The Blue Sister
Ill was how Evain felt, though she hid it well. She was certain that no one but Contair could tell, and she was certain no one but Contair could tell how thankful she was for his presence. He could tell. He stuck to her side like a shadow, his hand never far from his blade.
But at the time, their only living company was no threat. Was hopefully no threat.
It was Evain's great-auntie, Lomiel, a diminutive White who few outside her Ajah knew. Rumour suggested that she had an acquaintance among the Reds, but Evain now knew the bloody truth of that. It was said she had once had a close friend among the Brown, but since that one's disappearance she had retreated completely to her studies. What was it she studied..? Something with flowers. Classifying flowers into families. A typical White chore, trying to create order where chaos ruled on the edict of nature. Who cared which flowers were related, and which weren't?
Lomiel was an unimportant solitary, and weak in the Power at that. It was a marvel that she had passed the test for Accepted, much less for Aes Sedai.
Evain's own strength surpassed her aunt's, but she had never been able to draw on that implied authority. Around other Aes Sedai Lomiel maintained the manner of a shy child. Most of the time; but Evain had seen her when 'most of the time' just didn't apply. So to instruct Lomiel on what to do was as far from her mind as to instruct the Amyrlin on how to wear her stole.
While Evain stood there, unable to make herself be useful, Lomiel sorted files with quick fingers, her pale blue eyes absorbing their contents.
Haqon, Lomiel's Warder, cleaned his knife meticulously on a handkerchief as he listened at the door. He then tossed the bloody cloth atop the room's last, and no longer living, occupant.
Hethre Tentorin had been the Mistress of Novices, appointed much to everyone's surprise, for she had never shown any prior interest in teaching. But she had proven a steadfast taskmistress, with a keen eye for troublemakers, and rarely in living memory had the Novice and Accepted quarters been so orderly, and their inhabitants so well behaved. Hethre had been proficient with a switch, and had applied it liberally – though never undeservedly – and she had had a sixth sense for dust specks on white dresses and Novices who didn't curtsy deeply enough.
According to Lomiel, the Mistress of Novices had also been of the Black Ajah.
She was the second Black they had visited that day, in quick succession. The second assassination, and Evain had already learned that though she despised Black sisters with all her being, she hadn't the heart for cold-blooded murder.
"Evain, my niece, would you…" Lomiel said vaguely and indicated Hethre's corpse.
Evain gathered herself and set weaves to burn the body to ashes. Ashes and dust, dust and ashes. Better than cooling, stiffening flesh and drying blood. Better, but not by far.
Their first target had been Covaide, presumably of the White Ajah, who had kept the White Eyes and Ears. She and Lomiel had linked to shield the other woman, and Lomiel had asked questions, many of which she had already known the answers to, and untruthful responses had cost Covaide dearly.
The White would no longer have Eyes and Ears, Lomiel had told Evain curtly when she had asked how that wealth of information and contacts would be passed on. Lomiel doubted that more than one or two Whites would even notice the loss.
Something Evain just couldn't understand. To hold knowledge of the political and economical situation in a place, knowledge of its people's mindset and its ruler's intentions, that was crucial to any understanding or influence. To not have Eyes and Ears… would be like not having eyes or ears.
They would not even notice the loss..?
The Ajahs were very different, she concluded, and set the matter aside. She had more pressing things on her mind.
With a snap Lomiel shut the last cabinet, and it was all Evain could do not to jump.
"Finish that so we can go, my niece," said Lomiel.
Evain doubled the strength of her weaves.
A tiny gesture from Lomiel sent Haqon darting out to check the corridors, and Contair moved to take his place at the door.
"What do we do now?" Evain asked. She tried to forget that it was a human body, an Aes Sedai, that her weaves were incinerating.
A Black sister. Light have mercy, but the Mistress of Novices had been Black. All those children, in the hands of a Black sister… Evain couldn't decide if she was more enraged or afraid, but in any case it made her queasy. Who knew what the woman might have done to her charges? Recruitment wasn't the worst of it.
