“Excellent, excellent,” Rosil said. “Might I suggest you move the ring to the third finger of your left hand?”

“You may suggest it,” Nynaeve said, but did not move the ring. She had been named Aes Sedai. She would not give in on that point.

Rosil pursed her lips, but said nothing further. The woman had shown Nynaeve remarkable kindness during her short time in the White Tower—which had been a relief. Nynaeve had grown to expect that every Yellow sister would regard her with disdain, or at least indifference. Oh, they thought she was talented, and many insisted on being trained by her. But they did not think of her as one of them. Not yet.

This woman was different, and being a burr in her sandal was not a good repayment. “It is important to me, Rosil,” Nynaeve explained, “that I not give any indication of disrespect for the Amyrlin. She named me Aes Sedai. To act as if I were merely Accepted would be to undermine her words. This test is important—when the Amyrlin raised me, she never said that I need not be tested. But I am Aes Sedai.”

Rosil cocked her head, then nodded. “Yes. I see. You are correct.”

Nynaeve stopped in the dim corridor. “I want to thank you, and the others who have welcomed me these last days—Niere and Meramor. I had not assumed I would find acceptance here among you.”

“There are some who resist change, dear,” Rosil said. “It will ever be so. But your new weaves are impressive. More importantly, they’re effective. That earns you a warm welcome from me.”

Nynaeve smiled.

“Now,” Rosil said, raising a finger. “You might be Aes Sedai in the eyes of the Amyrlin and the Tower, but tradition still holds. No speaking for the rest of the ceremony, please.”

The lanky woman continued leading the way. Nynaeve followed, biting off a retort. She wouldn’t let her nerves rule her.

Deeper into the Tower they wound, and despite her determination to be calm, she found herself increasingly nervous. She was Aes Sedai, and she would pass this test. She’d mastered the hundred weaves. She didn’t need to worry.

Except, some women never returned from the test.

These cellars had a grand beauty to them. The smooth stone floor was leveled carefully. Lamps burned high on the walls; likely, those had required a sister or Accepted to light them with the One Power. Few people came down here, and most of the rooms were used for storage. It seemed a waste to her to put such care in a place rarely visited.

Eventually, they arrived at a pair of doors so large that Rosil had to use the One Power to open them. It’s an indication, Nynaeve thought, folding her arms. The vaulted hallways, the enormous door. This is here to show Accepted the importance of what they are about to do.

The enormous, gatelike doors swung open, and Nynaeve forced herself to master her jitters. The Last Battle was looming. She would pass this test. She had important work to be about.