He’d wanted to see Aybara himself, and he was glad he had. Those eyes…they were almost a condemnation by themselves. And Aybara had reacted to the mention of the murdered Whitecloaks, stiffening. Beyond that, there was the talk his people gave of him in alliance with the Seanchan and having with him men who could channel.
Yes, this Aybara was a dangerous man. Galad had been worried about committing his forces to fighting here, but the Light would see them through it. Better to defeat this Aybara now, than to wait and face him at the Last Battle. As quickly as that, he made his decision. The right decision. They would fight.
“Come,” Galad said, waving to his men. “Let’s get back to camp.”
Chapter 11
An Unexpected Letter
“They can’t possibly think I’ll sign this,” Elayne said, tossing the sheaf of papers onto the floor beside her chair.
“It’s unlikely that they do,” Dyelin said. Her golden hair was pristine, her firm face controlled, her slim body poised. The woman was perfect! It was unfair that she should look so pristine while Elayne felt like a sow, fattened up and ripe for the slaughter.
The hearth in Elayne’s sitting room crackled warmly. Wine sat in a pitcher on one of the wall’s sideboards, but of course she wasn’t allowed any of that. If one more person tried to offer her bloody goat’s milk…
Birgitte lounged near the far wall, golden braid hanging over her right shoulder, contrasting with her white-collared red coat and sky-blue trousers. She’d poured herself a cup of tea, and smiled over it, amused by Elayne’s annoyance. Elayne could feel the emotion through the bond!
They were the only ones in the room. Elayne had retired to the sitting room after accepting the proposal from Ellorien’s messenger, explaining that she would like to “consider” the offer in private. Well, she’d consider it! Consider it trash, for that was all it was!
“This is an insult,” she said, sweeping her hand toward the pages.
“Do you intend to keep them imprisoned forever, Elayne?” Dyelin asked, raising an eyebrow. “They can’t afford to pay a ransom, not after what they spent funding their Succession bid. That leaves you with a decision.”
“They can rot,” Elayne said, folding her arms. “They raised armies against me and besieged Caemlyn!”
“Yes,” Dyelin said flatly. “I believe I was there.”
Elayne cursed softly to herself, then stood up and began to pace. Birgitte eyed her; they both knew that Melfane had suggested that Elayne avoid taxing herself. Elayne met the Warder’s eyes stubbornly, then continued her pacing. Burn her, and burn that bloody midwife! Walking wasn’t taxing.
Ellorien was one of the last vocal holdouts to Elayne’s rule, and was the most problematic—save, perhaps, for Jarid Sarand. These months marked the beginning of a long period of testing for Elayne. How would she stand on certain issues? How easily would she be pushed? How much did she take after her mother?
They should know that she wouldn’t be easily intimidated. But the unfortunate truth was that she stood atop a precarious perch made of teacups, stacked high. Each of those cups was an Andoran House; some had supported her willingly, others grudgingly. Very few of them were as sturdy as she would have liked.
“The captive nobles are a resource,” Elayne said. “They should be viewed as such.”
Dyelin nodded. The noblewoman had a way of goading Elayne, forcing her to stretch for the answers they both knew she needed to find. “A resource is meaningless unless eventually expended,” Dyelin noted. She held a cup of wine. Blasted woman.
“Yes,” Elayne said, “but to sell a resource short would be to establish a reputation for carelessness.”
“Unless you sell something just before its value plummets,” Dyelin said. “Many a merchant has been called foolish for trading ice peppers at a discount, only to be called wise when prices fall even further.”
“And these captives? You see their value falling soon?”
“Their Houses have been compromised,” Dyelin said. “The stronger your position becomes, Elayne, the less valuable these political captives grow. You shouldn’t squander the advantage, but neither should you lock it away until nobody cares anymore.”
“You could execute them,” Birgitte said.
They both stared at her.
“What?” Birgitte said. “It’s what they deserve, and it would establish a hardfisted reputation.”
“It’s not right,” Elayne said. “They should not be killed for supporting someone else for the throne. There can be no treason where there is no Queen.”
“So our soldiers can die, but the nobles bloody walk away?” Birgitte asked. Then she raised a hand before Elayne could protest. “Spare the lecture, Elayne. I understand. I don’t agree, but I understand. It’s always been this way.”
Elayne returned to her pacing. She did stop, however, to stomp on Ellorien’s proposal as she passed it. That earned her an eye roll from Birgitte, but it felt good. The “proposal” was a list of empty promises that concluded with a demand that Elayne release the captives for “the good of Andor.” Ellorien claimed that since the captives had no funds, the crown should pardon them and release them to help rebuild.
Truth be told, Elayne had been considering doing so. But now if she released them, the three would see Ellorien as their savior! Any gratitude that Elayne could have gained would instead be given to her rival. Blood and bloody ashes!
“The Windfinders are beginning to ask after the land you promised them,” Dyelin noted.
“Already?”
The older woman nodded. “The request still troubles me. Why do they want a sliver of land like that?”
“They earned it,” Elayne said.
“Perhaps. Though this does mean that you’re the first Queen in five generations to cede a portion of Andor—no matter how small—to a foreign entity.”
Elayne took a deep breath, and oddly found herself calmer. Blasted mood swings! Hadn’t Melfane promised those would grow less pronounced as the pregnancy progressed? Yet at times she still felt her emotions bouncing around like a ball in a children’s game.
Elayne composed herself and sat. “I cannot allow this. The Houses are all looking for opportunities to shoulder the