“Well?” Nynaeve said as patiently as she could. Keeping her hands in her lap was an effort, as was sitting still on her bed. She stifled a yawn. The hour was early, and she had not slept well for three nights now. The wicker cage was empty, the song sparrow set free. She wished she was free. “Well?”

Elayne was kneeling on her own bed, head and shoulders out the window into the tiny alley behind the house. From there she had just the slimmest line of sight to the rear of the Little Tower, where most of the Sitters were already receiving the Tower envoy this morning. A slight view, but enough to see a bit of the ward against eavesdropping that enclosed the inn. It was the sort that stopped anyone who was trying to listen with the Power. The price of sharing knowledge.

After a moment Elayne sat back on her heels, frustration painting her face. “Nothing. You said those flows could slip through undetected. I don’t think I was noticed, but I certainly heard nothing.”

That last was directed at Moghedien, on their rickety stool in a corner. The woman’s lack of sweat irritated Nynaeve no end. She claimed it took time working with the Power before you could achieve the detachment necessary to ignore heat or cold, not much better than the Aes Sedais’ vague promises that it would come “eventually.” Nynaeve and Elayne dripped sweat, Moghedien looked cool as an early spring day, and Light, it grated!

“I said they should.” Moghedien’s dark eyes darted defensively, though mostly she kept her gaze on Elayne; she always concentrated on whoever wore the a’dam bracelet. “Should. There are thousands of ways to spin wards. It can take days to spin a hole through one.”

Nynaeve held her tongue, but barely. They had been trying for days. This was the third since Tarna Feir’s arrival, and the Hall still held the Red sister’s message from Elaida closely. Well, Sheriam and Myrelle and that lot knew—Nynaeve would not have been surprised if they had known before the Hall did—but even Siuan and Leane had been shut outside of those daily meetings. At least, they had professed to be.

Nynaeve realized she was plucking at her skirts, and stilled her hands. Somehow, they had to find out what Elaida wanted—and more importantly, the Hall’s answer. They had to. Somehow.