I Will Not Surrender - Part VII. The Rod and the Rada’Han (7/11)
Title: I Will Not Surrender - Part VII. The Rod and the Rada’Han (7/11)
Author: burning_arrow
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R/NC-17 (varies by chapter and I’m not going to rate each one)
Warnings: torture
Disclaimer: My life would be so much more interesting if I owned Cara and Kahlan, but, alas, I don’t. However, thanks to Terry Goodkind and ABC for creating such wonderful playthings.
Word Count: 8,492
Summary: Takes place several years after Tears. Kahlan rules over D’Hara and the Midlands, with Cara at her side, but behind the tentative peace lies a new threat. Part VII.: Cara does things she never thought she could do, Kahlan and Zedd flounder and learn to begin again, and Belle balances Prentax’s demands with her true agenda.
A/N: If this first time you’re reading this, I suggest going back to Part I - or else you will be confused.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI
Part VII. The Rod and the Rada’Han
Kahlan screamed. The agiel whined loudly, almost screaming too, jammed into the Confessor’s side by Cara’s steady hand. Kahlan’s agony cut through Cara like a knife, slicing deep into her heart. She had explained to the Confessor how to partition her mind, how to let the pain flow through the body without touching the inner self. When faced with the torture of being broken, most people fought to control their body’s reactions, as if holding back a scream or a moan were a victory, but it was only in disengaging the mind and releasing the body that one could truly remove the threat of the pain. Few understood this and even fewer could do it, but Kahlan was a fast learner. Cara could see from the distant look in Kahlan’s eyes that the scream was a pure reflex of the body. The Confessor had retreated into her head. Nonetheless the piercing sound flayed Cara’s soul.
A grueling week had slipped away since they had begun Kahlan’s ‘training’, and each passing day tore out another chunk of Cara’s being. She had given Kahlan as much rest as possible, but it seemed that no sooner would she allow the Confessor to breathe than a guard, or sometimes Prentax himself, would appear at the cell door, staring in with silent, menacing eyes. Cara would be forced into resuming her work, and soon almost every inch of Kahlan’s exposed skin was laced with a web of welts, cuts, and bruises. Cara knew the Mother Confessor was strong, that she could bear the abuse, but every new cut, every yelp of pain, every stifled moan felt like a testament to Cara’s transgressions. After all, what kind of woman would torture her own lover? How could she have ever imagined that she was worthy of any mate, let alone the Mother Confessor?
In the end it was Cara’s Mord’Sith training that steeled her nerves and kept her focused. Pain was something she understood. Too little pain and Kahlan would be taken from her to face a far worse fate, too much pain and she would risk permanent damage to the Confessor’s body and mind. For days she kept Kahlan balanced on that razor-thin edge, coaxing just enough of a response out of Kahlan to appease their captors.
The scream faded as Cara lifted the agiel away from Kahlan’s midsection. The Confessor’s hands and arms were held taut over her head by a chain from the ceiling - the standard pose for any Mord’Sith trainee. The manacles cut into her wrists as Kahlan’s weak body hung limply. Kahlan gasped for air, gulping down great breaths, her mouth gaping like a fish pulled from the water. The Rada’Han at her throat bobbed up and down with each breath. Nearly choking with shame, Cara stared at the collar balefully. It was a stark reminder of how powerless Kahlan was now, and seeing the Mother Confessor in such a helpless state almost drove Cara mad with rage.
“Cara.” Kahlan’s voice came out in a broken whisper, sounding hoarse and scratchy.
Two different urges surged through Cara at once. The first, to lift a hand to Kahlan’s face in comfort, she suppressed only because it could endanger them both if the guards witnessed Cara’s compassion. The second, to strike Kahlan for forgetting to call her ‘Mistress’, troubled Cara far more deeply. There had been a time when a trainee would be guaranteed to feel the sting of her backhand had they failed to use her proper title, but Cara had thought that that part of her was dead and buried. Now Cara could feel the instincts she had learned from the Sisters of the Agiel reasserting themselves, and the sensation brought her no pleasure. She had worked so hard to put distance between her new life and her former self - and more importantly, between Kahlan and her former self. The idea that that woman was just below the surface of her consciousness left Cara queasy with dread.
