Dimana led him back, and the sul’dam remained on the ground. “How may Kaisea serve you, great Lord?” Her actions seemed a parody of Marille’s subservience. What Gawyn had originally taken for mockery wasn’t that at all—instead, it was the imperfect efforts of one who was highborn to imitate the lowly.

“Have you ever seen one of these before?” Gawyn asked casually, taking out the Bloodknife.

Kaisea gasped. “Where did you find that? Who gave it to you?” She cringed almost immediately, as if realizing that she’d stepped out of her assumed role.

“An assassin tried to kill me with it,” Gawyn said. “We fought, and he got away.”

“That is impossible, great Lord,” the Seanchan woman said, her voice more controlled.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because if you had fought one of the Bloodknives, great Lord, you would be dead. They are the most expert killers in all of the Empire. They fight the most ruthlessly, because they are already dead.”

“Suicide troops.” Gawyn nodded. “Do you have any information about them?”

Kaisea’s face grew conflicted.

“If I see you leashed?” Gawyn asked. “Will you answer me then?”

“My Lord!” Dimana said. “The Queen would never allow it!”

“I’ll ask her,” Gawyn said. “I can’t promise that you’ll be leashed, Kaisea, but I can promise I’ll intercede with the Queen for you.”

“You are powerful and strong, great Lord,” Kaisea said. “And wise indeed. If you will do this thing, Kaisea will answer you.”

Dimana glared at Gawyn.

“Speak,” Gawyn said to the sul’dam.

“Bloodknives do not live long,” Kaisea said. “Once they are given a duty, they do not rest from it. They are granted abilities from the Empress, may she live forever, ter’angreal rings that make them into great warriors.”

“Those blur their forms,” Gawyn said. “When they are near shadow.”

“Yes,” Kaisea said, sounding surprised that he knew this. “They cannot be defeated. But eventually, their own blood will kill them.”

“Their own blood?”

“They are poisoned by their service. Once they are given a charge, they often will not last more than a few weeks. At most, they survive a month.”

Gawyn held up the knife, disturbed. “So we only need to wait them out.”

Kaisea laughed. “That will not happen. Before they die, they will see their duty fulfilled.”

“This one is killing people slowly,” Gawyn said. “One every few days. A handful so far.”

“Tests,” Kaisea said. “Prodding for weaknesses and strengths, learning where they can strike without being seen. If only a few are dead, then you have not yet seen the full power of the Bloodknife. They do not leave a ‘handful’ of dead, but dozens.”

“Unless I stop him,” Gawyn said. “What are his weaknesses?”

Kaisea laughed again. “Weaknesses? Great Lord, did I not say that they are the finest warriors in Seanchan, enhanced and aided by the Empress’s favor, may she live forever?”

“Fine. What about the ter’angreal, then? It helps the assassin when he is in shadow? How can I stop it from working? Perhaps light a large number of torches?”

“You cannot have light without shadow, great Lord,” the woman said. “Create more light, and you will create more shadows.”

“There has to be a way.”

“Kaisea is certain that if there is one, great Lord, you will find it.” The woman’s response had a smug tone to it. “If Kaisea may suggest, great Lord? Count yourself fortunate to have survived fighting a Bloodknife. You must not have been his or her true target. It would be prudent to hide yourself until a month has passed. Allow the Empress—may she live forever—to accomplish her will, and bless the omens that you were given warning enough to escape and live.”

“That’s enough of that,” Dimana said. “I trust you have what you wish, Lord Trakand?”

“Yes, thank you,” Gawyn said, disturbed. He barely noticed as Kaisea rose and the Kinswoman led her charge away.

Count yourself fortunate to have survived…you must not truly have been his target…

Gawyn tested the throwing knife in his hands. The target was Egwene, obviously. Why else would the Seanchan expend such a powerful weapon? Perhaps they thought her death would bring down the White Tower.

Egwene had to be warned. If it made her angry at him, if it flew in the face of what she wanted, he had to bring her this information. It could save her life.

He was still standing there—considering how to approach Egwene—when a servant in red and white found him. She carried a plate with a sealed envelope on it. “My Lord Gawyn?”

“What’s this?” Gawyn asked, taking the letter and using the Bloodknife to cut it open along the top.

“From Tar Valon,” the servant said, bowing. “It came through a gateway.”

Gawyn unfolded the thick sheet of paper inside. He recognized Silviana’s script.

Gawyn Trakand, it read. The Amyrlin was thoroughly displeased to discover your departure. You were never instructed to leave the city. She has asked me to send this missive, explaining that you have been given ample time to idle in Caemlyn. Your presence is required in Tar Valon, and you are to return with all haste.

Gawyn read the letter, then read it again. Egwene screamed at him for disturbing her plans, all but threw him out of the Tower, and she was displeased to discover he’d left the city? What did she expect him to do? He almost laughed.

“My Lord?” the servant asked. “Would you like to send a reply?” There was paper and pen on the tray. “They implied that one would be expected.”

“Send her this,” Gawyn said, tossing the Bloodknife onto the tray. He felt so angry, suddenly, and all thoughts of returning fled his mind. Flaming woman!

“And tell her,” he added after a moment’s thought, “that the assassin is Seanchan, and carries a special ter’angreal that makes him difficult to see in shadows. Best to keep extra lights burning. The other murders were tests to gauge our defenses. She is the true target. Emphasize that the assassin is very, very dangerous—but not the person she thought it was. If she needs proof, she can come talk to some of the Seancha