No Law Except the Sword, Part IV
Title: No Law Except the Sword
Fanfic Series: Confessors and Kings
Author: pristineungift
Beta: brontefanatic
Rating: Hard R - NC-17
Warnings: Graphic Fantasy Violence; Graphic Sexuality; Dark Psychological Themes; Dub-Con Inherent With Mord’Sith; Death; Author Chooses Not to Give Specific Warnings.
Summary: What does it mean to change fate? To defy prophecy? Is it possible, or are some things set in stone? Is one death the same as another? In this latest installment in the series that began with For All That We Have and Are and The Old Commandments Stand, everyone just wants to go back to the beginning, but find they can only move forward. To the end. Darken/Kahlan; Darken/Richard (if you squint); Darken/Denna; Darken/Cara; Darken/Salindra; Richard/Denna; Richard/Salindra; Zedd/Denna.
Notes: As always, thanks to madmguillotine for influencing my characterization of Salindra. Also thanks to evilgmbethy for influencing this particular incarnation of Richard, as well as the way I think of confession and Confessors. Thanks to brontefanatic for keeping me from giving up on this fic when I wanted to take it out back and shoot it. And thanks to angstbunny, since her comments on The Old Commandments Stand pretty much directly spawned this sequel.
No Law Except the Sword
Salindra stood in her chambers, staring at herself in the mirror. She was in her corset and underskirts, deciding what gown to wear for the day.
She hated this. She hated this place. She hated the way Kahlan’s dresses clashed with her complexion.
She hated these rooms, where she’d spent so much time. They’d been Kahlan’s, when Salindra was her lady in waiting.
There was a ghost around every corner.
Salindra shook her head, making her golden hair bounce. Every day, she promised herself she was done thinking about Kahlan. “Darken Rahl is counting his crops before the harvest’s come in,” she told her reflection. “Putting me in the queen’s suite.”
It was more likely that the true reason behind it was that it would make it harder for Salindra to escape. A quad of Mord’Sith patrolled the royal wing ever since Kahlan - ever since the incident, instead of just standing guard at the end of the hall, and Darken Rahl’s bedchamber was connected to Salindra’s. He’d hear her, if she moved around too much in the night.
Of course, another reason could be the nights when he came through that door, sinking into her bed just as his cock sunk between her thighs. He always lingered, clinging to her, letting her pet his hair. She’d even sung him a lullaby, once.
He had been both angered and soothed.
Salindra thought he wanted the soft touch his Mord’Sith didn’t know how to give. But she wondered who he saw, when he pushed Kahlan’s nightdress up over Salindra’s thighs and made love to her in Kahlan’s bed. Did he see Salindra the whore or Salindra the countess? Did he see just Salindra?
Or did he see his dead wife.
“Fucking Rahls,” she growled, pulling at her corset laces. She couldn’t get her bodice to sit right over it, even though this dress had just been altered to fit her.
She wasn’t even going to start speculating on the reasons behind why Lord Rahl slept with her every few nights, while simultaneously pushing her at Sweet Richard. Maybe there was some complex point of strategy that would become clear if Salindra was privy to all the parts of the puzzle. Or maybe he got some sick thrill out of it.
Salindra didn’t know or care. This was about survival.
Giving up on her corset laces, Salindra called for her maid, Alice.
Another thing she’d inherited from Kahlan.
“Hush my lady, hush. Don’t worry. You’ve worked yourself into a fit.”
Salindra had no idea why the younger girl felt the need to mother her.
“Let me see,” Alice was saying, her sturdy fingers pulling and prodding. “There’s no use, my lady. This is going to have to be let out.”
“What do you mean?” Salindra demanded.
“Your bosom has gotten…” Alice trailed off. Her wide eyes made it clear that she didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
Salindra turned to the side, examining her bust. She didn’t look any different.
Or did she?
She pulled her bodice off and tossed it at Alice, and then nearly broke one of her nails trying to undo her corset. “Get it off,” she demanded, not knowing why she was panicking.
Why it felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Alice worked quickly, undoing the bow at the bottom of the corset and loosening the laces until Salindra could pull the offending garment ungracefully over her head. She went back to the mirror, her breasts hanging free and full.
Too full?
She cupped them in her hands, hefting them gently.
She pinched one of her nipples, and nearly cried out it hurt so badly.
A pendant, a magical charm against pregnancy that she’d scrimped and saved for when she first entered her profession hung around her neck. Salindra picked it up, inspecting the tiny silver medallion.
