The room Jesi stood in would have been small by even the stingiest of innkeeper’s standards, and yet it seemed palatial compared to the one she had shared with Delaine. A small, neatly made, bed stood in one corner. A simple wardrobe that had seen centuries of use filled another. A desk graced the spot in front of the window, with a simple ladder-back chair pushed beneath it. Next to the bed was a wash stand, and next to that, a small shelf for books and a few personal items. A worn rug lay in front of the small hearth, where a fire crackled quietly.
Accepted Jesine Molari.
How very absurd.
The Mayener tugged at her sleeves, the eight bands of color reminding her of the test she had passed. Once for what was. Easy enough to leave farmgirl Jesi behind, even if she had had to abandon her home to bandits. Once for what is. The tears on Paks’ face as Jesi ran to the arch haunted her every waking thought. Once for what will be. Jesine Sedai, fine and grand in her voluminous silks as she consulted with the greatest generals the Westlands had to offer. Jesine Molari, Aes Sedai, ordering the deaths of thousands in the hopes of saving millions. Jesi Sedai, moving pieces about on the war map, feeling every bit as wooden as the figurines she shifted.
No! That is not who I am. That is not who I will ever allow myself to be!
Abruptly the Accepted whirled on her heel and left the room, slamming the door so hard that it reverberated down the long corridor outside. A passing servant looked up in surprise, but Jesi snarled at her so fiercely that she dropped a curtsy and scurried away with a murmured apology. In the ensuing silence the Mayener sank backward with her palms flat against the wood, breathing heavily as she contemplated her options.
She had a class to go to, new students to meet, chores to do, a schedule of studies to create and present to Tia Sedai. All of the things she had been told she must do in this first week piled up in her mind and were subsequently dismissed. None of it mattered. I will not be that woman!
There was a place south of the horse pastures where she could find peace for a time. Jesi picked up her skirts and ran, blinded by tears and not caring who saw.
Accepted Jesine Molari.
How very absurd.
The Mayener tugged at her sleeves, the eight bands of color reminding her of the test she had passed. Once for what was. Easy enough to leave farmgirl Jesi behind, even if she had had to abandon her home to bandits. Once for what is. The tears on Paks’ face as Jesi ran to the arch haunted her every waking thought. Once for what will be. Jesine Sedai, fine and grand in her voluminous silks as she consulted with the greatest generals the Westlands had to offer. Jesine Molari, Aes Sedai, ordering the deaths of thousands in the hopes of saving millions. Jesi Sedai, moving pieces about on the war map, feeling every bit as wooden as the figurines she shifted.
No! That is not who I am. That is not who I will ever allow myself to be!
Abruptly the Accepted whirled on her heel and left the room, slamming the door so hard that it reverberated down the long corridor outside. A passing servant looked up in surprise, but Jesi snarled at her so fiercely that she dropped a curtsy and scurried away with a murmured apology. In the ensuing silence the Mayener sank backward with her palms flat against the wood, breathing heavily as she contemplated her options.
She had a class to go to, new students to meet, chores to do, a schedule of studies to create and present to Tia Sedai. All of the things she had been told she must do in this first week piled up in her mind and were subsequently dismissed. None of it mattered. I will not be that woman!
There was a place south of the horse pastures where she could find peace for a time. Jesi picked up her skirts and ran, blinded by tears and not caring who saw.