Bao lay in the semi-darkness, eyes closed. He was not asleep; he rarely slept.

He felt unusually content.

What happened earlier had been Shendla's idea – to an extent. When Bao first arrived in Shara, Shendla had been the second person to attach herself to him. Mintel had adopted him, as the old man called it, but that was different. Shendla was utterly devoted to him. Bao had taken to her right away. She was cunning, practical and intelligent, and she possessed the knowledge to help him find what he had come seeking in this land. He knew now where the second part of the artefact rested; he had simply needed to take care of the Ayyad situation before departing. In a few weeks, D'jedt would be his.

Shendla and he had been lovers for a time, but it had not lasted. They were not… compatible. She could not match his lust, although she had tried. They had abandoned the idea by joint agreement. Shendla had sworn to follow him nonetheless, as he had expected, and she held on to her word. She wanted to see him fulfil his destiny and she would do whatever she must to see it done.

Bao did not believe in their prophecies, evidently, although he had to admit that the events that took place during his first months in Shara were oddly coincidental. First, there was the Revolt, which he had unwittingly started and somehow ended up leading. Then, by freeing the slaves and gaining their loyalty, he had united the whole nation under him, although the Ayyad had not been particularly forthcoming about it. He had known even then that it would take drastic measures to bind them to his will.

All things considered, maybe he was indeed their Wyld. It would be fitting: he was the Dragon Slayer, and what better name to take for himself, he who would claim the life of Lews Therin Telamon, or Rand al'Thor, whichever he chose to call himself? In any event, it mattered little whether he truly was the Wyld or not. He would see the Dragon dead, once and for all. Nothing else mattered.

Shendla had made it clear that he needed someone else to accomplish his destiny. She hadn't been able to tell him who, not at first. A young woman of this Age, she'd said. A Westerner, a Healer, a powerful channeler. It had taken a while to decipher that riddle, but Taim had solved the puzzle for him when he had unwillingly drawn Bao's attention to his new conquest: Neya fit the description perfectly.

Bao was not sure what Shendla's special ability was. She was not a channeler, and it was therefore unlikely that she was a Dreamer or that she had the Foretelling. And yet this dying world was seeing the return of old Talents and new ones, like that of al'Thor's woman, Farshaw. Maybe Shendla's ability was similar; they had never really discussed it. In any case, she had been positive when she saw Neya: she was the one Bao had to keep close at hand.

Then Shendla had told him that he needed to be closer to her. That had been just a few days ago; it was in fact what had triggered the whole plan to begin with. He had been puzzled at first, but Shendla assured him that it was necessary, and that the girl fancied him besides. He was used to women feeling that way toward him, but in this case, it came as a surprise. Neya was very young, for one thing, and they were as different as two people could be – or so he thought. They should not have been compatible, no more than Shendla and he had been.

And yet here they were.

She had fought him at first, yes, but not for long. She had even appeared to enjoy it. He should have been gentler, he knew, at least in the beginning, but once they had left the Ayyad behind, once it was clear that he had succeeded, at long last, all he had wanted to do was to tear Neya's clothes off and get her into bed. It was not just about the sex; he had other women at his disposal. There was something different about Neya, something that set her apart, as if she were not entirely human, or maybe beyond human. He could not quite put his finger on it.

Neya woke up with the sun. For a moment, she couldn't remember why she was lying on such a soft, comfortable mattress. Then she realised Bao was asleep beside her.

At least she thought he was asleep. She rolled on her side and gingerly put a hand on his abdomen. He didn't react. He was incredibly muscular, she thought as she moved her hand over the tattoos and scars that riddled his chest. She wondered why he hadn't had the latter removed; with proper Healing, it would be a matter of seconds to make them vanish. Maybe he didn't trust anyone of this Age to Heal him. She was still idly tracing the marks when Bao spoke. "What are you doing?" he murmured with a distinctive twang. Light, had she really broken his nose?

"Um, nothing," Neya said, hastily removing her hand. She wasn't sure where they stood, after what had happened that night. It had been the strangest experience. She had been afraid that he was going to hurt her, but that wasn't what he was after, although she would likely bruise a little – he was rough, but in a way she rather enjoyed. She had been reluctant at first, unwilling to cause pain. It stood against everything she believed in. It was surprising how similar the weaves she used to inflict pain were to the ones she employed to Heal. It was also strangely exhilarating.

Bao sat up abruptly. "We should take a bath," he announced matter-of-factly. He got out of the bed, stark naked, and headed for the bathroom. Neya stared after him with a small frown. We?

With a shrug, she hauled herself almost reluctantly out of the spongy bed and followed him. He was already reclining in the bath, eyes closed. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if he'd meant that she was supposed to join him. "Get in," he told her without opening his eyes. Neya stepped in carefully and settled against him. The water was scalding, just as she liked it. Bao was more comfortable than she would have thought.

They lay there for a long time in silence. Neya could see old laceration scars on his arms. She didn't think she'd left any visible mark on him. Who had left these? Were they remnants of his time as a slave? "Do you want me to Heal you?" she asked timidly. He didn't answer right away. Was he asleep again? Or was he meditating, like Mintel sometimes did?

"Yes, please," he said eventually.

It never failed to amuse her how polite and formal he was, even more so after last night. "Shall I remove all the scars?"

"Leave only the marks on my hands," he told her.

"Why? What do they mean?" She'd assumed they were slave tattoos, but they looked like nothing she had seen on the Freed or the Ayyad. And, on closer inspection, it appeared that they'd been branded into his skin.

"They mark me as he who will fulfil the Prophecies."

