Winter's Heart

since if they had found her body. He had to believe that. He lifted one of the blue blankets a trifle. Beneath them, he was bare. 'Is there an explanation for this?'

Her voice did not change, but caution shimmered in her scent. 'You and your armsman might have frozen to death if I hadn't gone looking for you when Nurelle returned with news of my scouts. No one else had the nerve to disturb you; apparently you snarled like a wolf at everyone who did. When I found you, you were so numb you couldn't hear anyone speak to you, and the other man was ready to fall on his face. Your woman Lini kept him—all he needed was hot soup and blankets—but I had you carried here. You might have lost some toes at best without An-noura. She… She seemed afraid you might die even after she Healed you. You slept like a man already dead. She said you almost felt like someone who had lost his soul, cold no matter how many blankets were piled on you. I felt it, as well, when I touched you.'

Too much explanation, and not enough. Anger flared, a distant anger, but he hammered it down. Faile was always jealous when he raised his voice to Berelain. The woman would get no shouts from him. 'Grady or Neald could have done whatever was necessary,' he said in a flat voice. 'Even Seonid and Masuri were closer.'

'My own advisor came to mind first. I never thought of the others till I was almost back here. Anyway, does it matter who did the Healing?'

So plausible. And if he asked why the First of Mayene herself was watching over him in a half-dark tent instead of her serving women, or some of her soldiers, or even Annoura, she would have another plausible answer. He did not want to hear it.

'Where are my clothes?' he asked, propping himself up on his elbows. His voice still had no expression.

A single candle on a small table beside Berelain's chair gave the only real light in the tent, but it was more than enough for his eyes, even grainy with tiredness as they were. She was garbed demurely enough, in a dark green riding dress with a high neck that nestled her chin in a thick ruff of lace. Putting demure on Berelain was like putting a sheepskin on a ridgecat. Her face was faintly shadowed, beautiful and untrustworthy. She would do what she promised, but like an Aes Sedai, for her own reasons, and the things she had made no promises about could stab you in the back.

'On the chest over there,' she said, gesturing with a graceful hand nearly hidden in pale lace. 'I had Rosene and Nana clean them, but you need rest and food more than clothing. And before we get to food, and business, I want you to know that no one hopes Faile is alive more than I.' Her expression was so open and honest, he could have believed her had she been anyone else. She even managed to smell honest!

'I need my clothes now.' He twisted around to sit up on the side of the bed with the blankets pulled across his legs. The clothes he had been wearing lay neatly folded on a banded travel chest that was carved and gilded within an inch of its life. His fur-lined cloak was draped across one end of the chest, and his axe leaned next to his boots on the brightly flowered carpets layered for a floor. Light, he was tired. He did not know how long he had been in the Wolf Dream, but awake there was awake, as far as your body was concerned. His stomach rumbled loudly. 'And food.'

Berelain made an exasperated sound in her throat and rose, smoothing her skirts, her chin lifted high with disapproval. 'Annoura will not be pleased with you when she comes back from talking with the Wise Ones,' she said firmly. 'You can't just ignore Aes Sedai. You are not Rand al'Thor, as they will prove to you sooner or later.'

But she left the tent, letting in a swirl of cold air. In her displeasure, she did not even bother to take a cloak. Through the momentary gap in the entry flaps, he saw that it was still snowing. Not as hard as last night, but white flakes drizzled down steadily. Even Jondyn would have difficulty finding sign after last night. He tried not to think about that.

Four braziers warmed the air in the tent, but ice seeped into his feet as soon as they hit the carpets, and he hurried to his clothes. Tottered to them, really, though not dallying about it. He was so tired he could have lain down on the carpets and gone to sleep again. On top of that, he felt weak as a newborn lamb. Perhaps the Wolf Dream had something to do with that, too—going there as strongly as he had, abandoning his body—but Healing likely had exacerbated matters. With nothing to eat since yesterday's breakfast and a night spent standing in the snow, he had had no reserve to draw on. Now his hands fumbled with the simple task of putting on his smallclothes. Jondyn would find her. Or Gaul would. Find her alive. Nothing else in the world mattered. He felt numb.

