“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?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “I do not suppose it matters. Someday you must tell me how you had Aiel parents yet were raised in Andor. Twenty-five years ago, more now, the Daughter-Heir of Andor vanished in the night. Her name was Tigraine. She left behind a husband, Taringail, and a son, Galad. I know it is only chance, yet I see Tigraine in your face. It was a shock.”

Rand felt a shock of his own. He felt cold. Fragments of the tale the Wise Ones had told him spun through his head. . . . a golden-haired young wetlander, in silks . . . son she loved; a husband she did not . . . Shaiel was the name she took. She never gave another . . . You have something of her in your features. “How was it that Tigraine vanished? I have an interest in the history of Andor.”