Door barred, ashandarai near to hand, and a much-regretted swig of wine later, Mat cleared his throat and began.

"I know Min—Darbinda—told you she saw a ruby dagger around me. What else did she tell you about it?" He had not enjoyed hearing Min rattling off even the surface level of some of his deepest secrets to Tuon, without so much as a by-your-leave from either of them, but he would make it work for him. The less he had to repeat, the better for his stomach. And at least Tuon had asked him, this time.

"She said that it represented a real dagger you had carried for a time. She told me it was cursed, and that it had made you very sick for a while." That was what Mat had overheard. Tuon considered him and added, "She confirmed that she had seen you when you were sick. She also said that as far as she knew, you had been healed at the White Tower, and that the curse was not caused by any aspect of the One Power."

It was Mat's turn to consider. Tuon had clearly pressed Min for additional details, not that Min knew much, he was pretty sure. He wondered if Min had volunteered that information about the White Tower, or if it had been drawn out of her. He could see it going either way. Min might have tried to defend the reputation of Aes Sedai, or Tuon could have pounced on some detail Min dropped and badgered her until it came out.

He would have been happiest not to bring the Power into this at all, but he supposed he owed it to the Amyrlin—the former Amyrlin—and Moiraine to admit that they had kept him alive. Light, he hated even thinking about those Healings. It made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. They'd felt like violations at the time, and afterwards he'd known the Aes Sedai only saved him because they had a use for him. But being alive was still better than being dead. Dead, or worse. Those Portal Stone memories were blessedly vague, but because of them he knew in his bones that the futures without Healing were worse.

And if the Aes Sedai had tied a string around him... well, it was partially his own doing. He'd chosen to pick up the dagger, and he'd chosen to blow the Horn of Valere. They had both seemed like good ideas at the time. Besides, between rescuing Moiraine and having the Horn currently en route to him, he felt his debt to both Moiraine and the former Amyrlin was almost paid. The fact of it was, there were leashes a person could live with, and leashes they couldn't. Maybe he'd be able to make Tuon see the difference.

"Min saw the dagger around me the first time she ever met me, soon after we'd left home, but she didn't mention it directly to me. I heard about it secondhand from Rand." Mat frowned. "I suppose it might have put the idea in my head, though. I never really thought about why it seemed like the dagger was meant for me. It just... did." He grinned weakly. "You know how it is. I haven't forgotten that you wanted to buy my raven-marked ashandarai. Or me."

"You still haven't told me what the writing on it means. Or what you paid," she said, ignoring the rest of his comment.

"Maybe someday," he said. "First things first."

He told her briefly what he remembered about going treasure-hunting in Shadar Logoth. Much of it was vague, more emotional impression than memory, but he remembered the moment Mordeth seemingly turned into smoke and vanished into a crack in the wall. That kind of thing had a way of sticking with you. All the worst things did.

He also told her what he'd learned afterwards about Aridhol, supplementing his fuzzy personal recall with the first-hand information from those old memories. Tuon listened, and if she thought he was telling children's tales, she thankfully kept it to herself this time. But light, it was unpleasant! Mat felt cold and sweaty. He wanted more than anything to gloss over the pull of the ruby dagger, and the equal parts desire, pain, and revulsion he felt thinking about it now. He had played the fool, and been played for a fool, and neither were things he liked admitting to anyone, least of all his wife. But that was the point, wasn't it? He had to make her understand what it meant to be cursed.

"I figured that since the dagger hadn't been given to me, I hadn't actually completed Mordeth's bargain, and so I was safe from whatever evil he had in mind. I thought I'd bested him, but it turned out he had the last laugh." All the muscles in his body ached, the way his eye socket did sometimes. He could feel his shoulders up around his ears, as Nynaeve would say, but forcing them down would take too much effort. He forced out words instead. "I said before that I played the fool sometimes. I wanted that dagger, wanted it beyond sense or reason. So I took it. It was beautiful, and powerful, and it felt like an extension of my own hand. On the worst days, it felt like the only friend I ever needed. Maybe the only friend I ever deserved." He looked down at the table.

