Neya sat down on the ground just outside the command tent. Natael hesitated; the ground was relatively dry, but it was still…well, dirt. He'd had these cream-coloured breeches tailored just a few weeks ago; they were fashioned after Min's, and therefore quite snug. He had even assorted them with a short silk coat, the sort the Dragon's paramour liked to wear. The only accessory he hadn't yet given in to were the heeled boots. They just weren't practical, especially on a muddy battlefield.
Natael eyed Neya, who was smiling up at him tentatively. Oh well. He would find someone to clean his clothes when this was all over. Or he'd just change into something else; he had packed enough clothes to last him a month, provided that he didn't spent his entire time sitting in the dirt. He sat down next to Neya, though he left some distance between them. The stony-faced Seanchan woman remained standing, her back rigid, eyes alert. They were awkwardly silent for a long time.
Neya. He couldn't believe she was here. Oh, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of letting her know how glad – how flaming relieved – he was to see her. He'd almost given up on her, and had even considered questioning Taim himself to find out exactly what had happened to her.
Looking back, he should have. At the very least, he should've insisted that al'Thor do something about it. They would have realised much sooner that Logain had been right all along. There had been something fishy going on at the Black Tower; Natael had divined that from the early days, though he had never imagined just how frighteningly efficient Taim could be. And yet, despite Natael's urgings and even Min's repeated appeals, the Dragon had stubbornly refused to even visit the cursed place.
Natael had not been idle since Neya had so abruptly put an end to their relationship – one of the few relationships Natael had ever truly cared about, despite its briefness. He'd slept with every willing man and woman he'd encountered since Neya had so heartlessly abandoned him, but he'd never come close to filling the hole she'd left inside him, loath as he was to admit it.
She was more beautiful than ever. She almost glowed. Her hair looked shinier, her breast fuller. It wasn't fair-
He stared at her in shock, jaw slack. She'd just placed a hand on her stomach. She had a bump. Blood and ashes, was she pregnant? With Demandred's child? Darkness within! It was much, much worse than he'd assumed.
Neya may have fooled the others, but Natael could read between the lines. Whoever that Shendla woman was, she wasn't responsible for Neya's sudden appearance. Demandred must have ensnared her, somehow. Neya obviously cared about him, enough to want to save his snooty arse.
It was true that Barid Bel had always had a way with women; he could be quite charming, charismatic even, when he put his mind to it. Why, he had even been Mierin's lover for a time, before the Collapse, although that had been purely a scheme on her part. Doubtless she had hoped that seeing them together would spark some semblance of jealousy in Lews Therin. What a fool she had been. Anyone who was lucky enough to marry Ilyena Sunhair would be insane to desire Mierin and her foul personality instead.
Something that Demandred had realised the hard way. He'd never gotten over the fact that his nemesis had stolen Ilyena from him. Barid Bel had changed drastically after he turned to the Shadow. Natael had never seen him with a woman after he became one of the Chosen. He was certainly not celibate, but he didn't show off his conquests as he used to – something he'd likely done in the hope that it would make Lews Therin jealous. Come to think of it, perhaps Demandred and Mierin had been made for each other – until their respective obsession for Lews Therin eventually tore them apart. Natael was fairly certain that Demandred and Nemene had had a fling, too, at some point. Maybe Saine had been involved as well; he wouldn't put it past any of them. They were all quite devious and perverted.
In any case, Barid Bel wasn't a man to settle down with anyone. For that matter, none of the Chosen were. In their days, in what was now called the Age of Legends, people seldom settled down or married. Many men and women had several lovers at any appointed time. The people of this backward age were incredibly narrow-minded about these matters.
It was therefore surprising to think that Neya might have managed what no woman of the Age of Legends had ever accomplished: she had successfully attached herself to Demandred, somehow. It had to be the case; he obviously trusted her enough to leave her unsupervised.
It was also inordinately annoying. Natael had had in mind to pursue Neya once the battle was over, if it turned out that she was still alive – and provided that Natael was, as well. What reason could she possibly have to deny him, when the danger had passed? But, clearly, she had created enough reasons now. And that was without even considering M'Hael, that ridiculously handsome upstart, and their kjasic bond. A thousand curses on whomever had come up with that blasted weave!
