Anaiya had prepared the room for Egwene’s arrival. The furnishings still did not match, but they were the best Salidar had to offer, from the padded armchair upholstered in green silk to the stand-mirror in the corner with all its gilding intact to the ornately carved wardrobe where her belongings now hung. Unfortunately, Anaiya’s taste seemed to run heavily to frothy lace and frills. Both thickly bordered the canopy of the bed and the drawn-back bed curtains, and one or the other decked the table and its stool, the arms and legs of the padded chair, the coverlet Egwene had tossed on the floor and the thin silk sheet that had followed. The curtains at the windows were lace, too. Egwene put her head back down. Lace edged the pillows as well. The room made her feel she might drown in lace.
There had been a great deal of talk after Sheriam and the others brought her here to what they called the Little Tower, almost all of it on their side. They were not really interested in what she thought Rand was up to, or what Coiren and the others might want. There was an embassy on its way to Caemlyn under Merana, who knew what to do, though they were rather vague about exactly what that was. For the most part, they did the talking, she the listening, her questions brushed aside. The answers to some were unimportant, she was told, for now anyway; those that were answered got a quick gloss before they went on to what was important. Embassies had been sent off to every ruler, each one named in turn, with an explanation of why he or she was absolutely vital to Salidar’s cause, which it seemed every one was. They did not quite say everything would fail if even one ruler went against them, but the emphasis they laid on every one said it for them. Gareth Bryne was building an army that would eventually be strong enough to prosecute their—her—claims against Elaida, if it came to that. They did not seem to think it would, despite Elaida’s demand that they return to the Tower; they seemed to believe that once word of Egwene al’Vere’s elevation to the Amyrlin Seat was spread, Aes Sedai would come to her, even some of those in the Tower now, enough that Elaida would have no choice but to step down on demand. The Whitecloaks were twiddling their thumbs for some reason, so Salidar was as safe as anywhere for as long as was necessary. That Logain had been Healed as well as Siuan—and Leane; of course she would have been Healed if she was here; it was just a surprise to find out she was—came up almost in passing.
“Nothing to worry you there,” Sheriam said soothingly. She stood over Egwene, who sat in the padded armchair, with the others in an arc around her. “The Hall will argue whether to gentle him again until old age relieves us of the problem.”
Egwene tried to stifle another yawn—it was getting late—and Anaiya said, “We need to let her sleep. Tomorrow is almost as important as tonight was, child.” Abruptly she laughed to herself softly. “Mother. Tomorrow is important too, Mother. We will send Chesa to help you get ready for bed.”
Even after they left, going to bed was not easy. While Chesa was still undoing Egwene’s dress, Romanda appeared with a number of suggestions for the Amyrlin, delivered in a firm no-nonsense voice, and no sooner did she go than Lelaine came, as if the Blue Sitter had been waiting for the Yellow’s departure. Lelaine had her own helpful counsel, given with Egwene sitting up in bed after Chesa was gently but firmly put out of the room. It was not a bit like Romanda’s advice—neither was much like Sheriam’s—and came with a warm, even affectionate, smile, but with just as much certainty that Egwene would need a little guidance in her first months. Neither woman exactly said that she could guide Egwene to what was best for the Tower better than Sheriam, or that Sheriam and her little circle might try to tug in too many directions, or that they might give bad advice, but the strong implications were there. Romanda and Lelaine also each hinted that the other might have her own agenda, one that undoubtedly would cause untold misery.
By the time Egwene channeled the last lamp out, she expected a sleep full of nightmares. In fact there were only two that she remembered the next morning. In one she was Amyrlin—Aes Sedai, but without taking the oaths—and everything she did led to disaster. That wakened her bolt upright, just to get away, yet she was sure it was not a dream with meaning. It was much the same as one of her experiences inside the ter’angreal where she had been tested for Accepted; as far as anyone knew, those had no connection to reality. Not to this reality. The other was the sort of foolishness she expected; she knew enough about her own dreams now to know that, even if she had to wake herself finally to escape that one as well. Sheriam had snatched the stole from her shoulders, and then everyone was laughing at her and pointing at the fool who really believed a girl of barely eighteen years could be Amyrlin. Not just the Aes Sedai, but all the Wise Ones, and Rand and Perrin and Mat, Nynaeve and Elayne, almost everyone she had ever met, while she stood there naked, desperately trying to put on an Accepted’s dress that might have fit a ten-year-old child.
“Now, you can’t be lying abed all day, Mother.”
Egwene opened her eyes.
Chesa had an expression of mock severity on her face and a twinkle in her eye. At least twice Egwene’s age, at their first meeting she had fallen straight into the blend of respect and familiarity that could be expected of an old retainer. “The Amyrlin Seat can’t be lying slugabed, not today of all days.”
“The last thing in my mind.” Scrambling stiffly from the bed, Egwene stretched before pulling off her sweaty shift. She could not wait until she had worked long enough with the Power to stop sweating. “I’ll wear the blue silk with the white morning-stars along the neckline.” She noticed Chesa very carefully not looking as the woman handed her a fresh shift. The effects of meeting her toh had faded somewhat, but she still appeared faintly bruised. “I had an accident before I got here,” she said, hurriedly thrusting her head through the new shift.
Chesa nodded in sudden understanding. “Horses are wicked, untrustworthy beasts. You’ll never get me on one, Mother. A good sturdy cart is ever so much safer. If I fell off a horse like that, I’d never let on to a soul. Nildra would say such things, and Kaylin. . . . Oh, you’d never believe the things some women can say the moment your back is turned. Of course, it’s different for the Amyrlin Seat, but that’s what I’d do.” Holding the wardrobe door open, she glanced sideways at Egwene to see whether she understood.
Egwene smiled at her. “People are people, low or high