Knife of Dreams

Vandene nodded, and for a moment her slender shoulders slumped. “I very much fear so,” she said, straightening. “I expect clues were left among the things they left behind, treasured keepsakes like this doll, a favorite piece of jewelry. The murderer wanted us to think she was being clever at hiding her crimes but not clever enough, only we weren’t clever enough to find those clues, so she decided to become more blatant.”

“To frighten the Kinswomen into fleeing,” Elayne muttered. That would not cripple her, but it would throw her back on the mercies of the Windfinders, and those seemed to be growing mingy. “How many of them know of this?”

“All, by now. I should think.” Vandene said dryly. “Zarya told Derys to keep quiet, but that woman likes the sound of her own voice.”

“This seems aimed at me, at helping Arymilla gain the throne, but why would a Black sister have any interest in that? I can’t think we have two murderers among us. At least this settles the question of Merilille. Speak with Sumeko and Alise. Vandene. They can make sure the rest don’t panic.” Sumeko ranked next after Rea

“I’d advise against that,” Vandene said quickly. “They should be safe in groups, and word would reach Careane and Sareitha. Warned against Aes Sedai? The Kin would give themselves away in a minute.” Kirstian and Zarya nodded solemnly.

After a moment, Elayne reluctantly agreed to the continued secrecy. The Kin should be safe in groups. “Let Chanelle know about Rea

She did not expect that they would-Chanelle feared returning to the Sea Folk with the bargain unfulfilled-yet it would be a bright spot in an otherwise miserable day if they did. At least it seemed unlikely anything could darken the day further. The thought sent a chill through her. The Light send nothing would darken it more.

Arymilla pushed her plate of stew away with a grimace. She had been offered her choice of beds for the night-Arlene, her maid, was making the choice now; the woman knew what she liked-and the least she had expected was a decent meal, but the mutton was fatty, and definitely begi

The mood in the tent was far from lively. Several of the nobles in the camp had hoped for invitations to dine with her, but none stood high enough. She was begi

“I still say we should make a heavier push.” Lir grumbled drunk-enly into his cup. A whip of a man. his red coat showing the wear of armor straps, the High Seat of Baryn was ever eager to strike. Subtlety was simply beyond him. “My eyes-and-ears report more armsmen entering the city every day through these ‘gateways.’ “ He shook his head and muttered something under his breath. The man actually believed those rumors of dozens of Aes Sedai in the Royal Palace. “All these pinprick attacks do is lose men.”

“I agree,” Karind said, fiddling with a large golden pin, enameled with the ru

Arymilla’s mouth tightened. They might at least show her the respect due a woman who was soon to be Queen of Andor, rather than disagreeing with her all the time. Unfortunately, Baryn and Anshar were not bound to her so tightly as Sarand and Arawn. Unlike Jarid and Naean. Lir and Karind had a

Forcing a smile, she made her voice jovial. “We lose mercenaries. What else are mercenaries good for if not dying in place of our arms-men?” She held up her winecup and a lean man in her silver-trimmed blue hastened to fill it. In fact, he was so hasty that he spilled a drop on her hand. Her scowl made him snatch a handkerchief from his pocket to blot up the drop before she could pull her hand away. His handkerchief! The Light only knew where that filthy thing had been, and he had touched her with it! His mouth writhed with fear as he retreated, bowing and mumbling apologies. Let him serve out the meal. He could be dismissed after. “We will need all of our armsmen when I ride against the Borderlanders. Don’t you agree, Naean?”

Naean twitched as though stuck with a pin. Slim and pale in yellow silk worked with silver patterns of Arawn’s Triple Keys on the breast, she had begun looking haggard in recent weeks, her blue eyes drawn and tired. All of her supercilious airs were quite gone. “Of course. Arymilla,” she said meekly and drained her cup. Good. She and Elenia were definitely tamed, but Arymilla liked to check now and then to make sure neither was growing a new backbone.

“If Luan and the others will not support you, what good will taking Caemlyn do?” Sylvase, Nasin’s granddaughter and heir, spoke so seldom that the question came as a shock. Sturdy and not quite pretty, she usually had a vapid gaze, but her blue eyes appeared quite sharp at the moment. Everyone stared at her. That seemed not to faze her a bit. She toyed with a winecup, but Arymilla thought it no more than her second. “If we must fight the Borderlanders, why not accept Luan’s truce so Andor can field its full strength unhindered by divisions?”

Arymilla smiled. She wanted to slap the silly woman. Nasin would be angered by that, however. He wanted her kept as Arymilla’s “guest” to prevent his removal as High Seat-part of him seemed aware that his wits were gone; all of him intended holding on as High Seat until he died-but he did love her. “Ellorien and some of the others will come to me yet. child,” she said smoothly. Smoothness required some effort. Who did the chit think she was? “Aemlyn, Arathelle, Pelivar. They have grievances against Trakand.” Surely they would come once Elayne and Dyelin were out of the way. Those two would not survive Caem-lyn’s fall. “Once I have the city, they will be mine in any event. Three of Elayne’s supporters are children, and Conail Northan is little more than a child. I trust I can convince them to publish their support of me easily enough.” And if she could not. Master Lounalt surely could. A pity if children had to be handed over to him and his cords. “I will be queen by sunset of the day Caemlyn falls to me. Isn’t that right, father?”