"That dagger changed me. It changed me while I was carrying it, and getting free of it changed me even more. When I was carrying it... I felt like everyone was following me, everyone was out to get me, no one could be trusted. I said awful things to people who were just trying to be my friends, to help me. I was... I was so scared, Tuon, and so angry! I felt hunted. I was hunted! I know it sounds crazy, but Darkfriends kept finding us. They told me how easy I was to find, with the dagger. How I was putting my friends in danger just by being there." His anger at himself and the Darkfriends both only partially drowned out the discomfort of speaking. Mat saw Tuon reach out and put her small hand on his. It felt very warm. He looked up and saw her eyes were soft with concern and compassion; thankfully, no pity.

"I can tell this is hard for you to speak of," she said. "I am sorry you went through this. Those feelings, of being watched, of being hunted, of putting those you care about in danger by your mere existence... I am familiar with them. One can get used to them, with time, but one can never call them pleasant." Her eyes seemed to gaze inward for a brief moment, but then they returned to him. "You are being too hard on yourself," she said sternly. "I know that you are capable of great loyalty, and also of inspiring loyalty in others. Your friends think well of you. I have seen it."

It was a nice change to have his character defended, for once. Of course, it came at the one time he couldn't enjoy it.

"I don't remember a lot of it. I hope—I think—I fought the paranoia and the hatred. I know I didn't always succeed. I wouldn't have been able to fight it forever." He swallowed against the bile in his throat. "Eventually, I wouldn't have noticed that anything was wrong." He tried to suppress the shiver that ran through him at the thought.

Tuon frowned and looked down at his hand, still covered by hers. "Your hands are clammy, and you're very tense. Are you ill, or in pain? I have willowbark in my belt pouch."

Mat said automatically, "I'm fit as a fiddle."

She simply raised one eyebrow. "I find it very interesting that this is the point at which you start lying."

Well, Mat found it very interesting that that was the point in his story at which she tried to change the subject. If he had to reveal how he felt to get her back on topic, so be it. "Talking about it—trying to remember what it was like—makes me feel like sicking up," he admitted. "Like being punched in an old gut wound." She nodded. Light, was she familiar with being punched in a gut wound, too? No, he would have noticed a scar like that. "I don't think the willowbark would help much. But thank you for offering," he added hastily. It was important to reinforce positive behavior, like asking permission before trying to cure him. Upon reflection—not that he thought about it that much—he half-suspected their first kiss had just been a plot to get close enough to check him for fever.

"Unfortunately, my herbal expertise is limited to wound-healing and obscure poisons," Tuon said, as matter-of-fact as ever. "And antidotes and emetics, of course, not that that helps us here." Obscure poisons? Blood and bloody ashes. Maybe she had a point, wanting to become invulnerable. No, he had to focus. What had she said earlier?

"So you do believe me about the dagger curse?" Mat said. "You aren't going to rap my head and tell me not to repeat children's tales?"

"I admit that I find aspects of your tale rather hard to believe. But I do not think you are lying, either." She gently squeezed his hand, then let go. "You said getting free of this dagger changed you. How did you get free, and how were you changed?"

"I'm prepared to tell you, but if you call me a liar this time, I'll stop right there," he warned.

Tuon folded her arms and met him stare for stare. "Don't lie to me, and I won't call you a liar." After a moment, she sighed. "I will continue to suspend my disbelief, as you require. Besides, as I said before, I believe you are sincere."

Well, that would have to do. He steeled himself and went on. "Rand and I eventually met back up with the group in Caemlyn. I don't remember a lot, but I remember Moiraine looking at the dagger like it was a poisonous snake poised to strike. I remember... some things I said. Things I'm not proud of. Moiraine and her warder held me down and Healed me. Or used the Power in some way, I guess. I don't remember the details of that at all, but—" Mat cut off as a wave of nausea hit. He doubled over away from Tuon, trying to hold it in. He felt the breeze as she pushed herself away from the table hurriedly, and he heard a soft thump a moment later. Suddenly a planter appeared in front of his face. Bits of dirt still clung to the inside. The earthy smell was oddly comforting. He breathed in the scent and the nausea became less pressing.

"Your body remembers, even if you do not," Tuon said, still holding the planter. "When I felt light-headed as a child, I used to tap my fingernails on my arms. The repetitive touch gave me something else to focus on. It would help me think when I planned countermoves, too."

Mat let her soft drawl wash over him. "The dirt smells nice," he said, then immediately wished he hadn't. She was going to think him a half-wit.

