“And what do you mean by ‘High Lord’?” Elayne asked.
“He’d rank higher than other noble Houses in Andor, but beneath the Queen.”
“I doubt the others would like that,” Elayne said. “What of taxes?”
“The Two Rivers is exempt,” Faile said. As Elayne’s expression soured, she continued quickly. “Your Majesty, the throne ignored the Two Rivers for generations, not protecting them from bandits or sending workers to improve their roads, not giving them anything in the way of magistrates or justices.”
“They didn’t need it,” Elayne said. “They governed themselves fine.” She left unsaid that the Two Rivers folk would probably have tossed out tax collectors, magistrates or justices sent by the Queen—but she seemed to know it.
“Well,” Faile said, “nothing needs change, then. The Two Rivers governs itself.”
“You could have tariff-free trade with them,” Alliandre said.
“Something I already have,” Elayne said.
“So nothing changes,” Faile said again. “Except that you gain a powerful province to the west. Perrin, as your ally and subject lord, will agree to marshal troops in your defense. He will also call up his sworn monarchs to your allegiance.”
Elayne glanced at Alliandre. She’d probably heard of Alliandre’s swearing from Morgase, but also would want to hear it for herself.
“I swore fealty to Lord Perrin,” Alliandre said. “Ghealdan had long lacked strong allies. I meant to change that.”
“Your Majesty,” Faile said, leaning forward, tea cupped in her hands before her. “Perrin spent several weeks with some Seanchan officers. They have created a great pact of nations allied beneath one banner. Rand al’Thor, though you may trust him as a friend, has done the same. Tear, Illian, and maybe now Arad Doman are beneath his rule. Nations join rather than split, these days. Andor looks smaller by the hour.”
“That’s why I did what I did,” Alliandre said.
Well, in Faile’s view, Alliandre had been caught up by Perrin as a ta’veren. There hadn’t been much planning. But Alliandre might see it otherwise.
“Your Majesty,” Faile continued, “there is much to gain here. Through my marriage to Perrin, you gain a tie to Saldaea. Through Alliandre’s oaths, you gain Ghealdan. Berelain also follows Perrin and has often mentioned her desire to find strong allies for Mayene. If we were to speak with her, I suspect she might be willing to make an alliance with us. We could create our own pact. Five nations, if you count the Two Rivers as one—six, if you do take the Sun Throne, as rumor claims you will. We are not the most powerful nations, but the many are stronger than the one. And you would be at our head.”
Elayne’s face had lost almost all of its hostility. “Saldaea. What are you in its line of succession?”
“I’m second,” Faile admitted, which Elayne probably already knew. Perrin shifted in his chair. She knew he was still uncomfortable with that fact; well, he would simply have to get used to it.
“Second is too close,” Elayne replied. “What if you end up with the throne of Saldaea? I could lose the Two Rivers to another country that way.”
“This is easy to fix,” Alliandre said. “If Faile were to ascend, one of her and Perrin’s children could continue as Lord of the Two Rivers. Another could take the throne of Saldaea. Put it in writing, and you will be protected.”
“I could accept such an arrangement,” Elayne said.
“I don’t have problems with it,” Faile replied, looking at Perrin.
“I suppose.”
“I should like one of them myself,” Elayne said thoughtfully. “One of your children, I mean, to marry into the Andoran royal line. If the Two Rivers is to be ruled by a lord with as much power as this treaty would give him, then I would love to have blood connections to the throne.”
“I won’t promise that,” Perrin said. “My children will make their own choices.”
“It is sometimes the way of nobility,” Elayne said. “It would be unusual, but not unheard of, for children like ours to be engaged from birth.”
“We won’t do it that way in the Two Rivers,” Perrin said stubbornly. “Ever.”
Faile shrugged. “We could offer encouragement, Your Majesty.”
Elayne hesitated, then nodded. “That will be fine. But the other Houses won’t like this ‘High Lord’ business. There’d need to be a way around it…”
“Give the Two Rivers to the Dragon Reborn,” Morgase said.
Elayne’s eyes lit up. “Yes. That would work. If I gave the area to him to be his seat in Andor…”
Faile opened her mouth, but Elayne cut her off with a wave of the hand. “This isn’t negotiable. I’ll need some way to convince the other lords and ladies that I’m right to give the Two Rivers so much autonomy. If the lands are granted to the Dragon Reborn, giving him a title in Andor and making the Two Rivers his seat, then it will make sense for your home to be treated differently.
“The noble Houses of Andor will accept this, since the Two Rivers is where Rand came from, and Andor does owe him a debt. We’ll have him appoint Perrin’s line as his stewards. Instead of capitulating to rebels within my borders, I’ll be seen allowing the Dragon Reborn, the man I love, to elevate his good friend. It might also give us some ground against the Illian-Tear pact you mentioned, who are bound to claim that their ties to Rand give them the right of conquest.” She grew thoughtful, tapping the side of her cup.
“That seems reasonable,” Perrin said, nodding. “Steward of the Two Rivers. I like the sound of that.”
