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just as they now seemed invisible prey.
    Still, they had four names plus four sisters in hand who would admit they were
    Darkfriends, though likely Marris would be as quick as the other three to claim she now
    rejected the Shadow, repented of her sins, and embraced the Light once more. Enough to
    convince anyone. Supposedly, the Black Ajah knew everything that passed in Elaida’s
    study, yet it might be worth the risk. Pevara refused to believe Talene’s claim that Elaida
    was a Darkfriend. After all, she had initiated the hunt. The Amyrlin Seat could rouse the
    entire Tower. Perhaps a revelation that the Black Ajah truly existed might do what the
    appearance of the rebels with an army had failed to, stop the Ajahs from hissing at one
    another like strange cats and bind them back together. The Tower’s wounds called for
    desperate remedies.
    The serving women passed beyond earshot, and Pevara was about to bring up the
    suggestion when Yukiri spoke again.
    “Last night, Talene received an order to appear tonight before their ‘Supreme Council.’”
    Her mouth twisted around the words in distaste. “It seems that happens only if you’re
    being honored or given a very, very important assignment. Or if you’re to be put to the
    question.” Her lips almost writhed. What they had learned about the Black Ajah’s means
    of putting someone to the question was as nauseating as it was incredible. Forcing a
    woman into a circle against her will? Guiding a circle to inflict pain? Pevara felt her
    stomach writhing. “Talene doesn’t think she’s to be honored or given an assignment,”
    Yukiri went on, “so she begged to be hidden away. Saerin put her in a room in the lowest
    basement. Talene may be wrong, but I agree with Saerin. Risking it would be letting a
    dog into the chicken yard and hoping for the best.”
    Pevara stared up at the tapestry stretching well above their heads. Armored men swung
    swords and axes, stabbed spears and halberds at huge, man-like shapes with boars’ snouts
    and wolves’ snouts, with goats’ horns and rams’ horns. The weaver had seen Trollocs. Or
    accurate drawings. Men fought alongside the Trollocs, too. Darkfriends. Sometimes,
    fighting the Shadow required spilling blood. And desperate remedies.
    “Let Talene go to this meeting,” she said. “We’ll all go. They won’t expect us. We can
    kill or capture them and decapitate the Black at a stroke. This Supreme Council must
    know the names of all of them. We can destroy the whole Black Ajah.”
    Lifting an edge of the fringe on Pevara’s shawl with a slim hand, Yukiri frowned at it
    ostentatiously. “Yes, red. I thought it might have turned green when I wasn’t looking.
    There will be thirteen of them, you know. Even if some of this ‘Council’ are out of the
    Tower, the rest will bring in sisters to make up the number.”
    “I know,” Pevara replied impatiently. Talene had been a fount of information, most of it
    useless and much of it horrifying, almost more than they could take in. “We take
    everyone. We can order Zerah and the others to fight alongside us, and even Talene and
    that lot. They’ll do as they’re told.” In the beginning, she had been uneasy about that oath
    of obedience, but over time you could become accustomed to anything.
    “So, nineteen of us against thirteen of them,” Yukiri mused, sounding much too patient.
    Even the way she adjusted her shawl radiated patience. “Plus whoever they have
    watching to make sure their meeting isn’t disturbed. Thieves are always the most careful
    of their purses.” That had the irritating sound of an old saying. “Best to call the numbers
    even at best, and probably favoring them. How many of us die in return for killing or
    capturing how many of them? More importantly, how many of them escape? Remember,
    they meet hooded. If just one escapes, then we won’t know who she is, but she’ll know
    us, and soon enough, the whole Black Ajah will know, too. It sounds