Natael realised he was shaking his head when he saw Neya frown at him worriedly. She must be wondering if he'd succumbed to the madness. Had he? It was difficult to tell. He hadn't been subjected to the taint for long, after all, and he felt perfectly sane, thank you very much. Still, when Neya was done Healing Taim, perhaps she'd consent to take a look at Natael's brains. Provided that the Amyrlin agreed to Taim's terms, of course, which was…unlikely. Though that was hardly the craziest thing he'd heard that day, to be fair.
He gave Neya his most winning smile. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" he said sarcastically.
She chuckled softly. "I've seen worse. Jasin, I really am sorry. I didn't mean to expose you. I assumed Rand would have told them by now." She'd said that already, so he just shrugged it off. As the days went by, he had entertained the vague possibility of never having to reveal his true identity, but it had been a faint hope. It didn't matter much, in any case. Min could attest to his repenting acts; he had saved al'Thor's hide more than once and had even denied Tedronai when he'd come bearing an official pardon from the Great Lord himself on a silver platter. Natael wasn't too worried about his future, provided that al'Thor didn't fail or break the world beyond salvation.
Speaking of the Dragon… Had Min lied earlier, to cover up for her unfortunate omission? Had al'Thor really said those things about Natael? It seemed too good to be true. Well, it was true – Natael had obviously earned a pardon, not to mention a reward for keeping the Dragon alive for so long – but it was amazing that al'Thor had realised it all on his own. Perhaps his recent…epiphany had not only Healed his divided mind, but also made him wiser.
"You've been busy, it seems," Natael said, more to make conversation than anything else. He couldn't abide awkward silences.
Neya smiled shyly. "I suppose I have." Abruptly, she scooted over closer to him. "I know you're still angry with me," she said. He let out a noncommittal grunt. He was more…despondent than truly angry, as a matter of fact. Not that he was about to tell her that. "Fair enough. Can we at least be civil to each other? And what I mean by that," she went on, "is can you be civil to me? You know why I left, Jasin. Whatever you might think, I was not looking for an excuse to leave you. And I missed you." She sounded sincere.
"Does it matter at this point?" he asked uncomfortably. He didn't want to talk about it. "That was months ago. It's water under the bridge," he said with false insouciance. "I've moved on, and so have you. Obviously," he muttered the last word under his breath, although loud enough for her to hear.
She put a hand on his arm. "I'm glad that you have." Could she just leave it at that? He really wasn't in the mood for an emotional moment. She removed her hand, and Natael had to refrain from putting it back on his arm. How he'd missed her touch. His heart twitched painfully as he remembered these happier days – and nights – spent in her company. Which in turn reminded him of his time with Elan, though he wasn't sure why. Because they're the only two people in the world you've ever cared about, you idiot, a malicious voice whispered in his mind. He shooed it mentally, trying to focus on Neya. Now was hardly the time for an inner argument with himself. "When did Rand leave for Shayol Ghul?" Neya asked, her voice thick with disquiet.
Natael thought it over for a minute. "Eight days ago? Maybe nine. It's hard to keep track of the time in the present circumstances."
"Eight days?" she repeated, eyes wide with shock. "Why is it taking so long? Have you had news from him?"
"Time slows down increasingly the nearer you get to Shayol Ghul," he explained with exaggerated patience. "Days have passed here, on the battlefield, but only hours, or even minutes, at Shayol Ghul. Al'Thor's ultimate trial may have just begun, while we've been struggling against the Shadow's hordes for longer than I thought possible. Of course, only the outcome of the Dragon's duel against the Great Lord truly matters," he went on. "And no, we have received no message from him, nor do we expect to. He's rather busy, you see," he said dryly.
"Do you have to be so condescending every time I ask you something?" Neya muttered irritably, rolling her eyes. He hadn't realised he was being condescending. Come to think of it, that might explain why people scowled at him when he talked to them. "Never mind," she told him, waving a hand indifferently. "I'm still going to ask questions, no matter how you answer. For instance, how's the battle going?"
"You really haven't been following at all, have you?" Ah, now he heard it. Yes, he sounded decidedly condescending. Oh well. "It's disastrous, is how it is. It was dire enough before Demandred turned up, but now it's downright chaotic. We're never going to win, no matter what your brother does or how much of his luck he applies to it. That's just my humble opinion, of course, but no one appears much more optimistic than I feel."
"Then why did you speak against Demandred joining us?" Neya wanted to know.
