Mazrim sipped his bergamot tea in the highest room of his palace as he observed the procession gathering in the main courtyard. He could watch them at leisure, but they wouldn't be able to see him. He could even hear them, thanks to the eavesdropping weave he'd set in place. This useful weave didn't come from the Forsaken; it had been invented by one of the Dedicated who was trying to spy on Mazrim's private lessons. Mazrim had banned its use right away, but it did come in handy.
Elayne Trakand sat proudly atop her pure-breed horse, her red-gold hair reflecting the early morning sunlight. She was accompanied by the tall blonde woman whom Mazrim had noticed when he'd visited Caemlyn the previous day, the one who'd attempted to burn a hole through him with her piercing gaze as he'd watched Trakand undress. She was Captain-General of the Guard, according to his sources, but Mazrim suspected there was more to her relationship with Trakand than that. Around them were a dozen members of the Queen's Guard.
No Aes Sedai, except for the snooty wannabe Queen. That was a good thing, given the circumstances.
Mazrim was still irritated – no, he was angry, furious, even – about Ablar's foolish scheme. What had the man been thinking, bonding the witches he was ordered to capture?
Well, Mazrim amended bitterly, the answer to that question is quite obvious. Ablar had seen an opportunity and he'd seized it. A chance to bolster his numbers – there were already rumours of him bedding one of his pet Aes Sedai. It was clever, Mazrim admitted grudgingly. He would never have thought of that himself. Then again, Mazrim could never trust the witches, not after what they'd almost done to him. He could not fathom how Ablar could look so poised after bonding a member of the Red, of all Ajahs. Besides, a bonded Aes Sedai could be as much trouble as a loose one.
Trakand was outraged that Mazrim hadn't deigned to greet them himself. He'd sent Coteren instead – a risky choice, given the Asha'man's quick temper and lack of manners. But Trakand would know Mazrim had sent him on purpose. It would only infuriate her further, but at this point Mazrim didn't care. Vermin, were they? Well, she would know the full extent of it, and no better person to demonstrate than Coteren. The best part about this was that he was killing two birds with one stone; Coteren had been caught bullying several Soldiers, who had joined Ablar's side as a result. This was his punishment. The Asha'man would have to act polite and gracious for an hour at least. It went against the man's nature. It might possibly kill him. It wouldn't be a great loss, but Mazrim couldn't spare even him, now that Ablar had all but started recruiting men on his end of the chasm he was creating at the Black Tower. If they didn't watch it, Mazrim reflected, they would end up in a situation not unlike that of the White Tower. Mazrim really couldn't afford that.
Access to his palace was strictly forbidden, of course, no matter how much the potential Queen-to-be might insist. He already had the captive Aes Sedai to worry about. He didn't need the girl to pry further in his private affairs.
The Turning process was taking longer to put in place than Mazrim had assumed. It was no simple trick. Ideally, Mazrim would require female channelers to assist the Myrdraal. He had hoped to make use of the Aes Sedai – they would be easy to Turn, with all the male channelers at his disposal – but Ablar had ruined that ploy effectively. Mazrim was increasingly certain that the best course of action would be to send the blasted man away. He would have to be careful, however. He would need a good reason to get rid of him, so Ablar and his men didn't get suspicious. Hopefully an opportunity would present itself, and the sooner the better.
Trakand's cheeks burned in obvious anger when Coteren announced that Mazrim wouldn't be joining them. She glared at the palace as though she could summon him with her mind. How easy it was to provoke her. It had been the same during their meeting the previous day. She'd clearly had a hard time reining in her temper, to Mazrim's smug realisation. Idly, he wondered if she knew he'd been lying about the number of female channelers in the room. He knew about the Sea Folk, of course. The Forsaken occasionally shared useful scraps of information, when they were in a good mood. The three women must have been linked besides, but that hadn't overly worried him. A circle, although more powerful in strength than a single channeler, meant only one person could weave, the one holding the circle. Against multiple opponents, it wasn't exactly an advantage.
