Sharper than a Serpent's Tooth - Chapter 20: Richard
Title: Sharper than a Serpent's Tooth
Pairing: Darken/Kahlan with past references to Darken/Cara and Richard/Kahlan
Length: 4300~
Rating: T
Spoilers: Set in the "Reckoning" AU with facts learned in "Eternity".
Richard
Upon first waking to the cold threat in Theta’s eyes, Bess had scrambled out of the princess’s rooms without a backward glance.
After all, few Mord’Sith would think twice about killing an old servant, but none would be suicidal enough to injure Lord Rahl’s daughter?
Concealing herself in a nearby closet, the woman had waited with baited breath for Theta to leave. After what seemed like an eternity, Bess had heard the door to Rachel’s apartments click shut as Theta stepped back into the corridor, then a strangled groan followed by a muted thud. Endless moments passed until the Mord’Sith started her journey down the steep stairs of the back passageway. She seemed to be moving rather clumsily for one of her kind, her steps heavy and dragging, scraping against stone.
When Bess finally mustered the courage to re-enter Rachel’s chambers she noted with vague surprise and some relief that no guard stood watch at the door. At least she would not have to come up with a reason for her flight.
But one look at Rachel was enough for Bess to realize that she had made a serious error in judgment. The implications of what she had done, and what she had just heard, began to filter through her fogged brain. She would be in dire straits if Lord Rahl’s daughter had come to any harm through her cowardice.
When Rachel’s nurse, Margaret, had left for a few days for a family celebration, Bess had been the first to offer to look after the princess’s needs. The young mistress was undemanding and quiet, and Bess wanted a short respite from the endless bowing and scraping required by Lord Rahl’s never-ending stream of noble guests as she laced up their corsets, fetched their meals and cleaned up after their selfish follies.
Attending to the girl had proved easy enough until this night. In disfavor with her father, the girl was withdrawn and uncommunicative during the two days Bess had spent in her company. Refusing to eat or sleep, she spent the time either moping about and staring out the window, or pacing distractedly to and fro between her two rooms. Bess, never one to let a good meal go to waste, ate enough for the both of them.
Bess knew that Margaret had taken messages from Rachel to Lord Rahl over the previous week, but she wasn’t about to play that game, and was grateful she had not been asked. The princess seemed to have decided that it was a futile effort.
But now, coming upon Rachel standing pale and transfixed in front of the hearth, Bess knew that her faintness of heart in fleeing from the Mord’Sith might have cost her dear.
Something very bad had just happened, and Bess just knew that she would be blamed for it.
“Please don’t be angry, my Lady. I was sure you would be fine. After all, I only stepped out for a few minutes. When the Mord’Sith told me that she carried a private message from your father, I couldn’t very well argue with her when she ordered me to leave, could I?”
Rachel frowned impatiently at Bess’s shrill grating voice, and pushed away her clutching hands. The woman’s breath reeked of liquor. “Have you ever known my father to allow one of his Mord’Sith to enter my rooms without warning?” she demanded. “You are supposed to be acting as my attendant, not running away at the first opportunity.”
“I told you, Mistress,” Bess whined, “She said your father sent her. Who was I to doubt her? She is his personal bodyguard, after all. It could have been true. Who was I to question her? I know my place.”
“Why didn’t the guard question her then?” Rachel asked. Stepping over to the door, she pulled it open, peering up and down the corridor. Nobody was in sight.
That was strange.
At least one guard was always supposed to be at her door during the night.
She should report this carelessness.
She should report Mistress Theta’s intrusion.
But to whom?
Her father had ignored her repeated appeals to see him.
Why would he listen now?
Mistress Theta would never have come here tonight if she hadn’t felt very sure of herself.
If she hadn’t felt safe from retribution.
I share his bed every night. I am with him all the time, sharing all of his secrets.
Perhaps her father had given Theta permission to talk to Rachel.
Since her banishment from her father’s presence, Rachel had continued to puzzle over the intensity of his wrath when she expressed her disgust for Captain Brandon. It wasn’t the first time they had discussed the man, and she had never made a secret of her feelings. Yet something uttered that particular night had goaded her father into a rage.
Something that reminded him of her mother.
You really are your mother’s daughter aren’t you?
Rachel had been sure that his anger would fade after a day or two of reflection. She had hoped he could be persuaded to put off any decision about her marriage.
But his ire had only hardened as the days went by.
He refused to even see her, repeatedly repulsing poor Margaret’s attempts to deliver her messages.
Cut off from her mother, cast adrift by her father, Rachel felt as if she were becoming invisible, her edges softening and blurring. She would catch herself gazing into the mirror to reassure herself that she still existed.
Theta’s nocturnal visit had shaken what little confidence Rachel had left in her father’s affections.
I share his bed every night. I am with him all the time, sharing all of his secrets.
Theta had judged her adversary well, knowing just when and where to strike, then making her escape, leaving Rachel alone to dwell on every poisonous work, every vile image planted in her mind and heart.
Leaving her to agonize over where lies ended and the truth began.
Rachel started as Bess grasped her sleeve. Jerking away from the contact, she turned on the servant, ready to let fly with her frustration. The woman was weeping, her bloodshot eyes wide with terror. “Mistress, please, please don’t tell your father that I left you alone tonight. It wasn’t as if you were actually hurt now, is it? No harm was done, so why can’t we just keep this a secret between us? I know you have a good heart. Mags is always telling me what a kind-hearted girl you are.”
