Robert Jordan - Crossroads of Twilight

Expressionless, Siuan balanced herself atop one of the two rickety three-legged stools in front of the table and listened attentively, only her fingers moving, lightly stroking against her skirts, until Egwene finished. Then she made fists and growled a set of curses that were pungent even for her, beginning with a wish for the lot of them to choke to death on week-old fish guts and sliding downhill fast from there. Coming from that young, pretty face only made them worse.

“I suppose you’re right letting it go forward,” she muttered once her invective ran down. “The talk will spread, now it’s begun, and this way, you gain a jump on it. Beonin shouldn’t surprise me, I suppose. Beonin’s ambitious, but I always thought she’d have gone scurrying back to Elaida if Sheriam and the others hadn’t stiffened her backbone.” Voice quickening, Siuan fixed her eyes on Egwene as if to lend weight to her words. “I wish Varilin and that lot surprised me, Mother. Discounting the Blue, six Sitters from five Ajahs fled the Tower after Elaida carried out her coup,” her mouth twisted slightly on the word, “and here we have one from each of those five. I was in Tel’aran’rhiod last night, in the Tower—”

“I hope you were careful,” Egwene said sharply. Siuan hardly seemed to know the meaning of careful, sometimes. The few dream ter’angreal in their possession had lines of sisters panting to use them, mostly to visit the Tower, and while Siuan was not precisely forbidden one, it was the next thing to. She could have put her name down forever without the Hall granting her a single night. Quite aside from the sisters who blamed Siuan for the Tower being broken in the first place—she was not accepted back quite as warmly as Leane, on that account, nor cosseted by anyone—quite aside from that, too many remembered her rough teaching, when she was one of the few who knew how to use the dream ter’angreal. Siuan did not suffer fools gladly, and everyone was a fool their first few times in Tel’aran’rhiod, so now she had to borrow Leane’s turn when she wanted to visit the World of Dreams, and if another sister saw her there, ‘the next thing to’ might become an outright ban. Or worse, set off a search for who had loaned her a ter’angreal, which might end by unmasking Leane.

“In Tel’aran’rhiod,” Siuan said with a dismissive gesture, “I’m a different woman in a different dress every time I turn a corner.” That was good to hear, though it seemed likely a lack of control had as much to do with it as intent. Siuan’s belief in her own abilities was sometimes greater than warranted. “The point is, last night I saw a partial list of Sitters and managed to read most of the names before it changed to a tally of wines.” That was a common occurrence in Tel’aran’rhiod, where nothing stayed the same for long unless it was a reflection of something permanent in the waking world. “Andaya Forae was raised for the Gray, Rina Hafden for the Green, and Juilaine Madome for the Brown. None has worn the shawl more than seventy years at most. Elaida has the same problem we do, Mother.”

“I see,” Egwene said slowly. She realized that she was massaging the side of her head. The throb behind her eyes beat on. It would grow stronger. It always did. By nightfall, she was going to regret having sent Halima away. Bringing her hand down firmly, she moved the leather folder in front of her a half inch to the left, then slid it back. “What of the rest? They had six Sitters to replace.”

“Ferane Neheran was raised for the White,” Siuan admitted, “and Suana Dragand for the Yellow. They’ve both been in the Hall before. It was only a partial list, and I didn’t get to read it all.” Her back straightened, and her chin shot out stubbornly. “One or two raised before time would be unusual enough—it happens, but not often—but this makes eleven—maybe twelve, but eleven for sure—between us and the Tower. I don’t believe in coincidences that big. When the fishmongers are all buying at the same price, you can bet they were all drinking at the same inn last night.”

“You don’t have to convince me any more, Siuan.” With a sigh, Egwene sat back, automatically catching the chair leg that always tried to fold when she did that. Clearly, something odd was happening, but what did it mean? And who could influence the choice of Sitters in every Ajah? Every Ajah except the Blue, at least; they had chosen one new Sitter, but Moria had been Aes Sedai well over a hundred years. And maybe the Red was not affected; no one knew what changes if any had been made in the Red Sitters. The Black might be behind it, but what could they gain, unless all of those too-young Sitters were Black? That seemed impossible in any case; if the Black Ajah had had that much influence, the Hall would have been all Darkfriends long ago. Yet if there was a pattern and coincidence would not hold, then someone had to be at the heart of it. Just thinking about the possibilities, the impossibilities, made the dull pain behind her eyes grow a little sharper.

“If this turns out to be happenstance after all, Siuan, you’re going to regret ever thinking you saw a puzzle.” She forced a smile saying that, to take out any sting. An Amyrlin had to be careful with her words. “Now that you’ve convinced me there is a puzzle, I want you to solve it. Who is responsible, and what are they after? Until we know that, we don’t know anything.”

“Is that all you want?” Siuan said dryly. “Before supper, or after?”

“After will have to do, I suppose,” Egwene snapped, then took a deep breath at the abashed look on the other woman’s face. There was no point taking her headache out on Siuan. An Amyrlin’s words had power, and sometimes consequences; she had to remember that. “As soon as you can would be very good, though,” she said in a milder voice. “I know you’ll be as quick as you can.”

Chagrined or not, Siuan seemed to understand that Egwene’s outburst came from more than her own sarcasm. Despite her youthful appearance, she had years of practice at reading faces. “Shall I go find Halima?” she said, half rising. The lack of tartness attached to the woman’s name was a measure of her concern. “It won’t take a minute.”

“If I give way for every ache, I’ll never get anything done,” Egwene said, opening the folder. “Now, what do you have for me today?” She kept her hands on the papers, though, to stop from rubbing her head.

One of Siuan’s tasks each morning was to fetch what the Ajahs were willing to share from their networks of eyes-and-ears, along with whatever individual sisters had passed on to their Ajahs and the Ajahs had decided to pass on to Egwene. It was a strange process of sieving, yet it still gave a fair picture of the world when added to what Siuan put in. She had managed to hold on to the agents that had been hers as Amyrlin by the simple expedient of refusing to tell anyone who they were despite every effort by the Hall, and in the end, no one could gainsay that those eyes-and-ears were the Amyrlin’s, and that they should by rights report to Egwene. Oh, there had been no end of grumbling over it, and still was on occasion, but no one could deny the facts.

As usual, the first report came from neither the Ajahs nor Siuan, but Leane, written on thin sheets of paper in a flowing elegant hand. Egwene could not see exactly why, but you could never doubt that anything Leane wrote had been written by a woman. Those pages Egwene held to the table-lamp’s flame one by one as soon as she read them, letting the paper burn almost to her fingers, then crumpling the ash. It would hardly do for her and Leane to behave like near-strangers in public then allow one of her reports to fall into the wrong hands.