The door rattled, the lock spun, then the door flew open, revealing a group of people on the other side. And they were not the group of Guards Elayne had been expecting. At their head was a man with short black hair, thinning at the sides, and huge mustaches. He wore brown trousers and a black shirt, his coat long, almost an open-fronted robe.

Sylvase’s secretary! Behind him were two women. Temaile and Eldrith. Both of the Black Ajah. Both holding to the Source. Light!

Elayne stifled her surprise, meeting their gaze and not giving ground. If she could convince one Black sister that she was of the Forsaken, then perhaps she could convince three. Temaile’s eyes opened wide, and she threw herself to her knees, as did the secretary. Eldrith, however, hesitated. Elayne couldn’t be certain if it was her stance, her disguise, or her reaction to seeing the three newcomers. Perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, Eldrith wasn’t taken in. The round-faced woman began to channel.

Elayne cursed to herself, forming weaves of her own. She slammed a shield at Eldrith right as she felt one come for her. Fortunately, she was holding Mat’s ter’angreal. The weave unraveled, and the medallion grew cold in Elayne’s hand. Elayne’s own weave slid evenly between Eldrith and the Source, cutting her off. The glow of the Power winked out around her.

“What are you doing, you idiot!” Chesmal screeched. “You try to overthrow one of the Chosen? You’ll see us all dead!”

“That’s not one of the Chosen,” Eldrith yelled back. Elayne belatedly thought to weave a gag of Air. “You’ve been duped! It—”

Elayne got the gag in her mouth, but it was too late. Temaile—who had always looked too delicate to be a Black sister—embraced the Source and looked up. Chesmal’s expression turned from horror to anger.

Elayne quickly tied off Eldrith’s shield and began weaving another one. A weave of Air hit her. The foxhead medallion grew cold, and—blessing Mat for his timely loan—Elayne placed a shield between Chesmal and the Source.

Temaile gaped at Elayne, obviously stunned to see her weaves fail. Sylvase’s secretary wasn’t so slow, however. He threw himself forward unexpectedly, ramming Elayne back against the wall with a great deal of force.

Pain laced out from her shoulder, and she felt something crack. Her shoulder bone? The babes! she thought immediately. It was a primal flash of horror and instant terror that defied all thoughts about Min and viewings. In her surprise, she let go of the gateway leading back to her room above. It winked out.

“She has a ter’angreal of some kind,” Temaile cried. “Weaves fall off her.”

Elayne scrambled, pushing against the secretary and beginning a weave of Air to thrust him back. As she did, however, he clawed at her hand, perhaps having noticed a flash of silvery metal there. The secretary got his long fingers around the medallion just as Elayne’s burst of Air hit him.

The secretary flew backward, clinging to the medallion. Elayne growled, still furious. Temaile grinned maliciously, and weaves of Air sprang up around her. She threw them forward, but Elayne met them with her own.