“From the south,” Ellorien said after a sip. “A Tunaighan Hills vintage. A wonder you can find ice in Caemlyn this year. I have heard people already calling this ‘the year without a winter.’ ”

“Do you think I would waste time and effort finding ice,” Rand said, “when so many troubles inflict the world?”

Abelle’s angular face paled, and he seemed to force himself to take another swallow. On the other hand, Luan emptied his winecup deliberately and thrust it out to be filled by a gai’shain whose green eyes flashed a fury at strong odds with the obstinate mildness of his sun-dark face. Serving wetlanders was like being a servant, and Aiel despised the very notion of servants. How that disgust squared with the very concept of gai’shain Rand had never been able to determine, but it was so.

Dyelin held her wine firmly on her knees and ignored it thereafter. This close, Rand could see touches of gray in her golden hair; she was still lovely, though in nothing except the hair did she look at all like Morgase or Elayne. Next in line for the throne, she must be a cousin at least, and close. Frowning briefly at him, she seemed on the point of shaking her head, but instead said, “We are concerned with the world’s troubles, but more with those inflicting Andor. Did you bring us here to find a cure?”

“If you know one,” Rand replied simply. “If not, I must look elsewhere. Many think they know the right cure. If I cannot find the one I want, I will have to accept the next best.” That tightened mouths. On the way here, Bashere had taken them through a courtyard where Arymilla and Lir and the rest of those had been left cooling their heels. Taking their ease in the Palace, it would seem. “I would think you’d want to help put Andor back together. You’ve heard my proclamation?” He did not have to say which one; in this context, there could be only one.

“A reward offered for news of Elayne,” Ellorien said flatly, her face becoming even stonier, “who is to be made queen now that Morgase is dead.”

Dyelin nodded. “That seemed well, to me.”

“Not to me!” Ellorien snapped. “Morgase betrayed her friends and spurned her oldest adherents. Let us see an end to House Trakand on the Lion Throne.” She seemed to have forgotten Rand. They all did.

“Dyelin,” Luan said curtly. She shook her head as if she had heard this before, but he went on. “She has the best claim. I speak for Dyelin.”

“Elayne is the Daughter-Heir,” the golden-haired woman told them levelly. “I speak for Elayne.”

“What does it matter who any of us speak for?” Abelle demanded. “If he killed Morgase, he will—” Abelle cut off abruptly with a grimace, then looked at Rand, not exactly in defiance, but definitely daring him to do his worst. And expecting him to.