Berelain’s tranquil voice responded, and the guard pushed back the entrance flap for Faile. As she moved to enter, rustling inside made her step back, and Annoura came out. The Aes Sedai nodded to Faile, the overlapping braids around her face swinging. She seemed displeased; she hadn’t regained her mistress’s favor yet.

Faile took a deep breath, then stepped into the pavilion. It was cool inside. The floor was covered with a maroon and green rug of a twisting ivy pattern. Though the pavilion looked empty without Berelain’s usual travel furniture, she did have a pair of sturdy oak chairs and a light table from Malden.

The First rose. “Lady Faile,” she said calmly. Today, she wore the diadem of Mayene. The thin crown had a simple grandeur about it, unornamented save for the golden hawk taking flight as if leaping toward the sunlight streaming in patches through the tent ceiling. Flaps had been removed there to let in the light. The First’s dress was gold and green, a very simple belt at her waist, the neckline plunging.

Faile sat in one of the chairs. This conversation was dangerous; it could lead to disaster. But it had to be done.

“I trust you are well?” Berelain said. “The rains of the last few days have not been overly taxing?”

“The rains have been dreadful, Berelain,” Faile said. “But I’m not here to talk about them.”

Berelain pursed perfect lips. Light, but the woman was beautiful! Faile felt downright dingy by comparison, her nose too large, her bosom too small. Her voice wasn’t nearly as melodic as Berelain’s. Why had the Creator made people as perfect as Berelain? Was it mockery of the rest of them?

But Perrin didn’t love Berelain. He loved Faile. Remember that.

“Very well,” Berelain said. “I assumed this discussion would come. Let me promise you that the rumors are absolutely false; nothing inappropriate happened between myself and your husband.”

“He has told me that already,” Faile said, “and I trust his word over yours.”

This made Berelain frown. She was a master of political interactions, possessing a skill and subtlety that Faile envied. Despite her youth, Berelain had kept her tiny city-state free from the much larger and powerful Tear. Faile could only guess how much juggling, political double-dealing and sheer cleverness that must have required.

“So why have you come to me?” Berelain asked, sitting down. “If your heart is at ease, then there is no problem.”

“We both know that whether or not you slept with my husband is not an issue here,” Faile said, and Berelain’s eyes widened. “It isn’t what happened, but what is presumed, that angers me.”

“Rumors can be found in any place where people are gathered,” Berelain said. “Particularly where men gossip.”

“Such strong, persistent rumors are unlikely to have happened without encouragement,” Faile said. “Now everyone in the camp—including the refugees sworn to me—assumes that you bedded my husband while I was away. This not only makes me look like a fool, but casts a shadow upon Perrin’s honor. He cannot lead if people take him for the type of man who will run to the arms of another woman the moment his wife is away.”