The embassy arrived with banners flying.
Spencer watched from Fal Dara's highest battlement as fourteen Aes Sedai rode through the fortress gates, their horses gleaming with the grooming of weeks on the road. The Amyrlin's banner led the procession — the White Flame of Tar Valon against a field of blue — and behind it came the most powerful women in the world.
His Thread Sight was at full clarity for the first time since the Eye.
[Codex Stamina: 26/36. Thread Sight: Clear tier. Thread Tracing: Operational. Pattern Correction: Level 1 residual. Recommend caution during high-density observation.]
Spencer had positioned himself carefully — above the main courtyard, visible enough to seem like a curious bystander, far enough that none of the sisters would notice him immediately. The angle gave him line of sight to every face passing through the gate.
Time to hunt.
---
The first Aes Sedai was easy. Silver thread, clean, no corruption. Blue Ajah by the color of her shawl — a woman named Anaiya, if Spencer's meta-knowledge was accurate. Her thread had the patient intelligence of someone who'd spent decades learning to read people.
The second, third, fourth — all clean. Green Ajah, Gray Ajah, Yellow Ajah. Their threads blazed silver without any taint of darkness.
The fifth made Spencer's heart rate spike.
Brown Ajah. Round-faced, mild-mannered, carrying a book she probably wasn't reading. Verin Mathwin's thread was the most complex he'd ever seen — silver wrapped in layers upon layers of concealment, secrets so dense the thread looked like it was wound in parchment. Every other sister's thread was simple by comparison: silver core, Ajah-colored overtones, personal quirks visible to anyone who looked.
Verin's thread was a fortress.
[Skill Archive: Recording. Category: Aes Sedai Thread Structure — Complex. Entry: Verin Mathwin (Brown Ajah). Note: Extraordinary concealment layers. Cannot determine if corruption present without closer examination.]
That's... not normal. No other sister has thread structure anywhere close to that complexity.
Either Verin is hiding something massive, or she's been trained to conceal her thoughts at a level I've never encountered.
Spencer filed the observation and moved to the next arrival.
The sixth. Seventh. Eighth. Clean. Clean. Suspiciously bland, but clean.
The ninth made him grip the battlement until his knuckles whitened.
Red Ajah. Aggressive posture, contemptuous expression, blonde hair braided in a style that seemed designed to intimidate. Liandrin Guirale rode through the gate like she owned the fortress, her thread radiating superiority and barely-concealed violence.
And beneath the silver surface, oily black corruption pulsed.
[THREAT IDENTIFIED: Shadow corruption confirmed. Entity: Liandrin Guirale, Red Ajah. Status: Black Ajah (concealed). Warning: High-threat asset in close proximity to Dragon Reborn.]
There you are.
The identification hit Spencer like ice water. He'd known — meta-knowledge had told him Liandrin was Black Ajah since before he'd arrived in this world. But seeing it, confirming it through Thread Sight, transformed abstract knowledge into concrete threat.
Liandrin Guirale was a servant of the Shadow. She was walking into a fortress that held Rand al'Thor, the Horn of Valere, and everything the Dark One wanted to control. And nobody except Spencer could see what she really was.
I need to tell someone. Moiraine. Siuan. Someone who can act.
But how do I explain knowing? "I saw her thread corruption" isn't acceptable unless I'm willing to explain Thread Sight completely. And I'm not ready for that.
Spencer watched the remaining five sisters ride through the gate — all clean, none carrying the darkness Liandrin wore beneath her mask — and began calculating how to expose a Black Ajah member without revealing his own secrets.
---
Siuan Sanche arrived last.
The Amyrlin Seat of the White Tower rode a white mare, her face showing the agelessness of Aes Sedai but somehow managing to project authority beyond what any single sister could command. Her thread was extraordinary: silver blazing with the intensity of genuine power, overlaid with the desperate determination of someone who'd been fighting a hidden war for twenty years.
Fisherman's daughter from Tear. Rose through the Tower faster than anyone expected. Secretly allied with Moiraine since they were novices. The only person in the world who knows everything about the Dragon Reborn project.
And she has no idea one of her own embassy is working for the Shadow.
The Amyrlin's eyes swept the battlements as she rode past, and for one moment, her gaze found Spencer. He felt the weight of her attention like a physical pressure — the scrutiny of someone who'd learned to read people as survival skill long before she learned to channel.
Then she passed, and the moment ended, and the embassy disappeared into Fal Dara's inner fortress.
Spencer released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
That woman is going to interview me. Moiraine told her about the carpenter with the Talent, and Siuan wants to see for herself.
I need to give her something useful without giving her everything.
---
The interview came three hours later.
A Shienaran servant found Spencer in the corridor outside his room and delivered Moiraine's summons with the nervous precision of someone who'd never spoken to an Aes Sedai before today and was determined not to do it wrong.
"The Aes Sedai — the Amyrlin herself — requests your presence in the east chamber. Immediately."
Spencer followed the servant through corridors that seemed longer than usual, his mind racing through possibilities. Siuan would test him. That was inevitable. The question was how much to reveal, how much to conceal, and how to seem cooperative while keeping his most dangerous secrets hidden.
The east chamber was small but comfortable — a private meeting room, not a formal audience hall. Moiraine stood near the window, her silver-blue thread humming with controlled anticipation. And seated in a high-backed chair near the fireplace was Siuan Sanche, the most powerful woman in the world.
"Aldan Maeren," Siuan said. "The carpenter who sees things."