It was cracked.
She swayed, sinking to the floor in front of the mirror. In a haze, she counted on her fingers. How many days had it been since she bled?
Too many.
“Damn,” she hissed, tears pricking at her eyes.
“My lady?” Alice knelt next to her, a half fearful, half smiling look on her face. The poor girl didn’t know whether to congratulate or commiserate. Perhaps she didn’t yet understand what Salindra knew. After all, Salindra’s stomach was still flat.
She beckoned Alice closer.
“Yes, my lady?”
Doing her very best impression of Darken Rahl, Salindra grasped a handful of Alice’s hair and pulled, yanking the girl forward so Salindra could whisper in her ear. “Speak of this to anyone, and I will personally cut out your tongue. Do you understand?”
Alice nodded.
“Good.” Salindra shoved her away. “Now get the red velvet gown with the gold surcoat.”
It would hide what needed to be hidden.
-l-
Richard screamed. He was so hoarse with it, he could almost taste blood trickling down his throat.
He was in a chair in the Mord’Sith tower, his hands shackled down. He wore no shirt. Denna held an Agiel to his abdomen.
She lifted it away, and Richard gasped for air, looking down at his skin. It always fascinated him, watching the black lines of torture magic curl through his veins until they vanished completely. He jerked in his seat.
An aftershock.
“That was much better, my lord,” Denna said, leaning down to unlock Richard’s shackles. “You didn’t pass out this time.”
Richard nodded, swallowing repeatedly. He didn’t feel like he could talk yet. Denna handed him a goblet of water, and he greedily gulped it down, spilling half of it before he even got the cup to his lips. “Thank you again for helping me with this, Denna,” he said once he’d quenched his thirst. “Darken said I didn’t have to, but I didn’t want to be the first Rahl who can’t wield an Agiel.”
He wouldn’t fail his brother, or D’Hara. He was determined.
He’d already failed enough for one lifetime.
Looking at him, Denna shook her head. “You are a strange man, my lord.”
“Just Richard,” he corrected her, shifting his feet and trying to stand, only to fall back into his chair again. “And how am I strange?”
Denna smiled wryly, “I torture you until you can’t stand, and you thank me for it.”
“When I’m Lord Rahl, I’ll be better because you helped me. This is an important rite of passage for the heir, according to Egremont.” Richard caught at Denna’s red gloved hand, squeezing it. “I know it can’t be easy, having to cause me so much pain. That’s why I’m thanking you.”
Denna fixed him with a sharp stare. Richard licked his lips.
She pulled her hand away. “Strange man,” she murmured.
There was a beat of silence.
“When do you think I’ll be able to hold one?” Richard asked.
“Soon, my lord.” Denna turned away, sheathing her Agiel and hanging the keys to the shackles on a hook by the door.
Richard stood, and managed to stay standing this time. On legs that trembled, he made his way to Denna, laying his hand on her shoulder.
He wanted to touch her braid, but didn’t quite dare.
“I hope it’s not too soon,” he said, his lips a hair’s breadth from the back of her neck. “I’d miss the time I get to spend with you.”
Denna laughed. “The time I spend torturing you until you weep and scream?”
“No.” Richard grasped Denna’s shoulders, turning her to face him. She put her hands on his chest. “The time I get to spend with you, in here.” Richard tapped the side of his head with two fingers. “Remember what you told me? When the pain gets unbearable, imagine you’re somewhere else.”
Richard leaned down, pressing his forehead to Denna’s. “Wherever I imagine myself, Denna, I’m with you. I’m always with you.”
“My lord,” Denna started, her voice breathy.
“Richard,” he corrected her again, before crushing his lips to hers in a bruising kiss.
Then it was like fire ignited between them. There were no more doubts, no more words spoken. Just the rustle of cloth and the creak of leather as Denna pulled Richard’s breeches open and he worked at the buckles of her armor.
He pulled her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist, his cock trapped between his stomach and the leather still covering the apex of her thighs. He could feel her heat, the swell of her sex. He moaned into her neck, thrusting against her, not caring that it chafed.
“Richard,” she said in his ear, making him moan again.
And then one of his knees gave out, and they fell, Denna expertly rolling them so that Richard wouldn’t crack his head against the stone floor. She laughed, and he joined her, shaking all over.
He should have timed this better. He wasn’t at his best just after a session of training with the Agiel.
“Sorry,” he apologized, pressing kisses along her collarbone.
