The Grey Tower

“How dare he?” The low, brusque voice was vicious. Rhykana, pressed up against the wall in a neighboring niche to the one the two Aes Sedai stood in, could only imagine the rage on the Aes Sedai’s face. “Who does he think he is, asking me to do his dirty work, while he sneaks around pretending to be..." The Yellow sister’s voice lowered, and Rhykana did not hear what he pretended to be.

“I am not surprised.” That voice, at least, was familiar. “He has always been an irritating man.” Lydarian’s tone was even, and still so respectful. Rhykana had never before seen Lydarian defer so clearly to another Aes Sedai. She had followed the two Yellow sisters from the infirmary, the raging need to know drawing her after them like a leash. Lydarian had greeted the plump and dowdy Aes Sedai, one that Rhykana did not recognize, with a bowed head and graceful, almost imperceptible respect. It was the closest that Rhykana had ever seen Lydarian come to a curtsey.

There was a pause, and Rhykana strained to hear. Terror struck her; fear that the two women would move from their alcove, would spot her, pressed against the cold stone wall, in hers. There was no knowing what two Black sisters would do to her then. Rhykana swallowed hysterical laughter, her chest heaving with quick, quiet breaths. It had seemed so clear, only moments ago. That this was her only chance to understand what had happened, to understand who in the Black Ajah had done such a thing to the students of the Grey Tower.

“I fear we must speak to him.” The unknown Yellow sister spoke, and there was no regret in her voice. “This has gone too far. He sits watch over that woman’s brat, as if no one will find a servant’s presence strange.”

They had to be speaking of the Mistress of Novices; she was the only woman who had given birth in the infirmary since the explosion. The same Mistress of Novices who had been escorted from her birthing room by a guard of Reds and Greens, shielded and silent. It was an answer to the destruction that Rhykana could not accept. No matter how much she had disliked Mirin, it was clear that the woman took her post seriously. She watched her charges like a hawk, protecting and disciplining in turn. Rhykana wondered now if the blame for Mirin being called to the Hall could be laid at this Yellow’s feet. It was clear to Rhykana that she was Black Ajah, for no one else would speak to Lydarian so. And Lydarian had never asked Rhykana to spread rumors on her behalf before today. Perhaps…

Lydarian’s voice cut her thoughts short. “That seems a touch drastic, Liliandra.” The deference was gone from her voice now.

Liliandra huffed a laugh. “He reaps what he sows. And so will you, Lydie, if you think to question me.” Rhykana breathed shallowly, feeling the cold of the wall seep into her flesh. It seemed so surreal, to hear these polite threats, threats she suspected would occur behind walls and wards on any other day. “You have a pet, I think. It would be unfortunate if it becomes necessary to remind you of my… reach.”

There was a short pause, and Lydarian laughed, the note quiet and sweet. “That would hardly be unfortunate. Pets seem to have a habit of becoming inconvenient, don’t they? You ask me now to help you handle yours. Perhaps you might help me handle mine.”

Rhykana froze, as still and terrified as a rabbit before a fox. She was Lydarian’s pet. She had become inconvenient. Rhykana cursed herself then, cursed her own complacency. She had known that Lydarian had not approved of how she had decided to deal with Derin Caeldor. She had known! How had she not realized? How had she let herself become so blind?

Only the sound of slippers on stone and the rustle of skirts cut through her fear. Rhykana did not even breathe as they stepped from their alcove, hoping against hope that they turned right instead of left, that they would not find her so clearly eavesdropping. She had thought to listen to some of their conversation, to slip back to the infirmary before they finished speaking. She had not thought… She had not thought many things.

They turned right. Rhykana slumped against the wall, shakily sliding down to the floor, as the sound of their steps faded. Though the fear of discovery was gone, the terror churning in her stomach did not abate. Her breaths came short and fast, her thoughts frantic and useless. Rhykana curled her arms around her knees, pressed her face into her skirts. Oh light oh light…

It was some time before she was able to rise, her legs shaking and unsteady. Rhykana stood, propped against the wall, for a long moment. There was nothing to do but what must be done. With trembling fingers, she smoothed her skirts, pushed her hair away from her face. Lydarian and Liliandra would come for her, for she was nothing more than an inconvenient pet. She would face them, for she was not without Talents or weapons. She would face them, for she was not without… allies? She was not the only inconvenient pet; she was Lydarian’s, but not Liliandra’s. Who was the man who watched over Mirin’s babe?

