No. Gawyn forced himself to keep his temper. Once, that hadn’t been nearly so hard.
Why was Chubain so hostile toward him? Gawyn found himself wondering how his mother would have handled such a man as this. Gawyn didn’t often think of her, as doing so brought his mind back to al’Thor. That murderer had been allowed to walk away from the White Tower itself! Egwene had held him in her hand, and had released him.
True, al’Thor was the Dragon Reborn. But in his heart, Gawyn wanted to meet al’Thor with sword in hand and ram steel through him, Dragon Reborn or not.
Al’Thor would rip you apart with the One Power, he told himself. You’re being foolish, Gawyn Trakand. His hatred of al’Thor continued to smolder anyway.
One of Chubain’s guards came up, speaking, pointing at the door. Chubain looked annoyed they hadn’t found the forced lock. The Tower Guard was not a policing force—the sisters had no need of that, and were more effective at this kind of investigation anyway. But Gawyn could tell that Chubain wished he could stop the murders. Protecting the Tower, and its occupants, was part of his duty.
So he and Gawyn worked for the same cause. But Chubain acted as if this were a personal contest between them. Though his side did, essentially, meet defeat by Bryne’s side in the Tower division, Gawyn thought. And as far as he knows, I’m one of Bryne’s favored men.
Gawyn wasn’t a Warder, yet he was a friend of the Amyrlin. He dined with Bryne. How would that look to Chubain, particularly now that Gawyn had been given power to look in on the murders?
Light! Gawyn thought as Chubain shot him a hostile glace. He thinks I’m trying to take his position. He thinks I want to be High Captain of the Tower Guard!
The concept was laughable. Gawyn could have been First Prince of the Sword—should have been First Prince of the Sword—leader of Andor’s armies and protector of the Queen. He was son to Morgase Trakand, one of the most influential and powerful rulers Andor had ever known. He had no desire for this man’s position.
That wouldn’t be how it looked to Chubain. Disgraced by the destructive Seanchan attack, he must feel that his position was in danger.
“Captain,” Gawyn said, “may I speak with you in private?”
Chubain looked at Gawyn suspiciously, then nodded toward the hallway. The two of them retreated. Nervous Tower servants waited outside, ready to clean the blood away.
Chubain folded his arms and inspected Gawyn. “What is it you wish of me, my Lord?”
He often emphasized the rank. Calm, Gawyn thought. He still felt the shame of how he’d bullied his way into Bryne’s camp. He was better than that. Living with the Younglings, enduring the confusion and then the shame of the events surrounding the Tower’s breaking, had changed him. He couldn’t continue down that path.
“Captain,” Gawyn said, “I appreciate you letting me inspect the room.”
“I didn’t have much choice.”
“I realize that. But you have my thanks nonetheless. It’s important to me that the Amyrlin see me helping. If I find something the sisters miss, it could mean a great deal for me.”
“Yes,” Chubain said, eyes narrowing. “I suspect it could.”
“Maybe she’ll finally have me as her Warder.”
Chubain blinked. “Her…Warder?”
“Yes. Once, it seemed certain that she would take me, but now…well, if I can help you with this investigation, perhaps it will cool her anger at me.” He raised a hand, gripping Chubain’s shoulder. “I will remember your aid. You call me Lord, but my title is all but meaningless to me now. All I want is to be Egwene’s Warder, to protect her.”
Chubain wrinkled his brow. Then he nodded and seemed to relax. “I heard you talking. You’re looking for marks of gateways. Why?”
“I don’t think this is the work of the Black Ajah,” Gawyn said. “I think it might be a Gray Man, or some other kind of assassin. A Darkfriend among the Tower staff, perhaps? I mean, look at how the women are killed. Knives.”
Chubain nodded. “There were some signs of a struggle too. The sisters doing the investigation mentioned that. The books swept from the table. They thought it was done by the woman flailing as she died.”
“Curious,” Gawyn said. “If I were a Black sister, I’d use the One Power, regardless of the fact that others might sense it. Women channel all the time in the Tower; this wouldn’t be suspicious. I’d immobilize my victim with weaves, kill her with the Power, then escape before anyone thought oddly of it. No struggle.”
“Perhaps,” Chubain said. “But the Amyrlin seems confident that this is the work of Black sisters.”
“I’ll talk to her and see why,” Gawyn said. “For now, perhaps you should suggest to those doing the investigation that it would be wise to interview the Tower servants? Give this reasoning?”
“Yes…I think I might do that.” The man nodded, seeming less threatened.
The two stepped aside, Chubain waving the servants to enter for their cleaning. Sleete came out, looking thoughtful. He held something up, pinched between his fingers. “Black silk,” he said. “There’s no way of knowing if it came from the attacker.”
Chubain took the fibers. “Odd.”
“A Black sister wouldn’t seem likely to proclaim herself by wearing black,” Gawyn said. “A more ordinary assassin, though, might need the dark colors to hide.”
Chubain wrapped the fibers in a handkerchief and pocketed them. “I’ll take these to Seaine Sedai.” He looked impressed.
Gawyn nodded to Sleete, and the two of them retreated.
“The White Tower is abuzz these days with returning sisters and new Warders,” Sleete said softly. “How would anyone—no matter how stealthy—travel the upper levels wearing black without drawing attention?”
“Gray Men are supposed to be able to avoid notice,” Gawyn said. “I think this is more proof. I mean, it seems odd that nobody has actually seen these Black sisters. We’re making a lot of assumptions.”
Sleete nodded, eyeing a trio of novices who had gathered to gawk at the guards. They saw Sleete looking and chittered to one another before scampering away.
“Egwene knows more than she’s saying,” Gawyn said. “I’ll