“Take the flower out of your hair,” Tallanvor said as he sheathed his blade. “Do you think you came here courting?”
Mat snatched the starblaze blossom out of his hair and followed the officer. Bloody fool, putting a flower in my hair. I have to stop playing the fool, now.
It was not so much following, really, for Tallanvor kept an eye on him even while he led the way. The result was an odd sort of procession, with the officer to one side of him and ahead, but half turned in case Mat tried anything. For his part, Mat attempted to look as innocent as a babe splashing in his bathwater.
The colorful tapestries on the walls had earned their weavers silver, and so had the rugs on the white tile floors, even here in the halls. Gold and silver stood everywhere, plates and platters, bowls and cups, on chests and low cabinets of polished wood, as fine as anything he had seen in the Tower. Servants darted everywhere, in red livery with white collars and cuffs and the White Lion of Andor on their breasts. He found himself wondering if Morgase played at dice. Woolheaded thought. Queens don't toss dice. But when I give her this letter and tell her somebody in her Palace means to kill Elayne, I'll wager she gives me a fat purse. He indulged himself in a small fancy of being made a lord; surely the man who revealed a plot to murder the DaughterHeir could expect some such reward.
Tallanvor led him down so many corridors and across so many courtyards that he was beginning to wonder if he could find his way out again without help, when suddenly one of the courts had more than servants in it. A columned walk surrounded the court, with a round pool in the middle with white and yellow fish swimming beneath lilypads and floating white waterlilies. Men in colorful coats embroidered in gold or silver, women with wide dresses worked even more elaborately, stood attendance on a woman with redgold hair who sat on the raised rim of the pool, trailing her fingers in the water and staring sadly at the fish that rose to her fingertips in hopes of food. A Great Serpent ring encircled the third finger of her left hand. A tall, dark man stood at her shoulder, the red silk of his coat almost hidden by the gold leaves and scrolls worked on it, but it was the woman who held Mat's eye.
He did not need the wreath of finely made golden roses in her hair, or the stole hanging over her dress of white slashed with red, the red length of the stole embroidered with the Lions of Andor, to know he was looking at Morgase, by the Grace of the Light, Queen of Andor, Defender of the Realm, Protector of the People, High Seat of House Trakand. She had Elayne's face and beauty, but it was what Elayne would have when she had ripened. Every other woman in the courtyard faded into the background by her very presence.
I'd dance a jig with her, and steal a kiss in the moonlight, too, no matter how old she is. He shook himself. Remember exactly who she is!
Tallanvor went to one knee, a fist pressed to the white stone of the courtyard. “My Queen, I bring a messenger who bears a letter from the Lady Elayne.”
Mat eyed the man's posture, then contented himself with a deep bow. “From the DaughterHeir... uh... my Queen.” He held out the letter as he bowed, so the golden yellow wax of the seal was visible. Once she reads it, and knows Elayne is all right, I will tell her. Morgase turned her deep blue eyes on him. Light! As soon as she's in a good mood.
“You bring a letter from my scapegrace child?” Her voice was cold, but with an edge that spoke of heat ready to rise. “That must mean she is alive, at least! Where is she?”
“In Tar Valon, my Queen,” he managed to get out. Light, wouldn't I like to see a staring match between her and the Amyrlin. On second thought, he decided he would rather not. “At least, she was when I left.”
Morgase waved a hand impatiently, and Tallanvor rose to take the letter from Mat and hand it to her. For a moment she frowned at the lily seal, then broke it with a sharp twist of her wrists. She murmured to herself as she read, shaking her head at every other line. “She can say no more, can she?” she muttered. “We shall see whether she holds to that...” Abruptly her face brightened. “Gaebril, she has been raised to the Accepted. Less than a year in the Tower, and raised already.” The smile went as suddenly as it had come, and her mouth tightened. “When I put my hands on the wretched child, she will wish she were still a novice.”
Light, Mat thought, will nothing put her in a good mood? He decided he was just going to have to say it out, but he wished she did not look as if she meant to cut someone's head off. “My Queen, by chance I overheard —”
“Be silent, boy,” the dark man in the goldencrusted coat said calmly. He was a handsome man, almost as goodlooking as Galad and nearly as youthfulseeming, despite the white streaking his temples, but built on a bigger scale, with more than Rand's height and very nearly Perrin's shoulders. “We will hear what you have to say in a moment.” He reached over Morgase's shoulder and plucked the letter out of her hand. Her glare turned on him — Mat could see her temper heating — but the dark man laid a strong hand on her shoulder, never taking his eyes off what he was reading, and Morgase's anger melted. “It seems she has left the Tower again,” he said. “On the service of the Amyrlin Seat. The woman oversteps herself again, Morgase.”