Torn between the two impulses, Cara stood frozen.
“Cara.” Kahlan’s tone was stronger, more insistent.
Cara blinked. She cast a wary eye towards the cell door, but for the moment there was no guard watching them. Cara responded slowly, softly, “What is it?”
Blue eyes bleary and bloodshot, Kahlan peered at Cara through strands of hair that had fallen in her face. Her thick tresses were now stringy and matted from days of sweat and neglect. “We have to stop. I can’t do this anymore.”
Cara had not thought it was possible for the ache in her chest to deepen anymore, but with Kahlan’s words, Cara felt as if her heart was being torn apart. She had feared this turn of events, even as she had succumbed to Kahlan’s urgings to train her. She had warned Kahlan that this point may come, when the pain was simply too fierce. Kahlan had forced Cara to promise that the Mord’Sith would persist, knowing that the alternative was an even more painful and humiliating end at Prentax’s bidding. Cara had protested and raged, but Kahlan had won out in the end. Now, Cara’s gut clenched with spasms as if it was she who had been struck with the agiel. Kahlan’s willing acceptance of the pain was one of the very few reasons Cara had acquiesced to this absurd plan. She didn’t know if she had the strength in her to continue if she had to force the Confessor.
Cara sheathed her agiel, snug on her hip next to its companion. She peeled off her gloves and stuck them in her belt. She drew close to Kahlan and placed gentle fingers on both of the Confessor’s cheeks, carefully avoiding any bruises. She rubbed her thumbs over Kahlan’s high cheekbones in small circles.
“Kahlan, listen to me,” Cara began, her voice calm and measured. “Do you remember why I’m doing this, what Prentax will do if I don’t?”
Kahlan nodded, closing her eyes, her mouth a thin line. Cara moved even closer to the Confessor, placing her forehead on Kahlan’s. She hated herself for having to remind Kahlan what was at stake.
“Aydindril needs you alive, Kahlan. I need you alive. But you’ll only stay alive if we do this.”
Cara could feel Kahlan’s forehead wrinkle under her own, and the muscles of Kahlan’s jaw tensed under Cara’s fingers. The Confessor remained silent. Not for the first time, a voice in Cara’s head railed against the injustice of their situation. Her heart screamed at her to stop, to free Kahlan immediately, and pull the Confessor into her arms. But she had a duty to protect the Lady Rahl, and, if she was forced to admit the selfish truth, she did need Kahlan alive.
“Do you want to stay alive?” Cara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kahlan nodded again, her eyes still closed.
“Do you want me to continue then?”
For a long, agonizing moment, the Confessor did not react. Cara held her breath, afraid that Kahlan would say no and equally afraid that she would say yes. The throbbing was back, her brain feeling as if it were too large for her skull. Then Kahlan gave one slight nod. Cara felt a wave of relief flood through her, followed by a wave of guilt. She needed Kahlan’s permission, but having gotten it returned her thoughts to the task at hand. She laced her fingers through the locks of Kahlan’s hair behind her neck.
“Remember what I taught you. It will keep you safe, even when you think you can’t stand it anymore. Trust me. ”
Then Cara kissed Kahlan, her lips searching out some sort of absolution she knew she would not find. The Confessor’s mouth moved under her own, but all Cara could feel was cold seeping into the core of her being. She dropped a hand to her agiel, retrieving it from its sheath. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then brought it up hard under Kahlan’s chin. The tentacles of pain passed through the Confessor’s body into Cara’s. Kahlan screamed into her mouth, but Cara kept her lips clamped to Kahlan’s. As the fire crackled along the nerves in her body, Cara swallowed Kahlan’s pain - and her own.
***
The rain poured down in great, heavy torrents, with fat, hard droplets driven at an angle by the howling wind. Kahlan shivered as the cold water doused her and Zedd yet again, soaking them to the skin. It had been raining for three straight days, a mix of cloud bursts, like the one they were stumbling through now, and monotonous, gray drizzle. Normally docile creeks swelled, and the rushing waters made crossing them a treacherous affair. The earth beneath their feet was saturated and the trail they were following was a slippery, muddy mess. Kahlan was sure that, had it not been for the Night Wisps, she and Zedd would have lost the path altogether several times.
