New novice candidates arrived at the Tower every few weeks.
Spencer had learned the rhythm: refugees from troubled regions, daughters of minor nobility seeking advancement, village girls with sparks strong enough to attract Aes Sedai attention. Each arrival brought a dozen potential channelers through the Tower's entrance hall, where Sheriam — Mistress of Novices — evaluated their capabilities and assigned their futures.
Spencer positioned himself in the gallery above, ostensibly observing for his "Talent study." In reality, he was waiting for a specific thread.
Nicola Treehill. Ghealdan refugee. Dual Talents: Foretelling and ta'veren-sight. One of the most valuable and underutilized characters in the entire series.
And if my calculations are right, she should be in today's group.
The candidates entered in a loose cluster — nervous, awed, clutching possessions that represented their entire previous lives. Spencer's Thread Sight processed each one: silver potential of varying strengths, personality threads ranging from eager to terrified, the usual mix of ambition and doubt.
Then Nicola walked through the doors.
Spencer's Thread Sight staggered.
Her thread was unlike any he'd seen on a non-ta'veren. Silver-blue blazing with impossible intensity, shot through with two distinct sub-patterns that pulsed independently: one prophetic, resonating with the future like a tuning fork vibrating at a frequency Spencer could barely perceive; one perceptive, shimmering with awareness that seemed to extend beyond normal sight.
Foretelling and ta'veren-sight. Both active, both powerful, both completely unrecognized by the Tower.
And beneath the extraordinary Talents, Nicola's thread was knotted with human complexity: ambition that bordered on desperation, fear that she'd be dismissed as ordinary, anger at every person who'd ever told her she was imagining things. She was seventeen, prickly, terrified, and had no idea what she was carrying.
[Skill Archive: Recording. Category: Dual Talent Thread Structure. Entry: Nicola Treehill (Novice Candidate). Note: Foretelling + ta'veren-sight confirmed. Rarest Talent combination in documented history. Tower assessment will likely undervalue significantly.]
---
Sheriam conducted the evaluations with practiced efficiency.
Spencer watched from above as the Mistress of Novices tested each candidate: channeling potential measured, basic temperament assessed, Talent indicators noted. Most candidates received accurate evaluations — the Tower's methods were thorough, developed over three thousand years.
Nicola's evaluation was different.
"Moderate channeling strength," Sheriam announced, her voice carrying the professional neutrality of someone who'd assessed thousands of novices. "Some indication of unidentified Talents. Recommended for standard novice training."
Moderate. She called Nicola's blazing dual-Talent thread "moderate" and "unidentified."
Either Sheriam genuinely can't see what Nicola is — which seems unlikely for the Mistress of Novices — or she's deliberately downplaying.
Spencer had suspected Sheriam was Black Ajah since arriving at the Tower. His meta-knowledge confirmed it, but he hadn't managed a direct Thread Sight scan — Sheriam moved in circles Spencer couldn't easily access. This evaluation, though, added evidence.
Why would a Black Ajah member downplay a Foreteller's abilities?
Because Foretellings are unpredictable. Because a Foreteller might see something the Shadow wants hidden. Because keeping Nicola dismissed as "moderate" makes her easier to control — or eliminate — later.
Spencer filed the observation and prepared for the next phase of his plan.
---
The novice common room was crowded that evening.
New arrivals clustered together, sharing nervous stories about the testing, comparing dormitory assignments, trying to process the enormity of what they'd committed to. Spencer entered with a water pitcher — borrowed from the servant's station, legitimate enough to avoid questions — and moved through the room with the casual purpose of someone who belonged there.
Nicola sat alone at a corner table, staring at the wall like it had personally offended her.
Her traveling companion — Areina, a hard-faced woman with the look of someone who'd seen too much road — had been sent elsewhere. Non-channelers weren't permitted in novice quarters after evaluation. Nicola had lost her only familiar face in a single afternoon.
Spencer approached the water station near her table and filled a cup slowly.
"The Tower's never what the stories say," he offered, not looking directly at her. "Colder. Food's worse. And everyone acts like they own the Pattern itself."
