For a moment Sheriam looked startled, but on the instant she frowned. Fists on her hips, she regarded Nynaeve with all the firmness of her office. “Does the Mistress of Novices now need an excuse for coming to the novices’ quarters, Accepted?” she said softly. “Do Accepted now question Aes Sedai? The Amyrlin means to make something of you two, but whether she does or not, I will teach you manners, at least. Now, the pair of you, go, before I haul you both down to my study, and not for the appointment the Amyrlin Seat has already set for you.”

A sudden thought came to Egwene. “Forgive me, Sheriam Sedai,” she said quickly, “but I must fetch my cloak. I feel cold.” She rushed away, around the gallery before the Aes Sedai could speak.

If Sheriam found that crossbow bolt in front of her door, there would be too many questions. No pretending they had only found the man, that he had no connection to her, then. But when she reached the door to her room, the heavy bolt was gone. Only the jagged chip in the stone beside the door said it had ever been there.

Egwene’s skin crawled. How could anyone take it without one of us seeing. . . . Another Gray Man! She had embraced saidar before she knew it, only the sweet flow of the Power inside her telling her what she had done. Even so, it was one of the hardest things she had ever done, opening that door and going into her room. There was no one there. She snatched the white cloak off its peg and ran out, anyway, and she did not release saidar until she was halfway back to the others.

Something more had passed between the women while she was gone. Nynaeve was attempting to appear meek, and succeeding only in looking as if she had a sour stomach. Sheriam had her fists on her hips and was tapping her foot irritably, and the stare she was giving Nynaeve, like green millstones ready to start grinding barley flour, took in Egwene equally.

“Forgive me, Sheriam Sedai,” she said hastily, dropping a curtsy and settling her cloak on her shoulders at the same time. “This . . . finding a dead man—a . . . a Gray Man!—it made me cold. If we may go now?”

At Sheriam’s tight nod of dismissal, Nynaeve made a bare curtsy. Egwene seized her arm and hustled her away.

“Are you trying to make more trouble for us?” she demanded when they were two levels down. And safely out of earshot of Sheriam, she hoped. “What else did you say to her, to make her glare like that? More questions, I suppose? I hope you learned something worth making her mad at us.”

“She would not say anything,” Nynaeve muttered. “We must ask questions if we are to do any good, Egwene. We will have to take a few chances, or we’ll never learn anything.”