Taking pity on him, Denna got up and pulled Richard to his feet, only to shove him back into the wooden chair where he’d been shackled. “Now we begin a different kind of training,” she said as she wiggled out of her leathers, her breasts shaking enticingly.
Then she spread her legs over his lap and mounted him, Richard uttering a guttural cry at the feel of it.
What followed was just as torturous as the Agiel training. Again and again, Denna brought Richard to the brink, only to deny him until she was satisfied. But, just as with the Agiel training, she made him weep and scream, and when it was over, he thanked her.
-l-
Salindra managed to avoid Darken Rahl for a full five days, by making it appear as if she was out spending time with Sweet Richard. Lord Rahl couldn’t fault her for that, not when it was the task he had set her.
She used the stolen time to disguise herself and visit three different healers, and even bribed Mistress Garen to let her in the Mord’Sith’s tower to see the wizard, Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander. All confirmed what she suspected.
She was to be a mother.
The first time she heard it said aloud, Salindra was sick. The kindly old wizard who looked very much like her grandfather patted her on the back, and assured her that sickness was common at this stage, especially with a first child.
Salindra did not bother to explain that it was the thought of any child - and a Rahl child in particular - that nauseated her.
What a blessing this would have been, when she was still fool enough to want a Rahl babe in her belly. But, fool or not, this was where she found herself.
She’d first come to the People’s Palace with hopes of being one of Darken Rahl’s forgotten darlings in a tower. A concubine whose name he did not know, nor care to know. She’d wanted only to be left alone to bask in the lap of luxury.
Later she’d wanted revenge, to make D’Hara’s king love her more than Kahlan.
Now, as she returned to the royal wing of the palace, she found she wanted a little of both.
-l-
Salindra stood primly in Darken Rahl’s sitting room, waiting for him to grace her with his presence. He was making her wait just to vex her, she was sure of it.
She was also sure that she wasn’t in any kind of mood.
Finally tiring of his game, she went to his bedchamber, pushing the door open without knocking. Lord Rahl was occupied, two Mord’Sith spread over him like honey on bread.
“Mistress Garen. Mistress Dahlia,” Salindra greeted them politely. Then she met Darken Rahl’s eyes. “My lord, forgive me for intruding, but there are things we must discuss.”
He’d meant for her to find him this way, she knew. He wanted to show her that she was nothing special. That her absence had meant little to him. That he was still in control.
Salindra had to stop herself from snorting. She was a working girl, and he was one of her men. Her men were never in control.
Lord Rahl gestured to the door with two fingers, and the two Mord’Sith stopped what they were doing and left, not bothering to dress. Salindra knew from her time at the palace that they would wait in the other room just as they were, until they knew whether Darken Rahl wanted to finish what he had started.
Picking up a leather glove and tossing it away, Salindra sat on the edge of the bed, elegantly spreading her skirts.
“What is it you want, Salindra?” Lord Rahl asked. He propped himself up on a pillow, still naked, his cock bobbing along merrily as he moved. He looked down at it, and then cut his blue eyes at Salindra.
She sighed, but decided it would benefit her to have this conversation when he was sufficiently mellow.
And with his balls in her hand.
She shifted to lie next to him, stroking his thighs as she spoke. “Did you think you’d upset me with that display? I used to work in a pleasure house. That was hardly shocking.”
“I’ll have to try harder next time,” he replied, his eyes at half-mast. He arched into her hand, a low moan leaving his lips.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” Salindra moved her hand faster, the sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the room.
“What?” he asked, pumping into her fist, the nails of his right hand digging into her forearm.
“I’m having your child,” she said bluntly.
“What?” he snapped just as he shuddered, coating his stomach and Salindra’s fingers in sticky white seed.
“I’m having your child,” she repeated. She needed to know whether he would stand by his offspring. If he wouldn’t, then she would have to get Richard to lie with her and convince him the child was his.
If she was going to bear a Rahl babe, then she was going to be a queen, one way or another.
For a few short moments, Lord Rahl was the man who came to her in the night, wanting to be held and petted. He rested his hand on her stomach, something that might have been tears in his eyes.
Then he threw himself back against the pillows, his black hair spread behind his head like a fan.
“Get Richard to lie with you, and tell him the child is his,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
Fairly certain that he wouldn’t kill her so long as she was carrying a Rahl within her womb, Salindra wiped his seed from her hand with the sleeve of the royal robe he’d left draped at the foot of the bed. Then she said, “Very well,” and took her leave.
