They were at the main rear entrance, stone-railed marble stairs descending from the second level beneath four massive bronze lanterns that cast a wide pool of flickering light, and to her surprise, a single novice stood alone at the foot of the stairs, clutching her white cloak against a slight chill in the air. She had more than half-expected Elaida to meet them in person, to gloat over her capture with a retinue of sycophants. That the novice was Nicola Treehill was a second surprise. The last place she would have thought to find the runaway was inside the White Tower itself.

By the way Nicola’s eyes widened when Egwene emerged from the coach, the novice was more startled than herself, but she dropped a neat if hasty curtsey to the sisters. “The Amyrlin says she…she is to be handed over to the Mistress of Novices, Katerine Sedai. She says that Silviana Sedai has her instructions.”

“So, it seems you’ll be birched tonight, at least,” Katerine murmured with a smile. Egwene wondered whether the woman hated her personally, or for what she represented, or simply hated everyone. Birched. She had never seen it done, but she had heard a description. It sounded extremely painful. She met Katerine’s gaze levelly, and after a moment the smile faded. The woman looked about to strike her again. The Aiel had a way of dealing with pain. They embraced it, gave themselves over to it without fighting or even trying to hold back screams. Perhaps that would help. The Wise Ones said that way the pain could be cast off without keeping its hold on you.

“If Elaida means to drag this out unnecessarily, I’ll have no more part in it tonight,” Felaana announced, frowning at everyone in sight including Nicola. “If the girl is to be stilled and executed, that should be sufficient.” Gathering her skirts, the yellow-haired sister darted past Nicola up the stairs. Actually running! The glow of saidar still surrounded her as she vanished inside.

“I agree,” Pritalle said coolly. “Harril, I think I’ll walk with you while you stable Bloodlance.” A dark, stocky man, who had come out of the darkness leading a tall bay, bowed to her. Stone-faced, he wore a Warder’s chameleon cloak that made most of him seem not to be there when he stood still and rippled with colors when he moved. Silently he followed Pritalle off into the night, but watching over his shoulder, guarding Pritalle’s back. The light remained around her, too. There was something here that Egwene was missing.

Suddenly, Nicola spread her skirts in another curtsy, deeper this time, and words burst out of her in a rush. “I’m sorry I ran away, Mother. I thought they’d let me go faster here. Areina and I thought-”

“Don’t call her that!” Katerine barked, and a switch of Air caught the novice across the bottom hard enough to make her squeal and jump. “If you’re attending the Amyrlin Seat tonight, child, get back to her and tell her I said her orders will be carried out. Now, run!”

With one last, frantic glance at Egwene, Nicola gathered her cloak and her skirts and went scrambling up the stairs so fast that twice she stumbled and nearly fell. Poor Nicola. Her hopes had surely been disappointed, and if the Tower discovered her age… She must have lied about that to betaken in; lying was one of her several bad habits.

Egwene dismissed the girl from her mind. Nicola was no longer her concern.

“There was no need to frighten the child out of her wits,” Berisha said, surprisingly. “Novices need to be guided, not bludgeoned.” A far cry from her views on the law.

Katerine and Barasine rounded on the Gray together, staring at her intently. Only two cats, now, but rather than another cat, they saw a mouse.

“Do you mean to come with us to Silviana alone?” Katerine asked with a decidedly unpleasant smile twisting her lips.

“Aren’t you afraid, Gray?” Barasine said, a touch of mockery in her voice. For some reason, she swung one arm a little so the long fringe of her shawl swayed. “Just the one of you, and two of us?”

The two backriders stood like statues, like men who desired heartily to be anywhere else and hoped to remain unnoticed if sufficiently still.

Berisha was no taller than Egwene, but she drew herself up and clutched her shawl around her “Threats are specifically prohibited by Tower-”

“Did Barasine threaten you?” Katerine cut in softly. Softly, yet with sharp steel wrapped in it. “She just asked whether you are afraid.

Should you be?”

Berisha licked her lips uneasily. Her face was bloodless, and her eyes grew wider and wider, as though she saw things she had no wish to see.

“I…I think I will take a walk in the grounds,” she said at last, in a strangled voice, and sidled away without ever taking her eyes from the two Reds. Katerine gave a small, satisfied laugh.

This was absolute madness! Even sisters who hated one another to the toenails did not behave in this fashion. No woman who gave in to fear as easily as Berisha had could ever have become Aes Sedai in the first place. Something was wrong in the Tower. Very wrong.

“Bring her,” Katerine said, starting up the stairs.

At last releasing saidar, Barasine gripped Egwene’s arm tightly and followed. There was no choice save to gather her divided skirts and go along without a struggle. Yet her spirits were oddly buoyant.

Entering the Tower truly did feel like returning home. The white walls with their friezes and tapestries, the brightly colored floor tiles, seemed as familiar as her mother’s kitchen. More so, in a way; it had been far longer since she saw her mother’s kitchen than these hallways.

She took in the strength of home with every breath. But there was strangeness, too. The stand-lamps were all alight, and the hour could not be all that late, yet she saw no one. There were always a few sisters gliding along the corridors, even in the dead of night. She remembered that vividly, catching sight of some sister while running on an errand in the small hours and despairing that she would ever be so graceful, so queenly. Aes Sedai kept their own hours, and some Browns hardly liked being awake during daylight at all. Night held fewer distractions from their studies, fewer interruptions to their reading.

But there was no one. Neither Katerine nor Barasine made any comment as they walked along hallways lifeless except for the three of them.

Apparently this silent emptiness was a matter of course, now.

As they reached pale stone stairs set in an alcove, another sister finally appeared, climbing from below. A plump woman in a red-slashed riding dress, with a mouth that looked ready to smile, she wore her shawl, edged with long red silk fringe, draped along her arms. Katerine and the others might well have worn theirs to mark them out clearly at the docks-no one in Tar Valon would bother a woman wearing a fringed shawl, and most kept clear, if they could, particularly men-but why here?

The newcomer’s thick black eyebrows raised over bright blue eyes at the sight of Egwene, and she planted her fists on ample hips, letting her shawl slide to her elbows. Egwene did not think she had ever seen the woman before, but apparently, the reverse was not true. “Why, that’s the al’Vere girl. They sent her to Southharbor? Elaida will give you a pretty for this night’s work; yes, she will. But look at her. Look at how she stands so. You’d think the pair of you were an honor guard for escort. I’d have thought she’d be weeping and wailing for mercy.”

“I believe the herb is still dulling her senses,” Katerine muttered with a sidelong scowl for Egwene. “She doesn’t seem to realize her situation.” Barasine, still holding Egwene’s arm, gave her a vigorous shake, but after a small stagger she managed to catch her balance and kept her face smooth, ignoring the taller woman’s glares.

“In shock,” the plump Red said, nodding. She did not sound exactly sympathetic, but after Katerine, she was near enough. “I’ve seen that before.”