A Memory of Light

consort, who has requested that I ‘make him feel loved.’ ”
    “That’s not exactly—” Mat said as the members of the Deathwatch Guard faded into the darkness.
    Tuon studied Mat for a moment, then began to disrobe.
    “Light!” Mat said. “You meant it?”
    “I’m not going to sit on your knee,” Tuon said, pulling one arm out of her robe, exposing her breasts, “though I may allow you to sit on mine. Tonight, you have saved my life. That will earn you special privilege. It—”
    She cut off as Mat grabbed her and kissed her. She was tense with surprise. In the bloody garden , he thought. With soldiers standing all about, well within earshot. Well, if she expected Matrim Cauthon to be shy, she had a surprise coming.
    He released her lips from the kiss. Her body was pressed against his, and he was pleased to find her breathless.
    “I won’t be your toy,” Mat said sternly. “I won’t have it, Tuon. If you intend it to be that way, I will leave. Mark me. Sometimes, I do play the fool. With Tylin, I did for sure. I won’t have that with you.”
    She reached up and touched his face, surprisingly tender. “I would not have said the words I did if I had found in you only a toy. A man missing an eye is no toy anyway. You have known battle; everyone who sees you now will know that. They will not mistake you for a fool, and I have no use for a toy. I shall have a prince instead.”
    “And do you love me?” he asked, forcing the words out.
    “An empress does not love,” she said. “I am sorry. I am with you because the omens state it so, and so with you I will bring the Seanchan an heir.
    Mat had a sinking feeling.
    “However,” Tuon said. “Perhaps I can admit that it is . . . good to see you.”
    Well, Mat thought, guess I can take that. For now.
    He kissed her again.

CHAPTER 16

    A Silence Like Screaming

    L oial, son of Arent son of Halan, had secretly always wanted to be hasty.
    Humans fascinated him, of that he made no secret. He was sure most of his friends knew, though he could not be certain. It amazed him what humans didn’t hear. Loial could speak to them all day, then find that they had heard only part. Did they think that someone would speak without intending for others to listen?
    Loial listened when they spoke. Every word out of their mouths revealed more about them. Humans were like the lightning. A flash, an explosion, power and energy. Then gone. What would it be like?
    Hastiness. There were things to learn from hastiness. He was starting to wonder if he had learned that particular lesson too well.
    Loial strode through a forest of too-silent trees, Erith at his side, other Ogier surrounding them. All held axes on shoulders or carried long knives as they marched toward the battlefront. Erith’s ears twitched; she was not a Treesinger, but she could sense that the trees did not feel right.
    It was horrible, horrible indeed. He could not explain the sense of a healthy stand of trees any more than he could explain the sensation of wind on his skin. There was a rightness, like the scent of morning rain, to healthy trees. It was not a sound, but it felt like a melody. When he sang to them, he found himself swimming in that rightness.
    These trees had no such rightness. If he drew close to them, he felt he could hear something. A silence like screaming. It was not a sound, but a feeling.
    Fighting raged ahead of them in the forest. Queen Elayne’s forces carefully withdrew eastward, out of the trees. They were nearly to the edge of Braem Wood now; once out, they would march for the bridges, cross them and burn them behind. Then the soldiers would launch volleys of destruction at the Trollocs trying to cross the river after them on their own bridges. Bashere hoped to reduce the enemy’s numbers considerably at the Erinin before they continued east.
    Loial was certain this would all make fascinating information for his book, once he wrote it. If he was able to write it. He laid his ears flat as the Ogier began their war song. He lent his voice to theirs, glad for the terrible song—the call to blood, to death—as it filled the silence left by the trees.
    He started running with the others, Erith at his side. Loial drew out in front, axe raised above his head. Thoughts left him as he found himself angry, furious, at the Trollocs. They didn’t just kill trees. They took the peace from the trees.
    The call to blood, to death.
    Bellowing his song, Loial laid into the Trollocs with