Abruptly Bashere appeared in the Hall’s tall doorway. When he nodded, Rand sat up. At last. At bloody last. The green-and-white tassel swayed as he gestured with the dragon-carved length of Seanchan spear. "You’ve done well, Master Norry. Your report left nothing out. I will see that the gold you need is provided. But I must attend to other matters now, if you will forgive me."

The man gave no sign of curiosity or hurt at being cut off so abruptly. He merely stopped in midword, bowed with "As the Lord Dragon commands" in that same dry tone, and backed away three steps before turning. He did not even glance at Bashere in passing. Nothing real but the ledgers.

Impatiently, Rand nodded to Bashere and set himself erect and stiff-backed on the throne. The Aiel went silent. It made them seem twice as ready.

When the Saldaean entered, he did not come alone. Two men and two women followed close behind, none young, in rich silks and brocades. They tried to pretend Bashere did not exist, and almost carried it off, but the watchful Aiel among the columns were another story. Golden-haired Dyelin missed only a step, but Abelle and Luan, both graying yet hard-faced, frowned at the cadin’sor–clad figures and instinctively felt for the swords they did not wear today, while Ellorien, a plump dark-haired woman who would have been pretty were her face not so determinedly stony, stopped dead and glared before she came to herself and caught up to the others with a quick stride. Their first good view of Rand took them aback as well, all of them. Quick wondering glances passed between them. Perhaps they had thought he would be older.

"My Lord Dragon," Bashere intoned loudly, halting before the dais, "Lord of the Morning, Prince of the Dawn, True Defender of the Light, before whom the world kneels in awe, I give to you Lady Dyelin of House Taravin, Lord Abelle of House Pendar, Lady Ellorien of House Traemane, and Lord Luan of House Norwelyn."

The four Andorans looked at Bashere then, with tight lips and sharp sidelong glances. There had been something in his tone that made it sound as if he was giving Rand four horses. To say their spines stiffened would be to say water became wetter, yet it seemed so as they stared up at Rand. Mostly at Rand. Their eyes could not help drifting to the Lion Throne shining and glittering on its pedestal beyond his head.

He wanted to laugh at their outraged faces. Outraged, but also careful, and perhaps a touch impressed in spite of themselves. He and Bashere had worked out that list of titles between them, but the bit about the world kneeling was new, Bashere’s own late addition. Moiraine had given him the advice, though. He almost thought he heard her silvery voice again. How people see you first is what they hold hardest in their minds. It is the way of the world. You can step down from a throne, and even if you behave like a farmer in a pigsty, some part in each of them will remember that you did descend from a throne. But if they see only a young man first, a country man, they will resent him stepping up to his throne later, whatever his right, whatever his power. Well, if a title or two could make anything so, everything would be a deal easier.

I was the Lord of the Morning, Lews Therin mumbled. I am the Prince of the Dawn.

Rand kept his face smooth. "I will not welcome you – this is your land, and the palace of your queen – but I am pleased you accept my invitation." After five days and with just a few hours’ notice, but he did not mention that. Rising, he laid the Dragon Scepter on the throne, then trotted down from the dais. With a reserved smile – Never be hostile unless you must, Moiraine had said, but above all never be overly friendly. Never be eager– he gestured to five comfortably cushioned chairs with padded backs, set in a circle among the columns. "Join me. We will talk and have some chilled wine."

They followed, of course, eyeing the Aiel and him with equal curiosity and perhaps equal animosity, both poorly hidden. When they were all seated, gai’shaincame, silent in their hooded white robes, bringing wine and golden goblets already damp with condensation. Another stood behind each chair with a plumed fan, gently stirring the air. Every chair but Rand’s. They noted that, noted the lack of sweat on his face. But the gai’shaindid not perspire either, even in their robes, and neither did the other Aiel. He watched the nobles’ faces over his own winecup.

Andorans were proud of being more straightforward than many, and they were not slow to boast that the Game of Houses was far more entwined in other lands than in theirs, yet they still believed they could play Daes Dae’marwhen they had to. After a fashion they could, but the truth was, Cairhienin and even Tairens considered them simple when it came to the subtle move and countermove of the Great Game. These four kept their composure for the most part, but to someone schooled by Moiraine, schooled harder in Tear and Cairhien, they gave away much with every shift of eye, every slight change of expression.

First it dawned on them that there was no chair for Bashere. Quick looks flickered between them, a slight brightening, especially when they realized Bashere was striding from the throne room. All four actually let themselves glance after him with the faintest of satisfied smiles. They must dislike a Saldaean army in Andor as much as Naean and that lot did. Now their thoughts were obvious: Perhaps the foreigner’s influence was less than they had feared. Why, Bashere had been treated as no more than a superior servant.

Dyelin’s eyes widened slightly at almost the same instant as Luan’s, and only a moment ahead of the other two. For a moment they stared at Rand so closely it was plain they avoided looking at one another. Bashere was an outlander, but also the Marshal-General of Saldaea, three times a lord, and uncle to Queen Tenobia. If Rand used him like a servant...

"Excellent wine." Staring into his goblet, Luan hesitated before adding, "My Lord Dragon." It might have been pulled out of him with a rope.

"From the south," Ellorien said after a sip. "A Tunaighan Hills vintage. A wonder you can find ice in Caemlyn this year. I have heard people already calling this "‘The year without a winter.’ "

"Do you think I would waste time and effort finding ice," Rand said, "when so many troubles inflict the world?"

Abelle’s angular face paled, and he seemed to force himself to take another swallow. On the other hand, Luan emptied his winecup deliberately and thrust it out to be filled by a gai’shainwhose green eyes flashed a fury at strong odds with the obstinate mildness of his sun-dark face. Serving wetlanders was like being a servant, and Aiel despised the very notion of servants. How that disgust squared with the very concept of gai’shainRand had never been able to determine, but it was so.

Dyelin held her wine firmly on her knees and ignored it thereafter. This close, Rand could see touches of gray in her golden hair; she was still lovely, though in nothing except the hair did she look at all like Morgase or Elayne. Next in line for the throne, she must be a cousin at least, and close. Frowning briefly at him, she seemed on the point of shaking her head, but instead said, "We are concerned with the world’s troubles, but more with those inflicting Andor. Did you bring us here to find a cure?"

"If you know one," Rand replied simply. "If not, I must look elsewhere. Many think they know the right cure. If I cannot find the one I want, I will have to accept the next best." That tightened mouths. On the way here, Bashere had taken them through a courtyard where Arymilla and Lir and the rest of those had been left cooling their heels. Taking their ease in the Palace, it would seem. "I would think you’d want to help put Andor back together. You’ve heard my proclamation?" He did not have to say which one; in this context, there could be only one.