The First Age

Continued from The Wheel Turns:

The horses' hooves thudded from the grass of the hillside to a clop against stones in a courtyard. Braziers burned, emitting red flickering warmth but little true light, casting the corners into gloomy shadows. Nythadri’s gaze swept her new surroundings. It was not the first time she had stepped through someone else’s Gate into the utter unknown -- and that did not even include Talin’s hurried offering two days prior -- but she was surprised to this time feel a little trepidation stir in her gut. It seemed somehow more final; like the first step on a path that would not allow for retreat.

It was a quiet welcome, but did not seem clandestine either despite the dark hour. A few servants milled, so clearly they had been expected, but it was as unceremonious as an unremarkable return home rather than the formal welcome of White Tower guests. Talin never revealed where she was from, and Nythadri had never cared to ask, but she did not think this was so personal a glimpse as to reveal where the woman was born -- and Nythadri had other suspicions to that end anyway. She watched the Yellow dismount, nimble despite long hours in the saddle. The lines of her shoulder had eased a little, like the weight was a little less.

It seemed they had reached a moment of respite.

Nythadri wasn’t sure how she was going to negotiate her stiff limbs into a graceful dismount, but Elly must have felt a resonance of the pain because she slid free from her own horse easily, and then reached to offer assistance without prompting. Light above did it hurt though, and for a moment Nythadri wasn’t wholly convinced her legs would even bear her weight. She felt more than saw Elly’s sly smile, and pulled away belligerently from the support of the hand at her elbow. Talin might ease the suffering, but Nythadri would not endure the injury of pride to ask, and she doubted the woman would even think to offer. Or perhaps find it amusing not to.

“Rest, sister -- we will do that while we can. And then we must speak,” was in fact all the Aes Sedai said at all as she drew close. Her face was solemn in the torchlight. There was a pinch of weariness in her eyes though, revealed perhaps in the relief of brief sanctuary.


This was not where she had expected to be. The rooms she and Elly were shown to were handsomely furnished, though they might have been as sparse as an Accepted’s chamber and Nythadri would have still been glad for the hallmarks of civilization. Steam rolled atop a copper bath by the hearth, and a small platter of breads, olives, and wine had been left on the table. Elly’s long legs roamed from wall to wall, investigating all nuances. No worry flared from within her. It seemed more instinct or habit than mistrust, and Nythadri watched with mild amusement for newly minted rituals. It seemed unlikely they had anything to fear here, but she let the woman complete the task undisturbed.

“I will find out exactly where we are. Can I trust you to stay out of trouble?”

“We really need to talk about this baby Aes Sedai thing.” The tone scorched dry as the Waste, but there was little true offense at the irreverence. Rather that than cloying formality, which would have been infinitely more tiresome. She unhooked the clasp of the cloak at her throat. Whatever oils had been mixed with the bathwater itched her skin with the desire to be clean. She could almost feel the heat soothing tired muscles. “My guess is somewhere in Illian, by the food and decor.”

The Warder nodded, and did not seem to notice that the words came with no promise as she slipped out the door.

Though she regretted leaving the warm water untouched, Nythadri did not linger. By the time she’d made it to the fort’s parapet she was certain enough of where in the world they were -- scant revelation, really, but she’d both hated the not knowing as well as having to rely on another to divine the answer for her. Saidar sharpened her eyes beyond the clinging night shadows; the landscape revealed itself to be mountainous, both rugged and brittle. In the distance crooked trees gripped tightly to the steep hillside; olive, she thought, by their shape. 

Her steps slowed as she neared the wall, where another already claimed the view. Nythadri wasn’t sure she needed to fear a sister’s warder, but Elly’s whisper of warning nonetheless circled a wary reminder as she came to stand alongside him. The press of the stone beneath her palms still held some heat, like perhaps the days would be warm -- certainly more so than Tar Valon. But not the captive heat of Arad Doman. 

Kaori dipped his head as she joined his vigil, but did not turn. They’d shared nothing but brief pleasantries in the single full day she’d known him, and while she would require answers soon enough, she discovered she was in no great rush to pierce the respite, despite the prime opportunity for interrogation. Her body ached something fierce, and the sheer isolation of the surrounding mountains -- absent any suggestion of civilization -- hung melancholy about her heart like a miserable anchor. She was quite prepared to take a selfish moment for herself. The silence was not discomforting. Just everything else.

“Best put your questions to my Aes Sedai,” Kaori said after a while. He spoke the words to the sky.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I came for the view.” She offered a cold and listless truth in reply, and might have left it there, but Nythadri being who she was, she did not stop herself from tilting her head toward him and dryly adding: “Do you find it chafing? You must not have been long acquainted with her, else I suspect I would have known of you before now. Yet you seem remarkably well trained to her whim already.”

No answer graced the jab. He did not seem to understand the tone of her joke, or perhaps simply did not appreciate it. That was no great surprise really; few enjoyed sparring in such arid conditions as Nythadri generally favoured. Though in this case it was not without purpose. All Northmen seemed to have strange notions of honour, and of respect. Not that an oathbreaker could not hold to such ideals, of course. Her pale gaze moved from the view beyond the parapet to the profile of his face. A beard clung to the slope of his cheeks, sun-darkened skin above. Now that she was close enough, she could see the knicks of old scars in the shaved sides of his head. Young, perhaps not thirty, but heavily brutalised. 

“The conditions of my own bond were not what I might have imagined, of course, so I find myself quite curious. Perhaps it’s different when two parties are joined by consent.”

He did not look at her. Instead he leaned against the wall. Leather bracers caged his thick forearms, and the muscles looked corded tight, if his hands did nothing but one clasp to the other. She watched him carefully, but he seemed quite content to ignore her. Her tone was pleasant, of course -- but the acid was intended, the insult quite plain. Who was he? Not a man trained by the Tower, that was clear enough. If he was the oathbreaker Elly suspected him to be, it did not seem likely he would shed one set of oaths in order to burden himself with the yoke of service to an Aes Sedai instead. Yet he gave no indication that his own bond had contravened his will. Though by his firmly held tongue, he gave no indication of anything at all. It was not usually so difficult to stir such a man’s defense of his honour.

“You’re from Shienar,” she added conversationally. “I have heard that the Lion was stirred to answer a call. A petitioner and her retinue came to the Tower too, pleading aid. I understand things are not good in the north.”

Well, maybe that was a little reckless, even by her standards. Not good was the most egregious understatement.

“Please, Aes Sedai.”

Kaori straightened, but when he looked at her his eyes were only weary. Nythadri’s hands slipped from their perch with a sigh. She held his gaze, unapologetic. “Perhaps you and Talin are well suited after all. You both make the effort of trust a terrible chore.”