The woman had dropped to her knees, blubbering so hard she couldn’t speak any more. Her face was streaked with dirt where she’d wiped her hands across her wet cheeks.
Swept by reluctant pity, Rachel tried to calm her companion. “All right. I promise. Just…stop crying. If you want to please me, lie down and try to sleep. The sun will be up soon. At least one of us should get some rest.”
Within minutes, after offering her sniveling gratitude, Bess lay snoring on the sofa, oblivious to all around her.
Reclining on her own bed, Rachel willed herself to relax. She had been sleepless for days, so exhausted that her body felt like lead. Yet her mind would give her no rest.
Every time her eyes closed, Theta leered at her, mouthing words that echoed mockingly in her head.
He can’t wait to get you married so you can finally be of use to him.
You’ve been a disappointment since the day you were born.
Rachel buried her face into the pillows, but the voice wouldn’t stop.
He knew that Brandon disgusted you more than all of the others. It amused him.
How could her father have enjoyed the thought of her misery?
She didn’t believe it.
Couldn’t believe it.
That was a lie.
Lord Rahl always hated your mother.
He wanted you to suffer like your mother suffered when he took her to his bed.
He regrets not locking you away with your traitor mother.
More lies!
Her father had loved her mother once. Even as a very young child, Rachel had noticed the small things - the secret glance when her mother's head was turned, the tentative touch that withdrew at her mother’s shiver of revulsion, the beginning of a smile that would freeze into a sneer when repulsed. She had sensed his yearning for something more which was always denied.
He had loved Kahlan until the night Rachel had let slip those fatal words about Richard, creating the first kernel of suspicion in her father’s mind.
A suspicion that had blossomed into hatred only when Rachel revealed her mother’s secret.
Yet beneath many of Theta’s words there had been a ring of truth, however faint.
You’re only good for producing more Confessors.
For months Rachel had felt the growing chill of her father’s impatience.
The shadow of his disappointment.
Until now you were all he had to work with. Soon all of that is going to change.
Lord Rahl is already making plans for his son.
Mord’Sith might be unreadable to Confessors, but Rachel did not doubt Theta’s pregnancy. It was an instinct that had nothing to do with magic. The fierce pride in the woman’s eyes, the way she carried herself, the protective manner in which her hand hovered over her belly, all conveyed a truth that couldn’t be denied.
Once Lord Rahl had his son, what value would Rachel hold for him other than as a Confessor? Her mother had tried to warn her.
Your father cares about one thing and one thing only. He wants power, and will use you in any way possible to maintain that power. You are a fool if you can’t understand that.
Theta had sworn that he already knew about the babe.
Perhaps that was why father had forgotten about her.
He had never gone so long without speaking to her before. Even when he and her mother had gone on progress during her childhood, leaving Rachel behind in the care of her nurse, her father had always kept in touch with her by journey book, sending her messages every day without fail.
The clatter of iron-shod hooves against cobblestones interrupted her brooding. Propping herself up on the bed, Rachel scooted over to the window. From there she could look out over the vast courtyard below. Through the pre-dawn mist, she could make out forms of men and horses. Somebody was talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.
The hunting party.
Theta had asked if she was going, knowing all the while that her company had not been requested.
Rachel wondered if her father and Captain Brandon would talk about the upcoming betrothal while they killed helpless animals. For the first time she considered the possibility that Brandon might be as reluctant as she about this arrangement.
Would Jonathon be among them? Would he laugh and talk with the others about his upcoming marriage to the woman he loved?
A woman who couldn’t enslave him with a touch.
Who could blame him?
Rachel was a freak of nature.
The last of her kind.
What man would want to be used to inflict more Confessors on the world.
Lying back against the pillows, Rachel closed her eyes in defeat. The fatigue of the past six months sank into her bones.
It would appear, Confessor, that nobody wants you. The only purpose you have in this world is to provide your father with more Confessors. It the only reason you’re still alive.
So be it, then. Maybe it was best not to fight.
Theta’s parting words whispered through the shadows as Rachel finally sank into sleep.
“Kahlan! Open the door!”
The hammering of fist against wood jolted Rachel out of slumber. It seemed as if she had just shut her eyes, yet golden sunlight flooded her chambers.
She must have been sleeping for hours.
But the sun wasn’t shining.
Rachel stared in confusion at the pinpricks of stars framed by her window. A crescent moon hung low in the sky. It had been almost dawn when she closed her eyes, yet she gazed upon a night sky.
The ashes in the hearth were cold, the fire dead. No torches burned.
Yet the room glowed.
“Kahlan, I’m here. Please open the door.”
Rachel knew that voice.
Richard had arrived.
Forty-one years had gone by like a dream.
She was prepared.
Perfectly composed, Rachel strode to the door.
For once in her life she knew exactly what to do.
Entering the hallway, Rachel flinched away from the glare of light surrounding the figures before her. Then, as her eyes adjusted, their features came into focus.
The woman was a stranger. She was Mord’Sith. At first glance, the blonde looked much like Mistress Theta. But on closer inspection, there was little similarity. Comparing Theta to this sleek creature was like comparing a sparrow to an eagle.
