Page 251 of The Gathering Storm (The Wheel of Time 12)

“Who comes before the Hall of the Tower?” Saerin finished.

“One who comes at the summons of the Hall,” Egwene said, “obedient and humble in the Light, asking only to accept the will of the Hall.”

The ceremony proceeded, each of the Sitters stripping to the waist to prove she was a woman. Egwene did the same, and barely gave a blush at the thought of Gawyn, who had clearly thought she should bring him along to the event.

“Who stands for this woman?” Saerin asked after the Sitters had re-dressed. Egwene had to remain stripped to the waist for now, and the cool breeze through the broken wall was chill on her skin. “And pledges for her, heart for heart, soul for soul, life for life?”

Yukiri, Seaine and Suana stood quickly. “I so pledge,” each of them announced.

The first time Egwene had experienced this ceremony, she had been in shock. At each step, she’d been terrified she’d make an error. Worse, she’d been terrified that it would all turn out to be a ruse or a mistake.

That fear was gone. As the ritual questions were asked—as Egwene stepped forward three steps and knelt on the smooth floor, repainted by Elaida’s order with only six colors spiraling out of the mark of the Flame of Tar Valon—Egwene saw through the pomp and looked at the core of what was happening. These women were terrified. As had been the women in Salidar. The Amyrlin Seat was a force of stability, and they reached for it.

Why had she been chosen? Both times, it seemed the same answer. Because she was the only one they could all agree upon. There were smiling faces in this group. But they were the smiles of women who had succeeded in keeping rivals off of the Seat. Either that, or they were the smiles of women who were relieved that someone was stepping up to take leadership. And, perhaps, there were some who smiled because they weren’t the ones who had to take the Seat. Its recent history had been fraught with danger, dissension, and two dramatic tragedies.

Originally, in Salidar, Egwene had thought the women were being idiots. She was more experienced now, and hopefully wiser as well. She could see that they hadn’t been fools. They’d been Aes Sedai—covering their fear by being overly cautious, yet brazen at the same time. Choosing someone they wouldn’t mind seeing fall. Taking a risk, but not putting themselves in direct danger.

These women were doing the same. They covered their fear with smooth faces and acts of control. When the time came for the Sitters to stand in her support, Egwene was not surprised that all eleven rose to their feet. Not a single dissent. There would be no foot washing during this ceremony.

No, she was not surprised. They knew that there was no other option, not with an army on their doorstep, not with Elaida as good as dead. The Aes Sedai thing to do was act as if there had never been any argument. The consensus must be reached.

Saerin looked surprised that nobody had chosen to remain seated, if only to prove that she would not be bullied. In fact, more than one of the Sitters seemed surprised, and Egwene suspected that they were regretting their decision to stand up so quickly. One could gain some measure of power by being the only person who remained seated, forcing Egwene to wash her feet and ask for permission to serve. Of course, that also could have singled the woman out, and earned her the dislike of the new Amyrlin.

The women slowly took their seats. Egwene needed no guidance, and none was offered. She rose and strode across the hall, her slippered feet silent on the painted stone of the Flame. A gust of wind blew through the room, ruffling shawls, blowing across Egwene’s bare skin. It said something for the strength of the Hall that they had chosen to meet here, despite the dizzying view out of the far wall.

Saerin met Egwene at the Seat. The olive-skinned Altaran began to button Egwene’s bodice with careful fingers, then reverently lifted the Amyrlin’s stole from the Seat. It was the one with all seven colors, recovered from wherever Elaida had discarded it. Saerin regarded Egwene for a moment, hefting the stole, as if judging it.

“Are you certain you want to bear this weight, child?” Saerin asked in a very soft voice. This was not part of the ceremony.

“I bear it already, Saerin.” Egwene’s reply was almost a whisper. “Elaida cast it aside when she tried to slice it and divide it as she wished. I took it up and have carried it since. I would bear it to my death. And will.”

Saerin nodded. “I think that might be why you deserve it,” she said. “I doubt anything in the histories will compare to the days ahead. I suspect that, in the future, scholars will look back on our days and judge them to be more difficult—more trying of mind, body and soul—than the Time of Madness or the Breaking itself.”

“Then it’s a good thing the world has us, isn’t it?” Egwene asked.

Saerin hesitated, then nodded. “I suppose it is at that.” She raised the stole and set it upon Egwene’s shoulders. “You are raised to the Amyrlin Seat!” she declared, the voices of the other Sitters joining in, “In the glory of the Light, that the White Tower may endure forever. Egwene al’Vere, the Watcher of the Seals, the Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat!”

Egwene turned to regard the group of women, then sat down in the chair. She felt as if she had returned home after a very long journey. The world bowed beneath the stress of the Dark One’s touch, but it felt a little more right—a little more secure—the moment she took her place.

The women arranged themselves before her in order of age, with Saerin at the very end. One at a time they curtsied deeply before her, asked her permission to serve, then kissed her Great Serpent ring and stepped aside. As they did so, Egwene noticed that Tesan had finally returned. She peeked in to be certain everyone was dressed, then returned a moment later leading a group of four guards with the Flame of Tar Valon burning white on their chests. Egwen

e suppressed a sigh. They’d brought Silviana in chains, it appeared.

After kissing her ring, the Sitters returned to their chairs. There was some little more to the ceremony, but the important part was through with. Egwene was Amyrlin, really and truly, at long last. She had waited so long for this moment.

Now it was time for some surprises.

“Release the prisoner’s chains,” Egwene said.

Reluctantly, the soldiers outside the room did as demanded, the metal clinking. The Sitters turned with confused expressions.

“Silviana Brehon!” Egwene declared, standing up. “You may approach the Amyrlin Seat.”

The soldiers stepped aside and allowed Silviana to enter. Her red dress had once been fine, but she had not been well treated by Elaida’s confinement. Her black hair—normally kept in a bun—was instead coarsely braided. Her dress was rumpled, the knees dirty. And yet her square face was serene.

Surprisingly, she knelt before Egwene after walking across the room. Egwene lowered her hand and let the woman kiss her ring.

The Sitters watched, confused that Egwene had broken the ceremony. “Mother,” Yukiri finally asked. “Is this the best time to be dispensing judgment?”