He must know by now, about Andreu.

She twisted the serpent ring beneath the water, watched the ripples spread from the movement. The Aes Sedai test still clenched her chest when she thought about it, the memory still far too raw (and she was afraid, she admitted, though only to herself). But what if this was the last chance she had to see him? Until she pressed Talin for answers, she did not know what shadow they were under, or what consequences waited to ambush the path. There might not be a tomorrow in which it was even safe to see Jai. 

Saidar hovered, tantalisingly close, yet never quite in reach. One thought kept her back like a held breath. Because depending on what Talin had done, it might already be too late.

She pressed her palms over her face, wiping clean a betraying heat. Without knowing first, it was a risk she could not take; she knew it as heavily as the weight of the heart beating in her chest. Because if she saw him now, there would be no gate back to this isolated fort in Illian, duty to her sister and the Tower be damned. And because if protecting him meant she must stay away, she would do it. Even if the pain of that future numbed her cold. He couldn’t become tangled in this.

The door clicked quietly shut a moment later. Pale eyes glanced up, though she did not need to see in order to know who it was. A breath tidied her emotion away, and she rested her head back against the side of the bath. Heat crackled from the hearth alongside. Elly frowned when she entered, perhaps for finding Nythadri where expected.

“I’d forgotten what it felt like,” she grumbled, “to be so bloody new to the saddle. Are all southerners so soft? I feel like I’ve been flaming well thrashed.”

A mask was easier to hold in place when there was someone to wear it for. Nythadri smirked, flicked water from the tips of her fingers.  “Then imagine how it feels to me. Was I right? We’re in Illian?”

“Aye.” The woman claimed one of the stuffed chairs, legs spread long, boots crossed at ankle. Nythadri listened while she regaled of their location in the hills, of the family name and sigil that claimed the fort (neither of them recognised it; Elly scoffed at politics, and Nythadri was simply unfamiliar with this part of the world), and some idle ruminations on the talent to be found in the soldier’s barracks. The words were a melody Nythadri allowed herself to be distracted by, glad for the moment of ordinary, and for a conversation that carried no heavy burden. When words eventually simmered to a natural lull, Elly lit herself a pipe. Smoke wreathed in fragrant coils, bringing with it a nostalgic reminisce of Caemlyn’s taverns. It seemed melancholy had not quite relaxed its grip.

“I see I’ve been absolved of a duty,” she said into the silence, refusing to dwell on the past and the impossible.  “You’ve replaced your pipe.”

The warder grinned an entirely wolfish grin in answer, and tipped her shoulder. A few loosened buttons showed a not incidental glimpse of cleavage. “I’m very persuasive.”

Nythadri laughed, a brow raised in tease, though she was hardly scandalised at the implication. “Well it’s good to know the skills of my gaidar.”

She’d meant it lightly, a jest for the mood, but the title brought some attention; she felt it before she saw it in Elly’s expression; a fierceness, a pride, and a contentment. Her weight shifted, and she leaned her forearms on her knees. As quickly as her ribald humour flared, it was replaced with a surprisingly soft concern.

“I can feel your worry, you know, however much you keep from showing it.”

Hardly a surprise, given their bond, but it drew Nythadri quiet anyway. She was not used to people seeing beneath the veneer, at least not unless it was by her choice or design. Her fingers drifted across the water’s surface, her gaze diverting away and to the flames. She could not deny it, and nor would she do either of them the disservice, but there was little to say.

Elly sighed. “Must you make this such a flaming mountain to climb? The Wheel Weaves and all that trolloc piss. I’ve sworn my oaths, and meant every word, Nythadri. We’ll get to know each other along the way, but only if you actually talk to me.”

 “I know,” she agreed, and easily. It wasn’t that anyway. If she might never be comfortable with the choice Elly had been forced to make, she accepted that it had woven their threads together now, and she would honour it. Old habits took time to dismantle, though. That, and the mountain to climb was one of doubt of worry, not loyalty. She needed to speak to Talin; to find out exactly what they were dealing with. Tonight.

A robe fit snug around her waist, her hair still a little damp and curling loose down her back, but if Nythadri cared anything for the impropriety of an Aes Sedai traversing public halls dressed so, it did not stop her. She knocked once and entered the door Elly had told her would lead her to Talin, and found the Yellow still awake in a highbacked chair by the fire in her rooms. Her eyes were darkened almost black in the meeting of night’s shadow and flame, her expression still as moonlight, and deeply contemplative. A blanket wrapped her shoulders, woven through with small budding flowers of myriad rainbow colours. The plain nightdress underneath covered her throat to ankle.

She did not say anything as Nythadi joined her, nor seemed surprised at the intrusion. A cup of tea rested primly in her hands, and the service was set for two, but there was no sign of Kaori. Perhaps he was still outside, staring out over dark battlements with only his presumed sins for company. Talin had been waiting for her, then, knowing full well Nythadri would be unable to hold her questions until morning. 

Irritated with the prediction, but reluctant to gratify it with a reaction, she sat opposite, about to curl her legs up beneath her before she thought better of the movement. Aching limbs protested, dull now after the hot bath, but hardly forgotten. Instead she met Talin’s watchful and waiting gaze; then quite pointedly holding her tongue (petty, but still), leaned to pour herself a cup. Something stiff must have betrayed her posture though, because Talin’s eyes rolled, and she shifted to catch Nythadri’s wrist as she lifted the teapot. Saidar flooded, cold as ice-water drenched over her pleasantly warmed skin, and the shock loosed Nythadri’s grip. The pot fell with a heavy thump, though nothing spilled, probably because of the tendrils of cushioning air Talin now retracted from the task.

“Light, Talin, a warning? Or better yet, ask for permission before you do that,” she snapped. She’d not forgotten how indelicately the woman preferred to offer her healing, like pandering to comfort was always a wasted concern, but it never failed to freeze the breath from her lungs and leave her gasping. It would be a moment before she could even appreciate that the pain had gone.

“You weren’t going to ask though, were you; you were going to choose to pout about it all night. I saved us both the annoyance.” A brow arched. Talin sat back, took a shallow sip from her cup.

Of course, Nythadri had little to say to that. Instead, still breathing a little hard, she sent a wave of calm down the bond – lest Elly choose to break the bloody door down – and finally rested back comfortably in her chair. Her feet tucked under, chin propped on a palm. Thanks might have been offered, even begrudgingly, but it would be a gesture as wasted as Talin considered the solicitude. Instead she leaned on patience, and waited for Talin to talk. The Yellow might profess to know Nythadri’s habits quite thoroughly, but Nythadri knew hers in turn.