"You heard what she told us as well as I did," Lomiel said calmly. "What do you think we are about to do?"
Evain had heard. She drew a deep breath. "We must stop them from killing the Amyrlin."
"We must do no such thing," Lomiel intoned firmly. Haqon came back through the door and gave her a small nod. All was clear.
Evain didn't understand. "But –"
"My dearest niece, what were you planning to do? Position yourself in front of the Amyrlin and hold back the entire Black Ajah on your own, perhaps? No. You're not some fool Warder – pardon, Haqon –"
Haqon's smile was somehow fond rather than insulted.
"– and you most definitely are not her fool Warder. If the Blacks want her dead, then a pity it is, but she's not important enough to merit saving."
"Not – not important –" managed Evain. The Amyrlin was the most –
"Try to see the bigger picture, my niece. She is one Amyrlin. There were Amyrlins before her, there will be Amyrlins after her. Then look at us. We acknowledge that the Blacks exist, we have leads on them, and we fight them. If we sacrifice ourselves for some noble cause, who will be left to fight them? No, Evain, we must do no such thing."
"So we're just going to let them kill her?"
Now Lomiel's lips quirked in what might have been a smile, but her words made Evain feel cold: "Certainly not. We are going to use her as bait."
Haqon led through the chaos-ridden corridors, often taking the servant's back ways instead of the main paths. Evain and Lomiel followed, side by side, with Contair trailing not far behind. Both Aes Sedai held to the Power, and both Warders had their blades out.
Lomiel had been right. Fear and death had spread like wild-fire through the Tower, though it was never quite clear what it was about. One howling Warder, made short work by Haqon, attacked unprovoked, and Lomiel muttered something about his eyes, and how his Aes Sedai must have been dead.
Lomiel spoke as they walked, told Evain things she would have been happier not knowing, and Evain did her best to turn the monologue into a sporadic dialogue. Still, it irked her that much as Lomiel spoke, she revealed close to nothing. For all her White-ness, Evain's aunt had that political talent of talking freely without revealing a thing. A talent that was much admired among Blues.
"This is an excellent opportunity to thin out the Black's ranks," Lomiel said quietly, as she rose from the side of a servant woman she had Healed. The woman remained unconscious, but now at least she would live. "Which is what I've been doing for years. But only when they leave the Tower – alas, some never leave the Tower. I've awaited a chance like this for decades."
Her words conveyed exuberance, but her face and voice remained calm. Evain tried to match that calm, even though there was nothing to merit calmness. "You told me that they existed, and that you hunted them, but you always refused to tell me who, or what, or when. To keep me safe, I know. But now I'm involved, auntie. Don't you think it's time you told me more? For instance, how do you know who is Black?"
"I have a list of those I am sure of." She tapped her temple. "And to be safe..." She gestured forwards at Haqon. "Should I fall, he has his orders."
Haqon, having heard, or perhaps just having understood in that way Warders sometimes did, paused to look at them. "I have my orders," he repeated tonelessly. Then he went on with his scouting.
But Evain bit her lip. A very childish gesture, she knew, but she couldn't always help it. "No disrespect, auntie," she said. "But shouldn't you tell me? After all... Haqon's just a Warder."
"Haqon is as capable a Warder as they come," Lomiel assured her. "And as for you, my niece... maybe. But there is such a thing as knowing too much. You have an honest face, and it is only with great pain that you can keep it and your temper smooth when something upsets you. Sometimes, I can't believe you didn't choose Green. Someday, perhaps. For now, follow me."
Evain didn't have much choice. That irked her, too.
"Hold up!" came a cry from behind.
Evain was full of the Power at once, and Contair moved like sudden wind to position himself and his drawn sword between her and the possible threat.
"Easy, Contair," said Sarnon, and as a gesture of peace he lowered his sword. Only lowered, but that was fine; this day no Warder would sheathe.
Both Evain and Contair knew Sarnon, a nondescript man aside from a pair of deeply hazel eyes, a Warder bonded to Talanee Sedai of the Yellow.
