Towers of Midnight (93 page)

Alliandre smiled. Clever woman. Faile needed to see her rival completely beaten down, so that she would consider the threat passed. This was why Berelain let some of her frustration show, more than she normally would have.

Alliandre sipped her tea. "Marriage seems nothing to you other than a calculation, then? The advantages gained?"

"There's also the joy of the hunt, the thrill of the game."

"And what of love?"

"Love is for those who do not rule," Berelain said. "A woman is worth far more than her ability to make a match, but I must care for Mayene. If we enter the Last Battle without my having secured a husband, that puts the succession in danger. And when Mayene has a succession crisis, Tear is all too quick to assert itself. Romance is an unaffordable distraction I . . ."

She trailed off suddenly, her expression changing. What was going on? Alliandre turned to the side, frowning until she saw the cause.

Galad Damodred had entered the clearing.

He had blood on his white uniform, and he looked exhausted. Yet he stood upright, straight-backed, and his face was clean. He almost seemed too beautiful to be human, with that perfectly masculine face and graceful, lean figure. And those eyes! Like deep, dark pools. He practically seemed to glow.

"I . . . What was I saying?" Berelain asked, eyes on Damodred.

"That there is no place for romance in a leader's life?"

"Yes," Berelain said, sounding distracted. "It's just not reasonable at all."

"Not at all."

"I
 
" Berelain began, but Damodred turned toward them. She cut off as their eyes met.

Alliandre suppressed a smile as Damodred crossed the clearing. He executed another set of perfect bows, one for each of them, though he barely seemed to notice Alliandre.

"My . . . Lady First," he said. "Lord Aybara says that, when he first approached this battle, you pled to him on my behalf."

"Foolishly," Berelain said. "I feared he would attack you."

"If fearing that makes one a fool," Damodred said, "then we two are fools together in it. I was certain that my men would soon fall to Aybara."

She smiled at him. That quickly, she seemed to have forgotten everything she'd been saying previously.

"Would you like some tea?" Damodred said, speaking a little abruptly as he reached for the teacups, which sat on a cloth away from the fire.

"I'm drinking some," she noted.

"Some more then?" he asked, hastily kneeling and pouring a cup. "Er."

He stood up, holding the cup, then seeing that she already had one in her hands.

"There are still bandages to cut," Berelain said. "Perhaps you could help."

"Perhaps," he said. He handed the cup he'd poured over to Alliandte. Berelain
 
her eyes still holding his
 
handed hers over as well, seeming oblivious to what she was doing.

Alliandre smiled deeply
 
now holding three teacups
 
as the two of them walked over to the stack of cloths to be cut. This might turn out well indeed. At the very least, it would get those blasted Whitecloaks out of her kingdom.

She walked back toward Faile and Perrin. As she did so, she slipped the blue silk shirt from the pile of cloth she'd set aside to cut. It really would make a nice sash.

CHAPTER 44

A Backhanded Request

Morgase stepped out of her hillside tent and looked out at Andor. Whitebridge lay below, blessedly familiar, although she could see that it had grown. The farms were failing, the last of the winter stores spoiling, so people made for the cities.

The landscape should have been green. Instead, even the yellowed grass was dying off, leaving scars of brown. It wouldn't be long before the entire land was like the Waste. She longed to take action. This was her nation. Or it had once been.

She left her tent, looking for Master Gill. On the way, she passed Faile, who was speaking with the quartermastet again. Morgase nodded, showing deference. Faile nodded back. There was a rift between the two of them now. Morgase wished it could be otherwise. She and the others had shared a sliver of their lives when hope had been weaker than a candle's flame. It had been Faile who had encouraged Morgase to use the One Powet squeezing every last drop from her pathetic ability
 
to signal for help while they wete trapped.

The camp was already well set up, and amazingly the Whitecloaks had joined them, but Perrin hadn't yet decided what to do. Or at least if he had decided, he wasn't sharing that decision with Morgase.

She walked to the wagon lines, past farriers and grooms looking for the best pasture, people arguing in the supply dump, soldiers grudgingly digging trenches for waste. Everyone had their place except Morgase. Servants backed away, half-bowing, uncertain how to treat her. She wasn't a queen, but neither was she simply another noblewoman. She certainly wasn't a servant anymore.

Though her time with Galad had reminded her what it was to be a queen, she was thankful for what she had learned as Maighdin. That hadn't been as bad as she had feared; there had been advantages to being a lady's maid. The camaraderie of the other servants, the freedom from the burdens of leadership, the time spent with Tallanvor. . . .

That life was not hers. It was time to be done with pretending.

She eventually found Basel Gill packing the cart, Lini supervising, Lamgwin and Breane helping. Faile had released Breane and Lamgwin from her service so they could serve Morgase. Morgase had kept silent about Faile so graciously granting her back her servants.

