“From,” Elayne replied with a languid hauteur. “The city’s balls were most enjoyable, and King Ailron is quite as handsome as they say, which is not always so for kings but I must return to my estates. I require a room for myself and Nana, and something for my footman and driver.” Thinking of Nynaeve and the trundle, she added, “I must have two full beds. I need Nana close, and if she has only a trundle, she will keep me awake with her snoring.” Nynaeve’s respectful face slipped—just a fraction, thankfully—but it was quite true. She had snored terribly.

“Of course, my Lady,” the plump innkeeper said. “I have just the thing. But your men will have to bed down in the stable, in the hayloft. I am quite crowded, as you can see. A troupe of vagabonds brought some horrible great animals into the village yesterday and one of them quite destroyed The King’s Lancer. Poor Sim has lost half his custom or more, and they’ve all come here.” Mistress Jharen’s smile was more satisfaction than commiseration. “I do have one room left, however.”

“I am sure it will do very well. If you will send up a light repast and some washwater, I think I shall retire early.” There was still sunlight showing in the windows, but she put a hand delicately over her mouth as if stifling a yawn.

“Of course, my Lady. As you wish. This way.”

Mistress Jharen seemed to think she had to keep Elayne entertained as she showed them to the second floor. She went on the whole way about the crowding at the inn and how it was a miracle that she had a room left, about the vagrants with their animals and how they had been chased out of town and good riddance to rubbish, about all the nobles who had stayed at her establishment over the years, even the Lord Captain Commander of the Children, once. Why, a Hunter of the Horn had come through just the day before, on his way to Tear, where they said the Stone of Tear had fallen into the hands of some false Dragon, and was it not horrible wickedness that men could do such things? “I hope they never find it.” The innkeeper’s gray curls swung as she shook her head.

“The Horn of Valere?” Elayne said. “Why ever not?”

“Why, my Lady, if they find it, it means the Last Battle is coming. The Dark One breaking free.” Mistress Jharen shivered. “The Light send the Horn is never found. That way, the Last Battle cannot happen, can it?” There did not seem to be much answer to such curious logic.