“Yes, well,” Faile said. “I guess it’s settled, then.”
“The taxes,” Elayne said, as if she hadn’t heard. “You put them into a trust to be administered by Perrin and his line, with the understanding that if the Dragon ever returns, he can call upon them. Yes. That gives us a legal excuse for your exemption. Of course, Perrin will have authority to dip into those funds to improve the Two Rivers. Roads, food stores, defenses.”
Elayne looked at Faile, then smiled, taking a long drink of tea. “I’m beginning to think it was a good idea not to execute you.”
“That’s certainly a relief,” Alliandre said, smiling. As the least powerful one in the union, she stood to gain a lot from the alliances.
“Your Majesty—” Faile said.
“Call me Elayne,” she said, pouring a goblet of wine for Faile.
“Very well, Elayne,” Faile said, smiling and putting aside her tea, then accepting the wine. “I need to ask. Do you know what is happening with the Dragon Reborn?”
“Ox-brained lummox,” Elayne said, shaking her head. “The bloody man’s got Egwene all riled up.”
“Egwene?” Perrin asked.
“She’s Amyrlin, finally,” Elayne said, as if the fact had been inevitable. Perrin nodded, though Faile found herself amazed. How had that happened, and why wasn’t Perrin surprised by it?
“What’s he gone and done?” Perrin asked.
“He says he’s going to break the remaining seals of the Dark One’s prison,” Elayne said, frowning. “We’ll need to stop him, of course. Foolish plan. You could help with that. Egwene’s gathering a force to persuade him.”
“I think I could be of help,” Perrin said.
“Do you know where he is currently?” Faile asked. Perrin had a good idea, from his visions, but she wanted to know what Elayne knew.
“I don’t know,” Elayne said. “But I do know where he will be…”
Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag, ruler of the Glorious Seanchan Empire, marched into her Teaching Chamber. She wore a magnificent gown of golden cloth, cut after the highest Imperial fashion. The skirt split at the front to just above the knees, and was so long that it took five da’covale to carry the sides and train.
She wore an ornate headdress, of gold and crimson silk with beautiful silken wings shaped like those of an owl taking flight, and her arms glittered with thirteen bracelets, each of a different gemstone combination. She wore crystal at her throat in a long strand. She had heard an owl above her window the last night, and it had not flown away when she looked out. An omen indicating great care should be taken, that the next days would be ones of important decisions. The proper response was to wear jewelry with powerful symbolism.
When she entered the chamber, those inside prostrated themselves. Only the Deathwatch Guard—men in armor of blood red and deep green—was exempt; they bowed, but kept their eyes up, watching for danger.
The large chamber was windowless. Lines of stacked pottery stood at one end, a place for damane to practice weaves of destruction. The floor was covered in woven mats where stubborn damane were sent to the ground, writhing in pain. It would not do for them to be harmed physically. Damane were among the most important tools the Empire had, more valuable than horses or raken. You did not destroy a beast because it was slow to learn; you punished it until it learned.
Fortuona crossed the chamber to where a proper Imperial Throne had been set up. She commonly came here, to watch the damane being worked or broken. It soothed her. The throne was atop a small dais; she climbed the steps, train rustling as her da’covale carried it. She turned to face the room, allowing the servants to arrange her dress. They took her by her arms and lifted her back into the throne, draping her long golden skirts down the front of the dais like a tapestry.
Those skirts were sewn with the writings of Imperial power. The Empress IS Seanchan. The Empress WILL live forever. The Empress MUST be obeyed. She sat as a living banner to the might of the Empire.
Selucia took her position on the lower steps of the dais. This done, the courtiers raised themselves. The damane, of course, remained kneeling. There were ten of them, with heads bowed, their sul’dam holding their leashes and—in a few cases—patting them affectionately on the heads.
King Beslan entered. He’d shaved most of his head, leaving only a dark strip on the top, and seven of his fingernails had been lacquered. One more fingernail than anyone on this side of the ocean, excepting Fortuona herself. He still wore Altaran clothing—a uniform of green and white—rather than Seanchan robes. She had not pressed him on this.
So far as she knew, since his raising, Beslan hadn’t made any plans to have her assassinated. Remarkable. Any Seanchan would have immediately begun scheming. Some would have tried an assassination; others would have decided to make only plans, but remain supportive. But all would have considered killing her.
Many on this side of the ocean thought differently. She’d never have believed it, if not for her time with Matrim. That was obviously one reason why Fortuona had been required to go with him. She just wished she’d interpreted the omens earlier.
Beslan was joined by Captain-General Lunal Galgan and a few members of the low Blood. Galgan was a wide-shouldered fellow with a crest of white hair atop his head. The other members of the Blood deferred to him; they knew he had her favor. If things went well here and with the reclamation of Seanchan, there was a good chance she’d raise him to the Imperial family. The ranks of the family would need to be refilled, after all, once Fortuona returned and restored order. Undoubtedly, many had been assassinated or executed. Galgan was a valuable ally. He’d not only worked openly against Suroth, but had suggested the assault on the White Tower, which had gone well. Extremely well.