For the first week, Zedd and Kahlan had made careful but steady progress toward Aydindril, travelling mostly at night and sticking to the woodsmen’s paths and game trails in the thick woods. They avoided the main roads whenever possible. They scavenged for what food they could find, occasionally finding a bush of gagnon berries or a squirrel’s stash of winter nuts. Richard had taught Kahlan to use snares, but they had no time to wait for the snares to do their job, and without a bow she could take no game while on the move. The wizard had complained often and loudly about his empty stomach, but Kahlan knew it was just Zedd’s way of passing the time.
Then the skies had opened up, drenching them. The first night, Zedd had managed to start a fire with his magic, but it could not dry their sodden clothes as water still dripped relentlessly from the limbs of the tree under which they’d taken shelter. Though the enchanted flames resisted the rain’s attempt to smother them, the fire offered little warmth. After that they didn’t bother lighting a fire again. Zedd had stopped complaining after the second day of storms. The wizard’s silence, combined with a persistent cough that he could not hide, worried Kahlan far more than his laments could. Yet they trudged on. There was no shelter for them in the forest that seemed to be slowly drowning around them. The rain was so persistent and the skies so gloomy, Kahlan could practically feel the damp chill creeping through her body and into her soul. At times she was sure they were no closer to Aydindril than they had been three days ago.
The trail ahead of them narrowed as it climbed a small but steep rise. Kahlan hauled herself up the hill, gripping saplings on either side of the path for support. She could hear Zedd grunting with effort as he climbed up behind her. When they reached the top, a fit of coughing overcame the wizard, wracking his body and bending him over. Kahlan put a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.
“We need to get out of this rain, Zedd,” she said as his coughs subsided, “or we’re not going to make it to Aydindril in any shape to fight a cold, let alone an army.”
“I’m fine,” protested Zedd, though another round of coughing undermined his assertion. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Let’s be sure you stay fine,” replied Kahlan. In her heart, she wanted nothing more than to keep going, but reason told her they’d both be better off if they found some shelter and dried off for a little while. She gave a short whistle and Stella zipped up to her. Even as the dreary world around them wilted with gray sogginess, the Night Wisps had somehow remained chipper and perky.
“Zedd and I need to rest, somewhere out of the rain. Is there anything nearby?”
The wisp chirped.
“Show us,” said Kahlan.
The Night Wisp flew off a short distance, then paused, waiting for Kahlan and Zedd to follow. They followed at a slow pace, the trail narrowing even further and becoming overgrown with brambles. Over and over, Stella zoomed ahead and then returned to Kahlan, her tiny form unimpeded by the thick vegetation that tangled in the humans’ clothes and hair. Finally, the trail widened into a small clearing. In the clearing sat the ruins of a woodsman’s hut, half of the roof collapsed after years of neglect. The rough-hewn logs were covered with moss and fungus, and where the wood showed through, its surface was blackened with rain and decay. Yet Kahlan could see that enough of the structure remained to provide them shelter.
Squeezing through the open door-frame that leaned threateningly to one side, Kahlan found herself in half a room barely big enough to fit three sleeping men, but in the dim light filtering in from the door-frame and the collapsed wall, she could see that the dirt floor was dry. Apparently this part of the roof remained waterproof. Kahlan sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Creator. Then she called for the wizard to join her. He eased in through the doorway, his tall frame twisting to slide through. When he stood up, his head brushed the rafters, but he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to be relieved as she was just to be out of the rain.
Kahlan wanted nothing more than to settle into a heap on the floor, but she had noticed some burdock near the edge of the clearing. They needed food almost as badly as they needed shelter. She eyed the rain outside balefully, not relishing the prospect of digging up roots, but there was no way around it.
With a deep sigh, the Confessor said, “Zedd, make us a fire if you can. I think some of the wood is loose on that back wall, but be careful you don’t bring the place down around your head.”
“Where are you going?”
