Forget Me Not (2/3)
Title: Forget Me Not (2/3)
Author: burning_arrow
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R
Warnings: none really
Disclaimer: Obviously I don’t own these characters. If I did, don’t you think things would have gone a bit differently? My muse thanks Terry Goodkind and ABC for giving her such good fodder though.
A/N: Link to final part at end.
Three full days and four long nights dragged by as Grace waited for Kahlan to address the journal’s contents. That first night after the farm, Kahlan had taken the journal from Grace with stiff and deliberate motions, as if forcing herself to do something she had little taste for, and had settled herself down to read the book. She’d silently combed the pages while Grace waited in tense anticipation. Kahlan had read late into the night, and Grace’s anxiety only grew with each passing moment. She’d fidgeted aimlessly until Kahlan threw her a sharp look and then she’d busied herself with sharpening their daggers. Both blades were honed to a fine edge long before Kahlan had stood, quietly closing the journal. Grace’s head had popped up in apprehension, but the look in Kahlan’s eye and the tiny shake of her head told Grace that she was in no mood to talk. That night they’d once again slept back to back, if sleep was what one could call it.
By day they travelled, not really knowing where they were going or why. They joked and laughed and made up ridiculous stories about who they might be. It was easy to pretend that they were two dear friends on an adventure. Neither mentioned the journal. Neither of them admitted or discussed the fact that not a shred of memory had returned to either of them, but their lack of progress weighed heavily on Grace’s mind. They skirted farms and avoided roads, but Grace knew that eventually they would need to reach beyond themselves if they were to find answers, and answers meant people. Yet each time Grace was poised to broach the topic, something would happen to send them scurrying back into the safety of the forest - a patrol of red and black clad soldiers marching along a road, a barking dog that brought with it the shouts of an angry farmer, something.
The companionable facility of the days slid away at night. Dinner was more often than not a terse affair, with Kahlan withdrawing into herself and Grace not having the courage to confront her. The second night had been almost as strained as the first, with one or both of them practically jumping from the bedroll each time they brushed up against each other. The third night had seemed easier until Grace had awoken in the middle of the night to Kahlan’s arm thrown around her. Grace had lain as taut as a deer that had scented a wolf, not knowing whether to freeze or run. Eventually, Kahlan had rolled away again, but Grace remained sleepless for the last hour remaining before sunrise.
Last night had been the hardest. The wind had blown bitter and biting, and the temperature had plummeted. Even with the fire, Grace’s heat had seeped away, stolen by the gusts that tugged at the blanket. Behind her, the same had happened to Kahlan. When the brunette began to shiver violently, Grace had had enough. With an exasperated sigh, she’d rolled over and pulled Kahlan tight in against her. Kahlan had not protested. Grace had realized that she craved the contact, and not just because of the cold. Her heart had ached in her chest, wondering if she was even allowed to want this. Tomorrow would be different, she’d told herself, but for one night she’d given herself leave to enjoy the feeling of Kahlan in her arms.
Those arms felt empty now as Grace sullenly inspected the sky. Gray clouds hung low, foretelling storms that would no doubt leave them drenched and chilled. Her glower dropped to the deeply rutted road before her. From the traffic that had passed her hiding spot in the last hour, there must be a village or town nearby. Hopefully, one with an inn. The time had come to consider a new course, and a settlement might just be what they needed. Besides, she had no intention of freezing to death when the skies opened up, as they were threatening to do. But first, there was one small matter to attend to. Grace made her way carefully back to Kahlan, who was fussing over several garments in her lap.
“I see you’ve become quite the plunderer. Preparing for a new occupation in burglary in case we can’t get our memories back?” quipped Grace, raising an eyebrow at Kahlan’s loot.
Kahlan shot her a glare that was ruined by the hint of a smile underneath it. “I did pay for them, you know. The money I left should cover the loss of a few pieces of clothes.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that you’ll make a very sorry burglar indeed…at least as long as you insist on paying for everything you pilfer.”
“Look, you were the one who suggested that perhaps we shouldn’t stroll into town in these.” Kahlan waved vaguely at her white dress, then at Grace’s blood red leather. “I solved the problem for us.”
Kahlan chucked a bundle of cloth in Grace’s direction. Grace caught it and shook it out. The clothing turned out to be two pieces - a brown, rough spun cloak that at least looked decently warm and a hideous, pale yellow dress. Grace eyed the frock with alarm.
“What is this?” she asked, her trepidation readily apparent. She held the thing at an arm’s length from her, as if it emitted a foul stench.
“It’s called a dress, Grace. I know it’s not the most attractive piece, but-“
Grace pulled a face. “It’s revolting. And it’s a dress. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I don’t wear dresses.”
“How do you know what you do and don’t do? Besides, I had limited options, so I suggest you just put it on and we’ll worry about getting you something else once we’re in town.” Kahlan’s tone was firm, but the expression on her face told Grace that the brunette was having entirely too much fun at her expense.
“I’m going behind these bushes to change. I expect you’ll be changed by the time I come out.” Kahlan’s voice brooked no argument.
Grace harrumphed, but began to strip. By the time Kahlan emerged from the bushes, Grace had donned the garment. Kahlan’s tan dress and gray cloak seemed to suit her, even if they were rather plain. The cut was modest and not as fitted as Kahlan’s white gown, but it managed to compliment Kahlan’s slender figure nonetheless. Not so with Grace’s attire. On top of the dress being a decidedly putrid color that did nothing for the pallor of her skin, it was ill-fitting, constricting on the top and baggy in the hips, with a hem a few inches too short. Her exposed red boots clashed jarringly with the dress’s hue. Grace made no attempt to hide her disgust. Kahlan’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.
“It’s…an interesting fashion statement,” said Kahlan, clearly attempting to keep her voice neutral despite the amusement dancing in her eyes.
“It’s absurd,” fumed Grace. “And embarrassing. And degrading. And-“
“I get the picture,” said Kahlan, holding up a hand to stop Grace’s tirade. “The question is, do you have a better suggestion?”
Grace desperately wanted to say yes. She even contemplated whether walking into town naked would be an acceptable alternative, but, as their motive was to avoid attracting attention, she supposed that this would have to do. At least the cloak was long enough to cover up the garish disaster that was her attire.
“Let’s just get this over with,” growled Grace. “The sooner we get into town and find an inn, the sooner I can take this monstrosity off.”
Kahlan, at least, had the good sense not to laugh.
***
The town turned out to be a small, but bustling settlement named Three Rivers. A tall stockade ringed the hamlet and the walls showed scorch marks and deep gouges, as if war had visited the town in the not too distant past, yet the gates into town were flung wide and the guards drooped lazily at their posts, rarely bothering to pass their eyes over the flow of people moving past them. The chill in the air had many travelers bundling themselves warmly, and no one looked crosswise at Kahlan and Grace for holding their cloaks tight around them and wearing their hoods pulled low. Once past the main gate, the dirt road gave way to cobblestone and the buildings looked to be in good repair. The main avenue was predominantly lined with businesses, their signs swinging in the wind. Most shops were neatly painted and a few rose taller than a single story. In fact, there were a surprising number of shops for what seemed to be a small town. The townfolk seemed to be a friendly lot, with a brief smile or the touch of fingers to hat brim or forehead in greeting as Kahlan and Grace passed, but Grace couldn’t help feeling as if she was ready to jump from her own skin every time someone glanced their way. She only hoped that her face did not show a tenth of what she felt.
“Relax,” whispered Kahlan sharply, as she smiled and nodded to a shopkeeper that was sweeping his front step. “You look like a hare that’s found itself in a fox den.”
Grace frowned, but forced her shoulders to fall. It was true that Kahlan looked far more at ease, with her head held high and a quick smile that seemed genuine. Grace decided not to mention how white Kahlan’s knuckles were against the gray of her cloak as the brunette grasped the edges tightly. Despite the variety of shops spreading along either side of the road, no inn yet presented itself. With each fruitless step, Grace’s agitation returned with renewed vigor. A small part of her suspected that she was being overly cautious - indeed, it had been her suggestion that they needed the knowledge and resources that a town could provide - but the greater portion cringed with the sensation of exposure around this many people. Right now, all she desired was a roof over their heads to keep them dry and a little privacy.
Grace was fit to burst when Kahlan stopped suddenly, Grace nearly colliding with her backside.
“What is it?” Grace snapped irritably.
Kahlan peered into the window of a shop curiously. As far as Grace could see, the shop was no different than half a dozen others they’d already passed. Grace crossed her arms over her chest and directed her attention to the throngs of people and carts passing them by in the street. Her eyes searched for any sign of trouble, but the crowd milled about peaceably, taking no notice of two young women presumably out on errands. Glancing back at Kahlan, Grace caught the brunette’s cryptic smile.
“What?” Grace demanded.
“Come with me,” said Kahlan sweetly, wrapping her arm around Grace’s and giving her a look that Grace had come to understand meant that Kahlan was up to something.
“Kahlan, we really don’t have time to be shopping,” said Grace warily.
“We’ve nowhere to be, at least not that we can remember,” teased Kahlan. “What’s the hurry?”
Grace pointed roughly at the leaden sky above them, as if the looming and inevitable downpour should have spoken for itself.
“This will only take a short while,” assured Kahlan, her smile widening encouragingly. Her optimism only served to deepen Grace’s discomfort, yet Grace found herself being dragged into the shop despite her reservations.
