Min was sitting back with her eyes closed; the young woman seemed to take catnaps any time an Aes Sedai was not actually speaking to her. The other two sisters in the coach occasionally shot quick glances at the girl. Seonid, cool and reserved in her brocaded green. Masuri, slim and merry-eyed in brown embroidered with flowering vines around the hem. They had all dressed formally, in shawls and Ajah colors.

Merana was sure they had the same thought as herself when they looked at Min. Seonid should certainly understand, though who could be certain? Seonid was very methodical and practical about her Warders, almost like a woman with a pair of prize wolfhounds she felt some affection for. Masuri might understand. She did like to dance and even flirt, though she was liable to forget the poor man when she heard a rumor of an old manuscript hidden away. Merana herself had not been in love since well before that Fifth Treaty of Falme, but she did remember, and all it had taken was one glimpse of Min staring at al’Thor to see a woman who had tossed sense out the window and was riding her heart at a gallop.

Not proof that Min had ignored all their cautions, broken her promise and told al’Thor everything, but he knew about Salidar. He knew Elayne was there, and had been amused—amused!—at their evasions. Aside from whether Min had broken confidence—care would have to be used in what was said around her from now on in any case—it was frightening when taken with everything else. Merana was not used to being frightened. She had been, often, in the year after Basan died—she had never bonded another Warder, at least partly because she did not want to go through that again; and also partly because she was simply too busy to search out the right man—but that was the last time she had known anything more than apprehension, before the Aiel War. Now she felt fear, and she did not like it. Everything could still go well, nothing truly disastrous had happened, but al’Thor himself turned her knees to water.

The hired coach rocked to a stop in the stableyard of The Crown of Roses, stablemen in vests worked with roses rushing out to take bridles and open doors.

The common room suited the three stories of finely dressed white stone, all dark polished panels with tall fireplaces faced in white marble. One mantelpiece held a wide clock, with chimes for the hours and a few lines of gilding. The serving women wore blue dresses and white aprons embroidered with a ring of roses; they were all smiling, polite, efficient, and those not pretty were handsome. The Crown of Roses was a favorite of nobles in from the country who had no mansions of their own in Caemlyn, but now the tables held only Warders. And Alanna and Verin, seated at the rear; had Merana had her wishes, they would have been waiting in the kitchens with the servants. The rest of the sisters were all out. There was no time to waste.