Neya went over the plan in her head for the hundredth time. She didn't like it, not one bit, despite Bao's assurance that everything would go as planned. He didn't realise what he was asking her to do, did he? He was too confident in her abilities. What if she failed? The whole bloody plan depended on her, or near enough.
In truth, failure was not her main source of concern. What really bothered her was what it meant, that she was part of the plan at all. Was she a Darkfriend now? She didn't think of herself as one, but would others see it that way? She remembered planning the previous evening, far into the night, with Bao and Shendla. It had felt like...being part of a team.
Team Evil.
Thus far she'd never aided the Shadow willingly, not really. She'd saved Elan's life twice, but she'd done it mainly to save herself. She had revealed nothing to Lanfear, even under torture. As for Mazrim... Well, she had no idea he was a Darkfriend at the time. Despite Jasin's warning, the thought had honestly never crossed her mind. She'd been convinced that she was helping Rand. But Jasin had been right. It made perfect sense, in hindsight. What the Forsaken could do if the entire Black Tower served the Shadow... The very thought filled her with dread, all the more so because it would involve Turning. She couldn't picture Mazrim doing something so horrible, but what if they left him no choice? She could only hope he wouldn't do it for her sake. If Demandred had threatened to kill Neya if Mazrim didn't comply, then he should just let her die. She couldn't cope with the guilt – and neither would Mazrim, she was certain.
It didn't help that she couldn't tell how Mazrim was feeling. She wondered how he interpreted her current emotions – provided that he could feel them at all. If he truly was an unwilling Darkfriend, as she believed, why was he shutting her out? Why not at least let her know that he was well? She couldn't help but wonder why he didn't sever the bond altogether. Sometimes she wished he would. At least she wouldn't worry about him all the bloody time.
She dispelled Mazrim from her mind. She had to stay focused on the task at hand.
Bao and Shendla had explained the plan in meticulous details. It was all very clear and practical, and it left no room for improvisation, but Neya was increasingly nervous as they approached the large gilded doors. So many things could go wrong, and yet Bao radiated confidence. It was just the two of them. Shendla had been sent back to camp after they had reviewed the plan one last time.
Their footsteps echoed in the vast halls of the Glorious Temple of Wisdom, the palace from where the Ayyad ruled Shara, as they always had. They had a knack for naming buildings, the Sharans did.
Bao and Neya were going to attend – or rather, disrupt in the most disconcerting fashion – the monthly meeting that gathered the most preeminent Ayyad of the land. There were seven of them, although the meeting was customarily attended by all Ayyad present in the city at the time. Each of these seven women were leaders in their own right, overseeing a specific field, like the economy or matters of law and order. At their head stood Galbrait, the Wisest and Foremost. The fact that there were seven leaders, dominated by a single figure of authority, reminded Neya of the White Tower, which placed the Amyrlin Seat above the seven Ajahs, each with its specific mission and purpose. She vaguely wondered who had copied whom, or if this was just a coincidence.
Bao had received no invitation to this meeting. In fact, men were not allowed inside the Temple, least of all men who could channel. But Bao was the Wyld – or would be, when he accomplished the remaining prophecies – and nobody halted them. Most likely, nobody dared. Bao looked quite dashing in his green velvet coat, but he also looked very daunting. As usual.
Bao opened the doors without bothering to knock.
There were at least thirty women present inside the lavish reception room. Galbrait herself, tall and imposing, was seated regally on the dais in an ornate throne that appeared to be made of ivory. Just below her, seven women sat in elegantly carved chairs of contrasting mahogany. Each of them wore an opulent dress of a different colour. Galbrait's was white and gold. The other, lesser Ayyad, all dressed in black, were placed on simple chairs that faced their leaders. They all turned to stare at the intruders with a puzzled look on their faces.
The seven glared at the newcomers with open outrage. Galbrait stood up angrily and stalked toward Bao as he made his way to her. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked imperiously. She spoke in the crisp Sharan dialect that was used by the nobility and therefore mainly employed in the Capital. Thankfully, it wasn't too different from the dialect the rest of the population used, so Neya could understand her. "This is unacceptable! You have no place here, Bao. You cannot–"
He didn't let her finish. Demandred was not a man to allow even a bit of theatrical drama to come between him and his objective. Hands raised, he weaved something that caused the Wisest and Foremost to stumble and fall heavily on the smooth marble floor. She moaned in agony. The others stood stock still, gaping at them in stupor. Before anyone could react, Bao sent another weave in Galbrait's direction. The woman's back arched under the sudden pain and she let out a strident howl. "You leave me no other choice, Galbrait. I have no more time for your political manoeuvres and mind games. If you will not bend, I will bend you." The assembly watched in horrified silence as Bao cut off the woman's arm with a sword of fire summoned with invisible saidin. Galbrait's shriek broke off abruptly as she stared at the stump and the blood that was spilling on the immaculate marble floor. "Submit to me now, and I will be merciful," Bao went on. Judging by his tone, he could have been discussing the weather. "I will make you whole again. You may even retain your position. Refuse, and I will cut through every single woman in this room, after I am done with you."