Twenty minutes later, they emerged with the name and directions to an inn - and a little something more. Grace contemplated her new clothes as they made their way toward the inn. She had to admit that Kahlan had not, in fact, led her into trouble, but rather had done her a great service. Gone was the horrible dress, replaced by tight brown breeches that clung close to her thighs and hips, and a cream colored tunic with an open collar and a neckline that dropped almost as low as her red leather did. A broad sash of green drew the tunic in around her waist. She had preferred the sturdy leather belts that the shopkeeper had offered, but Kahlan had insisted that the sash matched the color of Grace’s eyes. The evident pleasure that Kahlan took from that fact was enough to convince Grace to choose the sash. A pair of soft leather boots, laced near to her knee, completed the transformation. When the shopkeeper had raised an eyebrow in surprised interest at the red leather boots, Grace casually claimed that she’d won them in a game of dice. The shopkeeper had looked dubious, but kept his peace when he’d seen that their purse was full. Grace had quickly tucked the boots into her pack, not wanting to field anymore unwanted questions.
They reached the inn only moments before the skies opened, pouring their fury onto the hamlet and the surrounding countryside. The pair hurriedly crossed the threshold of Edmond’s Folly, a cheerful and respectable looking establishment, despite its name. A large, open common room spread before them, stout wooden tables and chairs taking up most of the space and a roaring fire filling the stone hearth at one end of the room. A bar took up half the back wall, and beside that an open archway led into a long hallway. Grace presumed that the rooms must be down that passage. On the other end of the bar, a door swung open and two serving girls brought out trays of food which they quickly placed in front of the few travelers occupying the tables.
A pleasantly plump woman with a round face and shrewd eyes approached them with a smile. The woman’s eyes roved over Kahlan and Grace, as if searching for trouble and sizing up the weight of their purse all in one go. Presumably satisfied with what she saw, her smile broadened. “Welcome to Edmond’s Folly, my dears. I am Camelia, the proprietor of this establishment. What can I do for you on such a dreary day?”
“We’re looking for a room for a couple of nights, if you have one,” replied Kahlan politely, returning the woman’s smile.
“Of course we have a room for ladies such as yourselves,” said the portly innkeeper brightly. Looking past them as if she expected to see someone else, her face dipped into a slight frown. “I am a bit surprised that you have no companion, though. Dark times, these, when even the Mother Confessor herself can go missing. Best you two be careful out there.”
“The Mother Confessor?” asked Kahlan hesitantly.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is?” replied Camelia, her eyebrow raised in incredulity.
Grace was quick to respond, the lie rolling easily off her tongue. “Of course we know who the Mother Confessor is, but we’ve been traveling for days without news. What’s happened to her?”
“Can’t entirely say, I’m afraid. There’s whispers that Darken Rahl’s got his fingers in it, but then no one can seem to tell if he’s dead or alive. I can’t see how, even if he is alive, that he could get this far into the Midlands, what with the Mother Confessor taking the First Chair again, and the Seeker claiming the throne of D’Hara.” The innkeeper waved her hand in front of her face as if shooing flies, and her smile returned. “Ah, who can tell these days, anyway? There’s so many rumors scuttling about, it’s impossible to tell truth from lie. Could be that the Mother Confessor is safe and sound in Aydindril, for all I know. Now, how about that room?”
Kahlan quickly regained her footing and began making arrangements with the innkeeper, which served Grace well. She barely heard a word as the two went back and forth. With the woman’s attention on Kahlan, neither of them noticed how the mention of Darken Rahl roiled Grace’s stomach, nor how she slowly digested the tidbits of gossip that the innkeeper had dropped. Grace peered sidelong at Kahlan, weighing the innkeeper’s words. The Mother Confessor certainly sounded important, and if Darken Rahl was this Confessor’s enemy…
“Grace?” Grace blinked. Kahlan and Camelia looked at her expectantly.
“I’m sorry. I drifted for a bit there. I must be tired from our travels. What were you saying?” replied Grace.
Camelia frowned and Kahlan tilted her head, studying Grace. Nodding as if coming to a decision, Kahlan turned back to the innkeeper. “I think we’ll take our food in our room, if it’s not too much of a bother. If you wouldn’t mind sending it up after our bath, that would be lovely.”
“Of course, dear,” said Camelia, though her eyes had not left Grace. “I do hope you’re well.”
“Nothing that a hot meal and a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” assured Grace.
“Good. I’ll show you to your room and then the maids will be up shortly with the hot water,” said the innkeeper. “Follow me.”
Once Camelia had guided them into the open hallway and up a set of stairs that Grace had not noticed, the innkeeper left them in the room at the far end of the second story. It was a spacious room, and a fire had already been lit in the hearth. A large tub sat in one corner, and a few overstuffed chairs lurked in the others. Grace’s scrutiny, however, was reserved for the large bed that sat on the wall opposite the flames. The mattress appeared thick and comfortable, layered with ample blankets for warmth. The linens were freshly washed and spotless. It should have been a welcome sight after six nights on the cold ground. The only problem with the bed was that there appeared to be only one.
“Did she not have a room with two beds?” asked Grace. After too many restless nights, she had hoped for a respite. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear to have Kahlan close without the brunette addressing the journal.
Kahlan gave her a strange look. “I honestly didn’t think to ask. All I told her is that we wanted a quiet, private room with a bath. This is what she gave us. Should I go ask her for different accommodations?”
Yes. “No. This will do well. It looks very cozy. I was just surprised.”
Kahlan raised an eyebrow at this. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
No. Grace smiled, trying to hide her discomfort. “I really am just tired. And Camelia’s talk of Darken Rahl did not make me happy.”
Kahlan shivered at the name. Grace was grimly pleased that at least she was not the only one who reacted to it so poorly.
“Kahlan, do you think that you could be this Mother Confessor?” asked Grace bluntly and without preamble.
Kahlan looked stunned by the suggestion, as if the idea had not occurred to her before now. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then shut it again. Her features became pinched with what looked to be equal parts skepticism and confusion as she considered the notion.
“The journal does mention Aydindril several times,” continued Grace.
“I know,” replied Kahlan quickly, “but, certainly if Aydindril is the capital city of this kingdom, there must be many who live and travel there. It could be coincidence.”
“Yes, but it hardly seems likely that Darken Rahl would pursue just anyone. That soldier said you - we - are important.”
Kahlan shook her head fiercely, as if the idea were absurd. “This Mother Confessor sounds like a queen. I may be important, but I’m no queen. Wouldn’t I have servants and guards and carriages? Surely no queen would have been caught in the middle of some skirmish in the woods. Perhaps I serve her, though. Maybe as a diplomat or an ambassador. Yes, I think that makes far more sense, don’t you? It would explain why I would be traveling.”
Kahlan’s words tumbled out over one another, and her voice held a peculiar tone, as if she were trying to convince herself of something. Grace opened her mouth to interject, but Kahlan kept rambling.
“An ambassador on a mission could have strategic importance. There may have been things that I knew, things only higher level officials would be privy to. You too. That could be Darken Rahl’s ‘leverage’. Although, little good it will do anyone now. We can’t even remember our names!”
Kahlan gave a little laugh, and Grace thought that it had a slight hysterical edge to it. She moved across the room to the side of the brunette, who stood with her arms wrapped around herself in front of the fire. The normally confident woman looked suddenly small, lost in the chasm of her missing memories. Grace wasn’t sure what Kahlan was more frightened of - the fact that her memories were lost, or what those memories might reveal. Grace understood the feeling. She placed a soothing hand on Kahlan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it now, Kahlan. We’ll figure it out eventually.”
Kahlan shivered and closed her eyes. She leaned into Grace’s touch, seemingly drawing comfort. The tension draining from her face, Kahlan turned to face Grace. With solemn eyes, she searched Grace’s face and seemed on the verge of speaking when a soft rap on the door made them both jump.
“Who is it?” Grace demanded loudly, putting more fire into her tone than she’d intended.
A small voice from the other side of the door answered, “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mistress Camelia sent us up with hot bath water for you.”
Kahlan drew herself up and squared her shoulders. She walked briskly across the room. She was smiling by the time she opened the door, a transformation that Grace marveled at. She beckoned the maids in. “The apologies are ours. Please, come in. We forgot that you would be coming up.”
Two maids hurriedly dragged the metal tub in front of the fire and emptied four pails of scalding water into the large basin. Kahlan was as gracious as could be, though Grace noticed that she did nothing to disabuse the two women of the notion that she and Grace were ‘ladies’. The maids seemed to sense Grace’s discontent and they scurried out again with promises of more water in a few moments. Within mere minutes the tub was ready and waiting, with a small bar of soap and a pair of towels draped across a nearby chair. The maids made quick curtsies and exited as fast as they had come.
Without warning, Kahlan began to disrobe. Grace felt her face flush and she swiftly turned away. Suddenly, she found herself growing very angry. Could Kahlan truly not see the effect that she had on her, or was she simply toying with Grace? Running a hand through her hair just to keep it from twitching in agitation, Grace stomped over to the room’s sole window. The window overlooked the back courtyard of the inn, with a view of the stables. Ignorant of the fact that he was being watched from above, a young stablehand led two cart horses into their stalls, gray rain soaking man and beast alike and turning the earth beneath foot and hoof into a sodden mess. The view matched Grace’s mood.
Behind her, Grace heard the sounds of Kahlan stepping into the tub and the brunette sighed as she slid down into the water. Grace crossed her arms, all too aware that she probably looked petulant, but unable to stop herself. She half-hoped that Kahlan would not notice, yet a small part of her wanted the brunette to ask what was wrong. It was this latter desire that came to fruition, in a way.
“You’re angry,” said Kahlan. It was a statement, not a question.
Blowing out a noisy breath, Grace forced herself to lower her arms. Instead her hands came to rest on the sill. Still staring out through the glass, she replied, “Yes…and no. I’m frustrated and confused. You aren’t making things very easy on me, you know.”
“I know,” said Kahlan meekly, her voice sounding regretful. “It probably doesn’t help any, but I’m confused too. You weren’t wrong about what’s in that journal. He, whoever he is, does love me, and it seems like I loved him too.”
