Aes Sedai? Nalesean muttered as his head popped out at the top of a clean shut. The knifepoint gave a direction. Perhaps she still was. Shaidar Haran chuckled, a rasp of dried, cracked leather.
The Shipmistress settled Elayne and Nynaeve in chairs at one end of the table, apparently intent on beginning her bargaining. A few of the brilliant yellow stones popped from their settings and fell. For his insults, he would wear black. Once he helped her to her feet, she looked at the hallway, at Vanin with his blood-smeared face, and the women lying where they had fallen, and she grimaced.
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