Asmodean entered, pale lace at the neck and cuffs of his black coat, harpcase slung on his back and a sword at his hip. It might have been winter for the coolness of his face, but his dark eyes were wary.
“What do you want, Natael?” Rand demanded. “I gave you your instructions last night.”
Asmodean wet his lips and glanced once at Aviendha, who was frowning at him. “Wise instructions. I suppose I might learn something to your advantage, remaining here and watching, but the talk this morning is all of the shrieks from Lady Colavaere's apartments last night. It is said she displeased you, though no one seems to know quite how. That uncertainty is making everyone step lightly. I doubt anyone will breathe in the next few days without considering what you might make of it.” Aviendha's face was a picture of insufferable selfsatisfaction.
“So you want to come with me?” Rand said softly. “You want to be at my back when I face Rahvin?”
“What better place for the Lord Dragon's bard? But better yet, say under your eye. Where I can show my loyalty. I am not strong.” Asmodean's grimace seemed natural enough in any man making that admission, but for an instant Rand sensed saidin filling the other man, felt the taint that twisted Asmodean's mouth. Just for an instant, but long enough for him to judge. If Asmodean had drawn as much as he could, he would be hard pressed to match one of the Wise Ones who could channel. “Not strong, yet perhaps I can help in some small way.”
Rand wished he could see the shield Lanfear had woven. She had said it would dissipate with time, but Asmodean did not seem able to channel any more strongly now than he had the first day he was in Rand's hands. Perhaps she had lied, to give Asmodean false hope, to make Rand believe the man would grow strong enough to teach him more than he ever would. It would be like her. He was uncertain whether that was his thought or Lews Therin's, but he was sure it was true.
The long pause made Asmodean lick his lips again. “A day or two will not matter here. You will be back by then, or dead. Let me prove my loyalty. Perhaps I can do something. A whisker more weight on your side might shift the balance.” Once more saidin poured into him, just for a moment. Rand felt a sensation of strain, yet it was still a feeble flow. “You know my choices. I am clinging to that tuft of grass on the cliff's lip, praying for it to hold one more heartbeat. If you fail, I am worse than dead. I must see you win and live.” Suddenly eyeing Aviendha, he seemed to realize he might have said too much. His laugh was a hollow sound. “Else how can I compose the songs of the Lord Dragon's glory? A bard must have something to work with.” The heat never touched Asmodean — a trick of the mind, he claimed, not the Power — but beads of sweat oozed down his forehead now.
Under his eyes, or left behind? Perhaps to run looking for a hiding place when he began wondering what was happening in Caemlyn. Asmodean would be the man he was until he died and was reborn, and perhaps even after. “Under my eyes,” Rand said quietly. “And if I even suspect that where that whisker falls might displease me...”
“I put my trust in the Lord Dragon's mercy,” Asmodean murmured, bowing. “With the Lord Dragon's permission, I will wait outside.”
Rand glanced around the room as the man departed, backing away still halfbowed. His sword lay on the giltlined chest at the foot of the bed, Dragonbuckled sword belt wrapped around the scabbard and the Seanchan spearhead. The killing today would not be with steel, not on his part. He touched his pocket, felt the hard carved shape of the fat little man with his sword; that was the only sword he needed today. For a moment, he considered Skimming to Tear, to take back Callandor, or even to Rhuidean for what was hidden there. He could destroy Rahvin with either before the man knew he was there. He could destroy Caemlyn itself with either. But could he trust himself? So much power. So much of the One Power. Saidin hung there just out of sight. The taint seemed part of him. Rage oozed just beneath the surface, at Rahvin, at himself. If it broke loose, and he held even Callandor... What would he do? He would be invincible. With the other, he could Skim to Shayol Ghul itself, put an end to it all, end it now one way or another. One way or another. No. He was not in this alone. He could not afford anything but victory.
“The world rides on my shoulders,” he murmured. Suddenly he yelped and clapped a hand to his left buttock. It felt as though a needle had stabbed him, but he did not need the goose bumps fading on his arms to tell him what had happened. “What was that for?” he growled at Aviendha.