“Loved - past tense?” asked Grace weakly, inwardly cursing the glimmer of hope that sparked inside of her.
“It’s hard to love someone you don’t even remember,” said Kahlan simply. “But I’m afraid, too.”
“Of what will happen when you get your memories back,” stated Grace. Her chest constricted painfully with a jumble of emotions she did not want to name.
“Yes.”
Kahlan’s voice seemed sad, though Grace refused to turn and look at her. Just the keen awareness of Kahlan’s nakedness in her vicinity had Grace taut and quivering like a stretched bowstring. She did not trust her own actions should she face Kahlan now. Kahlan was obviously struggling to find her path and Grace had no desire to force Kahlan into something she would regret later. Yet she could not still the part of her that wanted more from Kahlan. Her fingers dug into the wood of the window’s frame. Long moments stretched in the silence, the only sounds the light splashing of Kahlan’s ablutions. Kahlan finished her bath and rose from the tub. There was the faint swish of the towel and then rustling as Kahlan donned her clothing once again.
“I’m going down to the common room to have a glass of wine and talk more with Camelia. I want to see if I can learn more about where we are. You should bathe before the water cools too much.” Kahlan’s words were practical, but her voice held more than a touch of tenderness.
Though Kahlan waited for a moment, Grace did not respond. She did not react until the door closed behind Kahlan. Mechanically, she began to strip, but her fingers tangled in the green sash at her waist. The one Kahlan had picked especially for her. She furiously flung it aside. The least Kahlan could do was not be so blasted gentle and considerate while she slowly tore apart Grace from the inside out.
***
The scenery kept shifting so fast that she could hardly keep up. After a while she stopped trying, since each new setting just brought a fresh wave of pain and terror. Women in red leather so like her own beating her and leaving her for dead. A long-haired man with piercing eyes and hawk-like nose caressing her lips and cheeks as blood leaked from her skin and pooled, cooling, underneath her dangling feet. A blond woman staring at her with hateful eyes, a limp, blue baby cradled in her arms. Sickly, sweet pleasure as she brought a half naked man to his knees with a hard backhand as he thanked her for it. A tiny infant bawling his displeasure as he was swaddled up and whisked away while she watched sweaty, aching, and half-delirious from hours of labor. Blinding pain as a red rod was pressed almost seductively into her side, while her torturer whispered sweet nothings and gave her smile that did not reach her cold, dark eyes. Rats that she would swear were as big as barn cats creeping into her cell at night, watching her with hungry, vicious eyes, waiting until she slept. She tried so hard to stay awake, she really did, but eventually she couldn’t help it.
Someone nearby said something. She whimpered and curled into a ball on the cell floor. She knew there was no one here to help her. The rats gathered. The voice spoke again. A name, her name - but not her name. She shivered and gave out a small cry, as something thumped her shoulder. The rats were coming. They always came…
“Grace! Grace! Wake up, Grace! It’s just a dream, just a bad dream.”
Kahlan’s voice cut through the fog of her nightmare. Grace’s eyes flew open and she would have tumbled out of bed in fright had it not been for Kahlan’s strong arms holding her back. Her body shook all over from a toxic mix of panic and confusion. Cold sweat poured down her brow and soaked her night shift. Her breath came in erratic, labored bursts.
“You’re safe, Grace. It was a nightmare, nothing more. You’re safe,” soothed Kahlan, her voice almost a whisper. Grace slowly became aware of her surroundings - the dim glow of embers in the hearth, the sheets tangled around her legs, the warmth of Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her and hugging her close. The brunette held her from behind, her front pressed to Grace’s back and her chin on Grace’s shoulder. Grace shuddered and Kahlan squeezed her more tightly for a moment before relaxing her hold. Grace grabbed onto Kahlan’s crossed forearms, afraid that Kahlan would pull away altogether, though the brunette seemed content in her current position.
“Just a dream,” mumbled Grace, as if she did not believe it.
“Just a dream,” confirmed Kahlan reassuringly.
Grace sorted through the blur of images in her mind, some of them standing out in stark relief against the gauzy background of the dreamworld. She desperately wanted to believe Kahlan, but, as the scenes replayed themselves in her head, she knew with sickening certainty that many of them were not dreams at all, but memories. A choked sound issued from her mouth. Hot tears of shame and sadness welled up in her eyes. She wanted to tell Kahlan the truth, but all that came out was a sob, followed by another. Sensing Grace’s distress, Kahlan tightened her embrace. Weeping, Grace clung to Kahlan as the horror of the remembered fragments of her life flowed through her, tears streaming down her face unchecked.
“Not dreams,” she managed to croak out in between sharp breaths. Kahlan said nothing, only held her closer.
Eventually, the last of the tears subsided. Grace felt dull and hollowed out. As fatigue crept into her bones, she wanted nothing more than to fall back into the bed and sleep a hopefully dreamless sleep. Yet she thought she should offer Kahlan some explanation, as reluctant as she was to do so. With what little determination she could muster, she shifted to face Kahlan, but the brunette pressed a gentle finger to her lips before she could speak.
“You’re worn out. We can talk about it when you’re ready. For now, just sleep. I’ll be here until you wake,” offered Kahlan, her blue eyes brimming with concern.
Wordlessly, Grace nodded her head. She allowed Kahlan to draw her down until the two lay curled in each other’s arms, Grace’s head on Kahlan’s shoulder. Grace found solace in the solidness of Kahlan’s body next to hers, and as her eyes fluttered shut, Kahlan passed soothing fingers through her hair. Exhaustion soon deadened her senses and weighed down her limbs. When sleep finally claimed her, she did not dream again.
***
When they awoke, Grace and Kahlan did not speak of Grace’s memories. They were too jumbled and out of context for Grace to make much sense of them, and Kahlan seemed content to give Grace time to sort things out. Grace suspected that Kahlan was in no hurry to hear what had upset Grace so - if their positions had been reversed, Grace was not certain that she would want to know either. On one hand, the return of some memories was encouraging, on the other hand Grace was more disturbed by their situation than ever. The violence in her past weighed heavily on her and she was left wondering once again who she had been.
Groping through her pack, she lifted out the journal. The messages sometimes contained brief descriptions of a small skirmish here or an encounter with bandits there, but nothing to imply the depth of suffering that she’d witnessed in the night. She flipped to the last entry, a curt, sparing message in her hand that simply said they were making good time on their way to Galea, wherever that may be. Then she noticed the page next to it. A new entry, one that had not been there when she had last read the journal, occupied the once blank space. She recognized the firm strokes of the mysterious man. She read the message.
Zedd and I heard of the attack. We are on our way. I hope the reason I haven’t heard from you is that the journeybook was lost in the scuffle. If you still have it, please write. I need to know that both of you are safe. Tell Kahlan I love her.
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. There were people looking for them, friends. And they had been able to send word via the journal. She marveled at the book in her hand. The blood-red words stared back at her.
“Kahlan, you should look at this,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
With a curious glance, Kahlan took the journal from her and read. Her face went pale and her eyes widened.
“How?” asked Kahlan.
“When you first saw the journal you asked me if it was written in blood. I think you were right. I think blood makes it work,” said Grace tentatively.
“So you’re saying we could respond?” questioned Kahlan, her voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.
“I don’t see why not,” replied Grace.
They both looked at each other and then stared at the journal as if it was some strange animal that they’d never seen before. Grace crossed her arms across her chest and Kahlan shifted uncomfortably. It was Grace that spoke first.
“I think we should try,” she said.
“What if it’s a trick?” said Kahlan anxiously.
Grace frowned. She’d had the same thought, but she didn’t see many other options. “Kahlan, other than a few pieces of memories that don’t help much, we’ve gotten nowhere in almost a week. We’re being pursued by an enemy that we don’t know. We need friends. We need help.”
Kahlan ran a shaky hand through her thick locks. Grace could see the debate happening behind Kahlan’s eyes. Finally, the brunette stuck out her chin and nodded. “Very well. Let’s do it.”
There was an awkward moment as they deliberated on how to get a hold of blood, a discussion cut short when Grace simply grabbed her dagger from her pack and sliced a thin line along her palm. Kahlan looked squeamish for a moment, but quietly held up an empty washing bowl while Grace squeezed a few drops of blood into it. Retrieving the quill from her pack, she dipped the tip in the blood and brought it to the next blank page in the journal. She hesitated for a moment, the quill hovering indecisively in her hand. Then she scratched out a simple message.
In Three Rivers, at an inn called Edmond’s Folly. We are safe for now, but we are being pursued. Come quickly.
She didn’t know what else to say. She hoped that she had not just spelled out their doom by giving away their location to this virtual stranger. She put the quill down and let the blood dry on the page before slowly closing the journal. Her heart pounded nervously. Kahlan reached for her hand, gently bandaging it to staunch the bleeding.
“Now what?” she asked Kahlan.
“Now, we stick to our plan. There’s no point in us sitting around, waiting to be rescued. I think we should see what we can find out in the town. Maybe something will jog our memories, or at the very least we can find out more about Darken Rahl and this Mother Confessor.”
Grace was happy to agree, even though she suspected that this was more about escaping the feelings of fear and excitement coursing through both of them than it was about the seemingly futile search for their lost pasts. Stuffing her belongings, including the journal, back into her pack, she followed Kahlan out of the room and they headed for the common room.
Over a hearty breakfast that both of them hardly touched, Camelia explained to Kahlan and Grace that, despite its modest size, Three Rivers acted as the main trading hub for settlements fifty leagues in every direction. A steady flow of barges coming down the rivers that gave the town its name meant farmers and villagers from all over came to the town to sell their crops and buy what supplies and goods they could not make for themselves. This explained how such a small hamlet could support the inordinate number of shops and stalls that lined Three River’s thoroughfares. The hamlet also supported a number of inns, but most were located off the main roads, which was why Grace and Kahlan had not noticed them when they first entered town.