Nicola's head snapped toward him, eyes sharp with the wariness of someone who'd learned not to trust unexpected kindness.
"What would you know about it? You're not a novice."
"Guest. Talent subject." Spencer shrugged. "Different cage, same bars. They study me the way they're going to study you. Endless questions, endless tests, and nobody actually listens to what you're trying to tell them."
Something shifted in Nicola's expression. Not trust — she was too smart for that — but recognition. The shared experience of being examined like a specimen instead of treated like a person.
"They said I'm 'moderate,'" Nicola said, the word carrying years of frustration. "The Wisdom in my village said I had delusions. My mother said I'd grow out of it. Now the great White Tower tells me I'm ordinary. Moderate. Nothing special."
If only you knew.
"And what do you say?" Spencer asked.
Nicola's chin lifted. The defiance in her thread blazed alongside the Talents, determination wrapped around fear like armor.
"I say I can see things nobody else can see. I say the visions come whether I want them or not. I say the people with the..." She hesitated, searching for words. "The shining around them. The ones who change everything just by existing. I can see them."
Ta'veren-sight. She's describing ta'veren-sight.
"And does anyone believe you?"
"No." Nicola's voice was flat. "They never have."
Spencer set down his water cup and met her eyes directly for the first time.
"I believe you."
Nicola went still. Her thread pulsed with something — hope, maybe, or the desperate wariness of someone who'd been disappointed too many times to trust words alone.
"You shimmer," she said abruptly. "Around the edges. Like heat-haze off a forge. Nobody else does that." Her eyes narrowed. "What are you?"
Spencer smiled despite himself. Of course she could see his Narrative Weight. Of course she'd noticed immediately, without understanding what it meant.
"I'm a carpenter from a village that doesn't know my name," he said. "I see things nobody else can see. The visions come whether I want them or not. And the people who shine — the ones who change everything — I can see them too."
Nicola stared at him. Her thread shifted from wariness to curiosity, the knots of ambition and fear loosening slightly.
"You're strange," she said finally.
"So are you." Spencer picked up his water cup. "That's not an insult. Strange is... rare. And rare might be the only thing worth being, in a place like this."
He walked away before she could respond, leaving her with questions instead of answers. That was the right approach — Nicola was too sharp for manipulation, too perceptive to be deceived by false friendship. She needed to come to him, not the other way around.
---
Spencer returned to his quarters with the taste of successful first contact on his tongue.
She can see my Narrative Weight. She described it perfectly — shimmer, heat-haze, something that doesn't belong.
Which means she's already seeing what Min saw in Baerlon. The Pattern's way of marking me as an anomaly.
And if she can see that, she might be able to see other things. Things that could help identify Black Ajah. Things that could warn about future dangers.
Nicola Treehill might be the most valuable ally I find in this Tower.
But the meeting had also given Spencer something unexpected: genuine pleasure. Nicola was difficult, prickly, far too young to be carrying the burdens she'd been handed. But she was also honest in a way that most Aes Sedai couldn't manage. She said what she saw, demanded what she wanted, and didn't apologize for being extraordinary.
She reminds me of someone I used to know. Someone who never fit the mold either.
Someone who might have been my friend, if I'd lived long enough to find out.
Spencer pushed the thought away and focused on the next priority.
Sheriam's office door had been open when he'd passed it earlier. The Mistress of Novices maintained irregular hours, sometimes absent for extended periods while conducting Tower business.
Tomorrow, I position myself for a direct scan. I need to know whether Sheriam is Black Ajah or just incompetent.
And I need to know before Nicola gets deeper into the Tower's training — because if Sheriam is Shadow-sworn, she already knows there's a Foreteller in her novice class.
A Foreteller the Tower thinks is "moderate."
A Foreteller nobody's protecting.
Spencer looked out his window at Tar Valon's moonlit skyline. Somewhere in the Tower below, Nicola was settling into her narrow novice bed, probably staring at the ceiling and wondering why a strange man in the common room had been the first person to believe her in years.
I'll protect you, Nicola. I don't know how yet, and I don't know what it'll cost. But I'll find a way.
Because you see what I am. And in this world of liars and masks, that might be the most valuable thing anyone's ever given me.
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