The bump was more of a brush, really, and she did try to apologize, but the Aes Sedai fixed her with a stare to do a hawk proud. "Watch where you are going, Accepted. In my day, an Accepted who tried to trample Aes Sedai would have had hair whiter than mine by the time she finished scrubbing floors."

The other touched her arm. "Oh, do let the child go, Vandene. We have work to do."

Vandene directed a sharp sniff at Nynaeve, but allowed herself to be led outside.

Waiting a moment to let them leave, Nynaeve saw Sheriam come out of one of the meeting rooms with Myrelle, Morvrin and Beonin. Myrelle saw her, too, and started in her direction, but only a step before Sheriam and Morvrin each put a hand on the Green sister’s arms and spoke quickly and softly, with many a glance at Nynaeve. Still talking, the four crossed the room and disappeared through another door.

Nynaeve waited until she was back in front of the Little Tower before giving her braid a firm, deliberate tug. They had met the Wise Ones last night. Guessing why the others had stopped Myrelle from speaking was easy enough. If Egwene had finally been there in the Heart of the Stone, she was not to be told. Nynaeve al’Meara was in disgrace. Nynaeve al’Meara was scrubbing pots like a novice when she might have been at least a step higher than Accepted. Nynaeve al’Meara was getting nowhere with Theodrin, and all her marvelous discoveries had dried up. Nynaeve al’Meara would never be Aes Sedai. She had known it was a mistake to start funneling everything from Moghedien through Elayne. She had known it!

Her tongue tried to curl up at the memory of a vile taste. Boiled catfern and powdered mavinsleaf. An antidote she had used on many a child who would not stop lying. All right; she had been the one to suggest it herself, but it was still a mistake. Aes Sedai were no longer talking about her innovations; they talked about the lack of them. Aes Sedai who had never taken more than a passing interest in her block were now caught up in how to break it down. She could not win. One way or another she was going to end up with Aes Sedai examining her from hair to toenails, sunup to sundown.

She yanked harder on her braid, hard enough to hurt her scalp, and the way her head felt, that did nothing for her temper. A soldier in an archer’s flat helmet and padded jerkin slowed to look at her curiously, but she gave him such a stare of refined malevolence that he stumbled over his own feet and quickly lost himself in the throng. Whydid Elayne have to be so stubborn?

A man’s hands closed on her shoulders, and she whirled about with words that would rip his head from his neck. They died on her tongue.

Thom Merrilin grinned down at her through his long white mustaches, sharp blue eyes twinkling in his gnarled face. "By the look of you, Nynaeve, I could almost think you were angry, but I know you have such a sweet disposition people ask you to dabble your fingers in their tea."

Juilin Sandar was there beside him, the lean fellow looking carved from dark wood, leaning on his thumb-thick bamboo staff. Juilin was Tairen, not Taraboner, but he still wore that ridiculous flat-topped conical red cap, even more battered than she had last seen it. He snatched it off when she glanced at him. Both men were dusty and travel-worn, their faces gaunt, though neither had been particularly fleshy to begin with. They looked as if they had spent the weeks since leaving Salidar sleeping in their clothes when they were not in the saddle.

Before Nynaeve could open her mouth, they were hit by a human storm. Elayne flung herself at Thom so hard he staggered. He of course put his hands under her arms and hoisted her, whirling her around in a circle like a child despite his slight limp. He was laughing when he set her down again, and so was she. She reached up and tugged at one of his mustaches, and they fell to laughing even harder. He examined her hands, as wrinkled as Nynaeve’s, asking what sort of trouble she had dived into without him to keep her on the straight and narrow, and she replied that she had no need of anyone to tell her what to do, only she spoiled it by blushing, and giggling, and biting her lip.

Nynaeve took a deep breath. Sometimes the pair of them took playing at father and daughter entirely too far. Sometimes Elayne seemed to think she was about ten, and so did Thom. "I thought you had a novice class this morning, Elayne."

The other woman glanced at her sideways, then gathered herself in an attempt at decorum that came too late, and set about straightening her banded dress. "I asked Calindin to take it," she said casually. "I thought I might keep you company. And I’m glad I did," she added with a grin for Thom. "Now we can hear everything you learned in Amadicia."

Nynaeve sniffed. Keep her company indeed. She did not remember everything about yesterday, but she remembered Elayne laughing while getting her undressed and putting her to bed with the sun not yet all the way down. And she was sure she remembered the woman asking whether she wanted a bucket of water to cool her head.

Thom noticed nothing; most men were blind, though he was sharp enough usually. "We will have to be quick," he said. "Now Sheriam’s drained us dry, she means to have us report to some of the Sitters in person. Luckily, it boils down well enough. There aren’t enough Whitecloaks along the Eldar to keep a mouse from crossing, if he had drums and trumpets to announce him a day ahead. Except for a strong force on the Tarabon border and the men he has trying to hold back the Prophet in the north, Niall seems to be gathering every last Whitecloak around Amadicia, and Ailron is pulling in his soldiers, too. Talk of Salidar had started in the streets before we left, but if Niall has even thought about the place twice, I could find not a hint of it anywhere."

"Tarabon," Juilin muttered, studying his cap. "All ill country for anyone who doesn’t know how to take care of herself, or so we heard."

Nynaeve was not sure which of the two was best at dissembling, but she was sure either could lie to your face to make a wool merchant blue with envy. And right then, she was sure they were hiding something.

Elayne saw more than that. Gripping Thom’s lapel, she peered up at him. "You heard something about Mother," she said calmly, and it was not a question.

Thom knuckled his mustaches. "There are a hundred rumors on every street in Amadicia, child, each wilder than the last." His gnarled leathery face was pure innocence and openness, but the man had not been innocent the day he was born. "It’s said the whole White Tower is here in Salidar, with ten thousand Warders ready to cross the Eldar. It’s said Aes Sedai have captured Tanchico, and Rand has wings he uses to fly around in the night, and – "

"Thom?" Elayne said.

He snorted, glaring at Juilin and Nynaeve as though this were their fault. "Child, it’s just a rumor, as crazed as any we heard. I could not confirm anything, and believe me, I tried. I meant not to mention it. It just stirs up your pain. Let it pass, child."

"Thom." Much firmer. Shifting his feet, Juilin looked as if he wished he were somewhere else. Thom just looked grim.

"Well, if you must hear it. Everybody in Amadicia seems to think your mother is in the Fortress of the Light, that she’s going to lead an army of Whitecloaks back to Andor."

Elayne shook her head, laughing softly. "Oh, Thom, do you think I would worry over something like that? Mother would never go to the Whitecloaks. I could wish she had. I could wish she was alive to. Even though it violates everything she ever taught me – bringing foreign soldiers into Andor; and Whitecloaks! – I could wish it. But if wishes were wings... " Her smile was sad, but it was a muted sadness. "I have done my grieving, Thom. Mother is dead, and I must do my best to be worthy of her. She would never have gone running after ridiculous rumors, or wept over them either."