The maids would never get that stain out of the velvet.
-l-
Salindra asked Richard to come to her rooms that night, after dinner. She’d been coaxing him along gently enough, until now. But she wouldn’t be able to hide the child in her belly for long. It was time she had her first taste of Sweet Richard.
He arrived promptly, looking dashing in his red and gold tunic and black breeches. His shoulders had grown broader, since he’d started training with the Dragon Corp. Salindra opened the door wearing nothing but her soft cotton robe, with the lace sleeves. She knew her curves would be highlighted by the thin fabric.
The Prince of D’Hara blinked once, turned a little red, and then firmly fixed his eyes on her face.
Damn.
“Did you need something, Salindra?” he asked her, kindness practically shining from him in rays of golden light.
“There is something I need,” she purred, drawing him deeper into the room. She made him sit on her fainting couch, and then took a place beside him, their legs touching. The couch was too small to allow otherwise.
“Oh, um…” Richard sputtered as Salindra leaned into him, her hand on his knee.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, letting her robe gape open so he’d be able to glimpse her breasts. She drew little circles on the inside of his thigh with three fingers.
He put his hand over hers, stopping her. She looked up at him.
“Salindra, you don’t. I mean, we can’t. I mean… why are you doing this?”
Poor Sweet Richard.
“Because I love you,” she told him breathlessly, making her eyes big and her face earnest. She leaned forward, kissing him. One side of her robe fell away completely, exposing her left breast to the open air. Richard’s fingers brushed over it, and then were yanked away, as if scalded.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and gently, though decisively, pushed her away. Then he pulled up her robe, drawing it closed across her chest.
“Salindra, I’m sorry,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know what my brother’s told you or promised you, but -”
“Have I displeased you?” she asked, playing the wounded princess. She tried to summon up some tears, and found she just didn’t have the energy.
“No,” Richard clasped both of her hands in his. “It’s not that, it’s just -”
“You don’t like my body?” There. Those were some proper tears. She felt them roll down her cheeks.
“No, it’s fine! I mean, beautiful. What I saw. Not that I saw,” Richard cleared his throat. He wiped away the tears on her cheeks with his thumb, and for just an instant, Salindra let herself imagine that she was in love with him, and it was his child she carried. They’d live in a cozy cottage, and he’d chop wood and dote on their baby. She’d bake, and sneak up behind him to plant kisses on his cheeks. And it would all be perfect.
Except for the fact that Salindra didn’t love Richard, couldn’t bake, and despised children. She wrinkled her nose. That was someone else’s dream. If she was going to be a mother, then she was going to be rich enough to have a nanny.
“Then what is it?” Salindra asked, not willing to give up yet.
“I… there’s someone else. Someone else that I love.”
“What does that have to do with the price of apples in Aydindril?” Salindra winked, hoping to bring Richard back from the doe eyed haze of love triumphant that was currently wreaking havoc with his face.
“What?” Richard was clearly confused.
Getting desperate, Salindra put her hand back on his knee. “What if I said you could have me tonight, for just this night, and it need never be spoken of again? It would remain between us, always.” She smiled her seductive smile, then one that had lured many a rich husband into her brothel.
Richard pulled away. “I would know. I could never do that to her.”
“Does this woman even expect such devotion?” Salindra retorted, stung.
“She doesn’t have to. I expect it from myself,” was Richard Rahl’s answer.
He stood, moving so that he was framed in the window, the moon shining high in the sky behind him, the Sword of Truth at his hip. Looking at him then, Salindra thought he looked like a king. A legend, come to life.
“You’re a rare man, Prince Richard,” she told him.
-l-
Richard snuck into the Mord’Sith barracks as soon as he left Salindra’s rooms. He had to see Denna. A burning urgency pushed him onwards, making every step feel like he trod on hot coals.
The Mord’Sith on guard challenged him, but let him by when he was identified as the prince. At last he reached Denna’s rooms. Hers were next to Cara’s, and only a little smaller. Richard pushed his way through the door without knocking, only to be struck in the knee with an Agiel.
He went down hard, unable to contain a pained yelp. A foot found his neck, pressing down until he couldn’t breathe.
There was a flare of orange light as a candle was lit, and held high. Richard saw Denna’s pale skin illuminated in the glow. Her hair was down, and she wore only her black leather breastband and hip wrap. “Richard?”
