The Dragon Reborn - By Robert Jordan Page 0,147

to dance a jig or a reel. He had danced with Egwene often enough, back home, and even once with Nynaeve, but that seemed a long time ago.

“ ‘One pretty woman means fun at the dance. Two pretty women mean trouble in the house. Three pretty women mean run for the hills.’ ” He gave Nynaeve an even tighter smile than her own. “My da used to say that. You’re up to something, Nynaeve. You are all smiling like cats staring at a finch caught in a thornbush, and I think I am the finch.”

The smiles flickered and vanished. He noticed their hands and wondered why they all looked as if they had been washing dishes. The Daughter-Heir of Andor surely never washed a dish, and he had as hard a time imagining Nynaeve at it, even knowing she had done her own back in Emond’s Field. They all three wore Great Serpent rings, now. That was new. And not a particularly pleasant surprise. Light, it had to happen sometime. It’s none of my business, and that is all there is to it. None of my business. It just isn’t.

Egwene shook her head, but it seemed as much for the other two women as for him. “I told you we should ask him straight out. He’s stubborn as any mule when he wants to be, and tricksome as a cat. You are, Mat. You know it, so stop frowning.”

He put his grin back quickly.

“Hush, Egwene,” Nynaeve said. “Mat, just because we want to ask you a favor does not mean we don’t care how you feel. We do care, and you know that, unless you’re being even more wool-headed than usual. Are you well? You look remarkably well compared to how I last saw you. It really does look more like a month than two days.”

“I’m ready to run ten miles and dance a jig at the end of it.” His stomach growled, reminding him how long it was to midday yet, but he ignored it, and hoped they had not noticed. He almost did feel as if he had had a month of rest and food. And had had one meal in the last day. “What favor?” he asked suspiciously. Nynaeve did not ask favors, in his recollection; Nynaeve told people what to do and expected to see it done.

“I want you to carry a letter for me,” Elayne said before Nynaeve could speak. “To my mother, in Caemlyn.” She smiled, making a dimple in her cheek. “I would appreciate it so very much, Mat.” The morning light through the windows seemed to pick out highlights in her hair.

I wonder if she likes to dance. He pushed the thought right out of his head. “That does not sound too very hard, but it’s a long trip. What do I get out of it?” From the look on her face, he did not think that dimple had failed her very often.

She drew herself up, slim and proud. He could almost see a throne behind her. “Are you a loyal subject of Andor? Do you not wish to serve the Lion Throne, and your Daughter-Heir?”

Mat snickered.

“I told you that would not work either,” Egwene said. “Not with him.”

Elayne had a wry twist to her mouth. “I thought it worth a try. It always works on the Guards, in Caemlyn. You said if I smiled—” She cut off short, very obviously not looking at him.

What did you say, Egwene, he thought, furious. That I’m a fool for any girl who smiles at me? He kept his outward calm, though, and managed to maintain his grin.

“I wish asking were enough,” Egwene said, “but you do not do favors, do you, Mat? Have you ever done anything without being coaxed, wheedled, or bullied?”

He only smiled at her. “I will dance with both of you, Egwene, but I won’t run errands.” For an instant he thought she was going to stick out her tongue at him.

“If we can go back to what we planned in the first place,” Nynaeve said in a too-calm voice. The other two nodded, and she turned her attentions on him. For the first time since coming in, she looked like the Wisdom of old, with a stare that could pin you in your tracks and her braid ready to lash like a cat’s tail.

“You are even ruder than I remembered, Matrim Cauthon. With you sick so long—and Egwene, and Elayne, and I taking care of you like a babe in