Page 16 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

Silviana showed just a brief moment of emotion. Was it surprise? “And you said nothing of this earlier?”

“Would it have changed anything if I had?”

Silviana did not respond to the question. “You will eat after attending the Amyrlin, then. I shall leave instructions for the Mistress of the Kitchens to hold you some food. Considering how often you are being given Healing these days, child, you will need to take your meals. I won’t have you collapsing from lack of nourishment.”

Stern, yet fair. A pity this one had found her way to the Red. “Very well,” Egwene said.

“And after eating,” Silviana said, raising a finger, “you shall return to me for showing disrespect to the Amyrlin Seat. She is never to be known as simply ‘Elaida’ to you, child.” She turned down to her ledger, adding, “Besides, Light only knows what kind of trouble you’ll be in by this evening.”

As Egwene left the small chamber behind—entering a wide, gray-stoned hallway with floor tiles of green and red—she considered that last comment. Perhaps it hadn’t been surprise that Silviana had shown upon hearing of Egwene’s visit to Elaida. Perhaps it had been sympathy. Elaida would not react well when Egwene stood up to her the way she had to all others in the Tower.

Was that why Silviana had decided to bring Egwene back for a final strapping after eating? With the orders Silviana had given, Egwene would be required to take food before returning for her punishment, even if Elaida heaped the strappings upon her.

It was a small kindness, but Egwene was grateful for it. Enduring the daily punishments was difficult enough without skipping meals.

As she pondered, two Red sisters—Katerine and Barasine—approached her. Katerine held a brass cup. Another dose of forkroot. Elaida wanted to make certain that Egwene couldn’t channel a trickle during the meal, it seemed. Egwene took the cup without protesting and downed it in a single gulp, tasting the faint, yet characteristic, hint of mint. She handed the cup back to Katerine with an offhanded gesture, and the woman had no choice but to accept it. Almost as if she were a royal cupbearer.

Egwene didn’t head for Elaida’s quarters immediately. The overly long punishment’s intrusion into the dinner hour ironically left her with a few spare moments—and she didn’t want to arrive early, for that would show Elaida deference. So instead she lingered outside the door of the Mistress of Novices with Katerine and Barasine. Would a certain figure come to visit the study?

In the distance, small clusters of sisters walked the hallway’s tiles of green and red. There was a furtive cast to their eyes, like hares venturing into a clearing to nibble at leaves, yet fearing the predator who hid in the shadows. Sisters in the Tower these days always wore their shawls, and they never went about alone. Some even held the Power, as if afraid of being jumped by footpads here in the White Tower itself.

“Are you pleased with this?” Egwene found herself asking. She glanced at Katerine and Barasine; both were, coincidentally, also part of the group that had first captured Egwene.

“What was that, child?” Katerine asked coolly. “Speaking to a sister without being asked a question first? Are you so eager for more punishment?” She wore a conspicuous amount of red, her dress a bright crimson slashed with black. Her dark hair curled slightly in its cascade down her back.

Egwene ignored the threat. What more could they do to her? “Set aside the bickering for a moment, Katerine,” Egwene said, watching a group of Yellows pass, their step quickening as they saw the two Reds. “Set aside the posturing for authority and the threats. Put these things away and look. Are you proud of this? The Tower spent centuries without an Amyrlin being raised from the Red. Now, when you finally have a chance, your chosen leader has done this to the Tower. Women who won’t meet the eyes of those they do not know familiarly, sisters who travel in clusters. The Ajahs behave as if they are at war with one another!”

Katerine sniffed at the comment, though the lanky Barasine hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at the group of Yellows hurrying down the corridor, several of them firing glances back at the two Reds.

“This was not caused by the Amyrlin,” Katerine said. “It was created by your foolish rebels and their betrayal!”

My rebels? Egwene thought with an inward smile. So you now see them as “mine,” rather than regarding me as just a poor Accepted who was duped? That’s progress.

