“Not pleasant,” Elayne muttered. Three years in the... Wait. Barashelle and Anselan? It could not be the same pair, that story said nothing about Barashelle being Aes Sedai. But she had read two versions and heard Thom tell another, and all had Barashelle doing some long, arduous service to earn Anselan's love. Two thousand years could change a great deal in a story.
“Not pleasant,” Birgitte agreed, and suddenly her eyes were much too large and innocent in her pale face. “I suppose, since you wish me to keep your dreadful secret, you will not ride me as hard as some Aes Sedai ride their Warders. It would not do to push me to tell just to escape you.”
Elayne's chin came up instinctively. “That sounds very like a threat. I do not take well to threats, from you or anyone else. If you think —”
The reclining woman caught her arm and cut her off apologetically; her grip was noticeably stronger. “Please. I did not intend it that way. Gaidal claims I have a sense of humor like a rock tossed into a shojacircle.” A cloud swept across her face at Gaidal's name, and was gone. “You saved my life, Elayne. I will keep your secret and serve you as Warder. And be your friend, if you will have me.”
“I will be proud to have you for friend.” Shojacircle? She would ask another time. Birgitte might be stronger, but she needed rest, not questions. “And for Warder.” It seemed that she really was going to choose the Green Ajah; aside from everything else, that was the only way she could bond Rand., The dream was still clear in her mind, and she intended to convince him to accept it one way or another. “Perhaps you could try to... moderate your sense of humor?”
“I will try.” Birgitte sounded as if she were saying she would try to pick up a mountain. “But if I am to be your Warder, even in secret, then I will be Warder to you. You can barely hold your eyes open. It is time for you to sleep.” Elayne's eyebrows and chin shot up together, but the woman gave her no opportunity to speak. “Among many other things, it is a Warder's place to tell his — her — Aes Sedai when she pushes herself too hard. Also to provide a dose of caution when she thinks she can walk into the Pit of Doom. And to keep her alive so she can do what she must. I will do these things for you. Never fear for your back when I am near, Elayne.”
She did need sleep, she supposed, but Birgitte needed it more. Elayne dimmed the lamps and got the woman settled and asleep, though not until Birgitte had seen her put a pillow and blankets on the floor between the beds for herself. There was some slight argument over who would sleep on the floor, but Birgitte was still weak enough that Elayne had no trouble making her stay in the bed. Well, not very much anyway. At least Nynaeve's soft snore never broke.
She herself did not go to sleep immediately, whatever she had told Birgitte. The woman could not put her nose outside the wagon until she had something to wear, and she was taller than Elayne or Nynaeve. Sitting down between the beds, Elayne began letting out the hem on her dark gray silk riding dress. There would hardly be time in the morning for more than a quick fitting and stitching the new hem. Sleep overtook her with her ripping no more than half done.
She had the dream of bonding Rand again, more than once. Sometimes he knelt voluntarily, and sometimes she had to do what she had done with Birgitte, even sneaking into his bedchamber while he slept. Birgitte was one of the other women now. Elayne did not mind that too much. Not her, or Min, or Egwene, or Aviendha, or Nynaeve, though she could not imagine what Lan would say to that last. Others, though... She had just ordered Birgitte, in a Warder's colorshifting cloak, to drag Berelain and Elaida to the kitchens for three years, when suddenly the two women began pummeling her. She awakened to find Nynaeve trampling her to reach Birgitte and check on the woman. The gray light just before dawn showed in the small windows.
Birgitte woke claiming she was as strong as ever, and ravenous besides. Elayne was not certain whether Nynaeve had finished her bout of selfblame. She did not wring her hands or speak of it, but while Elayne washed her face and hands, and explained about the menagerie and why they had to remain with it a while longer, Nynaeve hastily peeled and cored red pears and yellow apples, sliced cheese, and handed it all to Birgitte on a plate with a cup of watered wine with honey and spices. She would have fed the woman had Birgitte let her. Nynaeve washed Birgitte's hair in white henpepper herself, until it was as black as Elayne's — Elayne did her own, of course — donated her best stockings and shift, and looked disappointed when a pair of Elayne's slippers fit better. She insisted on helping Birgitte into the gray silk as soon as her hair had been toweled dry and braided again — the hips and bosom needed letting out, too, but that would have to wait — and even wanted to stitch the hem herself, until Elayne's incredulous stare made her retreat to her own ablutions, muttering as she scrubbed her face that she could sew as well as anyone. When she wanted to.
When they went outside at last, the first sharp golden edge of the sun was peeking above the trees to the east. For this little while, the day felt deceptively comfortable. There was not a cloud to be seen in the sky, and by noon the air would be hot and gritty:
Thom and Juilin were hitching the team to the wagon, and the whole camp bustled in preparation for moving. Skulker was already saddled, and Elayne made a note to herself to speak up about riding today herself before one of the men took possession of the saddle. Even if Thom or Juilin got there first, though, she would not be too disappointed. This very afternoon she would highwalk in front of people for the first time. The costume Luca had shown her made her a little nervous, but at least she was not moaning about it as Nynaeve did.
Luca himself came striding rapidly through the camp, red cloak fluttering behind, chivvying and shouting unneeded instructions. “Latelle, wake those bloody bears! I want them on their feet, snarling, when we drive through Samara. Clarine, you watch those dogs this time. If one of them goes chasing after a cat again... Brugh, you and your brothers do your tumbling just ahead of my wagon, mind. Just ahead. This is supposed to be a stately procession, not a race to see which of you can backflip the fastest! Cerandin, keep those boarhorses in hand. I want people to gasp in amazement, not run in terror!”
He stopped at their wagon, glowering at Nynaeve and herself equally with a bit left over for Birgitte. “Kind of you to decide to come with the rest of us, Mistress Nana, my Lady Morelin. I thought you meant to sleep until midday.” He nodded toward Birgitte. “Having a chat with someone from across the river, are you? Well, we've no time for visitors. I mean to be set up and