Standing beside the Mord’Sith was the man Rachel had known her entire life.
The Seeker of Truth.
The love and hope that fueled her mother’s days.
Rachel's burden and her promise.
Her father’s murderer.
The reason for Rachel’s existence and the agent of her destruction.
Richard had shadowed her life since the moment of her conception, yet the young man now standing before her seemed tenative and bewildered.
“Welcome, Richard.” Rachel said quietly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Kahlan?” he asked, the first expression of wonderment fading to disappointment the longer he studied her, then quickly tightening into determination. “Who are you?” he growled. “You look like her, but it’s a ploy to fool me. Does Rahl think that I can be so easily duped? What have the two of you done to her?”
Rachel didn’t respond right away, searching in her own heart for the answer, taking time to study this man who had so haunted her life.
Feeling oddly dislocated in time, yet undisturbed, she finally replied, “I’m their daughter, Richard. I’m Kahlan’s child. I’m your brother’s child. Darken Rahl is my father.”
“That’s impossible!” he blustered. “Kahlan would die before she would allow that monster to touch her. “And Darken Rahl is not my brother. What kind of lies has he been feeding you?”
At Rachel’s words, the beautiful woman standing at attention behind Richard stalked forward, her brilliant green eyes intense and unwavering. “If you are Lord Rahl’s daughter, then where is my son?” she demanded fiercely.
“I’m sorry, Cara,” Rachel replied gently, “your son is dead. They’re all dead now. They’ve been dead for many years.”
‘You,” she stared pointedly at Richard,” are the only one left.”
How could that be true?
Why wasn’t she overcome with grief at her parent’s death? Knowledge she hadn’t even been aware she possessed until she had spoken the words?
Rachel had never met this woman before, but knew her name.
Some inner wisdom seemed to be guiding her, and she followed where it led.
This woman, Cara, and Rachel’s father had once had a child together, and he had only lived a few hours. She was troubled by a sudden doubt about the child’s death.
Even if it were true, Rachel realized that she loved her father no less. Since she had awoken from her long sleep, her perceptions had sharpened, her capacity for understanding deepened.
The heaviness of spirit that had dragged her down for months was gone. In its place was a strange weightlessness, a feeling of exhilaration and purpose, so unlike the weak feeble creature she had once been.
This Rachel could perceive what had been and what might yet be, as if she stood outside of time.
The Mord’Sith’s emotionless façade didn’t crack as she resumed her position behind Richard, but the brief clenching of her jaw told Rachel more than any tears could convey.
“Take me to her,” Richard rasped, “I have to see her.”
“Very well,” Rachel agreed. She led them down to the crypt, a chamber she remembered visiting only once before as a very young child. The walls glistened with condensation and the air grew clammier as they descended toward the final resting place of her family.
Her parents were entombed here. She could see their effigies in her mind’s eye, yet she had no memory of how or when they had died.
Richard looked about anxiously as the walls closed in on them. He said nothing, but Rachel sensed his dread.
“This is it,” she whispered. They had come to an ornate door inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Fresh flowers bloomed in the vases which adorned each side of the entrance.
Who replaced them every day?
Rachel pulled forth a large key and turned it in the lock, pushing the heavy door inward.
She gestured for Richard and Cara to proceed into the crypt, but just as she started to follow, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She dare not enter!
“I’ll wait for you out here,” she managed to gasp.
The inner calm that had sustained Rachel thus far deserted her as she struggled for breath, fighting against the urge to turn and run back up the stairs.
Her teeth chattered with cold and panic as she listened to Richard’s grief. His sobs gently ebbed into murmured endearments uttered to the chiseled likeness of the woman he had loved.
The other Rachel, the strong Rachel, was trying to exert control. She must listen to that inner voice and obey. There was something very important she had to do.
Something she had to tell Richard.
Time was running out.
Richard and Cara finally rejoined her in the passageway. His face was streaked with tears. Cara’s visage was impassive, carved in granite. Rachel didn’t waste time condoling with them, but almost shoved them up the stairs in her impatience to leave.
Richard side-eyed her disgustedly. No doubt her failure to mourn with him, as well as her unseemly eagerness to abandon her parents to their eternal sleep, only hardened his conviction that Rachel must be a monster.
Just like her father.
Mere seconds later, the trio entered Lord Rahl’s audience chamber. Rachel puzzled over how they could have climbed so many levels and traversed the distance so quickly. The People’s Palace was huge, and the crypt had been constructed to be as remote from the world of light and life as possible.
But this was no room of light and life.
Her father’s lonely throne dominated the center of the room. Dust swirled up around them with every step. A swallow, startled from her nest in the high rafters by their intrusion, swooped down over their heads, then escaped through a window rimmed by jagged edges of glass. The floor was littered with dead leaves, dirt and debris. Rachel jumped as a tiny body scurried over her foot in its dash to safety.
When she was last in this room, only two weeks before, the chamber had been immaculate, teeming with the everyday business of palace life, as her father presided over all before him. Yet the new Rachel, the strong Rachel, felt no shock at the disarray and neglect before her, no surprise at the years that must have passed since that day.