Camelia boasted that her inn was the finest among them, despite her late husband’s bumbling business sense. A wistful look crept into her eye as the innkeeper described how Edmond’s death had left her with little other than the inn itself and a ledger full of debts. She’d changed the inn’s name, drummed up a better clientele, and saved the inn, but part of her still missed the man that she called ‘her old goat’. Swiping a tear from her eye, the innkeeper practically shooed Grace and Kahlan out the door, chastising them for letting her prattle on when she had a business to run.
The rainclouds had fled in the night, and bright sun streamed down on Three Rivers. The air was still cool, but the sunlight was doing its best to banish the remaining puddles as Grace and Kahlan made their way to the town’s open air marketplace. They didn’t really know what they were looking for, but both agreed it might help them get the lay of the land - and what better place to search for information than a bazaar that attracted people from the surrounding territories? Grace was more relaxed than she had been the day before, but she still kept a watchful eye on the people around them. And just as during the day before, the townfolk and the traders either greeted them politely or thoroughly ignored them.
Kahlan seemed to browse the stalls in earnest, chatting intently with the sellers about any number of topics. Grace feigned interest, while surreptitiously listening to the conversations around her, trying to catch snatches of gossip that might be of importance. Most of the talk involved mundane subjects - discussions over the price for this crop or that livestock, haggling over a piece of merchandise, or grumblings about the coolness of the weather and the threat of an early frost - but occasionally her ears would perk up as she overheard snippets or comments about the Mother Confessor, the Seeker, and Darken Rahl. From what she could piece together, the Mother Confessor and the Seeker had allied themselves and, after a protracted war, had brought down the reign of Darken Rahl. Darken Rahl had supposedly died in the conflict, but now there were rumors that he was still alive. The story that the Mother Confessor had disappeared was repeated by some, but was refuted by just as many. She fervently wanted to ask for more details, but she did not want to draw attention to her ignorance. It was agonizing - like trying to complete a puzzle with only a quarter of the pieces in front of her.
As they wended their way through the vendors, they made a few purchases, just enough to make their presence in the market seem genuine. Grace savored a sweet, dried fig that Kahlan handed her from the small sack the brunette had gotten off a swarthy man with a gap between his teeth and a strange accent. As they passed a stall exploding with the blooms of colorful flowers, Grace couldn’t help but notice how Kahlan slowed, her gaze lingering over the boisterous display. The brunette did not mention them, nor did she stop by the stall, but when they’d turned a corner, Grace left Kahlan examining a rack of intricately patterned scarves with excuses of a growling belly. She scurried back to the flower vendor and selected an elegant bouquet of pink lilies and purple snapdragons. She knew she probably shouldn’t be doing this, but she ignored that particular voice in her head. Her nose began to itch as she walked away with her purchase, but she doggedly ignored that too. She paused to pick up a few meat and vegetable filled pastries for lunch and hurried to catch up with Kahlan.
When Kahlan saw the flowers her eyes grew wide, and a shy smile stretched across her face. Her fingers grazed Grace’s hand as she accepted the bouquet. Grace sneezed and Kahlan laughed. They found a bench next to a fountain where they shared the pastries, enjoying them despite Grace’s running nose. After a companionable silence, they agreed that they should return to the inn.
As they turned the last corner onto the street on which Edmond’s Folly sat, Grace spotted a small group of black and red clad soldiers walking up the avenue toward them. The soldiers hadn’t seen them yet, but terror slid through Grace like an icy knife. Whirling around, she searched for a way to escape. She grabbed Kahlan’s hand and roughly dragged her down a narrow alley between a blacksmith’s shop and a bakery. She plunged blindly onward, following a labyrinthine mess of backstreets and alleys. By the time they stumbled to a halt in yet another narrow walkway between buildings, they were thoroughly lost. She sucked heaving breaths into her lungs and looked around. The surrounding buildings had a rougher, neglected feel to them than those along the town’s main roads, the wood siding of many of them unpainted and gray with age. A few leaned slightly, as if their foundations were slowly rotting out from underneath them.
“Well, what do we have here, Martin?” said a voice from farther down the alley.
Grace and Kahlan startled as two men moved slowly toward them. The speaker bore a malicious smile and a dangerous glint in his eyes. His companion - Martin - had a long, thin face that seemed to droop like a hound dog. Grace cursed herself for a fool for leaving their daggers in her pack. She eased the pack from her back, hoping that the men would not rush them in the meantime.
“Seems like a couple of women, Sid,” answered Martin, his voice low and melancholy, just like a hound dog would sound if it could talk.
“Indeed. And what do you think we should do with a pair of lovelies such as these?” The men continued their inexorable approach. Grace and Kahlan stepped back simultaneously, Grace tugging at the straps of her pack and rifling through the bag for the handle of her dagger.
“What we usually do, Sid,” said the dog-faced Martin unexcitedly, shrugging his shoulders as if they were discussing the weather.
“I couldn’t agree more. Well, let’s just see what pretty presents they’ve brought us,” said Sid, his grin creasing his face. Suddenly there was a knife in his hands. Martin pulled a club from the back of his belt.
Kahlan tensed at her side as Grace’s hand closed over the hilt of her blade. She would have brought it out had it not been for the fist that blind-sided her. She heard Kahlan’s cry of alarm as she hit one side of the alley. Her pack flew from her hand, hitting the ground and spewing its contents onto the ground. Her head smacked hard into the coarse wood siding of a building, and the wind was knocked from her lungs. Stars exploded in front of her eyes and she wheezed heavily, but she shoved away from the wall. She heard rather than saw the scuffling of feet as the two men charged Kahlan. The third man, the one who had struck her, bore down on Grace. He was no taller than she, but he was built twice as wide, with ropey muscles that coiled in the arms exposed by his sleeveless shirt. She ducked as he took another swing at her, but her reflexes were dulled by the first blow and another fist landed in her gut. She doubled over and a kick to her legs swept her off her feet.
As she hit the cobblestones she had a glimpse of Kahlan kicking Sid’s knife from his hand only to be caught by Martin’s club in the thigh. The brunette’s leg faltered, but she managed to jab a fist into his gut before Sid locked an arm around her throat. The next moment, Grace’s attention was forced back to her own predicament when a sharp kick slammed into her side. Another kick landed on her arm as she protected her face. A dark, sticky fluid oozed into her eye. As the man’s boot came down a third time, some grim part of her found it amusing that they’d evaded armed soldiers only to be undone by common street thugs.
Then she saw her possessions strewn in front of her on the stone. The mysterious red rods had spilled from their rag case. She grabbed at one wildly, ignoring the blistering pain that shot through her arm when her fingers touched the handle. Gritting her teeth, she jammed its tip into her attacker’s ankle. He howled in agony. Struggling to her knees, Grace aimed higher, catching the man between the legs. He shrieked. When she twisted the baton, his cry was cut off, his mouth working uselessly. His face turned green, then gray, before his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed backward in a senseless heap. She hoped that when he awoke he would find himself sterile.
Heaving herself to her feet, she glowered at the two remaining men, who stared back at her with awed and fearful eyes. The pain screaming through her hand and arm fed her fury and steeled her nerves. With a wordless animal cry she threw herself forward.
Grace fell on Martin, striking him over and over as he screamed in terror and pain. Taking advantage of the men’s shock, Kahlan twisted out of Sid’s grasp. She swung her arm around and slammed the edge of her open hand into his throat. The man gargled and stumbled back. Within seconds, both men were scrambling back up the alley, leaving their fallen accomplice to his fate.
Grace made to pursue them until Kahlan clamped a hand on her arm. With a feral snarl, Grace swung around, her strange weapon instinctively raised. Kahlan calmly maintained her grip on Grace’s arm. As their eyes met, the fight drained out of Grace. Her hand fell to her side and the red baton slipped from her fingers, clattering as it hit the stone. She became suddenly aware of the aches throughout her body, and she sagged back against the wall of the alley. Kahlan looked her over, worry etched into her features.
“I’m alright,” said Grace weakly.
Kahlan paused for a moment, considering her doubtingly. “I’ll believe that when we get you back to the inn.”
Too feeble to even argue with Kahlan, Grace simply let Kahlan gather up their scattered belongings. With wary care, the brunette returned Grace’s batons to their rag wrappings. When the pack was full, Kahlan slung it over her shoulder. She scooped up the bouquet of flowers where she’d hastily dropped them. Remarkably they had survived the fight, only a little worse for wear at the abuse of being thrown aside. Kahlan brushed the dirt off of them and rearranged them, a wistful look in her eye. It seemed a silly thing, yet terribly important all at once.
Kahlan offered an arm to Grace, but Grace refused, saying that at the very least she could walk on her own two feet. They made their way slowly back through Three Rivers. Despite the town’s small size, it took nearly twenty minutes before they found familiar streets again, and another five for them to locate Edmond’s Folly. Grace never thought the town could seem so large, but when even breathing hurt, walking turned into a challenge. They saw no sign of the squad of soldiers, and other than a few odd looks that were no doubt meant for Grace’s battered appearance, they made it to the inn unmolested. The sun was still high in the sky, indicating it was still early afternoon.
They managed to sneak past Camelia, who had her back turned to them while she dealt with other patrons. The climb up the stairs left Grace winded. By the time they reached their room, only sheer will propelled Grace forward. The bed beckoned to her. She barely pulled her boots off before sinking onto the top of the covers, not even bothering to get underneath. She ignored Kahlan’s pleas to care for the cut on her forehead and grumbled that all she needed was sleep. She had time to vaguely feel bad about the stains her clothes would no doubt leave on Camelia’s blankets before unconsciousness crashed over her like a wave.