Talanee was one of the few people Evain felt she could actually trust. The woman had saved her life when she could have let her die. The woman had saved her life when the Blacks wanted her dead.
Evain touched Contair's sword arm. He lowered his own blade.
Lomiel, with Haqon now at her side, caught sight of Talanee and with a start bobbed a curtsey and lowered her gaze. Evain managed not to stare. Considering Talanee's strength, perhaps she too ought to curtsey, but she had met the Yellow often and Talanee had required no such formalities.
"There you are, Evain," Talanee murmured. "How is your head?"
"As good as ever, Talanee," Evain said, and dipped her head. It was not a small curtsey, just a nod. The Yellow did stand high above her.
A shift in the bond – wariness – warned her when another Aes Sedai appeared, even before she felt the woman's ability. Contair must have heard steps.
This was a Red sister, whom Evain recalled vaguely. A dozen years ago, she had taught the girl Novice exercises. Her name was… Wanda? Watain? She couldn't remember.
"Watene is with me," Talanee said coolly, with a glance over her shoulder. And a sharp look at Evain. "But it shames us all that Aes Sedai jump when their own sisters appear. There… should be no need."
"There should not," Evain agreed, all while she was very aware of Lomiel behind her, as demure as a serving maid.
Watene eyed Evain as uncertainly as Evain did her. Until Talanee's very blank look passed over them both, and they both blushed and looked aside.
At Watene's shoulder trailed a junior officer of the Tower Guard. His eyes darted skittishly back and forth. They stopped for a while at Haqon, and again at Lomiel, then turned away with a deliberateness which to Evain was more reason for suspicion than if he had shouted and pointed: he had seen Lomiel and Haqon before, and he wasn't very pleased to see them again.
Talanee introduced him with a curt gesture as Watene's little brother, and Evain nodded understanding. The two bore an obvious family resemblance, equally tall and willowy, chestnut-haired and green-eyed. They even had the same square cheekbones.
Then Evain glared at her Warder. He coughed hastily and looked elsewhere: he had noticed a feature of Watene's that her brother did not share; her ample bosom and the scandalously low neckline of her dress. He had noticed it very intently.
Men.
Oh, Evain was not jealous. Watene was Red, and Contair knew better. He had just looked. So she was most definitely not jealous. He was her bloody Warder, and no amount of bosom would change that.
Evain smoothed her skirts. Had Talanee been searching for her? She would have been easy enough to find. Talanee had Healed her several times, and Healing left that affinity. She herself had no skill for Healing, but she knew the theory.
"The Tower is troubled today," Talanee went on, and even to Evain it was clear that Talanee was doing her best to not let that trouble affect her. Or at least not let that effect show. "Best if we keep together."
That might as well have been a command. Evain scrambled for a reason to escape it, but her mind was blank.
"Yes, Talanee," agreed Lomiel meekly with another curtsey.
Evain did stare. Haqon, at Lomiel's shoulder, apparently had no trouble with his Aes Sedai's sudden deferential manner. He himself appeared no more than an old hound, faithful as ever, but made toothless and half-blind by the long years.
But Lomiel agreed? Evain held her peace, but her mind reeled. What of the Amyrlin? What of the Black Ajah?
Talanee barely acknowledged Lomiel, instead raising a questioning eyebrow at Evain.
"This is my aunt," Evain told her. "Great-aunt, I should say. Lomiel Tarbonel, of the White."
"I do know her," Talanee murmured. "We were Accepted together. Long ago." A second look at Lomiel, but the way she then turned aside spoke clear dismissal. Lomiel was weak in the Power, and too unimportant for one such as Talanee to notice. "Come, Evain. Walk with me."
Evain fell in beside the Yellow. There was nothing for it.
"What are you doing down here?"
"I've looked in on the Novices and Accepted," Evain said. Well, she and Lomiel had, if only in order to find Hethre. "I teach classes. I was concerned for them."
