She thought she was awake. It was difficult to be certain, with the pitch black that permeated her tiny cell. She couldn't see anything. She had no idea how long she'd been in here. It could have been a year or a week. Water and food – if it could be called that – appeared out of nowhere at regular intervals. She was afraid she would lose her mind. She was afraid she was losing her mind. There were no sounds. She was alone. Unequivocally and utterly alone.

Lanfear had brought her here after their… meeting… and Neya hadn't seen the Forsaken since then, or anyone else for that matter. She shuddered as she remembered those hours passed in her company. Nessosin – it had been him; Mierin had called him that at some point – hadn't taken part. The Musician had simply settled in the comfortable armchair with a bottle of wine, his back to them. As far as Neya could tell, he had stared at the fire the entire time. Mierin hadn't been convinced that Neya didn't know anything, despite her impeccable – if she did say so herself – grovelling. Maybe she had grovelled too well. In any case, the hours that followed had echoed with Neya's screams of pain.

Time passed. It had to be passing. That was what time did, was it not?

Light, let her keep her sanity.

There came a light. It was faint at first, distant. All of sudden, it was right in front of her, stabbing her eyes with its bright glare.

"Wake up." A woman's sharp voice commanded. Lanfear?

"I'm awake," Neya tried to say. Her voice came out as a croak, almost inaudible.

"You will do exactly as I say. Put one foot wrong and I will make you wish for a quick death. Is that clear?" the woman asked as she opened the cell's door. Neya nodded. Her eyes were slowly becoming accustomed to the light. She could make out the other woman, who appeared as a blurry white form. "Then come with me. Quickly." With that, the Forsaken turned on her heels, taking the light with her. Neya scrambled to her feet, lurching forward and almost falling. She found her balance at the last moment and followed in the direction of the light.

She walked into in a large room, lavishly decorated in white and silver. Mierin sat in a high-backed chair; Neya fell to her knees in front of her. "It would appear that you are properly cowed. A month spent in my dungeon will do that," Lanfear said conversationally. "You belong to me now, pet. You will serve me, and only me. You will obey my every command. If you do not, I will destroy everyone you love," she went on threateningly.

When she'd realised Neya truly knew nothing, Mierin had set to extract every bit of knowledge she could from her. Who she was, where she came from, the names of her friends and family. In the end, Neya had even confessed her feelings for Elan. She had left nothing out. She would have said anything to make the pain stop.

Most of it had been made up, however.

She'd had to admit to sharing Elan's bed, of course. The woman had probably guessed it already. Everything else had contained just enough truth as to appear credible. In the early days of her captivity, she had carefully crafted herself an entirely fake background, in case Ishamael ever felt the urge to act as Mierin had. It was clear that Elan hadn't told Lanfear about her, so the lie had been made that much easier. She wasn't sure how she'd managed with the pain – the blinding, searing pain – but she had. If anything good ever came out of this, it would be that her family, at least, would be safe.

Unfortunately, she didn't think she would survive another session. Her best hope at this point was to act subdued and docile, to grovel and fawn just the right amount, so as not to raise suspicion. Truth be told, she didn't know why she was still alive. What did the Forsaken want with her?

"Do we understand each other?" Mierin demanded.

Neya nodded emphatically. "Yes, Great Mistress. It will be as you command."

"Good. I am going to tell you what you need to know to accomplish your task," she said, "so you had better pay attention. I will not repeat myself."

She told her that the Dragon had been Reborn. The Forsaken were all loose, though some of them, like Ishamael, had already met their demise at the hands of Lews Therin – as Mierin called him. The Dragon had accomplished several prophecies already: he had seized the Stone of Tear and taken Callandor, the Sword that is not a Sword. He was now roaming the Aiel Waste, gathering his people.

Nessosin had tried to put his hands on an important artefact in Rhuidean – it appeared to be a city of sorts – but Lews Therin had defeated him. Mierin had come to an agreement with the Dragon: he would keep Nessosin by his side as a teacher, for no one else could teach him how to wield saidin, and Lanfear would make sure Nessosin didn't deviate from this course. She had planted a shield on him, a block that would allow him to channel no more than a trickle of the Power. Additionally, Lews Therin had severed Nessosin's bond to the Great Lord. He was now as vulnerable as any mortal and susceptible to the taint besides. Lanfear wanted Neya to keep an eye on both of them and make certain both were fulfilling their parts. Somehow, she was also supposed to defend Nessosin against the other Chosen who would surely seek to destroy him, now that he had fallen from the Great Lord's favour.

Neya had no idea how she was supposed to infiltrate the Dragon's growing Aiel army and get close enough to him to watch his every move, or Nessosin's for that matter, but Lanfear couldn't be bothered by such trivialities. The Great Mistress was confident her little pet would find a way.

Without further ado, Mierin opened a… hole… in the air. A gateway, she called it. It suddenly came to Neya that she couldn't see anything the other woman wove. Had she been cut off from the Source? She dared not ask. She was probably shielded, at the very least. But why couldn't she see the weaves? She had no time to ponder. The gateway opened in the middle of nowhere and Neya stared in dismay at the bare, rocky landscape. Lanfear indicated the city in the far distance and practically pushed her through the opening. Before it closed, almost as an afterthought, she told her to run as fast as she could toward Rhuidean, if she didn't want to freeze to death. With that, the gateway closed.

Was the woman mad? She could hardly freeze in this heat. Blood and ashes! She had been here for less than a minute and already felt her mouth drying. Rhuidean seemed to be three or four miles distant, although she was not a good judge of these things.

With a sigh of mixed relief and apprehension, Neya set off toward the city.