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As the sun rose in the East, the warm rays reflected off the River Eldar to illuminate the beautiful stonework of Ebou Dar. On the Eastern side of the city was the Rahad, of course, but here on the Western side, it was easy to ignore the Rahad while watching the light of the sunrise dance off the water.
Ronde Macura liked to start her mornings with a nice walk down to the banks of the River Eldar these days, just before returning home and making herself a morning cup of tea. She had been offered kaf once, after entering Tuon’s service, and had found the beverage wholly unpalatable. Though she could tell her distaste for kaf had been seen as an embarrassment, if not quite a slight, she had not been offered the beverage since.
Ebou Dar was still mostly asleep at this time of morning, but the Ebou Dari and the Seanchan moving about the city this early were more likely to be industrious, and such a big city had no lack of industry to go around. It was a far cry from the much smaller town of Mardecin. There was a certain anonymity to be found in such a sizable city, which Ronde appreciated. As a newcomer, she was conspicuous enough already.
Being conspicuous put her on edge. It was an ingrained habit, mostly from the years of serving the White Tower as an eyes-and-ears in a small town with a Whitecloak garrison. Her paranoia had increased following her public shaming, and she found that her nerves were much more prone to fraying these days. Her secret, all her findings about forkroot tea, was now widely known across the lands, and she knew she was both admired and reviled by a number of powerful figures. Her! Simple dressmaker Ronde Macura!
Reflecting her newfound anxieties, Ronde wore dresses these days of a more muted blue-gray, more conservatively cut, and of rougher wool than had been her standard in her past life. Today's dress was unadorned by patterns or embroidery, though she would likely change into something that showed off more of her skill once she returned to her shop. She received customers these days, probably thanks to the size and prosperity of the city, but she also faced heavy competition – again, thanks to the size of the city.
Her new shop was substantially smaller than her shop in Mardecin had been. She had not found a new assistant to replace Luci – the poor girl had wanted nothing more to do with her after that awful business with that Elayne and Nynaeve – which made the increased foot traffic harder to deal with. Still, it was not exactly a bustling enterprise. Her most nerve-wracking client had been High Lady Suroth, of the Seanchan Blood, who looked around at Ronde’s dresses with a palpable dissatisfaction. She had commissioned a dress in a Seanchan style, and Ronde had tried to provide something that would hold up, but found it to be impossible without blending some of her Amadician styles. Upon receiving the dress, Suroth seemed to have been insulted, and Ronde found herself saved from punishment only thanks to Tuon's favor at the time. Suroth had not been back since.
It really was such a shame, Ronde thought, that so many of the Blood, like the Aes Sedai and the other nobles, seemed to disregard the actions of the lowborn folk. With the Seanchan, though, this was taken to a higher extreme. They found it to be not merely irrelevant or distasteful, but culturally taboo. Ronde, on the other hand, knew full well that servants tended to be useful troves of information.
In her earliest days in Tuon’s entourage, Ronde had traveled with the woman to the Tarasin Palace once or twice. From her conversations with the other servants there, Ronde learned that Nynaeve and Elayne had been staying there only days before she herself had arrived. The thought filled her with anger, that they had slipped out of her hands only to end up in the same city Ronde would head to. It felt like some great mockery that the Wheel had woven. Still, Ronde let the anger pass. It would do no good to fixate on past failures, when she could instead work to correct the balance for the future.
In those early days, Ronde noted the presence of the two men she had thought to be the girls’ bodyguards lurking in the area. Strange, that they had not left together as a group. Ronde had made herself scarce when the men were around, as the threats of cooking oil and salt rattled in her head. Even now, she still had nightmares.
Most of her nightmares these days, though, were of the aftermath. Once she sent the report to Narenwin Sedai that Elayne had escaped, the whole wrath of the Amyrlin Seat was brought to bear on Ronde herself. And how wrathful, how cruel it had been. A whipping would have been bad enough, as Narenwin Sedai had had Ronde whipped for daring to pry into the Aes Sedai’s politics in her early days as an eyes-and-ears. A public whipping was far worse, as it meant the complete destruction of the reputation she had spent so many years building. And a public whipping at the order of the Amyrlin Seat was very nearly a death sentence in Amadicia. She had fled Mardecin, only barely escaping with her own life. She had not bothered finding out what had happened to Luci, or her shop.
