“If you discover that the Sitters are making decisions that should have come before the entire Hall, you have to make a big fuss about it. Trust me. They’ll grouse that you’re making too much noise over small things, but they’ll think twice about doing something important without your attention.”

Egwene nodded. It was good advice, though—of course—it came colored by Nynaeve’s view of the world. “I think the biggest problem,” Egwene said, “is that I have so few true supporters.”

“You have me. And Elayne.”

“Do I?” Egwene said, stopping in the hallway and looking at Nynaeve. “Do I really have you, Nynaeve?”

The former Wisdom stopped beside her. “Of course you do. Don’t be silly.”

“And how will it seem,” Egwene asked, “if those who know me best refuse my authority? Might it seem to the others that there is something they do not know? Some weakness that only my friends have seen?”

Nynaeve froze. Suddenly, her honesty melted into suspicion, her eyes narrowing. “This wasn’t about asking me for advice at all, was it?”

“Of course it was,” Egwene said. “Only a fool would ignore the advice of those who support her. But how did it feel for you, those first weeks when you became Wisdom? When all the women you were supposed to be leading looked at you only as the girl they had known?”

“Terrible,” Nynaeve said softly.

“And were they wrong to do so?”

“Yes. Because I’d become something more. It wasn’t me any longer, it was my station.”

Egwene met the older woman’s eyes, holding them, and an understanding passed between them.

“Light,” Nynaeve said. “You caught me quite soundly, didn’t you?”

“I need you, Nynaeve,” Egwene said. “Not just because you’re so strong in the Power, not just because you’re a clever, determined woman. Not just because you’re refreshingly untainted by Tower politics, and not just because you’re one of the few who knew Rand before this all began. But because I need people I can trust implicitly. If you can be one of those.”

“You’ll have me kneeling on the ground,” Nynaeve said. “Kissing your ring.”

“And? Would you have done it for another Amyrlin?”

“Not happily.”

“But you’d have done it.”

“Yes.”

“And do you honestly think there is another who would do a better job than I?”

Nynaeve hesitated, then shook her head.

“Then why is it so bitter for you to serve the Amyrlin? Not me, Nynaeve, but the station.”

Nynaeve’s face looked as if she’d drunk something very bitter. “This will…not be easy for me.”

“I’ve never known you to avoid a task because it was difficult, Nynaeve.”

“The station. All right. I’ll try.”

“Then you might begin by calling me Mother.” Egwene held up a finger to cut off Nynaeve’s objection. “To remind yourself, Nynaeve. It needn’t be permanent, at least not in private. But you must begin thinking of me as Amyrlin.”

“All right, all right. You’ve pricked me with enough thorns. I already feel as if I’ve been drinking windsatter’s draught all day.” She hesitated, then added, “Mother.” She almost seemed to choke on the word.