“I refuse still,” Dyelin answered in a strong voice, then turned to Rand. “I will wait and consider, my Lord Dragon. When I see Elayne alive and crowned, and you leave Andor, I will send my retainers to follow you whether anyone else in Andor does the same. But if time passes and you still reign here, or if your Aiel savages do here what I’ve heard they did in Cairhien and Tear”—she scowled at the Maidens and Red Shields, and the gai’shain too, as if she saw them looting and burning—“or you loose here those . . . men you gather with your amnesty, then I will come against you, whether anyone else in Andor does the same.”

“And I will ride beside you,” Luan said firmly.

“And I,” Ellorien said, echoed by Abelle.

Rand threw back his head and laughed in spite of himself, half mirth, half frustration. Light! And I thought honest opposition would be better than sneaking behind my back or licking my boots!

They eyed him uneasily, doubtless thinking it was madness at work. Maybe it was. He was not sure himself anymore.

“Consider what you must,” he told them, standing to end the audience. “I mean what I said. But consider this as well. Tarmon Gai’don is coming closer. I don’t know how long we have for you to spend considering.”

They made their goodbyes—a careful bow of the head, as between equals, and at that more than when they arrived—but as they turned to go, Rand caught Dyelin’s sleeve. “I have a question for you.” The others paused, half turning back. “A private question.” After a moment she nodded, and her companions moved a little way down the throne room. They watched closely, but they were not near enough to hear. “You looked at me . . . strangely,” he said. You and every other noble I’ve met in Caemlyn. Every Andoran noble, at least. “Why?”

Dyelin peered up at him, then finally nodded slightly to herself. “What is your mother’s name?”

Rand blinked. “My mother?” Kari al’Thor was his mother. That was how he thought of her; she had raised him from infancy, until she died. But he decided to give her the cold truth he had learned in the Waste. “My mother’s name was Shaiel. She was a Maiden of the Spear. My father was Janduin, clan chief of the Taardad Aiel.” Her eyebrows rose doubtfully. “I will swear it on any oath you choose. What does that have to do with what I want to know? They’re both long dead.”

Relief crept across her face. “A chance resemblance, it seems; no more. I do not mean to say you don’t know your parents, but you have the west of Andor on your tongue.”

“A resemblance? I grew up in the Two Rivers, but my parents were as I said. Who do I look like to make you stare at me?”