Approaching one of the tables, not the nearest, she curtsied carefully. “Pardon, Aes Sedai, but I was told Siuan and Leane are here. Could you tell me where to find them?”
Brendas’ pen stopped moving and she looked up with cool dark eyes. Nynaeve had chosen her instead of someone nearer the door because Brendas was one of the few Aes Sedai who had never grilled her about Rand. Besides, once, when Siuan was Amyrlin, Siuan had chosen Brendas as one who could be trusted. That had nothing to do with this, but Nynaeve found small comforts where she could.
“They are with some of the Sitters, child.” Brendas’ voice was chimes, as emotionless as her pale face. Whites seldom showed emotion, but Brendas never showed any.
Nynaeve stifled an irritated sigh. If Sitters had them reporting on their eyes-and-ears, they might not be free for hours yet. Maybe not for the rest of the day. By then she would be head-down among the pots. “Thank you, Aes Sedai.”
Brendas stopped her curtsy with a gesture. “Did Theodrin make any progress with you yesterday?”
“No, Aes Sedai.” If her voice was bit tight, a touch curt, she had reason. Theodrin had said she meant to try everything, and apparently she really did mean everything. Yesterday’s effort had involved sipping wine to relax her, only somehow Nynaeve had ended up taking more than just a few sips. She did not think she would ever forget being carried back to her room singing—singing!—or remember without going red in the face. Brendas had to know. Everyone had to know. Nynaeve wanted to writhe.
“I only ask because your studies seem to be suffering. I’ve heard several sisters remark that you appear to have reached the end of your remarkable discoveries. Your extra chores might be the problem—but Elayne reveals something new every day, even with teaching her classes and working at the pots. A number of sisters are wondering whether they might not be able to help you more than Theodrin can. If we took it in turns, working you all day every day might prove more fruitful than these informal sessions with someone who is, after all, little more than Accepted herself.” It was all delivered in a level tone without the slightest accusation, yet Nynaeve’s face heated as if she had been shouted at.
“I’m sure Theodrin will find the key any day, Aes Sedai,” she almost whispered. “I will try harder, Aes Sedai.” Bobbing a hurried curtsy, she whirled around before Brendas could stop her again. With the result that she bumped into one of the two white-haired newcomers. They looked enough alike to be sisters in truth, almost mirror images of one another, with fine bones and long patrician faces.
The bump was more of a brush, really, and she did try to apologize, but the Aes Sedai fixed her with a stare to do a hawk proud. “Watch where you are going, Accepted. In my day, an Accepted who tried to trample Aes Sedai would have had hair whiter than mine by the time she finished scrubbing floors.”
The other touched her arm. “Oh, do let the child go, Vandene. We have work to do.”
Vandene directed a sharp sniff at Nynaeve, but allowed herself to be led outside.
Waiting a moment to let them leave, Nynaeve saw Sheriam come out of one of the meeting rooms with Myrelle, Morvrin and Beonin. Myrelle saw her, too, and started in her direction, but only a step before Sheriam and Morvrin each put a hand on the Green sister’s arms and spoke quickly and softly, with many a glance at Nynaeve. Still talking, the four crossed the room and disappeared through another door.
Nynaeve waited until she was back in front of the Little Tower before giving her braid a firm, deliberate tug. They had met the Wise Ones last night. Guessing why the others had stopped Myrelle from speaking was easy enough. If Egwene had finally been there in the Heart of the Stone, she was not to be told. Nynaeve al’Meara was in disgrace. Nynaeve al’Meara was scrubbing pots like a novice when she might have been at least a step higher than Accepted. Nynaeve al’Meara was getting nowhere with Theodrin, and all her marvelous discoveries had dried up. Nynaeve al’Meara would never be Aes Sedai. She had known it was a mistake to start funneling everything from Moghedien through Elayne. She had known it!
Her tongue tried to curl up at the memory of a vile taste. Boiled catfern and powdered mavinsleaf. An antidote she had used on many a child who would not stop lying. All right; she had been the one to suggest it herself, but it was still a mistake. Aes Sedai were no longer talking about her innovations; they talked about the lack of them. Aes Sedai who had never taken more than a passing interest in her block were now caught up in how to break it down. She could not win. One way or another she was going to end up with Aes Sedai examining her from hair to toenails, sunup to sundown.
She yanked harder on her braid, hard enough to hurt her scalp, and the way her head felt, that did nothing for her temper. A soldier in an archer’s flat helmet and padded jerkin slowed to look at her curiously, but she gave him such a stare of refined malevolence that he stumbled over his own feet and quickly lost himself in the throng. Why did Elayne have to be so stubborn?
A man’s hands closed on her shoulders, and she whirled about with words that would rip his head from his neck. They died on her tongue.
Thom Merrilin grinned down at her through his long white mustaches, sharp blue eyes twinkling in his gnarled face. “By the look of you, Nynaeve, I could almost think you were angry, but I know you have such a sweet disposition people ask you to dabble your fingers in their tea.”
Juilin Sandar was there beside him, the lean fellow looking carved from dark wood, leaning on his thumb-thick bamboo staff. Juilin was Tairen, not Taraboner, but he still wore that ridiculous flat-topped conical red cap, even more battered than she had last seen it. He snatched it off when she glanced at him. Both men were dusty and travel-worn, their faces gaunt, though neither had been particularly fleshy to begin with. They looked as if they had spent the weeks since leaving Salidar sleeping in their clothes when they were not in the saddle.
Before Nynaeve could open her mouth, they were hit by a human storm. Elayne flung herself at Thom so hard he staggered. He of course put his hands under her arms and hoisted her, whirling her around in a circle like a child despite his slight limp. He was laughing when he set her down again, and so was she. She reached up and tugged at one of his mustaches, and they fell to laughing even harder. He examined her hands, as wrinkled as Nynaeve’s, asking what sort of trouble she had dived into without him to keep her on the straight and narrow, and she replied that she had no need of anyone to tell her what to do, only she spoiled it by blushing, and gig