She took her foot off of his neck, and offered him a hand up.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he joked, then dropped a kiss on her left eyebrow, then the right one, then her lips, and her nose.
“Richard, what are you doing here?” she stopped him, holding him at bay with the candle.
“I had to see you,” he told her, taking the candle from her and placing it on the table by her bed. He pulled her into his arms, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling. She always smelled like leather oil and jasmine, as if the oil she used to care for her armor and the salts from the Mord’Sith bath house were infused in her skin.
“Why?” she murmured, stroking his back. She pulled him towards the bed, and Richard went all too willingly.
“Because, Denna… I realized something.”
She gave him a questioning look, the same that had sent many a soldier scurrying for cover. But Richard grinned, and traced his fingers over her lips, then laid his head in her lap. She started running her nails over his scalp, and he sighed in bliss.
There was nowhere in the world he would rather be, and no one else he’d rather spend time with.
“You know I was confessed?” he started in a hushed tone.
Of course she knew he was confessed. All of the palace Mord’Sith did. But Richard didn’t know where else to begin. “They say that it’s like being in love. That you love your Confessor with all that you have and are. But it’s more than that. It’s worse than that. Even your thoughts belong to her. There’s nothing left of you left.”
Richard sighed, and Denna hummed to him, a strand of her yellow hair brushing his face. He curled it around his finger. “I thought, if that’s love… I didn’t want love. But it’s not,” he sat up, needing Denna to understand, to believe him for reasons he couldn’t explain. “What Confessors do, it’s not love. And I know… I know because, I love you, Denna. I love you, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
It felt so good to say it, so he did it again, grinning like a fool. “I love you, Denna.”
“Richard Rahl,” she said, biting her lips and looking away.
“Denna?” He ran his fingers along her chin, trying to get her to face him, but she wouldn’t.
A drop of wetness touched his skin, and Richard brought it to his mouth, tasting salt.
“Denna? Are you crying?”
His heart plunged into his shoes. If she wanted him to go, he’d go. If she didn’t want his love. It would make their lives complicated, he knew, and Darken would be mad, but he’d get over it, and Richard had thought it was worth it and…
“Should I go?” he asked Denna.
She flung her arms around his neck, choking him for a brief moment before she loosened her hold. “Richard,” she rasped, her voice cracking. “I love you too.”
Relief flooded him.
“Then why are you crying?” he laughed, kissing her cheeks, the salt of her tears on his tongue.
“Because there are things I have to tell you.” She met his eyes. “Richard, what do you know about the Boxes of Orden?”
-l-
Darken was sitting in front of his fireplace, enjoying a goblet of wine, when Salindra found him.
“Well?”
“He wouldn’t lie with me. He’s in love.”
Darken scoffed.
Salindra came to stand by the fire. And what a pretty picture she made, with the flames bringing out the red in her hair, and her blue eyes sparking. She looked like a proper Rahl. Hopefully their child would be the same. Darken had always detested the whispers behind his back, that he was too dark to be of the royal blood.
He frowned, disliking the turn his thoughts were taking.
“I see no reason why I can’t be your queen,” Salindra continued. “Things could go on, just as they have. I’ll leave you to your business and you can come to me when it pleases you. All I want is a nanny and crown for the child.”
“And an allowance and crown for yourself,” Darken said drolly.
“You’re already keeping me in fashion in the queen’s suite. Putting ‘Queen’ in front of my name shouldn’t be any hardship. Come, Darken. Be practical. We’re very alike, you and I, even if you won’t admit it. We’d do well together.”
She winked at him.
Darken pulled at the sleeves of his robe, remembering the stain she had left on his favorite. The one he wore now itched around the collar.
Salindra made some interesting points. If it weren’t for Richard, he’d very likely do what she wanted.
If it weren’t for Richard.
He couldn’t disinherit his brother. If he was to avert the prophecy, Richard had to love him.
“No,” he said to Salindra.
“No?” she repeated. Then, louder, losing her usual composure so quickly that Darken wondered if the child was affecting her temperament already, “No?! And what if the child has magic, will you suddenly want it back then? Are you even going to tell me why you won’t have me?”
“No,” Darken said again, turning his attention back to the fire.
Salindra stepped in front of him, aiming a kick at his booted feet. It hardly hurt, but it was the height of disrespect. A muscle standing out in his jaw, he stood, reaching for his dagger. He’d frighten her. Remind her of her place.
