Verin Mathwin's guest quarters smelled of ink and old paper.
Spencer noticed the books first — stacked on every available surface, spilling from bags that hadn't been fully unpacked, arranged in piles that probably made sense to their owner but looked like organized chaos to everyone else. The Brown Ajah sister had been in Fal Dara for less than a day and had already transformed her temporary space into a scholar's den.
"Do sit down," Verin said, gesturing to a chair that had been cleared of books with suspicious precision. "I've just brewed a fresh pot. Malkieri black — quite difficult to find these days, but Lord Agelmar was kind enough to share his private stock."
Spencer sat. The chair was comfortable — more comfortable than it looked, which seemed appropriate for everything about Verin Mathwin.
Through Thread Sight, the Brown sister was a fortress of concealment. Her silver Aes Sedai thread was wrapped in so many layers of hidden intention that it looked like parchment around a candle — the light visible but the source impossible to examine directly. Spencer had seen complex threads before: Moiraine's calculated mystery, Siuan's desperate determination, Liandrin's corruption beneath authority. None of them came close to Verin's density.
Seventy years of infiltrating the Black Ajah. Seventy years of lying to everyone, serving the Light while wearing the Shadow's oaths.
And she's about to test me the same way she's tested everyone else.
---
Verin poured tea with the careful attention of someone who treated small rituals seriously.
"Milk? Sugar? I find the Malkieri blend benefits from neither, but tastes vary."
"Plain is fine."
She handed him the cup and settled into her own chair with the contented sigh of an academic finally getting to the interesting part of her day. Her round face was pleasant, unthreatening, exactly the absent-minded Brown that everyone expected her to be.
Spencer sipped the tea. It was excellent — rich and dark, with a complexity that reminded him of good coffee from his old life.
"This is wonderful," he said, and meant it.
Verin's smile reached her eyes for just a moment — genuine pleasure at the compliment, unburdened by calculation. Then the mask settled back into place, gentle and scholarly and completely artificial.
"Now then," she said, pulling a small notebook from her sleeve. "I do hope you'll indulge my curiosity. Unusual Talents are rather my specialty, you see. The Tower's records are full of references to abilities that the general population assumes don't exist — or shouldn't."
"What kind of abilities?"
"Oh, all sorts. The ability to sense ta'veren, for instance — quite rare, but documented. The ability to read residues left by channeling. Some Aes Sedai can sense when someone is lying, though the mechanism is poorly understood." Verin made a note in her book. "And then there are the abilities that interact with the... darker aspects of the Pattern."
Spencer kept his face neutral. "Such as?"
"Sensing Shadowspawn, for one. Several historical accounts describe individuals who could feel Trollocs approaching, or identify Myrddraal in a crowd." Verin's pen paused over the page. "And there are rumors — never confirmed, mind you — of individuals who could identify Darkfriends on sight. A Talent that would be quite valuable, if it existed."
Here it comes. The first test.
"The Black Ajah, for instance," Verin continued, her voice carrying the mild interest of an academic discussing theoretical matters. "Their oath structure is fascinating from a scholarly perspective. They're bound to the Shadow through ceremonies that mirror the Tower's own oaths — three promises that constrain their actions in specific ways. The first oath prevents them from betraying the Shadow willingly. The second..."
She trailed off, watching Spencer with the patient attention of a cat observing a mouse hole.
Spencer recognized the game. Verin had just shared one accurate piece of information — the Black Ajah's oath structure was real, and the constraint against willing betrayal was why she couldn't simply reveal the list she'd compiled. Now she would mix in false information, watching to see if Spencer corrected her.
If I correct the false parts, I prove I have foreknowledge. If I accept everything equally, I seem ignorant but safe.
The question is which approach serves me better.
---
"The second oath," Verin continued, "binds them to attend monthly meetings in Tel'aran'rhiod — the World of Dreams. Quite clever, really. It allows coordination without physical gatherings that might be observed."
False. The Black Ajah doesn't have scheduled dream meetings — they communicate through dead drops and coded messages, avoiding any pattern that could be detected.
Spencer let the information pass without reaction.
"And of course, there's the matter of leadership," Verin said. "The Black Ajah is organized into cells of thirteen, each led by a senior member who reports directly to the Forsaken. The current head of the Fal Dara cell is — well, I shouldn't gossip about unconfirmed suspicions."
Also false. There's no 'Fal Dara cell' — the Black Ajah operates through the Tower, not through regional structures.
Spencer sipped his tea and said nothing.
Verin made another note, her expression unchanged. But her thread pulsed with something that might have been satisfaction — or recalibration.
"Forgive me," Spencer said carefully. "You mentioned the oath structure — the constraint against willing betrayal. Does that mean a Black Ajah sister could reveal information if she didn't realize what she was sharing? Or if she was... compelled somehow?"
Verin's pen stopped.
The question was precise enough to show Spencer understood the oath's implications without revealing how he'd learned them. A careful probe, testing whether she would confirm his apparent deduction.
"That is a very astute observation." Verin's voice had lost some of its scattered quality. "The oaths bind intent, not outcome. A sister who genuinely believed she was sharing harmless information could reveal quite a lot — if someone knew what questions to ask."
Like this conversation. Like everything you're doing right now.
"And the compulsion angle?" Spencer pressed.
"Compulsion is forbidden by Tower law. But..." Verin's smile was gentle and utterly dangerous. "There are other ways to extract information. Clever conversation, for instance. Offering something the subject wants in exchange for something they don't realize they're giving."
She's telling me the rules of the game. How she operates. How I could operate.
She's teaching me.
---
Spencer set down his teacup and made his own move.
"My impressions," he said. "The ones the Amyrlin tested. They sometimes show me threads that are... wrong. Like oil on silk — a darkness that doesn't belong to the surface it covers."
Verin's thread contracted slightly. The first genuine reaction Spencer had seen.
"Go on."
"I've wondered if there's a known Talent that works this way. If anyone else has ever described seeing corruption beneath a person's appearance."
The silence stretched for five heartbeats. Verin's pen didn't move. Her eyes — mild, scholarly, completely artificial — held Spencer's with an intensity that belied her gentle demeanor.
"There are historical references," she said finally. "Rare. Fragmentary. The Talent you describe — if it exists as you've described it — would be among the most valuable and dangerous abilities in the world."
"Dangerous to whom?"
"To the individuals who possess it. And to those they identify." Verin's voice was soft. "Someone with such a Talent would attract... attention. From multiple directions. The Tower would want to study them. The Shadow would want to eliminate them. And anyone caught between those forces would need allies they could trust absolutely."
She's not just testing me anymore. She's recruiting.
"Trust is difficult," Spencer said. "Especially when everyone has secrets."
"Indeed." Verin closed her notebook with a soft snap. "But sometimes secrets can be shared — partially, carefully — between people who have similar goals. Even if those people cannot fully trust each other yet."
The tea cooled between them. Spencer felt the weight of the moment — two liars with good intentions, circling each other in a dance that might take months to complete.
"I'd like to have tea again," he said. "Before the embassy departs."
Verin's smile was warm and genuine and completely untrustworthy. "I would enjoy that very much. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon? I have some research I'd like your opinion on."
Spencer rose, bowed slightly, and left her quarters with the taste of excellent tea and the certainty that he'd just taken the first step toward the most important alliance of his new life.
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