“That…creature had no honor,” she said. “She has ruined us.”

The worst part was, the woman—Oncala—had thought of her mother’s mother. Her greatmother. Inside Oncala’s head, there had been a face attached to that title. Aviendha had recognized it.

As her own.

Cringing, closing her eyes, she stepped forward into the very center of the radiant columns.

She was Padra, daughter of the Dragon Reborn, proud Maiden of the Spear. She yanked her weapon from the neck of a dying Seanchan, then watched the rest flee through their gateway.

Light curse the one who taught the Seanchan Traveling, Padra thought. Even if their weaves aren’t very elegant.

She was convinced that no living person understood the One Power as she and her siblings did. She’d been able to weave since she’d been a child, and her brothers and sister were the same. To them, it was natural, and all others who channeled seemed awkward by comparison.

She was careful not to speak that way. Aes Sedai and Wise Ones didn’t like being reminded of their shortcomings. It was true nonetheless.

Padra joined her spear-sisters. They left one of their number dead on the grass, and Padra mourned for her. Tarra, of the Taardad Aiel. She would be remembered. But honor was theirs, for they had slain eight Seanchan soldiers.

She wove a gateway—for her, it happened as fast as she could think. She held the One Power perpetually, even while she slept. She’d never known what it was like not to have that comforting, surging Power in the back of her mind. Others said they feared being consumed by it, but how was that possible? Saidar was a piece of her, like her arm or her leg. How could one be consumed by one’s own flesh, bone and blood?

The gateway led to the Aiel camp in the land called Arad Doman. The camp wasn’t a city; Aiel didn’t have cities. But it was a very large camp, and it had not moved in almost a decade. Padra strode across the grass, and Aiel in cadin’sor showed her deference. Padra and her siblings, as children of the Dragon, had become…something to the Aiel.

Not lords—that concept made her sick. But she was more than an ordinary algai’d’siswai. The clan chiefs looked to her and her siblings for advice, and the Wise Ones took special interest in them. They allowed her to channel, though she was not one of them. She could no sooner stop channeling than she could stop breathing.

She dismissed her spear-sisters, then made her way directly to Ronam’s tent. The clan chief—son of Rhuarc—would need to hear her report. She entered and was surprised to see that Ronam was not alone. A group of men sat on the rug, clan chiefs every one. Her siblings were sitting there as well.

“Ah, Padra,” Ronam said. “You have returned.”

“I can come back another time, Ronam,” she said.

“No, you were wanted for this meeting. Sit and share my shade.”