“I told you to go to your bed,” Norine said sharply. She clapped her hands together as if that would somehow make Egwene obey.

“Yes,” Leane said. “I see what you mean. Perhaps there can be a measure of trust.”

“A small measure,” Egwene said.

Norine planted her fists on her hips. There was little coolness in her face or her voice, and no vagueness at all about her. “Since you refuse to go to your bed, you can go to the Mistress of Novices and tell her you disobeyed a sister.”

“Of course,” Egwene said quickly, turning to go. She had her answer-Beonin had not passed on Traveling, and that meant she likely had not passed on anything else; perhaps there could be a little crust-and besides. Nagora and Miyasi were advancing on her. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged bodily to Silviana’s study, something Miyasi at least was quite capable of. She had even stronger arms than Ferane.

On the morning of her ninth day back in the Tower, before first light, Doesine herself came to Egwene’s small room to give her her morning dose of Healing. Outside, rain was falling with a dull roar. The two Reds who had been watching over her sleep gave her her forkroot, frowning at Doesine, and hurried away. The Yellow Sitter snorted in contempt when the door closed behind them. She used the old method of Healing that made Egwene gasp as though doused in an icy pond and left her ravenously eager for breakfast. As well as free of the pain in her bottom. That actually felt peculiar; you could adapt to anything over time, and a bruised bottom already seemed normal. But the use of the old way. the way used every time she had been given Healing since being captured, reaffirmed that Beonin had kept some secrets, though how she had managed it was still a mystery. Beonin herself had only said that most sisters thought the tales of new weaves were merely rumors.

“You don’t mean to bloody surrender, do you. child?” Doesine said while Egwene was pulling her dress over her head. The woman’s language was very much at odds with her elegant appearance, in gold-embroidered blue with sapphires at her ears and in her hair.

“Should the Amyrlin Seat ever surrender?” Egwene asked as her head popped out at the top of her dress. She doubled her arms behind her to do up the buttons of white-dyed horn.

Doesine snorted again, though not in contempt. Egwene thought. “A brave course, child. Still, my wager is that Silviana will bloody well have you sitting straight and walking right before much longer.” But she left without calling Egwene down for naming herself the Amyrlin Seat.

Egwene had yet another appointment with the Mistress of Novices before breakfast-she had not missed a day, so far-and following a determined effort to undo Doesine’s work in one go, her tears ceased as soon as Silviana’s strap stopped falling. When she lifted herself off the end of the writing table, where a leather pad was attached just for bending over, its surface worn down by who knew how many women, and her skirt and shift fell against her fiery skin, she felt no urge to flinch. She accepted the painful heat, welcomed it, warmed herself with it as she would have warmed her hands in front of a fireplace on a cold winter morning. There seemed a strong resemblance between her bottom and a blazing fireplace right at that moment. Yet looking into the mirror, she saw an unruffled face. Red-cheeked, but calm.

“How could Shemerin have been reduced to Accepted?’’ she asked, wiping her tears away with her handkerchief. “I’ve inquired, and there’s no provision for it in Tower law.”

“How often have you been sent to me because of those ‘inquiries’?” Silviana asked, hanging the split-tailed strap in the narrow cabinet alongside the leather paddle and the limber switch. “I’d think you would have given over long since.”

“I’m curious. How. when there’s no provision?”

“No provision, child,” Silviana said gently, as if explaining to a child in truth, “but no prohibition, either. A loophole that… Well, we won’t go into that. You’d only find a way to get yourself another strapping with it.” Shaking her head, she took her seat behind the writing table and rested her hands on the tabletop. “The problem was that Shemerin accepted it. Other sisters told her to ignore the edict, but once she realized pleading wouldn’t change the Amyrlin’s mind, she moved into the Accepted’s quarters.”

Egwene’s stomach growled loudly, anxious for breakfast, but she was not done. She was actually having a conversation with Silviana. A conversation, however odd the topic. “But why would she run away? Surely her friends didn’t stop trying to talk sense into her.”

“Some talked sense,” Silviana said dryly. “Others…” She moved her hands like the pans of a balance scale, first one up then the other. “Others tried to force her to see sense. They sent her to me nearly as often as you are sent. I treated her visits as private penances, but she lacked your-” She stopped abruptly, leaning back in her chair and studying Egwene over steepled fingers. “Well, now. You actually have me chatting. Not prohibited certainly, yet hardly proper in these circumstances. Go on to breakfast,” she said, picking up her pen and opening the silver cap of her ink jar. “I’ll mark you down for midday again, since I know you have no intention of curtsying.” The faintest hint of resignation tinged her voice.

When Egwene entered the novices’ dining hall, the first novice to see her stood, and suddenly there was a loud scraping of benches on the colorful floor tiles as the others rose, too. They stood there at their benches in silence as Egwene walked down the center aisle toward the kitchen. Suddenly Ashelin, a plump, pretty girl from Altara, darted into the kitchen. Before Egwene reached the kitchen door. Ashelin was back with a tray in her hands that held the usual thick cup of steaming tea and plate of bread, olives and cheese. Egwene reached for the tray, but the olive-skinned girl hurried to the nearest table and set it down in front of an empty bench, offering a suggestion of a curtsy as she backed away. Lucky for her, neither of Egwene’s escorts this morning had chosen that moment to peer into the dining hall. Lucky for all those novices on their feet.

A cushion rested on the bench in front of Egwene’s tray. A tattered thing that was more patches in different colors than original material, but still a cushion. Egwene picked it up and set it on the end of the table before sitting down. Welcoming the pain was easy. She basked in the warmth of her own fires. A soft susurration gusted through the room, a collective sigh. Only when she popped an olive into her mouth did the novices sit.

She almost spat it out again-it was not far short of spoiled-but she was famished after her Healing, so she spat only the pit into the palm of her hand and deposited it on the plate, washing the taste away with a sip of tea. There was honey in the tea! Novices got honey only on special occasions. She tried not to smile as she cleaned her plate, and clean it she did, even picking up crumbs of bread and cheese with a dampened finger. Not smiling was difficult, though. First Doesine-a Sitter!-then Silviana’s resignation, now this. The two sisters were far more important than the novices or the honey, but they all indicated the same thing. She was winning her war.