“As to where he is. I cannot say.” The man smiled slightly, as if he had made a joke. He smiled!

“I demand,” Zaida began, but he cut her off. provoking angry mutters and hot glares from the other women. The fool seemed to think he was an equal to the Mistress of the Ships!

“He wants his whereabouts kept secret for now, Shipmistress. The Forsaken have made efforts to kill him. I am willing to take Harine din Togara with me. however. From what I heard, I think he found her acceptable.”

Harine jerked so hard she spilled wine over the back of her hand, then took another long swallow. But. no, Zaida would divorce Amel and marry a ballast stone before she sent Harine din Togara as her ambassador. Still, even the thought of it was enough to make her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth. Even becoming Mistress of the Ships might be insufficient recompense for being forced to endure Cadsuane any longer.

Studying Logain with a stony face. Zaida told Amylia to pour wine for him. The Aes Sedai flinched, and by the time she reached the table, she was trembling so hard that the pitcher’s spout clattered on the rim of the goblet. Almost as much wine went onto the deck as inside the goblet. Strangely, Logain walked over to her and put his hands on hers to steady her. Was he one of those who could not leave others to do their own work?

“You’ve nothing to fear from me, Amylia Sedai,” he told her. “It’s been a long time since I ate anyone for breakfast.” She stared up at him with her mouth hanging open as though uncertain whether he was making a joke.

“And the service he requests?” Zaida said.

“Not a request, Shipmistress.” He had to straighten the pitcher to keep the goblet from overflowing. Taking the goblet, he stepped away from Amylia, but she stood gaping at his back. Light, but the woman found no end of ways to get into trouble. “A call on your side of the Bargain with the Coramoor. Among other things, you promised him ships, and he needs ships to carry food and other supplies to Bandar Eban from Illian and Tear.”

“That can be done” Zaida said, not quite masking her relief, though she shot a frown at Harine. Pelanna glared as well, of course, but so did Lacine and Niolle and several others. Harine suppressed a sigh.

Some of the details of the Bargain were quite onerous, she had to admit, such as the requirement that the Mistress of the Ships be prepared to attend him up to three times in any two years. The Jendai Prophecy said the Atha’an Miere were to serve the Coramoor, yet few opinions of how they were to serve included the Mistress of the Ships going running when he called. But the others had not been there, bargaining with Aes Sedai convinced that she had no alternative to making whatever Bargain she could. Truth of the Light, it was a wonder she had gotten as much as she had!

“Supplies for more than a million people, Shipmistress,” Logain added as casually as if he were asking for another goblet of wine. “How many more, I cannot say, but Bandar Eban itself is starving. The ships must arrive as soon as possible.”

Shock rippled through the cabin. Harine was not alone in taking a long drink of wine. Even Zaida’s eyes widened in amazement. “That might require more rakers than we possess,” she said at last, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice.

Logain shrugged as though that were of no account. “Even so, that is what he requires of you. Use other ships if you must.”

Zaida stiffened in her chair. Required. Bargain or no Bargain, that was imprudent language to use with her.

Turane slipped into the cabin again, and in breach of all protocol, ran to Zaida, her bare feet slapping the deck. Bending close, she whispered into the Shipmistress’s ear. Zaida’s face slowly took on a look of horror. She half-raised her scent box, then shuddered and let it fall to her bosom.

“Send her in,” she said. “Send her in immediately. There is news to make an anchor weep,” she went on as Turane raced from the cabin. “I will let you hear it from she who brought it. You must wait,” she added when Logain opened his mouth. “You must wait.” He had sufficient sense to hold his peace, but not enough to hide his impatience, stalking to the side of the cabin to stand with his mouth tight and his brows drawn down.

The young woman who entered and bowed deeply to Zaida was tall and lean, and she might have been lovely except that her face was haggard. Her blue linen blouse and green trousers looked as if they had been worn for days, and she swayed on her feet with weariness. Her honor chain held only a handful of medallions, as befitted her youth, yet Harine could see that no fewer than three commended acts of great courage.

“I am Cemeille din Selaan Long Eyes, Shipmistress,” she said hoarsely, “Sailmistress of the darter Wind Racer. I sailed as fast as I could, but I fear it is too late for anything to be done. I stopped at every island between Tremalking and here, but I was always too late.” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks, yet she seemed unaware of them.

“Tell the First Twelve your sad news in your own way, at your own pace.” Zaida said gently. “Amylia, give her wine!” Not gently said at all. The Aes Sedai leaped to obey.

“Almost three weeks ago,” Cemeille said, “Amayar on Tremalking began asking the gift of passage to every island. Always a man and a woman to each island. Those who asked for Aile Somera requested they be put off in boats out of sight of land when they were told that the Seanchan hold all of Somera.” She took a full goblet from Amylia, nodding her thanks, then drank deeply.

Harine exchanged questioning glances with Mareil, who shook her head slightly. No Amayar had ever requested the gift of passage in Harine’s memory, though for them, it truly was a gift, with no gift expected in return. And they avoided the salt, keeping their small fishing boats close to shore, so asking to be put off out of sight of land was as strange as asking passage. But what could be so dire in this?

“All of the Amayar in the ports left, even those owed money from the shipyards or the ropewalks, but no one thought anything of it for two or three days.” The wine had not wet Cemeille’s throat enough to mitigate her hoarseness. She scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Not until we realized none had come back. The governor sent people to the Amayar villages, and they found…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “The Amayar were all dead or dying. Men. women”-her voice broke-“children.”

Funeral keening rose in the cabin, and Harine was surprised to realize that shrill sound was coming from her mouth, too. Sad enough to make an anchor weep? This should make the heavens sob. No wonder the Sailmistress was hoarse. How many hours, how many days, had she cried since learning of this catastrophe?

“How?*’ Pelanna demanded when the keening died. Face distraught, she leaned forward in her chair. She was holding her scent box to her nose as if the scent could somehow ward off the stench of this news. “Some sickness? Speak, woman!”

“Poison, Wavemistress.” Cemeille replied. She struggled to compose herself, but tears still leaked down her face. “Everywhere I have been, it was the same. They gave their children a poison that put them into a deep sleep from which they did not waken. It seems there was not enough of that to go around, so many of the adults took slower poisons. Some lived long enough to be found and tell the tale. The Great Hand on Tremalking melted. The hill where it stood reportedly is now a deep hollow. It seems the Amayar had prophecies that spoke of the Hand, and when it was destroyed, they believed this signaled the end of time, what they called the end of Illusion. They believed it was time for them to leave this… this illusion”-she laughed the word bitterly- “we call the world.”

“Have none been saved?” Zaida asked. “None at all?” Tears glistened on her cheeks, too, but Harine could not fault her on that. Her own cheeks were wet.