Rhykana moved then, her stride quick. She did not hike up her skirts to run, but it was a near thing. How long did she have, before Lydarian came for her? Rhykana strode into the infirmary, walking toward the room the babe had been left in, quickly enough that no Aes Sedai or Asha’man had a chance to stop and ask her purpose. She opened the door and stepped in, closing it quickly behind her.

There was Mirin’s babe, swaddled in clean linen, held in the arms of a man she did not recognize. Rhykana stared at him, her eyes narrowed, lips pursed in thought. Nothing about him was familiar to her. Could she dare to assume that he was who Liliandra spoke of? He stood, cradling the child to his chest, and Rhykana watched the movement, saw the predatory grace in his step toward her.

Thought left her then, and the words fell from her lips. “Emmond Salere.” She breathed, hardly believing. But it was him. Their eyes were the same, the planes of his face… Rhykana knew this man, had been threatened by this man, had done work for the Black Ajah on the behalf of this man. He looked gentler than she remembered, his face somehow softened with what could only be the removal of the Oaths.

She took a deep, shuddery breath, and forced herself to face him. “Liliandra and Lydarian are coming to kill you.”

The news started off as a whisper. The Mistress of Novices is a Darkfriend. The whispers became louder as they traveled rapidly through the halls of the Tower until it was all that anyone talked about. Fact gave way to rumor; which in turn gave way to stupidly tall tales. She drinks the blood of children. She dances naked with Myrddraal every full moon. She gave birth to the Dark One’s spawn.

There was, however, one place in the Tower that gossip very carefully avoided. Within the cheerful yellow walls of the infirmary nursery, a man dressed in Tower servant livery sat by a newborn’s crib. He lounged in the chair, deep in thought, one hand tucked under his chin. Across from him, a stout woman sat, nursing the babe at her breast. Rina had been hired this morning as the wet nurse. Ravak had been hauled off to be questioned about his involvement with Mirin, while Elia busied herself with her work as the new Mistress of Novices.

And why was he here? Emmond had asked himself that same question a dozen times. And each time, he found himself tangled in webs that he could not escape from.

“My daughter will be safe with you. I know it. I trust you. Don’t let me down!”

Emmond grimaced at the memory. Mirin had begged very prettily, but she had been so very wrong about him. It had been a joy to mislead her, to trap her, and ultimately, to take her life. Her request alone would not have tied him to the babe. But then, after the Hall of Sitters had passed their judgment, Elia had sought him out.

“I’ve been made the new Mistress of Novices,” she said. “Otherwise, I would do this myself. I need you to go to the infirmary and watch over Mirin’s child."

The concern seemed very odd. Why would she care about Mirin’s brat? The bond had carried only confusion and burning need. The desire had been so strong that he could not refuse - not that he often refused Elia. And so he had gone to the infirmary. Not a minute after he had arrived, the room had been assaulted by a crowd of visitors, brought by the news from the Hall. Some had come to offer condolences and see how they could help. Unfortunately, this was the minority; most others had not been so pleasant.

“A pity that the little one should be punished for her mother’s sins," said Rina, after a particularly aggressive confrontation that had resulted in Emmond drawing his knife and the intervention of the Healers. Despite himself, Emmond agreed. He had never been particularly fond of little humans; but it seemed that whatever emotion had overcame Elia had also captured him.

The door opened. With a graceful movement, Emmond stood and placed himself defensively between the intruder and the nursing baby.

“Rina, may I speak with you?”

Emmond tilted his head curiously. He did not recognize the woman’s voice. Behind him, he heard a rustle as Rina stood.

“Here,” she said. “I will be right back. She should be well-fed and sleepy. Try not to drop her, will you?”

Emmond grinned. Then his mirth faded.

“Stay safe,” he said, seriously.

Rina squeezed his hand as she passed him the baby. Then the two women left the room. Emmond settled back into his seat and gently rocked the swaddled bundle. Her small hand curled around one of his fingers. A soft smile touched his lips. It really was a pity that this was Mirin’s child.

Again, the door opened. And again, he rose to his feet. This time, the stranger did not speak for a long time. Emmond tensed and took a step forward.

“Who are you?” he demanded. "What are you doing here?”

Another step and he would have been set to kill. But then the woman spoke.

“Emmond Salere,” she said. “Liliandra and Lydarian are coming to kill you.”

He froze.

