Khryseis Bejarano's Letters From Home

***

She ran her thumb over the sigil warily. A leopard rampant. If the crest was on the inside in full
color, she'd see the black of the beast on a field of gold. Khryseis had told him it was over. She'd
been traded off to marry his decrepit old father and he'd been snapped up by a vacuous,
half-witted. . .

No. Those were sour grapes. Chiara Merrith was as charming and sparkling as any in Carhien. And
she was a fugitive now, not content to be a dowager at twenty, living a life of noble widowhood on
the surface and idling away the hours with the Daes Dae'mar. A string of meaningless spite and
meaningless lovers. She would not be her mother.I am a woman accustomed to having my own
way. she told him. And no one has her own way as an Aes Sedai has her way. She was half
tempted to throw the letter into the fire without a word. . .

Maybe she would.

Later.

"Grace favour you. . .I have no time now.