Tallanvor wasn't there. Well, she couldn't moon over him like a girl any longer. She had to get back to Caemlyn and help Elayne.

"Your Majes-
 
" Master Gill said, bowing. He hesitated. "I mean, my Lady. Pardon me."

"Don't mind it, Master Gill. I have trouble remembering myself."

"You sure you want to go forward with this?" Lini folded her thin arms.

"Yes," Morgase said. "It is our duty to return to Caemlyn and offer Elayne what assistance we can."

"If you say so," Lini said. "Me, I think that anyone who allows two roosters in the same barnyard deserves the ruckus they get."

Morgase raised an eyebrow. "Noted. But I think you'll find that I am quite capable of helping without usurping authority from Elayne."

Lini shrugged.

She had a point; Morgase had to be careful. Staying in the capital for too long could throw a shadow across Elayne. But if there was one thing Morgase had learned from her months as Maighdin it was that people needed to be doing something productive, even if it was something as simple as learning to serve tea. Morgase had skills that Elayne could use for the dangerous times ahead. If she began to overshadow her daughter, however, she would move out of Caemlyn to her holdings in the west.

The others worked quickly loading up, and Morgase had to fold her arms to keep from helping. There was a certain fulfillment to caring for oneself. As she waited, she noticed someone riding up the path from Whitebridge. Tallanvor. What had he been doing in the city? He saw her and approached, then bowed, his lean, square face a model of deference. "My Lady."

"You visited the city? Did you get Lord Aybara's permission?" Perrin hadn't wanted a sudden flood of soldiers and refugees going into the city, causing trouble.

"My Lady, I have family there," Tallanvor said, climbing from the saddle. His voice was stiff and formal. "I felt it wise to investigate the information discovered by Lord Aybara's scouts."

"Is that so, Guardsman-Lieutenant Tallanvor?" Morgase said. If he could act in such a formal way, then so could she. Lini, passing with an armload of linens to pack, gave a quiet snort at Morgase's tone.

"Yes, my Lady," Tallanvor replied. "My Lady ... if I may make a suggestion?"

"Speak."

"By reports, your daughter still assumes you dead. I'm certain if we speak to Lord Aybara, he will command his Asha'man to make a gateway for us to return to Caemlyn."

"An interesting suggestion," Morgase said carefully, ignoring the smirk on Lini's face as she walked back by in the othet direction.

"My Lady," Tallanvot said, eyeing Lini, "might we speak in private?"

Morgase nodded, stepping off to the side of the camp. Tallanvot followed. A short distance away, she turned to look at him. "Well?"

"My Lady," he continued in a softer voice. "The Andoran court is certain to hear that you still live, now that Aybara's entire camp knows. If you don't present yourself and explain that you've renounced the throne, the rumors of your survival could erode Elayne's authority."

Morgase didn't reply.

"If the Last Battle truly is coming," Tallanvor said, "we can't afford
 
"

"Oh, hush," she said curtly. "I've already given Lini and the others the otder to pack up. Didn't you notice what they were doing?"

Tallanvor flushed as he noticed Gill hauling a chest over and setting it on the cart.

"I apologize for my forwardness. With your leave, my Lady." Tallanvor nodded to her and turned to go.

"Must we be so formal with one another, Tallanvor?"

"The illusion has ended, my Lady." He walked away.

Morgase watched him go, and felt her heart twist. Curse her stubbornness! Curse Galad! His arrival had reminded her of her pride, of her royal duty.

It was bad for her to have a husband. She'd learned that from Taringail. For all of the stability her marriage to him had brought, each and every advantage had come with a threat to her throne. That was why she'd never made Bryne or Thorn her official consort, and Gaebril only proved that she had been right to worry.

Any man who married her could, potentially, be a threat to Elayne as well as Andor. Her children, if she had any more, would be rivals to Elayne's. Morgase couldn't afford to love.

Tallanvor stopped a short distance away, and her breath caught. He turned, then walked back to her. He drew his sword and bent down, placing it reverently at her feet as she stood in weeds and scrub.

"I was wrong to threaten to leave, before," he said softly. "I was hurt, and pain makes a man stupid. You know that I will always be here, Morgase. I've promised it to you before, and I mean it. These days, I feel like a biteme in a world of eagles. But I have my sword and my heart, and both are yours. Forever."

He stood to go.

"Tallanvor," she said, almost in a whisper. "You've never asked me, you know. If I would have you."

"I can't put you into that position. It wouldn't be right to force you to do what we both know you must, now that you have been exposed."

"And what must I do?"

"Turn me down," he spat, obviously growing angry. "For the good of Andor."

"Must I?" she asked. "I keep telling myself that, Tallanvor, but still I question it."