As he stepped forward, menacing even with a baby cradled to his chest with one hand, Rhykana realized with rising panic that she should have embraced the source. Just as she fumbled to find saidar, all thoughts of calmness and rosebuds slipping from her mind like water from a sieve, Emmond froze and spoke.

"Who are you?"

Rhykana stared at him despite herself. The man was undoubtedly Emmond Salere, the same man she had run tasks and errands for for years. The same man who had pried her away from Lydarian for a time, who had promised her the Black Ajah. “I am Lydarian’s pet.” She told him, despite herself, confusion and morbid, terrified humor lending an edge of hysteria to her voice. “Rhykana. Don’t you recognize me? You’ve certainly used me as much as she has.” It was that bitterness that brought her back to herself, to the serenity she needed to grasp the source. She embraced saidar, as close to seizing it as a woman could come.

“How did you know? Why are you telling me?” There was no panic in his voice, nor fear on his face. Rhykana fought the urge to shake her head, as if that could clear her vision or shake off the blind panic that seemed strong enough to crush her. Emmond was wasting time.

"I heard them. They spoke of having a... talk with the man who sits watch over Mirin's... child." Suddenly, it hardly seemed prudent to refer to Mirin’s brat as what it was. Not to the man who held the thing so close, so carefully. "And of course, it's you." She laughed again then, the sound catching in her throat. Rhykana pressed one hand to her chest, feeling her heart flutter beneath her fingertips. It had seemed clear only a moment before; that she would find the enemy of her enemy, that she would face Lydarian with everything she had. But now, standing in front of a man she had hardly recognized, a man who had forgotten her, Rhykana’s resolve fragmented. "It seems that pets have the habit of becoming inconvenient, doesn't it?" It felt as if the words were embers in her mouth. How could she have misread Lydie so badly? Self doubt stirred in her, settling like a stone in her gut.

Emmond only nodded, turning to place the brat back in it’s bassinet. “Good.” He told her, as composed as if.. As if they were discussing tea! “Can you set a ward around this room?”

That, at least, sounded sensible. She wove Spirit and Earth, newly fortified by purpose, and the ward sprung into being. Rhykana tied it off, satisfied. No one would enter the room now. No one would enter the room… unless they had the strength and skill to cut her work to ribbons. “It is done.” She told him, moving aside as he pulled one of the beds towards the door. Emmond moved far less surely than she remembered. One of his hands reached for the wall every few moments, as if to remind him where it was. As soon as the bed was in place, Emmond leaned against the bedpost. Rhykana watched, wordless, as he took a gold ring off of the chain around his neck, as he slipped a knife from his coat. “You think they are coming now?” Rhykana demanded, newly horrified. “They left in the opposite direction!”

Emmond breathed out slowly. "Better safe than dead," he said. "Someone came to speak with Rina. The wet nurse. What better time to come than when I would be alone?"

"Then they will know that I am here." Rhykana laughed again, backing up until she hit the wall. Lydarian would be coming for her now, would be coming to dispose of her inconvenient pet. "Would it not be better to chose where... this happens? They wouldn't dare kill us in full view."

"I doubt Liliandra would care whether you were here or not," Emmond said, dryly. "The infirmary is busy. No one would notice if we died. Who would see us - the baby?" He laughed, mercilessly, then cursed. "We should link," he said. "Unless you think you can fight off the two of them on your own."

Rhykana gaped, then scowled. "If you think I will hand over all of my power to you, you're an idiot." She told him, fierce and furious. The One Power was her only claim to strength. She would never give another man control over her, would never yield herself willingly. Anger blazed in her, harsh enough to burn away the hysteria. “And are you no use to me?”

“No. I've been gentled, then healed to a fraction of my strength." Emmond’s tone was cold and gave no room for questions, but his words made no sense. He had been gentled? He had fallen further than was imaginable. "It's simply our best chance at survival.”

"No,” she answered, defiant and unrepentant. "Do you think I am so powerless? So without talent and skill?"

"Yes, I do," he said, calmly. There was no hint of malice or arrogance in his words, only a statement of fact. “We're up against two Aes Sedai, Rhykana. Two!”

Rage twisted her features then, all pretense of Aes Sedai serenity lost. ”I could make you think otherwise." Rhykana told him, the words clipped and furious. And she wanted to, in that moment. Wanted to twist his mind until he recognized her for what she was.

"And you don't know Liliandra like I do. That's a fact and you know it." Emmond continued as if she had not spoken, and Rhykana’s lips curled into a violent snarl.