“Is it because you think of her when you see me?” she demanded, her voice dropping low, a whispered, hissing accusation that echoed in his ears and poisoned his blood. “Because you make me live in her rooms and wear her clothes and use her servants, and now I’m having your child, just like she did?” She stomped her foot. “I’m not Kahlan. No matter how many of her dresses you make me wear!”
Snarling, Darken backhanded Salindra across the jaw with a violent crack.
She ran from him.
Red hazing the edges of his vision, he kicked his chair over, knocking it into her path. His wine goblet crashed to the floor, the red liquid spreading over the stones.
Salindra skidded to a stop, changing direction, her hair falling from its pins, her skirts swishing around her. Darken caught hold of a handful of golden curls and red brocade and yanked to pull Salindra against him. She pivoted and pounded her fists against his chest, then punched him in the mouth, his teeth cutting into her knuckles. She hurt herself more than she hurt him.
Wrapping one arm around her to pin hers to her sides, Darken gripped her face with his other hand, squeezing her cheeks, making her lips pucker. He was beyond rage. He was in his faraway place, where he felt nothing. He saw all that he did, but only later would he understand the horror of it, if he ever did at all.
“I carry your child,” Salindra reminded him. “Please,” she begged. “I carry your child.”
Her lips were bloody, staining her teeth pink.
Darken remembered his mother, weeping into Egremont’s chest after one of Panis Rahl’s rages.
He remembered blood gushing from Kahlan’s lips, as she tried to impart one last command,Don’t.
Don’t what?
Darken looked at Salindra, snatched from his faraway place by a chain of remembered pain. She looked so afraid.
Don’t.
He relaxed his grip on her arms, but didn’t let her go. Instead, he wiped the blood from her lips with two fingers, licking them clean and kissing her forehead, his beard tickling along her skin.
She sensed the change in him and reacted accordingly. Her face was pressed into his chest. Her fingers tangled in his hair.
Softly, getting louder as she gained confidence, she sang him a lullaby.
White grows the lily,
Red grows the rose,
Here lies my laddy,
See how he grows…
Kahlan’s lullaby. She’d sung it to Nicholas. Salindra had to know that that was where she’d learned it, where she’d heard it.
Or perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps, like him, she willfully refused to remember, but took comfort in the melody just the same.
Darken let himself be soothed.
He didn’t know how to say he was sorry. Or maybe his pride wouldn’t let him. But he was. He didn’t want to be the man his father had been. He didn’t want to be the monster of prophecy.
He wanted to be the king Kahlan Amnell had died to save, and this was the first time he was realizing it.
He disgusted himself.
He took Salindra into his bedroom, and then through the connecting door, into her room. Dismissing her maid, he helped her undress. Then he tucked her into bed.
He tried to recapture the feelings that he’d experienced when Kahlan was with child. The wonder. The joy. The obsessive need to see to her comfort between every breath.
But all was ashes.
“Wait for me here,” he told Salindra, bending to kiss her brow.
If he pretended long enough, perhaps one day his act would become the truth.
It had happened before.
He went in search of Richard.
-l-
“Oh, my lady. Oh, my lady,” Alice said over and over again. She’d crept back into Salindra’s bedroom as soon as Darken Rahl had left.
Her noise was giving Salindra a headache.
“Be quiet,” Salindra commanded at last, rubbing at her temples.
Fool. She was such a fool.
Why had she challenged him that way? She knew what made him dangerous, and how to avoid it. She knew how to keep him gentle. A master manipulator with years of practice, Salindra played men like a piper played music, turning them whichever way she wanted.
The bed sank down as Alice sat next to her, a cool cloth in her hands. She placed it on Salindra’s head, and then started dabbing at Salindra’s lips with another cloth. The water stung, where the flesh had split.
It was no matter. She’d had split lips before, given to her by a man filled with too much drink. She would dab lip paint over them, and they would look the same as ever, maybe better, if swelling made them bigger.
Alice was babbling again. Salindra started listening, and realized the woman was dancing around the subject of helping Salindra escape. There was a temple of the Creator where Alice often visited with women from the palace. It was lovely. They should pray there together.
Salindra could read between the lines. Any woman in danger who went with Alice would suddenly find herself inducted into the Sisters of the Light.
“I can’t,” Salindra said. “I carry his child. He’d come after me, and the temple would be punished. For everyone’s sake, I have to stay.”
Alice nodded, tears in her eyes. Reverently, she clasped Salindra’s hands, staring at her with the same devotion that she had once bestowed upon Kahlan.