The girl very obviously thought of herself as the rightful Queen. In her mind, the throne was already hers. That was without counting on her rivals – some of those were Darkfriends, according to Moridin. The Forsaken had made an appearance a few days ago, for no apparent reason. The youthful-looking man had assured Mazrim that he would send as many female Dreadlords as he could spare, although he hadn't said when. He hadn't mentioned Neya or Demandred. Mazrim often wondered if the two Forsaken were working together or if both were truly unaware of the other's meddling at the Black Tower. It seemed unlikely, but they never mentioned each other. And since Demandred had been the one to take Neya away, it would make more sense that he be the one to provide the resources needed for the Turning, but that had been Moridin alone, as far as Mazrim could tell.
The Forsaken, it seemed, played their own games, and the plots and subplots were as intricate as Daes Dae'mar.
Trakand had made several threats during their… negotiations. She could cut off supplies arriving from Caemlyn. Mazrim had laughed that off. True, with the dreadful weather, gateways were necessary to acquire anything, and he could hardly spare men to go shopping for groceries. But the girl forgot that her rule, practically speaking, didn't extend far beyond the city's borders, especially the way things stood, with the succession so uncertain.
She'd threatened to send Aes Sedai to the Black Tower. Mazrim hadn't dared laugh aloud, but they'd already proved that a handful of witches were no match for them. He didn't think the girl realised exactly how many men he had at his disposal – well, she would have a better idea of their numbers soon enough. Short of sending the entire White Tower against the Black – and considering the witches' current situation, Mazrim couldn't see that happening – his Asha'man would vastly outnumber any party of Aes Sedai they sent their way.
And then those Aiel savages had interrupted their conversation. They had ignored Mazrim entirely, as though he posed no threat at all. That last part had been… confusing, at first. Not in a million years could he have anticipated it, or anything quite like it. He still had no idea what had happened, what had been the point of such an absurd behaviour. When Mazrim had realised what Trakand had been about to do, however, it had been… well, hilarious. That Elayne Trakand, future Queen of Andor, might unclothe herself in front of so many strangers, at the order of an Aiel primitive… It was unbelievably demeaning.
He had watched with interest, of course, even though he'd had the presence of mind to order his men to turn. Catching your enemy in an embarrassing position – and if that was not an embarrassing position, Mazrim didn't know what was – gave you an advantage over them.
Mazrim didn't care much for blond or red-haired women, but Trakand was well-made, no doubt about it. Still, she was not his type – and not only because of the colour of her hair. She was arrogant, and she obviously thought highly of herself. She was a spoiled, ungrateful child, used to having people fulfil her every whim – a royal brat if there ever was one.
More importantly, she was not Neya.
Neya was still alive. Recently, Mazrim had been wondering where she was, exactly – not the Aiel Waste, he'd decided. Shara seemed much more likely. Why Demandred would send her there, and what he was doing there, for that matter, was still undetermined. Mazrim knew very little about Shara – about as much as anyone else. The stories that made it into the Westlands had to be wild exaggerations at best. Beasts the size of houses, sex slaves, bloodthirsty pirates, mines of gold and silver… It was pure fantasy. So why had Demandred established himself there?
Mazrim put the question aside. It hardly mattered. The one who should be worried was Rand al'Thor. Demandred, if unchecked, could turn out to be the most deadly of the Forsaken. He was a strategist, a tactician. If he was gathering an army in Shara… The blow would be devastating, because who would expect it?
Neya had been sending emotions through the bond almost daily – hope, reassurance, sadness, worry. She must have concentrated hard to make certain Mazrim felt them, even so vaguely. This was what had comforted him that she was not a Darkfriend. Why would she bother to connect with him, weeks after she'd been taken, especially now that Mazrim was finally moving on with the Turning phase?
It meant that she was truly in danger, which was hardly a comforting thought, and yet Mazrim felt relieved. She had not been deceiving him. She really cared about him, even now.
Initially, after he'd decided that Neya wasn't a Darkfriend, Mazrim had been afraid that she would despise him, hate him. After all, he was a Darkfriend. He had deceived her. He had let her down, he had crushed all of her expectations regarding the man she thought he was. Demandred must have told her who he truly was; of that Mazrim had no doubt. And still she sought him out almost daily, clearly worried about him.
On his side of the bond, Mazrim had deemed it prudent to mask his own emotions. With everything that was going on… Neya would be disappointed if she ever found out what he was planning to do, he knew. Besides, if she'd been forced to reveal their connection to Demandred, she had thus revealed Mazrim's greatest weakness – which was, simply put, that he was weak.
