“I’ll find a place for you,” Mat promised. “Just keep Olver safe. When the time comes, and I have someone to make gateways, I’ll have them send you to Illian so you can find your husband.”

“A deal,” Setalle said. She hesitated, glancing northward. “The…others are gone, then?”

“Yes.” Good riddance.

She nodded, looking regretful. Maybe she had not been ordering his men about for lunch because she had been offended at seeing them relax. Maybe she had been looking for something to busy herself at.

“I’m sorry,” Mat said. “About whatever happened to you.”

“The past is gone,” she replied. “And I need to leave it be. I should never have even asked to see the item you wear. These last few weeks have made me forget myself.”

Mat nodded, parting with her, then went searching for Olver. And after that, he really should get around to changing his coat. And burn him, he was going to shave, too. The men looking for him could bloody kill him if they wanted. A slit throat would be better than this itching.

Elayne strolled through the palace’s Sunrise Garden. This smaller garden had always been a favored location of her mother’s, set atop the roof of the palace’s eastern wing. It was rimmed by an oval of white stonework, with a larger, curved wall at the back.

Elayne had a full view of the city below. In earlier years, she had liked the lower gardens precisely because they were a retreat. It was in those gardens that she had first met Rand. She pressed a hand to her belly. Though she felt enormous, the pregnancy was only just beginning to show. Unfortunately, she’d had to commission an entirely new set of gowns. She would probably have to do so again in the coming months. What a bother.

Elayne continued to walk the roof garden. Pink jumpups and white morningstars bloomed in planters. The blossoms weren’t nearly as large as they should have been, and already they were wilting. The gardeners complained that nothing helped. Outside the city, grass and weeds were dying in swaths, and the patchwork quilt of fields and crops looked depressingly brown.

It is coming, Elayne thought. She continued on her way, walking a path made of springy grass, manicured and kept short. The gardeners’ efforts weren’t without some results. The grass here was mostly green, and the air smelled of the roses that wove their way up the sides of the wall. Those had brown spots on them, but they had bloomed.

A tinkling stream ran through the middle of the garden, lined in carefully placed river stones. That stream ran only when she visited; water had to be carried up to the cistern.

Elayne paused at another vantage point. A Queen couldn’t choose seclusion the way a Daughter-Heir could. Birgitte walked up beside her. She folded her arms across her red-coated chest, eyeing Elayne.

“What?” Elayne asked.

“You’re in full view,” Birgitte said. “Anyone down there with a bow and a good eye could throw the nation right back into a Succession war.”