The concept was laughable. Gawyn could have been First Prince of the Sword—should have been First Prince of the Sword—leader of Andor’s armies and protector of the Queen. He was son to Morgase Trakand, one of the most influential and powerful rulers Andor had ever known. He had no desire for this man’s position.

That wouldn’t be how it looked to Chubain. Disgraced by the destructive Seanchan attack, he must feel that his position was in danger.

“Captain,” Gawyn said, “may I speak with you in private?”

Chubain looked at Gawyn suspiciously, then nodded toward the hallway. The two of them retreated. Nervous Tower servants waited outside, ready to clean the blood away.

Chubain folded his arms and inspected Gawyn. “What is it you wish of me, my Lord?”

He often emphasized the rank. Calm, Gawyn thought. He still felt the shame of how he’d bullied his way into Bryne’s camp. He was better than that. Living with the Younglings, enduring the confusion and then the shame of the events surrounding the Tower’s breaking, had changed him. He couldn’t continue down that path.

“Captain,” Gawyn said, “I appreciate you letting me inspect the room.”

“I didn’t have much choice.”

“I realize that. But you have my thanks nonetheless. It’s important to me that the Amyrlin see me helping. If I find something the sisters miss, it could mean a great deal for me.”

“Yes,” Chubain said, eyes narrowing. “I suspect it could.”

“Maybe she’ll finally have me as her Warder.”

Chubain blinked. “Her…Warder?”

“Yes. Once, it seemed certain that she would take me, but now…well, if I can help you with this investigation, perhaps it will cool her anger at me.” He raised a hand, gripping Chubain’s shoulder. “I will remember your aid. You call me Lord, but my title is all but meaningless to me now. All I want is to be Egwene’s Warder, to protect her.”

Chubain wrinkled his brow. Then he nodded and seemed to relax. “I heard you talking. You’re looking for marks of gateways. Why?”

“I don’t think this is the work of the Black Ajah,” Gawyn said. “I think it might be a Gray Man, or some other kind of assassin. A Darkfriend among the Tower staff, perhaps? I mean, look at how the women are killed. Knives.”

Chubain nodded. “There were some signs of a struggle too. The sisters doing the investigation mentioned that. The books swept from the table. They thought it was done by the woman flailing as she died.”

“Curious,” Gawyn said. “If I were a Black sister, I’d use the One Power, regardless of the fact that others might sense it. Women channel all the time in the Tower; this wouldn’t be suspicious. I’d immobilize my victim with weaves, kill her with the Power, then escape before anyone thought oddly of it. No struggle.”

“Perhaps,” Chubain said. “But the Amyrlin seems confident that this is the work of Black sisters.”

“I’ll talk to her and see why,” Gawyn said. “For now, perhaps you should suggest to those doing the investigation that it would be wise to interview the Tower servants? Give this reasoning?”