After a beat, in which a net of power masked them from eavesdropping, Talin obliged. “Kaydrienne’s support wanes, did you know that? This treaty with the Seanchan has done her no favours.”

“We didn’t flee the Tower because of Daryen’s treaty.”

“No,” she agreed. If she thought anything of the idle way Nythadri spoke a monarch’s name, she did not say. “But it’s symptomatic of the larger disease. The Tower rots, Nythadri. Our hands are tied by staid traditions, our cause ruptured by petty politics and infighting. I thought it would be different when I earned the shawl, but it isn’t. We spend so much time maintaining the illusion of power, we've half forgotten that Tarmon Gai'don still looms. The Dragon’s Peace was meant to unite us. Instead it’s made us soft.”

“The Tower is far from perfect, but–”

“The Tower is on the cusp of collapse. The best thing we could do is leave before the chaos ensues, and pulls us into the eye of its storm.”

It gave her pause. Scant weeks had passed since her own raising, and circumstance had turned her gaze away from lingering on political currents among the ajahs. Maylis expressed disquiet; the feed of information the Green offered about the situation in the West was half the reason Nythadri so blithely accepted her motherly wing, but the woman was Altaran and predisposed to frown over the plight of her countrymen, no matter the Ring that declared her impartial. Unrest did not surprise her, then, but collapse? Daryen’s own sister was a powerful Sitter in the Hall, and if Liridia had seemed perturbed at the hunt’s surprise guests, her very presence was a sanction. By her own words, or what Nythadri had understood of them, she’d been there to nudge and guide the proceedings to the Tower’s ends. Light. “Who leads it?” she asked.

But Talin only tipped a shoulder, a brief flick of her hand brushing the subject away. “The Tower weakens; this way or another, it ends the same way. Meanwhile we are bound. Our lives cut short. And for what? To expend half our energies making mockery of the very oaths we claim protect the world from our powers, and all the while ignoring the real threat. No one will do what needs to be done.”

It was nothing Talin had not expressed before, Nythadri realised, if she had always been circumspect about it in the past. But being frustrated was a far cry from acting on those frustrations, and she had never imagined Talin would truly do that. She was not a woman for risks. She was not a woman who placed ideologies before practicality. If the Tower had faults, and Nythadri did not disagree there, it was still the Tower. There was no alternative, and no other way to consolidate the power to enact change at all. For a moment her blood ran cool. She had asked Talin outright at the camp whether her allegiances ran true, and no answer the woman could give would truly assuage the possibility. Saidar hovered close then, but when she spoke, her voice was only weary. “What have you done, Talin? What makes you think the Tower will react?”

Talin paused for a moment. Her face was as glass. There was not quite uncertainty there, but a precipice of emotion nonetheless. No glow sprang about her. She pressed her teacup back on the tray and took a small breath before she rose from her seat. Nythadri watched as she retrieved a box, long and slender and wrapped in cloth. She returned to perch stiffly, not on her own chair, but in the space next to Nythadri. Proximity was not her usual habit. Pale red hair fell neatly either side of her cheeks as she contemplated the item she held. “The Last Battle will come sooner or later. You and I are young enough that we’ve known our entire lives we will live to see it. The Hall is old, Nythadri, and our sisters believe the Tower can survive unchanged. The Tower, which was created in the wake of the Breaking. If it will not adapt, its time is past. I mean to survive. And from the ashes, I mean to build something better.”

Talin pulled back the folds of fabric, but pushed the box closer for Nythadri to lift the clasp. A gesture of complicity, no doubt, which earned a pale, flat stare from Nythadri before she obliged. Inside, lay an object ivory-white and wrist-thick. If Nythadri’s blood had already cooled in anticipation of the revelation, now it froze to ice. Her eyes widened, then pierced Talin in accusation. The how of such a feat ripped questions through her mind like a maelstrom, but it was an insignificant question compared to the horror of the theft. The horror of being caught with the flaming thing.

Talin was utterly still, but it reminded Nythadri of the delicacy of a bird ready for flight. It was the moment Nythadri accepted or fled herself. The moment this alliance became something, or crumbled to dust.

Her throat was dry. But this was salvageable, wasn’t it? She shut her eyes for a moment, drawing in a calming breath, though it proved a shallow taste of serenity. She forged on anyway. “Light, Talin. If you release yourself and you are bloody caught they will execute you as Black Ajah, no question,” she said, closing the lid sharply. Even the sight of the thing deluged a reminder of the Test she would rather forget; of the way the oaths themselves still made her feel like her skin was several sizes too small. Then, as the question occurred to her, she snapped: “Have you released yourself?”

Talin shook her head. “It seemed prudent to wait, lest a mistake on my part allowed you to think I was Black Ajah. We are the only two who know of this, Nythadri. Not even Kaori.”

So there was time to rectify the situation, perhaps, before this became a mistake that drowned them both. Penance was nothing new to Nythadri, and she did not think this was an offence that would warrant stilling, if the consequences would nonetheless be unpleasant. Bearable, though, if she could coax Talin to see sense and return. The woman had called her a conscience before, and it meant she intended to listen to reason should this act prove unreasonable. But, in realising that, Nythadri felt the knot in her stomach tighten not loosen. Because this wasn’t it; this couldn't be the crux at which Talin was willing to risk everything. Couldn't be the reason she ruthlessly forced Elly’s bond or so fiercely insisted she would not be stopped in pursuit of her goal. Pale eyes searched the woman’s expression, but there was precious little to see. She was waiting on an answer.

“I know you Talin. I know you as well as you know me, and you wouldn’t have done this just because you feared the Tower was breaking apart. The risk of that--” she gestured, a little sharply, to the box still resting in both their laps “--is too great for far too little reward. You would free yourself of your oaths, and then what? The Aes Sedai will catch up sooner or later, we both know that. So what, sister, have you not yet told me?”

A hint of a smile touched Talin's lips. She placed a hand on the lid of the box. “The rest of the story," she said, "is not mine alone to tell. Tomorrow, there is someone you must meet.”

Arikan was not familiar with the territory. He had a long history with Illian, living as a member of the Council of Nine for a number of years decades prior, but that masquerade occupied courts and cities. There was a town half a day’s ride away that he knew, and it became the base of the gateway that connected one bloody backwood countryside to another. The only difference were the hills and stink on the air.

It was why he agreed to this pact at all. Well, that and one more thing. But first, he was ready to be out of the saddle.

