Shaking her head, Elayne suddenly remembered Aviendha and hurried on. The house was not far.
It took her a moment to recognize Aviendha. Elayne was used to seeing her in cadin’sor, with her dark reddish hair cut short, not in skirt and blouse and shawl with hair below her shoulders and held back from her face by a folded kerchief. At first glance, she did not appear to be in any difficulty. Sitting rather awkwardly in a chair—Aiel were unused to chairs—she seemed to be peacefully sipping tea with five sisters in a circle in the sitting room. Houses that sheltered Aes Sedai had such things, though Elayne and Nynaeve were still in their cramped little room. At second glance, Aviendha was casting hunted looks at the Aes Sedai over the rim of her teacup. There was no time for a third glance; on sight of Elayne, Aviendha jerked to her feet and dropped her cup to the clean-swept floor. Elayne had seen few Aiel except in the Stone of Tear, but she did know they hid their emotions, and Aviendha did it very well. Only now, naked pain painted her face.
“I’m sorry,” Elayne told the room smoothly, “but I must take her away from you for a little while. Perhaps you can talk to her later.”
Several of the sisters hesitated on the brink of protest, though there should have been none. She was clearly the strongest in the room by far, except for Aviendha, and none of the Aes Sedai was a Sitter or part of Sheriam’s council. She was very happy that Myrelle was not there, since she lived in this house. Elayne had made her choice of Green and been accepted, only to discover that Myrelle was the head of the Green Ajah in Salidar. Myrelle, who had not even been Aes Sedai fifteen years. From things that had been said, Elayne knew there were Greens in Salidar who had worn the shawl at least fifty, though not a one showed a gray hair. Had Myrelle been there, all Elayne’s strength would have counted nothing if the head of her Ajah wanted to retain Aviendha. As it was, only Shana, a pop-eyed White who reminded Elayne of a fish, went as far as opening her mouth further, and she closed it again, though rather sullenly when Elayne arched an eyebrow at her.
The five were more than a bit tight-lipped, but Elayne ignored the tension. “Thank you,” she said with a smile she did not feel.
Aviendha slung a dark bundle on her back, but hesitated until Elayne actually asked her to come. In the street, Elayne said, “I apologize for that. I’ll see it does not happen again.” She could manage that, she was sure. Or Egwene could, surely. “There are not many places to talk alone, I’m afraid. My room is rather hot this time of day. We could try to find some shade, or have some tea, if they haven’t already filled you with it.”
“Your room.” It was not exactly curt, but plainly Aviendha did not want to talk, not yet. Abruptly she darted to a passing cart filled with firewood and snatched out a branch meant to be broken for kindling, longer than her arm and thicker than her thumb. Rejoining Elayne, she began peeling it with her belt knife; the sharp blade shaved away smaller branches like a razor. The pain was gone from her face. She seemed determined now.
Elayne eyed her sideways as they walked. She would not believe Aviendha meant her any harm, whatever that lout Mat Cauthon said. Then again. . . . She knew a little of ji’e’toh; Aviendha had explained some of it when they were in the Stone together. Maybe Rand had said or done something. Maybe that bewildering labyrinth of honor and obligation required Aviendha to. . . . It did not seem possible. But maybe. . . .
When they reached her room, she decided to bring it up first. Facing the other woman—and very deliberately not embracing saidar—she said, “Mat claims you have come here to kill me.”
Aviendha blinked. “Wetlanders always put everything backwards,” she said wonderingly. Laying the stick on the foot of Nynaeve’s bed, she put the belt knife beside it carefully. “My near-sister Egwene asked me to watch Rand al’Thor for you, which I promised to do.” Bundle and shawl went on the floor beside the door. “I have toh toward her, but greater to you.” Unlacing her blouse, she pulled it over her head, then pushed her shift to her waist. “I love Rand al’Thor, and once I let myself lie with him. I have toh, and I ask that you help me meet it.” Turning her back, she knelt in the small space available. “You may use the stick or the knife as you wish; the toh is mine, but the choice is yours.” She tilted up her chin, stretching her neck. Her eyes were closed. “Whichever you choose, I accept.”
Elayne thought her knees were going to buckle. Min had said the third woman would be dangerous, but Aviendha? Wait! She said she. . . . With Rand! Her hand twitched toward the knife on the bed, and she folded her arms, trapping her hands. “Get up. And put on your blouse. I am not going to hit you . . .” Just a few times? She tightened her arms to hold her hands where they were. “. . . and I am certainly not going to touch that knife. Please put it away.” She would have handed it to the other woman, but she was not certain she was safe to touch a weapon right then. “You have no toh toward me.” She believed that was the phrase. “I love Rand, but I don’t care that you love him too.” The lie burned her tongue. Aviendha had actually lain with him?
Twisting around on her knees, Aviendha frowned. “I am not certain I understand. Are you proposing that we share him? Elayne, we are friends, I think, but we must be as first-sisters if we are to be sister-wives. It will take time to know if we can be that.”
Realizing her mouth was hanging open, Elayne closed it. “I suppose it will,” she said faintly. Min kept saying they would share him, but certainly not that way! Even the thought was indecent! “It is a little more complicated than you know. There’s another woman who loves him, too.”
Aviendha was on her feet so fast she simply seemed to be one place then the other. “What is her name?” Her green eyes blazed, and she had the knife in her hand.
Elayne almost laughed. One moment talking about sharing, the next as fierce as . . . as. . . . As fierce as me, she finished, not at all pleased with the thought. This could have been worse, much worse. It could have been Berelain. Since it had to be somebody, it might as well be Aviendha. And I might as well deal with it instead of kicking my skirts like a child. Seating herself on the bed, she folded her hands in her lap. “Do sheathe that and sit down, Aviendha. And please put on your blouse. I have a great deal to tell you. There is a woman—my friend, my near-sister—n