Part 3
Author: burning_arrow
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R
Warnings: none really
Disclaimer: Obviously I don’t own these characters. If I did, don’t you think things would have gone a bit differently? My muse thanks Terry Goodkind and ABC for giving her such good fodder though.
A/N: Link to final part at end.
Three full days and four long nights dragged by as Grace waited for Kahlan to address the journal’s contents. That first night after the farm, Kahlan had taken the journal from Grace with stiff and deliberate motions, as if forcing herself to do something she had little taste for, and had settled herself down to read the book. She’d silently combed the pages while Grace waited in tense anticipation. Kahlan had read late into the night, and Grace’s anxiety only grew with each passing moment. She’d fidgeted aimlessly until Kahlan threw her a sharp look and then she’d busied herself with sharpening their daggers. Both blades were honed to a fine edge long before Kahlan had stood, quietly closing the journal. Grace’s head had popped up in apprehension, but the look in Kahlan’s eye and the tiny shake of her head told Grace that she was in no mood to talk. That night they’d once again slept back to back, if sleep was what one could call it.
By day they travelled, not really knowing where they were going or why. They joked and laughed and made up ridiculous stories about who they might be. It was easy to pretend that they were two dear friends on an adventure. Neither mentioned the journal. Neither of them admitted or discussed the fact that not a shred of memory had returned to either of them, but their lack of progress weighed heavily on Grace’s mind. They skirted farms and avoided roads, but Grace knew that eventually they would need to reach beyond themselves if they were to find answers, and answers meant people. Yet each time Grace was poised to broach the topic, something would happen to send them scurrying back into the safety of the forest - a patrol of red and black clad soldiers marching along a road, a barking dog that brought with it the shouts of an angry farmer, something.
The companionable facility of the days slid away at night. Dinner was more often than not a terse affair, with Kahlan withdrawing into herself and Grace not having the courage to confront her. The second night had been almost as strained as the first, with one or both of them practically jumping from the bedroll each time they brushed up against each other. The third night had seemed easier until Grace had awoken in the middle of the night to Kahlan’s arm thrown around her. Grace had lain as taut as a deer that had scented a wolf, not knowing whether to freeze or run. Eventually, Kahlan had rolled away again, but Grace remained sleepless for the last hour remaining before sunrise.
Last night had been the hardest. The wind had blown bitter and biting, and the temperature had plummeted. Even with the fire, Grace’s heat had seeped away, stolen by the gusts that tugged at the blanket. Behind her, the same had happened to Kahlan. When the brunette began to shiver violently, Grace had had enough. With an exasperated sigh, she’d rolled over and pulled Kahlan tight in against her. Kahlan had not protested. Grace had realized that she craved the contact, and not just because of the cold. Her heart had ached in her chest, wondering if she was even allowed to want this. Tomorrow would be different, she’d told herself, but for one night she’d given herself leave to enjoy the feeling of Kahlan in her arms.
Those arms felt empty now as Grace sullenly inspected the sky. Gray clouds hung low, foretelling storms that would no doubt leave them drenched and chilled. Her glower dropped to the deeply rutted road before her. From the traffic that had passed her hiding spot in the last hour, there must be a village or town nearby. Hopefully, one with an inn. The time had come to consider a new course, and a settlement might just be what they needed. Besides, she had no intention of freezing to death when the skies opened up, as they were threatening to do. But first, there was one small matter to attend to. Grace made her way carefully back to Kahlan, who was fussing over several garments in her lap.
“I see you’ve become quite the plunderer. Preparing for a new occupation in burglary in case we can’t get our memories back?” quipped Grace, raising an eyebrow at Kahlan’s loot.
Kahlan shot her a glare that was ruined by the hint of a smile underneath it. “I did pay for them, you know. The money I left should cover the loss of a few pieces of clothes.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that you’ll make a very sorry burglar indeed…at least as long as you insist on paying for everything you pilfer.”
“Look, you were the one who suggested that perhaps we shouldn’t stroll into town in these.” Kahlan waved vaguely at her white dress, then at Grace’s blood red leather. “I solved the problem for us.”
Kahlan chucked a bundle of cloth in Grace’s direction. Grace caught it and shook it out. The clothing turned out to be two pieces - a brown, rough spun cloak that at least looked decently warm and a hideous, pale yellow dress. Grace eyed the frock with alarm.
“What is this?” she asked, her trepidation readily apparent. She held the thing at an arm’s length from her, as if it emitted a foul stench.
“It’s called a dress, Grace. I know it’s not the most attractive piece, but-“
Grace pulled a face. “It’s revolting. And it’s a dress. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I don’t wear dresses.”
“How do you know what you do and don’t do? Besides, I had limited options, so I suggest you just put it on and we’ll worry about getting you something else once we’re in town.” Kahlan’s tone was firm, but the expression on her face told Grace that the brunette was having entirely too much fun at her expense.
“I’m going behind these bushes to change. I expect you’ll be changed by the time I come out.” Kahlan’s voice brooked no argument.
Grace harrumphed, but began to strip. By the time Kahlan emerged from the bushes, Grace had donned the garment. Kahlan’s tan dress and gray cloak seemed to suit her, even if they were rather plain. The cut was modest and not as fitted as Kahlan’s white gown, but it managed to compliment Kahlan’s slender figure nonetheless. Not so with Grace’s attire. On top of the dress being a decidedly putrid color that did nothing for the pallor of her skin, it was ill-fitting, constricting on the top and baggy in the hips, with a hem a few inches too short. Her exposed red boots clashed jarringly with the dress’s hue. Grace made no attempt to hide her disgust. Kahlan’s eyebrows rose almost to her hairline.
“It’s…an interesting fashion statement,” said Kahlan, clearly attempting to keep her voice neutral despite the amusement dancing in her eyes.
“It’s absurd,” fumed Grace. “And embarrassing. And degrading. And-“
“I get the picture,” said Kahlan, holding up a hand to stop Grace’s tirade. “The question is, do you have a better suggestion?”
Grace desperately wanted to say yes. She even contemplated whether walking into town naked would be an acceptable alternative, but, as their motive was to avoid attracting attention, she supposed that this would have to do. At least the cloak was long enough to cover up the garish disaster that was her attire.
“Let’s just get this over with,” growled Grace. “The sooner we get into town and find an inn, the sooner I can take this monstrosity off.”
Kahlan, at least, had the good sense not to laugh.
***
The town turned out to be a small, but bustling settlement named Three Rivers. A tall stockade ringed the hamlet and the walls showed scorch marks and deep gouges, as if war had visited the town in the not too distant past, yet the gates into town were flung wide and the guards drooped lazily at their posts, rarely bothering to pass their eyes over the flow of people moving past them. The chill in the air had many travelers bundling themselves warmly, and no one looked crosswise at Kahlan and Grace for holding their cloaks tight around them and wearing their hoods pulled low. Once past the main gate, the dirt road gave way to cobblestone and the buildings looked to be in good repair. The main avenue was predominantly lined with businesses, their signs swinging in the wind. Most shops were neatly painted and a few rose taller than a single story. In fact, there were a surprising number of shops for what seemed to be a small town. The townfolk seemed to be a friendly lot, with a brief smile or the touch of fingers to hat brim or forehead in greeting as Kahlan and Grace passed, but Grace couldn’t help feeling as if she was ready to jump from her own skin every time someone glanced their way. She only hoped that her face did not show a tenth of what she felt.
“Relax,” whispered Kahlan sharply, as she smiled and nodded to a shopkeeper that was sweeping his front step. “You look like a hare that’s found itself in a fox den.”
Grace frowned, but forced her shoulders to fall. It was true that Kahlan looked far more at ease, with her head held high and a quick smile that seemed genuine. Grace decided not to mention how white Kahlan’s knuckles were against the gray of her cloak as the brunette grasped the edges tightly. Despite the variety of shops spreading along either side of the road, no inn yet presented itself. With each fruitless step, Grace’s agitation returned with renewed vigor. A small part of her suspected that she was being overly cautious - indeed, it had been her suggestion that they needed the knowledge and resources that a town could provide - but the greater portion cringed with the sensation of exposure around this many people. Right now, all she desired was a roof over their heads to keep them dry and a little privacy.
Grace was fit to burst when Kahlan stopped suddenly, Grace nearly colliding with her backside.
“What is it?” Grace snapped irritably.
Kahlan peered into the window of a shop curiously. As far as Grace could see, the shop was no different than half a dozen others they’d already passed. Grace crossed her arms over her chest and directed her attention to the throngs of people and carts passing them by in the street. Her eyes searched for any sign of trouble, but the crowd milled about peaceably, taking no notice of two young women presumably out on errands. Glancing back at Kahlan, Grace caught the brunette’s cryptic smile.
“What?” Grace demanded.
“Come with me,” said Kahlan sweetly, wrapping her arm around Grace’s and giving her a look that Grace had come to understand meant that Kahlan was up to something.
“Kahlan, we really don’t have time to be shopping,” said Grace warily.
“We’ve nowhere to be, at least not that we can remember,” teased Kahlan. “What’s the hurry?”
Grace pointed roughly at the leaden sky above them, as if the looming and inevitable downpour should have spoken for itself.
“This will only take a short while,” assured Kahlan, her smile widening encouragingly. Her optimism only served to deepen Grace’s discomfort, yet Grace found herself being dragged into the shop despite her reservations.
