying. Maybe someday you two can convince Tuon of the truth. Help me find a way to fix this without causing the Empire to collapse.”
The two women looked to him, more firm and confident, suddenly. “Yes, Highness,” Bethamin said. “It is a good purpose for us to have. Thank you, Highness.”
Seta actually got tears in her eyes! Light, what did they think he had just promised them? Mat retreated before they could get any more odd ideas in their heads. Flaming women. Still, he could not help feeling sorry for them. Learning that they could channel, worrying they might be a danger to everyone around them.
That’s how Rand felt, Mat thought. Poor fool. As always, the colors swirled when he thought of Rand. He tried not to do it too often, and before he could banish those colors, he caught a glimpse of Rand shaving in a fine, gilded mirror hanging in a beautiful bathing chamber.
Mat gave some orders to get the sul’dam horses, then he walked over toward the Aes Sedai. Thom had arrived and he strolled over. “Light, Mat,” he said. “You look like you tangled with a briarstitch patch and came out sore.”
Mat raised a hand to his hair, which was probably a real sight. “I lived through the night, and the Aes Sedai are leaving. I’ve half a mind to dance a jig at that.”
Thom snorted. “Did you know those two were going to be here?”
“The sul’dam? I figured.”
“No, those two.” He pointed.
Mat turned, frowning as he found Leilwin and Bayle Domon riding up. Their possessions were rolled up on the backs of their horses. Leilwin—then known as Egeanin—had once been a Seanchan noblewoman, but Tuon had stripped her name away. She wore a dress with divided skirts of muted gray. Her short dark hair had grown out, and hung over her ears. She climbed from her saddle and stalked in Mat’s direction.
“Burn me,” Mat said to Thom, “if I can be rid of her, too, I’ll almost start thinking that life has turned fair on me.”
Domon followed her as they approached. He was her so’jhin. Or…could he still be so’jhin, now that she had no title? Well, either way, he was her husband. The Illianer was thick of girth, and strong. He was not too bad a fellow, except when he was around Leilwin. Which was always.
“Cauthon,” she said, stepping up to him.
“Leilwin,” he replied. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
Mat smiled. He really was going to do that dance!
“I always intended to make my way to the White Tower,” she continued. “I set my mind there on the day I left Ebou Dar. If the Aes Sedai are leaving, I will go with them. A ship is always wise to join a convoy, when the right opportunity is presented.”
“Too bad to see you go,” Mat lied, tipping his hat to her. Leilwin was as tough as a hundred-year oak stuck with bits of axe left over from the men foolish enough to try to chop it down. If her horse threw a shoe on the road to Tar Valon, she would likely sling the animal over her shoulder and carry it the rest of the way.
But she did not like Mat, for all he had done to save her skin. Maybe it was because he had not let her take charge, or maybe because she had been forced to act like his lover. Well, he had not enjoyed that part either. It had been like holding a sword by the blade and pretending that it did not sting.
Though it had been fun to watch her squirm.
“Be well, Matrim Cauthon,” Leilwin said. “I don’t envy the place you’ve put yourself in. In some ways, I think the winds that carry you may actually be rougher than the ones which have buffeted me, recently.” She nodded to him, then turned to go.
Domon reached over, laying a hand on Mat’s arm. “You did do as you said. By my aged grandmother! You gave a bumpy ride of it, but you did do as you said. My thanks.”
The two of them moved off. Mat shook his head, waving to Thom and strolling over to the Aes Sedai. “Teslyn,” Mat said. “Edesina. Joline. All is well?”
“It is,” Joline said.
“Good, good,” Mat said. “You have sufficient pack animals?”
“They will do, Master Cauthon,” Joline said. Then, covering a wince, she added, “Thank you for giving them to us.”
Mat smiled broadly. My, but it was amusing to hear her trying to act respectful! She had obviously expected Elayne to welcome her and the others with open arms, not turn them away from the palace without an audience.
Joline eyed Mat, lush lips pressed together. “I would like to have tamed you, Cauthon,” she said. “I’ve still half a mind to return someday and see the job done properly.”
“I’ll wait breathlessly for that, then,” he said, taking the cloth-wrapped package from under his arm. He handed it up to her.
“What is this?” she asked, not reaching for it.
Mat shook the bundle. “Parting gift,” he said. “Where I come from, you never let a traveler depart without giving her something for the road. It would be rude.”
Reluctantly, she accepted it and peeked inside. She was obviously surprised to find that it contained a collection of about a dozen powdered sweetbuns. “Thank you,” she said, frowning.
“I’m sending soldiers with you,” Mat said. “They’ll bring my horses back once you arrive in Tar Valon.”
Joline opened her mouth as if to complain, but then closed it. What argument could she make?
“That will be acceptable, Cauthon,” Teslyn said, moving her black gelding closer.
