When Nynaeve and Elayne walked in, both women gaped as if none had entered in a year. The seamstress recovered first, regarding them with careful dignity as she made a slight curtsy. “May I serve you? I am Ronde Macura. My shop is yours.”

“I want a dress embroidered with yellow roses on the bodice,” Nynaeve told her. “But no thorns, mind,” she added with a laugh. “I don’t heal very fast.” What she said did not matter, so long as she included “yellow” and “heal” in it. Now, if only that bunch of flowers was not happenstance. If that was the case, she would have to find some reason not to buy a dress with roses. And a way to keep Elayne from recounting the whole miserable experience to Thom and Juilin.

Mistress Macura stared at her for a moment with dark eyes, then turned to the thin girl, pushing her toward the back of the shop. “Go on to the kitchen, Luci, and make a pot of tea for these good ladies. From the blue canister. The water’s hot, thank the Light. Go on, girl. Put that down and stop gawking. Quickly, quickly. The blue canister, mind. My best tea,” she said, turning back to Nynaeve as the girl vanished through a door at the rear. “I live over the shop, you see, and my kitchen is in the back.” She was smoothing her skirts nervously, thumb and forefinger of her right hand forming a circle. For the Great Serpent ring. There would be no need for an excuse about the dress, it seemed.

Nynaeve repeated the sign, and after a moment Elayne did, too. “I am Nynaeve, and this is Elayne. We saw your signal.”

The woman fluttered as if she might fly away. “The signal? Ah. Yes. Of course.”

“Well?” Nynaeve said. “What is the urgent message?”

“We should not talk about that out here . . . uh . . . Mistress Nynaeve. Anyone might walk in.” Nynaeve doubted that. “I will tell you over a nice cup of tea. My best tea, did I say?”

Nynaeve exchanged looks with Elayne. If Mistress Macura was this reluctant to speak her news, it must be appalling indeed.

“If we may just step into the back,” Elayne said, “no one will hear but us.” Her regal tone made the seamstress stare. For a moment, Nynaeve thought it might cut through her nervousness, but the next instant the fool woman was babbling again.