Torches flickered in the distance. This path of the road wound close to the mountainside, climbing ever higher and more treacherous. These mountains were nothing compared to the peaks of the Spine of the World, and their shale slopes were a walk in the beach compared to the Mountains of Dhoom.

By the hour, it was still some time till dawn. The fortress was old, and by the state of the road, not often visited. The land belonged to a family of little import, clinging only to old olive groves and patches of useless forts. Illian’s peace treaties with Altara probably bankrupted this house. When he seized the One Power, the outline of the fortress came into sharp view. Even if the House fell into poverty, he quickly concluded the fortress was solid as ever. Turrets and arrow slits made for respectable defenses. The mountainside made for impenetrable walls that could not be scaled by mere man. Arikan assumed there were escape passages to the valley below, otherwise the fortress was a killbox.

Leave it to an ignorant Yellow to pick a killbox to rendezvous with a former dreadlord. He shook his head in the dark and dug heels into the stallion’s flanks, urging the steed onward. Luckily for her, he wanted Talin alive and well. She served his needs for the moment and according to their pact, he would accelerate his campaign in exchange for the gift she promised. Should he change his mind, murder was hardly something he would hesitate to carry out. Right? he blinked suddenly at the intrusive question. His first murder proved his allegiance to the Dark as a mere boy. Untold numbers of bodies followed. Since his release from service to the Dark One, he’d not anticipated a conscious to suddenly erupt. Moral dilemmas weren’t exactly the thing that kept him up at night. But if it came to it, would he hesitate to kill Talin? What a strange thing to think.

Given their pre-arrangements and vague promises of arrival tomorrow, Arikan wasn’t sure if there would be a watch set out for him yet. Nevertheless, he continued to channel Saidin, and in the shadows his penetrating gaze found a shape. The horse made enough noise to signal an approaching army, but stealth wasn’t Arikan’s goal.

The fortress gate was closed for the night probably to keep out the bears more than brigands. Not that any journeyed so far from civilization – If you can call Illian civilized.

“Who goes there?” a voice called from the wall.

“Talin expects me,” was all he said in response. Orders were given and the gate opened a few minutes later. One pull of the Power could have rent the gate from its frame, but Arikan always defaulted to concealing himself until it was necessary. He did not know who else may be within.

He rode in, dismounting only upon reaching the courtyard. Someone came to take the horse, he assumed, and offered the reins.
“Make sure he’s well fed and groomed. And have a farrier check the rear left shoe,” he said, expecting a complaint reply. When none was given, he slowly turned to decipher the cause. Only to find a broad-chested, brooding peacock of a warrior. Arikan knew in an instant that the young man was formidable. An instant level of respect was earned simply by the way the man held himself in the way one killer recognized another. It wouldn’t save the lad if it came to that, but Arikan nodded none the less.
“You’re far from home, are you not, borderlander?” he asked. The man’s attire might as well writ his lineage in ink across his forehead.

“And are Tairens not the mortal enemy of Illian? Perhaps you are a spy.” He replied with cautious retort and an obvious allusion to Arikan’s attire. Though he travelled all day, the style of his clothing and hair was obviously that of his natural preferences even if his natural accent was blended away a hundred years ago. The majority of his clothes were shaded with black and gray. There was velvet and silk on the doublet he wore and a gentleman's velvet cape cascaded from one shoulder. Even the triangle cap belied his preferences.

“If I were a spy, why the blight’s name would I be here?” he asked and managed to conjure up a smirk just to put the Shienaran at ease. “You’re the warder?” he added, offering to shake the man’s hand if he would accept it. Arikan was long accustomed to gaining the trust of his hosts and he did not yet know if the warder knew exactly with whom he dealt. With the exception that he handled himself with confidence and there was a sword strapped to the back of his saddle, he hadn’t yet filled out the muscle that was wasted away by Lythia’s torturer. A gentleman's appearance helped others underestimate him. He wasn’t a soldier. Not like that. 

He wouldn’t go so far as to inquire of the warder's name because he didn't care, but he did lead his horse to stable and kicked the door of a slumbering stable-hand to tend to the weary beast. He unceremoniously carried his own belongings inside while the warder kept sentry without. Before disappearing, Arikan turned, “There are none other on the road but me, I assure you. You might as well let the gate do its work,” he said with a nod and shrugged off the response either way. For himself, he intended to catch a few hours of sleep. He wanted to be fresh for his morning party, and there was exploring yet to do.

Threads of the Power wafted forth as he was shown to his arrangements, barely skimming the doors for warmth within and wards without. None were triggered, but he noted where the Sisters may already be sleeping. The warder's destination would tell him for sure, but once he was satisfied with the lack of threat, Arikan’s own wards were laid, and he was ready to rest. Tel’Aran’Rhiod was his first destination, setting off to explore the layout of the old fortress. There was other business to attend in the world of dreams as well, and he eventually passed into sleep shortly before daylight.

The next day, he waited in a decrepit library. A tray of tea and biscuits sat undisturbed on the table. He’d chosen to consume only the food he packed himself – not being so foolish as to ingest poison on his first day. There were a few shelves of old books, probably the minimum amount to qualify the space as a library. The fire chased the chill from the morning windows and from such a vantage he had his first glance of the valley below. The previous night’s exploration found the escape tunnels he correctly assumed to exist. He had no intention of needing the old passageways, but he knew before most that even the best plans could be ruined. In fact, he counted on it.

He wore the same clothing he’d arrived in the night before. The doublet was black and finely cut. The adornments were functional. A well-worked silver clasp held his cape across one shoulder. Belt buckles were finely worked as was the leather of the belts he wore. A glimpse of lace peeked at the sleeves and the collar, but just enough to imply the underclothes were of a certain quality. The attire would not pass in court, but for the road and appearances, it served his purposes well. Nevermind the fact that he wasn’t here impersonating a fictional man. He was himself for the first time in as long as he could remember. Perhaps not since the day he nearly conquered the Tower, until Lairona betrayed him. ’Look at you. Wearing his colors. You think you’re him, don’t you.’

He should have killed her when he had the chance.

She’d stayed late in Talin’s rooms, and had not slept well after. Usually she would have buried such pervasive worries in work, but there was nothing in these rooms to occupy her. When Elly asked how much trouble they were in, Nythadri could only reply that she did not yet know, and the simmering anxiety left in uncertainty's wake only sent the warder to restless pacing. At least until Nythadri finally worked out how to mask the flow of her emotions. After a heated discussion over the efficacy of that as a last resort, they finally snatched some sleep before the sun rose.


