“Oh, I will consult in the future,” Egwene told them earnestly. “But it did seem the right thing to do. Please, would you excuse me now? I really do need to speak with the Keeper.”

They practically quivered. Their curtsies were slight, their parting words perfectly correct so far as the words went, but muttered in Romanda’s case, and in Lelaine’s, sharp enough to cut.

“You handled that very well,” Sheriam said when they were gone. She sounded surprised. “But you must remember the Hall can make problems for any Amyrlin. One reason I am your Keeper is so that I can advise you, and keep you away from that sort of problem. You should ask me about any decrees you want to make. And if I’m not at hand, Myrelle and Morvrin and the others. We are here to help you, Mother.”

“I understand, Sheriam. I promise to listen carefully to whatever you say. I’d like to see Nynaeve and Elayne, if that is possible.”

“It should be,” Sheriam said, smiling, “though I may have to pull Nynaeve away from a Yellow physically. Siuan is coming to teach you about the etiquette of being Amyrlin—there is a great deal of it to learn—but I’ll tell her to come a little later.”

Egwene stared at the door after Sheriam had gone. Then she turned and stared at the table. Absolutely bare. Not a report to be read, no records to study. Not so much as pen and ink to write a note, much less a decree. And Siuan coming to teach her etiquette.

When a timid tap came at the door, she was still standing there. “Come,” she said, wondering whether it was Siuan, or perhaps a servant with a snack of honeycakes, already cut into suitably small pieces.

Nynaeve poked her head in hesitantly, then was pushed into the room by Elayne. Side by side, they made perfect deep curtsies, spreading white, banded skirts wide and murmuring, “Mother.”

“Please don’t do that,” Egwene said. Actually, it was more of a wail. “You’re the only two friends I have, and if you start. . . .” Light, she was almost ready to cry!

Elayne reached her first by a hair, throwing her arms around her. Nynaeve was silent, fiddling nervously with a slim silver bracelet, but not Elayne. “We’re still your friends, Egwene, but you are the Amyrlin Seat. Light, remember I told you one day you’d be the Amyrlin when I was. . . .” Elayne grimaced faintly. “Well, in any case, you are. We can’t just walk up to the Amyrlin and say, ‘Egwene, does this dress make me look fat?’ It would not be proper.”