"Mother." Spencer performed the bow Moiraine had taught him — deep enough for respect, not so deep that it looked like groveling. "I'm honored."
"Don't be." Siuan's voice carried the sharp edges of someone who'd learned formality was a waste of time. "Moiraine says you have a Talent. Impressions, she calls it. The ability to sense wrongness in people."
"Yes, Mother. Though I don't fully understand how it works."
"Few Talents come with instruction manuals." Siuan's thread pulsed with assessment, the careful evaluation of a commander weighing a new asset. "Show me. Can you tell me where someone is right now? Someone in this fortress?"
She wants a demonstration. Thread Tracing, not Thread Sight.
This is the test.
Spencer focused on Lan's gray-green thread — the Warder was nearby, probably within a hundred feet. Thread Tracing activated, and his perception slid along the signature like a hand following a rope in darkness.
"Your Warder," Spencer said to Moiraine. "He's in the corridor outside this room, standing at the door. Not the main entrance — the servant's door on the eastern wall. He's been there since we started talking."
Siuan's eyebrows rose. She exchanged a look with Moiraine — the silent communication of two women who'd been allies for decades, who'd learned to read each other's every expression.
"You can trace where a person is," Siuan said slowly. "Without seeing them. Without any connection I can identify."
"It works better with strong threads. Ta'veren. Channelers. People the Pattern considers important." Spencer chose his words carefully. "Ordinary people are harder to track. I need to be closer."
"And you can sense wrongness. Darkfriend corruption."
"Sometimes. It depends on how well the person hides it."
Siuan leaned forward in her chair, her thread shifting from assessment to something that looked almost like hunger. "The embassy that traveled with me. Fourteen Aes Sedai. Could you sense anything wrong about any of them?"
And there it is. The question I've been waiting for.
Spencer hesitated — a genuine hesitation, not performed. This was the moment where careful truth became necessary.
"I sensed something when they arrived," he said. "But at that distance, with that many channelers in close proximity, my impressions blur. I couldn't identify anyone specifically."
"But something was wrong."
"Yes. Like Fain — the peddler you captured — but fainter. More concealed. Someone wearing a mask of light over something dark."
Siuan's face didn't change, but her thread erupted with sudden, fierce calculation. She was cataloguing her embassy, Spencer realized. Running through every sister, every interaction, every possible candidate for corruption.
"Could you identify this person if you examined each sister individually?"
"Possibly. It would depend on how well they conceal their nature. Some darkness hides better than others."
Siuan turned to Moiraine. "Arrange it. I want him to meet every member of my embassy before we return to Tar Valon."
"That will take time, Mother. And it will draw attention."
"Then we'll call it a social introduction. The Amyrlin meeting an unusual Talent from the Borderlands." Siuan's smile was sharp as a blade. "I've done stranger things to gather intelligence."
Spencer stood in the east chamber, listening to two of the most powerful women in the world plan how to use him, and felt something shift in his chest.
They see me as a tool. A weapon they didn't know existed.
That's fine. Tools can be pointed in useful directions.
But tools can also be mishandled. And I'm not going to be anyone's puppet — not even the Amyrlin's.
---
The meeting ended with Spencer's conditional acceptance.
He would examine the embassy sisters. He would report anything suspicious to Moiraine, who would relay to Siuan through whatever channels they'd established decades ago. And in exchange, he would travel to Tar Valon with the embassy's return journey, ostensibly to have his Talent studied by Brown Ajah scholars.
In reality, he would begin mapping the Black Ajah from inside the Tower itself.
Spencer emerged from the east chamber with his mind racing through possibilities. The Tar Valon trip was approved — conditionally, but approved. Liandrin was identified, though he couldn't expose her yet. Siuan and Moiraine were now invested in using his abilities for their own purposes.
Everything's moving. The pieces are shifting into new positions.
I just need to make sure I'm not caught between them when they collide.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Aldan Maeren?"
Spencer turned to find a Brown Ajah sister standing in the corridor behind him. Round-faced, mild-mannered, carrying a book she probably wasn't reading. Verin Mathwin smiled with the gentle curiosity of an academic who'd just found an interesting specimen.
"I do hope I'm not intruding. I'm Verin Mathwin, Brown Ajah. I couldn't help but notice your meeting with the Amyrlin, and I confess I'm fascinated by unusual Talents." She tilted her head, her thread pulsing with layer upon layer of concealed intelligence. "Would you perhaps have time for tea? I have so many questions about these 'impressions' of yours."
Spencer looked at the woman who'd spent seventy years infiltrating the Black Ajah to destroy it from within. The woman whose complexity defied his Thread Sight analysis. The woman who would become either his greatest ally or his most dangerous opponent.
"I'd be honored, Aes Sedai."
Verin's smile widened — and somewhere beneath all those layers, Spencer could have sworn he saw a flicker of genuine pleasure.
The game begins.
He followed her toward the guest quarters, Verin's tea invitation sitting in his awareness like a loaded weapon. Behind them, the fortress went about its business — soldiers drilling, servants rushing, the endless preparation for Shadow threats that had defined Borderland life for three thousand years.
And in the dungeon below, Padan Fain sat in his cell, humming a melody that had no right existing, waiting for whatever came next.
The Horn of Valere rested in Fal Dara's vault. The Dragon Banner hung in Lord Agelmar's trophy room. And somewhere between the ancient evil in the prison and the ancient power waiting for the Last Battle, Spencer Kessler — carpenter, transmigrator, Pattern Weaver — walked toward a tea appointment that would change everything.
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