"I will never link with a man, and certainly not you. I would rather fail and die." She spat, her fingers reaching for her left sleeve, for the knives she kept there. Emmond was useless to her now. He was a shadow of the Asha’man he had been, and any respect she had had for him had withered as soon as he had told her his strength in the One Power had been broken.

Emmond shrugged and frowned, as if he had not seen her face, had not seen the movement of her hands. "So be it," he says. "Do you have a better plan?"

“How strong is Liliandra?” Rhykana asked him, stalling. It was not too late to leave, to plan a better course of action against Lydarian. It was not too late to leave Emmond to die.

Emmond lifted his eyes to stare at her, his gaze boring into her. "Very strong. Stronger than you."

It was nothing more than another reason to let her ward fade and walk back through that door. And yet… it would not surprise her if Emmond found a way to betray her involvement to Lydarian. She would. “I can compulse Lydarian, then. Let her link with you.” There was nothing to do but fight here and now; she had trapped herself into this course as soon as she had spoken Emmond’s name aloud.

"You will have time to Compulse her before they shield you?" asked Emmond, incredulous. Rhykana bristled, her hands curling into fists. Emmond was the one who could barely hold a drop of the One Power, not her!

"If you can distract Liliandra!" Rhykana hissed, terror and apprehension giving way once more to rage.

"My death would be a perfectly acceptable distraction, then." Emmond cut in, snide.

"Throw your bloody dagger at her. I don't care. Do something!" She snapped back, just as her ward collapsed in on itself. Rhykana whirled to face the door, weaving thin strands of Spirit, Air, and water without thought.

Emmond hissed, in what Rhykana could only imagine to be dismay. “Get under the bed!” He told her, oblivious to her incredulous glance. “Quick!”

With a muttered curse, Rhykana let her flows dissipate and dropped to her knees, crawling gracelessly under the bed. Her skirts bunched against her knees, her brown hair falling forward and obscuring her vision. Rhykana paid it no mind; she stared unblinkingly at the door, breath quick and harsh.

Lydarian was behind that door. Lydarian was coming to kill her.

Emmond sensed Rhykana turning at the same time that his arms prickled with unseen needles. He hissed under his breath.

“Get under the bed! Quick!”

He heard a muttered curse then a scuffling of feet and rustle of dresses as Rhykana shifted under the bed. Then a knock sounded on the door.

“Weland?”

It was a familiar voice. The voice of Lainey, an Accepted who had been watching after the baby. Emmond did not relax.

“One moment!” he called. He twisted the ring around his finger, realizing too late that the Well was empty. Unfortunate that he had used it all yesterday. His brows furrowed in thought.

As long as he kept any potential intruder at the door, surely the Black sisters wouldn’t dare to attack in the middle of broad daylight. At least not in full sight of the entire bustling infirmary! Perhaps he couldn’t prevent them from coming eventually, but he could stall as long as he could and kick up a fuss. Light, he was so tense that he could hardly breathe.

He nudged the bed aside before he cracked open the door. The noise and general hubbub of the infirmary filtered into the room. His arms crossed his chest and he stood to block the doorway. He was slipping out of character, he knew. No true Tower servant would be so rude, even if Accepted were a far step below full Aes Sedai. But his life - and the child’s life - were on the line. And as an afterthought, well, he supposed that Rhykana was in danger, too.

“Why was there a ward?” asked Lainey.

“One of the sisters placed it there against intruders,” he said. The lie rose smoothly to his lips. He turned the question back on her. “And why did you disrupt it?”

“I needed to come check on the baby. Is she doing alright?”

"She's fine," said Emmond. “She’s asleep. Rina isn’t here.”

There was an awkward pause. The prickling of his skin did not stop. Emmond waited, every muscle in his body tensed and ready to spring. Then Lainey spoke, her tone filled with confusion.

“Will you let me in, Weland? I can replace the ward if you wish.”

He did not move. His expression hardened. “Pity that a ward would be necessary to protect the child,” he said. “And that she has a murderer for a mother.”

Lainey’s response was immediate. “Darkfriend or not, Mirin Sedai was a kind teacher,” she snapped. “I would not have you speak ill of her. Now, will you let me in or not?”

Emmond blinked. Then he nodded. He slipped his knife back into its pocket and stepped out of the way.

Her footsteps crossed the room. Her voice lilted with curiosity.

