Lord of Chaos

"Why?" she asked. Orders to preserve the Dragon Reborn made no sense, even if they delivered him into Elaida’s hands.

"Questions are dangerous for one sworn to obey without."

Katerine shuddered again, and barely stopped herself from curtsying. "Yes, Galina Sedai." But she could not help wondering. Why?

"They show neither respect nor honor," Therava growled. "They allow us to enter their camp as though we were toothless dogs, then take us out under guard like suspected thieves."

Seva

"This is all badly thought out," the third woman said in a tight voice. "Wise Ones avoid Aes Sedai; it has always been so. Perhaps it was well enough for you, Seva

Seva

As though Desaine’s doubts had infected Therava, she began muttering, only half to herself. "What is ill done is going against Aes Sedai. We served them before the Breaking, and failed them; that is why we were sent to the Three-fold Land. If we fail them again, we will be destroyed."

That was what everyone believed; it was part of the old tales, almost part of custom. Seva

"New day or old day," Desaine grumbled, "what are we to do with Rand al’Thor if we do manage to take him from the Aes Sedai? Better, and easier, to slip a knife between his ribs while they are escorting him north."

Seva

The palace garden might have had a semblance of coolness had there been any trees, but the tallest things were fanciful topiary, tortured into the shapes of ru

"A pity the heat is so bad," Ailron said. Sweeping a lace handkerchief from the lace-fringed sleeve of his yellow silk coat, he dabbed delicately at his face, then tossed it aside. A servant in gold-and-red livery quickly snatched it from the graveled walk and faded into the background again: another liveried man laid a fresh replacement in the King’s hand to be tucked up his sleeve. Ailron did not acknowledge it, of course, or even appear to notice. "These fellows usually manage to keep everything alive till spring, but I may lose a few this winter. Since it doesn’t seem as if we’ll have any winter. They take cold better than drought. Don’t you think they’re very fine, my dear?"

Ailron, Anointed by the Light, King and Defender of Amadicia, Guardian of the Southern Gate, was not as handsome as rumor made him, but then, Morgase had suspected when she first met him, years ago, that he might be the source of those rumors himself. His dark hair was full and wavy – and quite definitely receding in front. His nose was a bit too long, his ears a touch too big. His whole face vaguely suggested softness. One day she would have to ask. The Southern Gate to what?

Working her carved ivory fan, she eyed one of the gardeners’... constructs. It seemed to be three huge nude women wrestling desperately with gigantic serpents. "They are quite remarkable," she said. One said what one must when coming as a beggar.

"Yes. Yes, aren’t they? Ah, it looks as if affairs of state call me. Pressing matters, I fear." A dozen men, coated as colorfully as the flowers that were no longer there, had appeared on the short marble stair at the far end of the walk and were waiting in front of a dozen fluted columns that supported nothing. "Until this evening, my dear. We will speak further of your dreadful problems, and what I can do."

He bowed over her hand, stopping just short of kissing it, and she curtsied slightly, murmuring appropriate inanities, and then he swept away, followed by all but one of the coterie of servants that had been trailing them everywhere.

With him gone, Morgase worked the fan harder than she could in his presence – the man pretended the heat barely touched him, with sweat streaming down his face – and turned back toward her apartments. Hers by sufferance, just as the pale blue gown she wore was a gift. She had insisted on the high neck despite the weather; she had definite ideas about low necklines.

The lone serving man followed behind her, at a short distance. And Tallanvor, of course, on her heels and still insisting on wearing the rough green coat he had traveled here in, sword on his hip as though he expected an attack in the Seranda Palace, not two miles from Amador. She tried to ignore the tall young man, but as usual, he would not be ignored.

"We should have gone to Ghealdan, Morgase. To Jeha

She had let some things go on far too long. Her skirts swished as she whirled to confront him, and her eyes blazed. "On our journey, certain discretions were necessary, but those around us now know who I am. You will remember that too, and show proper respect for your Queen. On your knees!"

To her shock, he did not move. "Are you my Queen, Morgase?" At least he lowered his voice so the servant could not overhear and spread it about, but his eyes... She very nearly backed away from the stark desire there. And the anger. "I will not abandon you this side of death, Morgase, but you abandoned much when you abandoned Andor to Gaebril. When you find it again, I will kneel at your feet, and you can strike off my head if you choose, but until then... We should have gone to Ghealdan."