This silence was not like him, not like the Mat she knew. Except for his fine red coat – wrinkled as if he had slept in it – he seemed no different than the old Mat, yet they were surely all different now. His quiet was unsettling. "Is last night troubling you?" she asked at last.

He missed a step. "You know about that? Well, you would, wouldn't you. Doesn't bother me. Wasn't much to it. Over and done with now, anyway."

She pretended to believe him. "Nynaeve and I do not see much of you." That was a rank understatement.

"I have been busy," he muttered with an uncomfortable shrug, looking everywhere but at her again.

"Dicing?" she asked dismissively.

"Cards." A plump maid, curtsying with her arms full of folded towels, glanced at Egwene and, apparently thinking she was not looking, winked at Mat. He grinned at her. "I've been busy playing cards."

Egwene's eyebrows rose sharply. That woman had to be ten years older than Nynaeve. "I see. It must use up a great deal of time. Playing cards. Too much to spare a few moments for old friends."

"The last time I spared you a moment, you and Nynaeve tied me up with the Power like a pig for market so you could rummage through my room. Friends don't steal from friends." He grimaced. "Besides, you're always with that Elayne, with her nose in the air. Or Moiraine. I do not like —" Clearing his throat, he shot her a sideways glance. "I don't like taking up your time. You are busy, from what I hear. Questioning Darkfriends. Doing all sorts of important things, I should imagine. You know these Tairens think you are Aes Sedai, don't you?"

She shook her head ruefully. It was Aes Sedai he did not like. However much of the world Mat saw, nothing would ever change him. "It is not stealing to take back what was supposed to be a loan," she told him.

"I don't remember you saying anything about a loan. Aaah, what use do I have for a letter from the Amyrlin? Just get me in trouble. You could have asked, though."

She refrained from pointing out that they had asked. She wanted neither an argument nor a sulky departure. He would not call it that, of course. This time she would let him get away with his version. "Well, I am glad you are still willing to talk to me. Was there a special reason for it today?"

He shoved his fingers through his hair and muttered to himself. What he needed was his mother to haul him off by his ear for a long talking to. Egwene counseled herself to patience. She could be patient when she wanted to. She would not say a word before he did, if she burst for it.

The corridor opened into a railed colonnade of white marble, looking down on one of the Stone's few gardens. Large white blossoms covered a few small, waxy-leafed trees and gave a scent even sweeter than the banks of red and yellow roses. A sullen breeze failed to stir the hangings on the inner wall, but it did cut the morning's growing damp warmth. Mat took a seat on the wide balustrade with his back against a column and one foot up in front of him. Peering down into the garden, he finally said, "I... need some advice."

He wanted advice from her? She goggled at him. "Whatever I can do to help," she said faintly. He turned his head to her, and she did her best to assume something like Aes Sedai calm. "What do you want advice about?"

"I don't know."

It was a ten-pace drop to the garden. Besides, there were men down there weeding among the roses. If she pushed him over, he might land on one. A gardener, not a rosebush. "How am I supposed to advise you, then?" she asked in a thin voice.

"I am... trying to decide what to do." He looked embarrassed; he had a right to, in her opinion.

"I hope you are not thinking of trying to leave. You know how important you are. You cannot run away from it, Mat."

"You think I don't know that? I don't think I could leave if Moiraine told me I could. Believe me, Egwene, I am not going anywhere. I just want to know what's going to happen." He gave a rough shake of his head, and his voice grew tighter. "What comes next? What's in these holes in my memory? There are chunks of my life that aren't even there; they don't exist, as if they never happened! Why do I find myself spouting gibberish? People say it's the Old Tongue, but it's goose gabble to me. I want to know, Egwene. I have to know, before I go as crazy as Rand."

"Rand is not crazy," she said automatically. So Mat was not trying to run away. That was a pleasant surprise; he had not seemed to believe in responsibility. But there was pain and worry in his voice. Mat never worried, or never let anyone see it if he did. "I do not know the answers, Mat," she said gently. "Perhaps Moiraine —"

"No!" He was on his feet in a bound. "No Aes Sedai! I mean... You're different. I know you, and you aren't... Didn't they teach you anything in the Tower, some trick or other, something that would serve?"

"Oh, Mat, I am sorry. I am so sorry."

His laugh reminded her of their childhood. Just so he had always laughed when his grandest expectations went astray. "Ah, well, I guess it does not matter. It'd still be the Tower, if at second hand. No offense to you." Just so he had moaned over a splinter in his finger and treated a broken leg as if it were nothing at all.

"There might be a way," she said slowly. "If Moiraine says it is all right. She might."

"Moiraine! Haven't you heard a word I said? The last thing I want is Moiraine meddling. What way?"

Mat had always been rash. But he wanted no more than she did, to know. If only he showed a little sense and caution for once. A passing Tairen noblewoman with dark braids coiled about her head, shoulders bare above yellow linen, bent her knee slightly, looking at them with no expression; she walked on quickly, with a stiff back. Egwene watched her until she was well beyond earshot, and they were alone. Unless the gardeners, thirty feet below, counted. Mat was staring at her expectantly.

In the end, she told him of the ter'angreal, the twisted doorway that held answers on its other side. It was the dangers she emphasized, the consequences of foolish questions, or those touching the Shadow, the dangers even Aes Sedai might not know. She was more than flattered that he had come to her, but he had to show a little sense. "You must remember this, Mat. Frivolous questions can get you killed, so if you do use it, you will have to be serious for a change. And you mustn't ask any questions that touch the Shadow."

He had listened with greater and greater incredulity. When she was done, he exclaimed, "Three questions? You go in like Bili, I suppose, spend a night and come out ten years later with a purse that's always full of gold and a —"

"For once in your life, Matrim Cauthon," she snapped, "do not talk like a fool. You know very well ter'angreal are not stories. It's the dangers you have to be aware of. Maybe the answers you seek are inside this one, but you must not try it before Moiraine says you can. You must promise me that, or I promise you I will take you to her like a trout on a string. You know I can."

He gave a loud snort. "I'd be a fool if I did try it, no matter what Moiraine says. Walk into a bloody ter'angreal! It's less I want to do with the bloody Power, not more. You can blot it right out of your mind."

"It is the only chance I know, Mat."

"Not for me, it isn't," he said firmly. "No chance at all is better than that."

Despite his tone, she wanted to put an arm around him. Only he would likely make some joke at her expense, and try to goose her. He had been incorrigible from the day he was born. But he had come to her for help. "I'm sorry, Mat. What will you do?"

"Oh, play cards, I suppose. If anyone will play with me. Play stones with Thom. Dice in the taverns. I can still go as far as the city, at least." His gaze strayed toward a passing maidservant, a slender, dark-eyed girl, near his own age. "I'll find something to take up time."