The Grey Tower

Shailar told Denara Sedai that she was a runaway - true - from Ebou Dar - false. She said she’d been on the road for a couple of months - false; that her parents were powerful and would be searching for her - sort of true; that she’d learned to hide her tattoo on accident - also partially true. The tattoo had been the result of a bad wager on a horse race that she’d had no means of repaying - completely false. She was terrified of what might happen if she was found - wholeheartedly true. On and on, Shailar spun out her tale, based on what she had learned during her time in Ebou Dar and information pried from merchants’ guards and peddlers. Denara Sedai asked questions here and there, pressing when Shailar tried to stop and smiling a sardonic little smile.

“That is quite the tale,” the Aes Sedai said when Shailar had no more lies to tell.

An uncomfortably long silence passed between the two women. Denara Sedai had appropriated the one private dining room in the Whitebridge inn; the Aes Sedai sat at the head of the long oak table, Shailar to her left. A serving maid had brought tea some time ago, scowling as if Shailar were intentionally shirking her duties. She sipped at hers now, throat dry from speaking so long, but it had gone lukewarm. She took several deep swallows anyway, setting her cup down delicately so that it barely made a sound. Denara Sedai watched her with eyes like a hawk.

“If you are satisfied, Denara Sedai, I will take my leave. Old Barty not be pleased at how long I’ve been gone.” Shailar wasn’t more than halfway out of her chair before the Aes Sedai held up a hand, the motion and her bearing almost as commanding as any Ayyad. Shailar froze involuntarily.

“I am not satisfied, girl, and not only because I don’t believe a word of what you have told me.” Shailar sat back down, harder than she meant. “Know that this is the truth: I intend that you should return to the Grey Tower with me.” A finger silenced Shailar when she opened her mouth to argue. “I will not force you, of course, but you will come all the same. You cannot resist the pull of something new. And you must know that you could not hide from me and my sisters, or even those at the White Tower, forever. Your potential is stronger than most, and that would draw their attention as it has mine. Not to mention that weave of yours.”

Taking a moment to compose herself - Shailar was not accustomed to being taken off guard, nor to showing when she was - she smoothed the crease from between her brows and unpursed her full lips. Her hands were flat on her skirts, straightening them them though they were far beyond saving. The Aes Sedai was right, of course. Shailar was tired of cleaning things and dodging grasping hands and groveling before the innkeeper. She was tired of hiding. She was tired of pretending to be something she was not.

Drawing herself up to her full height, Shailar looked down on the Aes Sedai and nodded. “I will come with you.”

Shailar was given an hour to say her goodbyes, during which she insulted, berated, and belittled everyone in old Barty’s inn that had slighted her, including old Barty himself. Half of the serving girls were brainless flipskirts, the other half prudish tattletales. The clientele was uncultured and unmannered swine, and she hoped the Light blinded the eyes right out of their heads. Old Barty got the worst of it. For every time he spoke more slowly because he thought her accent made her dimwitted, for every time he swatted her for not moving quick enough, for every time he leered her way when he thought she wasn’t looking, she repaid him.

The Aes Sedai was not pleased with her behavior, and Shailar was punished for it. They started their journey west along the road through rolling, forested hills. Denara Sedai asked her very personal questions, not deterred in the least when Shailar told her lies or refused to answer. “These questions will be asked by others less kind than I,” she would say, then ask the question a different way. Where was she from? She had not the look or sound of Ebou Dar; any Aes Sedai or Asha’man, and even some of the initiates, would be able to tell that. What did the tattoo mean? Sea Folk tattooed themselves, but not on their faces, and anyway her hair and accent did not fit with that people either. What had her parents been like, her home? Had they been well off? Why had she run away? On and on it went, with no reprieve.

Half a day north of Baerlon, Shailar made a mistake. The country was sloping gently upward toward the Mountains of Mist, bringing to mind her own home in the mountains east of the Cliffs of Dawn. She mentioned in passing, nostalgia making her foolish, that the smells were familiar. Denara Sedai didn’t say anything right away, and Shailar dared to hope that the Aes Sedai missed her slip. She dared to hope until that night, when the woman pressed her for information like a hound that had scented its prey.

