The Gathering Storm

With that thought in mind, Min leaned back on her cushioned bench and reopened her current book, a work by Sajius that was simply titled Commentary on the Dragon. One line in it teased at her, a sentence mostly ignored by those who had written commentary. He shall hold a blade of light in his hands, and the three shall be one.

The commentators felt it was too vague compared with other passages, like Rand taking the Stone or Rand’s blood being spilled on the rocks of Shayol Ghul.

She tried not to think about that last one. The important thing was that many of the prophecies—with a little consideration and thought—generally made sense. Even the lines about Rand being marked by the Dragons and the Herons made sense, looking at it now.

But what of this line? A blade of light almost certainly meant Callandor.

But what of the “three shall be one”? Some few scholars claimed that “the three” were three great cities—Tear, Illian and Caemlyn. Or, if one happened to be a scholar from Cairhien, then they were said to be Tear, Illian and Cairhien. The problem was that Rand had united far more than three cities. He’d conquered Bandar Eban as well, not to mention the fact that he would need to bring the Borderlanders to his banner.

But he was ruler—or near to it—in three kingdoms. He’d given up Andor, but Cairhien, Illian and Tear were directly beneath his control, even if he personally wore only one crown. Maybe this passage did mean what the scholars said, and Min was chasing nothing.

Were her studies as useless as the protection she’d thought to offer Rand? Min, she told herself, self-pity will get you nowhere. All she could do was study, think and hope.

“This is wrong,” she found herself saying out loud.

She heard Beldeine’s softly derisive snort from across the room. Min looked up, frowning.

The women who had sworn to Rand—Erian, Nesune, Sarene and Beldeine—had found themselves less welcome in his presence as he had grown less trusting of Aes Sedai. The only one he regularly allowed to see him was Nynaeve. It wasn’t odd, then, that the others had found their way to Cadsuane’s “camp.”

And what of Min’s own relationship with Rand? She was still welcome in his presence; that hadn’t changed. But there was something wrong, something off. He put up walls when she was near—not to keep her out, but to keep the real him in. As if he was afraid of what the real him would do, or could do, to those he loved. . . .

He’s in pain again, she thought, feeling him through the bond. Such anger. What was going on? She felt a spike of fear, but shoved it down. She had to trust in Cadsuane’s plan. It was a good one.

Corele and Merise—almost constant attendants of Cadsuane these days—continued their embroidery in matching chairs by the hearth. Cadsuane had suggested the work to them to keep their hands busy while they waited. It seemed the ancient Aes Sedai rarely did anything without intending to teach someone a lesson.

Of the Aes Sedai sworn to Rand, only Beldeine was there at the moment. Cadsuane sat near Min, perusing her own book. Nynaeve walked back and forth, up and down, occasionally tugging on her braid. Nobody spoke of the tension in the room.

What were Rand and Tarn discussing? Would Rand’s father be able to turn him?

The chamber was cramped. With three chairs on the rug beside the hearth, a bench along the wall, and Nynaeve crossing back and forth before the door like a spotted hound, there was barely room to move. The smooth stone walls made the place feel like a box, and there was only one window, open to the night air, behind Cadsuane. Light shone from the coals in the hearth and the lamps. The Warders were speaking in low tones in the adjoining room.

Yes, it was cramped, but considering her banishment, Cadsuane was lucky to have rooms in the Stone at all.

Min sighed and turned back to Commentary on the Dragon.

That same phrase popped out at her again. He shall hold a blade of light in his hands, and the three shall be one. What did it mean?

“Cadsuane,” Min said, holding up the book. “I think the interpretation of this phrase is wrong.”

Again, Beldeine let out a small—almost imperceptible—sniff of disdain.

“You have something to say, Beldeine?” Cadsuane asked, not looking up from her own book, a history called The Proper Taming of Power.

“Not in so many words, Cadsuane Sedai,” Beldeine replied lightly. The Green had a face that some might have called pretty, bearing traces of her Saldaean heritage. Young enough to not yet have the ageless face, she often seemed to try too hard to prove herself.

“You obviously thought something when Min spoke, Beldeine,” Cadsuane replied, turning a page. “Out with it.”