"Yes, scents can be grounding, too. A happy accident." She adjusted her grip on the planter.

"You can put it down. I feel better. Really!"

She gave him one of those looks that made him feel like she could see into his skull, but set the pot on the table beside him. "I begin to understand why you refused Healing."

Mat winced. "Well, I didn't trust Joline. But Teslyn was all right. So yes, you might be on to something there." He reached out for the planter and rubbed some of the dirt between his fingers, just for something to do. "I think I felt better after those Healings, or whatever they were, but they were treating the symptoms, not the disease. The dagger still went everywhere with me. Eventually it was stolen—long story—and without it I got sicker and sicker, though I'm pretty sure I felt fine. I was skin and bones by the end."

He was out of dirt to crumble, so he picked out more from the planter. "I woke up in the White Tower, feeling right as rain and extremely hungry. The Amyrlin herself had apparently helped Heal me—not Egwene, it was a different woman, Siuan—and she made sure I knew the price."

He saw Tuon's eyes sharpen. "Which was?" She could never really sound clipped, not with that accent, but she made a fair attempt.

Well, she probably already knew most of this, thanks to Min, and he wouldn't be able to hide it from her for much longer anyway. "She wanted me to blow the Horn of Valere at the Last Battle. Seeing as I'd already blown it once, and she'd gone to all that trouble to save me, instead of letting me die and having whoever else she wanted blow it."

"You what?" She looked furious, hopefully at Min for holding something that important back. "I can't believe you kept this from me. I can't believe my Doomsayer kept this from me."

"I'm glad she held this back! I don't want to get killed so someone else can sound the Horn! You know it'll work for the Shadow as much as anyone else, right? As long as I'm alive, it'll only work for me. That's valuable strategic information, and the fewer people know about it, the better," Mat shot back.

She sighed. "I will need to be much more precise with my questions to Darbinda. But I understand the necessity of secrecy." Suddenly, she smiled mischievously. "At least I have secured the person who blew the Horn of Valere."

Mat grunted. "I'll send Artur Hawkwing over to chat with you personally, assuming he's got the time. I expect it'll be very educational."

Tuon looked delighted and a little awed at the prospect, although Mat suspected she wouldn't enjoy it nearly as much as she thought she would. He picked the thread of the story back up. "So the price of getting uncursed was owing a life debt and an apocalypse-sized favor to some Aes Sedai. And having the Power forced on me. Oh, and losing half my memories. I know how the people here feel. It's no picnic, having holes in your head."

Tuon frowned. "You will blow the Horn at the Last Battle, so that is the 'favor' settled. The life-debt is troubling, however. Very troubling." Her back was up, and she was looking at him in a way he didn't like at all. It made the bottom drop out of his stomach, and his stomach had been through enough today.

"It's my life-debt, I don't see how it's any of your business," Mat snapped. "But since I seem to be spilling secrets today... I lost this," he pointed to his eyepatch, "rescuing Moiraine. So she and I, we're square."

"I knew you lost that eye saving a woman," she said, the suspicion in her face replaced by smugness. "For an agent of chaos, you're very predictably heroic." Mat almost tossed the contents of the winecup at her, for that. Once people started thinking of you as a hero, you got stuck pulling their bacon off the coals. As he was attempting to do now, Light burn him. Besides, Noal had died helping a woman he'd never even met. That was heroism; this was just averting disaster.

Remembering Noal's sacrifice, Mat found "Sweet Whispers of Tomorrow" bubbling up from his memories of that day. He didn't realize he was singing it under his breath, though, until Tuon said, "What is that song?"

Embarrassed, Mat said, "Oh, it was a song I once heard Thom play, that's all. It's not important."

"Let me be the judge of that," she said, imperious. "Sing it."

"Is this supposed to be an omen or something?" he said desperately.

"That is what I am trying to determine," she said, sounding exasperated. "Sing!"

Ears burning, Mat sang aloud from where he left off:

"...and he never wished to lose his fear.

For the fear of man is a thing untold.

It keeps him safe, and it proves him bold.

Don't let fear make you cease to strive,

For that fear, it proves you remain alive!"

He was interrupted by the thud of an axe blade shearing into the door of the private room, which was almost a relief.