Salindra refused to flinch away.
Let the little girl think that Salindra was noble, and good. That she stayed to spare others. The real truth, the truth Salindra held to her heart, was that if she really wanted to leave, she’d have found a way by now. She stayed because she wanted to. She’d been so bored, in her country manor with only husband hunting to occupy her.
She stayed because she liked it, this game of sex and kings.
She stayed because she preferred to be at Darken Rahl’s right hand, rather than in his path.
I’m as mad as he is, she thought.
She would hold her temper in the future. She would not mention Kahlan. She would not strike out at Darken Rahl. She would manage him as a warrior does a warhorse, a dangerous, wild creature tamed with bridle and spurs.
And she would be the Queen of D’Hara, and see the child of her blood sit on the throne.
Mama would be proud.
-l-
Darken found Richard in the council chamber, studying the maps where little figures marked out the placement of their soldiers, and the places where they were embattled.
The Sword of Truth was strapped to his brother’s hip.
Darken glanced at it, and then rested his hand on the pommel of his dagger. Standing carefully out of striking range, he cleared his throat.
Richard looked up. “Brother,” he smiled. “If you’re here about those supply train calculations Egremont has me working on, I’m not done yet.”
“No,” Darken said, preparing himself for Richard’s rage. Perhaps it would be better to get his sword before they had this conversation. It would be difficult to defend himself from the Sword of Truth with only a dagger.
Richard frowned, moving closer, but Darken held up a hand to keep him back. “Darken? What’s wrong?”
Darken fixed his eyes on Richard’s face. “I have a confession to make to you, little brother.”
“What is it?”
“Salindra is with child.” Darken paused, gauging Richard’s reaction. “My child.”
There was a moment in which Richard’s face was completely blank. Darken tensed, poised to spring should the Seeker reach for the sword at his side.
How Darken hated that sword.
Richard broke into a grin. “Darken, that’s great! Congratulations!” He closed the distance between them, enveloping Darken in a brotherly hug.
Darken didn’t understand.
He returned Richard’s embrace, subtly closing his fingers around the hilt of the Sword of Truth. He would draw it from Richard’s scabbard before the Seeker could twitch, should things turn ugly. “It means you will be disinherited,” he whispered into Richard’s ear.
“That doesn’t matter,” Richard whispered back.
Darken pulled away from his brother, leaving the Sword of Truth in its sheath. Where was the fury? Where was the sense of betrayal? Did Richard still love him, even now, when denied the throne?
“You can marry Salindra, and have your baby, and I’ll be the favorite uncle.” He clapped Darken on the shoulder, looking into his face. Whatever he saw there made him say, “Really, Darken. I know you’re my big brother, but don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ll get Egremont to teach me how to do his job. I’ll be better at that than I would have ever been at being Lord Rahl.”
Darken felt the world tilt beneath him. Suspicion, vicious and black, welled up inside him. Richard had to be pretending this acceptance. Darken would need to be wary.
“Honestly, I’m relieved. We both know I’m not the greatest at the royal part of everything. Remember when I stepped on the Queen of Rothenberg’s dress?” Richard laughed. “I’m happy that you’ve found love again.” His expression fell. “You know, after everything.”
“Love?” Darken echoed. “No. Not love.”
You did not love. Not after your Confessor.
Darken wasn’t even certain he had ever loved before Kahlan had pulled his heart from his chest, making it hers. Making it belong to her in ways it had never belonged to anyone else, not even Darken himself. But he certainly would not love, could not love after confession.
Nothing felt the same.
But Richard shook his head, his smile returning to stretch across his face. His teeth were very white. “It’s alright, brother,” he said, hugging Darken again. “It’s alright.”
-l-
Richard laid with Denna, in his massive four poster bed, the both of them naked. Abusing his royal privilege, he’d had her summoned, and told the messenger that she was to stop whatever she was doing and come to her prince at once.
He couldn’t wait to tell her that Darken and Salindra were going to have a baby. That there was going to be a new heir. It meant that Richard would be free to be with Denna. They could marry, and be happy, without worrying about bloodlines and royal nonsense. He thought Denna would be as ecstatic as he was.
He was shocked that the way she hissed and cursed when he told her, her blood red lips twisting into a grimace.
“But the throne was promised to you!” she protested, her hands balled into fists.