“There’s a patch of burdock out there. I thought you might like something to put in that growling belly of yours tonight.” She gave him a weak smile, which he returned, equally as half-hearted. They both knew the roots would be no feast, but it was better than going hungry again.
Kahlan pulled her hood up over her head. It was soaked as thoroughly as the rest of her, but at least it kept the rain out of her eyes while she dug. Using a piece of a jagged-edged plank as a makeshift trowel, she flung sodden clumps of earth out of the way. Soon she had four of the rough, wrist-thick roots set aside. She knew they’d probably need more, for breakfast if nothing else, but her own stamina was flagging and the temptation of a fire and a dry room proved to be too powerful.
The fire crackled merrily in the center of the small room, greeting Kahlan as she reentered the hut. Zedd was in the far corner, wringing water out of his robes. Long past modesty with her old travel companion, she peeled off the white Confessor’s dress, now turned a muddled shade of gray-brown from days of travel. She wrung it out in a corner and hung it from a broken piece of rafter near the fire. In nothing but her corset and her black skirt, Kahlan crouched by the flames, while Zedd settled himself across from her with a satisfied groan. Goosebumps covered her bare arms, but at least her skin was drying for the first time in days. As the warmth rolled over her in delicious waves, she could feel her muscles slowly unclench. She had been shivering for so long that she’d long ceased noticing the way it made her ache.
Kahlan threw the burdock roots in the embers. Their tough skins would scorch, but at least the white flesh in their center would make for the evening’s meal, meager as it was. Then she too found a seat close to the fire. The Night Wisps hovered in one corner, humming softly, conversing among themselves in voices too low for Kahlan to make out. With a dry roof overhead, the prospect of food on the horizon, the fire warming her bones, and the droning of the Wisps, the Confessor let herself relax for the first time in over a week. Staring into the flames, she let her mind drift. At first, her reflections briefly touched on the fate of Aydindril, the wizard Prentax, and the battle ahead, but they finally snagged on thoughts of Cara. Kahlan had not let herself think too much about her lover as she and Zedd forged their way through the woods. Too many emotions welled up when she dared ponder the whereabouts of the blonde Mord’Sith, and Kahlan knew it would do neither of them any good if she turned into a hysterical mess. Yet now that there was no other task at hand with which to distract herself, the Confessor’s heart wrested control of her thoughts from her mind.
Grimacing, Kahlan wondered where Cara was now. Had Cara made it safely from the city? Was she searching for Kahlan? Organizing the remnants of the Home Guard and gathering allies to fight Prentax? Had she been captured…or…or…killed? Kahlan shuddered at the last possibility. Surely, some part of her would have known, but then again, she had not known with Richard. It was only naïve hope that it would be any different with Cara.
Before she could drive herself completely mad contemplating the unbearable, she forced her musings onto more pleasant grounds. She tried to picture Cara as she had been on the day when the Mord’Sith had finally returned her advances. Kahlan had stunned Cara by admitting her feelings toward the blonde warrior on an afternoon ride through the countryside. For two weeks after, neither of them could look at each other, and the Mord’Sith took every opportunity to avoid the company of the Confessor. Eventually though, Cara had come to dine with Kahlan. At this memory, Kahlan smiled. Only under great duress and the direct order of the Lady Rahl had the Mord’Sith come, but eventually, late in the evening, Cara had made her own feelings known…
A sharp cough from Zedd startled Kahlan from her reverie.
“Once, you would have looked that way thinking about Richard,” the wizard said, his gray-blue eyes inscrutable as he stared at her from across the fire.
“Am I so easy to read as all that?” replied Kahlan, chuckling.
Zedd did not echo her humor. His expression carried a trace of something Kahlan did not fully understand - disapproval perhaps, or even anger? The Confessor was taken aback. She was baffled by the wizard’s reaction.
“Zedd, what is it?” she asked, disturbed by the strange look he was giving her.
The wizard shook his head, as if clearing away an unpleasant thought. Evasively, he said, “Forgive me, Kahlan. Just an old man’s slow wits, nothing more.”
