“No,” Birgitte sighed, “but not for lack of trying. In the usual course I can find anyone who knows they are in the World of Dreams; there is a feel, like ripples spreading through the air from them. Or perhaps from their awareness; I do not know, really. I am a soldier, not a scholar. Either she has not come into Tel'aran'rhiod since you defeated her, or...” She hesitated, and Nynaeve wanted to stop her from saying what she knew would come next, but Birgitte was too strong to dodge unpalatable possibilities. “Or else she knows I have been looking for her. She can hide, that one. She is not called the Spider for nothing.” That was what a moghedien had been, in the Age of Legends; a tiny spider that spun its webs in secret places, its bite poisonous enough to kill in heartbeats.
Suddenly very much aware of feeling unseen eyes, Nynaeve shivered heavily. It was not trembling. Just a shiver, not trembling. Still, she kept the sleek Taraboner gown firmly in mind lest she abruptly find herself wearing armor. It was embarrassing enough if that sort of thing happened when she was alone, even more under the cool blue gaze of a woman valiant enough to be a match for Gaidal Cain.
“Can you find her even when she wants to remain hidden, Birgitte?” It was a very great deal to ask, if Moghedien knew she was being hunted; like searching for a lion in high grass armed only with a stick.
The other woman did not hesitate. “Perhaps. I will try.” Hefting her bow, she added, “I must go, now. I do not want to risk being seen by the others when they come.”
Nynaeve put a hand on her arm to stop her. “It would be a help if you let me tell them. That way I could share what you've told me about the Forsaken with Egwene and the Wise Ones, and they could tell Rand. Birgitte, he needs to know —”
“You promised, Nynaeve.” Those bright blue eyes were unyielding as ice. “The prescripts say that we must not let anyone know that we reside in Tel'aran'rhiod. I have broken many by speaking to you, much more by giving aid, because I cannot stand by and watch you battle the Shadow — I have fought that battle in more lifetimes than I can remember — but I will keep as many of the prescripts as I can. You must hold to your promise.”
“Of course I will,” she said indignantly, “unless you release me from it. And I do ask you to —”
“No.”
And Birgitte was gone. One moment Nynaeve's hand rested on a white coatsleeve, the next on empty air. In her mind she ran through a few curses she had overheard from Thom and Juilin, the sort she would have scolded Elayne for listening to, much less using. There was no point calling Birgitte's name again. She probably would not come. Nynaeve only hoped she responded the next time she or Elayne called. “Birgitte! I will keep my promise, Birgitte!”
She would have heard that. Perhaps by their next meeting she would know something of Moghedien's activities. Nynaeve almost hoped she would not. If she did, it meant that Moghedien really was stalking Tel'aran'rhiod.
Fool woman! “If you don't look for snakes, you cannot complain when one bites you.” She really did want to meet Elayne's Lini one day.
The emptiness of the vast chamber oppressed her, all those great polished columns and that sense of being watched from the dimness between. If there really was anybody there, Birgitte would have known.
She realized that she was smoothing the silk gown over her hips, and, to take her mind off eyes that were not there, she concentrated on the dress. It had been in good Two Rivers woolens that Lan had first seen her, and a simple embroidered dress that she had been wearing when he professed his love, but she wanted him to see her in gowns like this. It would not be indecent if he was the one seeing her.
A tall standing mirror appeared, casting her reflection as she turned this way and that, even peering back over her shoulder. The yellow folds sheathed her closely, suggesting everything they hid. The Women's Circle in Emond's Field would have hauled her off for a good talking to in private, Wisdom or no Wisdom. Yet it was quite beautiful. Here, alone, she could admit that she had a bit more than gotten used to wearing something like this in public. You enjoyed it, she scolded herself. You are every bit as much a hussy as Elayne seems to be turning into! But it was beautiful. And maybe not as immodest as she had always said. Not a neckline cut halfway to her knees, like the First of Mayene, for instance. Well, perhaps Berelain's were not that low, but they were still far deeper than respectability required.
She had heard about what Domani women often wore; even Taraboners called those indecent. With the thought, the yellow silk folds became rippling flows, with a narrow belt of woven gold. And thin. Her face colored. Very thin. Barely opaque at all, in fact. The gown certainly did more than suggest. If Lan saw her in that, he would not gabble that his love for her was hopeless and that he would not give her widow's weeds for a bridal gift. One glimpse, and his blood would catch fire. He would —
“What under the Light is that you have on, Nynaeve?” Egwene asked in scandalized tones.
Nynaeve leaped straight up, spinning, and when she came down facing Egwene and Melaine — it would be Melaine, though none of the Wise Ones would have been any better — the mirror was gone and she was wearing a dark woolen Two Rivers dress thick enough for the depths of winter. Mortified at being startled as much as anything else — it was mainly at being startled — she changed the dress instantly, without thinking, flashing back into the gossamer Domani and just as quickly to the yellow Taraboner folds.
Her face flamed. They probably thought her a complete fool. And in front of Melaine, at that. The Wise One was beautiful, with her long redgold hair and clear green eyes. Not that she cared a whit how the woman looked. But Melaine had been at her last meeting here with Egwene, too, and taunted her about Lan. Nynaeve had lost her temper over it. Egwene claimed they were not taunts, not among Aiel women, but Melaine had complimented Lan's shoulders, and his hands, and his eyes. What right did that greeneyed cat have to look at Lan's shoulders? Not that she had any doubts of his faithfulness. But he was a man, and far away from her, and Melaine was right there, and... Firmly, she put a stop to that line of reasoning.
“Is Lan —?” She thought her face was going to burn off. Can't you control your own tongue, woman? But she would not — could not — back away, not with Melaine there. Egwene's bemused smile was bad enough, but Melaine dared to put on a look of understanding. “Is he well?” She tried for cool composure,