“She is right,” Gawyn whispered, watching the hawkflies dance over the surface of the water. “We’re done, al’Thor. From now on, I care nothing for you.”

It felt like an enormous weight lifting from his shoulders. Gawyn let out a long, relaxed sigh. Only now that Elayne had released him did he realize how much guilt he’d felt over his absence from Andor. That was gone now, too.

Time to focus on Egwene. He reached into his pocket, slipping out the assassin’s knife, and held it up in the sunlight, inspecting those red stones. He did have a duty to protect Egwene. Supposing she railed against him, hated him, and exiled him; wouldn’t it be worth the punishments if he managed to preserve her life?

“By my mother’s grave,” a voice said sharply from behind. “Where did you get that?”

Gawyn spun. The women he’d noticed earlier were standing behind him on the path. Dimana led them, her hair streaked with white, her face wrinkled around the eyes. Wasn’t working with the Power supposed to stop those signs of aging?

There were two people with her. One was a plump young woman with black hair, the other a stout woman in her middle years. The second was the one who had spoken; she had wide, innocent-looking eyes. And she seemed horrified.

“What is that, Marille?” Dimana asked.

“That knife,” Marille said, pointing at Gawyn’s hand. “Marille has seen one like it before!”

“I have seen it before,” Dimana corrected. “You are a person and not a thing.”

“Yes, Dimana. Much apologies, Dimana. Marille…I will not make the mistake again, Dimana.”

Gawyn raised an eyebrow. What was wrong with this person?

“Forgive her, my Lord,” Dimana said. “Marille spent a long time as a damane, and is having difficulty adjusting.”

“You’re Seanchan?” Gawyn said. Of course. I should have noticed the accent.

Marille nodded vigorously. A former damane. Gawyn felt a chill. This woman had been trained to kill with the Power. The third woman remained silent, watching with curious eyes. She didn’t look nearly as subservient.

“We should be moving on,” Dimana said. “It isn’t good for her to see things that remind her of Seanchan. Come, Marille. That is merely a token Lord Trakand won in battle, I suspect.”

“No, wait,” Gawyn said, holding up a hand. “You recognize this blade?”

Marille looked to Dimana, as if requesting permission to answer. The Kinswoman nodded sufferingly.

“It is a Bloodknife, my Lord,” Marille said. “You did not win it in battle, because men do not defeat Bloodknives. They are unstoppable. They only fall when their own blood turns against them.”

Gawyn frowned. What nonsense was this? “So this is a Seanchan weapon?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Marille said. “Carried by the Bloodknives.”

“I thought you said this was a Bloodknife.”

“It is, but that is also who carries them. Shrouded in the night, sent by the Empress’s will—may she live forever—to strike down her foes and die in her name and glory.” Marille lowered her eyes farther. “Marille speaks too much. She is sorry.”