“The bed? Why has it been moved?”

“Rina complained it was too hot by the window,” he said. Once again, the lie came out perfectly natural. Emmond was a very good liar.

The intensity of the prickling grew stronger. His hand tightened on the knife hidden within his coat pocket. The air seemed taut with tension. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Strange, because Lainey had surely passed his little test at the doorway. She had leapt to the defense of Mirin - one of the reasons she had been selected to care for this baby. Was he just being paranoid? Yet he couldn’t be sure...

The crib creaked as she leaned over the railings. “Has Ravak thought of a name yet?” she asked.

“No,” he said. Quietly, he stepped behind her and tentatively reached out a hand to rest on her hip. She twisted in his grasp and placed a gentle hand on his chest. Then she laughed.

“What? Weland! Quite forward, aren’t you?” she said.

He leaned forward, hiding his grimace in her hair. His voice was honey, soft and seductive, betraying none of his distaste.

“As often as you visit me, Lainey? I think you’re the forward one."

“Well, you are very pretty,” she said. “And you move well for a blind man.”

He lowered his head to murmur in her ear.

“I don't think I've ever told you that I was blind. You are quite observant for a young Accepted.”

One hand remained on her waist, tracing distracting circles. The other slipped across her back, fingers wrapped around his knife. He pointed its blade into the gap between two ribs. Despite his suspicions, he hesitated.

She laughed again. And as soon as he heard it, he realized his mistake. Her voice deepened as she dismissed her weaves of voice modulation.

“Oh, Emmond,” said Liliandra. “How far you have fallen. You used to be sharper. Harder to fool. Now that little Indigo chit has you twisted around her little finger. She has taken your place at the meetings, did you know that?”

There was more, but Emmond ran out of patience. He snarled and his arm jerked forward. The Black sister gasped as his blade sank into flesh. At the same time, a terrible, burning pain spread from where her palm rested against his chest. He screamed. His legs gave away and he fell to the floor. Then threads of Air picked him up and he cried out as his back slammed into the wall. The pain ripped through his body. It was excruciating. He struggled for air. There was no time for thought - only panic and a desperate tug at the two separate presences in his mind. Then he passed out.

It was not Lydarian.

She relaxed, her shoulders easing back, her belly pressing more firmly against the stone floor. Rhykana balanced herself on her forearms, peering intently out from under the dangling blanket that obscured Emmond and the Accepted at the door from the waist up. She did not know Lainey well; she was recently raised, and not meant for the Indigo. Rhykana rarely had time for such a creature.

Rhykana tensed once more, aghast at Lainey’s casual defense of Mirin. No one in the Accepted’s halls had said such a thing. Rage and anger and betrayal filled those halls, and while many of the women lamented the unfortunate situation of Mirin’s newly birthed babe, there was no respect for Mirin left in the hearts of any Accepted. Her fingers flexed against the dusty stone floor, her body tight with apprehension. Lainey held saidar; she could feel it. But she would have done the same, today of all days. Rhykana breathed quietly, frozen with uncertainty.

And Emmond, the fool, let the girl in. Was the man deranged enough to think that anyone who wore the white had any sympathy for their former Mistress? Her breath hissed through her teeth, jaw clenched. Rage burrowed into her as she listened to Emmond lie, watched the two of them move toward the crib. No wonder he had fallen so low; the man was an idiot. Something here was wrong. A different sort of wrong than Lainey’s quick defense of a known Darkfriend- there was some undercurrent of emotion that she could not understand. She crawled forward, and realized that Lainey was channeling. Rhykana couldn’t quite see what- a ward, to replace the old one? She saw a flicker of Spirit and Earth. It could be a ward.

While she had scrutinized what she could see of Lainey’s weavings, the two of them had moved closer together, boots next to slippers, legs angled in. Rhykana flinched with distaste, a scowl momentarily twisting her lips. She couldn’t make sense of their conversation- were they lovers or not? What had Lainey woven? She rose up on her elbows, quietly lifting her knee, ready to crawl forward.

And in that moment, her body still braced with indecision, it all went wrong. The revelation of Emmond’s blindness was pushed to the background in the face of a larger one – this was Liliandra, the Yellow she had not known until today. Where was Lydarian? Where was Lydarian? Was she outside, waiting for Liliandra? Had Lydarian, her mentor, the woman she trusted as much as she hated, gone to find her? To kill her? Rhykana shook with the sudden onrush of fear, her fingers trembling, her nails scraping against the floor.

