"A reward offered for news of Elayne," Ellorien said flatly, her face becoming even stonier, "who is to be made queen now that Morgase is dead."

Dyelin nodded. "That seemed well, to me."

"Not to me!" Ellorien snapped. "Morgase betrayed her friends and spurned her oldest adherents. Let us see an end to House Trakand on the Lion Throne." She seemed to have forgotten Rand. They all did.

"Dyelin," Luari said curtly. She shook her head as if she had heard this before, but he went on. "She has the best claim. I speak for Dyelin."

"Elayne is the Daughter-Heir," the golden-haired woman told them levelly. "Ispeak for Elayne."

"What does it matter who any of us speak for?" Abelle demanded. "If he killed Morgase, he will – " Abelle cut off abruptly with a grimace, then looked at Rand, not exactly in defiance, but definitely daring him to do his worst. And expecting him to.

"Do you really believe that?" Rand glanced sadly at the Lion Throne on its pedestal. "Why under the Light would I kill Morgase only to hand that to Elayne?"

"Few know what to believe," Ellorien said stiffly. Spots of color still stained her cheeks. "People say many things, most foolish."

"Such as?" He directed the question to her, but it was Dyelin who answered, looking him straight in the eye.

"That you will fight the Last Battle and kill the Dark One. That you are a false Dragon, or an Aes Sedai puppet, or both. That you’re Morgase’s illegitimate son, or a Tairen High Lord, or an Aielman." She frowned again for a moment, but did not stop. "That you are the son of an Aes Sedai by the Dark One. That you arethe Dark One, or else the Creator clothed in flesh. That you will destroy the world, save it, subjugate it, bring a new Age. As many tales as there are mouths. Most say you killed Morgase. Many add Elayne. They say your proclamation is a mask to hide your crimes."

Rand sighed. Some of those sayings were worse than any he had heard. "I won’t ask which you believe." Why did she keep frowning at him? She was not the only one. Luan did too, and Abelle and Ellorien darted the sort of glances at him that he had come to expect from Arymilla’s bunch when they thought he was not looking. Watching. Watching. That was Lews Therin, a hoarse giggling whisper. I see you. Who sees me?"Instead, will you help me make Andor whole again? I don’t want Andor to become another Cairhien, or worse, a Tarabon or Arad Doman."

"I know something of the Karaethon Cycle," Abelle said. "I believe you are the Dragon Reborn, but nothing there speaks of you ruling, only fighting the Dark One at Tarmon Gai’don."

Rand’s hand tightened on his goblet so hard the dark surface of the wine trembled. How much easier if these four were like most of the Tairen High Lords, or the Cairhienin, but not one of them wanted a shaving more power for themselves than they already had. However the wine had been chilled, he doubted the One Power would intimidate this lot. In all likelihood, they’d tell me to kill them and be burned for it!

Burn for it, Lews Therin echoed morosely.

"How many times must I say I don’t want to rule Andor? When Elayne sits on the Lion Throne, I will leave Andor. And never return, if I have my way."

"If the throne belongs to anyone," Ellorien said tightly, "it belongs to Dyelin. If you mean what you say, see her crowned, and go. Then Andor will be whole, and I don’t doubt Andoran soldiers will follow you to the Last Battle, if that’s what is called for."

"I refuse still," Dyelin answered in a strong voice, then turned to Rand. "I will wait and consider, my Lord Dragon. When I see Elayne alive and crowned, and you leave Andor, I will send my retainers to follow you whether anyone else in Andor does the same. But if time passes and you still reign here, or if your Aiel savages do here what I’ve heard they did in Cairhien and Tear" – she scowled at the Maidens and Red Shields, and the gai’shaintoo, as if she saw them looting and burning – "or you loose here those... men you gather with your amnesty, then I will come against you, whether anyone else in Andor does the same."

"And I will ride beside you," Luan said firmly.

"And I," Ellorien said, echoed by Abelle.

Rand threw back his head and laughed in spite of himself, half mirth, half frustration. Light! And I thought honest opposition would be better than sneaking behind my back or licking my boots!

They eyed him uneasily, doubtless thinking it was madness at work. Maybe it was. He was not sure himself anymore.

"Consider what you must," he told them, standing to end the audience. "I mean what I said. But consider this as well. Tarmon Gai’don is coming closer. I don’t know how long we have for you to spend considering."

They made their goodbyes – a careful bow of the head, as between equals, and at that more than when they arrived – but as they turned to go, Rand caught Dyelin’s sleeve. "I have a question for you." The others paused, half turning back. "A private question." After a moment she nodded, and her companions moved a little way down the throne room. They watched closely, but they were not near enough to hear. "You looked at me... strangely," he said. You and every other noble I’ve met in Caemlyn. Every Andoran noble, at least. "Why?"

Dyelin peered up at him, then finally nodded slightly to herself. "What is your mother’s name?"

Rand blinked. "My mother?" Kari al’Thor was his mother. That was how he thought of her; she had raised him from infancy, until she died. But he decided to give her the cold truth he had learned in the Waste. "My mother’s name was Shaiel. She was a Maiden of the Spear. My father was Janduin, clan chief of the Taardad Aiel." Her eyebrows rose doubtfully. "I will swear it on any oath you choose. What does that have to do with what I want to know? They’re both long dead."

Relief crept across her face. "A chance resemblance, it seems; no more. I do not mean to say you don’t know your parents, but you have the west of Andor on your tongue."

"A resemblance? I grew up in the Two Rivers, but my parents were as I said. Who do I look like to make you stare at me?"

She hesitated, then sighed. "I do not suppose it matters. Someday you must tell me how you had Aiel parents yet were raised in Andor. Twenty-five years ago, more now, the Daughter-Heir of Andor vanished in the night. Her name was Tigraine. She left behind a husband, Taringail, and a son, Galad. I know it is only chance, yet I see Tigraine in your face. It was a shock."

Rand felt a shock of his own. He felt cold. Fragments of the tale the Wise Ones had told him spun through his head... a golden-haired young wetlander, in silks... son she loved; a husband she did not... Shaiel was the name she took. She never gave another... You have something of her in your features. "How was it that Tigraine vanished? I have an interest in the history of Andor."

"I will thank you not to call it history, my Lord Dragon. I was a girl when it happened, but more than a child, and here in the Palace often. One morning, Tigraine simply was not in the Palace, and she was never seen again. Some claimed to see Taringail’s hand in it, but he was half-mad with grief. Taringail Damodred wanted more than anything else in the world to see his daughter Queen of Andor and his son King of Cairhien. He was Cairhienin, Taringail. That marriage was meant to stop the wars with Cairhien, and it did, yet Tigraine vanishing made them think Andor wanted to break the treaty, which led them to scheme the way Cairhienin do, which led to Laman’s Pride. And you of course know where that led," she added dryly. "My father said Gitara Sedai was really at fault."

"Gitara?" A wonder he did not sound strangled. He had heard that name more than once. It had been an Aes Sedai named Gitara Moroso, a woman with the Foretelling, who announced that the Dragon had been Reborn on the slopes of Dragonmount, and so set Moiraine and Siuan on their long search. It had been Gitara Moroso who years before that told "Shaiel" that unless she fled to the Waste, telling no one, and became a Maiden of the Spear, disaster would fall on Andor and the world.