“Elayne is unharmed,” Egwene said, surprised to find herself right in front of him. She reached up, and surprised herself again by running her fingers into his hair as she raised his head. It felt just as she remembered. Her hands flashed back as if burned. She was sure she would flush so crimson her face would ignite, except. . . . Color stained Gawyn’s cheeks. Of course. He remembered too, though only as his own dream. That truly should have set her face afire, but somehow it did the opposite. Gawyn’s blush steadied her nerves, even made her want to smile. “Elayne is safe, Gawyn. I can swear to that.”

“Where is she?” His voice was anguished. “Where has she been? Her place is in Caemlyn now. Well, not Caemlyn—not so long as al’Thor might be there—but in Andor. Where is she, Egwene?”

“I . . . cannot tell you. I can’t, Gawyn.”

He studied her, face expressionless, then sighed. “You are more Aes Sedai every time I see you.” His laugh sounded forced. “Do you know I used to think about being your Warder? How is that for foolish?”

“You will be my Warder.” She had not realized the words were coming out of her mouth until they did, but once they did, she knew they were true. That dream. Gawyn kneeling for her to hold his head. It could have meant a hundred things or nothing, but she knew.

He grinned at her. The idiot thought she was joking! “Not me, surely. Galad, I think. Though you’ll have to beat away other Aes Sedai with a stick. Aes Sedai, serving girls, queens, chambermaids, merchants, farmwives. . . . I’ve seen them all look at him. Don’t bother claiming you don’t think he’s—”

The simplest way to silence that nonsense was to put a hand over his mouth. “I do not love Galad. I love you.”

The man still tried to pretend it was a jest, smiling against her fingers. “I cannot be a Warder. I’m to be Elayne’s First Prince of the Sword.”

“If the Queen of Andor can be Aes Sedai, a Prince can be a Warder. And you will be mine. Push that through your thick skull; I am serious. And I love you.” He stared at her. At least he was not smiling anymore. But he said nothing, just stared. She took her hand away. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“When you wish for so long that you could hear something,” he said slowly, “and then suddenly, with no warning, you do, it is like a lightning strike and rain on parched ground at the same time. You’re stunned, but you cannot hear enough.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she told him, smiling. “Well?”