The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,95

being trained in logic—and the “logical puzzles” presented sounded very similar to a request for help in dealing with a Warder who was growing frustrated with his increasing age and inability to fight. Egwene gave what help she could, which Nagora declared to be “logic without flaw” before releasing her. After that, there was another message, this one from Suana, one of the Sitters of the Yellow Ajah.

A Sitter! It was the first time Egwene had been ordered to attend one of them. Egwene hurried to the appointment and was admitted by a maidservant. Suana’s quarters looked more like a garden than proper rooms. As a Sitter, Suana could demand quarters with windows, and she made full use of her inset balcony as an herb garden. But beyond that, she had mirrors positioned to reflect light into the room, which was overgrown with small potted trees, shrubs growing in large basins of earth, and even a small garden for carrots and radishes. Egwene noticed with displeasure a small pile of rotted tubers in one container, likely just harvested but somehow already spoiled.

The room smelled strongly of basil, thyme and a dozen other herbs. Despite the problems in the Tower, despite the rotted plants, she was buoyed by the scent of life in the room—the freshly turned earth and growing plants. And Nynaeve complained that the sisters in the White Tower ignored the usefulness of herbs! If only she could spend some time with sturdy, square-faced Suana.

Egwene found the woman remarkably pleasant. Suana ran her through a series of weaves, many of them related to Healing, where Egwene had never particularly shone. Still, her skill must have impressed the Sitter, for midway through the lesson—Egwene seated on a cushioned stool between two potted trees, Suana sitting more properly in a stiff leather-covered chair—the tone of the conversation changed.

“We should very much like to have you in the Yellow, I think,” the woman said.

Egwene started. “I’ve never shown particular skill for Healing.”

“Being of the Yellow isn’t about skill, child,” Suana said. “It’s about passion. If you love to make things well, to fix that which is broken, there would be a purpose for you here.”

“My thanks,” Egwene said. “But the Amyrlin has no Ajah.”

“Yes, but she’s raised from one. Consider it, Egwene. I think you would find a good home here.”

It was a shocking conversation. Suana obviously didn’t consider Egwene the Amyrlin, but the mere fact that she was recruiting Egwene to her Ajah said something. It meant she accepted Egwene’s legitimacy, at least to some degree, as a sister.

“Suana,” Egwene said, testing how far she could push that sense of legitimacy, “have the Sitters spoken of what to do about the tensions between the Ajahs?”

“I don’t see what can be done,” Suana replied, glancing toward her overgrown balcony. “If the other Ajahs have decided to see the Yellow as their enemy, then I cannot compel them to be less foolish.”

They likely say the same about you, Egwene thought, but said, “Someone must make the first steps. The shell of distrust is growing so thick that soon it will be hard to crack. Perhaps if some of the Sitters of different Ajahs began taking meals together, or were seen traveling the hallways in one another’s company, it would prove instructive for the rest of the Tower.”

“Perhaps . . .” Suana said.

“They aren’t your enemies, Suana,” Egwene said, letting her voice grow more firm.

The woman frowned at Egwene, as if realizing suddenly who she was taking advice from. “Well, then, I think it’s best that you ran along. I’m certain there is a great deal for you to do today.”

Egwene let herself out, carefully avoiding drooping branches and clusters of pots. Once she left the Yellow sector of the Tower and collected her Red Ajah attendants, she realized something. She’d gone through all three meetings without being assigned a single punishment. She wasn’t certain what to think of that. She’d even called two of them by name directly to their faces!

They were coming to accept her. Unfortunately, that was only a small part of the battle. The larger part was making certain the White Tower survived the strains Elaida was placing upon it.

Meidani’s quarters were surprisingly comfortable and homey. Egwene had always viewed the Grays as similar to the Whites, lacking passion, perfect diplomats who didn’t have time for personal emotions or frivolities.

These rooms, however, hinted at a woman who loved to travel. Maps hung within delicate frames, centered on the walls like