Twenty minutes later, they emerged with the name and directions to an inn - and a little something more. Grace contemplated her new clothes as they made their way toward the inn. She had to admit that Kahlan had not, in fact, led her into trouble, but rather had done her a great service. Gone was the horrible dress, replaced by tight brown breeches that clung close to her thighs and hips, and a cream colored tunic with an open collar and a neckline that dropped almost as low as her red leather did. A broad sash of green drew the tunic in around her waist. She had preferred the sturdy leather belts that the shopkeeper had offered, but Kahlan had insisted that the sash matched the color of Grace’s eyes. The evident pleasure that Kahlan took from that fact was enough to convince Grace to choose the sash. A pair of soft leather boots, laced near to her knee, completed the transformation. When the shopkeeper had raised an eyebrow in surprised interest at the red leather boots, Grace casually claimed that she’d won them in a game of dice. The shopkeeper had looked dubious, but kept his peace when he’d seen that their purse was full. Grace had quickly tucked the boots into her pack, not wanting to field anymore unwanted questions.
They reached the inn only moments before the skies opened, pouring their fury onto the hamlet and the surrounding countryside. The pair hurriedly crossed the threshold of Edmond’s Folly, a cheerful and respectable looking establishment, despite its name. A large, open common room spread before them, stout wooden tables and chairs taking up most of the space and a roaring fire filling the stone hearth at one end of the room. A bar took up half the back wall, and beside that an open archway led into a long hallway. Grace presumed that the rooms must be down that passage. On the other end of the bar, a door swung open and two serving girls brought out trays of food which they quickly placed in front of the few travelers occupying the tables.
A pleasantly plump woman with a round face and shrewd eyes approached them with a smile. The woman’s eyes roved over Kahlan and Grace, as if searching for trouble and sizing up the weight of their purse all in one go. Presumably satisfied with what she saw, her smile broadened. “Welcome to Edmond’s Folly, my dears. I am Camelia, the proprietor of this establishment. What can I do for you on such a dreary day?”
“We’re looking for a room for a couple of nights, if you have one,” replied Kahlan politely, returning the woman’s smile.
“Of course we have a room for ladies such as yourselves,” said the portly innkeeper brightly. Looking past them as if she expected to see someone else, her face dipped into a slight frown. “I am a bit surprised that you have no companion, though. Dark times, these, when even the Mother Confessor herself can go missing. Best you two be careful out there.”
“The Mother Confessor?” asked Kahlan hesitantly.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know who she is?” replied Camelia, her eyebrow raised in incredulity.
Grace was quick to respond, the lie rolling easily off her tongue. “Of course we know who the Mother Confessor is, but we’ve been traveling for days without news. What’s happened to her?”
“Can’t entirely say, I’m afraid. There’s whispers that Darken Rahl’s got his fingers in it, but then no one can seem to tell if he’s dead or alive. I can’t see how, even if he is alive, that he could get this far into the Midlands, what with the Mother Confessor taking the First Chair again, and the Seeker claiming the throne of D’Hara.” The innkeeper waved her hand in front of her face as if shooing flies, and her smile returned. “Ah, who can tell these days, anyway? There’s so many rumors scuttling about, it’s impossible to tell truth from lie. Could be that the Mother Confessor is safe and sound in Aydindril, for all I know. Now, how about that room?”
Kahlan quickly regained her footing and began making arrangements with the innkeeper, which served Grace well. She barely heard a word as the two went back and forth. With the woman’s attention on Kahlan, neither of them noticed how the mention of Darken Rahl roiled Grace’s stomach, nor how she slowly digested the tidbits of gossip that the innkeeper had dropped. Grace peered sidelong at Kahlan, weighing the innkeeper’s words. The Mother Confessor certainly sounded important, and if Darken Rahl was this Confessor’s enemy…
“Grace?” Grace blinked. Kahlan and Camelia looked at her expectantly.
“I’m sorry. I drifted for a bit there. I must be tired from our travels. What were you saying?” replied Grace.
Camelia frowned and Kahlan tilted her head, studying Grace. Nodding as if coming to a decision, Kahlan turned back to the innkeeper. “I think we’ll take our food in our room, if it’s not too much of a bother. If you wouldn’t mind sending it up after our bath, that would be lovely.”
“Of course, dear,” said Camelia, though her eyes had not left Grace. “I do hope you’re well.”
“Nothing that a hot meal and a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” assured Grace.
“Good. I’ll show you to your room and then the maids will be up shortly with the hot water,” said the innkeeper. “Follow me.”
Once Camelia had guided them into the open hallway and up a set of stairs that Grace had not noticed, the innkeeper left them in the room at the far end of the second story. It was a spacious room, and a fire had already been lit in the hearth. A large tub sat in one corner, and a few overstuffed chairs lurked in the others. Grace’s scrutiny, however, was reserved for the large bed that sat on the wall opposite the flames. The mattress appeared thick and comfortable, layered with ample blankets for warmth. The linens were freshly washed and spotless. It should have been a welcome sight after six nights on the cold ground. The only problem with the bed was that there appeared to be only one.
“Did she not have a room with two beds?” asked Grace. After too many restless nights, she had hoped for a respite. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear to have Kahlan close without the brunette addressing the journal.
Kahlan gave her a strange look. “I honestly didn’t think to ask. All I told her is that we wanted a quiet, private room with a bath. This is what she gave us. Should I go ask her for different accommodations?”
Yes. “No. This will do well. It looks very cozy. I was just surprised.”
Kahlan raised an eyebrow at this. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
No. Grace smiled, trying to hide her discomfort. “I really am just tired. And Camelia’s talk of Darken Rahl did not make me happy.”
Kahlan shivered at the name. Grace was grimly pleased that at least she was not the only one who reacted to it so poorly.
“Kahlan, do you think that you could be this Mother Confessor?” asked Grace bluntly and without preamble.
Kahlan looked stunned by the suggestion, as if the idea had not occurred to her before now. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then shut it again. Her features became pinched with what looked to be equal parts skepticism and confusion as she considered the notion.
“The journal does mention Aydindril several times,” continued Grace.
“I know,” replied Kahlan quickly, “but, certainly if Aydindril is the capital city of this kingdom, there must be many who live and travel there. It could be coincidence.”
“Yes, but it hardly seems likely that Darken Rahl would pursue just anyone. That soldier said you - we - are important.”
Kahlan shook her head fiercely, as if the idea were absurd. “This Mother Confessor sounds like a queen. I may be important, but I’m no queen. Wouldn’t I have servants and guards and carriages? Surely no queen would have been caught in the middle of some skirmish in the woods. Perhaps I serve her, though. Maybe as a diplomat or an ambassador. Yes, I think that makes far more sense, don’t you? It would explain why I would be traveling.”
Kahlan’s words tumbled out over one another, and her voice held a peculiar tone, as if she were trying to convince herself of something. Grace opened her mouth to interject, but Kahlan kept rambling.
“An ambassador on a mission could have strategic importance. There may have been things that I knew, things only higher level officials would be privy to. You too. That could be Darken Rahl’s ‘leverage’. Although, little good it will do anyone now. We can’t even remember our names!”
Kahlan gave a little laugh, and Grace thought that it had a slight hysterical edge to it. She moved across the room to the side of the brunette, who stood with her arms wrapped around herself in front of the fire. The normally confident woman looked suddenly small, lost in the chasm of her missing memories. Grace wasn’t sure what Kahlan was more frightened of - the fact that her memories were lost, or what those memories might reveal. Grace understood the feeling. She placed a soothing hand on Kahlan’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it now, Kahlan. We’ll figure it out eventually.”
Kahlan shivered and closed her eyes. She leaned into Grace’s touch, seemingly drawing comfort. The tension draining from her face, Kahlan turned to face Grace. With solemn eyes, she searched Grace’s face and seemed on the verge of speaking when a soft rap on the door made them both jump.
“Who is it?” Grace demanded loudly, putting more fire into her tone than she’d intended.
A small voice from the other side of the door answered, “Begging your pardon, my lady, but Mistress Camelia sent us up with hot bath water for you.”
Kahlan drew herself up and squared her shoulders. She walked briskly across the room. She was smiling by the time she opened the door, a transformation that Grace marveled at. She beckoned the maids in. “The apologies are ours. Please, come in. We forgot that you would be coming up.”
Two maids hurriedly dragged the metal tub in front of the fire and emptied four pails of scalding water into the large basin. Kahlan was as gracious as could be, though Grace noticed that she did nothing to disabuse the two women of the notion that she and Grace were ‘ladies’. The maids seemed to sense Grace’s discontent and they scurried out again with promises of more water in a few moments. Within mere minutes the tub was ready and waiting, with a small bar of soap and a pair of towels draped across a nearby chair. The maids made quick curtsies and exited as fast as they had come.
Without warning, Kahlan began to disrobe. Grace felt her face flush and she swiftly turned away. Suddenly, she found herself growing very angry. Could Kahlan truly not see the effect that she had on her, or was she simply toying with Grace? Running a hand through her hair just to keep it from twitching in agitation, Grace stomped over to the room’s sole window. The window overlooked the back courtyard of the inn, with a view of the stables. Ignorant of the fact that he was being watched from above, a young stablehand led two cart horses into their stalls, gray rain soaking man and beast alike and turning the earth beneath foot and hoof into a sodden mess. The view matched Grace’s mood.
Behind her, Grace heard the sounds of Kahlan stepping into the tub and the brunette sighed as she slid down into the water. Grace crossed her arms, all too aware that she probably looked petulant, but unable to stop herself. She half-hoped that Kahlan would not notice, yet a small part of her wanted the brunette to ask what was wrong. It was this latter desire that came to fruition, in a way.
“You’re angry,” said Kahlan. It was a statement, not a question.
Blowing out a noisy breath, Grace forced herself to lower her arms. Instead her hands came to rest on the sill. Still staring out through the glass, she replied, “Yes…and no. I’m frustrated and confused. You aren’t making things very easy on me, you know.”
“I know,” said Kahlan meekly, her voice sounding regretful. “It probably doesn’t help any, but I’m confused too. You weren’t wrong about what’s in that journal. He, whoever he is, does love me, and it seems like I loved him too.”