Roused by dawn's rays, a washbasin of cool water and a cloth chased what remained of fatigue, and Nythadri sharpened her thoughts to the deliberation of what waited. Years of Tower training accustomed her to functioning with little proper rest. By now she was resigned to how little information she truly had, but she picked through it all again anyway as she dressed. Pulled everything apart and reassembled it once more, until dozens of possibilities remained to pore over in turn. She had no inkling of the sort of impression she ought intend to make this morning, but had none of her own clothes anyway. The dress she wore was a blue shy of midnight, adorned with a little embroidery as was Talin’s proclivity for beautiful touches, but it was functional rather than fashion.

The Yellow Aes Sedai and her warder met them outside, the latter leading them through sparsely decorated hallways that fell between shadow and light until they reached a door. Kaori proceeded Talin, who glanced an unreadable look back over her shoulder at Nythadri before she followed. The weighing nature of it sent a prickle of trepidation down her spine; it was the kind of consideration one bestowed upon a specimen. Or an experiment.

Within was what might have been intended as a library by the lackluster arrangement of books, but it was the only transitory observation Nythadri made. Morning’s light haloed a man standing by the windows. His dark clothes drank it in. Absorbed the eye, too, against the spartan walls.

She paled. Paused barely over the threshold. Because it was a face she immediately recognised but never thought to see so closely in the flesh. Saidar drew as swiftly and fully as she was capable, until the sweetness felt like burning. Elly’s stance shifted dangerously, but she had no reason to match an identity: she’d still been living north when the Tower nearly fell, and the man in front of them now was not visibly armed.

“She did not know who to expect. She would not have come if she did,” Talin interjected smoothly. The glow did not surround her. Her expression held perhaps a touch of wariness as she beheld her mystery guest’s reaction, but beyond that her straight-backed posture was as unaffected as ever. Kaori was standing close, though, and while he did not lay his hand on any weapon, his posture suggested it was control not trust.

Nythadri did not let go. Not a drop. Couldn’t, though she realised it was scant protection. At least it would not end quietly.

“You were there, Talin.” She broke her gaze free to glance at the Yellow; refused to grant him evidence of her fear by being unable to look away from where he stood. Her tone stung with betrayal, raw as the edge of a blade drawn from scabbard, and she was surprised how much it hurt. Treachery was the only answer, now; the only explanation for bringing her before a dreadlord. And not just any dreadlord, but this one.

Light.

Nythadri never allowed herself to think back on the memory; pushed it deep where it could not touch her. Novices had been shielded from the worst of the Tower assault, running messages and treating wounded, but it had still been war. And none had been spared the burials afterwards. The months of mourning. The months of rebuilding. The dreadlord Arikan’s name was nightmare-fuel in the novice halls, even now, amongst girls whose only evidence for it being naught more than a scary story, whispered into terrified ears during night’s stillest hours, was the patched repairs to Ogier masonry.

“I was there,” Talin agreed calmly. Her lips pursed a little, and Nythadri wondered if Arikan had known that, or if the reminder itself was just uncomfortable for her. She smoothed the front of her skirts as she sat, lavender slashed with palest yellow. Small white flowers studded the bodice. “And I saw as well as you what he can do,” she added. “Now imagine the skill put to infinitely better use. At least listen to what he has to say before you burn yourself out on what, frankly, would be a rather fruitless endeavour.” A brow rose, but the look that followed was poignant. “I asked for your trust. I haven’t broken it, Nythadri, I swear it.”

It didn’t offer much solace, even knowing what she knew. Perhaps especially given what she knew about the lies Talin could or could not tell. But it pooled the horror into icy stillness in her heart all the same. The measure of breath in her chest was hard won to keep even. Pale eyes returned to the man in question, dissecting what she knew. Taunting was poor form, but he could have killed her the moment she passed the doorway if such had been the intent, and it made her belligerent as an animal caught in a trap. “Then one of you speak.”

To his surprise, Talin arrived with another woman who quickly revealed herself to be Aes Sedai. Was it deception or ignorance that she brought a stranger? Talin was so new to the shawl, the agelessness had yet to settle, and now there were two of them. She probably was ignorant enough to think mentioning guests were unimportant details. He forgot how frustrating it was to work with fools. Another warder followed like a dog. A woman this time. How progressive. He didn’t react not even to seize the One Power.

He just watched, motionless and curious as to the natural conclusion of their logic. Instead, it ended only with his pure amusement. He’d not realized the Aes Sedai were novices back then. It must have taken them a longer time than average to reach the shawl. It wouldn’t surprise him, neither seemed to be enough of the cool and composed type to bow and scrape for their betters or they were exceptionally weak in the One Power. In fact, Talin indicated that the sister of surprise was in fact channeling. The gooseflesh suggested as such and apparently to the edge of her limits. Probably not pathetically weak then but Arikan was not worried.

“Your sister is right, Aes Sedai. Your efforts would be fruitless. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it last night. I am here to talk with Talin and take what she has promised me,” he said, pointedly looking at the sister in question. The warders were tense. They should be. “The Shienaran can vouch for me. We had a nice chat about spying,” he added to the chagrin of the warder.

Unlike the women, Arikan thought about that night constantly. He replayed the events of that night over and over in his mind. That was the last time he was in a position of major command. Tens of thousands of trollocs and a fleet of Myrddraal were his to control with the snap of a finger. The world of dreams was his battleground. The shining walls were spilled with so much blood it took years to scrub them clean. He escaped with his life only to answer to the Great Lord of the Dark in Shayol Ghul itself. He should have been made an example, drawn and quartered, tortured to insanity, given to Shaidar Haran as a plaything. At the time, he had no idea why he was allowed to walk away from that punishment. Following the revelation with the Dark Rod that Lythia brought, it made sense now. Arikan was a prized possession of the Dark One nurtured from birth to rebirth to serve the dark and rivaled the Chosen in strength. He was irreplaceable. 

“Tell me Talin, it is you who owes me an explanation. Clearly this Sister is not Elsae, and you are not upholding our pact,” he said and for the first time levied the intensity of gaze upon the Yellow.

A breath of patience rumbled through his chest. “If you were indeed there as you claim, you know not to double-cross me. Where is she?”

He tossed threats like idle scraps. Elly made to move forward; Nythadri felt her intention surge the bond, and pressed a hand on the woman’s arm, though only because he hadn’t used anything more than sharp words. This wasn’t a fight they were going to be able to win if it came down to brute force, and she’d rather them both walk away from it alive -- the gaidar did not even know what Arikan was. Nythadri’s expression fell still, albeit still bloodless. She did not seek to catch Elly’s eye; she didn’t want the distraction, or the burden of guilt. Elsae’s name was like the knick of an unexpected blade, meanwhile. He mistook an Accepted for a Sister, but how did he even know the name? Let alone the concerning mystery of why he would choose to ask for her. Something to work with at least. Light, what had Talin done?