“You may consider yourself old, Zedd, but there is nothing slow about you. And you know full well that you can’t lie to a Confessor. What’s bothering you?” she persisted.
Zedd took a long time answering. He turned his eyes from her and considered the fire instead, his countenance grave. The silence lingered so long that Kahlan thought that he might not reply at all, but finally the wizard stirred.
“Cara…does she make you happy?”
Of all the responses that Kahlan expected, this was not one. Her brows knitted together in surprise and confusion, but she answered earnestly.
“Yes, she does.”
“Why?” The wizard’s voice was a mix of great sadness, curiosity, and a hint of resentment. In his eyes, his emotions battled each other for the upper hand, swirling in a tangled mass that startled Kahlan. Not once had Zedd broached the subject of Cara with her, and Kahlan was starting to suspect why.
“You don’t approve of her?” she asked softly.
It was Zedd’s turn to grimace. “It’s not that I don’t approve, exactly. It’s just that-“
“That she’s not Richard?” asked Kahlan gently.
The wizard’s head jerked up and, as his eyes met Kahlan’s, she knew she had struck upon the truth.
Without a word, Kahlan rose from her place and circled around the fire, taking a seat by Zedd’s side. She placed a light hand on his arm, her heart reaching out to the man that she had always turned to for wisdom and council, the man that had become as much a grandfather to her as he had been to Richard. At the touch, he looked from her hand to her face. Kahlan’s tone was solemn, as she began to speak.
“Zedd, you asked why Cara makes me happy. I don’t think I can tell you all of it, but in part, it’s because she reminds me that I’m alive. She reminds me that underneath the exterior of the Mother Confessor, there is a living, breathing woman. For a long time after Richard died, I didn’t know if that part of me existed anymore, but Cara brought it back to me.”
Kahlan searched Zedd’s eyes for understanding. “Would you have me play the part of Richard’s widow for the rest of my life?”
Color rose in Zedd’s cheeks, and she knew that at least a small part of the wizard did indeed wish that very thing, though he would hardly admit it. If she put herself in his position, she could even make sense of it. Zedd had buried his father, his daughter, and eventually, his grandson, all in the name of overthrowing the tyranny wrought upon D’Hara and the Midlands by the Rahl family. Losing Richard was more than another tragedy - it was a blow that lesser men would have crumbled under. Yet the First Wizard had continued to serve the Mother Confessor without faltering. Only now did Kahlan begin to comprehend the toll that had been exacted on the old man’s heart. Initially, she had been so wrapped in her own pain, and then later, in the thrill of a new love that she had never given more than passing thought to Zedd’s struggles. This realization shamed her.
“I owe you an apology, Zedd,” she began.
“Kahlan-“ he raised his voice to protest, some of the normal gentleness returning to his eyes.
“Hear me out. Sometimes you are so strong, I forget that you are human, too,” she said sadly. “I’ve been like a child, who thinks that their parent is invincible. I can’t imagine what losing Richard must have been like for you - what it is like for you still. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it before.”
Zedd’s eyes did not waver from hers, but as she watched, they began to glisten in the firelight. When he did not speak, she continued.
“Maybe you think that I have forgotten Richard, or that I’ve tried to replace him with Cara?”
“No, of course, not,” he said quickly, his voice gruff with unshed tears. “Kahlan, I trust your judgment as I would Richard’s - perhaps better than I would Richard’s.”
The wizard grinned wryly at this last statement, but tears still shimmered in his eyes. They both knew that Richard had always been more likely to think with his heart than his head, and it had caused all of them a great deal of trouble on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, Kahlan knew it had been one of Richard’s strengths as much as it had been one of his weaknesses.
“Then what is it, Zedd? And please don’t say that it’s nothing. I’ve seen the distance between you and Cara grow ever since she returned to Aydindril. Do you blame her,” she hesitated, then forged ahead, “for Richard’s death? Is that it?”
Zedd sighed, and Kahlan felt his shoulders sag a little.
“It’s not that, Kahlan. I know Cara well enough to know that she did everything she possibly could, and then some, to save Richard. I’m ashamed to admit that I would have been happier if you had waited much longer than you did to find someone new. But that’s only part of it. As to another, well, let me just say that Cara seemed too quick to take up the mantle of your - consort.”