“What’s happened here?” Richard demanded. “Don’t you care at all about your own people? Who rules here now, if you don’t?”
Now is the time, Rachel. Speak.
Strong Rachel prodded her.
“You do, Richard,” Rachel asserted. “You are the Lord Rahl. My father has been dead for years. D’Hara has been without a king for too long. It’s been waiting for you. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Richard gaped at her, slack-jawed, then shook his head. “I am not a Rahl, and I am not going to let this…any of this…happen.” He lifted his hand, palm out, as if deflecting any argument. “There has to be a way to change all of this, to go back and make sure that it never happens. There has to be a way for Kahlan and I to be together again.”
“There is no way back, Richard. This is where you belong. This is where, and when, you are needed most,” Rachel was adamant. “You will only sow discord and violence if you return to the life you knew. That time and that place endured, even prospered, without you.”
Rachel stepped over to him, glass and dead leaves crackling underfoot as her skirts trailed behind her. “There was a reason you were brought here. It was no accident.”
Richard pulled his hand back further, as if preparing to strike at her. His lips stretched into a grimace of anger and agony. “I am not a Rahl!” he hissed. “I will find a way to return to Kahlan with or without you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Rachel did not give way. “Richard, there is no way back to Kahlan without my aid, and I won’t help you run away.”
Both of them had been so caught up in their battle of wills that they had forgotten Cara. But the Mord’SIth now made her presence known in no uncertain terms.
“The woman speaks the truth, Seeker,” she declared in a voice as sharp and clear as a diamond. “My agiel’s magic can only work through the Rahl bloodline,” she touched the weapon at her side. If Darken Rahl is dead, then you are indeed Lord Rahl.” A glimmer of what might have been regret passed over Cara’s features.
Crisply, elegantly, she kneeled in front of Richard, fist over her heart.
“Get up!” he shouted at Cara. “I don’t want D’Hara, I don’t want to be Lord Rahl. I don’t even want to be the Seeker. I just want Kahlan back.”
Richard flung his pack to the floor. Tugging frantically at the buckles that held its contents, he glared at Rachel. “With what I have in here, I can force you to do anything I want,” he snarled. “You will grovel to do my bidding.”
Regarding the man before her, Rachel marveled at how - uncontrolled - this man was in comparison to her father.
“Is that the kind of man you are, Richard? Would you really abuse the Power of Orden to enslave others for your own selfish purposes? Is that the kind of man Kahlan believed you to be?” she snapped. “If I wished, I could easily confess you before you manage to assemble the boxes. I could do it right now.” Rachel reached out and lightly touched her hand against his cheek.
Eyes wild with terror, Richard froze.
“But I won’t.” She pulled her hand back. “You don’t need the Boxes of Orden to rule D’Hara, Richard. Put them away. Better yet, destroy them so that they can never be used."
Rachel was tired of arguing. It was almost time to leave.
“Read the book, Richard. It will help you understand this land and the people you must govern.”
“I don’t understand,” he stammered. “What book?”
“My father knew you would need to learn so many things. He tried to write it all down for you.” Rachel didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. The words were coming from the same source of wisdom that had strengthened her during this entire confrontation.
The idea of her father writing a book to help Richard Cypher was preposterous.
In fact, everything spoken by her to the Seeker this night had been a repudiation of each careful plan laid down by both Kahlan Amnell and Darken Rahl in anticipation of Richard’s arrival.
“Why would I follow the advice of a fiendish tyrant?” Richard's voice was harsh and unyielding.
“Darken Rahl may have committed wrongs in the past, but that was not all that he was. You didn’t know him, so don’t pass judgment so easily. At least he didn’t run away from his responsibilities,” Rachel cried, for the first time completely losing patience with this man standing before her. “My father cared about his people more than you will ever know, and I loved him very much.” Her voice choked with unshed tears. “He did his best.”
“Just read the book,” she sighed. “It’s all there.”
Father will write it.
When it’s time. Strong Rachel assured her, and she believed.
Rachel turned to leave, the hem of her dress swirling up a cloud of dust in the desolate room. She was so tired. The sense of lightness, the inner calm, was dissipating rapidly. Old Rachel was pulling on her again.
“Wait!” Richard called after her. “What about you? Why didn’t you try to rule when your father died? What happened?”
A sliver of fear ran through Rachel’s veins.
What had happened to her?
For that matter, where were her children? The Confessor grandchildren her father had wanted so desperately.
Rachel’s inner voice had gone silent, leaving her lost and alone once more.
There was no more time.
She had rejected the plotting of both of her parents, reaching out to Richard in the only way she could to deliver her own message.
Rachel had already started walking away when the floor, the walls, even Richard himself, began to lose shape, twisting and spiraling around her. She staggered, trying to maintain her footing as the room tilted crazily.
She grabbed at the doorframe to keep her balance, but her hand passed through oak as if through thin air. There was nothing solid to grasp onto.
Richard was still calling after her, but Rachel couldn’t understand what he was saying any longer.
She had to get away.
Richard started to pound on the doorframe with his fists. Rachel couldn’t fathom how he had reached her so quickly, or why his flesh struck solid wood while hers could not.
He wouldn’t stop yelling, his knuckles now practically splintering the door.
She had given him everything she had. What more did he want?
There was nothing left.
