Mat stepped down into the hallway after her, wearing a scarf up around his face, his wet brown hair plastered to his head. His eyes darted from side to side, a quarterstaff held at guard.

Birgitte knelt by Elayne’s side. “Are you all right?” she asked urgently.

Elayne nodded in exhaustion. “I got myself out of this one.” In a way. “Did you happen to do the world a favor and kill Mellar on your way in?”

“Mellar?” Birgitte asked, alarmed. “No. Elayne, there’s blood on your dress!”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Really, I’ve been Healed.”

So Mellar was free. “Quickly,” she said. “Search the hallways. The Guards and the Kin who were guarding this place—”

“We found them,” Birgitte said. “Stuffed into the bottom of the stairwell. Dead. Elayne, what happened?” To the side, Mat poked at Temaile’s corpse, noting the dagger wound in her chest.

Elayne pressed her hands to her abdomen. Her babes would be all right, wouldn’t they? “I did something very rash, Birgitte, and I know that you are going to scream at me for it. But would you first please take me to my rooms? I think we should have Melfane look at me. Just in case.”

An hour after the failed assassination attempt on Egwene, Gawyn stood alone in a small room that was part of the Amyrlin’s chambers. He’d been released from the weaves that had held him, then told to stay put.

Egwene finally strode into the room. “Sit,” she said.

He hesitated, but her fierce eyes could have set candles aflame. He sat down on the stool. This small room held several dressers and trunks for clothing. The doorway led out to the larger sitting room where he’d been captured in weaves; a doorway off of that room led to Egwene’s bedchamber.

Egwene shut the door, sequestering the two of them from the many guards, Warders and Aes Sedai milling about in the rooms outside. Their conversations made a low hum through the door. Egwene still wore red and gold, and she had golden threads woven into her dark hair. Her cheeks were flushed with anger at him. That made her even more beautiful than usual.

“Egwene, I—”

“Do you realize what you have done?”

“I checked to see if the woman I love was safe, following the discovery of an assassin outside her door.”

She folded her arms beneath her br**sts. He could almost feel the heat of her anger. “Your yelling has drawn half of the White Tower. They saw you captured. The assassin probably knows, now, about my weaves.”

“Light, Egwene! You talk as if I did it on purpose. I was only trying to protect you.”

“I didn’t ask for your protection! I asked for your obedience! Gawyn, don’t you see the opportunity we’ve missed? If you hadn’t scared Mesaana away, she’d have walked into my traps!”

“It wasn’t one of the Forsaken,” Gawyn said. “It was a man.”

“You said you couldn’t see the face or make out the figure because it was blurred.”

“Well, yes,” Gawyn said. “But he fought with the sword.”

“And a woman couldn’t use a sword? The size of the person you saw indicated a woman.”

“Maybe, but one of the Forsaken? Light, Egwene, if it had been Mesaana, then she’d have used the Power to burn me to dust!”

“Another reason,” Egwene said, “that you should not have disobeyed me! Perhaps you’re right—perhaps this was one of Mesaana’s minions. A Darkfriend or Gray Man. If that were the case, I’d have them captive and be able to learn about Mesaana’s plots. And Gawyn, what if you had found Mesaana? What could you have done?”

He looked down at the floor.

“I told you that I had taken precautions,” she continued. “And still you disobeyed! And now, because of what you’ve done, the murderer knows that I was anticipating her. She’ll be more careful next time. How many lives do you think you just cost us?”

Gawyn kept his hands in his lap, trying to hide the fists that they had formed. He should have felt ashamed, but all he could feel was anger. A rage he couldn’t explain—frustration at himself, but mostly at Egwene for turning an honest mistake into a personal affront.

“It seems to me,” he said, “that you don’t want a Warder at all. Because I’ll tell you, Egwene, if you can’t stand being looked after, then no man will do.”

“Perhaps you are right,” she said curtly. Her skirts rustled as she pulled open the door to the hall, went out and then pulled it closed behind her. Not quite a slam.

Gawyn stood up and wanted to kick the door. Light, what a mess this had become!

He could hear Egwene through the door, sending the gawkers back to their beds, ordering the Tower Guard to be extra vigilant tonight. That was likely for show. She knew that the assassin wouldn’t try again so soon.

Gawyn slipped out of the room and left. She noted his departure, but said nothing to him, instead turning to speak softly with Silviana. The Red had a glare for Gawyn that would have made a boulder wince.

Gawyn passed several guards who—for their parts—seemed respectful of Gawyn. As far as they knew, he’d foiled an attempt on the Amyrlin’s life. Gawyn nodded to their salutes. Chubain stood nearby, inspecting the knife that had nearly taken Gawyn in the chest.

Chubain held up the knife to him. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

Gawyn took the narrow, sleek knife. It was balanced for throwing, with a fine steel blade that looked something like an elongated candle’s flame. Set into the center were three bits of blood-colored rock.

“What kind of stone is that?” Gawyn asked, holding the knife up to the light.

“I’ve never seen it before.”

Gawyn turned the knife over a few times. There weren’t any inscriptions or carvings. “This came within half a breath of claiming my life.”

“You can take it, if you wish,” Chubain said. “Maybe you can ask Bryne’s men if they’ve ever seen one like it. We have a second one we found down the hallway.”

“It was also intended for my heart,” Gawyn said, tucking the knife into his belt. “Thank you. I have a gift for you in return.”

Chubain raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve been complaining of the men you lost,” Gawyn said. “Well, I’ve a group of soldiers I can r