“Not what I was hoping to use this bed for,” he muttered. She was not sure she had been supposed to hear.
She laughed. “I enjoy you holding me just as much as... as the other.” Strangely, he smiled at her as if he knew she was lying. Her Aunt Miren claimed that was one of the three lies any man would believe from a woman.
“If I am interrupting,” a woman’s cool voice said from the doorway, “I suppose I could return when it is more convenient.”
Min jerked away from Rand as though burned, but when he pulled her back, she settled against him again. She recognized the Aes Sedai standing in the doorway, a plump little Cairhienin with four thin stripes of color across her full bosom and white slashes in her dark skirts. Daigian Moseneillin was one of the sisters who had come with Cadsuane. And she was almost as overbearing as Cadsuane herself, in Min’s opinion.
“Who might you be when you’re at home?” Rand said lazily. “Whoever you are, didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” Min realized that every muscle in the arm holding her was hard as a rock, though.
The moonstone dangling onto Daigian’s forehead on a thin silver chain swung as she slowly shook her head. Plainly, she was not pleased. “Cadsuane Sedai received your request,” she said, even more coolly than before, “and asked me to convey her regrets. She very much wishes to finish the piece of needlepoint she is working on. Perhaps she might be able to see you another day. If she can find time.”
“Is that what she said?” Rand asked dangerously.
Daigian sniffed disdainfully. “I will leave you to resume... whatever you were doing.” Min wondered whether she could get away with slapping an Aes Sedai. Daigian eyed her frostily, as if hearing the thought, and turned to glide from the room.
Rand sat up with a muffled oath. “You tell Cadsuane she can go to the Pit of Doom!” he shouted after the retreating sister. “Tell her she can rot!”
“It won’t do, Rand,” Min sighed. This was going to be harder than she had thought. “You need Cadsuane. She doesn’t need you.”
“Doesn’t she?” he said softly, and she shivered. She had only thought his voice was dangerous before.
Rand prepared carefully, dressing in the green coat again, sending Min with messages for the Maidens to carry. At least they would still do that. His ribs ached almost as much on his right side as the wounds did on his left, and his belly felt as he had been beaten with a board. He had promised them. He seized hold of saidin alone in his bedchamber, unwilling to let even Min see him falter again. He could keep her safe, at least, somehow, but how could she feel safe if she saw him about to fall over? He had to be strong, for her sake. He had to be strong, for the world. That bundle of emotions in the back of his head that was Alanna reminded him of the cost of carelessness. Right then, Alanna was sulking. She must have pushed a Wise One too far, because if she was sitting, she was sitting gingerly.
“I still think this is lunacy, Rand al’Thor,” Min said as he placed the Crown of Swords carefully on his head. He did not want those tiny blades to draw blood again now. “Are you listening to me? Well, if you intend to go through with it, I’m going with you. You admitted you need me, and you’ll need me more than ever for this!” She was in full fig, fists on her hips, foot tapping, eyes all but glowing.
“You’re staying here,” he told her firmly. He was still not sure what he intended to do, not fully, and he did not want her to see him stumble. He was very afraid he might stumble. He expected an argument, though.
She frowned at him, and her foot stopped tapping. The angry light in her eyes faded into worry that vanished in a twinkling. “Well, I suppose you’re old enough to cross the stableyard without your hand held, sheepherder. Besides, I am falling behind in my reading.”
Dropping into one of the tall gilded chairs, she folded her legs beneath her and picked up the book she had been reading when he came in. In moments, she seemed totally engrossed in the page before her.
Rand nodded. That was what he wanted; her here, and safe. Still, she did not have to forget him so completely.
There were six Maidens squatting in the hallway outside his door. They stared at him flateyed, not speaking, Nandera’s gaze the flattest of all. Though Somara and Nesair came close. He thought Nesair was Shaido; he would have to keep a hard eye on her.
The Asha’man were waiting, too — Lews Therin muttered darkly of killing in Rand’s head — all but Narishma with the Dragon on their collars as well as the Sword. Curtly, he ordered Narishma to stand guard on his apartments, and the man saluted sharply, those dark toobig eyes seeing too much, faintly accusing. Rand did not think the Maidens would take out their displeasure on Min, but he was not taking any chances. Light, he had told Narishma everything about the traps he had woven in the Stone when he sent the man to fetch Callandor. The man was imagining things. Burn him, but that had been a mad risk to take.
Only madmen never trust. Lews Therin sounded amused. And quite mad. The wounds in Rand’s side throbbed; they seemed to resonate with each other in distant pain.
“Show me where to find Cadsuane,” he commanded. Nandera rose smoothly to her feet and started off without a backward glance. He followed, and the others fell in behind him, Dashiva and Flinn, Morr and Hopwil. He gave them hasty instructions as they walked. Flinn, of all people, tried to protest, but Rand bore him down; this was no time for quailing. The grizzled onetime Guardsman was the last Rand had expected it of. Morr or Hopwil, perhaps. If no longer exactly dewyeyed, they were still young enough to leave their razors dry as many days as wet. But not Flinn. Nandera’s soft boots made no sound; their footsteps reverberated from the high squarevaulted ceiling, chasing away everyone with the shadow of a reason for fear. His wounds pulsed.
Every last person in the Sun Palace knew the Dragon Reborn on sight by now, and they knew who the blackcoated men were, too. Blackliveried servants made deep bows or curtsies, and hurried to get out of his sight. Most nobles were almost as quick to put distance between themselves and five men who could channel, going somewhere with purpose on their faces. Ailil watched them pass with an unreadable expression. Anaiyella simpered, of course, but when Rand glanced back, she was staring after him with a face to match Nandera’s. Bertome smiled as he made his leg, a dark smile with neither mirth nor pleasure in it.
Nandera did not speak even when they reached their destination, merely pointed to a closed door with one of her spears, turned on her heel, and strode back the way they had come. The Car’a’carn without a single Maiden to guard him. Did they think four Asha’man enough to keep him safe? Or was her departure an