“Were we the ones who pulled down a sitting Amyrlin?” Egwene asked. “Were we the ones who turned Warder against Warder, or the ones who failed to contain the Dragon Reborn? Have we chosen an Amyrlin who is so power-hungry, she’s ordered the construction of her own palace? A woman who has every sister wondering if she’ll be the next to be stripped of the shawl?”

Katerine didn’t respond, as though realizing that she shouldn’t be drawn into an argument with a mere novice. Barasine still watched the distant Yellows, her eyes wide. Worried.

“I should think,” Egwene said, “that the Red should not be the ones sheltering Elaida, but should instead provide her fiercest critics. For Elaida’s legacy will be your own. Remember that.”

Katerine glanced at her, eyes flaring, and Egwene suppressed a cringe. Perhaps that last had been too straightforward.

“You will report to the Mistress of Novices tonight, child,” Katerine informed her. “And explain how you showed disrespect to sisters and to the Amyrlin herself.”

Egwene held her tongue. Why was she wasting her time trying to convince Reds?

The aged wooden door behind her snapped shut, making Egwene jump and glance over her shoulder. The tapestries to either side stirred slightly, then went still. Egwene hadn’t realized that she’d left the door open just a crack as she’d left. Had Silviana listened to the conversation?

There was no more time to dawdle. It appeared that Alviarin wasn’t going to come this evening. Where was she? She always arrived for punishment right around the time that Egwene finished. Egwene shook her head, then strode away down the hallway. The two Reds followed—they stayed with her increasingly now, following her, watching her, at all times except when Egwene visited the quarters of other Ajahs for training. She tried to act as if those two sisters were an honorary retinue, rather than her jailers. She also tried to ignore the pain of her backside.

All signs indicated that Egwene was winning her war against Elaida. Earlier, at lunch, Egwene had heard the novices gossiping about the dramatic failure Elaida had suffered in failing to keep Rand captured. The event was several months past, now, and was supposed to have been secret. And then there was the rumor of Asha’man bonding sisters who had been sent to destroy them. Another mission of Elaida’s that wasn’t supposed to be known. Egwene had taken steps to keep these failures strong in the minds of the Tower’s occupants, much as she had with Elaida’s irregular treatment of Shemerin.

Whatever the novices were gossiping about, the Aes Sedai were hearing. Yes, Egwene was winning. But she was beginning to lose the satisfaction she’d once felt at that victory. Who could take joy in seeing the Aes Sedai unraveling like aged canvas? Who could feel glad that Tar Valon, the grandest of all great cities, was piled with refuse? As much as Egwene might despise Elaida, she could not exult at seeing an Amyrlin Seat lead with such incompetence.

And now, tonight, she would face Elaida in person. Egwene walked slowly through the hallways, pacing herself so as to not arrive early. How should she proceed at the dinner? During her nine days back in the Tower, Egwene had not so much as glimpsed Elaida. Attending the woman would be dangerous. If she offended Elaida just a hair too much, she could find herself being sent for execution. And yet, she could not simper and pander. She would not bow before the woman, not if it cost her life.

Egwene turned a corner, then pulled up short, nearly stumbling. The hallway ended abruptly in a stonework wall set with a bright tile mural. The image was that of an ancient Amyrlin, sitting on an ornate golden seat, holding forth her hand in warning to the kings and queens of the land. The plaque at the bottom declared it to be a depiction of Caraighan Maconar, ending the rebellion in Mosadorin. Egwene vaguely recognized the mural; the last she’d seen it, it had been on the wall of the Tower library. But when she’d seen it there, the Amyrlin’s face hadn’t been a mask of blood. The dead bodies depicted hanging from the eaves hadn’t been there either.

Katerine stepped up beside Egwene, face paling. Nobody liked to speak of the unnatural way rooms and corridors changed places in the Tower. The transformations made for a solemn reminder that squabbles over authority were secondary to larger, horrible troubles in the world. This was the first