It had been a relief when the Seanchan arrived, with their mission of collaring every woman who could channel. After all, the Amyrlin had extracted a detailed report of Ronde’s forkroot secrets, so it seemed only fair that these secrets be shared to the Seanchan, too. Ronde liked to envision the exchange as a way of restoring balance where necessary. The White Tower had grown too comfortable meting out punishments to all those across the land who displeased them. It was fitting that they should receive punishments from those whom the White Tower displeased.
On the occasions that Ronde accompanied Tuon to the Tarasin Palace, she went up to the damane kennels and listened to the sobs with a quiet satisfaction. She did feel a slight twinge of regret about the Sea Folk getting caught up in all this, though. In Ronde’s view, the Sea Folk were honest traders who, if they could channel, did not let the One Power swell their heads overmuch. They had been eager to escape. On the evening that Tuon vanished, and the old Queen died, such a fierce battle had been waged that Ronde worried she herself would be caught in the flames. In the end, though, she pulled through.
After Tuon’s disappearance, the kennels had been closed off. When she came back and named herself Empress, the whole Palace became closed off. With Tuon’s rise in station, Ronde no longer had any opportunity to interact with her. Ronde could feel her usefulness slipping away. It had been slipping for a while now. Initially, her information about forkroot had been important, and she had helped set up the Seanchan’s manufactory of the herb in Almizar. Before long, there was nothing else Ronde could teach them about forkroot, and very little else she could offer in the first place.
Today, though, was going to be different. Ronde had resolved to close her shop for the day and head back to the Tarasin Palace. She had heard, through quiet information networks, that Tuon had sent a raid on the White Tower to collar as many Aes Sedai as they could manage. Being a former eyes-and-ears was useful in some ways, as Ronde new a number of signs to look for that the Seanchan did not, and unlike others with that knowledge, Ronde was at no risk of being collared herself.
Apparently, the raid had been disastrous for the Seanchan. Ronde did not know the specifics – she did not have that level of clearance – but she knew that the faces of many in the Empress’ inner circle had been seen with grim expressions since the raid party’s return. Still, she had heard from her contacts in the Palace that there was increased activity in the attic, which could only mean that at least some women had been collared. Ronde’s goal today was to find out more.
Ronde was still unsure where she stood as with Tuon and the Seanchan. Things had been different before Tuon vanished, in the early days of the Ebou Dar occupation. Now, Beslan was King, and Tuon sat higher than she ever had. Ronde had never been adept at being servile, but kept being put in positions to serve. It was particularly tough with these Seanchan, who were so prickly about their strange systems of etiquette.
Entering the Palace through the servants’ entrance, Ronde curtseyed to Laren, one of the maids the Seanchan had allowed to remain in charge. Laren nodded at her, face stern, before turning back to her mending. Good, Ronde thought, the Palace is accessible today. She had no doubt her presence here would be reported up through the chain of Seanchan command, but as a member of Tuon’s entourage, Ronde could still go places that many others could not. Assuming, of course, that she did not overstay her welcome.
Tuon had always accommodated Ronde’s visits to the damane kennels. She seemed to find Ronde’s hatred of the Aes Sedai endearing. Really, the violence Ronde had suffered didn’t deserve to be thought of as endearing in any sense, but as long as the secrets of forkroot helped bring the Aes Sedai down a peg, Ronde needed no further reward. And yet, she had been rewarded, and handsomely. The Seanchan used forkroot religiously, at every border post, and the rates of damane capture were far higher than even the Seanchan had anticipated.
The der’suldam, Essonde, greeted Ronde with a warm smile at the entrance to the kennels. In her warm, slightly slurred accent, Essonde said, “It has been quite some time since you have graced these halls, Macura. Are you here to see our newest acquisitions?”
