I am still who I always have been. I will help them, as much as I can. “Tonight,” she said aloud, “I will use the ring.” Sitting down on the bed, she began to pull, on her stockings. Stout wool was hardly comfortable in this heat, but at least part of her would be decently clothed. Stout stockings, and stout shoes. Birgitte wore brocaded slippers, and gossamer silk stockings that surely looked cool. She put the thought firmly out of her head. “Just to see if Egwene is in the Stone. If she isn't, I will come back, and we won't use the ring again until the next scheduled meeting.”

Elayne watched her, with an unblinking stare that made her tug at her stockings in increasing discomfort. The woman did not say a word, but her expressionless gaze implied that Nynaeve might be lying. To Nynaeve it did. It did not help that the thought had flittered on the edge of consciousness, that she could easily make sure the ring was not touching her skin when she went to sleep; there was no real reason to believe that Egwene would be waiting in the Heart of the Stone tonight. She had never really considered it — the thought had drifted up unbidden — but it had been there, and made it hard to meet Elayne's eyes. What if she was afraid of Moghedien? It was only good sense, however it galled to admit it.

I will do what I must. She clamped down firmly on butterflies in the pit of her belly. By the time she tossed the shift down over her stockings, she was eager to don the blue dress and go out into the heat just to escape Elayne's eyes.

Elayne was just finishing helping her with the rows of small buttons up the back — and muttering that no one had helped her, as if anyone needed help with breeches — when the wagon door banged open, letting in a wave of hot air. Startled, Nynaeve jumped and covered her bosom with both hands before she could stop herself. When Birgitte climbed in instead of Valan Luca, she tried to pretend she was adjusting the neckline.

Smoothing identical brilliant blue silk over her hip, the taller woman pulled her thick black braid over one bare shoulder with a selfpleased grin. “If you want to draw attention; don't bother fiddling. It is too obvious. Just breathe deeply.” She demonstrated, then laughed at Nynaeve's scowl.

Nynaeve made an effort to keep her temper. Though why she should, she did not know. She could hardly imagine that she had felt guilt over what had happened. Gaidal Cain was probably glad to get away from the woman. And Birgitte got to wear her hair the way she wanted. Not that that had anything to do with anything. “I knew someone like you in the Two Rivers, Maerion. Calle knew every merchant's guard by his first name, and she certainly had no secrets from any of them.”

Birgitte's smile tightened. “And I knew a woman like you, once. Mathena looked down her nose at men, too, and even had a poor fellow executed for coming on her by accident while she swam naked. She had never even been kissed, until Zheres stole one from her. You'd have thought she had discovered men for the first time. She became so besotted, Zheres had to go live on a mountain to escape her. Watch out for the first man to kiss you. One has to come along sooner or later.”

Fists clenching, Nynaeve took a step toward her. Or tried to. Somehow Elayne was in between them, hands upraised.

“Both of you stop it this minute,” she said, eyeing them in turn with equal haughtiness. “Lini always said 'Waiting turns men into bears in a barn, and women into cats in a sack,' but you will stop clawing at one another right now! I will not put up with it any longer!”

To Nynaeve's surprise, Birgitte actually blushed and mumbled a sullen apology. To Elayne, of course, but the apology itself was the surprise. Birgitte had chosen to stay close to Elayne — there was no need for her to hide — but after three days the heat was apparently affecting her as badly as it did Elayne. For herself, Nynaeve gave the DaughterHeir her frostiest stare. She had managed to maintain an even disposition while they waited, cooped up together — she had — but Elayne certainly had no room to talk.

“Now,” Elayne said, still in that icy tone, “did you have some reason for barging in like a bull, or have you simply forgotten how to knock?”

Nynaeve opened her mouth to say something about cats — just a gentle reminder — but Birgitte forestalled her, if in a tighter voice.

“Thom and Juilin are back from the town.”

“Back!” Nynaeve exclaimed, and Birgitte glanced at her before returning to Elayne.

“You did not send them?” '

“I did not,” Elayne said grimly.

She was out of the door, Birgitte at her heels, before Nynaeve could say a word. There was nothing for it but to follow, grumbling to herself. Elayne had better not suddenly think she was the one giving orders. Nynaeve had still not forgiven her for revealing so much to the men.

The dry heat seemed even worse outside, for all the sun still sat on the canvas wall around the menagerie. Sweat popped out on her brow before she reached the foot of the ladder, but for once she did not grimace.

The two men sat on threelegged stools beside the cookfire, hair wild and coats looking as if they had rolled in the dirt. A trickle of red ran from beneath a wadded cloth Thom was pressing to his scalp, down across a fan of dried blood that covered his cheek and stained one long white mustache. A purple lump the size of a hen's egg stood out beside Juilin's eye, and he held his thumbthick staff of pale ridged wood in a hand roughly wrapped with a bloody bandage. That ridiculous conical red cap, sitting on the back of his head, appeared to have been trampled.

From the noises inside the canvas walls, the horse handlers were already at work cleaning cages, and no doubt Cerandin was with her s'redit — none of the men would go near them — but there was relatively little stir around the wagons as yet. Petra was smoking his longstemmed pipe while he helped Clarine prepare their breakfast. Two of the Chavanas were studying some piece of apparatus with Muelin, the contortionist, while the other pair were chatting with two of the six female acrobats Luca had hired away from Sillia Cerano's show. They claimed to be sisters named Murasaka, despite being even more disparate in looks and coloring than the Chavanas. One of the pair lounging in colorful silk robes with Brugh and Taeric had blue eyes and almost white hair, the other skin nearly as dark as her eyes. Everyone else was already garbed for the day's first performance, the men barechested in colorful breeches, Muelin in gauzy red and a tight matching vest, Clarine in highnecked green sequins.

Thom and Juilin attracted a few looks, but fortunately no one thought it necessary to come inquire after their health. Perhaps it was the hangdog way they sat, shoulders slumped, eyes on the ground under their boots. Doubtless they knew they were in for a tonguelashing that would sear their hides. Nynaeve certainly