“Not the Borderlands, and not Cairhien. Maybe Tear. That doesn’t quite fit either, but it’s the only - ”

“Stop, please,” Shailar said, going cold in spite of the fire. “Please.”

“I cannot,” the Aes Sedai replied. “You are a mystery that must be solved.” Her tone said it was the simple truth.

Shailar sat for a moment, listening to the crackling fire. “I will tell you,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “if you swear to keep the knowledge to yourself.”

Denara Sedai’s voice went hard. “You will learn quickly that novices do not bargain with Aes Sedai. You will also learn that Aes Sedai and Asha’man alike cannot make a promise intending to break it. I swear that I will tell no one except for the Mistress of Novices.”

That was more than she had expected, though she couldn’t bring herself to believe the bit about not making a promise she meant to break. Shailar sighed. “You know my home as Shara,” she said.

“Nothing else makes sense,” Denara Sedai said. “Perhaps you were wise to keep the information to yourself. I recommend you continue to do so.” As if Shailar needed to be told.

They arrived at Hama Valon the next afternoon, and the Aes Sedai had not mentioned Shara or Shailar’s tattoo all day. That did not mean she held her peace, however. As the pair rode upward ever deeper into the Mountains of Mist, Denara Sedai orated at length about what Shailar should expect in the Grey Tower, what her days would look like, what the rules were. Shailar drew the hood of her cloak up, not only because the air became cooler the higher they climbed. The woman had clearly been keeping these things from her until it would be very difficult for Shailar to escape. Their supplies were running low and the terrain was harsh, even with the newly packed road to lead the way. But the Grey Tower seemed manageable, like a more lenient version of her Ayyad village home. Shailar would survive, as she always had.

By the time she had been inducted into the Grey Tower, met the Mistress of Novices, burned her ugly brown dress and donned an ugly white one, and endured a tour that left her even more lost than before, the sun had set and Shailar was exhausted. A scowling woman in a white dress identical to her own except for the hem banded in a rainbow of colors led her to a hall lined on either side with doors. She stopped in front of one and put up a hand to forestall Shailar from pushing it open. Smoothing a scowl from her face, Shailar stepped back and waited.

The other woman knocked. Shailar’s hazel eyes pinched at the corners as she realized that this was not her room. The other woman must be making a stop on the way. When would she be taken to her room so that she could rest? The door swung outward and a girl nearly as tall as Shailar herself curtseyed and murmured a greeting to Shailar’s guide. Accepted - that’s what she was called. The Accepted announced that this was Shailar’s room and she should make herself comfortable, that Novice Aikaterine would let her know when it was lights-out. Then she left, leaving Shailar still standing outside the other girl’s room, each eyeing the other with something close to enmity.

Shailar did not like to share her room. She had done so only on the most desperate of occasions, when an inn was too full or too expensive for her to have her own. In all of those situations, Shailar had lasted only a single night before moving on, no matter what her original plan had been. Here, she had no choice but to stay - but perhaps the Mistress of Novices could be convinced that Shailar deserved her own room. She had managed to keep hidden exactly how much of the Power she knew; surely she should be moved up in rank immediately. Shailar would try, but first she had to make it through this one night.
--- OOC: We're here! Finally!

There had to be some cruel and terrible place in the Wheel where after one died, the Creator would zip them along to said place of suffering where they would endure eternal torment. Katrie hoped with every fiber of her being that such a fate befell the wretched toad that ran the kitchens. Every single bone in her body ached. Her arms, all the way up to her elbows, were red and dry, places between her fingers raw and cracked. And those raw, cracked places hurt. Luckily, someone else in the kitchens had taken pity on her, and as she slathered the mint scented salve on to her hands, Katrie cursed anything and everything she laid her eyes on.

Not that there was much to curse in her tiny Novice room...

The idea of returning home had never seemed so attractive, one that she couldn't quite shake loose. If her mama was Healed and... Katrie immediately slammed the door shut, cutting off that thought. Hope was pointless. Jaryd – Asha'man Jaryd, she corrected herself, hadn't come to tell her of any change or progress and now that she was firmly within the Grey Tower hierarchy, she didn't think it wise to seek him out for updates.

