The streith remained barely opaque, but Graendal stepped away from the caress looking past Aran’gar, who turned to find Mesaana approaching, flanked by Demandred and Semirhage. He still appeared angry, and Semirhage coolly amused. Mesaana was still pale, but no longer subdued. No. not subdued at all. She was a hissing coreer. spitting venom.

“Why did you let her go. Aran’gar? You were supposed to be controlling her! Were you so busy playing your little dream-games with her that you forgot to learn what she was thinking? The rebellion will fall apart without her for a figurehead. All my careful planning ruined because you couldn’t keep a grasp on one ignorant girl!”

Aran’gar held on to her temper firmly. She could hold it, when she was willing to make the effort. Instead of snarling, she smiled. Could Mesaana actually have based herself inside the White Tower? How wonderful it would be if she could find a way to split that threesome apart. “I listened in on a sitting of the rebels’ Hall last night. In the World of Dreams, so they could meet inside the White Tower, with Egwene leading it. She’s not the figurehead you believe. I’ve tried telling you before, but you never listened.” That came out too hard. With an effort, and it required effort, she moderated her tone. “Egwene told them all about the situation inside the Tower, the Ajahs at one another’s throats. She convinced them it’s the Tower that is about to fall apart, and that she might be able to help it along from where she is. Were I you, I’d worry whether the Tower can hold together long enough to keep this conflict going.”

“They’re determined to hold on?” Mesaana murmured, half under her breath. She nodded. “Good. Good. Then everything is proceeding according to plan. I had been thinking I would need to stage some sort of’rescue,’ but perhaps I can wait until Elaida has broken her. Her return should create even more confusion, then. You need to sow more dissension, Aran’gar. Before I’m done, I want these so-called Aes Sedai hating each other in their blood.”

Kzomara appeared, bowing gracefully as it offered a tray with three goblets. Mesaana and her companions took the wine without a glance at the creature, and it bowed again before flowing away.

“Dissension was always something she was good at.” Semirhage said. Demandred laughed.

Aran’gar forced her anger down. Sipping her own wine-it was quite good, with a heady aroma, if nowhere near the vintages served at the Gardens-she laid her free hand on Graendal’s shoulder and toyed with one of those sun-colored curls. The other woman never flinched, and the streith remained a bare mist. Either she was enjoying this, or she had better control of herself than seemed possible. Semirhage’s smile grew more amused. She. too, took her pleasures where she found them, though Semirhage’s pleasures had never attracted Aran’gar.

“If you’re going to fondle one another.” Demandred growled, “do it in private.”

“Jealous?” Aran’gar murmured, and laughed lightly at his scowl. “Where is the girl kept. Mesaana? She didn’t say.”

Mesaana’s big blue eyes narrowed. They were her best feature, yet only ordinary when she frowned. “Why do you want to know? So you can ’rescue’ her yourself? I won’t tell you.”

Graendal hissed, and Aran’gar realized that her hand had become a fist in that golden hair, bending Graendal’s head back. The other woman’s face remained tranquil, but her gown was a red mist and rapidly growing darker, more opaque. Aran’gar loosened her grip, holding on lightly. One of the first steps was making your quarry accustomed to your touch. She did nothing to keep the anger from her voice this time, however. Her bared teeth were an undisguised snarl. “I want the girl, Mesaana. Without her, I have much weaker tools to work with.”

Mesaana sipped wine calmly before responding. Calmly! “By your own account, you don’t need her at all. It has been my plan from the start, Aran’gar. I will adapt it according to need, but it is mine. And I will decide when and where the girl is set free.”

“No, Mesaana, I will decide when and where, or whether, she is freed,” Moridin announced, striding through the stone arch. So he had set ears in place. He was in unrelieved black this time, a black somehow darker than what Semirhage wore. As usual. Moghedien and Cyn-dane followed him, both attired in identical red-and-black that suited neither. What hold did he have on them? Moghedien, at least, had never willingly followed anyone. As for that beautiful, bosomy little pale-haired doll Cyndane… Aran’gar had approached her, just to see what might be learned, and the girl had coldly threatened to rip her heart out if Aran’gar touched her again. Hardly the words of someone who submitted easily.

“Sammael appears to have resurfaced,” Moridin announced, crossing the floor to take a seat. He was a big man, and he made the ornate high-backed chair seem a throne. Moghedien and Cyndane sat down to either side of him, but interestingly, not until he had. Zomaran in snowy white were there instantly with wine, yet Moridin received his first. Whatever was at work there, the zomaran sensed it.

“That hardly seems possible,” Graendal said as they all moved to take chairs. Her gown was dark gray now, concealing everything. “He must be dead.” No one moved quickly, though. Moridin was Nae’blis. yet no one except Moghedien and Cyndane was willing to display any hint of subservience. Aran’gar certainly was not.

She took a seat across from Moridin, where she could watch him without seeming to. And Moghedien and Cyndane. Moghedien was so still she would have faded into the chair except for her bright dress. Cyndane was a queen, her face chiseled from ice. Trying to pull down the Nae’blis was dangerous, yet those two might hold the key. If she could figure out how to turn it. Graendal sat down beside her, and the chair was suddenly closer. Aran’gar could have laid her hand on the other woman’s wrist but refrained from anything more than a slow smile. It was best to keep her mind centered right then.

“He could never have borne staying hidden this long,’ Demandred put in, lounging into his chair between Semirhage and Mesaana, legs crossed as though perfectly at ease. That seemed doubtful. He was another who was unreconciled, she was sure. “Sammael needed to have every eye directed at him.”

“Nevertheless, Sammael, or someone disguised as him, gave orders to Myrddraal, and they obeyed, so it was one of the Chosen.” Moridin scanned around the chairs as though he could detect who it had been. Black saa trickled across his blue eyes in a continuous stream. She had no regrets that the True Power was limited to his use alone, now. The price was much too high. Ishamael had certainly been at least half insane, and he still was as Moridin. How long before she could remove him?

“Are you going to tell us what these orders were?’ Semirhage’s tone was cool, and she sipped her wine calmly, watching Moridin over the goblet’s rim. She sat very erect, but she always did. She too appeared completely at ease, yet that was unlikely.

Moridin’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know.’’ he said at last, reluctantly. He never liked saying that. “But they sent a hundred Myrddraal and thousands of Trollocs into the Ways.”

“That sounds like Sammael,” Demandred said thoughtfully, twisting his goblet and studying the swirling wine. “Perhaps I was mistaken.” A remarkable admission, coming from him. Or an attempt to hide being the one who had worn Sammael as a disguise. She would like very much to know who had begun playing her own game. Or whether Sammael really was alive.

Moridin grunted sourly. “Pass orders to your Friends of the Dark. Any report of Trollocs or Myrddraal outside the Blight is to be handed to me as soon as you receive it. The Time of Return is coming soon. No one is allowed to go adventuring on their own any longer.” He studied them again, each in turn save for Moghedien and Cyndane. With a smile even more languorous than Graendal’s, Aran’gar met his gaze. Mesaana shrank back from it.