“Loved - past tense?” asked Grace weakly, inwardly cursing the glimmer of hope that sparked inside of her.
“It’s hard to love someone you don’t even remember,” said Kahlan simply. “But I’m afraid, too.”
“Of what will happen when you get your memories back,” stated Grace. Her chest constricted painfully with a jumble of emotions she did not want to name.
“Yes.”
Kahlan’s voice seemed sad, though Grace refused to turn and look at her. Just the keen awareness of Kahlan’s nakedness in her vicinity had Grace taut and quivering like a stretched bowstring. She did not trust her own actions should she face Kahlan now. Kahlan was obviously struggling to find her path and Grace had no desire to force Kahlan into something she would regret later. Yet she could not still the part of her that wanted more from Kahlan. Her fingers dug into the wood of the window’s frame. Long moments stretched in the silence, the only sounds the light splashing of Kahlan’s ablutions. Kahlan finished her bath and rose from the tub. There was the faint swish of the towel and then rustling as Kahlan donned her clothing once again.
“I’m going down to the common room to have a glass of wine and talk more with Camelia. I want to see if I can learn more about where we are. You should bathe before the water cools too much.” Kahlan’s words were practical, but her voice held more than a touch of tenderness.
Though Kahlan waited for a moment, Grace did not respond. She did not react until the door closed behind Kahlan. Mechanically, she began to strip, but her fingers tangled in the green sash at her waist. The one Kahlan had picked especially for her. She furiously flung it aside. The least Kahlan could do was not be so blasted gentle and considerate while she slowly tore apart Grace from the inside out.
***
The scenery kept shifting so fast that she could hardly keep up. After a while she stopped trying, since each new setting just brought a fresh wave of pain and terror. Women in red leather so like her own beating her and leaving her for dead. A long-haired man with piercing eyes and hawk-like nose caressing her lips and cheeks as blood leaked from her skin and pooled, cooling, underneath her dangling feet. A blond woman staring at her with hateful eyes, a limp, blue baby cradled in her arms. Sickly, sweet pleasure as she brought a half naked man to his knees with a hard backhand as he thanked her for it. A tiny infant bawling his displeasure as he was swaddled up and whisked away while she watched sweaty, aching, and half-delirious from hours of labor. Blinding pain as a red rod was pressed almost seductively into her side, while her torturer whispered sweet nothings and gave her smile that did not reach her cold, dark eyes. Rats that she would swear were as big as barn cats creeping into her cell at night, watching her with hungry, vicious eyes, waiting until she slept. She tried so hard to stay awake, she really did, but eventually she couldn’t help it.
Someone nearby said something. She whimpered and curled into a ball on the cell floor. She knew there was no one here to help her. The rats gathered. The voice spoke again. A name, her name - but not her name. She shivered and gave out a small cry, as something thumped her shoulder. The rats were coming. They always came…
“Grace! Grace! Wake up, Grace! It’s just a dream, just a bad dream.”
Kahlan’s voice cut through the fog of her nightmare. Grace’s eyes flew open and she would have tumbled out of bed in fright had it not been for Kahlan’s strong arms holding her back. Her body shook all over from a toxic mix of panic and confusion. Cold sweat poured down her brow and soaked her night shift. Her breath came in erratic, labored bursts.
“You’re safe, Grace. It was a nightmare, nothing more. You’re safe,” soothed Kahlan, her voice almost a whisper. Grace slowly became aware of her surroundings - the dim glow of embers in the hearth, the sheets tangled around her legs, the warmth of Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her and hugging her close. The brunette held her from behind, her front pressed to Grace’s back and her chin on Grace’s shoulder. Grace shuddered and Kahlan squeezed her more tightly for a moment before relaxing her hold. Grace grabbed onto Kahlan’s crossed forearms, afraid that Kahlan would pull away altogether, though the brunette seemed content in her current position.
“Just a dream,” mumbled Grace, as if she did not believe it.
“Just a dream,” confirmed Kahlan reassuringly.
Grace sorted through the blur of images in her mind, some of them standing out in stark relief against the gauzy background of the dreamworld. She desperately wanted to believe Kahlan, but, as the scenes replayed themselves in her head, she knew with sickening certainty that many of them were not dreams at all, but memories. A choked sound issued from her mouth. Hot tears of shame and sadness welled up in her eyes. She wanted to tell Kahlan the truth, but all that came out was a sob, followed by another. Sensing Grace’s distress, Kahlan tightened her embrace. Weeping, Grace clung to Kahlan as the horror of the remembered fragments of her life flowed through her, tears streaming down her face unchecked.
“Not dreams,” she managed to croak out in between sharp breaths. Kahlan said nothing, only held her closer.
Eventually, the last of the tears subsided. Grace felt dull and hollowed out. As fatigue crept into her bones, she wanted nothing more than to fall back into the bed and sleep a hopefully dreamless sleep. Yet she thought she should offer Kahlan some explanation, as reluctant as she was to do so. With what little determination she could muster, she shifted to face Kahlan, but the brunette pressed a gentle finger to her lips before she could speak.
“You’re worn out. We can talk about it when you’re ready. For now, just sleep. I’ll be here until you wake,” offered Kahlan, her blue eyes brimming with concern.
Wordlessly, Grace nodded her head. She allowed Kahlan to draw her down until the two lay curled in each other’s arms, Grace’s head on Kahlan’s shoulder. Grace found solace in the solidness of Kahlan’s body next to hers, and as her eyes fluttered shut, Kahlan passed soothing fingers through her hair. Exhaustion soon deadened her senses and weighed down her limbs. When sleep finally claimed her, she did not dream again.
***
When they awoke, Grace and Kahlan did not speak of Grace’s memories. They were too jumbled and out of context for Grace to make much sense of them, and Kahlan seemed content to give Grace time to sort things out. Grace suspected that Kahlan was in no hurry to hear what had upset Grace so - if their positions had been reversed, Grace was not certain that she would want to know either. On one hand, the return of some memories was encouraging, on the other hand Grace was more disturbed by their situation than ever. The violence in her past weighed heavily on her and she was left wondering once again who she had been.
Groping through her pack, she lifted out the journal. The messages sometimes contained brief descriptions of a small skirmish here or an encounter with bandits there, but nothing to imply the depth of suffering that she’d witnessed in the night. She flipped to the last entry, a curt, sparing message in her hand that simply said they were making good time on their way to Galea, wherever that may be. Then she noticed the page next to it. A new entry, one that had not been there when she had last read the journal, occupied the once blank space. She recognized the firm strokes of the mysterious man. She read the message.
Zedd and I heard of the attack. We are on our way. I hope the reason I haven’t heard from you is that the journeybook was lost in the scuffle. If you still have it, please write. I need to know that both of you are safe. Tell Kahlan I love her.
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. There were people looking for them, friends. And they had been able to send word via the journal. She marveled at the book in her hand. The blood-red words stared back at her.
“Kahlan, you should look at this,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.
With a curious glance, Kahlan took the journal from her and read. Her face went pale and her eyes widened.
“How?” asked Kahlan.
“When you first saw the journal you asked me if it was written in blood. I think you were right. I think blood makes it work,” said Grace tentatively.
“So you’re saying we could respond?” questioned Kahlan, her voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.
“I don’t see why not,” replied Grace.
They both looked at each other and then stared at the journal as if it was some strange animal that they’d never seen before. Grace crossed her arms across her chest and Kahlan shifted uncomfortably. It was Grace that spoke first.
“I think we should try,” she said.
“What if it’s a trick?” said Kahlan anxiously.
Grace frowned. She’d had the same thought, but she didn’t see many other options. “Kahlan, other than a few pieces of memories that don’t help much, we’ve gotten nowhere in almost a week. We’re being pursued by an enemy that we don’t know. We need friends. We need help.”
Kahlan ran a shaky hand through her thick locks. Grace could see the debate happening behind Kahlan’s eyes. Finally, the brunette stuck out her chin and nodded. “Very well. Let’s do it.”
There was an awkward moment as they deliberated on how to get a hold of blood, a discussion cut short when Grace simply grabbed her dagger from her pack and sliced a thin line along her palm. Kahlan looked squeamish for a moment, but quietly held up an empty washing bowl while Grace squeezed a few drops of blood into it. Retrieving the quill from her pack, she dipped the tip in the blood and brought it to the next blank page in the journal. She hesitated for a moment, the quill hovering indecisively in her hand. Then she scratched out a simple message.
In Three Rivers, at an inn called Edmond’s Folly. We are safe for now, but we are being pursued. Come quickly.
She didn’t know what else to say. She hoped that she had not just spelled out their doom by giving away their location to this virtual stranger. She put the quill down and let the blood dry on the page before slowly closing the journal. Her heart pounded nervously. Kahlan reached for her hand, gently bandaging it to staunch the bleeding.
“Now what?” she asked Kahlan.
“Now, we stick to our plan. There’s no point in us sitting around, waiting to be rescued. I think we should see what we can find out in the town. Maybe something will jog our memories, or at the very least we can find out more about Darken Rahl and this Mother Confessor.”
Grace was happy to agree, even though she suspected that this was more about escaping the feelings of fear and excitement coursing through both of them than it was about the seemingly futile search for their lost pasts. Stuffing her belongings, including the journal, back into her pack, she followed Kahlan out of the room and they headed for the common room.
Over a hearty breakfast that both of them hardly touched, Camelia explained to Kahlan and Grace that, despite its modest size, Three Rivers acted as the main trading hub for settlements fifty leagues in every direction. A steady flow of barges coming down the rivers that gave the town its name meant farmers and villagers from all over came to the town to sell their crops and buy what supplies and goods they could not make for themselves. This explained how such a small hamlet could support the inordinate number of shops and stalls that lined Three River’s thoroughfares. The hamlet also supported a number of inns, but most were located off the main roads, which was why Grace and Kahlan had not noticed them when they first entered town.
