Robert Jordan - The Path of Daggers

"A joke," Min muttered, when Rand quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Perhaps," Dobraine said, shrugging slightly, "yet half the noblewomen in the city now wear bright colors in imitation of the Lady Min. Breeches that display their legs, and many in coats that do not even cover their…" He coughed discreetly, realizing that Min’s coat did not cover her hips completely.

She thought about telling him he had very pretty legs, even if they were decidedly knobby, then quickly thought better. Rand’s jealousy might be a wonderful flame if they were alone, but she did not want him striking out at Dobraine. He was capable of that, she feared. Besides, she thought it really was a slip; Lord Dobraine Taborwin was not the sort to make even slightly rough jokes.

"So you’re changing the world, too, Min." Grinning, Rand tapped the tip of her nose with a finger. He tapped her nose! Like a child he was amused with! Worse, she felt herself grinning back at him like a fool. "In better ways than I am, it appears," he went on, and that momentary boyish grin faded like mist.

"Is all well in Tear and Illian, my Lord Dragon?" Dobraine inquired.

"In Tear and Illian, all is well," Rand replied grimly. "What do you have for me, Dobraine? Sit, man. Sit." He motioned toward the rows of chairs, and took one for himself.

"I have acted on all of your letters," Dobraine said, seating himself across from Rand, "but there is little good to report, I fear."

"I’ll get us something to drink," Min said in a tight voice. Letters? It was not easy to stalk in heeled boots — she had grown accustomed to them, but the things made you sway whatever you did — not easy, yet enough anger made anything possible. She stalked to the small gilded table beneath one of the huge mirrors where a silver pitcher and goblets sat. She busied herself with pouring spiced wine, splashing it out furiously. The servants always brought extra goblets, in case she had visitors, though she seldom did except for Sorilea or a fool lot of noblewomen. The wine was barely warm, but it was more than hot enough for the likes of that pair. She had received two letters, but she would bet Dobraine had had ten! Twenty! Banging pitcher and goblets about, she listened carefully. What had they been up to behind her back with their dozens of letters?

"Toram Riatin appears to have vanished," Dobraine said, "though rumor, at least, says he still lives, worse luck. Rumors also say that Daved Hanlon and Jeraal Mordeth — Padan Fain, as you call the man — have deserted him. By the way, I have settled Toram’s sister, the Lady Ailil, in generous apartments, with servants who are… trustworthy." By his tone, he clearly meant trustworthy toward himself. The woman would not be able to change her dress without him knowing. "I can understand bringing her here, and Lord Bertome and the others, but why High Lord Weiramon, or High Lady Anaiyella? It goes without saying, of course, that their servants also are trustworthy."

"How do you know when a woman wants to kill you?" Rand mused.

"When she knows your name?" Dobraine did not sound as if he were joking. Rand tilted his head thoughtfully, then nodded. Nodded! She hoped he was not still hearing voices.

Rand gestured as if brushing away the women who wanted to kill him. A dangerous thing, with her about. She did not want to kill him, certainly, but she would not mind seeing Sorilea go at him with that switch! Breeches did not give much protection.

"Weiramon is a fool who makes too many mistakes," Rand told Dobraine, who nodded sober agreement. "My mistake for thinking I could use him. He seems happy enough to stay near the Dragon Reborn in any case. What else?" Min handed him a goblet, and he smiled at her despite the wine that slopped over his wrist. Maybe he thought it was an accident.

"Little else and too much," Dobraine began, then jerked back in his chair to avoid spilling wine as Min shoved the second silver goblet at him. She had not liked her brief stint as a tavernmaid. "My thanks, my Lady Min," he murmured graciously, but he eyed her askance as he took the goblet. She walked calmly back to fetch her own wine. Calmly.

"I fear that Lady Caraline and the High Lord Darlin are in Lady Arilyn’s palace here in the City," the Cairhienin lord went on, "under the protection of Cadsuane Sedai. Perhaps protection is not the correct word. I have been refused entry to see them, but I hear that they have attempted to leave the City and been brought back like sacks. In a sack, one story claims. Having met Cadsuane, I can almost believe it."

"Cadsuane," Rand murmured, and Min felt a chill. He did not sound afraid, precisely, yet he did sound more than uneasy. "What do you think I should do about Caraline and Darlin, Min?"

Settling into a chair two away from him, Min jerked at suddenly being included. Ruefully, she stared down at the wine soaking through her best cream silk blouse, and her breeches, too. "Caraline will support Elayne for the Sun Throne," she said glumly. For warm wine, it seemed very cold, and she doubted the stain would ever come out of the blouse. "Not a viewing, but I believe her." She did not glance toward Dobraine, though he nodded sagely. Everyone knew about her viewings, now. The only result had been a stream of noblewomen who wanted to know their futures, and right sulky, too, when she said she could not tell them. Most would not have been pleased with the little she had seen; nothing dire, but not at all the bright wonders that fortune-tellers at the fair forecast. "As for Darlin, aside from the fact that he’ll marry Caraline, after she’s wrung him out and hung him up to dry, all I can say is that one day he’ll be a king. I saw the crown on his head, a thing with a sword on the front of it, but I don’t know what country it belongs to. And, oh, yes. He’ll die in bed, and she will survive him."

Dobraine choked on his wine, spluttering and dabbing at his lips with a plain linen handkerchief. Most of those who knew did not believe . Quite satisfied with herself, Min drank the little that remained in her goblet. And then she was choking and gasping, jerking her handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe at her mouth. Light, she would have to give herself the dregs!

Rand simply nodded, peering into his goblet. "So they will live to trouble me," he murmured. A very soft sound, for words like stone. He was hard as a blade, her sheepherder. "And what do I do about —"

Abruptly he twisted in his chair, toward the doors. One was opening. He had very sharp ears. Min had heard nothing.

Neither of the two Aes Sedai who entered was Cadsuane, and Min felt her shoulders loosen as she tucked her handkerchief away. While Rafela shut the door, Merana curtsied deeply to Rand, though the Gray sister’s hazel eyes took in Min and Dobraine and filed them away, and then the round-faced Rafela was spreading her deep blue skirts wide, too. Neither rose until Rand gestured. They glided to him wearing cool serenity as they did their dresses. Except that the plump Blue sister fingered her shawl briefly as though to remind herself it was there. Min had seen that gesture before, from other sisters who had sworn fealty to Rand. It could not be easy for them. Only the White Tower commanded Aes Sedai, but Rand crooked a finger and they came, pointed and they went. Aes Sedai spoke with kings and queens as equals, perhaps slightly as their betters, yet the Wise Ones called them apprentices and expected them to obey twice as fast as Rand did.

None of that showed on Merana’s smooth face. "My Lord Dragon," she said respectfully. "We only just learned that you had returned, and we thought you might be eager to learn how matters went with the Atha’an Miere." She merely glanced at Dobraine, but he rose immediately. Cairhienin were used to people wanting to speak in private.