“Min, you know ... you do know that he cannot marry. He isn't ... safe ... for any of us, Min.”
“Speak for yourself,” Min said. She pulled Rand's face against her breast. “It's like Elayne said. You tossed him aside for the White Tower. What should you care if I pick him up?”
Egwene looked at her for what seemed a long time. Not at Rand, not at all, only at her. She felt her face growing hotter and wanted to look away, but she could not.
“I will bring Nynaeve,” Egwene said finally, and walked out of the room with her back straight and her head high.
Min wanted to call out, to go after her, but she lay there as if frozen. Frustrated tears stung her eyes. It's what has to be. I know it. I read it in all of them. Light, I don't want to be part of this. “It's all your fault,” she told Rand's still shape. “No, it isn't. But you will pay for it, I think. We're all caught like flies in a spiderweb. What if I told her there's another woman yet to come, one she doesn't even know? For that matter, what would you think of that, my fine Lord Shepherd? You aren't badlooking at all, but ... Light, I don't even know if I am the one you'll choose. I don't know if I want you to choose me. Or will you try to dandle all three of us on your knee? It may not be your fault, Rand al'Thor, but it isn't fair.”
“Not Rand al'Thor,” said a musical voice from the door. “Lews Therin Telamon. The Dragon Reborn.”
Min stared. She was the most beautiful woman Min had ever seen, with pale, smooth skin, and long, black hair, and eyes as dark as night. Her dress was a white that would make snow seem dingy, belted in silver. All her jewelry was silver. Min felt herself bristle. “What do you mean? Who are you?”
The woman came to stand over the bed — her movements were so graceful, Min felt a stab of envy, though she had never before envied any woman anything — and smoothed Rand's hair as if Min were not there. “He doesn't believe yet, I think. He knows, but he does not believe. I have guided his steps, pushed him, pulled him, enticed him. He was always stubborn, but this time I will shape him. Ishamael thinks he controls events, but I do.” Her finger brushed Rand's forehead as if drawing a mark; Min thought uneasily that it looked like the Dragon's Fang. Rand stirred, murmuring, the first sound or movement he had made since she found him.
“Who are you?” Min demanded. The woman looked at her, only looked, but she found herself shrinking back into the pillows, clutching Rand to her fiercely.“I am called Lanfear, girl.”
Min's mouth was abruptly so dry she could not have spoken if her life depended on it. One of the Forsaken! No! Light, no! All she could do was shake her head. The denial made Lanfear smile.
“Lews Therin was and is mine, girl. Tend him well for me until I come for him.” And she was gone.
Min gaped. One moment she was there, then she was gone. Min discovered she was hugging Rand's unconscious form tightly. She wished she did not feel as if she wanted him to protect her.
Gaunt face set with grim purpose, Byar galloped with the sinking sun behind him and never looked back. He had seen all he needed to, all he could with that accursed fog. The legion was dead, Lord Captain Geofram Bornhald was dead, and there was only one explanation for that; Darkfriends had betrayed them, Darkfriends like that Perrin of the Two Rivers. That word he had to carry to Dain Bornhald, the Lord Captain's son, with the Children of the Light watching Tar Valon. But he had worse to tell, and to none less than Pedron Niall himself. He had to tell what he had seen in the sky above Falme. He flogged his horse with his reins and never looked back.
Chapter 49
(Serpent and Wheel)
What Was Meant To Be
Rand opened his eyes and found himself staring up at sunlight slanting through the branches of a leatherleaf, its broad, tough leaves still green despite the time of year. The wind stirring the leaves carried a hint of snow, come nightfall. He lay on his back, and he could feel blankets covering him under his hands. His coat and shirt seemed to be gone, but something was binding his chest, and his left side hurt. He turned his head, and Min was sitting there on the ground, watching him. He almost did not know her, wearing skirts. She smiled uncertainly.
“Min. It is you. Where did you come from? Where are we?” His memory came in flashes and patches. Old things he could remember, but the last few days seemed like bits of broken mirror, spinning through his mind, showing glimpses that were gone before he could see them clearly.
“From Falme,” she said. “We're five days east of there, now, and you've been asleep all that time.”
“Falme.” More memory. Mat had blown the Horn of Valere. “Egwene! Is she ... ? Did they free her?” He held his breath.
“I don't know what 'they' you mean, but she's free. We freed her ourselves.”
“We? I don't understand.” She's free. At least she is —
“Nynaeve, and Elayne, and me.”
“Nynaeve? Elayne? How? You were all in Falme?” He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back down easily and stayed there, hands on his shoulders, eyes intent on his face. “Where is she?”
“Gone.” Min's face colored. “They're all gone. Egwene, and Nynaeve, and Mat, and Hurin, and Verin. Hurin didn't want to leave you, really. They're on their way to Tar Valon. Egwene and Nynaeve back to their training in the Tower, and Mat for whatever the Aes Sedai have to do about that dagger. They took the Horn of Valere with them. I can't believe I actually saw it.”
“Gone,” he muttered. “She didn't even wait till I woke up.” The red in Min's cheeks deepened, and she sat back, staring at her lap.
He raised his hands to run them over his face, and stopped, staring at his palms in shock. There was a heron branded across his left palm, too, now, to match the one on his right, every line clean and true. Once the heron to set his path; Twice the heron to name him true. “No!”
“They are gone,” she said. “Saying 'no' won't change it.”
He shook his head. Something told him the pain in his side was important. He could not remember being injured, but it was important. He started to lift his blankets to look, but she slapped his hands away.
“You can't do any good with that. It isn't healed all the way, yet. Verin tried Healing, but she said it didn't work the way it should.” She hesitated, nibbling her lip. “Moiraine says Nynaeve must have done something, or you wouldn't have lived till we carried you to Verin, but Nynaeve says she was too frightened to light a candle. There is... something wrong with your wound. You will have to wait for it to heal naturally.” She seemed troubled.