Mat glanced over his shoulder as the two of them crested a hilltop. Caemlyn was ablaze with the light of torches and lamps. Illumination hung over the city like a fog, grand spires and towers lit by the glow. The old memories inside him remembered this city—remembered assaulting it before Andor was even a nation. Caemlyn had never made for an easy fight. He did not envy the Houses that had tried to seize it from Elayne.

Thom stepped up beside him. “It seems like forever since we left here last, doesn’t it, Mat?”

“Burn me, but it does,” Mat said. “Whatever convinced us to go hunting those fool girls? Next time, they can save themselves.”

Thom eyed him. “Aren’t we about to do the same thing? When we go to the Tower of Ghenjei?”

“It’s different. We can’t leave her with them. Those snakes and foxes—”

“I’m not complaining, Mat,” Thom said. “I’m just thoughtful.”

Thom seemed thoughtful a lot, lately. Moping around, caressing that worn letter from Moiraine. It was only a letter. “Come on,” Mat said, turning back along the road. “You were telling me about getting in to see the Queen?”

Thom joined him on the dark roadway. “I’m not surprised she hasn’t replied to you, Mat. She’s probably got her hands full. Word is that Trollocs have invaded the Borderlands in force, and Andor is still fractured from the Succession. Elayne—”

“Do you have any good news, Thom?” Mat said. “Tell me some, if you do. I’ve a mind for it.”

“I wish that The Queen’s Blessing were still open. Gill always had tidbits to share.”

“Good news,” Mat prodded again.

“All right. Well, the Tower of Ghenjei is right where Domon said. I have word from three other ship’s captains. It’s past an open plain several hundred miles northwest of Whitebridge.”

Mat nodded, rubbing his chin. He felt like he could remember something of the tower. A silvery structure, unnatural, in the distance. A trip on a boat, water lapping at the sides. Bayle Domon’s thick Illianer accent…

Those images were vague to Mat; his memories of the time were full of more holes than one of Jori Congar’s alibis. Bayle Domon had been able to tell them where to find the tower, but Mat wanted confirmation. The way Domon bowed and scraped for Leilwin made Mat itch. Neither showed Mat much affection, for all the fact that he had saved them. Not that he had wanted any affection from Leilwin. Kissing her would be about as fun as kissing a stoneoak’s bark.

“You think Domon’s description will be enough for someone to make us one of those gateways there?” Mat asked.

“I don’t know,” Thom said. “Though that’s a secondary problem, I should think. Where are we going to find someone to make a gateway? Verin has vanished.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“If you don’t, we’ll end up spending weeks traveling to the place,” Thom said. “I don’t like—”

“I’ll find us a gateway,” Mat said firmly. “Maybe Verin will come back and release me from this bloody oath.”