Neya couldn't understand why none of the other women moved. Obviously, their day had taken an unexpected turn, and it was a rather ghastly sight, but why weren't they trying to fight back, to help Galbrait? They simply stood there, waiting for events to unfold. They might have overthrown Bao and Neya, had they tried, although Bao had a small angreal and was already linked to her. Didn't they know how to form a circle? Or perhaps they weren't supposed to do anything without Galbrait's permission, but that would be ridiculous: surely circumstances were dire enough to bypass that particular condition. In any case, against Neya's expectations, all was thus far unfolding exactly as Shendla had predicted. She'd been the real mastermind behind this plan. Bao hadn't even bothered to make it look like it had been his idea; he'd let Shendla take control of the planning session, only chiming in once in a while, mainly to ask questions, to make certain they'd covered everything.
Focus, burn you! Neya scolded herself. If Galbrait didn't react soon, she would be beyond saving. At last – and not a second too soon – the Ayyad raised her eyes to meet Bao's and nodded faintly. That was Neya's cue.
Bao released her from the circle. She had to act quickly now. Crouching beside the older woman - much older indeed; Mintel claimed that Galbrait was already in charge of the Ayyad when he was a boy - Neya picked up the severed arm and held it to Galbrait's shoulder. She had done this before. Provided with a clean cut, she should be able to knit the arm back together with the shoulder. It took a moment, but she managed. Barely. It had been a close shave, just as she'd feared. She Healed the woman's other injuries while she was at it – internal haemorrhage due to the initial weaves of pure pain, bruises from her fall, not to mention the sudden blood loss.
When Neya was done, Galbrait stared at her arm as if she'd never seen it before, slowly flexing her hand, carefully moving her shoulder around in its socket. She looked up at Neya in stupefaction, and Bao picked that moment to unclasp her necklace, the ter'angreal he had given Neya on her very first day. As instructed, Neya drew on saidar and held as much of the Power as she safely could. Galbrait let out a weak whimper and bowed her head dejectedly. As one, the other women knelt down, facing her and Bao. Neya wasn't sure to whom they were kneeling.
At first she hadn't grasped that part of the plan. Galbrait was quite powerful, almost as strong as Egwene, and the other leaders were not far behind. But Shendla had explained it to her: the most powerful Ayyad was in charge. Nothing else mattered but her strength in saidar. Even the fact that Neya was an ulikar, not an Ayyad at all, appeared to be overlooked, though that was most likely due to the Ayyad's collective shock – something else Shendla and Bao had counted on.
"You will retain your positions, all of you," Bao told the assembled Ayyad, interrupting Neya's train of thoughts. "Nothing will change, but for the fact that you are now under my authority. I declare myself King of Shara, and I expect your full endorsement and unconditional loyalty," Bao went on quietly, his face and voice devoid of emotion as he surveyed the kneeling women. Nobody spoke, and he must have taken that as their assent. Without another word, he turned to leave. Neya hurried after him, feeling bewildered.
Bao opened a gateway just outside the Ayyad's reception room and took them back to his own bedchamber, on the other side of the city. He had taken up residence in the former palace of the Sh'botay, although not in the man's room. Neya wasn't sure what the building was called, but it probably had an exaggeratedly snobbish sound to it. It was the place where she had first arrived, just over two months ago. She had, however, never seen it in its entirety.
It was about the size of Neya's room when she was in Cairhien, the one she'd shared with Jasin so briefly. The furniture was refined and the few colourful paintings hanging on the walls were tasteful. There was an immense canopy bed against the wall opposite the balcony and a sort of door that seemed made out of paper led to what Neya assumed had to be a private bathroom. She yearned for a long, warm bath, but she knew better than to ask. Come to think of it, it was odd that Bao hadn't brought her back to the Ayyad encampment right away, so they could debrief with Shendla. She turned to face him and opened her mouth to enquire, but he didn't leave her a chance to speak.