Camelia boasted that her inn was the finest among them, despite her late husband’s bumbling business sense. A wistful look crept into her eye as the innkeeper described how Edmond’s death had left her with little other than the inn itself and a ledger full of debts. She’d changed the inn’s name, drummed up a better clientele, and saved the inn, but part of her still missed the man that she called ‘her old goat’. Swiping a tear from her eye, the innkeeper practically shooed Grace and Kahlan out the door, chastising them for letting her prattle on when she had a business to run.
The rainclouds had fled in the night, and bright sun streamed down on Three Rivers. The air was still cool, but the sunlight was doing its best to banish the remaining puddles as Grace and Kahlan made their way to the town’s open air marketplace. They didn’t really know what they were looking for, but both agreed it might help them get the lay of the land - and what better place to search for information than a bazaar that attracted people from the surrounding territories? Grace was more relaxed than she had been the day before, but she still kept a watchful eye on the people around them. And just as during the day before, the townfolk and the traders either greeted them politely or thoroughly ignored them.
Kahlan seemed to browse the stalls in earnest, chatting intently with the sellers about any number of topics. Grace feigned interest, while surreptitiously listening to the conversations around her, trying to catch snatches of gossip that might be of importance. Most of the talk involved mundane subjects - discussions over the price for this crop or that livestock, haggling over a piece of merchandise, or grumblings about the coolness of the weather and the threat of an early frost - but occasionally her ears would perk up as she overheard snippets or comments about the Mother Confessor, the Seeker, and Darken Rahl. From what she could piece together, the Mother Confessor and the Seeker had allied themselves and, after a protracted war, had brought down the reign of Darken Rahl. Darken Rahl had supposedly died in the conflict, but now there were rumors that he was still alive. The story that the Mother Confessor had disappeared was repeated by some, but was refuted by just as many. She fervently wanted to ask for more details, but she did not want to draw attention to her ignorance. It was agonizing - like trying to complete a puzzle with only a quarter of the pieces in front of her.
As they wended their way through the vendors, they made a few purchases, just enough to make their presence in the market seem genuine. Grace savored a sweet, dried fig that Kahlan handed her from the small sack the brunette had gotten off a swarthy man with a gap between his teeth and a strange accent. As they passed a stall exploding with the blooms of colorful flowers, Grace couldn’t help but notice how Kahlan slowed, her gaze lingering over the boisterous display. The brunette did not mention them, nor did she stop by the stall, but when they’d turned a corner, Grace left Kahlan examining a rack of intricately patterned scarves with excuses of a growling belly. She scurried back to the flower vendor and selected an elegant bouquet of pink lilies and purple snapdragons. She knew she probably shouldn’t be doing this, but she ignored that particular voice in her head. Her nose began to itch as she walked away with her purchase, but she doggedly ignored that too. She paused to pick up a few meat and vegetable filled pastries for lunch and hurried to catch up with Kahlan.
When Kahlan saw the flowers her eyes grew wide, and a shy smile stretched across her face. Her fingers grazed Grace’s hand as she accepted the bouquet. Grace sneezed and Kahlan laughed. They found a bench next to a fountain where they shared the pastries, enjoying them despite Grace’s running nose. After a companionable silence, they agreed that they should return to the inn.
As they turned the last corner onto the street on which Edmond’s Folly sat, Grace spotted a small group of black and red clad soldiers walking up the avenue toward them. The soldiers hadn’t seen them yet, but terror slid through Grace like an icy knife. Whirling around, she searched for a way to escape. She grabbed Kahlan’s hand and roughly dragged her down a narrow alley between a blacksmith’s shop and a bakery. She plunged blindly onward, following a labyrinthine mess of backstreets and alleys. By the time they stumbled to a halt in yet another narrow walkway between buildings, they were thoroughly lost. She sucked heaving breaths into her lungs and looked around. The surrounding buildings had a rougher, neglected feel to them than those along the town’s main roads, the wood siding of many of them unpainted and gray with age. A few leaned slightly, as if their foundations were slowly rotting out from underneath them.
“Well, what do we have here, Martin?” said a voice from farther down the alley.
Grace and Kahlan startled as two men moved slowly toward them. The speaker bore a malicious smile and a dangerous glint in his eyes. His companion - Martin - had a long, thin face that seemed to droop like a hound dog. Grace cursed herself for a fool for leaving their daggers in her pack. She eased the pack from her back, hoping that the men would not rush them in the meantime.
“Seems like a couple of women, Sid,” answered Martin, his voice low and melancholy, just like a hound dog would sound if it could talk.
“Indeed. And what do you think we should do with a pair of lovelies such as these?” The men continued their inexorable approach. Grace and Kahlan stepped back simultaneously, Grace tugging at the straps of her pack and rifling through the bag for the handle of her dagger.
“What we usually do, Sid,” said the dog-faced Martin unexcitedly, shrugging his shoulders as if they were discussing the weather.
“I couldn’t agree more. Well, let’s just see what pretty presents they’ve brought us,” said Sid, his grin creasing his face. Suddenly there was a knife in his hands. Martin pulled a club from the back of his belt.
Kahlan tensed at her side as Grace’s hand closed over the hilt of her blade. She would have brought it out had it not been for the fist that blind-sided her. She heard Kahlan’s cry of alarm as she hit one side of the alley. Her pack flew from her hand, hitting the ground and spewing its contents onto the ground. Her head smacked hard into the coarse wood siding of a building, and the wind was knocked from her lungs. Stars exploded in front of her eyes and she wheezed heavily, but she shoved away from the wall. She heard rather than saw the scuffling of feet as the two men charged Kahlan. The third man, the one who had struck her, bore down on Grace. He was no taller than she, but he was built twice as wide, with ropey muscles that coiled in the arms exposed by his sleeveless shirt. She ducked as he took another swing at her, but her reflexes were dulled by the first blow and another fist landed in her gut. She doubled over and a kick to her legs swept her off her feet.
As she hit the cobblestones she had a glimpse of Kahlan kicking Sid’s knife from his hand only to be caught by Martin’s club in the thigh. The brunette’s leg faltered, but she managed to jab a fist into his gut before Sid locked an arm around her throat. The next moment, Grace’s attention was forced back to her own predicament when a sharp kick slammed into her side. Another kick landed on her arm as she protected her face. A dark, sticky fluid oozed into her eye. As the man’s boot came down a third time, some grim part of her found it amusing that they’d evaded armed soldiers only to be undone by common street thugs.
Then she saw her possessions strewn in front of her on the stone. The mysterious red rods had spilled from their rag case. She grabbed at one wildly, ignoring the blistering pain that shot through her arm when her fingers touched the handle. Gritting her teeth, she jammed its tip into her attacker’s ankle. He howled in agony. Struggling to her knees, Grace aimed higher, catching the man between the legs. He shrieked. When she twisted the baton, his cry was cut off, his mouth working uselessly. His face turned green, then gray, before his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed backward in a senseless heap. She hoped that when he awoke he would find himself sterile.
Heaving herself to her feet, she glowered at the two remaining men, who stared back at her with awed and fearful eyes. The pain screaming through her hand and arm fed her fury and steeled her nerves. With a wordless animal cry she threw herself forward.
Grace fell on Martin, striking him over and over as he screamed in terror and pain. Taking advantage of the men’s shock, Kahlan twisted out of Sid’s grasp. She swung her arm around and slammed the edge of her open hand into his throat. The man gargled and stumbled back. Within seconds, both men were scrambling back up the alley, leaving their fallen accomplice to his fate.
Grace made to pursue them until Kahlan clamped a hand on her arm. With a feral snarl, Grace swung around, her strange weapon instinctively raised. Kahlan calmly maintained her grip on Grace’s arm. As their eyes met, the fight drained out of Grace. Her hand fell to her side and the red baton slipped from her fingers, clattering as it hit the stone. She became suddenly aware of the aches throughout her body, and she sagged back against the wall of the alley. Kahlan looked her over, worry etched into her features.
“I’m alright,” said Grace weakly.
Kahlan paused for a moment, considering her doubtingly. “I’ll believe that when we get you back to the inn.”
Too feeble to even argue with Kahlan, Grace simply let Kahlan gather up their scattered belongings. With wary care, the brunette returned Grace’s batons to their rag wrappings. When the pack was full, Kahlan slung it over her shoulder. She scooped up the bouquet of flowers where she’d hastily dropped them. Remarkably they had survived the fight, only a little worse for wear at the abuse of being thrown aside. Kahlan brushed the dirt off of them and rearranged them, a wistful look in her eye. It seemed a silly thing, yet terribly important all at once.
Kahlan offered an arm to Grace, but Grace refused, saying that at the very least she could walk on her own two feet. They made their way slowly back through Three Rivers. Despite the town’s small size, it took nearly twenty minutes before they found familiar streets again, and another five for them to locate Edmond’s Folly. Grace never thought the town could seem so large, but when even breathing hurt, walking turned into a challenge. They saw no sign of the squad of soldiers, and other than a few odd looks that were no doubt meant for Grace’s battered appearance, they made it to the inn unmolested. The sun was still high in the sky, indicating it was still early afternoon.
They managed to sneak past Camelia, who had her back turned to them while she dealt with other patrons. The climb up the stairs left Grace winded. By the time they reached their room, only sheer will propelled Grace forward. The bed beckoned to her. She barely pulled her boots off before sinking onto the top of the covers, not even bothering to get underneath. She ignored Kahlan’s pleas to care for the cut on her forehead and grumbled that all she needed was sleep. She had time to vaguely feel bad about the stains her clothes would no doubt leave on Camelia’s blankets before unconsciousness crashed over her like a wave.
Part 3