“The world rides on my shoulders,” he murmured. Suddenly he yelped and clapped a hand to his left buttock. It felt as though a needle had stabbed him, but he did not need the goose bumps fading on his arms to tell him what had happened. “What was that for?” he growled at Aviendha.

“Just to see whether the Lord Dragon was still made of flesh like the rest of us mortals.”

“I am,” he said flatly, and seized saidin — all the sweetness; all the filth — just, long enough to channel briefly.

Her eyes widened, but she did not flinch, only looked at him as if nothing had occurred at all. Still, as they crossed the anteroom, she rubbed furtively at her bottom when she thought he was looking the other way. It seemed she was ordinary flesh, too. Burn me. I thought I'd taught her a few manners.

Pulling open the door, he stepped out and stood staring. Mat was leaning on his odd spear with that broadbrimmed hat pulled low, a little apart from Asmodean, but that was not took him aback. There were no Maidens. He should have known something was wrong when Asmodean came in unannounced. Aviendha was looking around in amazement, as if she expected to find them behind one of the tapestries.

“Melindhra tried to kill me last night,” Mat said, and Rand stopped thinking about Maidens. “One minute we were talking, the next she was trying to kick my head off.”

Mat told the story in short sentences. The dagger with the golden bees. His conclusions. He closed his eyes when he told how he had ended it — a simple, stark, “I killed her” — and opened them again quickly as if he saw something behind his eyelids he did not care to see.

“I'm sorry you had to do that,” Rand said quietly, and Mat gave a bleak shrug.

“Better her than me. I suppose. She was a Darkfriend.” He did not sound as if it made much difference.

“I will settle Sammael. Just as soon as I'm ready.”

“And how many will that leave?”

“The Forsaken are not here,” Aviendha snapped. “And neither are the Maidens of the Spear. Where are they? What have you done, Rand al'Thor?”

“Me? There were twenty right here when I came to bed last night, and I haven't seen one since.”

“Perhaps it is because Mat...” Asmodean began, and stopped when Mat looked at him, a tightmouthed blend of pain and readiness to hit something.

“Do not be fools,” Aviendha said in a firm voice. “Far Dareis Mai would not claim toh against Mat Cauthon for this. She tried to kill him, and he killed her. Even her nearsisters would not, if she had had any. And no one would claim toh against Rand al'Thor for what another did, unless he ordered it done. You have done something, Rand al'Thor, something great and dark, or they would be here.”

“I've done nothing,” he told her sharply. “And I don't intend to stand here discussing it. Are you dressed for the ride south, Mat?”

Mat shoved a hand into his coat pocket, fingering something. He usually kept his dice and dicecup in there. “Caemlyn. I'm tired of them sneaking up on me. I want to sneak up on one of them for a change. I just hope I get the bloody pat on the head instead of the bloody flower,” he added with a grimace.

Rand did not ask him what he meant. Another ta'veren. Two together to twist chance perhaps. No way to tell how, or even if, but...“It seems like we'll be together a little longer.” Mat looked more resigned than anything else.

Before they had gone far down the tapestrylined corridor, Moiraine and Egwene met them, gliding along together as if the day held no more ahead than a walk in one of the gardens. Egwene, cooleyed and calm, golden Great Serpent on her finger, really could have been Aes Sedai despite her Aiel clothes and shawl and the folded scarf around her temples, while Moiraine... Gold threads caught the light, faintly streaking Moiraine's gown of shimmering blue silk. The small blue stone on her forehead, hanging from its gold chain fastened in her waves of dark hair, shone as brightly as the large goldset sapphires around her neck. Hardly suitable garb for what they intended, yet in his red coat, Rand could not comment.

Perhaps it was being here, where House Damodred had once held the Sun Throne, but Moiraine's graceful carriage was more regal than he remembered ever seeing it. Not even the presence of “Jasin Natael” could spoil that queenly serenity with surprise, but amazingly, she gave Mat a warm smile. “So you are going too, Mat. Learn to trust the Pattern. Do not waste your life attempting to change what cannot be changed.” From Mat's face, he might have been considering changing his mind about being there at all, but the Aes Sedai turned from him without a trace of worry. “These are for you, Rand.”

“More letters?” he said. One bore his name in an elegant hand that he recognized immediately. “From you, Moiraine?” The other carried Thom Merrilin's name. Both had been sealed with blue wax, apparently with her Great Serpent ring, impressed with the image of the snake biting its own tail. “Why write me a letter? And sealed. You've never been afraid to say whatever you wanted to say to my face. If I ever forgot it, Aviendha has been reminding me that I'm only flesh and blood.”

“You have changed from the boy I first saw outside the Winespring Inn.” Her voice was a soft silver chiming. “You are hardly the same at all. I pray you have changed enough.”

Egwene murmured something low. Rand thought it was “I pray you have not changed too much.” She was frowning at the letters as if she too wondered what was in them. So was Aviendha.

Moiraine went on more brightly, even briskly. “Seals ensure privacy. That contains things I wish you to think on; not now; when you have time for thinking. As for Thom's letter, I know no safer hands than yours in which to place it. Give it to him when you see him again. Now, there is something you must see at the docks.”

“The docks?” Rand said. “Moiraine, this morning of all mornings, I've no time for —”

But she was already moving down the corridor as if sure he would follow. “I have had horses readied. Even one for you, Mat, just in case.” Egwene hesitated only a moment, then followed.

Rand opened his mouth to call Moiraine back. She had sworn to obey. Whatever she had to show him, he could see it another day.

“What could an hour hurt?” Mat muttered. Perhaps he was reconsidering.

“It would not be amiss for you to be seen this morning,” Asmodean said. “Rahvin might just know of it as soon as it happens. If he has any suspicions — if he has any spies who may have listened at keyholes — it might al