She sighed, massaging the soothing salve into her skin. It had been months since her arrival – it couldn't have been a year yet, even if some days it felt like it. Could it? The monotony of chores and chores and still more blighted chores skewed the passage of time. Still... If she was to go home, at least she wouldn't be made to dust books, or scrub pots, or sweep floors like some kind of common servant. The curtsying was the worst.

Katrie was interrupted from her internal ranting by a sharp knock on the door. Who...? An involuntary groan escaped her as she forced herself to her feet, the chair she was seated on scraping back from her desk. She carefully put the lid back on the small bottle and tucked it into the only drawer she had. Too exhausted and drained to do much more than give her reflection a brief glance in passing, the Cairhienin trudged over and opened the door.

The curtsy was automatic, as was the honourific that left her lips at the sight of the banded hem. What she was not expecting was a second woman, this one taller than even Katrie herself was, clad in an exact copy of pristine whites. Hazel eyes looked her up and down as if she were a prize horse at a fair. Not to be outdone, Katrie returned the sentiment, instant dislike settling in. She was utterly unimpressed by what she saw. And what under the Light was on the woman's face? Were those tattoos? How utterly barbaric!

Her lip curled slightly as the Accepted left, the unpleasant reality sinking in that this other Novice was to be Katrie's roommate. Because, of course this barbarian was to be. Why not add in a mule, or a donkey while the Aes Sedai were at it? She gritted her teeth, having to bend before this forced indignity; added insult that her roommate would be some distant savage and not one from a similar state as she that would properly compliment her status as being from House Riatin.

Katrie couldn't help but feel as if she were letting rabble into her room as she made herself step back inside, her head tilt the only indication that she even acknowledged the other woman. “This half is mine,” she said curtly, gesturing to the side farthest away from the door. “I suppose it means the other is yours.” Her words were far more clipped and concise than usual, her Cairhienin accent sharp.

“Light's out is four hours after Low... and if you get caught outside this room after that, you'll be punished.” Katrie grimaced, wondering if the Mistress of Novices or that Accepted expected her to actually instruct the savage across from her. “They can and will punish you for a lot of other things too. Sometimes it makes sense. Other times, it doesn't.”

A pause and the resentment between the both of them was nearly palpable. Katrie did her best to feign politeness; she had been raised to do so. “What's your name?”

It was only polite to know name of the woman she was going to be forced to smother, after all.

In her mountain home in Shara, the winters had been harsh. Though she hadn’t been allowed outside the walls, snow would coat the streets, sliding down the tops of sloped roofs to pile up around the buildings. Ayyad would melt the snow to clear paths, but inevitably the water would freeze again, the crystalline coating treacherous to unsuspecting feet. Shailar could imagine a sheet of ice creeping over the room she would share with the other girl, over the hard, narrow beds and cramped desks, undeterred by the banked coals in the hearth between them. It would spread in a malicious wave, as if created by the One Power itself. Such was the air of disdain in the room, the utter contempt each girl had for the other.

After exchanging names and little else, Shailar began to settle down to sleep. She ignored Aikaterine with icy determination, acting for all the world as if she were a queen in her castle and the other novice a dog at her feet. If she hadn’t felt the same disdain from the other girl, Shailar might have let her guard down, might have acted more human and less Ayyad. But from the first moment she’d seen her, Shailar had the distinct impression that her roommate considered herself well above her. Burn me if I prove her right, she thought. Consequently, she felt more herself than she had in months.

The next morning, Aikaterine was gone before Shailar had risen. She would have liked to steal a few extra hours of sleep, given her long journey the previous several days, but as it was she missed breakfast and was late for her first lesson on Westlander history. Shailar earned an extra helping of chores for her trouble, and nearly double that because she protested. The dowdy old Aes Sedai claimed she was being lenient because it was Shailar’s first day, but that she should not expect the same next time. Shailar quickly learned to keep her mouth shut, even when she continued to get lost and be late to nearly every lesson and chore she’d been given.