The scream stilled her for a moment, and then she was moving out from under the bed, ungainly in her speed, her skirts tangling above her knees as she lurched to her feet. Rhykana took in the scene with unseeing eyes, flinging out twisting threads of Spirit and Air. Emmond was across the room, his head at such an odd angle- Liliandra snarled, stumbling a turn, hunched with one hand curled around her abdomen, the other flung out as she cut crisply through Rhykana’s weaves with a single stroke of Air. “Lydarian’s pet?”

Rhykana opened her mouth, almost about to reply, when she saw the snarl of Fire and Air arching between them. She stumbled back, her shins pressing against the bedframe as she desperately cut the weave apart with a thread of Spirit. More weaves came after that one, tangled webs of Fire, always Fire, and Rhykana’s stumbling, ill-formed threads of Spirit were only just enough to slice them away. Only just; she felt the heat of those weaves, crackling against her face, and she knew with sudden, undeniable certainty that these weaves were of the Black.

She could see, between desperate attempts to slice and collapse the terrible creations of the One Power, in the blurry edge of her vision, Liliandra slumped against the wall. It gave her desperate hope, as she cut through a net of Spirit and Air meant to cleave her from the Source, that she had only to last long enough. Just long enough, for Rhykana could see a widening bloom of blood on yellow silk through the haze and fog of Liliandra’s weaves.

And yet it was still too long. She tried, clumsy strikes of Spirit, first cutting through a weave and then across the space between them, aimed for Liliandra’s mind. But the woman batted them away with ropes of Air, sent her own tendrils of Fire and Spirit. Rhykana gasped with the heat of it, her hands clenching and unclenching uselessly as she turned aside weave after weave. How long had it been? How much longer would she have to hold on?

With a sudden lurch of hope, Rhykana remembered the daggers she had sheathed at her wrists. The daggers that she had taken with her every day since the explosion, sick with worry and terror that the Great Serpent would not be the last atrocity she would face. Rhykana fumbled for them now, drawing one just as she turned aside a web of Earth and Fire that she could not comprehend the use of. She threw, the movement so engrained in her muscles that for a moment she ceased to tremble. Rhykana saw Liliandra in that moment, braced precariously against the wall, her chest heaving and face pale. Liliandra, eyes wide in her square, plain face, batted the dagger away, just as Rhykana struck with a single whip of Spirit.

“Stop!” Rhykana screamed, just as the weave struck. And Liliandra did, both hands dropping slowly to her side, her eyes unfocused, staring sightlessly at Rhykana as she slid slowly down the wall. “Release saidar,” Rhykana croaked, stumbling forward as she caught Liliandra’s mind in a fine lattice of Spirit, Air, and Water. She had never been so glad to be able to take her time, to burrow thin threads of Spirit into Liliandra’s skull, through her mouth and ears and eyes, snaking towards her mind. Liliandra stared at her raptly, now, her mouth parted in awe, and Rhykana knew that the Yellow would have reached out for her if she had been able to. “Why?” she cried, dropping to her knees beside the woman, and her Compulsion forced Liliandra to speak.

“He presumes too much.” The Yellow told her, her voice quiet and worshipful. Rhykana sobbed once, gulping in air, unsure of what question she had even meant to ask.

“Why did the Black Ajah kill them?” She tried again, reaching out with a quivering hand to touch the other woman’s chest, flinching back from the wet slickness of blood.

Liliandra looked at her, head lolling. “Power,” the Aes Sedai replied, uselessly, and Rhykana sobbed once more at the waste and stupidity of it. She drew her hand back, fumbled for another dagger, and drove it into Liliandra’s eye. Rhykana watched, crying quietly, snot and tears mingling on her cheeks as blood glistened against the blade of her knife, spreading wetly across Liliandra’s face.

Elia sprinted through the hallways of the Tower, skirt and petticoats hiked up to give her the sure footing she needed. Pain seared from a non-existent wound on her chest, up her spine, and in her side. Her emotions whirled in turmoil, so she busied her mind with the unimportant. Her left foot felt cold against the floor; she had lost a slipper on the run. They were Altaran, like the rest of her attire today, brought for a non-insignificant fee from Hama Valon. Getting the slippers to match had been a challenge; Emmond would owe her a new pair, assuming he lived.