The thudding and shouting grew louder.
Then the world exploded into light.
Pairing: Darken/Kahlan with past references to Darken/Cara and Richard/Kahlan
Length: 4300~
Rating: T
Spoilers: Set in the "Reckoning" AU with facts learned in "Eternity".
Richard
Upon first waking to the cold threat in Theta’s eyes, Bess had scrambled out of the princess’s rooms without a backward glance.
After all, few Mord’Sith would think twice about killing an old servant, but none would be suicidal enough to injure Lord Rahl’s daughter?
Concealing herself in a nearby closet, the woman had waited with baited breath for Theta to leave. After what seemed like an eternity, Bess had heard the door to Rachel’s apartments click shut as Theta stepped back into the corridor, then a strangled groan followed by a muted thud. Endless moments passed until the Mord’Sith started her journey down the steep stairs of the back passageway. She seemed to be moving rather clumsily for one of her kind, her steps heavy and dragging, scraping against stone.
When Bess finally mustered the courage to re-enter Rachel’s chambers she noted with vague surprise and some relief that no guard stood watch at the door. At least she would not have to come up with a reason for her flight.
But one look at Rachel was enough for Bess to realize that she had made a serious error in judgment. The implications of what she had done, and what she had just heard, began to filter through her fogged brain. She would be in dire straits if Lord Rahl’s daughter had come to any harm through her cowardice.
When Rachel’s nurse, Margaret, had left for a few days for a family celebration, Bess had been the first to offer to look after the princess’s needs. The young mistress was undemanding and quiet, and Bess wanted a short respite from the endless bowing and scraping required by Lord Rahl’s never-ending stream of noble guests as she laced up their corsets, fetched their meals and cleaned up after their selfish follies.
Attending to the girl had proved easy enough until this night. In disfavor with her father, the girl was withdrawn and uncommunicative during the two days Bess had spent in her company. Refusing to eat or sleep, she spent the time either moping about and staring out the window, or pacing distractedly to and fro between her two rooms. Bess, never one to let a good meal go to waste, ate enough for the both of them.
Bess knew that Margaret had taken messages from Rachel to Lord Rahl over the previous week, but she wasn’t about to play that game, and was grateful she had not been asked. The princess seemed to have decided that it was a futile effort.
But now, coming upon Rachel standing pale and transfixed in front of the hearth, Bess knew that her faintness of heart in fleeing from the Mord’Sith might have cost her dear.
Something very bad had just happened, and Bess just knew that she would be blamed for it.
“Please don’t be angry, my Lady. I was sure you would be fine. After all, I only stepped out for a few minutes. When the Mord’Sith told me that she carried a private message from your father, I couldn’t very well argue with her when she ordered me to leave, could I?”
Rachel frowned impatiently at Bess’s shrill grating voice, and pushed away her clutching hands. The woman’s breath reeked of liquor. “Have you ever known my father to allow one of his Mord’Sith to enter my rooms without warning?” she demanded. “You are supposed to be acting as my attendant, not running away at the first opportunity.”
“I told you, Mistress,” Bess whined, “She said your father sent her. Who was I to doubt her? She is his personal bodyguard, after all. It could have been true. Who was I to question her? I know my place.”
“Why didn’t the guard question her then?” Rachel asked. Stepping over to the door, she pulled it open, peering up and down the corridor. Nobody was in sight.
That was strange.
At least one guard was always supposed to be at her door during the night.
She should report this carelessness.
She should report Mistress Theta’s intrusion.
But to whom?
Her father had ignored her repeated appeals to see him.
Why would he listen now?
Mistress Theta would never have come here tonight if she hadn’t felt very sure of herself.
If she hadn’t felt safe from retribution.
I share his bed every night. I am with him all the time, sharing all of his secrets.
Perhaps her father had given Theta permission to talk to Rachel.
Since her banishment from her father’s presence, Rachel had continued to puzzle over the intensity of his wrath when she expressed her disgust for Captain Brandon. It wasn’t the first time they had discussed the man, and she had never made a secret of her feelings. Yet something uttered that particular night had goaded her father into a rage.
Something that reminded him of her mother.
You really are your mother’s daughter aren’t you?
Rachel had been sure that his anger would fade after a day or two of reflection. She had hoped he could be persuaded to put off any decision about her marriage.
But his ire had only hardened as the days went by.
He refused to even see her, repeatedly repulsing poor Margaret’s attempts to deliver her messages.
Cut off from her mother, cast adrift by her father, Rachel felt as if she were becoming invisible, her edges softening and blurring. She would catch herself gazing into the mirror to reassure herself that she still existed.
Theta’s nocturnal visit had shaken what little confidence Rachel had left in her father’s affections.
I share his bed every night. I am with him all the time, sharing all of his secrets.
Theta had judged her adversary well, knowing just when and where to strike, then making her escape, leaving Rachel alone to dwell on every poisonous work, every vile image planted in her mind and heart.
Leaving her to agonize over where lies ended and the truth began.
Rachel started as Bess grasped her sleeve. Jerking away from the contact, she turned on the servant, ready to let fly with her frustration. The woman was weeping, her bloodshot eyes wide with terror. “Mistress, please, please don’t tell your father that I left you alone tonight. It wasn’t as if you were actually hurt now, is it? No harm was done, so why can’t we just keep this a secret between us? I know you have a good heart. Mags is always telling me what a kind-hearted girl you are.”
