“Well?” Perrin asked.
“No,” Morgase said. She kept her gaze on Perrin; she didn’t want to see the inevitable disappointment and rejection in Tallanvor’s face.
“What?” Perrin asked.
“No, Perrin Aybara,” Morgase said. “I will not be back here in an hour to be married.”
“But—”
“If you want tea served, or your tent cleaned, or something packed, then call for me. If you wish your clothing washed, I will oblige. But I am your servant, Perrin Aybara, not your subject. I am loyal to the Queen of Andor. You have no authority to give me this sort of command.”
“I—”
“Why, the Queen herself wouldn’t demand this! Forcing two people to marry because you’re tired of the way they look at one another? Like two hounds you intend to breed, then sell the pups?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You said it nonetheless. Besides, how can you be sure of the young man’s intentions? Have you spoken to him, asked him, interviewed him as a lord should in a matter like this?”
“But Maighdin,” Perrin said. “He does care for you. You should have seen the way he acted when you were taken. Light, woman, but it’s obvious!”
“Matters of the heart are never obvious.” Pulling herself up to her full height, she almost felt a queen again. “If I choose to marry a man, I will make that decision on my own. For a man who claims he doesn’t like being in charge, you certainly do like giving commands. How can you be sure that I want this young man’s affections? Do you know my heart?”
To the side, Tallanvor stiffened. Then he bowed formally to Perrin and strode from the tent. He was an emotional one. Well, he needed to know that she would not be shoved around. Not anymore. First Gaebril, then Valda, and now Perrin Aybara? Tallanvor would be ill-served if he were to receive a woman who married him because she was told to do so.
Morgase measured Perrin, who was blushing. She softened her tone. “You’re young at this yet, so I’ll give you advice. There are some things a lord should be involved in, but others he should always leave untouched. You’ll learn the difference as you practice, but kindly refrain from making demands like this one until you’ve at least counseled with your wife.”
With that, she curtsied—still carrying the teacups—and withdrew. She shouldn’t have spoken to him so. Well, he shouldn’t have made a command like that! It seemed she had some spark left in her after all. She hadn’t felt that firm or certain of herself since…well, since before Gaebril’s arrival in Caemlyn! Though she would have to find Tallanvor and soothe his pride.
She returned the cups to the nearby washing station, then went through the camp, looking for Tallanvor. Around her, servants and workers were busy at their duties. Many of the former gai’shain still acted as if they were among the Shaido, bowing and scraping whenever someone so much as looked at them. Those from Cairhien were the worst; they’d been held longest, and Aiel were very good at teaching lessons.
There were, of course, a few real Aiel gai’shain. What an odd custom. From what Morgase had been able to determine, some of the gai’shain here had been taken by the Shaido, then had been liberated in Malden. They retained the white, and so that meant they were now acting as slaves to their own relatives and friends.
Any people could be understood. But, she admitted, perhaps the Aiel would take longer than others. Take, for instance, that group of Maidens loping through camp. Why did they have to force everyone out of their way? There was no—
Morgase hesitated. Those Maidens were heading straight for Perrin’s tent. They looked like they had news.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, Morgase followed. The Maidens left two guards by the front tent flaps, but the ward against eavesdropping had been removed. Morgase rounded the tent, trying to look as if she was doing anything other than eavesdropping, feeling a stab of shame for leaving Tallanvor to his pain.
“Whitecloaks, Perrin Aybara,” Sulin’s stout voice reported from inside. “There is a large force of them on the road directly in front of us.”
Chapter 7
Lighter than a Feather
The air felt calmer at night, though the thunder still warned Lan that not all was well. In his weeks traveling with Bulen, that storm above seemed to have grown darker.
After riding southward, they continued on to the east; they were somewhere near the border between Kandor and Saldaea, on the Plain of Lances. Towering, weathered hills—steep-sided, like fortresses—rose around them.
Perhaps they’d missed the border. There often was no marker on these back roads, and the mountains cared not which nation tried to claim them.
“Master Andra,” Bulen said from behind. Lan had purchased a horse for him to ride, a dusty white mare. He still led his packhorse, Scouter.
Bulen caught up to him. Lan insisted upon being called “Andra.” One follower was bad enough. If nobody knew who he was, they couldn’t ask to come with him. He had Bulen to thank—inadvertently—for the warning of what Nynaeve had done. For that, he owed the man a debt.
Bulen did like to talk, though.
“Master Andra,” Bulen continued. “If I may suggest, we could turn south at the Berndt Crossroads, yes? I know a waypoint inn in that direction that serves the very best quail. We could turn eastward again on the road to South Mettler. A much easier path. My cousin has a farm along that road—cousin on my mother’s side, Master Andra—and we could—”
“We continue this way,” Lan said.
“But South Mettler is a much better roadway!”
“And therefore much better traveled too, Bulen.”
Bulen sighed, but fell silent. The hadori looked good around his head, and he had proven surprisingly capable with the sword. As talented a student as Lan had seen in a while.
It was dark—night came early here, because of those mountains. Compared to the areas near the Blight, it also felt chilly. Unfortunately, the land here was fairly well populated. Indeed, about an hour past the crossroads they arrived at an inn, windows still glowing with light.
Bulen looked toward it longingly, but Lan continued on. He had them traveling at night, mostly. The better to keep from being seen.
A trio of men sat in front of the inn, smoking their pipes in the darkness. The pungent smoke wound in the air, past the inn’s windows. Lan didn’t give them much consideration until—as a group—they broke off their smoking. They unhooked horses from the fenc
