Elayne rose, smoothing her skirts; no stranger would suspect that that smooth face hid anger, but there was a hint of tightness at the corners of eyes and mouth. “Shall we go, then? Nynaeve? Aviendha? Birgitte?”

“I am not Aes Sedai, Elayne,” Aviendha said, and the serving woman put in hurriedly, “I was told only the Aes Sedai.”

“Aviendha and I could have a look around the city while you see the Queen,” Birgitte said before Elayne could open her mouth. Aviendha’s face lit up.

Elayne gave the pair of them a sharp look, then sighed. “Well, at least be careful. Nynaeve, are you coming, or do you want to see the city too?” That last was in a dry tone, with another glance at Birgitte.

“Oh, I would not miss it,” Nynaeve told her. “It will be good to finally meet someone who thinks. . . .” She could not finish it with the maid there. “We should not keep the Queen waiting.”

“Oh, no,” the liveried woman said. “It’d be as much as my ears are worth.”

However much her ears were worth, it took some time to walk through the palace corridors. As though to make up for all the white outside, the palace was full of color. In one corridor the ceiling was painted green and the walls blue, in another the walls were yellow and the ceiling pale rose. The floor tiles were diamonds of red and black and white, or blue and yellow, or almost any combination in any shade. There were very few tapestries, usually scenes of the sea, but a good many tall vases of golden Sea Folk porcelain stood in arched niches, and also large pieces of carved crystal, statuettes and vases and bowls, that caught Elayne’s eye as well as Nynaeve’s.

Of course servants scurried about everywhere, the men’s version of the livery entailing white breeches and a long green vest over a white shirt with wide, pleated sleeves, but before they had gone very far Nynaeve saw someone striding toward them who made her stop and catch Elayne’s arm. It was Jaichim Carridin. She did not take her eyes off the tall graying man as he strode on past them, those cruel deep-set eyes never turning in their direction, white cloak spreading behind him. Sweat covered his face, but he ignored it as he ignored them.

“What is he doing here?” Nynaeve demanded. That man had unleashed slaughter in Tanchico, and the Light only knew where else.

The serving woman looked at her quizzically. “Why, the Children of the Light sent an embassy too, months gone. The Queen . . . Aes Sedai?” Again, that hesitation.

Elayne managed to nod graciously, but Nynaeve could not blank the asperity from her own voice. “Then we should not keep her waiting.” One thing Merilille had let slip about this Tylin was that she was a punctilious woman, stiffly formal. But if she too started doubting they were Aes Sedai, Nynaeve was in just the mood to prove it.

The serving woman left them in a large room with a pale blue ceiling and yellow walls, where a row of tall triple-arched windows gave onto a long wrought-iron balcony and let in a quite comfortable salty breeze, and before the Queen Nynaeve and Elayne made their curtsies, proper for Aes Sedai to ruler, a slight dip, a tiny bow of the head.

Tylin was a most impressive woman. No taller than Nynaeve, she stood with a regal bearing that Elayne would have had to strain to match on her best day. She should have replied to their courtesies with the same, but she did not. Instead her large black eyes examined them with imperious intensity.

Nynaeve returned the favor as well as she could. Waves of glossy black hair, gray at the temples, hung well below Tylin’s shoulders, framing a face that was handsome if not unlined. Shockingly, there were two scars on the woman’s cheeks, fine and so old they had all but vanished. Of course, she did have one of those curved knives stuck through a belt of woven gold, with hilt and scabbard encrusted in gems, Nynaeve was sure it must be for show. Tylin’s blue silk dress was certainly nothing anyone could wear fighting a duel, with falls of snowy lace that would nearly hide her fingers if she lowered her hands, and skirts drawn up above her knees in front to expose layers of green and white silk petticoats and trailing behind her a pace or more. The bodice, trimmed in the same lace, was snug enough that Nynaeve was not sure whether sitting in it or standing would be more uncomfortable. A collar of woven gold fastened around the gown’s high neck, which put more lace under her chin, supported a white-sheathed marriage knife hanging hilt-down into an oval cut-out that easily equalled any of those deep necklines.

“You two must be Elayne and Nynaeve.” Tylin took a chair carved to resemble bamboo, though covered in gilt, and arranged her skirts carefully without taking her eyes from them. Her voice was deep, melodious and commanding. “I understood there was a third. Aviendha?”

Nynaeve exchanged glances with Elayne. There had been no invitation for them to sit, not so much as a flicker of eyes toward a chair. “She is not Aes Sedai,” Elayne began calmly.

Tylin spoke before she could say more. “And you are? You’ve seen eighteen winters at most, Elayne. And you, Nynaeve, staring at me like a cat with its tail caught, how many have you seen? Twenty-two? Twenty-three perhaps? Stab my liver! I visited Tar Valon once, and the White Tower. I doubt any woman your age has ever worn that ring on her right hand.”

“Twenty-six!” Nynaeve snapped. With a good part of the Women’s Circle back in Emond’s Field thinking she was too young to be Wisdom, it had become habit with her to flourish every naming day she could claim. “I am twenty-six and an Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah.” She still felt a thrill of pride saying that. “Elayne may be eighteen, but she is Aes Sedai as well, and Green Ajah. Do you think Merilille or Vandene would let us wear these rings as a joke? A good many things have changed, Tylin. The Amyrlin Seat, Egwene al’Vere, is no older than Elayne.”

“Is she?” Tylin said in a flat voice. “I was not told that. When the Aes Sedai who counseled me from the day I took the throne, and my father before me, abruptly leaves for the Tower without explanation, and I then learn that rumors of a Tower divided are true; when Dragonsworn seem to spring out of the ground; when an Amyrlin is chosen to oppose Elaida and an army gathered under one of the great captains, inside Altara, before I hear of it—when all of that has happened, you cannot expect me to be enamored of surprises.”

Nynaeve hoped her face did not look as sickly as she felt. Why could she not learn to hold her tongue occasionally? Abruptly she realized she could no longer sense the True Source; anger and embarrassment did not go together very well. It was probably to the good. If she could channel, she might make an ev