It was true; she had not. One or even two Aes Sedai made little difference to an inn’s custom in Caemlyn, but nine was another matter. Mistress Cinchonine had remarked on it openly of late. “Then it was intended you should know Aiel had killed me. Or maybe that I was to be found before I died.” She had just recalled what that villainous-faced fellow had growled at her. “I was told to tell you all to stay away from al’Thor. Exact words. ‘Tell the other witches to stay away from the Dragon Reborn.’ I could hardly deliver that message dead, could I? How were my wounds placed?”

Stevan shifted on his stool, darting a pained look at her. “Both missed any organ that would have killed you on the spot, but the amount of blood you lost—”

“What are we to do now?” Demira cut in, directing her question to Merana, before he could start in on how foolish she had been to let herself be caught that way.

“I say we should find the Aiel responsible,” Berenicia said firmly, “and make an example of them.” She came from the Border Marches of Shienar, and Aiel raids had been a feature of her growing up. “Seonid agrees with me.”

“Oh, no!” Demira protested. “I will not have my first chance to study the Aiel ruined. They’ll hardly say two words as it is. It was my blood, after all. Besides, unless the man who gave you warning was Aiel too, it seems obvious to me that they acted under orders, and I think there is only one man in Caemlyn who orders Aiel.”

“The rest of us,” Merana said, eyeing Berenicia firmly, “agree with you, Demira. I want to hear no more talk of wasting time and energy finding one pack of hounds among hundreds while the man who set them to hunt walks about grinning.” Berenicia bristled a little before bowing her head, but she always did.

“We must at least show al’Thor he cannot treat Aes Sedai in this fashion,” Berenicia said sharply. A glance from Merana moderated her tone, though she did not sound happy. “Yet not so sharply that it ruins everything we’ve planned, of course.”