Page 206 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

“Hmm, yes,” Verin said, taking a calm sip of her tea. “I suspect that you do. By the way, that dress you are wearing is green.”

Egwene frowned at the nonsense sentence, glancing down at her dress. Of course it wasn’t green. What was Verin saying? Had the woman become—

She froze, glancing at Verin.

That had been a lie. Verin could speak lies.

“Yes, I thought that might get your attention,” Verin said, smiling. “You should sit down. We have much to discuss and little time in which to do it.”

CHAPTER 39

A Visit from Verin Sedai

“You never held the Oath Rod,” Egwene accused her, still standing by the closet. Verin remained on the side of the bed, sipping her tea. The stout woman wore a simple brown dress with a matronly cut through the bosom and a thick leather belt at the waist. The skirts were divided, and judging from the dirty boots peeking out from under the hem, she had only just arrived back in the White Tower.

“Don’t be silly.” Verin brushed back a lock of hair that had escaped from her bun; the brown was marked with a pronounced streak of gray. “Child, I held the Oath Rod and swore upon it before your grandmother was born.”

“Then you’ve had the Oaths removed,” Egwene said. It was possible with the Oath Rod—after all, Yukiri, Saerin and the others had removed their oaths and replaced them.

“Well, yes,” Verin said in a motherly way.

“I don’t trust you,” Egwene found herself blurting. “I don’t think I ever have.”

“Very wise,” Verin said, sipping her tea. It was not a scent Egwene recognized. “I am, after all, of the Black Ajah.”

Egwene felt a sudden chill, like an ice cold spike pounded directly through her back and down into her chest. Black Ajah. Verin was Black. Light!

Egwene immediately reached for the One Power. But of course the forkroot made that effort futile. And Egwene herself had been the one to suggest it be given to her! Light, had she taken leave of her senses? She’d been so confident and certain following her victory that she hadn’t anticipated what might happen if she ran into a Black sister. But who could anticipate running into a Black sister? Finding one sitting calmly on your bed, drinking tea and looking at you with those eyes that always had seemed to know too much. What better way to hide than as an unassuming Brown, constantly dismissed by the other sisters because of your distracted, scholarly ways?

“My, but this is good tea,” Verin said. “When you next

see Laras, please thank her on my behalf for providing it. She promised that she had some that hadn’t spoiled, but I didn’t trust her. Can’t trust much these days, can you?”

“What, is Laras a Darkfriend?” Egwene asked.

“Heavens, no,” Verin said. “She’s many things, but not a Darkfriend. You’d sooner find a Whitecloak marrying an Aes Sedai than find Laras swearing to the Great Lord. Extraordinary woman. And quite good at judging the flavor of teas.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Egwene said, forcing herself to speak calmly. If Verin had wanted to kill her, the deed would have been done by now. Obviously Verin wanted to use Egwene, and use would give Egwene opportunity. Opportunity for escape, opportunity to turn the situation around. Light, this was bad timing!

“Well,” Verin said, “first I will ask you to sit. I would offer you some tea, but I sincerely doubt you want any of what I’m having.”

Think, Egwene! she told herself. Calling for help would be futile; only novices were likely to hear, as her Red keepers had both run off. Of all the times to be alone! She’d never have thought that she’d wish for jailers nearby.

Anyway, if she yelled, Verin would undoubtedly bind and gag her with weaves of Air. And if any novices did hear, they’d run to see what was the problem—and that would only pull them into Verin’s clutches as well. So Egwene pulled over the room’s single wooden stool and sat upon it, backside protesting the uncushioned wood.

The small room was still and quiet, cold and sterile, as it had been unoccupied for four days. Egwene sought furiously for an avenue of escape.

“I compliment you on what you’ve done here, Egwene,” Verin said. “I’ve followed some little of the foolishness going on between the Aes Sedai factions, though I decided not to get involved personally. It was more important to continue my research and keep an eye on young al’Thor. He’s a fiery one, I must say. I worry about the lad. I’m not certain he understands how the Great Lord works. Not all evil is as . . . obvious as the Chosen. The Forsaken, as you’d call them.”

“Obvious?” Egwene said. “The Forsaken?”

“Well, by comparison.” Verin smiled and warmed her hands on her cup of tea. “The Chosen are like a bunch of squabbling children, each trying to scream the loudest and attract their father’s attention. It’s easy to determine what they want: Power over the other children, proof that they are the most important. I’m convinced that it isn’t intelligence, craftiness, or skill that makes one Chosen—though of course, those things are important. No, I believe it is selfishness the Great Lord seeks in his greatest leaders.”

Egwene frowned. Were they really having a quiet chat about the Forsaken? “Why would he choose that quality?”

“It makes them predictable. A tool you can depend upon to act as expected is far more valuable than one you cannot understand. Or perhaps because when they struggle against one another, it makes only the strong ones survive. I don’t know, honestly. The Chosen are predictable, but the Great Lord is anything but. Even after decades of study, I can’t be certain exactly what he wants or why he wants it. I only know that this battle isn’t being fought the way that al’Thor assumes it will be.”

“And what does this have to do with me?” Egwene asked.