He could have severed the bond. Perhaps he should have. But he still couldn't bring himself to do it. At least he knew that Neya was alive, and she knew he was, too.
There was nothing he could do, anyway, no matter how much thought he put into resolving the situation. He barely slept, these days, and instead spent hours in his armchair drinking wine and considering his options. But it was helpless. If he tried to rescue Neya, assuming they both survived the attempt, what would they do next? Hide? There was no hiding from the Forsaken. Demandred was proof that they were truly everywhere, and they had spies in the most unlikely places. Mazrim had even briefly considered warning al'Thor, revealing everything, hoping the Dragon Reborn would rescue Neya himself – and deal with Demandred in the process, if he could. He'd quickly rejected the idea, however. For one thing, Mazrim wasn't sure where al'Thor was at the moment, despite his sources. For another… Well, the boy wasn't exactly sane. There was no telling how he would react. He might execute Mazrim on the spot. It was too chancy.
Mazrim had often wondered what Neya received on her end of the bond. Her emotions were always clear, strong, and neatly categorised, but she'd once claimed that Mazrim's mind was difficult to read. Admittedly, most of the time, Mazrim himself didn't know how he felt. And it seemed to be getting worse.
But that was something else he couldn't afford to dwell on. If he was doomed to go mad, despite the Dark One's supposed protection, so be it. Perhaps it would make the weeks to come more bearable.
Karys observed the newcomers with unfeigned curiosity and keen interest. The lady who rode at the head of the procession was beautiful, like a princess in a fairy tale. The woman at her side looked like Birgitte Silverbow, one of the Heroes of the Horn of Valere. She even carried a bow. Karys had rarely met a woman carrying a weapon, except for Neya. She wondered if the lady's guard was a good shot. Perhaps she could teach Karys how to use the bow, if they intended to stay at the Black Tower.
The golden-haired lady didn't look happy. She was glaring in the direction of Mazrim's palace as though he'd offended her, but Karys hadn't seen Mazrim this morning. He rarely wandered outside, these days, not even to make announcements. He usually left that task to Atal – the Asha'man was a charismatic speaker.
Karys had been angry at first, after Mazrim had spurned them, a feeling exacerbated by how devastated she was that Neya had left them. Now that she'd cooled off, however, she realised that Mazrim's words made no sense. They were contradictory. Karys had overheard him talk with Neya just a few days before she disappeared. They had been discussing having Ila and Karys move into Mazrim's palace, where they'd each have their own room, if they wanted. Neya had sounded thrilled, but the suggestion had come from Mazrim, not her. Why would he suggest that if he didn't want them around? Had it been just to please Neya? Karys couldn't be certain, but she'd decided that it was unlikely.
She was still angry, or at least frustrated, but mainly because she didn't understand what was happening at the Tower. Something was happening; that much was certain. Everyone was tense – more than usual, anyway. There were brawls almost daily, and some men used the Power on occasion, which was strictly forbidden and harshly punished. Mazrim had given several warnings and came up with punishments each more severe than the last, but nothing seemed to work. Something was very wrong.
Karys just couldn't understand why Neya hadn't sent any messages. She might be too busy to visit, but couldn't she write a few words, to let them know she was fine, that she would come back as soon as possible? Karys knew that Neya couldn't make gateways – the weave that allowed channelers to travel wherever they wished – but surely the Lord Dragon had channelers at his disposal who could. It made no sense.
Androl and the others still welcomed the girls for meals, but it wasn't the same as before, not at all. They were obviously uneasy, and more occupied than ever – Mazrim seemed to think that the busier the men were, the less likely they were to cause trouble. They tolerated Ila and Karys, to an extent, but they often spoke in hushed tones so they wouldn't be overheard. They didn't tuck them to sleep at night. They didn't sleep in their bed when Ila had one of her nightmares. They didn't braid Ila's hair or make sure she brushed her teeth or eat her vegetables.
Neya had done all these things. Neya had been almost constantly with them, and when she'd had to leave the Tower to run errands, she'd always made sure someone would look after them until she came back. Most often she'd left that task to Atal, or Damer, back before he was recalled by the Dragon Reborn. After they'd lost their father at Dumai's Wells, Karys and her sister had spent a lot of time at Mazrim's palace, where there was always at least one Asha'man to keep watch over them.