Pushing her against the wall, Bao kissed her, hard on the mouth, and Neya was too stunned to push him away. He proceeded to tear her blouse apart. Neya stared at him in horror for half a second before trying to disentangle herself from him. It wouldn't do; he was much too strong. She acted without thinking. Her fist connected with his nose with a resounding crack and blood spurted out of his nostrils. She braced herself, half-expecting him to strike her back, but he barely flinched. He had already discarded his coat and was taking his shirt off, his breath coming out rapidly. What in the Pit of–
If Neya could have slapped herself, she would have. She could channel, for crying out loud! Embracing saidar, she weaved what she hoped would produce a blast of Air. It didn't impact Bao as much as she'd expected; he stumbled backward but didn't fall. Light, defensive weaves were not her forte. Healing was, but she couldn't see how that would help her now.
And then she realised that it might, in fact, help her. She could modify the weaves to produce the reverse effect – instead of Healing, she could cause pain. Bao was advancing on her again, utterly undeterred. Without really thinking about what she was doing, Neya weaved a combination of Air, Spirit and Water, and added a thread of Fire to the mix.
Unless she was seriously mistaken, the weave should have left him writhing in pain. Instead, Bao appeared, if anything, even more eager. He was close enough now that droplets of blood fell from his nose on what was left of Neya's blouse.
"Do that again," he whispered in her ear, almost pleadingly. He kissed her neck, and Neya shuddered – not in horror but in excitement, she realised.
He wanted her to hurt him? Was that… was that a thing? She was confused, but he was kissing her again. Her defences began to crumble.
Bao released her abruptly, but only to lift her in his arms. Neya was so surprised that she let out an involuntary gasp. Light, he was strong. He let her fall on the bed and threw himself on top of her. His pupils were dilated. He looked almost… hungry. And beautiful, with his dark hair in disarray, his cheeks coloured with arousal…
If she did this, there would be no going back. If there was any doubt as to whether she should be considered a Darkfriend, after all the help she'd already provided, it would dissipate the moment she gave in to him.
I could kill him now, while he's distracted, Neya thought. I could stop his heart with a single weave. It would be the easiest thing in the world. Bao was obviously out of his mind. He might not even fight her back – he wouldn't have a chance to even try, if she worked quickly enough.
The thought crossed her mind but found no anchor there. She knew she couldn't kill someone in cold blood. Not even to save the world.
The moment passed. Bao pressed his mouth to hers again, and this time she kissed him back.
Mazrim startled awake from his wine-induced stupor. Something was wrong.
He looked around the room and noted that he'd dropped his glass as he'd drifted off to sleep. Thankfully, it had landed on the carpet instead of shattering on the hardwood floor. Mazrim was apparently alone - Semirhage was nowhere in sight - but he felt uneasy, shocked, uncomfortable.
It wasn't him, he realised abruptly. It was coming through the bond. Neya was in trouble.
Or was she? Just as he started to focus on her emotions, they... shifted.
Was that... arousal?
Blood and ashes! What in the Pit of Doom was happening? She couldn't possibly...
But apparently she could, judging from what he was feeling from her. He couldn't stand it a second longer. He masked the bond from Neya's end, but allowed his own emotions to flow freely, for a few seconds. At least she would know how he felt, provided that she still cared.
It seemed that she'd moved on. Perhaps he should, too. Now would certainly be a good time to sever the bond.
For the hundredth time, he almost did it. Almost. It was the tiny prick of guilt he received in response that stopped him. If he'd felt it, with the distance and with the bond veiled on her end… He allowed Neya's emotions to reach him, just for a moment. She felt terrible. She sent love and worry and shame.
She'd felt him, yes, and she felt bad about whatever she was doing, but she went on with her business regardless. Soon, it appeared, she dismissed Mazrim from her mind entirely.
Mazrim cut the connection, masking both ends of the bond... for now. He still had to know that she was alright. Perhaps she'd found a protector, someone to look after her; he could hardly blame her for that. But she had to know that Mazrim would feel it all through the bond. Had she momentarily forgotten about him? Or had she assumed that he'd already severed their connection because he'd been masking his emotions from her? That was the best he could hope for, but it didn't change the fact that she was currently in another man's arms – at least he assumed it was a man.
Neya was in bed with someone else. And there was nothing Mazrim could do about it.
The glass that had resisted its earlier fall exploded on the carpet.
That was it. He was done. Done resisting Moridin, done trying to fight his own madness, his own darkness. Done worrying and being afraid, done feeling guilty about matters that were beyond his control. The end was upon them, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He should embrace it instead.
The Turning phase would begin the next day. No more excuses.