The Yellow’s porcelain expression was utterly devoid of feeling. The worried tells were there, if you knew to look for them as Nythadri did, but her tone was as curt as ever, her posture as stiffly straight as ever. She did not wilt from the dreadlord’s gaze, but she seemed more brittle than usual, like she at least remembered what fear was. “Were you really expecting me to have Kaori bundle her up in a sack and deliver her squirming at your feet?”

"Yes. I expected exactly that given that’s what you agreed to do."

Betrayal deadened to ash. Nythadri blinked, shuttering the surprise. Inwardly sickened. Elly’s muscles were still tense under her fingers when they slipped away. The power hurt so sweetly she could hear every clear breath in her lungs like it was her last. Fear was not a companion she kept very often; being usually too belligerent, and too stubborn, to answer its call. But it clawed a path inside her now. The lull was worse than the adrenaline. She had been thoroughly dismissed, and was glad for the moment’s respite it gave her, but all it allowed her to see was the dreadlord’s anger roll in like a promised storm. 

She could not let go of saidar. She would rather be dead than cut from the source, and if he turned in a snap second she didn't mean to give him the chance. Because she could see no way for this to end peacefully. 

Yet Talin only continued, unperturbed. “Would that I could heal the mind as easily as flesh wounds if you expected me to apply the stratagems of a darkfriend.” The word was scathed like a knowing insult, though it was hardly likely to find a mark. She sighed, seeming genuinely exasperated. “I have not betrayed you, Arikan,” she clarified firmly. Guilelessness was not difficult for her to master; she looked like a doll, all delicate framed and large eyed, and often as lifeless. But Nythadri thought she meant it. The irony, though; that was enough to choke on. She knew Talin held no moral compunctions for avoiding such a task as kidnap: she would have done precisely that, had she thought she could do so without consequence to herself. She had when she dragged Nythadri through her gate. She was talking about laws not Light.

“But I cannot simply abscond with whomever so I please without consequence. I might as well have offered to escort you right up the Tower steps to find her yourself. It amounts to about the same foolishness,” A little irritation scoured the words dry, like he should have realised that, but she sounded strained all the same. Her lips pursed, and she leaned to pour herself tea from the incongruously civilized arrangement, finally breaking clear of the dreadlord’s flat stare. Perhaps she had decided she could no longer hold it. “I am bound by oaths. And I walk in the Light, you remember. Unrealistic expectations are of benefit to no one. I hope you will apply the same logic to your end of our pact, and refrain from taking pointless risks, else this is all for naught. You have the harder task, after all. I won’t weep when you die, Arikan, but I will not let it happen before you clear the Dragon’s path to Shayol Ghul.”

After mixing a little honey, she settled back into the comfort of her seat with the teacup nestled in her palms. Gentle steam roiled its surface. Her dark blue eyes were unblinking.

The hint of a frown broke the repose of Nythadri's expression, though only for a moment before it refortified in ice. There was barely time to piece the deluge of that together, but her pale stare returned to Arikan’s cruel features in study despite how little she wanted to look at him. Talin played with patience for her benefit, that much was obvious now. Light choke the woman for this game. The dreadlord’s clothes were fine enough, and he was by no means emaciated, but neither did he truly look like a man who once spearheaded the horde descended upon the shining city. Her pulse was thumping loudly still, but she began to carefully collect the pieces fright made her drop. Exile was not exactly a punishment meted out by the dark for failure. There were no shadowspawn in the fort. His supposed part in this truce aside, his presence was an anomaly. He ought to be dead, or at least suffering terribly somewhere. Not begging Aes Sedai for favours.

And that being giving up a daughter of the Tower. It was not a bargain worth any prize. Even Talin knew that, and she didn’t need Nythadri’s counsel for the epiphany no matter what she claimed. That she thought to make the bargain with a devil paled all sense for one who prided herself on self-serving logic and survival. But sense or not outright refusal right now would be as confrontational as drawing a blade, and as stupid. Nythadri suddenly caught Talin’s intention, though the manipulation stung as much as the suspected betrayal, just as the words were offered: “They trained together, and she is your best chance at convincing Elsae to come willingly. And yes, Arikan, that is an important distinction. Following the Light is like a dance. You learn the steps, and it becomes easier in time.”

In other circumstances, she might have laughed bitterly at that: Talin dishing out advice on a light-fearing existence. Instead Arikan would find Nythadri silent and glacial if he looked at her now. The precision of her gaze was the type to flay skin from bone to prize the secrets beneath, and clearly had been for some moments before now. Though Talin was still speaking to him; to hold court or simply to impart the final slither of context. She waved a hand at the chairs around her. “I trust you do remember my healing, and where I found you. Poisoning you now serves no purpose. What an utterly inefficient use of my time and skill it would be otherwise. I’m almost offended you might think me capable. Assuming that is why you are stood so far away. Please sit. Both of you.”

Blood and ashes she considered him a patient. It clicked like the sickening pop of bone. Under what grand delusion did Talin believe a man like that could reform? Or even deserved to? She glanced briefly at her Sister, a flash of ire neatly bestowed for all the trouble that followed, but she ignored the invitation. Petty, she supposed, but she would not sit before the dreadlord acquiesced first. Instead she felt Elly blanch in alarm as she moved forward. Not too close; she wasn’t entirely reckless. Her heart was beating hard. It was probably why she did it. To behold this phantom of nightmare, and know that he was still just a man.

He had nothing of his old resources, else he’d have plucked Elsae from the Tower himself. The Tower denied it to bloody breath but its halls were not untouched by darker presence. Whatever cast him out also cut him off. There was something missing here; the dark did not punish with an appeasement to revenge, which was what she presumed Arikan wanted. But it meant he was alone. Not desperate; he wore arrogance, anger, and impatience too proudly for that. Neither broken. Still very dangerous. Light it didn’t fit. But there was no time to parse the facts, not now, and she had to make do with the answers she had pieced so far.

The power left, and its loss abandoned her to the ache of the world left a little duller. Maybe that was foolish. It wasn’t trust. It wasn’t even that she wasn’t still afraid. It was that she realised there was a bargain to be made here after all; that he wanted something, and by the casual cruelty of his tongue already inflicted, it was quite clear dealing with Aes Sedai was hardly his first choice to get it. That too meant his choices were limited. She could get them out of this. Light she had to. Once she had survived this meeting, at least.

