“I understand men, Lady Faile,” Berelain said coldly. “And your husband is no exception. Since you have decided to be candid, I will return in kind. You were clever to take Aybara when you did, welding Saldaea to the Dragon Reborn, but do not think that he will remain yours without contest.”
Faile took a deep breath. It was time to make her play. “Perrin’s reputation has been severely damaged by what you have done, my Lady First. For my own dishonor, I might have been able to forgive you. But not for his.”
“I don’t see what can be done.”
“I do,” Faile said. “And I’m pretty certain one of us is going to have to die.”
Berelain remained impassive. “Excuse me?”
“In the Borderlands, if a woman finds that another has been bedding her husband, she is given the option of knife combat.” That was true, though the tradition was an old one, rarely observed any longer. “The only way to clear my name is for you and me to fight.”
“What would that prove?”
“If nothing else, if you were dead, it would stop anyone from thinking that you are still sleeping with my husband behind my back.”
“Are you actually threatening me in my own tent?”
“This is not a threat,” Faile said, remaining firm. Light, she hoped this went the right way. “This is a challenge.”
Berelain studied her, eyes calculating. “I will make a public statement. I will publicly chastise my maids for their rumors, and will tell the camp that nothing happened.”
“Do you really think that would stop the rumors? You didn’t object to them before my return; that is seen as proof. And, of course, now you would be expected to act as if nothing happened.”
“You can’t be serious about this…challenge.”
“In regards to my husband’s honor, Berelain, I am always serious.” She met the woman’s eyes, and saw concern there. Berelain didn’t want to fight her. And, of course, Faile didn’t want to fight Berelain, and not just because she wasn’t certain if she could win or not. Though she had always wanted to get revenge on the First for that time when Berelain had taken her knife from her.
“I will make the challenge formally this evening, before the entire camp,” Faile said, keeping her voice even. “You will have one day to respond or leave.”
“I will not be a party to this foolishness.”
“You already are,” Faile said, rising. “This is what you set in motion the moment you let those rumors begin.”
Faile turned to walk from the tent. She had to work hard to hide her nervousness. Had Berelain seen how her brow prickled with sweat? Faile felt as if she walked on the very edge of a sword. Should word of this challenge get to Perrin, he would be furious. She had to hope that—
“Lady Faile,” Berelain said from behind. The First’s voice was edged with concern. “Surely we can come to another accommodation. Do not force this.”
Faile stopped, heart thumping. She turned back. The First looked genuinely worried. Yes, she believed that Faile was bloodthirsty enough to make this challenge.
“I want you out of Perrin’s life, Berelain,” Faile said. “I will have that, one way or another.”
“You wish me to leave?” Berelain asked. “The tasks the Lord Dragon gave me are finished. I suppose I could take my men and march another direction.”
No, Faile didn’t want her to go. The disappearance of her troops would be a blow, in the face of that looming Whitecloak army. And Perrin would have need of the Winged Guards again, Faile suspected.
“No,” Faile said. “Leaving will do nothing for the rumors, Berelain.”
“It will do as much as killing me would,” the woman said dryly. “If we fight, and you somehow managed to kill me, all that would be said is that you discovered your husband’s infidelity and became enraged. I fail to see how that would help your position. It would only encourage the rumors.”
“You see my problem, then,” Faile said, letting her exasperation show through. “There seems to be no way to be rid of these rumors.”
Berelain studied her. The woman had once promised she would take Perrin. Had all but vowed it. She seemed to have backed off on that, in part, recently. And her eyes showed hints of worry.
She realizes that she let this go too far, Faile thought, understanding. Of course. Berelain hadn’t expected Faile to return from Malden. That was why she’d made such a bold move.
Now she realized she’d overextended herself. And she legitimately thought Faile unhinged enough to duel her in public.
“I never wanted this, Berelain,” Faile said, walking back into the tent. “And neither did Perrin. Your attentions are an annoyance to us both.”
“Your husband did little to dissuade me,” Berelain said, arms folded. “During your absence, there were points where he directly encouraged me.”
“You understand him so little, Berelain.” It was amazing how the woman could be so blind while being so clever in other ways.
“So you claim,” Berelain said.
“You have two choices right now, Berelain,” Faile said, stepping up to her. “You can fight me, and one of us will die. You’re right, that wouldn’t end the rumors. But it would end your chances at Perrin. Either you’d be dead, or you’d be the woman who killed his wife.
“Your other choice,” Faile said, meeting Berelain’s eyes, “is to come up with a way to destroy these rumors once and for all. You caused this mess. You will fix it.”
And there was her gamble. Faile couldn’t think of a way out of the situation, but Berelain was much more accomplished in this regard than she was. So Faile came, prepared to manipulate Berelain into thinking she was ready to do something unreasonable. Then let the woman’s impressive political acumen attack the situation.
