Nynaeve's stomach tried to flutter up into her chest. “But how? What has happened to Siuan? Egwene, the Tower doesn't depose an Amyrlin except for something serious. Only two in nearly three thousand years.”

“Maybe Rand was serious enough.” Egwene's voice was steady, though her eyes were still too wide. “Maybe she became ill with something the Yellows couldn't Heal, or fell down the stairs and broke her neck. What matters is that Elaida is Amyrlin. I don't think she will support Rand as Siuan did.”

“Moiraine,” Nynaeve muttered. “So sure that Siuan would put the Tower behind him.” She could not imagine Siuan Sanche dead. She had hated the woman often, been the slightest bit afraid of her on occasion — she could admit that now, to herself anyway — yet she had respected her, too. She had thought that Siuan would last forever. “Elaida. Light! She's as mean as a snake and as cruel as a cat. There's no telling what she might do.”

“I am afraid I have a clue.” Egwene pressed both hands to her stomach as though to quell flutters of her own. “It was a very short document. I managed to read it all. 'All loyal sisters are required to report the presence of the woman Moiraine Damodred. She is to be detained if possible, by whatever means are necessary, and returned to the White Tower for trial on charge of treason.' The same sort of language that was apparently used about Elayne.”

“If Elaida wants Moiraine arrested, it must mean she knows Moiraine has been helping Rand, and she does not like it.” Talking was good. Talking kept her from sicking up. Treason. They stilled women for that. She had wanted to bring Moiraine down. Now Elaida was going to do it for her. “She certainly won't support Rand.”

“Exactly.”

“Loyal sisters. Egwene, that fits with the Macura woman's message. Whatever happened to Siuan, the Ajahs have split over Elaida as Amyrlin. It must be.”

“Yes, of course. Very good, Nynaeve. I did not see that.”

Her smile was so pleased that Nynaeve smiled back. “There's a report on Siu— the Amyrlin's writing table about a gathering of Blues. I was just reading it when you shouted. I'll wager the Blues didn't support Elaida.” The Blue and Red Ajahs had a sort of armed truce at the best of times, and came near going for each other's throats at the worst.

But when they went back into the inner room, the report was not to be found. There were plenty of documents — Joline's letter had reappeared; a brief reading made Egwene's eyebrows climb nearly to her hair — but not the one that they wanted.

“Can you remember what it said?” Egwene asked.

"I had just gotten a few lines when you shouted, and... I just can't

remember."

“Try, Nynaeve. Try very hard.”

“I am, Egwene, but it will not come. I am trying.”

What she was doing hit Nynaeve like a sudden hammer between the eyes. Excusing herself. To Egwene, a girl whose bottom she had switched for throwing a tantrum not more than two years ago. And a moment earlier she had been proud as a hen with a new egg because Egwene was pleased with her. She remembered quite clearly the day when the balance between them had shifted, when they ceased being the Wisdom and the girl who fetched when the Wisdom said fetch, becoming instead just two women far from home. It seemed that balance had shifted further, and she did not like it. She was going to have to do something to move it back where it belonged.

The lie. She had deliberately lied to Egwene for the first time ever today. That was why her moral authority had vanished, why she was floundering around, unable to assert herself properly. “I drank the tea, Egwene.” She forced each word deliberately. She had to force them. “The Macura woman's forkroot tea. She and Luci hauled us upstairs like sacks of feathers. That is about how much strength we had between us. If Thom and Juilin hadn't come to pull us out by the scruffs of our necks, we would probably be there still. Or else on our way to the Tower, so full of forkroot we wouldn't wake up until we got here.” Taking a deep breath, she tried for a tone of righteous firmness, but it was difficult when you had just confessed to having been an utter fool. What came out sounded much more tentative than she liked. “If you tell the Wise Ones about this — especially that Melaine — I'll box your ears.”

Something in that should have sparked Egwene's ire. It seemed odd to want to start a row — usually their quarrels were over Egwene refusing to see reason, and they seldom ended pleasantly, since the girl had formed the habit of continuing to refuse — but that was certainly better than this. Yet Egwene only smiled at her. An amused smile. A condescending amused smile.

“I more than suspected as much, Nynaeve. You used to drone on about herbs day and night, but you never mentioned any plant called forkroot. I was sure you'd never heard of it until that woman mentioned it. You've always tried to put the best face on things. If you fell head first into a pigsty, you'd try to convince everybody you did it on purpose. Now, what we have to decide —”

“I do no such thing,” Nynaeve spluttered.

“You certainly do. Facts are facts. You might as well stop whining about it and help me decide —”

Whining! This was not going at all the way she wanted. “They are no such thing. Not facts, I mean. I have never done what you said.”

For a moment Egwene stared at her silently. “You will not let go of this, will you? Very well. You lied to me...”

“It was not a lie,” she muttered. “Not exactly.”

The other woman ignored her interruption. “... And you lie to yourself. Do you remember what you made me drink the last time I lied to you?” Suddenly a cup was in her hand, full of viscous sickly green liquid; it looked as if it had been scooped from a scummy stagnant pond. “The only time I ever lied to you. The memory of that taste was an effective discouragement. If you cannot tell the truth even to yourself...”

Nynaeve took a step back before she could stop herself. Boiled catfern and powdered mavinsleaf; her tongue writhed at just the thought. “I did not really lie, actually.” Why was she making excuses? “I just didn't tell the whole truth.” I am the Wisdom! I was the Wisdom; that ought to count for something still. “You cannot really think...” Just tell her. You're not the child here, and you certainly are not going to drink. “Egwene, I —” Egwene pushed the cup nearly under her nose; she could smell the acrid tang. “All right,” she said hastily. This can't be happening! But she could not take her eyes off that brimming cup, and she could not stop the words tumbling out. “Sometimes I try to make things look better for myself than they were. Sometimes. But never anything important. I've never — lied — about anything important. Never, I swear. Only small things.” The cup vanished, and Nynaeve heaved a sigh of relief. Fool, fool woman! She couldn't have made you drink i