The Prophecies of the Wyld. Neya had only realised what wyld meant a few days ago. It wasn't a title, not exactly. Wy-eld, in isleh, translated to Slayer of the Dragon. She didn't like the sound of that.

Neya waited for more explanation, but nothing came, so she put a hand on Bao's arm and Delved him. Blood and ashes! She had been much more heavy-handed than she'd assumed. And he had never said anything, never cried out in pain. She removed her hand a short time later. He didn't say anything for a moment. "I believe you forgot something," he said in a heavily nasal voice.

"I didn't forget," she replied smugly. "You deserve that one." He snorted softly. That was the closest thing to a laugh that she'd ever heard from him.

"Should I Heal you as well?" he asked quietly. Neya nodded; she didn't hurt, but the bruises stood out against the paleness of her skin. He placed a hand on her stomach and she saw the bruises on her arms fade then disappear. He didn't remove his hand right away. "You are with child."

He said it so casually that Neya's mind didn't register the words at first. "What?" she blurted out after a moment. "How is that even possible? We just–"

"Evidently, it is not my doing. I do not think any of the Chosen have the ability to conceive, in any case," he went on thoughtfully. "I cannot say how far along you are. Delving was never my specialty."

How could he be so bloody impassive? Blood and flaming ashes!

She'd been so sure that the Finn had misled her, cheated her. It had been her one true request, when she'd visited Sindhol.

Nynaeve had explained to her, maybe a year before Elan appeared in her life, that she could never bear children. Neya had just turned seventeen and, at the time, it didn't seem like such a tragedy. She hadn't understood then the chagrined look on the Wisdom's face, or Natti's tears when she told her later. She hadn't even tried to understand Nynaeve's technical details on what was wrong with her. All she knew was that she had never bled in her life and never would. At the time it had seemed like a good thing.

She'd changed her mind after Elan died, although she couldn't say why, exactly. She reflected upon it a lot in the time she was locked up in Lanfear's dungeon: how sad it was that her family line would perish when she did – at the time, her death had seemed imminent. She had no other blood kin; she was the last al'Kane in the Two Rivers. When Mat told her about the ter'angreal and the Eelfinn's abilities, and knowing that the doorway would soon be taken to the White Tower, it had been all Neya could think of. She felt that she had to at least try. But she'd been persuaded that the bloody Foxes had deceived her, as they had Mat, especially considering how things had turned out.

And now this. It could hardly have happened at a worst time. The Last Battle loomed ahead like an ominous storm cloud and she was stuck in a faraway land with one of the Forsaken.

And Mazrim… Light, Mazrim. Last night – with the worst possible timing – the bond had suddenly become alive with his emotions. He was furious. He felt betrayed. Those had been the only two emotions she was able to clearly pick out from the raging pandemonium that was Mazrim's mind.

She'd felt angry at first. What right did he have to intrude on her like this, to feel like this, when he hadn't deigned to give sign of life for over two bloody months?

Then she'd realised how horrible this must be for him, and embarrassment and guilt had quickly taken over her anger. She still cared deeply for him, and she was worried out of her mind whenever she thought of the Black Tower – worried about everyone who lived there, really. Mazrim hadn't returned her feelings, however, or if he had, she couldn't tell them apart from the rest. She hadn't told Bao to stop – on the contrary, she remembered with a blush, she'd urged him on.

In any case, the way things were going, it seemed unlikely that she would ever see Mazrim again. This baby would be her responsibility, and hers alone.

Bao's voice recalled her out of her reverie. "You really did not know," Bao said softly. She'd had no way of knowing, to be fair. Whatever the Finn had done, she still didn't bleed – which was what had led to believe she'd been tricked.

Neya could only shake her head in dismay. Bao's hand hadn't moved. "I will ask one of the midwives to examine you," he said.

This was too troubling, and talking about it with Bao felt distinctively awkward. She would need some time alone to process the news. In the meantime, she decided to change to subject. "Why did you declare yourself king? Couldn't you become the new Sh'botay?"

"So the Ayyad would have a good reason to attempt to remove me, seven years from now? I do not think so."

"You're the Wyld. They might have made an exception for you."

"They do not entirely believe that I am the Wyld and, in any case, I am not the Wyld yet," he told her. "Soon, but not quite yet," he murmured. There was a firm knock on the door. "That will be Shendla." Slowly, almost reluctantly, Bao removed his hand from her belly.

With a small sigh, Neya disentangled herself from him and got out of the bath. As she was drying herself with a weave of Air, it suddenly appeared vital to her to know what his relationship with Shendla entailed, exactly. She looked up at Bao as he followed her out of the bath and opened her mouth to ask, but before she had a chance, the door opened. Neya glared at Shendla and hurriedly scrambled into her clothes. The older woman arched an eyebrow in her direction with a carefully guarded expression on her face before shifting slightly to eye Bao.

Neya had never thought of herself as a particularly jealous person, but Bao was naked, and the woman was taking it all in as if Neya wasn't even there. She embraced the Source once more, preparing one of the new weaves she'd discovered just a few hours ago, but Bao put a warning hand on her shoulder. She turned to glare at him, but he simply shook his head. A gateway suddenly appeared next to them, leading back to the camp. "Go ahead," he told her. "I will send the midwife, and we will talk later." She wanted to argue, but his face had taken on a stony look that brooked no debate. Sullenly, Neya walked away from him. The gateway winked out of existence as soon as she was through.

There was a lot on which to ponder, her unexpected pregnancy clearly not the least of it, or her tendency to end up in any male Forsaken's bed – what was wrong with her? – but as she made her way back to her tent, Neya caught herself grinning like a ninny.

Mintel would be over the moon when he found out.