“You came here alone, then. No pretty escort afforded for the disgraced lord.” The words were spoken simply, without the inflection to make them spite, but she hoped they stung all the same. Hoped he realised too that she used his own glib tongue against him, when he admitted to seeing Talin’s warder on the journey in. It might not be entirely true; it was not like fades announced themselves. But taken with everything else she guessed in the scant moments of their meeting, she was sure, and wanted him to know it. He was alone.

“Elsae is a friend. One who did a great favour for me once. I would return it if the value was equal. What do you wish with her?”

[[dialogue mode with permission]]

“Allow let me enlighten you in a few of the ways a Darkfriend would act. While you worry about wasting skills healing a man you’ve already treated, one of your Black Sisters would poison a man just to see if she could practice her healing arts anew. Or she might poison him to see how much he can swallow before being brought to the brink of death. She may mix new concoctions to see what was the least detectable combination that inflicted the greatest pain, then heal her volunteer only to continue trying again. You know what I did? I used to add poison to my target’s cup simply to have an excuse to hide the fact they were killed by a Dreardlord. But when I had the time to spare, and I tried to make sure that was in the plan, I enjoyed watching their demise. Have you ever seen someone poisoned to death? It’s not for the weak stomach, but the gory end isn’t the best part,” he said, following with a slim smile. “The best is the begging,” he said, eyes shining with delight, but there was a moment's pause almost too subtle to notice. When he continued, his voice was tighter. Defensive, even. “I am very old, Talin. I haven’t lived this long by being trusting.”

He left the refreshments alone. “But please, you two go ahead and enjoy your tea.” Waving a hand and waited for them to get settled before continuing.

“Would you like a similar education in how to kidnap little girls? Because if you want to escort me to the White Tower, I will grab her and Travel my way out again. Maybe you could take me to your quarters first? Hmm? I can show you the subtler arts of abduction. Maybe demonstrate how to tie someone up, yes?” he asked, gaze falling to Talin’s slender wrists. The Shienaran caught the suggestion, and Arikan’s innuendo elicited the most satisfying cringe of disgust from the warder.

Talin’s cold stare was admirable, and her resolve was what sealed their accord in the first place. He had been on the verge of death himself, desperate to recover his old life. She was his only choice. That or rot a slow death. He was patient enough to play by the rules of others when it was necessary. So when it was clear that there would be no escort to nor delivery of Elsae, he had to reconsider his position - temporary though it was. Their deal was in progress, but this young Sister was a poor substitute for the mind he truly sought. It was a gesture of faith, however foolish. He grumbled in frustration and opted that he had no reason to be on guard from his feet. He took up one of the chairs as if it were his throne, leaned back comfortably into the cushions with one leg crossed over the other. Of the room, he was clearly the most relaxed, if not the angriest, and Arikan had a great deal to be angry about.

He turned his attention to the sister that scorned his fall from grace. He wouldn't say he was all alone given his talents, but he didn’t raise his voice or so much as move more than an expressive wave of his hands as he spoke. There was a reason he played the nobleman so naturally for all those years.
“Don’t worry, Sister. I’ve never needed to tie up my women - not unless they ask for it, and that's a mere twist of suggestion with Spirit. Simple enough once I figured it out. Rahvin frequently used a similar trick, or so I’m told, with Queens and Aes Sedai and anyone that caught his eye. Of course, the fun ones don’t require any coaxing suggestion at all. They are true gems.”

With the way the new one was staring so intently at him, so satisfyingly afraid, Arikan doubted he would get another cringe out of the ice-faced sister, but he may find some entertainment out of the warder’s reaction. His gaze flicked to the female warrior, daring her to come to her Sister’s honorable defense. She had the look of one who may have done the knotting once or twice in her past.

But he was growing weary of this duel of words. It was clear that they wanted a reason for his request. A strange justification for breaking tower law, but they were already in league with the devil, what were a few petty rules in comparison? And what did he have to hide? His quest for revenge was quite plain.

“Your Sister may not be Black Ajah, but she is a darkfriend so deeply in ways that even impresses me. You want me to clear the field, Talin? You clearly don’t think like a darkfriend, poisoning examples being my case in point. I will need a creative ally,” his gaze finally settled on Elsae’s friend. Did she know that her beloved Sister was a darkfriend capable of heinous acts? While she picked through the pieces of her memory for any hint of evidence to the fact, Arikan added an amused yearning. Almost as if he said it to himself: “Let’s just say that I have dreamed of this for a long time.”

Talin weathered the lecture with little outward emotion, maintaining just the sort of polite attention one might give a discussion of unusual weather. At times there might have been a touch of curiosity in the glaze of her eyes, but Nythadri could not have hazarded if it was for the gore or for the unique insight into such a depraved mind. For her own part, Nythadri settled behind the tried and true walls of training, and watched them both without expression. Arikan barely spared her a glance. It should have been a relief to escape his scrutiny, but his dismissal only simmered impotent flames of anger in her chest.

No one here needed convincing of his blackened soul, yet he wasted his breath on it anyway. For now she was unsure if he proclaimed his sins too loudly for it to be just his natural affectation, or if he simply enjoyed trying to make them squirm. Only the briefest pause marred an otherwise unblemished performance, enough to catch her attention and pose the silent question as to his intentions, but the tightness in his voice afterwards also made him seem uncomfortably human. It was the only time she glanced away, unwilling to let the demonic mantle strip clean from his shoulders so easily.

Meanwhile Kaori visibly grimaced, and even Talin’s lips downturned when his gaze idled her flesh like she was naught but a common whore. Light, when Nythadri had asked her bluntly if she was Black Ajah the woman had not looked so visibly offended as she did now. “A ‘no thank you’ would have sufficed,” she said coldly. Her eyes slipped to her peripheral and whatever unknowable communication slid through her bond with her warder. He didn’t relax much, but she did, once the former dreadlord finally relinquished his feet for the seat she had offered.

“Small steps, I suppose,” she murmured stiffly. A muscle twitched in her jaw as she tapped her spoon and laid it delicately in the saucer. But the tea remained nestled primly on her lap, untasted.

The casualty of Arikan’s attention shifted, but if he thought to elicit a response, then by now he was mistaken. The words were ugly, but Nythadri did not dwell on their distraction – and she did begin to wonder if that’s truly what it was. A dog absent teeth had to bark all the louder to prove his ferocity perhaps. But if Arikan was apparently stripped of all else, he could clearly still channel, and he wouldn’t even need that much to employ the sorts of skills he professed so readily to having at his disposal. He might have tortured capitulation from Talin just as soon as his strength returned. Might have done so until she begged him to allow her the boon of helping him. Yet he hadn’t, for all contrary threats. Arikan’s actions and his words met in a surprisingly jagged seam.