By High, Shailar was starving. She scarfed down a thick stew without tasting it, casting icy stares at the novices - and even a Soldier - that tried to sit near her. Aikaterine seemed to look through her when she walked past, and it was all Shailar could do not to glower. She refused to give her roommate the satisfaction of knowing Shailar found her bothersome. So she did her best to pretend the other girl did not exist in the dining hall, in the kitchens elbows-deep in soapy water, and in their shared quarters.

At the end of her first full day in the Grey Tower, Shailar realized she had not had time to find the Mistress of Novices and demand - request - to be relocated. From the way she’d been treated by the other Aes Sedai, she doubted the Mistress of Novices would even have humored her.

All hope of moving died as the days dragged on, time passing at once too slow for her to stand and too quickly for her to catch her breath. The Grey Tower had some similarities to the Ayyad village where she’d grown up, but more differences. For one, Shailar would never have been expected to attend to slaves’ duties, scrubbing floors and dishes and plates as if she was owned. The fool Mistress of the Kitchens, as she was so presumptuously called, even dared to swat Shailar’s backside when she didn’t move quickly enough. Shailar earned extra kitchen shifts for swearing and calling the woman at least two unmentionable names.

For two, the Grey Tower Aes Sedai didn’t seem particularly interested in teaching Shailar to channel. They walked her repeatedly through calming and relaxation exercises taught to Ayyad children, and refused to let her draw more than a thimbleful of the Power. Worst of all, she was expressly forbidden from using the weave that would hide the tattoo on her face. She was not ashamed of her heritage - quite the contrary - but she did not wish to discuss it with every Westlander brave enough to ask. It had become much simpler for her to just hide her marking than to deal with all the stares and questions.

So it was that Shailar found herself alone in her room - for once - seated at her cramped little desk with a small, cracked mirror propped up before her. The True Source flowed through her and she opened herself wide to its power, filling herself nearly to the brink. The flows came naturally to her, pale violet, deep blue and faint yellow all coming together to form an intricate lattice over her face. If she focused hazel eyes one way, she saw her face as it would have been had she not been born where she was, marked as she was. If she focused another way, she saw the woven lace glowing faintly in the room lit only by two candles and the fireplace.

The door handle jiggled, and Shailar released the Power and leaned over her notes as though studying them intently, refusing to look up at Aikaterine as she entered. Her roommate paused briefly before setting down an armful of books on her own too-small desk. Shailar made nonsensical marks on her paper with a pen whose ink had dried hours ago, pretending to make notes as she slowed her breathing. She didn’t know what would happen if Aikaterine caught her channeling, and she didn’t want to find out. The hoity-toity chit of a novice felt no warmth for her, and Shailar returned none. She didn’t need a reason to hate her more.

Katrie hesitated for a moment before crossing into the threshold of her shared room. Something was... off. She couldn't place it at first... her gaze quickly seeking out the strangeness as she dumped the armful of books she was carrying on to her desk, on her side of the room.

Shailar was doing an admirable job of ignoring her presence – they had both gotten quite good at pretending the other didn't exist – but Katrie didn't care, her attention focused on anything but the other woman. She almost missed the 'something off' because of that.

There was colour... colour where there wasn't supposed to be, breaking up the predominately white walls that provided the backdrop against Shailar's figure. Katrie looked away twice, bringing her gaze back to the side of her barbarian roommate's face, just to be sure. She did so carefully however, unwilling to let the haughty, disrespectful Novice catch her showing anything but cool disdain. From the very edges of her peripheral vision, she was able to see the by now familiar lines of faint colour that meant that there was the residue of a channeled weave. It was unmistakable.

How curious.

Calmly, the young Cairhienin-born woman tore out a fresh sheet of paper from what was supposed to be her journal. The Brown that had tasked her with the compromising assignment of recording down her private thoughts and feelings for the next week was sorely mistaken if she actually expected Katrie to expose herself like that. Anyone that found the journal could simply pick it up and read it! What utter nonsense. But, she would pretend to confess with ink and pen – later. For right now, she would draw.

She shifted her chair ever-so-slightly so that she could see the weave out of corner of her eye. Purple, blue, and yellow... woven together in a complex lattice that covered the barbarian woman's face. It was really quite intricate. Katrie found herself grudgingly acknowledging Shailar's skill and quickly clamped down on that. She worked quickly, barely finishing the rudimentary sketch before the weave residue faded completely. Burn how quickly the small weaves dissipated! Those were usually the most useful to know!