Mat had no trouble holding his tongue. Luck. It was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Sometimes I don't know if it's good or bad. The dark man was the owner of the deep voice, the “Great Master” who wanted Elayne's head. She called him Gaebril. Her advisor wants to murder Elayne? Light! And Morgase was staring up at him like an adoring dog with her master's hand on her shoulder.
Gaebril turned nearly black eyes on Mat. The man had a forceful gaze, and a look of knowing. “What can you tell us of this, boy?”
“Nothing... uh... my Lord.” Mat cleared his throat; the man's stare was worse than the Amyrlin's. “I went to Tar Valon to see my sister. She's a novice. Else Grinwell. I'm Thom Grinwell, my Lord. The Lady Elayne learned I was meaning to see Caemlyn on my way back home — I'm from Comfrey, my Lord; a little village north of Baerlon; I'd never seen any place bigger than Baerlon before I went to Tar Valon — and she — the Lady Elayne, I mean — gave me that letter to bring.” He thought Morgase had glanced at him when he said he came from north of Baerlon, but he knew there was a village called Comfrey there; he remembered hearing it mentioned.
Gaebril nodded, but he said, “Do you know where Elayne was going, boy? Or on what business? Speak the truth, and you have nothing to fear. Lie, and you will be put to the question.”
Mat did not have to pretend a worried frown. “My Lord, I only saw the DaughterHeir the once. She gave me the letter — and a gold mark! — and told me to bring it to the Queen. I know no more of what is in it than I've heard here.” Gaebril appeared to consider it, with no sign on that dark face of whether he believed a word or not.
“No, Gaebril,” Morgase said suddenly. “Too many have been put to the question. I can see the need as you have shown it to me, but not for this. Not a boy who only brought a letter whose contents he does not know.”
“As my Queen commands, so shall it be,” the dark man said. The tone was respectful, but he touched her cheek in a way that made color come to her face and her lips part as if she expected a kiss.
Morgase drew an unsteady breath. “Tell me, Thom Grinwell, did my daughter look well when you saw her?”
“Yes, my Queen. She smiled, and laughed, and showed a saucy tongue — I mean...”
Morgase laughed softly at the look on his face. “Do not be afraid, young man. Elayne does have a saucy tongue, far too often for her own good. I am happy she is well.” Those blue eyes studied him deeply. “A young man who has left his small village often finds it difficult to return to it. I think you will travel far before you see Comfrey again. Perhaps you will even return to Tar Valon. If you do, and if you see my daughter, tell her that what is said in anger is often repented. I will not remove her from the White Tower before time. Tell her that I often think of my own time there, and miss the quiet talks with Sheriam in her study. Tell her that I said that, Thom Grinwell.”
Mat shrugged uncomfortably. “Yes, my Queen. But... uh... I do not mean to go to Tar Valon again. Once in any man's life is enough. My da needs me to help work the farm. My sisters will be stuck with the milking, with me gone.”
Gaebril laughed, a deep rumble of amusement. “Are you anxious then to milk cows, boy? Perhaps you should see something of the world before it changes. Here!” He produced a purse and tossed it; Mat felt coins through the washleather when he caught it. “If Elayne can give you a gold mark for carrying her letter, I will give you ten for bringing it safely. See the world before you go back to your cows.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Mat liked the purse and managed a weak grin. “Thank you, my Lord.”
But the dark man had already waved him away and turned to Morgase with his fists on his hips. “I think the time has come, Morgase, to lance that festering sore on the border of Andor. By your marriage to Taringail Damodred, you have a claim to the Sun Throne. The Queen's Guards can make that claim as strong as any. Perhaps I can even aid them, in some small way. Hear me.”
Tallanvor touched Mat on the arm, and they backed away, bowing. Mat did not think anyone noticed. Gaebril was still speaking, and every lord and lady seemed to hang on his words. Morgase was frowning as she listened, yet she nodded as much as any other.
Chapter 47