“Will you stop that?” he growled. He refrained from rubbing his chest. Faile was giving no help at all, merely smiling at him encouragingly. Bashere was studying him with pursed lips and a cocked eyebrow. “If I indulge her sometimes, it’s because I want to. I like to see her smile. If you expect me to trample on her, you can forget it.” Maybe he had lost with that. Faile’s mother began staring at him in a most peculiar way, and her scent was a tangle he could not make out, though anger was still in it, and icy disdain. But good impression or no, he was done with trying to say what Bashere and his wife wanted to hear. “I love her, and she loves me, and that’s the whole of it as far as I’m concerned.”

“He says,” Bashere said slowly, “that if you take our daughter away, he will take her back. He seems to think nine thousand Saldaean horse no match for a few hundred Two Rivers bowmen.”

His wife gazed at Perrin consideringly, then visibly took herself in hand, her head coming erect. “That is all very well, but any man can swing a sword. What I want to know is whether he can tame a willful, headstrong, disobedient—”

“Enough, Deira,” Bashere cut in mildly. “Since you’ve obviously decided Zarine . . . Faile . . . is no longer a child, I think Perrin will do well enough.”

To Perrin’s surprise, Bashere’s wife bowed her head meekly. “As you say, my heart.” Then she glared at Perrin, not meekly at all, as if to say that was the way a man should handle a woman.

Bashere murmured something under his breath about grandchildren and making the blood strong again. And Faile? She smiled at Perrin with an expression he had never seen on her face before, an expression that made him decidedly uncomfortable. With her hands folded and her ankles crossed and her head tilted to one side, she somehow managed to look . . . submissive. Faile! Maybe he had married into a family where everyone was mad.

Closing the door on Perrin, Rand finished his goblet of punch, then sprawled in a chair, thinking. He hoped Perrin got on well with Bashere. But then, if they struck sparks, maybe Perrin would be more amenable to Tear. He needed either Perrin or Mat there to convince Sammael that that was the true attack. The thought brought a soft, bitter laugh. Light, what a way to think about a friend. Lews Therin was giggling and muttering indistinctly about friends and betrayal. Rand wished he could sleep for a year.