Elayne sighed heavily. “Well, what’s done is done. ‘You can’t put honey back in the comb.’ But if your Aiel get special protection, the Sea Folk should too. Let the Windfinders teach their girls. No Sea Folk women bundled off by Aes Sedai whatever they will.”

“Done.” Egwene spat on her palm and held out her hand, and after a moment Elayne spat on hers and grinned as they clasped to seal the bargain.

Slowly that grin faded. “Is this about Rand and his amnesty, Egwene?”

“In part. Elayne, how could the man be so . . . ?” There was no way to finish that, and no answer anyway. The other woman nodded a touch sadly, in understanding or agreement or both.

The door opened, and a sturdy woman in dark wool appeared, a silver tray in her hands with three silver cups and a long-necked silver wine pitcher. Her face was worn, a farmwife’s face, but her dark eyes glittered as she studied Egwene and Elayne with a shifting gaze. Egwene had just a moment to feel surprise that the woman wore a close-fitting silver necklace despite her drab dress, and then Nynaeve entered behind her, shutting the door. She must have run like the wind, because she had found time to exchange the Accepted’s dress for a dark blue silk embroidered with golden scrolls around the neckline and hem. It was not nearly so low-cut as what Berelain wore, but still considerably lower than Egwene expected to see on Nynaeve.

“This is ‘Marigan,’ ” Nynaeve said, drawing her braid over her shoulder in a practiced motion. Her Great Serpent ring shone golden on her right hand.

Egwene started to ask why she emphasized the name so, then abruptly realized that “Marigan’s” necklace was a match for the bracelet on Nynaeve’s wrist. She could not help staring. The woman certainly did not look anything like she expected one of the Forsaken to look. She said as much, and Nynaeve laughed.

“Watch, Egwene.”

She did more than watch; she nearly leaped out of her chair, and she did embrace saidar. As soon as Nynaeve spoke, the glow had surrounded “Marigan.” Only for an instant, but before it faded, the woman in the plain wool dress changed completely. Actually they were rather small changes, but they added up to a different woman, handsome rather than beautiful but not at all worn, a woman who was proud, even regal. Only the eyes remained the same, glittering, but no matter how they shifted, Egwene could believe this woman was Moghedien.

“How?” was all she said. She listened carefully as Nynaeve and Elayne explained about weaving disguises and inverting weaves, but she watched Moghedien. She was proud, and full of herself, full of being herself again.