A Memory of Light

locked tight. If you could sneak out, you could sneak in. He rested a moment on the balcony, but did not enter the room it was attached to. He was on the third floor, where guests stayed. He might have been able to sneak in this way, but the guts of a building were always better guarded than the skin. Best to go up the outside.
    Doing so involved a lot of not looking down. Fortunately, the side of the building was not difficult to scale. Stonework and wood with plenty of handholds. He remembered chastising Tylin about that once.
    Sweat crept down Mat’s brow like ants down a hill as he crawled out onto the screen, pulled himself upward and started toward the fourth level. The ashandarei occasionally banged his legs from behind. He could smell the sea on the breeze. Things always smelled better when one was up high. Perhaps that was because heads smelled better than feet did.
    Stupid thought, that, Mat told himself. Anything to keep from thinking about the height. He pulled himself up onto a piece of stonework, slipping with one foot below and lurching. He breathed in and out, panting, then continued on.
    There. Above, he could see Tylin’s balcony. Her quarters had several, of course; he went for the one at her bedroom, not the one attached to her sitting room. That one was on the Mol Hara Square, and climbing there, he would be as obvious as a fly in a white pudding.
    He looked up again at the arabesque-covered iron balcony. He had always wondered if he could climb to it. He had certainly considered climbing out of it.
    Well, he would not be a fool and try this sort of thing again, that was for certain. Just this once, and grudgingly. Matrim Cauthon knew to look out for his own neck. He had not survived this long by taking fool chances, luck or no luck. If Tuon wanted to live in a city where the head of her armies was trying to have her assassinated, that was her choice.
    He nodded to himself. He would climb up, explain to her in very rational tones that she needed to leave the city and that this General Galgan was betraying her. Then he could saunter on his way and find himself some games of dice. That was why he had come to the city, after all. If Rand was up north, where all the Trollocs were, then Mat wanted to be as far from the man as possible. He felt bad for Rand, but any sane person would see that Mats choice was the only one. The swirl of colors started to form, but Mat suppressed it.
    Rational. He would be very rational.
    Sweating, cursing, his hands aching, Mat pulled himself up to the balcony on the fourth floor. One of the screen latches was loose here, as it had been when he lived in the palace. Quick work with a small wire hook was all he needed to get in. He entered the enclosed balcony, took off the ashandarei , then lay down on his back, panting as if he had just run all the way from Andor to Tear.
    After a few minutes of that, he hauled himself to his feet, then looked out the unlatched screen down four stories. Mat felt pretty good about that climb.
    He picked up the ashandarei and went to the balcony doors. Tuon would undoubtedly have moved in here, to Tylin’s rooms. They were the finest in the palace. Mat cracked the doors open. He would just peek and—
    Something shot from the shadows before him and slammed into the door just above his head.
    Mat dropped, rolling, pulling out a knife with one hand and holding the ashandarei with the other. The door creaked open from the force of the crossbow bolt lodged in its wood.
    Selucia looked out a moment later. She had the right side of her head shaven clean, the other side covered in cloth. Her skin was the color of cream, but any man who thought her soft would soon learn otherwise. Selucia could teach sandpaper a thing or two about being tough.
    She leveled a small crossbow at him, and Mat found himself smiling. “I knew it!” he exclaimed. “You’re a bodyguard. You always were.”
    Selucia scowled. “What are you doing here, you fool?”
    “Oh, just going for a stroll,” Mat said, picking himself up and sheathing his knife. “The night air is said to be good for a fellow. The sea breeze. That sort of thing.”
    “Did you climb up here?” Selucia asked, glancing over the side of the balcony, as if looking for a rope or ladder.
    “What? You don’t climb up normally? Its very good for the arms. Improves grip.”
    She gave him a suffering look, and Mat found himself grinning. If Selucia was on the lookout for assassins, then Tuon was