“Just to see whether the Lord Dragon was still made of flesh like the rest of us mortals.”
“I am,” he said flatly, and seized saidin — all the sweetness; all the filth — just, long enough to channel briefly.
Her eyes widened, but she did not flinch, only looked at him as if nothing had occurred at all. Still, as they crossed the anteroom, she rubbed furtively at her bottom when she thought he was looking the other way. It seemed she was ordinary flesh, too. Burn me. I thought I'd taught her a few manners.
Pulling open the door, he stepped out and stood staring. Mat was leaning on his odd spear with that broadbrimmed hat pulled low, a little apart from Asmodean, but that was not took him aback. There were no Maidens. He should have known something was wrong when Asmodean came in unannounced. Aviendha was looking around in amazement, as if she expected to find them behind one of the tapestries.
“Melindhra tried to kill me last night,” Mat said, and Rand stopped thinking about Maidens. “One minute we were talking, the next she was trying to kick my head off.”
Mat told the story in short sentences. The dagger with the golden bees. His conclusions. He closed his eyes when he told how he had ended it — a simple, stark, “I killed her” — and opened them again quickly as if he saw something behind his eyelids he did not care to see.
“I'm sorry you had to do that,” Rand said quietly, and Mat gave a bleak shrug.
“Better her than me. I suppose. She was a Darkfriend.” He did not sound as if it made much difference.
“I will settle Sammael. Just as soon as I'm ready.”
“And how many will that leave?”
“The Forsaken are not here,” Aviendha snapped. “And neither are the Maidens of the Spear. Where are they? What have you done, Rand al'Thor?”
“Me? There were twenty right here when I came to bed last night, and I haven't seen one since.”
“Perhaps it is because Mat...” Asmodean began, and stopped when Mat looked at him, a tightmouthed blend of pain and readiness to hit something.
“Do not be fools,” Aviendha said in a firm voice. “Far Dareis Mai would not claim toh against Mat Cauthon for this. She tried to kill him, and he killed her. Even her nearsisters would not, if she had had any. And no one would claim toh against Rand al'Thor for what another did, unless he ordered it done. You have done something, Rand al'Thor, something great and dark, or they would be here.”
“I've done nothing,” he told her sharply. “And I don't intend to stand here discussing it. Are you dressed for the ride south, Mat?”
Mat shoved a hand into his coat pocket, fingering something. He usually kept his dice and dicecup in there. “Caemlyn. I'm tired of them sneaking up on me. I want to sneak up on one of them for a change. I just hope I get the bloody pat on the head instead of the bloody flower,” he added with a grimace.
Rand did not ask him what he meant. Another ta'veren. Two together to twist chance perhaps. No way to tell how, or even if, but...“It seems like we'll be together a little longer.” Mat looked more resigned than anything else.
Before they had gone far down the tapestrylined corridor, Moiraine and Egwene met them, gliding along together as if the day held no more ahead than a walk in one of the gardens. Egwene, cooleyed and calm, golden Great Serpent on her finger, really could have been Aes Sedai despite her Aiel clothes and shawl and the folded scarf around her temples, while Moiraine... Gold threads caught the light, faintly streaking Moiraine's gown of shimmering blue silk. The small blue stone on her forehead, hanging from its gold chain fastened in her waves of dark hair, shone as brightly as the large goldset sapphires around her neck. Hardly suitable garb for what they intended, yet in his red coat, Rand could not comment.
Perhaps it was being here, where House Damodred had once held the Sun Throne, but Moiraine's graceful carriage was more regal than he remembered ever seeing it. Not even the presence of “Jasin Natael” could spoil that queenly serenity with surprise, but amazingly, she gave Mat a warm smile. “So you are going too, Mat. Learn to trust the Pattern. Do not waste your life attempting to change what cannot be changed.” From Mat's face, he might have been considering changing his mind about being there at all, but the Aes Sedai turned from him without a trace of worry. “These are for you, Rand.”