Would it work?
Faile met Berelain’s eyes, and allowed herself to feel her anger. Her outrage at what had happened. She was being beaten, frozen and humiliated by their common enemy. And during that, Berelain had the gall to do something like this?
She held the First’s eyes. No, Faile did not have as much political experience as Berelain. But she had something the woman didn’t. She loved Perrin. Deeply, truly. She would do anything to keep him from being hurt.
The First studied her. “Very well,” she said. “So be it. Be proud of yourself, Faile. It is…rare that I take myself off a prize I have long desired.”
“You haven’t said how we could get rid of the rumors.”
“There may be a method,” Berelain said. “But it will be distasteful.”
Faile raised an eyebrow.
“We will need to be seen as friends,” Berelain explained. “Fighting, being at odds, this will fuel the rumors. But if we are seen spending time with one another, it will disarm them. That, mixed with a formal renunciation on my part of the rumors, will likely be enough.”
Faile sat down in the chair she had been using earlier. Friends? She detested this woman.
“It would have to be a believable act,” Berelain said, rising and walking over to the serving stand at the corner of the tent. She poured herself some chilled wine. “Only that would work.”
“You’ll find another man, as well,” Faile said. “Someone you can give your attentions to, for a time at least. To prove that you are not interested in Perrin.”
Berelain raised the cup. “Yes,” she said. “I suspect that would help too. Can you put on such an act, Faile ni Bashere t’Aybara?”
You believed I was ready to kill you over this, didn’t you, Faile thought. “I promise it.”
Berelain paused, winecup halfway to her lips. Then she smiled, and drank. “We shall see, then,” she said, lowering the cup, “what comes of this.”
Chapter 19
Talk of Dragons
Mat tugged on a sturdy brown coat. The buttons were brass, but other than that, it was free of ornamentation. Made of a thick wool, it had a few holes from arrows that really should have killed him. One of the holes had a bloodstain around it, but that had mostly been washed out. It was a nice coat. He would have paid good coin for a coat like this one, when he lived back in the Two Rivers.
He rubbed his face, looking in the mirror of his new tent. He had shaved off that bloody beard, finally. How did Perrin manage that bloody itching? The man must have sandpaper for skin. Well, Mat would find another way to disguise himself, when needed.
He had nicked himself a few times while shaving. But it was not as if he had forgotten how to take care of himself. He did not need a manservant to do what he could manage on his own. Nodding to himself, he pulled on his hat and grabbed his ashandarei from the corner of the tent; the ravens on the blade seemed to perch excitedly in anticipation of battles to come. “Bloody right you do,” Mat said, resting the ashandarei on his shoulder as he walked out of the tent. He grabbed his pack and slung it over his other shoulder. Starting tonight, he would be spending nights in the city.
He strode through camp, nodding to a group of passing Redarms. He had doubled the watch. He was worried about the gholam, but also about the many military camps in the area. Half were mercenaries, half were the retainers of this minor lord or that, coming to pay respects to the Queen—suspiciously arriving after the fighting was done.
No doubt each and every one was professing his heartfelt allegiance to Elayne, explaining that his men supported her all along. Their words probably fell a little flat, since Mat had it on good authority from three separate drunks in taverns that Elayne had used Traveling extensively in recruiting her defense. It was easier to feign a delayed arrival when you were responding to a written message.
“Mat! Mat!”
Mat stopped on the pathway outside his tent as Olver came racing up. The boy had taken to wearing a red band around his arm, much as the Redarms did, but he still wore his brown trousers and coat. He was carrying his rolled-up cloth for Snakes and Foxes under one arm and a pack slung over the other.
Setalle stood in the near distance, along with Lussin and Edder, two Redarms that Mat had assigned to watch over her and the boy. They’d be departing for the city soon.
“Mat,” Olver said, panting. “You’re leaving?”
“I don’t have time to play with you now, Olver,” Mat said, lowering his ashandarei to the crook of his arm. “I have to go meet with a Queen.”
“I know,” Olver said. “I figured that since we’re both going to town, we could ride together and plan. I have some ideas about how to defeat the snakes and the foxes! We’re going to show them, Mat. Burn me, but we bloody will!”
“Who taught you that language?”
“Mat,” he said. “This is important! We have to plan! We haven’t talked about what we’re going to do.”
Silently, Mat cursed himself for discussing the quest to rescue Moiraine where Olver could hear. The boy was not going to take it well when he was left behind.
“I need to think about what I’m going to say to the Queen,” Mat said, rubbing his chin. “But I guess you’re right, planning is important. Why don’t you go tell Noal about your ideas?”