The woman had dropped to her knees, blubbering so hard she couldn’t speak any more. Her face was streaked with dirt where she’d wiped her hands across her wet cheeks.
Swept by reluctant pity, Rachel tried to calm her companion. “All right. I promise. Just…stop crying. If you want to please me, lie down and try to sleep. The sun will be up soon. At least one of us should get some rest.”
Within minutes, after offering her sniveling gratitude, Bess lay snoring on the sofa, oblivious to all around her.
Reclining on her own bed, Rachel willed herself to relax. She had been sleepless for days, so exhausted that her body felt like lead. Yet her mind would give her no rest.
Every time her eyes closed, Theta leered at her, mouthing words that echoed mockingly in her head.
He can’t wait to get you married so you can finally be of use to him.
You’ve been a disappointment since the day you were born.
Rachel buried her face into the pillows, but the voice wouldn’t stop.
He knew that Brandon disgusted you more than all of the others. It amused him.
How could her father have enjoyed the thought of her misery?
She didn’t believe it.
Couldn’t believe it.
That was a lie.
Lord Rahl always hated your mother.
He wanted you to suffer like your mother suffered when he took her to his bed.
He regrets not locking you away with your traitor mother.
More lies!
Her father had loved her mother once. Even as a very young child, Rachel had noticed the small things - the secret glance when her mother's head was turned, the tentative touch that withdrew at her mother’s shiver of revulsion, the beginning of a smile that would freeze into a sneer when repulsed. She had sensed his yearning for something more which was always denied.
He had loved Kahlan until the night Rachel had let slip those fatal words about Richard, creating the first kernel of suspicion in her father’s mind.
A suspicion that had blossomed into hatred only when Rachel revealed her mother’s secret.
Yet beneath many of Theta’s words there had been a ring of truth, however faint.
You’re only good for producing more Confessors.
For months Rachel had felt the growing chill of her father’s impatience.
The shadow of his disappointment.
Until now you were all he had to work with. Soon all of that is going to change.
Lord Rahl is already making plans for his son.
Mord’Sith might be unreadable to Confessors, but Rachel did not doubt Theta’s pregnancy. It was an instinct that had nothing to do with magic. The fierce pride in the woman’s eyes, the way she carried herself, the protective manner in which her hand hovered over her belly, all conveyed a truth that couldn’t be denied.
Once Lord Rahl had his son, what value would Rachel hold for him other than as a Confessor? Her mother had tried to warn her.
Your father cares about one thing and one thing only. He wants power, and will use you in any way possible to maintain that power. You are a fool if you can’t understand that.
Theta had sworn that he already knew about the babe.
Perhaps that was why father had forgotten about her.
He had never gone so long without speaking to her before. Even when he and her mother had gone on progress during her childhood, leaving Rachel behind in the care of her nurse, her father had always kept in touch with her by journey book, sending her messages every day without fail.
The clatter of iron-shod hooves against cobblestones interrupted her brooding. Propping herself up on the bed, Rachel scooted over to the window. From there she could look out over the vast courtyard below. Through the pre-dawn mist, she could make out forms of men and horses. Somebody was talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.
The hunting party.
Theta had asked if she was going, knowing all the while that her company had not been requested.
Rachel wondered if her father and Captain Brandon would talk about the upcoming betrothal while they killed helpless animals. For the first time she considered the possibility that Brandon might be as reluctant as she about this arrangement.
Would Jonathon be among them? Would he laugh and talk with the others about his upcoming marriage to the woman he loved?
A woman who couldn’t enslave him with a touch.
Who could blame him?
Rachel was a freak of nature.
The last of her kind.
What man would want to be used to inflict more Confessors on the world.
Lying back against the pillows, Rachel closed her eyes in defeat. The fatigue of the past six months sank into her bones.
It would appear, Confessor, that nobody wants you. The only purpose you have in this world is to provide your father with more Confessors. It the only reason you’re still alive.
So be it, then. Maybe it was best not to fight.
Theta’s parting words whispered through the shadows as Rachel finally sank into sleep.
“Kahlan! Open the door!”
The hammering of fist against wood jolted Rachel out of slumber. It seemed as if she had just shut her eyes, yet golden sunlight flooded her chambers.
She must have been sleeping for hours.
But the sun wasn’t shining.
Rachel stared in confusion at the pinpricks of stars framed by her window. A crescent moon hung low in the sky. It had been almost dawn when she closed her eyes, yet she gazed upon a night sky.
The ashes in the hearth were cold, the fire dead. No torches burned.
Yet the room glowed.
“Kahlan, I’m here. Please open the door.”
Rachel knew that voice.
Richard had arrived.
Forty-one years had gone by like a dream.
She was prepared.
Perfectly composed, Rachel strode to the door.
For once in her life she knew exactly what to do.
Entering the hallway, Rachel flinched away from the glare of light surrounding the figures before her. Then, as her eyes adjusted, their features came into focus.
The woman was a stranger. She was Mord’Sith. At first glance, the blonde looked much like Mistress Theta. But on closer inspection, there was little similarity. Comparing Theta to this sleek creature was like comparing a sparrow to an eagle.
