Elayne moved to smooth things over without a pause. “I know you have heard this before,” she told Tylin, “but let me add my apologies to those of Merilille and the others. Gathering an army inside your borders without your permission was unconscionable. All I can say in mitigation is that events moved quickly and we in Salidar were caught up, but that is no excuse. I swear to you, no harm is intended to Altara, and no insult was meant to the Throne of the Winds. Even as we speak, Gareth Bryne leads that army north, out of Altara.”
Tylin stared at her, unblinking. “I have heard no word of apology or excuse until yours. But any ruler of Altara must learn to swallow insult from greater powers without salt.” Taking a deep breath, she gestured, lace waving. “Sit, sit. Both of you sit. Lean back on your knife and let your tongue go free.” Her sudden smile was very close to a grin. “I don’t know how you say it in Andor. Be at ease, and speak your mind as you wish.”
Nynaeve was glad that Elayne’s blue eyes widened in surprise, because she herself gasped aloud. This was the woman who Merilille had claimed required ceremony carved in polished marble? Nynaeve was more than glad to take a chair. Thinking of all the hidden currents in Salidar, she wondered whether Tylin was trying to . . . to what? She had come to expect everyone who was not a close friend to try manipulating her. Elayne sat on the very front of her chair, and stiffly.
“I mean what I say,” Tylin insisted. “Whatever you say, I will hear no insult.” From the way her fingers tapped the jeweled hilt at her waist, though, silence might be heard as one.
“I am not certain where to begin,” Nynaeve said carefully. She did wish Elayne had not actually nodded at that; Elayne was supposed to know how to handle kings and queens. Why did she not say something?
“With why,” the Queen said impatiently. “Why do four more Aes Sedai come to Ebou Dar from Salidar? It cannot be to outshine Elaida’s embassy—Teslyn does not even call it that, and there are only her and Joline. . . . You did not know?” Falling back in her chair laughing, she pressed the fingers of one hand to her lips. “Do you know about the Whitecloaks? Yes?” Her free hand made a slashing gesture, and her mirth began to subside in small ripples. “That for Whitecloaks! But I must listen to all who court me, Lord Inquisitor Carridin as well as the others.”
“But why?” Nynaeve demanded. “I am glad you don’t like Whitecloaks, but in that case, why must you listen to a word Carridin says? The man’s a butcher.” She knew she had made another mistake. The way Elayne suddenly seemed to be studying the broad white fireplace, where the deep lintel was carved into towering waves, told her that even before the last vestige of Tylin’s laughter snuffed out like a candle.
“You take me at my word,” the Queen said quietly. “I said let your tongue go free, and. . . .” Those dark eyes went to the floor tiles, and she seemed to be gathering herself.
Nynaeve looked to Elayne, hoping for some hint of what she had done wrong, or better, how to make it right, but Elayne only gave her one sideways glance and the smallest shake of her head before returning to her study of the marble waves. Maybe she should avoid looking at Tylin, too? Yet the woman staring at the floor drew her eyes. With one hand Tylin stroked the hilt of her curved dagger, with the other fingered the smaller hilt nestled between her breasts.
The marriage dagger told quite a lot about Tylin; Vandene and Adeleas had been more than willing to explain some things concerning Ebou Dar, usually those that made the city seem unsafe for anyone not surrounded by a dozen armored guards. The white sheath meant the Queen was widowed and did not intend to remarry. The four pearls and one firedrop set in the gold-wrapped hilt said she had borne four sons and one daughter; the white-enameled setting of the firedrop and the red-enameled of three of the pearls said only one son survived. All had been at least sixteen when they died, and died in duels, or the settings would have been black. What must it be like to constantly carry a reminder of that sort! According to Vandene, women saw a red or white setting as a source of pride, whether her stones were pearls and firedrops or colored glass. Vandene said many Ebou Dari women removed the stones of their children past sixteen who refused a duel, and never acknowledged them again.
At long last Tylin raised her head. Her face was pleasant, and her hand left the dagger in her belt, but she continued to finger the marriage knife absently. “I want my son to follow me on the Throne of the Winds,” she said mildly. “Beslan is your age, Elayne. This would be a matter of course in Andor, though he would have to be a woman”—she actually grinned, in apparently genuine amusement—“or in any other land save Murandy, where matters are much the same as here in Altara. In the thousand years since Artur Hawkwing, only one House has held the throne for five generations, and Anarina’s fall was so precipitous that to this day House Todande is a lapdog for anyone who wants them. No other House has ever had more than two rulers in succession.
“When my father took the throne, other Houses had more of the city itself than Mitsobar. Had he stepped outside this palace without guards, he would have been sewn into a sack with rocks and tossed into the river. When he died, he gave me what I have now. Small, compared to other rulers. A man riding fresh horses could reach the end of my writ in one day’s hard ride. I have not been idle, though. When news of the Dragon Reborn came, I was certain I could hand on to Beslan twice what I hold, and allies of a sort beyond that. The Stone of Tear and Callandor changed everything. Now I thank Pedron Niall when he arranges for Illian to take a hundred-mile swathe of Altara instead of invading. I listen to Jaichim Carridin, and I do not spit in his eye, however many Altarans died in the Whitecloak War. I listen to Carridin, and to Teslyn, and to Merilille, and I pray that I can pass something to my son instead of being found drowned in my bath on the day Beslan meets with an accident hunting.”
Tylin drew a long breath. The pleasant face remained, but an edge entered her voice. “Now. I have stood bare-breasted in the fishmarket for you. Answer me mine. Why do I have the honor of four more Aes Sedai?”
“We are here to find a ter’angreal,” Elayne said, and as Nynaeve stared in amazement, she told everything from Tel’aran’rhiod to the dust in the room where the bowl was.
“To make the weather right again would be a miraculous blessing,” Tylin said slowly, “but the quarter you describe sounds like the Rahad, across the river. Even the Civil Guard steps lightly there. Forgive me—I understand that you are Aes Sedai—but in the Rahad, you could have a knife in your back before you knew it. If the clothes are fine, they use a very narrow blade so there is little blood. Perhaps you should leave this search to Vandene and Adeleas. I think they have had a few more years than you