Luminous dark eyes studied the drawing for a moment longer before she blew on the ink to dry it, folding the sheet of paper into a neat precise square. Katrie said nothing, tucking the incriminating evidence away into the the pages of the books stacked on her tiny desk. The two of them carried on as if nothing had changed – well, to be fair, she supposed that the barbarian had no reason to suspect that anything had. But, the Cairhienin knew. She allowed herself the faintest smile of triumph before wiping all expression from her face.

The next morning, things continued as they had, with Katrie leaving what she still considered her room before Shailar. Routine was important; routine would make the other woman feel safe. Chores and lessons spun round and round, breaks appearing in between for food before being replaced by yet more classes. Things like etiquette, law, and geography. Normally, she enjoyed learning and disseminating new information, but it was all Katrie could do to stay awake for a particularly dull lecture on the importance of the Caralain Grass. The Grey Aes Sedai who droned on and on seemed oblivious to the drooping eyes and stifled yawns. It was probably for the best... most of the Novices there, Katrie included, would probably have been sent scurrying to pay the Mistress of Novices a visit.

The day ended much as it had begun, with bone numbing exhaustion. Once again, Shailar was settled within the shared room as Katrie trudged through the door, and once again there was the faint luminescence of woven saidar. It was the same weave from the day before, centered around her rommate's face. The Cairhienin-born Novice permitted herself a moment's curiosity: how had Shailar gone throughout the day without being caught? Surely any Aes Sedai she passed would've seen the tied off weave? What about the Accepted? Unless... Katrie felt a bubble of excitement rise and shifted in her seat to quell the rush of emotion. Unless there was a way to keep the weave from being seen. Oh, but that was brilliant! That had to be it! Did this barbarian know...? Katrie smiled to herself and once again set to paper what she saw.

The one sided cat-and-mouse game continued on for five more days before she felt confident enough in her rudimentary art skills to progress further. Katrie destroyed the previous copies of Shailar's weave she had drawn (of course) and her quick trip to the same Brown Sister that had assigned the week long journal writing exercise proved fruitful. Katrie returned the completed assignment, pages full of the false thoughts and feelings she'd 'poured' out. She had written down tidbits of overheard complaints... gossip served its purpose and she was more than happy to make use of it. Before she curtsied and left, she looked upon the Aes Sedai with wide guileless eyes while making her request and found herself in possession of an entire case of coloured pencils. Feeling quite satisfied, she tucked the case as well as a fresh sheaf of paper into her desk drawer. It barely fit into the cramped space.

When the bells tolled the beginning of the day, it was Katrie that stayed behind. Shailar didn't deign to notice. The young Cairhienin was delighted. She would miss breakfast and would be late to her first class, but the penance and hunger she would have to endure was a small price to pay for a chance to exert her influence over someone else. She was not so crass as to outright confront her barbarian roommate; no, no, there were better ways to manipulate someone. She could alert an Accepted, Aes Sedai, or the Mistress of Novices to what Shailar was doing – but why? That didn't benefit Katrie in any way, and would only add to their combined animosity. She didn't expect to become fast friends with her roommate, but she didn't want to give Shailar any more reason to detest her.

As Katrie closed the door to her shared room, she smoothed all trace of emotion off her face. She feigned a convincing yawn, then gave herself until the count of ten. The halls were empty, but she had been raised not to trust in the illusion of being alone. There was always someone watching. She blinked owlishly, before gasping appropriately, a look of horror appearing on her face. She broke out into a dead run towards her first class.

Left on Shailar's desk, put to paper, was an exact copy of the weave that covered the tattooed half of the other woman's face. I know. was all that was written beneath it. The next move was Shailar's.

For nearly three full days, Shailar carried on as if nothing had happened.