Standing beside the Mord’Sith was the man Rachel had known her entire life.
The Seeker of Truth.
The love and hope that fueled her mother’s days.
Rachel's burden and her promise.
Her father’s murderer.
The reason for Rachel’s existence and the agent of her destruction.
Richard had shadowed her life since the moment of her conception, yet the young man now standing before her seemed tenative and bewildered.
“Welcome, Richard.” Rachel said quietly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Kahlan?” he asked, the first expression of wonderment fading to disappointment the longer he studied her, then quickly tightening into determination. “Who are you?” he growled. “You look like her, but it’s a ploy to fool me. Does Rahl think that I can be so easily duped? What have the two of you done to her?”
Rachel didn’t respond right away, searching in her own heart for the answer, taking time to study this man who had so haunted her life.
Feeling oddly dislocated in time, yet undisturbed, she finally replied, “I’m their daughter, Richard. I’m Kahlan’s child. I’m your brother’s child. Darken Rahl is my father.”
“That’s impossible!” he blustered. “Kahlan would die before she would allow that monster to touch her. “And Darken Rahl is not my brother. What kind of lies has he been feeding you?”
At Rachel’s words, the beautiful woman standing at attention behind Richard stalked forward, her brilliant green eyes intense and unwavering. “If you are Lord Rahl’s daughter, then where is my son?” she demanded fiercely.
“I’m sorry, Cara,” Rachel replied gently, “your son is dead. They’re all dead now. They’ve been dead for many years.”
‘You,” she stared pointedly at Richard,” are the only one left.”
How could that be true?
Why wasn’t she overcome with grief at her parent’s death? Knowledge she hadn’t even been aware she possessed until she had spoken the words?
Rachel had never met this woman before, but knew her name.
Some inner wisdom seemed to be guiding her, and she followed where it led.
This woman, Cara, and Rachel’s father had once had a child together, and he had only lived a few hours. She was troubled by a sudden doubt about the child’s death.
Even if it were true, Rachel realized that she loved her father no less. Since she had awoken from her long sleep, her perceptions had sharpened, her capacity for understanding deepened.
The heaviness of spirit that had dragged her down for months was gone. In its place was a strange weightlessness, a feeling of exhilaration and purpose, so unlike the weak feeble creature she had once been.
This Rachel could perceive what had been and what might yet be, as if she stood outside of time.
The Mord’Sith’s emotionless façade didn’t crack as she resumed her position behind Richard, but the brief clenching of her jaw told Rachel more than any tears could convey.
“Take me to her,” Richard rasped, “I have to see her.”
“Very well,” Rachel agreed. She led them down to the crypt, a chamber she remembered visiting only once before as a very young child. The walls glistened with condensation and the air grew clammier as they descended toward the final resting place of her family.
Her parents were entombed here. She could see their effigies in her mind’s eye, yet she had no memory of how or when they had died.
Richard looked about anxiously as the walls closed in on them. He said nothing, but Rachel sensed his dread.
“This is it,” she whispered. They had come to an ornate door inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Fresh flowers bloomed in the vases which adorned each side of the entrance.
Who replaced them every day?
Rachel pulled forth a large key and turned it in the lock, pushing the heavy door inward.
She gestured for Richard and Cara to proceed into the crypt, but just as she started to follow, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
She dare not enter!
“I’ll wait for you out here,” she managed to gasp.
The inner calm that had sustained Rachel thus far deserted her as she struggled for breath, fighting against the urge to turn and run back up the stairs.
Her teeth chattered with cold and panic as she listened to Richard’s grief. His sobs gently ebbed into murmured endearments uttered to the chiseled likeness of the woman he had loved.
The other Rachel, the strong Rachel, was trying to exert control. She must listen to that inner voice and obey. There was something very important she had to do.
Something she had to tell Richard.
Time was running out.
Richard and Cara finally rejoined her in the passageway. His face was streaked with tears. Cara’s visage was impassive, carved in granite. Rachel didn’t waste time condoling with them, but almost shoved them up the stairs in her impatience to leave.
Richard side-eyed her disgustedly. No doubt her failure to mourn with him, as well as her unseemly eagerness to abandon her parents to their eternal sleep, only hardened his conviction that Rachel must be a monster.
Just like her father.
Mere seconds later, the trio entered Lord Rahl’s audience chamber. Rachel puzzled over how they could have climbed so many levels and traversed the distance so quickly. The People’s Palace was huge, and the crypt had been constructed to be as remote from the world of light and life as possible.
But this was no room of light and life.
Her father’s lonely throne dominated the center of the room. Dust swirled up around them with every step. A swallow, startled from her nest in the high rafters by their intrusion, swooped down over their heads, then escaped through a window rimmed by jagged edges of glass. The floor was littered with dead leaves, dirt and debris. Rachel jumped as a tiny body scurried over her foot in its dash to safety.
When she was last in this room, only two weeks before, the chamber had been immaculate, teeming with the everyday business of palace life, as her father presided over all before him. Yet the new Rachel, the strong Rachel, felt no shock at the disarray and neglect before her, no surprise at the years that must have passed since that day.
“What’s happened here?” Richard demanded. “Don’t you care at all about your own people? Who rules here now, if you don’t?”