Richard sat up, running his fingers down Denna’s back. “Everything is alright. I never wanted to be Lord Rahl. I never even wanted to be the Seeker. I’m just a farm boy, and I hope, one day, a good general who can take Egremont’s place.” He pressed kisses to the curve of her neck, moving the curtain that was her hair out of the way. “Don’t be angry on my behalf.”
“I’m not!” Denna retorted, pulling away from him. “How can you be so calm about this?” She stood, pacing the length of Richard’s bed chamber, and then going to the table where she’d left her Agiel. She picked it up, the high whining sound giving Richard gooseflesh.
He hated that Denna sought pain instead of comfort.
“Don’t you see, Denna? This means that we can stop hiding what we are to one another. We can be together. I want you to marry me.”
Denna laughed, and it turned into a sob, though no tears came from her eyes. “You fool,” she said, her voice filled with love. She crossed back to the bed and caressed Richard’s cheek. “You brave, beautiful fool.”
She still held her Agiel.
“Lord Rahl will never let the two of us marry. We’re too dangerous together. The instant he knows you love me, I’ll be posted at a far off outpost. Or maybe sent on a mysterious mission from which I never return.”
“He wouldn’t,” Richard protested, torn between his brother and his lover. He grasped Denna’s hand, the one that held the Agiel, wrapping his fingers around hers until they skimmed the surface of the leather covered weapon.
He wished he could take her pain away.
“Have you forgotten everything I told you about the Boxes of Orden? About what he plans to do?” Denna’s eyes were hard, her mouth set in a grim line. Richard cupped her cheek.
“Darken wouldn’t,” he repeated.
He wouldn’t. Not after the Confessors. Darken couldn’t use Orden to command all of those around him, just as Richard couldn’t. They both knew what it was to have their free will taken.
This was the bond they shared. The nightmare that was theirs.
The tone of Denna’s next words was gentle, even if what she said was not. “Mistress Cara is on her way back from Tamerang with the third box as we speak. She will arrive within seven days.”
Richard said nothing. He just buried his face in Denna’s neck, and waited for the world to right itself again.
Cara was bringing the third Box of Orden. Did that mean that Darken really was going to put them together? With the Power of Orden, everyone would always have to do as he commanded.
He would be no better than a Confessor.
Richard rocked, inhaling the scent of Denna’s skin. He remembered the feel of his sword parting flesh. The blood gushing from Queen Kahlan’s mouth, staining her teeth.
Darken whispering, I’m free.
The way Mother Confessor Serena’s eyes had turned black, when she ripped Richard’s ability to choose away from him.
“Please don’t make me kill,” he whimpered into Denna’s neck, unaware that he was speaking.
He couldn’t do that again. Never again. He’d never let anyone else have him like that again. That wasn’t love. It was slavery. It was living death.
“Not again. Please don’t make me kill.” He clung to Denna.
The blood. There had been so much blood. Blood and black swirling eyes, and the taste of steel in his mouth as he was ordered to kill his brother. He was Serena’s puppet, in more than one way.
Roughly pushing him back, Denna slapped him.
Richard didn’t recognize her. His eyes rolling, the whites showing, he thought she was Serena, come back to confess him again. He struck at her with his fists, tendons standing out in his arms, landing a hard blow to her gut. But Denna was a better warrior than he, longer trained, and she had an Agiel in her hand. She subdued him, twisting that instrument of torture into the soft spot under his jaw.
Richard collapsed onto the bed, panting and shuddering.
“Denna. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -” he began once he could sort haunting memory from reality.
She silenced him with a kiss.
This was one of the reasons why he loved her. She was strong. She could defend herself.
She was safe from him.
“You see why you have to take the throne. Why you must fight to stay the heir,” she said, running her fingertips over his chest.
“Salindra’s baby is the new heir. It’s the law of the land.” Richard’s voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Was that really him speaking?
“You are the law of the land!” Denna declared, at her most forceful. “You are Richard Rahl, and with these hands,” she moved to straddle Richard, putting her hands in his, “you wield the Sword of Truth. You are the destined king who will unite D’Hara and the Midlands. And you are the only one who can save us from the Power of Orden.”
“You’re just saying that because you love me,” Richard teased her, trying to lighten the mood. His lips still trembled. He might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.
“I do love you,” Denna affirmed, leaning down to give him a deep kiss.
And then suddenly, she was gone. Richard opened his eyes and saw she was pulling on her armor, and tossing his tunic and breeches at him. “Get dressed. There’s someone you need to see.”
_________________________________________________________
Part: I, II, III, IV, V