He had spoken before as if of a life that had passed, yet he appeared remarkably hale for a dead man – and such was the only conceivable release from the kind of oaths he had made. Wasn’t it? An impossibility she continued to puzzle over while the distraction of Elly’s emotions warred for her attention. The gaidar was strung tight as a bow, and Nythadri did not know her so well as to guess whether she would reign herself in or react to the goading. Though she did not think the scald of that anger stemmed solely from how crassly he chose to speak to an Aes Sedai. Elly had forged her place in what was very much a man’s sphere, and such insinuations of coercion were likely to hit a particularly tender mark. Light only knew what the woman’s expression was right now.

“As fascinating as you seem to believe the details of your intimate life are to us, it is not why we are here.” Nythadri spoke bluntly before Elly had a chance to; not because she feared her reaction, or the chaos that would ensue in its wake, but because the defence of their bond worked both ways. Protectiveness bit the words a little harder than she intended, though they were spoken slow and measured – as apathetically conversational a tactic as he deployed himself. His boasting was dull, her tone implied. Only the sharpness of her pale eyes belied otherwise, underpinning her irritation at whom he aimed those barbs.

Apparently tired of his own deviation, he did finally meander to his point. Though at least it had given Nythadri ample time to reconcile herself to her dismal situation and the decisions laid before her. Details were the only things left to fathom, and how badly she might be burned in the process. Derision of Elsae’s character did not give her much pause; the girl was strange, and always had been. Whatever morality governed her decision-making, it was of a different colour to the rest of them. But Arikan was a fool if he thought the Tower did not cultivate all women regardless. Whatever display of saintliness the Aes Sedai fashioned for the world to consume, the shawled women within that glamour were not all exactly great beacons of the creator’s light (that unnamed Ajah notwithstanding of course). The only thing that really mattered was the oaths that bound a woman, and the allegiances she chose for herself.

Light, the irony.

Truthfully, his answer had not mattered; he could have said anything, lie or truth or obfuscation. It was his reaction to the question she had wanted, and he had given plenty of time for her to dissect it. Or, light send it was enough, anyway. The connection was an emotional one; it had to be. He’d cast around for reason enough to appease, all whilst boasting of a predilection for compulsion out of sheer whimsy. Why, then, he chose to dance Talin’s tune was anyone’s guess. The bite of his temper was not soon forgotten, but neither was the impossibility of his being. A flimsy foundation for the risk she prepared to take. But watching him now, and hearing that last utterance especially, she began to suspect that the root of his motivations were unclear even to him. She didn’t follow that thought back to any possible source. She didn’t want to know what it might mean. But if she ignored the context; ignored what he was and what he had done, he sounded a lot like a man tasting freedom for the first time in a long time.

“You lecture ad nauseum on the follies of trust, and yet you have placed yourself in the palm of my hand for a woman you have never even met in the flesh.” He’d meant to unseat her with revelation, and she intended the same in return, by pointing out the truths abandoned in the margins of all he did not say. There was no real threat in the way she said it. He was too dangerous to try and control that way even if she had the stomach for it, which she did not. But it did not mean she was not stubborn enough to test the bounds of his patience. He dressed his derision up in courtly fashion, but it was clear he viewed them as children. Why that bothered her she was unsure, but she wanted the needle of a reaction; to feel some hint of the powerlessness he must be feeling behind that mask. “Fortunately for you,” she continued dryly, “it would seem my hands are tied.” The turn of phrase was not incidental. Her humour was deadpan. But the accord was met.

“Not if he doesn’t leave the room,” Elly growled beneath her breath. But she remained still. Her anger still burned, so hot and hostile it seeped tension into all of Nythadri’s muscles like venom. In fact it was so virulent she wondered if the warder had space to feel anything in return through their bond. In time perhaps Elly would learn to grow cautious of such stillness in her Aes Sedai.

Talin nodded to herself in conclusion, and leaned to slip her untouched tea back upon the table. For the briefest moment Nythadri was surprised at how easily the woman assumed she would capitulate to such a callous exchange of life. She did not move to follow.

“Creative or not, you will need more than a single ally in this.”

“Sister,” Talin interjected as her hands returned delicately to her lap. It was said pleasantly enough, but Nythadri understood the note of warning.

Talin intended only to arm a weapon and let it loose. Beyond Elsae’s deliverance, Nythadri doubted she had any intention of further involvement – not unless Arikan demanded it of her, and by then she might simply declare that she had given him the tools he asked for, and he ought simply get on with the job. It seemed doubtful Arikan knew about the oath rod. He’d be less keen to take the Yellow at her word if he did. He was but a cornerstone of the world she intended to build; a piece of foundation that must be laid first. Clearly it was a cause Talin had thought Nythadri could be roused to support.

“Those hooks are as sharp as you suspected, sister. And it seems you had a touch of Sight as to where they will lead me.” No small measure of morbid humour coated the last words. In fact, Shayol Ghul was the flippant example the Yellow had used, prevailing upon the loyalty that mired Nythadri into this mess in the first place. She did not look at the other woman, knowing she would remember that conversation in the clearing well enough. Instead she ran her fingers lightly over her sleeve, a blue shy of midnight, and evidence of another miscalculation on Talin’s part. The Blues had courted Nythadri’s destiny since they deposited her upon the Tower steps, but if she had been aware of the web, such distant machinations never imprinted upon her. It was Lythia who claimed her as a sister in truth. The roots of such a claiming had burrowed surprisingly deep.

For Nythadri was considering madness. And yet the Seanchan stirred in the west, and Talin herself told of greater unrest at home. If the Dragon’s Peace shattered?

Well, it would not be the only madness then.

“Elsae may have skill enough to impress even you, but she will lack resources. The Tower will not easily welcome her back once her disappearance is noted. At best she will be considered to have fled, and at worst she will be caught and punished for impersonation. Her presence will be a risk to you.” Nythadri might have said it plainly, but instead she waited for it to sink in that the Sister he sought was not a Sister at all. The information was a weapon wielded expertly, but she chose not to make the cut a painful loss of face.

“She is not a sacrifice, and I will not abandon her as one. And certainly not to your declared appetites.” In that remark Nythadri was curious to observe his reaction, or what might be gleaned in the debris of it at least. Some indication of what his connection to Elsae might really be, or of his intentions, beyond the pretty lie of strategy. “I’m sure you do not consider me in a position for bargaining, so I shall not bargain. You need me. If what you say is true, and you truly do intend to clear the field, then I pledge to see it through. It is the price I demand for my aid. And if I am wrong in that trust, I vow to see you burn, Arikan. Even as I must burn alongside.”