She opened her eyes once more. The fight was reaching its climax. Gawyn’s blade drove into Rand’s chest, and as Rand sagged, the steel pulled free, swept in a shining arc. Rand’s head spun across the floor almost to her feet; it came to rest staring up at her. A scream bubbled in her throat before she could quell it. A dream. Just a dream. But those dead staring eyes seemed very real.

Then Gawyn was in front of her, sword back in its scabbard. Rand’s head and body were gone. Gawyn reached for the manacles holding her, and they were gone, too.

“I knew you would come,” she breathed, and gave a start. She was herself! She could not give in to this, not for a moment, or she would be well and truly trapped.

Smiling, Gawyn scooped her up into his arms. “I am glad you knew it,” he said. “I would have come sooner if I could. I should never have left you in danger so long. Can you forgive me?”

“I can forgive you anything.” There were two Egwenes now, one snuggling contentedly in Gawyn’s arms as he carried her down a palace corridor lined with colorful tapestries and great mirrors in ornately gilded frames, the other riding in the back of the first’s head.

This was becoming serious. Concentrate as hard as she would on being outside, she stayed there, watching through the eyes of a second her. Hurriedly she stifled curiosity as to what Gawyn dreamed about her. That sort of interest was dangerous. She accepted none of this! But none of it changed.

The corridor appeared quite real where she looked, though what was seen from the corner of her eye seemed hazy. Her own image glimpsed in a mirror caught her attention; she would have twisted to stare at it as they passed, but she was only a passenger in the head of the woman of Gawyn’s dreams. The woman reflected for that instant had been her—there was no feature she could have pointed to and said it differed in the slightest from her real face—but somehow the whole was. . . . Beautiful was the only word. Stunningly so. Was that how Gawyn saw her?

No! No curiosity! Outside!

Between one stride and the next the corridor became a hillside carpeted in wildflowers, their scent rich on a soft breeze. The real Egwene gave a mental start. Had she done that? The barrier between her and the other thinned. She focused furiously. It was not real; she refused to accept it; she was herself. Outside. She wanted to be outside, looking in.