Juilin finally arrived, then, cloaked and fully accoutered, with his short sword and notched sword-breaker at his belt and his thin bamboo staff in one hand. A slender, dark-haired woman in the thick white robes worn by da’covale outside clung to his right arm. She was pretty, in a pouty way, with a rosebud mouth, but five or six years older than Mat had expected, and her large dark eyes darted timidly. At the sight of Tuon, she squeaked and let go of Juilin as though he were a hot stove, folding herself to the floor beside the door with her head on her knees.
“I had to talk Thera into running away all over again,” the thief-catcher sighed, giving her a concerned look. That was all the explanation he made for his lateness, before turning his attention to Noal’s burden. Pushing back the ridiculous conical red cap he wore, he scratched his head. “And what do we do with her?” he asked simply.
“Leave her in the stables,” Mat replied. They would if Vanin had convinced the grooms to let him and Harnan tend to any messengers’ horses that came in. Until now, that had seemed like only an added precaution, not really necessary. Until now. “In the hayloft. She shouldn’t be found before morning, when they fork down fresh hay for the stalls.”
“And I thought you were kidnapping her,” Noal sighed, setting Tuon’s bound feet back on the floor and shifting his hold on her to gripping her upper arms. Head high, the little woman disdained to struggle. Even with a gag in her mouth, scorn was clear on her face. She refused to fight, not because it was hopeless, but because she did not choose to fight.
Bootsteps echoed in the corridor leading to the anteroom, growing louder. It could be Egeanin at last. Or the way the night seemed to be turning, it might be Deathwatch Guards. The Ogier sort.
Hastily, Mat motioned the other toward corners out of sight of anyone coming through the door, then hobbled over to pick up his black spear. Juilin pulled Thera to her feet and drew her to his left, where she crouched in the corner while he stood in front of her with his staff held in both hands. It appeared a frail weapon, but the thief-catcher could use it to great effect. Noal dragged Tuon to the opposite corner of the room and released one of her arms to put a hand inside his coat, where he kept his long knives. Mat planted himself in the middle of the room with his back to the rain-soaked night, the ashandarei upright in front of him. No matter who came into the room, he was not going to be able to dance about, with his hip knotted in a fist from Tuon’s kicks, but if worse came to worst, he could at least leave marks on a few people.
When Egeanin strode through that doorway, he sagged on the spear in relief. Two sul’dam entered after her, and Domon followed. Mat got his first look at Edesina to know who he was seeing, though he did recall her from one day when the damane were being exercised, a slender handsome woman in one of those plain gray dresses, with black hair spilling to her waist. Despite the a’dam leashing her to Seta’s wrist, Edesina looked about her calmly. An Aes Sedai on a leash, perhaps, but an Aes Sedai confident that leash was coming off soon. Teslyn, on the other hand, was a quivering mass of eagerness, licking her lips and staring at the door to the stableyard. Renna and Seta hurried the two Aes Sedai along behind Egeanin without taking their eyes from the stableyard door.
“I had to soothe the der’sul’dam,” Egeanin said, as soon as she was into the room. “They are very protective of their charges.” Noticing Juilin and Thera, she scowled; there had not seemed any reason to tell her about Thera, not when she was willing to help damane, but clearly she did not like the surprise of woolen robes. “Her seeing Seta and Renna changes a few things, of course,” she went on, “but — ” Her words cut off as though sliced with a knife as her eyes fell on Tuon. Egeanin was a pale woman, but she went paler. Tuon glared back above her gag with the stern ferocity of a headsman. “Oh, Light!” Egeanin said hoarsely, sinking to her knees. “You madman! It’s death by slow torture to lay hands on the Daughter of the Nine Moons!” The two sul’dam gasped, and knelt without hesitation, not only pulling the two Aes Sedai down with them but gripping the a’dam right at the collar to force their faces to the floor.
Mat grunted as though Tuon had just kicked him square in the belly. He felt as if she had. The Daughter of the Nine Moons. The Aelfinn had told him truth, much as he hated knowing. He would die and live again, if he had not already. He would give up half the light of the world to save the world, and he did not even want to think about what that meant. He would marry . . . “She is my wife,” he said softly. Somebody made a choking sound; he thought it was Domon.
“What?” Egeanin squeaked, her head whipping toward him so fast that her tail of hair swung around to slap her face. He would not have thought she could squeak. “You cannot say that! You must not say that!”
“Why not?” he demanded. The Aelfinn always gave true answers. Always. “She is my wife. Your bloody Daughter of the Nine Moons is my wife!”
They stared at him, except for Juilin, who took off his cap and stared into that. Domon shook his head, and Noal laughed softly. Egeanin’s mouth hung open. The two sul’dam gaped as though at a madman, stark raving and loose. Tuon stared, but her expression was absolutely unreadable, hiding every thought behind those dark eyes. Oh, Light, what was he to do? For one thing, get a move on before . . .
Selucia scurried into the room, and Mat groaned. Was everybody in the whole bloody Palace going to walk in? Domon tried to grab her, but she eluded him, darting about. The buxom golden-haired so’jhin was not so stately as usual, wringing her hands and looking around in a hunted fashion. “Forgive me for speaking,” she said in a fear-filled voice, “but what you do is foolish beyond madness.” With a groan, she darted to half crouch between the kneeling sul’dam with one hand on the shoulder of each, as though seeking their protection. Her blue eyes never ceased flitting about the room. “Whatever the omens, this can still be rectified if you will only consent to draw back.”
“Be easy, Selucia,” Mat said in a soothing. She was not looking at him, but he made calming gestures anyway. In none of his memories could he find a way to deal with a hysterical woman. Except to hide. “No one is going to be hurt. No one! I promise you. You can be easy, now.”
For some reason, consternation flashed across her face, but she settled to her knees and folded her hands in her lap. Suddenly, all her fear vanished, and she was as regal as ever she had been. “I will obey you, so long as you do not harm my mistress. If you d