“I’ll give them orders to do as you say,” Mat said, turning to her. “So you’ll have people to command about and make set up your tents. But there’s a condition attached.”
Teslyn raised an eyebrow.
“I want you to tell the Amyrlin something,” he said. “If it’s Egwene, this should be easy. But even if it isn’t, you tell her. The White Tower has something of mine, and it’s nearly time that I reclaimed it. I don’t want to, but what I want never seems to matter a whisker, these days. So I’ll be coming, and I don’t mean to be bloody turned away.” He smiled. “Use that exact language.”
Teslyn, to her credit, chuckled softly. “I’ll see it done, though I doubt the rumors are true. Elaida would not have given up the Amyrlin Seat.”
“You might be surprised.” Mat surely had been, when he had discovered women calling Egwene Amyrlin. He did not know what had happened up at the White Tower, but he had a sinking feeling that the Aes Sedai had wrapped poor Egwene up in their schemes so soundly that she would never escape. He had half a mind to ride up there himself and see if he could get her out.
But he had other tasks. Egwene would have to see to herself for now. She was a capable girl; she could probably handle it without him for a while.
Thom stood to his side, looking thoughtful. He did not know for sure that Mat had blown the Horn—at least, Mat had never told him. He tried to forget about the bloody thing. But Thom had probably guessed.
“Well, I suppose you should be going,” Mat said. “Where’s Setalle?”
“She’ll be staying here,” Teslyn said. “She said that she wanted to keep you from making too many missteps.” She raised an eyebrow, and Joline and Edesina nodded sagaciously. They all assumed that Setalle was a former runaway servant from the White Tower, perhaps having fled as a girl because of a misdeed.
Well, that meant he wouldn’t be rid of the entire group. Still, if he had to pick one to stay, it would be Mistress Anan. She would probably be wanting to find a way to meet up with her husband and family, who had fled Ebou Dar by ship.
Juilin walked up, leading Thera. Had that frightened wisp of a woman really been the Panarch of Tarabon? Mat had seen mice that were less timid. Mat’s soldiers brought out horses for the two of them. All in all, this expedition was costing him some forty animals and a file of soldiers. But it would be worth it. Besides, he intended to retrieve both men and horses—along with information about what was really happening in Tar Valon.
He nodded to Vanin. The thick-waisted horse thief had not been too pleased when Mat had ordered him to go along to Tar Valon and gather information. Mat had figured he would be ecstatic, considering how he doted on the Aes Sedai. Well, he would be even less happy when he found Juilin was along; Vanin tended to step lightly around the thief-catcher.
Vanin mounted a bay gelding. As far as the Aes Sedai knew, he was a senior Redarm and one of Mat’s field scouts, but nobody to be suspicious of. He did not look very threatening, except maybe as a danger to a bowl of boiled potatoes. That might be why he was so good at what he did. Mat did not need any horses stolen, but Vanin’s talents could be applied to other tasks.
“Well,” Mat said, turning back to the Aes Sedai, “I won’t keep you further, then.” He stepped back, avoiding looking at Joline—who had a predatory cast to her eyes that reminded him all too much of Tylin. Teslyn waved and, curiously, Edesina nodded to him in respect. Juilin had a wave for him and Thom, and Mat got a nod from Leilwin. The woman chewed rocks for breakfast and nails for supper, but she was fair. Maybe he could talk to Tuon, get her reinstated or something.
Don’t be a fool, he thought, giving a wave to Bayle Domon. First you’ll need to convince Tuon not to make you da’covale. He was half convinced she intended to see him as her servant, husband or not. Thinking about that made him sweat around the collar.
Before long, they were making dust along the road. Thom stepped up beside Mat, watching the riders. “Sweetbuns?”
“Tradition among us Two Rivers folk.”
“Never heard of that tradition.”
“It’s very obscure.”
“Ah, I see. And what did you do to those buns?”
“Sprinklewort,” Mat said. “It’ll turn her mouth blue for a week, maybe two. And she won’t share the sweetbuns with anyone, except maybe her Warders. Joline is addicted to the things. She must have eaten seven or eight bags’ worth since we got to Caemlyn.”
“Nice,” Thom said, knuckling his mustache. “Childish, though.”
“I’m trying to get back to my basic roots,” Mat said. “You know, recapture some of my lost youth.”
“You’re barely twenty winters old!”
“Sure, but I did a lot of living when I was younger. Come on. Mistress Anan is staying, and that gives me an idea.”
“You need a shave, Matrim Cauthon.” Mistress Anan folded her arms as she regarded him.
He reached up, touching his face. Lopin had always done that, each morning. The man got as sulky as a dog in the rain when Mat did not let him do such things, though lately Mat had been growing out his beard to avoid notice. It still itched like a week-old scab.