“She did not forge it, if that is what you mean,” Elayne said.

“Never you mind how we got it,” Nynaeve said. “It is real. That is all that need concern you. I would not show it around, were I you, or the Amyrlin will take it back, but it will get you past the guards and onto a ship. You said you’d take the letter, if we did that.”

“You can consider it in Morgase’s hands right now.” He did not want to stop reading the paper, but he folded it back up anyway, and laid it on top of Elayne’s letter. “You wouldn’t happen to have a little coin to go with this, would you? Some silver? A gold mark or two? I have almost enough for my passage, but I hear things are growing expensive downriver.”

Nynaeve shook her head. “Don’t you have money? You gambled with Hurin almost every night until you grew too sick to hold the dice. Why should things be more expensive downriver?”

“We gambled for coppers, Nynaeve, and he would not even do that after a while. It doesn’t matter. I will manage. Don’t you listen to what people say? There’s civil war in Cairhien, and I hear it is bad in Tear, too. I’ve heard a room at an inn in Aringill costs more than a good horse back home.”

“We have been busy,” she said sharply, and exchanged worried looks with Egwene and Elayne that set him wondering again.

“It doesn’t matter. I can make out.” There had to be gaming in the inns near the docks. A night with the dice would put him aboard a ship in the morning with a full purse.

“Just you deliver that letter to Queen Morgase, Mat,” Nynaeve said. “And do not let anyone know you have it.”

“I’ll take it to her. I said I would, didn’t I? You would think I didn’t keep my promises.” The looks he got from Nynaeve and Egwene reminded him of a few he had not kept. “I will do it. Blood and—I will do it!”

They stayed awhile longer, talking of home for the most part. Egwene and Elayne sat on the bed, and Nynaeve took the armchair, while he kept his stool. Talk of Emond’s Field made him homesick, and it seemed to make Nynaeve and Egwene sad, as if they were speaking of something they would never see again. He was sure their eyes moistened, but when he tried to change the subject, they brought it back again, to people they knew, to the festivals of Bel Tine and Sunday, to harvest dances and picnic gatherings for the shearing.