“No!” he said, and just as quickly softened his own tone. “She can’t Heal. . . .” Even an Aes Sedai could not Heal madness; none of them could Heal any of what ailed him. “Is Elayne well?”

“She is well.” Despite what Egwene had said, there was a hint of sympathy in her voice. That was all he really expected. Beyond what he had known when Elayne left Tear, what she was up to was an Aes Sedai concern and none of his; so Egwene had told him more than once, and Moiraine echoed her. The three Wise Ones who could dreamwalk, those Egwene was studying with, had been even less informative; they had their own reasons not to be pleased with him.

“I had best go, too,” Egwene went on, settling her shawl over her arms. “You are tired.” Frowning slightly, she said, “Rand, what does it mean to be buried in the Can Breat?”

He started to ask what under the Light she was talking about. Then he remembered using that phrase. “Just something I heard once,” he lied. He had no more idea what it meant than where it had come from.

“You rest, Rand,” she said, sounding twenty years older rather than two younger. “Promise me you will. You need it.” He nodded. She studied his face for a moment as though searching for the truth, then started for the door.

Rand’s silver goblet of wine floated up from the carpet and drifted to him. He hastily snatched it out of the air just before Egwene looked back over her shoulder.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this,” she said. “Elayne didn’t give it to me as a message for you, but . . . She said she loves you. Perhaps you know already, but if you don’t, you should think about it.” With that she was gone, the beads clicking together behind her.

Leaping from the table, Rand hurled the goblet away, splashing wine across the floor tiles as he rounded on Jasin Natael in a fury.

CHAPTER
3

Pale Shadows

Seizing saidin, Rand channeled, wove flows of Air that snatched Natael up from the cushions; the gilded harp tumbled to the dark red tiles as the man was pinned against the wall, immobile from neck to ankles and his feet half a pace above the floor. “I’ve warned you! Never channel when anyone else is around. Never!”

Natael tilted his head in that peculiar way he had, as if trying to look at Rand sideways, or watch without being noticed. “If she had seen, she would have thought it was you.” There was no apology in his voice, no diffidence, but no challenge either; he seemed to think he was offering a reasonable explanation. “Besides, you looked thirsty. A court-bard should look after his lord’s needs.” That was one of the small conceits he surrounded himself with; if Rand was the Lord Dragon, then he himself must be a court-bard, not a simple gleeman.