It still impressed Ronde, how casually the Seanchan were able to talk about the Aes Sedai as if they were possessions to be carted around. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
Inside the kennels, several of the cells were occupied by women in various stages of crying. Essonde looked apologetic. “You must understand,” she said, “the process of breaking a damane takes time.”
Ronde nodded, taking a closer look at one woman with iron-grey hair. “My name is Marthera,” she choked out, before closing her eyes again. “Of the Green Ajah.” Ronde pushed down a pang of sympathy for the woman. The Aes Sedai deserved this.
Suddenly, from another cell, Ronde heard a strangled scream. “Let me go, this instant! I am the Amyrlin Seat! I will not be disgraced like this!” Time seemed to slow down around her. The Amyrlin Seat? Could it be?
The chances were slim, but an Aes Sedai could not lie. This must surely be the woman herself who had uprooted Ronde’s life in Mardecin. “May I speak to that one?” Ronde asked Essonde.
Essonde nodded. “If you think you will be able to quiet her, I invite you to try. You have earned the approval of the Empress, may she live forever.”
Ronde slipped into the alleged Amyrlin’s chamber, smoothing her skirt nervously. She tried to calm her face into a calming affect. “Are you alright?” she asked with as much gentleness as she could inject into her tone.
“Alright?! I am the Amyrlin Seat! The White Tower needs me! I cannot be collared here! You have to free me! You must! Are you with the Seanchan?!”
Ronde swallowed nervously, glancing over her shoulder. Essonde stood in the doorway, watching impassively. Ronde leaned in to whisper in the former Amyrlin’s ear.
“I am an agent of the Yellow Ajah. I have served faithfully for many years. However, I am not sure I would be able to free you. It would be a risky undertaking, and I would need an incentive to take on that risk, you understand.”
“Yes. Yes! I understand! Set me free, and you will be amply rewarded. I can make you wealthy. I can make you a Lady. Any nation you want, if you get me back to the Tower I will send my best negotiators to the crown of your choosing. You must free me. I cannot be collared!” The woman broke off into angry sobs.
Behind Ronde, Essonde cleared her throat in warning. Whatever Ronde had whispered about freeing the woman, Essonde was not pleased. Ronde looked back and made a placating gesture.
“Do you remember me?” Ronde asked the Amyrlin. “I am the woman who discovered forkroot for you.”
“Forkroot? Yes, yes, I remember," the woman babbled. "You are the Macura woman. Your tincture is a work of genius! The whole White Tower is in awe of your discovery. You will be greatly rewarded—”
Ronde backhanded the woman across the face. “You remember me, you say? Then surely you remember how you had me publicly whipped and run out of town. Surely you remember how you ruined my way of life. But it is of no matter. When one life crumbles, another door opens. I have found a new Throne to kneel to. And my discovery of forkroot has already built me a new life. The Seanchan attest that they have made quite effective use of it.”
The former Amyrlin gaped, face paling. Through shuddering breaths, she recoiled. “No. No, no, this cannot—You have doomed us all, you traitor.”
Every ounce of anger that Ronde had felt since letting Elayne escape sharpened itself in vindication. “It is your Tower that has betrayed me. You will grow accustomed to the collar over time. If it were me, I would keep you to test forkroot on. Perhaps this lesson will teach future Amyrlins that they must be careful before they make enemies of even the lowliest dressmaker.”
While the collared woman was still grasping for a response, Ronde turned to leave. Essonde was smiling again. “You handled that fairly well,” the der’suldam said. “You let yourself forget that a damane is not a person. Whoever Suffa thought she was before being collared, you cannot speak to her like an equal. You will learn quickly, I am sure. Perhaps you will be allowed to hold a leash one day.”
Hold a leash? Ronde let herself imagine it. Being a sul’dam would be a significant shift in lifestyle, but… it wouldn’t be too bad. Ronde could see herself enjoying it.