Tallanvor led him down so many corridors and across so many courtyards that he was beginning to wonder if he could find his way out again without help, when suddenly one of the courts had more than servants in it. A columned walk surrounded the court, with a round pool in the middle with white and yellow fish swimming beneath lily pads and floating white water lilies. Men in colorful coats embroidered in gold or silver, women with wide dresses worked even more elaborately, stood attendance on a woman with red-gold hair who sat on the raised rim of the pool, trailing her fingers in the water and staring sadly at the fish that rose to her fingertips in hopes of food. A Great Serpent ring encircled the third finger of her left hand. A tall, dark man stood at her shoulder, the red silk of his coat almost hidden by the gold leaves and scrolls worked on it, but it was the woman who held Mat’s eye.

He did not need the wreath of finely made golden roses in her hair, or the stole hanging over her dress of white slashed with red, the red length of the stole embroidered with the Lions of Andor, to know he was looking at Morgase, by the Grace of the Light, Queen of Andor, Defender of the Realm, Protector of the People, High Seat of House Trakand. She had Elayne’s face and beauty, but it was what Elayne would have when she had ripened. Every other woman in the courtyard faded into the background by her very presence.

I’d dance a jig with her, and steal a kiss in the moonlight, too, no matter how old she is. He shook himself. Remember exactly who she is!

Tallanvor went to one knee, a fist pressed to the white stone of the courtyard. “My Queen, I bring a messenger who bears a letter from the Lady Elayne.”

Mat eyed the man’s posture, then contented himself with a deep bow. “From the Daughter-Heir . . . uh . . . my Queen.” He held out the letter as he bowed, so the golden yellow wax of the seal was visible. Once she reads it, and knows Elayne is all right, I will tell her. Morgase turned her deep blue eyes on him. Light! As soon as she’s in a good mood.

“You bring a letter from my scapegrace child?” Her voice was cold, but with an edge that spoke of heat ready to rise. “That must mean she is alive, at least! Where is she?”

“In Tar Valon, my Queen,” he managed to get out. Light, wouldn’t I like to see a staring match between her and the Amyrlin. On second thought, he decided he would rather not. “At least, she was when I left.”