Lessons and chores and outside assignments filled those days, so that Shailar barely had time to worry. A particularly helpful Grey sister had noted her lack of familiarity with Westlander nations, customs, and nobility; she’d taken it upon herself to ensure that Shailar was fluent in the major exports of every nation, as well as their ruling families. She’d known that the Westlands were fragmented - particularly in comparison with her own homeland, where there had been a single ruling pair for centuries - but she was realizing the full extent of this land’s shortcomings. Though at first she was irritated at having to memorize so many facts and names, Shailar saw the value in them. Such fragmentation would be easy to exploit, were she ever in a position to do so.

The first evening, Shailar was copying names of Tairen High Lords when Aikaterine returned to the room. She concealed it well, but Shailar thought she detected the faintest touch of hesitation, a slowing over the threshhold and a wariness as she stepped into the room. Shailar’s lips curled in satisfaction, covered by dark curls as she leaned forward over her notes. She did not like her roommate, but she thought they’d come to a sort of hostile understanding between them. Aikaterine would not say anything, for now.

Shailar kept up appearances, weaving her mask in the morning and unravelling it before Aikaterine returned to their room. She had attempted to turn the threads inside out, as she’d seen Ayyad do with various weaves in her home village, but she couldn’t be sure how successful she was. She could see the weave, of course, and no one had commented on it that first day, but she was sure she’d seen at least one Aes Sedai cock her head at her in puzzlement. It was hard to tell with those smooth-faced women, but the expression had been there, if only for a moment. And there was Aikaterine, who seemed to be able to see the weave even after it had been unraveled.

Halfheartedly, Shailar continued to copy names. Tolmeran, Tedosian, Torean Andiama. How had the other novice known? The drawing was perfect - the colors were off, but that was to be expected - drawn to scale and down to the smallest twist of Fire. Hearne, Simaan. Shailar was willing to wager that Aikaterine couldn’t duplicate the flows with the Power rather than pencil and paper, so how had she known? High Ladies Estanda and Rosana. On and on Shailar copied and pondered, giving neither her full attention, until she was forced to settle into bed for the night.

The next day, Shailar came to a conclusion. It didn’t matter how Aikaterine had found out about the weave, only that she had done so. Shailar had to assume that she could see other weaves after they had been unravelled as well. Shailar had also to assume that Aikaterine was waiting for her to respond in some way to the invasion; otherwise, she would simply have reported her to an Accepted or Aes Sedai. So, what did the other novice want?

At the end of her kitchen shift, Shailar filched the butt of a loaf of bread and a crusty end of cheese. Instead of heading to the initiates’ dining hall, she backtracked to a classroom she’d been in that morning, toting a leather scrip filled with loose blank papers and notes, ink, and pens. The room was now empty, its former occupants having dispersed to other tasks. Shailar closed the door firmly behind her, took a bite of the bread, and set down the rest of her load. Chewing her stale mouthful, she surveyed the room and planned her first test.

When the loaf and cheese were gone, Shailar dusted off her hands and pulled out a blank sheet of paper. She placed it carefully in the center of a desk, greasy fingerprints marking one corner, and embraced saidar. Fire threads did not come to her as easily as some of the other elements, but she did not have to concentrate too hard to weave thick threads over the paper. Tendrils of smoke curled up into the air - too much smoke for the paper alone - and Shailar pulled condensation from the air with Water to smother the burgeoning flames. Exhaling sharply, she pushed the mushy ash pile aside to reveal deep, black scores in the desktop. Grimacing, she wiped the rest of the ashes onto the floor and did her best to clean off her hands.

Not to be put off so easily, Shailar pulled another sheet out of her scrip and placed it on top of a clean desk. Her first compulsion on reading the note Aikaterine had left was to light the bloody girl’s bed on fire. But that would be too much, too obviously an act of childish revenge that would land Shailar in trouble, give her roommate a real reason to look down on her, and accomplish nothing. Shailar was above such petty acts of retribution. She would burn something, all right, but it would be something much subtler, an invasion of Aikaterine’s space as the other girl had invaded her privacy, a statement that Shailar would not be cowed.

This time, Shailar wove thinner threads of Fire over the paper. The result was less extreme, but the desk was still damaged. She tried a few more times with ever thinner threads, marking a few more desks before she tried holding the paper in her hand, weaving an unnecessarily intricate lace of Fire over it and singing her fingertips. The lattice was more for show than any practical use, if her assumption that Aikaterine could see the unwoven weaves was correct. If it wasn’t - well, Shailar was going to an awful lot of trouble for nothing.

