A Crown of Swords

The nobles heard Rand as well as A

Shivering, A

"If Berelain confirms your story," Rand said, "I will parole you to her custody." Looking at the crown, he seemed to realize for the first time that the spray of gold and gems was still in his hand. Very gently he set it on the silk-covered seat of the Sun Throne. "I don’t think every Aes Sedai is my enemy, not entirely, but I won’t be schemed against, and I won’t be manipulated, not anymore. It’s your choice, A

"The Asha’man," A

"My Lord Dragon, Colavaere plotted to break her oath of fealty." Perrin had wished so hard for Faile to speak that he jumped when she did, stepping out of the line of attendants. Choosing her words carefully, she confronted the would-be queen like a stooping eagle. Light, but she was beautiful! "Colavaere swore to obey you in all things and uphold your laws, but she has made plans to rid Cairhien of the Aiel, to send them south and return all to as it was before you came. She also said that if you ever returned, you would not dare change anything she had done. The woman she told these things, Maire, was one of her attendants. Maire vanished soon after telling me. I have no proof, but I believe she is dead. I believe Colavaere regretted revealing too much of her mind, too soon."

Dobraine strode up the steps to the dais, his helmet under his arm. His face might have been cold iron. "Colavaere Saighan," he a

Rand’s head went back, eyes closed. His mouth moved slightly, but Perrin knew that only he and Rand heard what was said. "No. I ca

Colavaere certainly did not hear, but she wanted a way out, too. She looked around wildly, to the Sun Throne, to her other attendants, to the assembled nobility, as though they might step forward to defend her. Their feet could as well have been set in cement; a sea of carefully blank, sweaty faces confronted her, and eyes that avoided hers. Some of those eyes rolled toward the Asha’man, but not too openly. The already considerable space between nobles and Asha’man widened noticeably.

"Lies!" she hissed, hands knotted in her skirts. "All lies! You sneaking little —!" She took a step toward Faile. Rand stretched his arm between them, though Colavaere appeared not to see it, and Faile looked as though she wished he had not. Anyone who attacked her was in for a surprise.

"Faile does not lie!" Perrin growled. Well, not about something like this.

Once again Colavaere recovered herself. Slight as her height was, she drew up every inch of it. Perrin almost admired her. Except for Meilan, and Maringil, and this Maire, and the Light alone knew how many others. "I demand justice, my Lord Dragon." Her voice was calm, stately. Royal. "There is no proof of any of this... this filth. A claim that someone who is no longer in Cairhien says I spoke words I never did? I demand the Lord Dragon’s justice. By your own laws, there must be proof."

"How do you know she is no longer in Cairhien?" Dobraine demanded. "Where is she?"

"I assume she has gone," She addressed her answer to Rand. "Maire left my service, and I replaced her with Reale, there." She gestured toward the third attendant on the left: "I have no idea where she is. Bring her forward if she is in the city, and let her make these ridiculous charges to my face. I will fling her lies in her face." Faile looked murder at her. Perrin hoped she would not produce one of those knives she kept hidden about her; she had a habit of doing that when she became angry enough.

A

Word by word the defiance leached out of Colavaere. She still stood, yet it seemed a wonder; she appeared as limp as a damp rag. "They promised," she mumbled to Rand. "They promised you would never return." Too late, she clamped both hands over her mouth. Her eyes bulged. Perrin wished he could not hear the sounds coming from her throat. No one should make sounds like that.

"Treason and murder." Dobraine sounded satisfied. Those whimpered screams did not touch him. "The penalty is the same, my Lord Dragon. Death. Except, by your new law, it is hanging for murder." For some reason, Rand looked at Min. She returned his gaze with profound sadness. Not for Colavaere. For Rand. Perrin wondered whether a viewing was involved.

"I — I demand the headsman," Colavaere managed in a strangled voice. Her face sagged. She had become old on the spot, and her eyes were mirrors of stark terror. But with nothing left, she fought on, for the scraps. "It is — it is my right. I will not be... hanged like some commoner!"

Rand seemed to struggle with himself, shaking his head in that disturbing way. When he spoke at last, his words were winter cold and anvil hard. "Colavaere Saighan, I strip you of your titles." He drove the words like nails. "I strip of you of your lands and estates and possessions, of everything but the dress you stand in. Do you own — did you own a farm? A small farm?"

Each sentence staggered the woman. She swayed drunkenly on her feet, soundlessly mouthing the word "farm" as if she had never heard it before. A