The other women of the Black Tower – the Asha'man's wives – were as agitated as their partners. They were overprotective of their own children, but Karys and Ilawen were just about the only orphans at the Tower and no one seemed to want to take them in – Karys sometimes wondered if it was because of their connection to Mazrim. Children who had lost their father usually had a mother to take over, and they often left the Tower. In any case, none of them were Neya, and Karys would settle for no less.
In the end, Karys was alone to watch over her sister. She was used to that, of course. She'd been looking after her sister her entire life. Their mother had died giving birth to Ila, and her father had had to work. Their grandmother was impotent and her mind wandered too often. It was her aunt, Arkadia, who had told her that she must look after her sister, because no one else would. The woman had moved away when Ila was just a baby, after marrying a Kandori trader. After that, Karys had been the one to change her sister's diapers, to feed her, to sing lullabies when Ila cried at night. She was the one who'd made sure Ila didn't play too long in the sun after she'd learnt to walk. That she looked both ways before crossing the road. That she stayed away from any potential threat, really, and that was no easy feat here at the Tower, especially nowadays. Neya had lightened that burden a great deal. Mazrim, too, whether he realised it or not. And now Neya was gone and Mazrim wanted nothing to do with them.
On top of that, Ilawen was in a terrible mood, these days. She was sullen and rebellious, which was completely unlike her. She hadn't been that bad even after their father had died. Karys didn't know what to do to cheer her up. Usually, and since Neya was unavailable, being around Logain did the trick, because Ila was convinced he was some sort of fairy tale prince, but the Asha'man was making himself scarce these days. He was too busy with his new… lady friends.
There were new women at the Tower, women Karys had never met before. Their faces were strange. Ila had tried to approach one, but the woman had hurried along and pretended not to hear her. Nobody had deigned to explain to Karys who the women were, although they all seemed to know – and to disapprove of their presence at the Tower. Karys had decided that she would figure it out on her own. In fact, she was almost certain that the women were Aes Sedai, but she couldn't explain their presence at the Black Tower, let alone the guarded looks and wide berths everyone gave them. As far as Karys knew, Aes Sedai were to be respected. They should have been staying at the palace, not in the men's barracks. That seemed inappropriate. She was sure her grandmother would have agreed.
Karys spotted Atal standing guard at the main entrance of Mazrim's palace. He seemed to draw guard duty much more often than any of the other Asha'man, but it didn't seem to bother him. Karys wondered if he asked for it, or if Mazrim ordered it. Mazrim certainly seemed to rely on him a lot.
She glanced at her sister, but Ilawen appeared lost in thought, another unusual thing for her. She was idly petting one of the numerous dogs and toying with her dragon pin. She didn't seem to be in the mood to run off and do something dangerous or stupid – or both – so Karys decided to join Atal. He was one of the few Asha'man who didn't appear preoccupied by whatever was going on, and he always took the time to talk to her.
Atal grinned at her genially and ruffled her hair when she approached. She couldn't help but smile back. He was so beautiful, with his long, golden hair and bright blue eyes. She often argued with Ila that he was much prettier than Logain, but her sister was completely smitten. Logain was far from hideous, true, but there was a darkness in him. He looked angry, bitter. These days he didn't even bother to conceal it underneath a fake smile. Atal, on the other hand, always looked cheerful. He radiated confidence and good humour, which made Karys feel more at ease than Logain's gloomy aura.
She asked Atal who the visiting lady was and he explained that she was the Queen of Andor – or, at least, she was supposed to be. A lot of people seemed to disagree with that, although Elayne Trakand was the late Queen's daughter. Atal didn't know who the archer was, but he agreed that she looked like the hero of legend. She had probably been inspired by the tales of Birgitte Silverbow, that was all.
His smile faded when Karys asked if he'd heard anything from Neya, or perhaps from the Dragon Reborn – after all, he was the one who'd summoned Neya away from the Tower. "Sorry," Atal said for what seemed like the hundredth time. Karys asked about Neya whenever they talked. "Nothing yet. I'm sure she's fine, though."
He always said that, and Karys always believed him, but the answer wasn't entirely satisfactory. Karys needed more than words of reassurance; she needed facts, she needed proof. She had to know whether she should prepare herself to raise her sister on her own – because if that were the case, it might be best for them to leave the Tower, before everything fell apart.