Chesa beamed for an instant before bringing out the blue dress. Anaiya might have chosen her, but she was the Amyrlin Seat’s maid, and her loyalty was to the Amyrlin Seat. And she was right about today’s importance, too.

Eating quickly—despite Chesa’s murmurs to herself about how gulping food always upset the stomach; the warm milk with honey and spices was sovereign for settling a nervous stomach—Egwene scrubbed her teeth and washed hurriedly, let Chesa take a few licks at her hair with the brush and dressed as fast as the woman could get the blue silk over her head. Settling the seven-striped stole on her shoulders, she paused to look in the stand-mirror. Stole or no stole, she did not look very much like the Amyrlin Seat. But I am. This is no dream.

In the large room below, the tables stood as empty as they had in the night. Only the Sitters were there, wearing their shawls and clustered according to Ajah, and Sheriam standing alone. They quieted as Egwene descended the stair, curtsied when she reached the bottom. Romanda and Lelaine eyed her sharply, then turned away, very obviously not looking at Sheriam, and resumed their conversations. When Egwene remained silent, the others did the same. Occasionally one of them glanced at her. Even in whispers their voices sounded too loud. There was silence outside; utter stillness. Egwene plucked her handkerchief from her sleeve and patted her face. None of them sweated a drop.

Sheriam came to stand beside her. “It will go well,” she said softly. “Just remember what you are to say.” That was another thing they had gone over in detail last night; Egwene had a speech to deliver this morning.

Egwene nodded. It was strange. Her stomach should have been turning over, her knees shaking. They were not, and she could not understand.

“There is no need to be anxious,” Sheriam said. She sounded as if she thought Egwene was, and meant to soothe her, but before she could open her mouth again, Romanda spoke loudly.

“It is time.”

In a rustle of skirts the Sitters lined up according to age, with Romanda in the lead this time, and marched outside. Egwene moved to just short of the door. Still no flutters. Maybe Chesa was right about the warm milk.

Silence still, then Romanda’s voice, too loud for nature. “We have an Amyrlin Seat.”

Egwene stepped outside into a heat she would not have expected until later in the day. As her foot left the stoop, it landed on a platform woven of Air. The lines of Sitters stretched out to either side of her, each Sitter glowing with the light of saidar.

“Egwene al’Vere,” Romanda intoned, her voice carried by weaves of the Power, “the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat.”

They lifted her high as Romanda spoke, raising the Amyrlin in truth, until she stood just below the thatched roof, standing on thin air it would seem to any but a woman who could channel.

There were plenty to see her outlined by the rising sun; a second weave made the light into a shimmering weave around her. Men and women packed the street. The crowd disappeared around corners. Every doorway was filled, every window, every rooftop except that of the Little Tower itself. A roar erupted that very nearly drowned out Romanda, waves of cheering that rolled across the village. Egwene scanned the crowd searching for Nynaeve and Elayne, but she could not find them in that sea of upturned faces. An age seemed to pass before there was quiet enough for her to speak. The weave that had carried Romanda’s voice shifted to her.

They had prepared her speech, Sheriam and the others, a weighty exhortation she might have been able to deliver without blushing if she was twice her age, or better yet three times. She had made a few changes on her own. “We are gathered together in a quest for truth and justice that will not end until the false Amyrlin Elaida is removed from the place she usurped.” The only change in that was “will not” for “cannot,” but she thought it stronger and better. “As Amyrlin, I will lead you in that quest, and I will not falter, as I know you will not.” And that was quite enough exhortation; in any case, she had no intention of remaining up here long enough to repeat everything they wanted said. It all amounted to what she already had said anyway. “As my Keeper of the Chronicles, I name Sheriam Bayanar.”

That produced a much smaller cheer; a Keeper was not an Amyrlin, after all. Egwene glanced down, waiting until she saw Sheriam hurry outside, still draping her shoulders with the stole of the Keeper, blue to show she had been raised from the Blue Ajah. It had been decided not to make a copy of the Amyrlin’s staff, topped with a golden flame, that the Keeper carried; until the true staff was recovered from the White Tower, they would have to do without. Sheriam had been expecting a much longer wait, and she looked at Egwene with open exasperation. In the lines of Sitters, Romanda and Lelaine wore no expression at all; each had had her own very strong suggestion for Keeper, and needless to say, neither had been Sheriam.

Egwene drew breath and turned back to the waiting crowd. “In honor of this day, I hereby decree that all Accepted and novices are absolved of penances and punishments.” That was customary, and produced shouts of glee only from white-clad girls and a few Accepted who forgot themselves. “In honor of this day, I hereby decree that Theodrin Dabei, Faolain Orande, Nynaeve al’Meara and Elayne Trakand are from this moment raised to the shawl, full sisters and Aes Sedai.” A sort of questioning silence greeted that, with here and there a murmur. It was not according to custom at all; far from it. But it was said, and a good thing Morvrin had happened to mention Theodrin and Faolain. Time to return to what they had written out for her. “I hereby decree this a day of feasting and celebration. Let no work be done but what is necessary for enjoyment. May the Light shine on you all, and the Creator’s hand shelter you.” That last was swallowed by a tumultuous roar that overwhelmed the weave carrying her words. Some people began dancing in the street right there and then, though there was hardly room for them to move.

The platform of Air descended perhaps a trifle more quickly than it had risen. The Sitters were staring at her when she stepped off, and the glow of saidar began winking out among them almost before she touched ground.

Sheriam darted up to take Egwene’s arm, smiling at the stone-faced Sitters. “I must show the Amyrlin her study. Forgive me.” Egwene would not exactly have said Sheriam hustled her inside, but then again, she would not exactly have said she did not. She did not think Sheriam would actually try to drag her, but it seemed best to gather her skirts with her free hand and take longer stri