Talanee's face set in disapproval. "There should be no need."
Lomiel and Watene trailed them – Lomiel meek and Watene sullen. Sullenness was so unbecoming. At some silent agreement, the Warders and that young officer had spread around them all.
Haqon had paused to catch the young officer's arm and spoke a few words to him before releasing him. It could have been nothing, but from the boy's annoyed expression, Evain deduced that it was something. She would ask Haqon later – no. She would ask Lomiel.
Talanee spoke. "Tell me, Evain. Do you truly believe it was the Black Ajah who assaulted you?"
Evain's toes caught on the floor and she almost fell. Talanee and Contair were equally quick to catch an arm each and steady her.
"The B-black Ajah?" she managed weakly. "Why –"
"Don't play with me," Talanee cut in, her voice honed to a razor. She held tight to Evain's arm – so tight that on her other side, Contair glared and might take action any moment. Talanee's finger's dug to the point of pain, and her words were just as sharp. "Four Yellows are dead because they wished to address the Amyrlin concerning that remnant Warder, the same remnant because of whom you had your head so incompetently bashed. Coincidence, Evain, only stretches so far."
"Release my arm," Evain said as steadily as she could.
Talanee did. "You trust your aunt, I presume? Good. Watene is beholden to me, and she can keep a secret. Speak freely, Evain. But control your Warder. He is much too temperamental."
Evain gaped. Control her Warder? Who did the woman think she was? Her Warder – her Warder, hers! – could be as bloody temperamental as he bloody well pleased, and it was none of Talanee's business.
Contair, however, took a step back and ceased to loom over her, ceased to glare daggers at Talanee. Evain felt a stab of annoyance. In response, almost as if in excuse, abashment came through the bond.
Well. She would not glare at him. There was enough glaring going on as things were. In the end, he knew whom he belonged to. He knew who to take instruction from. A misstep or two was forgivable.
"Speak up!" snapped Talanee. "I have no time to dawdle."
Evain closed her mouth firmly. To gape was beneath her. She did not look at Lomiel; she stood above her aunt, however natural it felt to follow her lead. "Yes," she said finally, angry at herself for how strangled her voice came, but she couldn't make it louder. "Yes, I believe it was… the Black Ajah. That remnant Warder, me, those four Yellows…"
"Do you have suspects?" Talanee demanded. She very much looked like a hawk who sought mice to swoop down upon. Evain wished she could be certain she herself was no mouse. And Lomiel was of no help. Did her aunt trust her to be silent, or did her aunt mean her to speak?
"You do have suspects," Talanee concluded in crisp satisfaction. "Who?"
"I have no suspects," Evain said carefully. The suspects were all Lomiel's, and she was as closemouthed on it as a clam on a pearl. "But a suspected target. The Amyrlin."
Talanee's smile was slow and mirthless. "I disagree. The Amyrlin herself is a suspect. See, my four friends went to address her concerning the Black. They intended Rill's testimony for evidence, but of a sudden, Rill was dead, and they were murdered upon their audience with the Amyrlin Seat."
Evain shook her head before she knew what she was doing. The Amyrlin herself, commit murder in her very chamber? That would have been too obvious. She was not surprised; Yellows were not known for their political perceptivity.
"It's bloody foolish, that's what it is!" hissed the Red – Watene – who stalked up on Talanee's other side. "Come now, Talanee. You must see it. The Amyrlin! How could she be Black? If there even is a Black –"
"By pure misfortune, or by the doubtable grace of those who chose her."
"Ri-ridiculous!" spluttered Watene.
Talanee coolly eyed the younger woman. "It is that sort of attitude which might allow the Blacks to thrive in the Tower. It's like allowing a wound to fester because we're too stiff-necked to admit we've been hurt. I knew a man who did so, once." She glanced at her Warder, who studiously ignored her. "I put him straight, and I intend to put the Tower straight." She said it as if she meant to lay the Tower over her knee and spank it until it saw sense. Evain almost believed she would.
"I thought you didn't believe in the Black Ajah," Evain said.