Tears streamed along her face, both from the eye-watering pace of her dash through the corridor and from worry. What have you done! She was angry at her distress, and at his. He was meant to be Weland the servant, an unnoticed face in a sea of liveried workers. How had this happened? What nonsense had he been dragged into, and how had he been so stupid!? Just heated thoughts that held no purchase in her heart.

Elia finally reached the eighth floor, ignoring the looks of confusion and derision aimed her way. She had no time for their sense of propriety. The only voice she heeded was the one screaming "he needs me" in her mind. It was frantic, like she was. Her Warder, confidante, and lover was unconscious and dying, and would die without her intervention.

She only stopped running when she entered the Infirmary, and only because the room was too crowded to race through. So many women held the Power already, so Elia surrounded herself with its warmth. Emmond was somewhere at the back, in one of the private rooms, his presence fading. The Indigo moved quickly, bumping into bed frames and backsides in her haste to reach the far end of the infirmary. She had a number of offensive weaves pictured in her head, and for once, she would have no hesitation using them.

The door opened with a twist of Air on the handle, but the Shienaran only got two steps in before stopping. The body of a woman was slumped against one wall, blonde hair matted with fresh blood. A throwing dagger's hilt stuck out from one of her eye sockets, whilst the other was filmed with death. A sense of triumph pushed against the flood of panic and fear, but only for a moment. Someone close held saidar--

The shield slammed into place before Elia even knew who she was cutting off. An Accepted, pretty, dark haired; Elia couldn't immediately recall a name. Yet it was the Accepted who held a knife in her hands -- she had been the Aes Sedai's murderer. Had she also been Emmond's attacker? A second flow of Air solidified around the blade, holding the Accepted's forearm in place. She tied off both shield and binding -- risky that, but Emmond was fading fast.

The Indigo moved to her dying Warder, hands desperately embracing his face. His breathing was shallow, and he looked pale. Air, Spirit and Water flowed from her into a Delve, even if she could feel his injuries. The bond muted the extent of his wounds, if only barely. Air, Spirit and Water, Fire and Earth, all came together in a complex weaving she had tried only a few times before. It didn't even occur to her to call for help; need and fear outweighed any other line of reasoning. The Andoran thrashed in her hold, his dark eyes opening wide as the blistering cold of Healing stitched together his muscles and skin. One of his hands gripped onto her forearm as the weave faded, and she dropped her head down towards his, lips meeting in a kiss before she knew what she was doing.

"Never do that to me again." Her tone was still high with fear, as shed tears dropped onto his face. With a laugh and a smile, she wiped them from his cheek. "Emmond, I--"

His hand still on her wrist, he pulled himself up to sitting whilst also twisting her around to face the rest of the room. Her eyes fell back onto the Accepted and the dead Aes Sedai, both of whom had completely vanished from her thoughts. Light, there's a time for romance, and it's not at a murder scene! Elia brushed the last of her tears away as she rose back up to her feet, crossing back to the front of the room, and closing the door. Only then did proper Aes Sedai composure restore itself.

Malachite eyes started to take everything in at a measured pace. The shield and binding around the dark-haired Accepted held. The sister, presumably a Yellow from the dress and location, was dead from one of the Accepted's daggers, not Emmond. And Emmond lived. Movement stirred in a hitherto unnoticed cot, a small bundled form that looked so out of place amongst the rest of the carnage and chaos. Mirin's child. Any other thoughts vanished as she crossed the room towards the tiny newborn. Her heart, that had beat so hard in fear for her bondmate, now beat with the same ferocity for the innocent babe. Carefully Elia reached into the cot, and brought the newborn up to cradle protectively. A small voice of logic told her to hate this child due to her mother, but emotions of love and devotion overwhelmed everything else. Once again, everything else in the room went forgotten.

Feelings streamed through the bond from where Elia stood holding the baby. Warmth. Love. Devotion. Bloody hell. Emmond tilted his head back against the wall and sighed. He sought a distraction from Elia and turned his attention to piecing together the situation. Liliandra was dead? Impressive. And he was alive? A miracle. Was Rhykana injured? He staggered to his feet and braced himself against the wall for support.

Then his head turned as he felt Murdock's presence draw closer. The door opened and the uneven footsteps of the Keeper crossed the floor. Emmond grimaced.

"Now what do we have here?" said Murdock. "It looks to me like a normal family gathering. Tell me, Accepted, was it you who attacked Emmond or the dead Aes Sedai? There's ways to stab a man to make sure he doesn't come back, quick enough that your lovebird Aes Sedai won't come in and Heal you in time. I can share them with you if you like, we'd just need a body to practice on."

