Page 200 of A Memory of Light (The Wheel of Time 14)

“Natural indeed,” Egwene said softly. “This is why I insist that you see me as I am, for I represent the ultimate proof that your society and empire are built upon falsehoods. Here I stand, a woman you insist should be collared for the common good. And yet I display none of the wild or dangerous tendencies that you claim I should have. So long as I am free from your collars, I prove to every man and woman who draws breath that you are a liar.”

The other Seanchan murmured. Fortuona herself maintained a cool face.

“You would be much happier with us,” Fortuona said.

“Oh, would I?” Egwene said.

“Yes. You speak of hating the collar, but if you were to

wear it and see, you would find it a more peaceful life. We do not torture our damane. We care for them, and allow them to live lives of privilege.”

“You don’t know, do you?” Egwene asked.

“I am the Empress,” Fortuona said. “My domination extends across seas, and the realms of my protection encompass all that humankind knows and thinks. If there are things I do not know, they are known by those in my Empire, for I am the Empire.”

“Delightful,” Egwene said. “And does your Empire realize that I wore one of your collars? That I was once trained by your sul’dam?”

Fortuona stiffened, then rewarded Egwene with a look of shock, although she covered it immediately.

“I was in Falme,” Egwene said. “A damane, trained by Renna. Yes, I wore your collar, woman. I found no peace there. I found pain, humiliation, and terror.”

“Why did I not know of this?” Fortuona asked loudly, turning. “Why did you not tell me?”

Egwene glanced at the collected Seanchan nobility. Fortuona seemed to be addressing one man in particular, a man in rich black and golden clothing, trimmed with white lace. He had an eyepatch over one eye, black to match, and the fingernails on both hands were lacquered to a dark—

“Mat?” Egwene sputtered.

He gave a kind of half-wave, looking embarrassed.

Oh, Light, she thought. What has he thrown himself into? She galloped through plans in her mind. Mat was imitating a Seanchan nobleman. They must not know who he really was. Could she trade something to save him?

“Approach,” Fortuona said.

“This man is not—” Egwene began, but Fortuona spoke over her.

“Knotai,” she said, “did you know that this woman was an escaped damane? You knew her as a child, I believe.”

“You know who he is?” Egwene asked.

“Of course I do,” Fortuona said. “He is named Knotai, but once was called Matrim Cauthon. Do not think he will serve you, marath’damane, though you did grow up together. He is the Prince of the Ravens now, a position he earned by his marriage to me. He serves the Seanchan, the Crystal Throne, and the Empress.”

“May she live forever,” Mat noted. “Hello, Egwene. Glad to hear you escaped those Sharans. How’s the White Tower? Still… white, I guess?”

Egwene looked from Mat to the Seanchan Empress, then back at him again. Finally, unable to do anything else, she burst out laughing. “You married Matrim Cauthon?”

“The omens predicted it,” Fortuona said.

“You let yourself draw too close to a ta’veren,” Egwene said, “and so the Pattern bound you to him!”

“Foolish superstitions,” Fortuona said.

Egwene glanced at Mat.

“Being ta’veren never did get me much,” Mat said sourly. “I suppose I should be grateful the Pattern didn’t haul me by my boots over to Shayol Ghul. Small blessing, that.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Knotai,” Fortuona said. “Did you know this woman was an escaped damane? If so, why didn’t you speak of it to me?”

“I didn’t think too much about it,” Mat said. “She wasn’t one for very long, Tuon.”