Once she had perfected her technique, Shailar collected her belongings and headed for the door. Black handprints marked her white skirts and likely her cheeks, so she would have to make for her room and the laundry before her next lesson. She’d be late or miss the lesson entirely, but the punishment would be worth what she had learned. On her way, she grabbed the first slave - servant - she saw and pointed her toward the hopelessly messy classroom. “I was looking for Denara Sedai and found it like that,” she lied before continuing on her way.

Shailar allowed another full day to pass, intending to increase Aikaterine’s suspense as much as possible without pushing her to notify an Aes Sedai or Accepted. At the end of the third day, Shailar returned to her room early and pulled out the note her roommate had so painstakingly drawn. The paper would be incinerated so that Aikaterine wouldn’t be able to tell what it had been, but if she was half as sharp as Shailar thought, she would know. Suspect, at least. She crossed the invisible boundary that divided the room, note plus two blank sheets in hand. She laid the sheets down atop the tidy desktop, then held the incriminating drawing up as close to the desktop as she could. The Power flowed readily into her and she wove a criss-crossing pattern of Fire over the top of the paper, delicate threads clearly outlining the shape of the page.

Next came the difficult part: cleaning up. Fortunately she’d practiced exhaustively the day before, and the two sheets of paper had collected the ash neatly. Shailar wanted no evidence to remain except for the threads of the Power, and none would. To the undiscerning eye - to Shailar’s own eye - it would seem that she had never trespassed on the other side of the room. If her roommate didn’t notice, Shailar would need to take other action, but this would be the extent of her retaliation for now.

Folding up the ashes into the two papers as neatly as she could, Shailar stuffed them into her scrip and tucked it neatly under her desk. She unravelled the mask that hid her tattoo, released the Power, and pulled out her notes on Cairhienin nobility. She began copying names as she had the previous few nights, resuming her routine as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
--- OOC: I wonder if she'll come across any familiar names...

Katrie was furious.

To say that she wanted Shailar to burn forever in a fiery pit encased with the heat of a thousand suns didn't even begin to properly convey her feelings. The residue of the fire weave hung suspended mere inches above her desk, floating smack dab in the middle of where her chest would be once she sat down. The pale red threads stood out in brazen contrast to the white room... Out of many years of habit and practice, Katrie was able to kept her face wiped clean of any emotion or interest, but something deep inside of her clenched in incoherent rage. That the savage had dared to infringe upon her space – what if she had touched something?! A small, coldly detached part of her mind instructed her to moderate her breathing, able to smooth over the spike of inhaled breath before it escaped into a full-fledged gasp.

The walk from the door of her shared room to her tiny desk was the longest ten seconds of her life. Shailar ignored her as was usual, but Katrie thought she could detect an air of smugness curling around the dark-skinned woman. As the pretty Cairhienin sat down at her desk for all the world acting as if nothing was wrong, she barely kept herself from leaping across the room and simply choking the barbarian within an inch of her life. She wanted to beat the savage until she howled; at the very least box the woman's ears so she learned manners.

But the Game was in full swing and Katrie could do none of it. She couldn't do anything but continue on. And she certainly wasn't about to let the barbarian know by something as inane as a slip of emotion. Papa would die of shame. Still, the urge to swat frantically at the lingering fire wave was strong, forcing Katrie to clench hands hidden beneath her desk into fists so that she wouldn't.

She committed the weave to memory, refusing to give her roommate the satisfaction of acknowledgment. The weave itself only consisted of one element and was rectangular in shape – oddly reminding Katrie of the dimensions of a sheet of writing paper. It wasn't nearly as complicated to draw as the one that hovered around Shailar's head – had paper been what the savage had burned? She sniffed delicately, convincing herself that she could taste the faintest hint of smoke and ash.

