It took quite a while for her to run down and let Nynaeve stagger outside. Stagger she did, on wobbly knees. Everybody was talking about her. Of course they were. She should have listened to Elayne and begun leaving all the so-called discoveries to her. Moghedien was right. Sooner or later they were going to start probing for how she did it. So they had to decide what was best, to avoid catastrophe. No clue there to what they intended toward Rand.

A glance at the sun, almost overhead, told her she was already late for her appointment with Theodrin. At least she had a good excuse this time.

Theodrin’s house—hers and two dozen other women’s—lay beyond the Little Tower. Nynaeve slowed as she came abreast of the onetime inn. The gaggle of Warders out front near Gareth Bryne were evidence the meeting still went on. A residue of anger enabled her to see the ward, a close flat dome mostly of Fire and Air with touches of Water, shimmering to her eyes over the entire building, the knot holding it in tantalizing fashion. Touching that knot would be as good as offering her hide to a tannery; there were plenty of Aes Sedai in the crowded street. Now and then some of the Warders moved back and forth through the shimmer, invisible to them, as one group broke up and another formed. The same ward Elayne had failed to penetrate. A shield against eavesdropping. With the Power.

Theodrin’s house stood a hundred paces or so farther up the street, but Nynaeve turned into the yard beside a thatch-roofed house just two beyond the former inn. A rickety wooden fence enclosed the tiny plot of withered weeds behind the house, but it had a gate, hanging on one hinge that was nearly all rust. It squealed murderously when she shifted the gate. She looked around hastily—no one at any of the windows; no one in the street could see her—gathered her skirts and darted through into the narrow alleyway that eventually ran by the room she shared with Elayne.

For a moment she hesitated, wiping sweaty palms on her dress, remembering what Birgitte had said. She knew she was a coward at heart, much as she hated the fact. Once she had thought herself brave enough. Not a hero, like Birgitte, but brave enough. The world had taught her better. Just thinking of what the sisters would do if they caught her—made her want to turn around and run to Theodrin. The chance was vanishingly small that she could actually find a window on the very room where the Sitters were. Impossibly small.

Trying to work some moisture back into her mouth—how could her mouth be so dry when the rest of her was so damp?—she crept closer. One day she wanted to know what it was like to be brave, like Birgitte or Elayne, instead of a coward.

The ward did not tingle when she stepped through. It did not feel like anything at all. She had known it would not. Touching it could do no harm, but she flattened herself against the rough stone wall. Bits of creeper clinging to its cracks brushed her face.

Slowly she edged along to the nearest casement window—and nearly turned around and left right then. It was shut tight, all the glass gone, replaced by oiled cloth that might let in light but certainly did not allow her to see anything. Or hear anything; at least, if there was anybody on the other side, no noise escaped. Taking a deep breath, she inched to the next window. One pane had been replaced here too, but the remainder showed a battered once-ornate table covered with papers and inkpots, a few chairs, and an otherwise empty room.

Muttering a curse she had heard from Elayne—the girl had a surprising stock of such tucked away—she felt her way along the rough stone. The third window was swung out. She pressed her nose close. And jerked back. She had not really believed she would find anything, but Tarna was in there. Not with Sitters, but Sheriam and Myrelle and the rest of that lot. If her heart had not been pounding so hard, she would have heard the murmur of their voices before she looked.

Kneeling down, she moved as close to the casement as she could without being seen by those inside. The bottom of the window rubbed against her head.

“. . . sure that is the message you wish me to carry back?” That steely voice had to be Tarna’s. “You request more time to consider? What is there to consider?”

“The Hall—” Sheriam began.

“The Hall,” the Tower envoy scoffed. “Do not believe me blind to where power lies. That so-called Hall thinks what you six tell them to think.”

“The Hall, it has asked for more time,” Beonin said firmly. “Who can say what decision they will reach?”

“Elaida will have to wait to hear their decision,” Morvrin said in a fair imitation of Tarna’s icy tone. “Can she not wait a small time to see the White Tower whole once more?”

Tarna’s reply was even colder, though. “I will carry your . . . the Hall’s . . . message to the Amyrlin. We shall see what she thinks of it.” A door opened and closed with a sharp bang.

Nynaeve could have screamed with frustration. Now she knew the answer, but not the question. If only Janya and Delana had released her a little sooner. Well, it was better than nothing. Better than “We will return and obey Elaida.” There was no point staying here, waiting for someone to look out and see her.

She started to ease away, and Myrelle said, “Perhaps we should just send a message. Perhaps we should simply summon her.” Frowning, Nynaeve held her place. Her who?

“The forms must be met,” Morvrin said gruffly. “The proper ceremonies must be followed.”

Beonin spoke on her heels in firm tones. “We must meet every letter of the law. The smallest slip, it will be used against us.”

“And if we have made a mistake?” Carlinya sounded heated for perhaps the first time in her life. “How long are we to wait? How long dare we wait?”

“As long as need be,” Morvrin said.

“As long as we must.” That from Beonin. “I have not waited this long for the biddable child just to abandon all our plans now.”

For some reason that produced a silence, although Nynaeve did hear someone murmur “biddable” again as if examining the word. What child? A novice or Accepted? It made no sense. Sisters never waited on novices or Accepted.

“We have gone too far to turn back, Carlinya,” Sheriam said finally. “Either we bring her here and make sure she does as she should, or we leave everything to the Hall and hope they do not lead us all to disaster.” From her tone, she considered that last a hope for fools.

“One slip,” Carlinya said coldly, even more coldly than usual, “and we will all end with