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Authors: Robert Jordan
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Nynaeve, however, the woman fixed by turns. Aviendha could have tracked yesterday’s wind before reading anything on Teslyn Baradon’s face now.
“I did already tell Merilille,” she said in a thick Illianer accent, “but I may as well put your minds at rest, also. Whatever . . . mischief . . . you do be about, Joline and I will no interfere. I did see to that. Elaida may never learn of it, if you do have some care. Stop gaping at me like carp, children,” she added with a grimace of distaste. “I be neither blind nor deaf. I do know of Sea Folk Windfinders in the palace, and secret meetings with Queen Tylin. And other things.” That thin mouth tightened, and though her tone remained serene, her dark gaze flared with anger. “You will pay dearly yet for those other things, you and those who do allow you to play at being Aes Sedai, but I will look aside for now. Atonement can wait.”
Nynaeve took a tight grip on her braid, back straight, head high, and her own eyes blazed. Under different circumstances Aviendha might have found some sympathy for the target of the tongue-lashing plainly about to erupt. Nynaeve’s tongue carried more spines than a hair-needle
segade
, and sharper ones. Coldly, Aviendha considered this woman who thought she could look right through her. A Wise One did not stoop to thrashing someone with her fists, but she was still only an apprentice; perhaps it would not cost her
ji
if she just bruised this Teslyn Baradon a little. She opened her mouth to give the Red sister a chance to defend herself at the same instant Nynaeve opened hers, yet Elayne spoke first.
“What we are
about
, Teslyn,” she said in a chill voice, “is none of your business.” She, too, stood straight, her eyes blue ice; a chance ray of light from a high window caught her golden-red curls, seeming to set them afire. Right then, Elayne could have made a roof-mistress seem a goatherd with too much
oosquai
in her belly. It was a skill she honed well. She delivered each word with cold crystal dignity. “You have no right to interfere in anything we do, in anything that
any
sister does. No right whatsoever. So pull your nose out of our coats, you summer ham, and be glad we do not choose to take issue with
you
supporting a usurper on the Amyrlin Seat.”
Perplexed, Aviendha glanced sideways at her near-sister. Pull her
nose
out of their
coats?
She and Elayne, at least, were not wearing coats. A summer ham? What did
that
mean? Wetlanders often said peculiar things, but the other women all looked as puzzled as she. Only Lan, staring at Elayne askance, appeared to understand, and he seemed . . . startled. And perhaps amused. It was difficult to tell;
Aan’allein
controlled his features well.
Teslyn Baradon sniffed, pinching her face even tighter. Aviendha was trying hard to call these people by only part of their names the way they themselves did—when she used a whole name, they thought she was upset!—but she could not begin to imagine being so intimate with Teslyn Baradon. “I will leave you foolish children to your
business,”
the woman growled. “Be sure you do no get
your
noses caught in a worse crack than they already do be.”
As she turned to go, gathering her skirts grandly, Nynaeve caught her arm. Wetlanders usually let emotion gild their faces, and Nynaeve’s was the image of conflict, anger struggling to break through fixed determination. “Wait, Teslyn,” she said reluctantly. “You and Joline may be in danger. I told Tylin, but I think she may be afraid to tell anyone else. Unwilling, anyway. It’s nothing anybody really wants to talk about.” She drew a long, deep breath, and if she was thinking of her own fears in the matter, she had cause. There was no shame in feeling fear, only in giving way to it, or letting it show. Aviendha felt a flutter in her own belly as Nynaeve went on. “Moghedien has been here in Ebou Dar. She might still be. And maybe another of the Forsaken, too. With a
gholam
, a
“I did already tell Merilille,” she said in a thick Illianer accent, “but I may as well put your minds at rest, also. Whatever . . . mischief . . . you do be about, Joline and I will no interfere. I did see to that. Elaida may never learn of it, if you do have some care. Stop gaping at me like carp, children,” she added with a grimace of distaste. “I be neither blind nor deaf. I do know of Sea Folk Windfinders in the palace, and secret meetings with Queen Tylin. And other things.” That thin mouth tightened, and though her tone remained serene, her dark gaze flared with anger. “You will pay dearly yet for those other things, you and those who do allow you to play at being Aes Sedai, but I will look aside for now. Atonement can wait.”
Nynaeve took a tight grip on her braid, back straight, head high, and her own eyes blazed. Under different circumstances Aviendha might have found some sympathy for the target of the tongue-lashing plainly about to erupt. Nynaeve’s tongue carried more spines than a hair-needle
segade
, and sharper ones. Coldly, Aviendha considered this woman who thought she could look right through her. A Wise One did not stoop to thrashing someone with her fists, but she was still only an apprentice; perhaps it would not cost her
ji
if she just bruised this Teslyn Baradon a little. She opened her mouth to give the Red sister a chance to defend herself at the same instant Nynaeve opened hers, yet Elayne spoke first.
“What we are
about
, Teslyn,” she said in a chill voice, “is none of your business.” She, too, stood straight, her eyes blue ice; a chance ray of light from a high window caught her golden-red curls, seeming to set them afire. Right then, Elayne could have made a roof-mistress seem a goatherd with too much
oosquai
in her belly. It was a skill she honed well. She delivered each word with cold crystal dignity. “You have no right to interfere in anything we do, in anything that
any
sister does. No right whatsoever. So pull your nose out of our coats, you summer ham, and be glad we do not choose to take issue with
you
supporting a usurper on the Amyrlin Seat.”
Perplexed, Aviendha glanced sideways at her near-sister. Pull her
nose
out of their
coats?
She and Elayne, at least, were not wearing coats. A summer ham? What did
that
mean? Wetlanders often said peculiar things, but the other women all looked as puzzled as she. Only Lan, staring at Elayne askance, appeared to understand, and he seemed . . . startled. And perhaps amused. It was difficult to tell;
Aan’allein
controlled his features well.
Teslyn Baradon sniffed, pinching her face even tighter. Aviendha was trying hard to call these people by only part of their names the way they themselves did—when she used a whole name, they thought she was upset!—but she could not begin to imagine being so intimate with Teslyn Baradon. “I will leave you foolish children to your
business,”
the woman growled. “Be sure you do no get
your
noses caught in a worse crack than they already do be.”
As she turned to go, gathering her skirts grandly, Nynaeve caught her arm. Wetlanders usually let emotion gild their faces, and Nynaeve’s was the image of conflict, anger struggling to break through fixed determination. “Wait, Teslyn,” she said reluctantly. “You and Joline may be in danger. I told Tylin, but I think she may be afraid to tell anyone else. Unwilling, anyway. It’s nothing anybody really wants to talk about.” She drew a long, deep breath, and if she was thinking of her own fears in the matter, she had cause. There was no shame in feeling fear, only in giving way to it, or letting it show. Aviendha felt a flutter in her own belly as Nynaeve went on. “Moghedien has been here in Ebou Dar. She might still be. And maybe another of the Forsaken, too. With a
gholam
, a
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