"Suffice to say that I have been… made aware of the possibility. Now close your mouth, Watene, before you say something unnecessary. I've had enough of your prattle."
Evain snuck a glance at the Red, who was near red-faced with outrage. She returned Evain's glance with a glare, and at once smoothed her face and tilted her chin up.
A typical snotty-nosed Red. Evain hated the Reds. They wouldn't see a thing if it bit their noses. In fact, if it did bite their noses, they might even close their eyes, so they wouldn't have to see it.
However, as a point of interest, it might prove amusing to find out how deep a thing would need to bite before a Red would admit that it was there. Evain found herself meeting Watene's arrogant glare with a cool smile, and the Red finally looked aside.
"Talanee," came Lomiel's respectful tones, and Evain caught her tiny aunt's curtsey out of the corner of her eye. "If I – if I may, Talanee. I know a thing or two of the Blacks, and…"
Talanee took a short moment to measure Lomiel, to judge her strength in the Power, and her now-so-quiet manner. "Perhaps it would be better if you returned to your rooms and stayed there until this has all cooled down," she said finally, crisp as ever but not unkindly. At the last moment she seemed to bite back on her words, as if an addition of 'child', like spoken to an Accepted or a Novice, had almost escaped her.
"I will not," Lomiel defied, but with her eyes still lowered. "Pardon – pardon me, Talanee. But I will not. I wish to help, and I –"
"Lomiel, child," murmured Talanee, but no one but Evain seemed to notice her slip of tongue. "Are you certain? This is a far throw from your flowers. It may require a more aggressive… a more violent –"
"Aggressive?" repeated Lomiel, and looked up. Her voice, from demure, was now hard as iron. Ostensibly she had had enough, and had torn her facades right down. Watene took a sudden step back – even Evain gave a start. Only Talanee did not move; but Lomiel met her eyes as if to stare her too down, and her every sentence came like the blow of hammer against anvil. "I can handle aggressive. I can handle violent. I'd rather see the Tower burn than let the Blacks have it."
In the silence that followed, Evain tried mouthing the same words herself. They came out – the Oath against lying did not hold them back. She straightened, and blazed her fiercest smile at her aunt. "I'll hand you the torch."
Surprise flickered past Lomiel's face, as open and apparent as on a child's face when given an unexpected new toy. It disappeared quickly, but it had been there, and it was the most human expression Evain had ever seen her aunt display. White Ajah dignity did not allow many displays of emotion.
Lomiel touched Evain's arm. Again she was all cool and dignity, again that demure lady's maid, but Evain suspected there was warmth behind the touch. "I'm glad to hear it, my niece."
"Very well, Lomiel," Talanee said quietly, clearly taking a new measure of the little White. Her expression was very odd: sort of sad, as if there was something she wished to say, something she wished to do. As if – Evain realised – she wanted to throw her arms about Lomiel's neck and hug her, but… didn't dare. Evain filed that little inkling away for future reference. So Talanee and Lomiel had been Accepted together, had they? Perhaps they had also been friends. And the overwhelming difference in Power-strength would have put an abrupt end to that once they were raised to the shawl.
Now they watched one another like stranger cats come face to face in a narrow alley. One would have to yield. Evain had no wish to be caught between them. Talanee's strength and arrogance against Lomiel's inexorable will. One would have to yield.
"Tell us what you know," Talanee said; a phrase which yielded nothing.
So Lomiel smiled, and spoke… and thus changed everything.
The reason why she had not spoken up before, why she had not told Evain alone, was immediately clear. What she now suggested could never have been accomplished by just the two of them. But with Watene, and with Talanee's immense strength added to their cause… they might just stand a chance.
No, came her second thought, and her throat went dry. Light help and preserve us, we're all going to die. If we're lucky.
Author's Note:
*evil little laugh* I do so enjoy writing of Lomiel. And Talanee.
And the rest of them, too, come to think of it.
Now finish "Gathering Storm" so you can read (and review!).
