Shawl wrapped around her tightly, Aviendha stared straight ahead of her as if troubled, not noticing when he held the door into one of the lion-paneled dressing rooms for her, something that usually aroused at least a little ire, perhaps a tart question as to which of her arms was broken. When he asked what was the matter, she gave a start. “Nothing. Sulin was right. But. . . .” Suddenly she gave a reluctant grin. “Did you see her face? No one has set her down like that since . . . since never, I think. Not even Rhuarc.”

“I’m a little surprised to find you on my side.”

She stared at him with those big eyes. He could spend all day just trying to decide whether they were blue or green. No. He had no right to think about her eyes. What had happened after she made that doorway—to run from him—made no difference. He especially had no right to think about that.

“You trouble me so, Rand al’Thor,” she said without a bit of heat. “Light, sometimes I think the Creator made you just to trouble me.”

He wanted to tell her it was her own fault—more than once he had offered to send her back to the Wise Ones, though it would just mean them putting someone else in her place—but before he could open his mouth, Jalani and Liah caught up, followed almost immediately by two Red Shields, one a graying fellow with three times the scars Liah had on her face. Rand directed Jalani and the scarred man back to the throne room, which nearly precipitated an argument. Not from the Red Shield, who merely glanced at his fellow, shrugged and went, but Jalani drew herself up.

Rand pointed to the door leading to the Grand Hall. “The Car’a’carn expects Far Dareis Mai to go where he commands.”

“You may be a king to the wetlanders, Rand al’Thor, but not to Aiel.” A tough sullenness marred Jalani’s dignity, reminding him how young she was. “The Maidens will never fail you in the dance of spears, but this is not the dance.” Still, she went, after a rapid exchange of handtalk with Liah.

With Liah and the lean Red Shield, a yellow-haired man named Cassin who stood a good inch taller than Rand, Rand strode quickly through the palace to his rooms. And with Aviendha, of course. If he had thought those bulky skirts might make her fall behind, he was mistaken. Liah and Cassin remained in the hallway outside his sitting room, a large chamber with a marble frieze of lions below the high ceiling and tapestries of hunting scenes and misty mountains, but Aviendha followed him inside.

“Shouldn’t you be with Melaine?” he demanded. “Business of the Wise Ones and all that?”

“No,” she said curtly. “Melaine would not be pleased if I interfered right now.”