The Wheel of Kin: A Daughter's Journey

The Smallest Novice

The novice whites were stiff and a little too big.

Elara tugged at the sleeves as she walked beside Moiraine, the hem of the dress brushing the tops of her boots in a way that made her feel awkward and fidgety. It wasn't that she disliked the white dress—it was soft enough and smelled faintly of lavender—but it felt like wearing someone else's skin.

The white was too clean. Too sharp.

Too much for a six-year-old who'd seen the inside of a nightmare.

She glanced up at her mother, walking beside her with her usual calm grace, a small nod of approval on her lips. Moiraine reached down and adjusted the collar of her daughter's novice dress, her fingers pausing briefly beneath Elara's chin.

"You look just as you should," she said softly.

Elara wrinkled her nose. "I look like a candle."

Moiraine let out a small, surprised laugh and kissed the top of her head. "A very bright one."

The hallway outside the novice classrooms buzzed faintly with chatter. Older girls passed in groups of twos and threes—some giggling, some yawning. They all slowed when they caught sight of Elara walking between Moiraine and a Yellow sister who had been assigned to escort her. Elara felt their stares. She heard a few of them whispering.

"Is that a child?"

"She's so little."

"She can't be a novice. She's not even ten."

Elara kept her chin lifted. She didn't smile. But she didn't cry either.

She had promised herself she wouldn't—not today.

When they arrived at the open classroom, Moiraine knelt beside her one last time, her hands adjusting Elara's belt. "Do your best," she said. "Listen closely. You don't have to impress anyone but yourself."

Elara nodded, her lips tight.

Moiraine straightened, her blue eyes unreadable. But she touched her fingers briefly to her daughter's temple—just a whisper of a caress.

Then she turned and walked away.

The classroom smelled of old parchment, chalk dust, and dried herbs. Long wooden benches filled the room, each one lined with white-clad novices ranging from twelve to eighteen. When Elara entered, all conversation halted.

She hesitated in the doorway. Her feet felt like stone.

"Sit," said a clipped voice from the front of the room.

Mistress Elrin Sedai, of the White Ajah, stood tall and angular by the chalkboard, her back as straight as the spine of a sword. Her hair was tightly braided and pinned in a crown, her dark eyes narrowed with polite skepticism as she watched Elara approach.

Elara climbed onto the bench at the far end of the front row, her legs dangling inches above the floor. Every girl in the room turned to stare. She could feel their curiosity prickling her skin like nettles.

Mistress Elrin cleared her throat. "For those unaware, we have a new novice joining us today. Younger than most. This is Elara. You will treat her as you do any sister in your class—with courtesy and respect. Age is not an excuse for exclusion."

She turned back to the chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk.

"Today we begin with basic visualization techniques for elemental weaving. I am aware that some of you have attempted channeling already." Her eyes flicked to a girl in the back who promptly sat up straighter. "You will not attempt anything without my instruction and oversight, unless you wish to burn a hole through your own hand."