There were Aes Sedai at the tables inside—it had the feel of a common room to him, even with those careful Aes Sedai scribbling or handing out orders—but they hardly more than glanced at him and Nynaeve as they crossed the room. It only went to show what a raree-show they were running here. An Accepted stalking through muttering to herself, and not a one of those Aes Sedai said a word. He had stayed in the Tower as short a time as he could manage, but he knew that was not the way Aes Sedai ran things.

At the rear of the room, Nynaeve pushed open a door that had seen better days. Everything in the place seemed to have seen better days. Mat followed her in—and stopped dead. There was Elayne, pretty as anything with that golden hair, but playing at the grand lady with every inch of her, in green silk with a high lace neck, and one of those condescending smiles, and raised eyebrows. And there was Egwene, seated behind a table, a questioning smile on her face. And a seven-striped stole over her pale yellow dress. Taking a quick peek outside, he shoved the door to before any of the Aes Sedai could see in.

“Maybe you think this is funny,” he growled, crossing the bit of carpet as fast as he could step, “but they’ll have your hide if they find out. They’ll never bloody let you go, any of you, if they—” Snatching the stole from Egwene’s neck, he hauled her hurriedly out of the chair—and the silver foxhead went dead cold against his chest.

Giving Egwene a small shove away from the table, he glared at them. Egwene only looked puzzled, but Nynaeve’s mouth was hanging open again, and Elayne’s big blue eyes looked ready to pop out onto the floor. One of them had tried to use the Power on him. The only good thing that had come out of his trip into that ter’angreal was the foxhead medallion. He supposed it had to be a ter’angreal too, but he was grateful for it just the same. So long as it touched his skin, the One Power could not reach him. Not saidar, anyway; he had more proof of that than he cared for. It did go cold when someone tried, though.

Tossing the stole and his hat onto the table, he sat down, then hiked up from the seat to pull out some cushions and throw them on the floor. He rested a boot on the edge of the table and regarded the fool women. “You’ll need those cushions if this so-called Amyrlin finds out about this little joke of yours.”

“Mat,” Egwene began in a firm voice, but he cut her off.

“No! If you wanted to talk, you should have talked instead of lashing out with your bloody Power. Now you can listen.”