He had not expected Berelain to return herself, but a gust of cold entered carrying her perfume while he was still drawing on his breeches. Her gaze on his back was like stroking fingers, but he made himself go on as if alone. She would not have the satisfaction of seeing him hurry because she was watching. He did not look at her.

'Rosene is bringing hot food,' she said. 'There is only mutton stew, I'm afraid, but I told her enough for three men.' She hesitated, and he heard her slippers shift on the carpets. She sighed softly. 'Perrin, I know you are hurting. There are things you might want to say that you can't to another man. I can't see you crying on Lini's shoulder, so I offer mine. We can call a truce until Faile is found.'

'A truce?' he said, carefully bending to tug on a boot. Carefully so he did not fall over. Stout wool stockings and thick leather soles would have his feet warm soon enough. 'Why do we need a truce?' She was silent while he donned the other boot and folded the turndowns below his knees, not speaking until he had done up the laces of his shirt and was stuffing it into his breeches.

'Very well, Perrin. If that is how you want it.' Whatever that was supposed to mean, she sounded very determined. Suddenly he wondered whether his nose had failed him. Her scent was affronted, of all things! When he looked at her, though, she wore a faint smile. On the other hand, those big eyes held a glint of anger. 'The Prophet's men began arriving before daylight,' she said in a brisk voice, 'but as I far as I know, he hasn't come himself, yet. Before you see him again—'

'Began arriving?' he broke in. 'Masema agreed to bring only an honor guard, a hundred men.'

'Whatever he agreed, there were three or four thousand the last I looked—an army of ruffians, every man within miles who could carry a spear, it seemed—and more coming from every direction.'

Hurriedly, he shrugged into his coat and buckled his belt over it, settling the weight of the axe at his hip. It always felt heavier than it should. 'We will see about that! Burn me, I won't be lumbered with his murderous vermin!'

'His vermin are an annoyance compared to the man himself. The danger lies with Masema.' Her voice was cool, but tightly leashed fear quivered in her scent. It always did when she spoke, of Masema. 'The sisters and the Wise Ones are right about that. If you need more proof of it than your own eyes, he has been meeting with the Seanchan.'

That hit him like a hammer, especially after Balwer's news of the fighting in Altara. 'How do you know?' he demanded. 'Your thief-catchers?' She had a pair, brought from Mayene, and she sent them off to learn what they could at every town or village. Between them they never discovered half of what Balwer did. Not that she told him, anyway.

Berelain shook her head slightly, regretfully. 'Paile's… retainers. Three of them found us just before the Aiel attacked. They had talked with men who saw a huge flying creature land.' She shivered a little too ostentatiously, but by her smell, it was a true reaction. No surprise; he had seen some of the beasts once, and a Trolloc did not look more like Shadowspawn. 'A creature carrying a passenger. They traced her to Abila, to Masema. I don't believe it was a first meeting. It had the sound of practice, to me.'

Suddenly her lips curved in a smile, slightly mocking, flirtatious. This time, her scent matched her face. 'It was not very nice of you to make me think that dried-up little secretary of yours was finding out more than my thief-catchers when you have two dozen eyes-and-ears masquerading as Faile's retainers. I must admit, you had me fooled. There are always new surprises to find in you. Why do you look so startled? Did you really think you could trust Masema after all we've seen and heard?'

Perrin's stare had little to do with Masema. That news could mean a great deal or nothing at all. Perhaps the man thought he could bring the Seanchan to the Lord Dragon, too. He was mad enough for it. But… Faile had those fools spying? Sneaking into Abila? And the Light knew where else. Of course, she always said spying was a wife's work, but listening to gossip around a palace was one thing; this was altogether different. She could have told him, at least. Or had she kept quiet because her retainers were not the only ones poking their noses where they should not? It would be just like her. Faile truly did possess a falcon's spirit. She might think it fun to spy herself. No, he was not going to get angry with her, certainly not now. Light, she would think it was fun.