Now is the time, Rachel. Speak.
Strong Rachel prodded her.
“You do, Richard,” Rachel asserted. “You are the Lord Rahl. My father has been dead for years. D’Hara has been without a king for too long. It’s been waiting for you. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Richard gaped at her, slack-jawed, then shook his head. “I am not a Rahl, and I am not going to let this…any of this…happen.” He lifted his hand, palm out, as if deflecting any argument. “There has to be a way to change all of this, to go back and make sure that it never happens. There has to be a way for Kahlan and I to be together again.”
“There is no way back, Richard. This is where you belong. This is where, and when, you are needed most,” Rachel was adamant. “You will only sow discord and violence if you return to the life you knew. That time and that place endured, even prospered, without you.”
Rachel stepped over to him, glass and dead leaves crackling underfoot as her skirts trailed behind her. “There was a reason you were brought here. It was no accident.”
Richard pulled his hand back further, as if preparing to strike at her. His lips stretched into a grimace of anger and agony. “I am not a Rahl!” he hissed. “I will find a way to return to Kahlan with or without you. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Rachel did not give way. “Richard, there is no way back to Kahlan without my aid, and I won’t help you run away.”
Both of them had been so caught up in their battle of wills that they had forgotten Cara. But the Mord’SIth now made her presence known in no uncertain terms.
“The woman speaks the truth, Seeker,” she declared in a voice as sharp and clear as a diamond. “My agiel’s magic can only work through the Rahl bloodline,” she touched the weapon at her side. If Darken Rahl is dead, then you are indeed Lord Rahl.” A glimmer of what might have been regret passed over Cara’s features.
Crisply, elegantly, she kneeled in front of Richard, fist over her heart.
“Get up!” he shouted at Cara. “I don’t want D’Hara, I don’t want to be Lord Rahl. I don’t even want to be the Seeker. I just want Kahlan back.”
Richard flung his pack to the floor. Tugging frantically at the buckles that held its contents, he glared at Rachel. “With what I have in here, I can force you to do anything I want,” he snarled. “You will grovel to do my bidding.”
Regarding the man before her, Rachel marveled at how - uncontrolled - this man was in comparison to her father.
“Is that the kind of man you are, Richard? Would you really abuse the Power of Orden to enslave others for your own selfish purposes? Is that the kind of man Kahlan believed you to be?” she snapped. “If I wished, I could easily confess you before you manage to assemble the boxes. I could do it right now.” Rachel reached out and lightly touched her hand against his cheek.
Eyes wild with terror, Richard froze.
“But I won’t.” She pulled her hand back. “You don’t need the Boxes of Orden to rule D’Hara, Richard. Put them away. Better yet, destroy them so that they can never be used."
Rachel was tired of arguing. It was almost time to leave.
“Read the book, Richard. It will help you understand this land and the people you must govern.”
“I don’t understand,” he stammered. “What book?”
“My father knew you would need to learn so many things. He tried to write it all down for you.” Rachel didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. The words were coming from the same source of wisdom that had strengthened her during this entire confrontation.
The idea of her father writing a book to help Richard Cypher was preposterous.
In fact, everything spoken by her to the Seeker this night had been a repudiation of each careful plan laid down by both Kahlan Amnell and Darken Rahl in anticipation of Richard’s arrival.
“Why would I follow the advice of a fiendish tyrant?” Richard's voice was harsh and unyielding.
“Darken Rahl may have committed wrongs in the past, but that was not all that he was. You didn’t know him, so don’t pass judgment so easily. At least he didn’t run away from his responsibilities,” Rachel cried, for the first time completely losing patience with this man standing before her. “My father cared about his people more than you will ever know, and I loved him very much.” Her voice choked with unshed tears. “He did his best.”
“Just read the book,” she sighed. “It’s all there.”
Father will write it.
When it’s time. Strong Rachel assured her, and she believed.
Rachel turned to leave, the hem of her dress swirling up a cloud of dust in the desolate room. She was so tired. The sense of lightness, the inner calm, was dissipating rapidly. Old Rachel was pulling on her again.
“Wait!” Richard called after her. “What about you? Why didn’t you try to rule when your father died? What happened?”
A sliver of fear ran through Rachel’s veins.
What had happened to her?
For that matter, where were her children? The Confessor grandchildren her father had wanted so desperately.
Rachel’s inner voice had gone silent, leaving her lost and alone once more.
There was no more time.
She had rejected the plotting of both of her parents, reaching out to Richard in the only way she could to deliver her own message.
Rachel had already started walking away when the floor, the walls, even Richard himself, began to lose shape, twisting and spiraling around her. She staggered, trying to maintain her footing as the room tilted crazily.
She grabbed at the doorframe to keep her balance, but her hand passed through oak as if through thin air. There was nothing solid to grasp onto.
Richard was still calling after her, but Rachel couldn’t understand what he was saying any longer.
She had to get away.
Richard started to pound on the doorframe with his fists. Rachel couldn’t fathom how he had reached her so quickly, or why his flesh struck solid wood while hers could not.
He wouldn’t stop yelling, his knuckles now practically splintering the door.
She had given him everything she had. What more did he want?
There was nothing left.
The thudding and shouting grew louder.
Then the world exploded into light.