"I didn't say I was against it, I simply stated that it would never happen," he corrected her. Condescendingly. "You may think you know him better than I do, because you've shared his bed – obviously, you have," – the heat blooming in her cheeks was confirmation enough. Not that he'd needed confirmation – "but believe me, nothing you say, nothing you offer him will make him yield and let Lews Therin go, especially now, when he's finally so close to satisfying his most fervent desire. Or so he believes." The Chosen must be out of his mind, not to have realised that al'Thor wasn't on the battlefield. And everyone thought Demandred was so flaming intelligent. Hadn't he done his homework properly? Anyone who'd met the bloody Dragon for five minutes would know that, if he'd been in a position to accept Demandred's challenge, he would have. Even if it meant sacrificing himself to save a small portion of his army. He was too honourable for his own good. Natael could only hope that the Great Lord wouldn't make al'Thor choose between saving the world or saving the women who'd accompanied him to Shayol Ghul. If that were the case, they were doomed.
"But don't you think it's at least worth the attempt?" Neya persisted. "If Bao joins our ranks–"
Natael snorted. Bao. What a ridiculous name his former associate had taken for himself. "Neya, you're deluding yourself. You love him, don't you?" She nodded unabashedly. Darkness within! "Well, burn me if I understand why, but it doesn't matter. Your feelings for him are clouding your judgement." He gazed at her unblinkingly. He had to make her see sense. "The man is insane, Neya; he's a raving lunatic. He doesn't care about you, or the Sharans, or even about himself, really. All he cares about is Lews Therin. It used to be an obsession, an unhealthy one, but it's definitely turned into blind madness, now."
Neya chewed on her lower lip; a bad habit stemming from her anxious nature that Natael had attempted – and failed – to suppress. Mainly by kissing her whenever she did it. Obviously, he couldn't do that now – no matter how much he wanted to. "Maybe you're right. I don't know anymore. I feel like I'm trying to save the world and the world keeps pushing me back. I can't even imagine what it must feel like to Rand," she murmured. She looked up to him, her bright green eyes shining with unshed tears. "I understand what you're saying, Jasin, but I can't stand idly by and watch Bao walk to his death without at least trying to help. Without trying to save him. Maybe my reason for doing so is not the right one, maybe it's wrong for me to love him, but at this point, right or wrong is irrelevant, don't you think? The Light and the Shadow are waging their final war. Everything else might seem insignificant in light of that, but that's something I can't accept. Every life matters, and I will save as many as I can, burn me if I don't."
She was so beautiful when she spoke like that. She looked so fierce, so passionate. It was all he could do not to kiss her. Blasted woman! She had a way of tangling your senses in a knot until you didn't know up from down. Her ta'veren nature certainly didn't help in that regard – and by the way, how had he not realised that before? It seemed so obvious, in retrospect. And it raised a most important question: would Natael have fallen for Neya, if not for her being ta'veren? What about Taim and Demandred? Had she drawn their unwanted attention simply by existing, much as al'Thor had enticed not one, but three women?
He couldn't think straight. Neya sat so close to him that he could smell the scent of her soap – something delicate and flowery, but he couldn't name it. It must be some exotic plant native to Shara. It was intoxicating. Her features suddenly brightened as she glanced at him. "Do you know what 'bao' means in Sharan?" she whispered mischievously. Natael shook his head, transfixed by her coy smile. The Great Lord help him, but he was falling in love with her all over again. Burn her ta'veren nature! It had to be that. Surely. "It's a type of potato," she said with a giggle.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed, genuinely so, and it was most certainly inappropriate to have a bout of hysterical laughter given the current situation, but by the time he caught his breath again, the Seanchan woman was glaring at him suspiciously, a hand on the pommel of her sword. Natael grinned at her before returning his attention to Neya. "Does he know?" he asked in a low voice.
Neya nodded, still smiling. "One of his men remarked upon it, one of the new recruits from the far east. That was just before they departed."
Oh, this was brilliant. If Natael ever made it out of the Last Battle alive… and Demandred as well… and, well, provided that neither of them was executed in the aftermath… Ugh! Had Neya said that just so Natael would argue in favour of her insane 'plan'? Because if that was the case, it was having the desired effect. To imagine the look on Demandred's face when he called him potato… He chuckled again. He could even make a song about it!
Seeing Neya smiling at him, so genuinely delighted to see him – unlike anyone else – had other, more complicated effects on Natael.
As he was considering whether to make one of his trademark bold moves and kiss her right then and there – Demandred and M'Hael be damned – the Trakand boy stepped out of the tent and commanded them to follow him inside.
Was it just Natael, or was the royal brat looking even more like a corpse than he did an hour earlier, before Neya's impromptu arrival?