“She did not mean anything, Mother,” Egwene said, but she knew Nynaeve meant exactly what she had said. She shot a warning glance at Nynaeve. Nynaeve gave her braid a sharp tug, but she kept her mouth shut.

“Well, who is to say,” the Amyrlin mused. “Trust is as slippery as a basket of eels, sometimes. The point is, you two are what I have to work with, thin reeds though you may be.”

Nynaeve’s mouth tightened, though her voice stayed level. “Thin reeds, Mother?”

The Amyrlin went on as if she had not spoken. “Liandrin tried to stuff you headfirst into a weir, and it may well be she left because she learned you were returning, and could unmask her, so I have to believe you aren’t—Black Ajah. I would rather eat scales and entrails,” she muttered, “but I suppose I’ll have to get used to saying that name.”

Egwene gaped in shock—Black Ajah? Us? Light!—but Nynaeve barked, “We certainly are not! How dare you say such a thing? How dare you even suggest it?”

“If you doubt me, child, go ahead!” the Amyrlin said in a hard voice. “You may have an Aes Sedai’s power sometimes, but you are not yet Aes Sedai, not by miles. Well? Speak, if you have more to say. I promise to leave you weeping for forgiveness! ‘Thin reed’? I’ll break you like a reed! I’ve no patience left.”

Nynaeve’s mouth worked. Finally, though, she gave herself a shake, and drew a calming breath. When she spoke her voice still had an edge, but a small one. “Forgive me, Mother. But you should not—We are not—We would not do such a thing.”

With a compressed smile, the Amyrlin leaned back in her chair. “So you can keep your temper, when you want to. I had to know that.” Egwene wondered how much of it had been a test; there was a tightness around the Amyrlin’s eyes that suggested her patience might well be exhausted. “I wish I could have found a way to raise you to the shawl, Daughter. Verin says you are already as strong as any woman in the Tower.”

“The shawl!” Nynaeve gasped. “Aes Sedai? Me?”

The Amyrlin gestured slightly as if tossing something away, but she looked regretful to lose it. “No point wishing for what can’t be. I could hardly raise you to full sister and send you to scrub pots at the same time. And Verin also says you still cannot channel consciously unless you are furious. I was ready to sever you from the True Source if you even looked like embracing saidar. The final tests for the shawl require you to channel while maintaining utter calm under pressure. Extreme pressure. Even I cannot—and would not—set that requirement aside.”

Nynaeve seemed stunned. She was staring at the Amyrlin with her mouth hanging open.