Anger still scalded and boiled beneath the surface of her skin, but she resolutely turned her attention to one of the books sitting neatly on the corner of the desk. What was it about? Katrie couldn't have cared less at the moment. She searched the pages and the creases under the pretense of reading, but found not a single fleck of ash. What had Shailar burned? Dark eyes narrowed as she permitted herself the briefest glower down at the innocent book. After several moments of fretting, she gave herself a mental shake. It didn't matter what Shailar might or might not have burnt. Nothing of import had been destroyed or damaged.

It happened by gradual degrees through sheer force of will, Katrie finally able to sidestep the fury that still churned in her gut without having to experience it again. She couldn't say what she did to pass the time, only that she did so with the appearance of being dreadfully bored. Her thoughts spun in circles, and that almost forgotten feeling of pumping adrenaline, that rush, made her feel so very alive. This was one of the few rare times since her arrival at the Grey Tower that she was anything but bored. Funny that it should involve a savage with a barbaric face tattoo.

When it finally came time to ready themselves for bed, Katrie ignored Shailar as the other woman was ignoring her. She needed time to think, to plan, and the darkness would give her time to do both without having to worry that what she was thinking was showing on her face. That is, if she didn't fall asleep first.

Four nights passed before Katrie was satisfied with her next move. She stole moments away in the Library to commit the fire weave down on to paper. Another three days went by before the poor witless boy that she had targeted became her most willing – if unknowing – accomplice. He was a Soldier, a first rank channeler like herself, and he wasn't very bright or handsome. Dionis was from some farm or another, from some village or other near Andor. He was average and uninteresting, though perfectly inexperienced and naive. There were times when she felt a pang of something, guilt maybe, over what she was doing to him. Light, but he was so gullible! In all honestly, if she stopped to think about it for too long, she could freely admit that it wasn't even fair. But, she reasoned, it wasn't exactly like she could pick and choose. She had to work with what was available. And sadly, Dionis had been what was available.

She flirted and glanced up at him through half lowered lashes. The barest touch of fingertip to inner wrist, a sigh of laughter, a properly timed toss of head and hair. Katrie fancied that even her beautiful Domani mama would be proud of her. Dionis looked for all the world to be confused, joyfully so, but that expression of open mouthed wonder made him look... she sighed inwardly at the unflattering image and tightened her focus. Today would be the end of this pretense. He was quite ready and willing to confront Shailar in order to buy Katrie the time and distraction she needed. Naturally, she had told him very little, convincing him to see for himself how terrible the other Novice was. The pretty Cairhienin wasn't quite sure how to shake herself loose of bumbling Dionis after his use to her was finished, but she was confident that invoking some vaguely worded rule with having to do with being a Novice in the Grey Tower would work.

It happened in the dining halls, though Katrie spared enough modicum of feeling to make sure that it was nearly empty. She wanted Shailar to know that she was not intimidated in the least – that didn't mean that she was willing to outright humiliate the other woman, however. That was used as a last resort in the Game when all else failed... and they had only just begun.

Katrie smiled in encouragement to the plain looking Soldier, taking up position near a set of doors so she was hidden from Shailar's sight. Dionis straightened, making a big show of straightening his black coat. She bit back a sigh. Idiot, she couldn't help but think. He surprised her though, rather convincingly stumbling and bumping into the dark-skinned Novice as Shailar rose from the empty table to leave. Katrie didn't care to listen in, pleased to see that Dionis was able to exaggerate and completely blow out of proportion whatever was happening. She started walking forward, as if she running late herself and was simply rushing by to grab something quick to eat.

She ignored both the Soldier and the other Novice, managing to transfer a folded square of paper quickly from her belt pouch to Shailar's as she brushed past. A corner of the square stuck out, as did half the note, but she didn't dare push it any further. Katrie didn't actually want to force her way into anything of Shailar's... merely let the other woman know what it felt like to have someone intrude upon your space without you knowing until after the fact. The pretty Cairhienin swiped up half a loaf of bread and some crumbly white cheese, letting both Dionis and Shailar see her doing so. Before the wretched Trolloc that ran the kitchens could catch her, Katrie was on her way out again, leaving behind Dionis and her barbarian roommate.

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((OOC: Wouldn't it be funny if she did? You think they'll get to where they'll actually acknowledge one another, and y'know, talk? ))