"What good am I to you?" he asked. "At the very least, you should marry to help Elayne secure the loyalty of one of the factions you offended."

"And so I go to marriage without love," she said. "Again. How many times must I sacrifice my heart for Andor?"

"As many times as required, I suppose." He sounded so bitter, clenching his fists. Not angry at her, but at the situation. He always had been a man of such passion.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No," she said. "Not again. Tallanvor, look at that sky above. You've seen the things that walk the world, felt the Dark One's curses strike us. This is not a time to be without hope. Without love."

"But what of duty?"

"Duty can bloody get in line. It's had its share of me. Everyone's had their share of me, Tallanvor. Everyone but the man I want." She stepped over his sword, still lying in the cockleburrs, then couldn't stop herself. In a blink, she was kissing him.

"All right, you two," a stern voice said from behind. "We're going to see Lord Aybara right now."

Morgase pulled away. It was Lini.

"What?" Morgase tried to regain some composure.

"You're getting married," Lini declared. "If I have to pull you to it by the ears."

"I will make my own choice," Morgase said. "Perrin tried to get me to
 
"

"I'm not him," Lini said. "This is best done before we return to Elayne. Once you're in Caemlyn there will be complications." She turned her eyes on Gill, who had the trunk stowed. "And you! Unpack my Lady's things."

"But Lini," Morgase protested, "we're going to Caemlyn."

"Tomorrow will be soon enough, child. Tonight, you celebrate." She eyed them. "And until the marriage is done, I don't think it's safe to trust you two alone."

Morgase flushed. "Lini," she hissed. "I'm not eighteen anymore!" "No, when you were eighteen, you were married proper. Do I need to seize your ears?"

"I
 
" Morgase said.

"We're coming, Lini," Tallanvor said.

Morgase glared at him.

He frowned. "What?"

"You haven't asked."

He smiled, then held her close. "Morgase Trakand, will you be my wife?"

"Yes," she replied. "Now let's find Perrin."

Perrin tugged on the oak branch. It broke off, powdery wood dust puffing out. As he held the branch up, sawdust streamed out of the end onto the brown grass.

"Happened last night, my Lord," Kevlyn Torr said, holding his gloves. "The entire stand of hardwood over there, dead and dried in one night. Nearly a hundred trees, I'd guess."

Perrin dropped the branch, then dusted off his hands. "It's no worse than what we've seen before."

"But-
 
"

"Don't worry about this," Perrin said. "Send some men to harvest this wood for fires; looks as if it will burn really well."

Kevlyn nodded, then hurried off. Other woodsmen were poking through the trees, looking disturbed. Oak, ash, elm and hickory trees dying overnight was bad enough. But dying, then drying out as though dead for years? That was downright unsettling. Best to take it in stride, though, not let the men grow afraid.

Perrin walked back toward camp. In the distance, anvils tang. They'd bought up raw materials, every bit of iron or steel they could get from Whitebridge. The people had been eager to trade for food, and Perrin had obtained five forges, with men to move them and set them up, along with hammers, tools and coal.

He might just have saved some in the city from starving. For a little while at least.

Smiths continued to pound. Hopefully he wasn't working Neald and the others too hard. Power-wrought weapons would give his people a critical advantage. Neald hadn't been able to figure out exactly what he'd done in helping forge Mah'alleinir, but Perrin hadn't been surprised. That night had been unique. He rested a hand on the weapon, feeling its faint warmth, thinking of Hopper.

Now, Neald had figured out how to make blades that wouldn't dull or break. The more he practiced, the sharper edges he was able to create. The Aiel had already begun to demand those edges for their spears, and Perrin had given Neald the order to see to them first. It was the least he owed them.

On the Traveling ground at the edge of the large, increasingly entrenched camp, Grady stood in a circle with Annoura and Masuri, holding open a gateway. This was the last group of noncombatants who wanted to leave him, the group ttaveling to Caemlyn. Among them, he'd sent a messenger to Elayne. He'd need to meet with her soon; he wasn't certain if he should be worried or not. Time would tell.

Some others were coming back through the gateway, bringing a few carts of food purchased in Caemlyn, where supplies were still available. Eventually he caught sight of Faile picking her way through the camp toward him. He raised a hand, drawing her over.

"Everything all right with Bavin?" Perrin asked. She'd been at the quartermaster's tent.

"All is well."

Perrin rubbed his chin. "I've been meaning to tell you for some time
 
I don't think he's particularly honest."

"I'll keep special watch on him," she said, smelling amused.

"Berelain's been spending more time with the Whitecloaks," Perrin said. "Seems she has eyes for Damodred. She's been leaving me alone entirely."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. And she published that proclamation, condemning the rumors about me and her. Light, but people actually seem to believe it. I was worried they'd see it is a sign of desperation!"