What? Murdock was annoying enough without a protegé! The blasted man turned to Elia and continued.

"I didn't realise you and Mirin were so close, Elia. Why do you care for her little brat? I can take care of that for you if you like. Or are you and Emmond some perfect unit now, raising the kid together? I'd be sick if I hadn't already lost my stomach at the two of you eating one another's faces."

Emmond seethed. "Don't you dare touch the child," he spat. Then he hesitated and coughed. He tasted a twang of blood.

"Liliandra came to kill him," said Rhykana. "I thought L - "

She broke off with a gasp as a knife whizzed by her ear. From his place supporting himself against the wall, Emmond hefted a second dagger in his hand and cocked it threateningly. Shut up, he thought. Branches of the Black Ajah were carefully kept separate. Name-dropping endangered them all. Rhykana already knew too much for an Accepted not yet bound by oaths to the Great Lord. Thankfully she quieted, perhaps wary of the blind man throwing knives at her.

"This Accepted saved my life," he said. "But there will be time for questions later." Murdock's attention shifted but Emmond ignored the man's disdain. He continued. "Rina might be returning soon to feed the child. And there will be people looking for Liliandra. Her body must be disposed of. Quickly!"

Elia looked up from her warm little bubble.

"Emmond. Remember who is in charge," she said. Her tone was frosty. Emmond was suddenly sure that she hadn't been as absorbed with the baby as she seemed. She stepped closer. "Here, take the child and find Rina. Then get some rest before you fall over."

He cradled the swaddled bundle in his arms and carefully supported her head. Rina had been called away. Was it a coincidence or a ploy to isolate him? Dread settled in his stomach. He hoped that she was still alive. And there were other things that needed to be done. Liliandra was dead. That meant...

"Liliandra was Yellow," he said, quietly. He spoke only for Elia's ears though he remained aware that eavesdropping was inevitable in the small room. His words were without emphasis. Elia would know him well enough to realize that he wouldn't mention it if it held no significance.

Trepidation trickled through the bond. Her hand rested gently on his elbow as she guided him toward the door. He didn't want to leave. There were so many things he wanted to tell her - warnings, advice, and suggestions. But there was no time. The door closed behind him. He paused for a moment to gather his bearings. Then one hand reached to trace the wall as he went to find Rina.

Holding the babe close to her bosom, Elia turned at the mention of her name. She was slow to recognise the limping man that had entered the room. When at last she did, she hugged the child closer still.

She let the others speak. Whatever was going on wasn't as important as the child. Elia had never even been one of give much thought to children, unless that meant the students in her classes on Healing and ter'angreal. She enjoyed watching the successful ones blossom, and seeing the wonderment in their eyes as they forged their first object of the One Power, or Healed a person of injuries that would have taken days or weeks to recover from naturally. But this was different. Mirin's child -- even that thought brought no rancour -- was a complete gem. Only time would discern whether she was going to up to be ugly and handsome, graceful or strong. But her eyes, little stones of bluish grey, were beautiful. She almost wished for a child of her own at that point. She could even be mine, if there is no known father.

Urgency spiked through the bond, pricking the Shienaran's reverence. Malachite orbs focused on her bondmate. "Emmond. Remember who is in charge." She had to take control, especially now with Murdock in the mix. Why in the name of the Great Lord is he here? He went on so much about her love of Compulsion, but for once it may well be needed. Then there was the Accepted.

She got both of her charges out of the door, making a weak excuse to keep Emmond out of the way. One that didn't entail letting the Accepted understand the true relationship between them. Just before he left, he provided her with everything she needed to understand what had happened. Yellow...

Elia took in Murdock slowly. She still held the shield and the binding of Air on the Accepted, and that was enough for now. Her face twisted in disdain. "I'm going to ignore what you said, if only because I have bigger issues to deal with right now, Murdock. Now, whether it's our pact that binds you, or the oath you took to serve, you will help me with this." She waved dismissively at Liliandra. "And maybe later you can feign a letter calling her away to one of the nine corners of the world. Aes Sedai do just up and disappear."

With Murdock dealt with, Elia turned her attention to the Accepted. "Now, who are you, and what happened? And more importantly, what are you doing to say happened?" The latter question was irrelevant -- the woman's mind was going to be cleared away regardless -- but it would speak to her character if nothing else.