Kahlan bristled at the title Zedd used for Cara, but she forced herself to relax. From the outside it may have indeed seemed as if Cara had succeeded Richard with some haste.
Biting back a sharp retort, instead Kahlan replied, “Did you know that it was I who pursued her?”
Zedd’s look of surprise confirmed that he had not. Kahlan’s next words tumbled out before she could reconsider their wisdom. She realized even as she was saying them that she had never told Zedd exactly because she feared what his reaction would be.
“After Richard died, I didn’t know which end was up, and almost losing Cara on top of it all nearly broke me. Yet even as she was recovering from her own wounds, she took care of me. She was always there, holding me up, keeping me safe. I can’t explain it, Zedd. It’s not - it’s not like it was with Richard. You know Cara. She’s all edges where Richard would be gentle, silent when he would be overjoyed. It’s different, and believe me I haven’t forgotten Richard, but I’ve come to realize what I feel for Cara is just as strong. I love her more than I can say.”
Zedd was mute as Kahlan paused for breath, so she nervously let her words continue to spill out.
“It’s true that Cara had feelings for me, perhaps even before we lost Richard. But not once did she express those feelings to me, not a single word. It was me, Zedd. It was I who told her how I felt first. It was I who confronted her. Even then, she did not want to betray Richard’s memory by acknowledging her feelings, but I didn’t give her much of a choice. So if you need to blame someone, Zedd, blame me. I’m the one you should hate, not Cara.”
Zedd mulled her words over in silence, his eyes once again almost unreadable. Then he let out a long, pained sigh.
“I don’t hate her, and the Creator knows, I could never hate you, Kahlan. But, Spirits help me, every time I see her with you, I can’t help but think that it should be him standing there, instead of her. Every time I see her, it reminds me that he’s not there.”
“Then you and she have a lot in common,” said Kahlan, almost bitterly. “I think sometimes she really does wish it was she who had died up in that mountain pass, even now. Everyone wants to be the hero, but no one wants to live with the aftermath, with...”
With her - the unsaid words seemed to ring in the air. Zedd seemed to be flustered by her sudden despair. He looked at her as if he were seeing part of her for the first time.
“I think we’ve both made the mistake of thinking the other stronger than mere mortals,” he said contritely. He placed a gnarled hand over her own. Softly, he added, “I am glad that there is someone to care for your heart. And I hope she has the good sense to realize what a precious gift she’s been given.”
Kahlan gave him a sad smile, a smile that the wizard returned. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She knew that no words from her would take the sting of Richard’s loss away from Zedd’s heart, but maybe, after tonight, he would no longer look on Cara with such bitter eyes.
After a few moments, during which they were both lost in their own thoughts, Zedd shifted slightly. Wistfully he said, “Perhaps, when I get back, and this Prentax is taken care of, I should see to naming a new Seeker.”
“Perhaps,” Kahlan replied evenly, carefully hiding her amazement. Zedd had never spoken of naming a new Seeker. Of course, seeing the Sword of Truth in another’s hands would be yet another reminder of Richard’s death. Perhaps talking about Richard was finally giving the wizard the release he needed to be able to move forward.
Kahlan gave him a slight shake on the arm. “But one thing at a time. I believe our burdock roots have finally cooked.”
“That is definitely the best thing I’ve heard all night,” he said, his tone brightening markedly, and for the first time in days he gave her a smile that actually reached his eyes.
***
The familiarity of the forge comforted Belle, regardless of the circumstances that brought her here. The blast of heat from the open furnace baking the skin of her face and arms was like the embrace of a long-lost friend. She let the blaze seep into her muscles, as she waited for the next batch of steel to be ready to pour into the mold she’d made for Prentax’s weapons. The fireshots, the men had started calling them when she’d said she had no name for them. A few of the men had other names. The Keeper’s Friends seemed to be the most popular alternative she’d heard - or at least the most colorful. Just as she had first proposed to Merry, the blacksmith had held an exhibition for Prentax and his men with the first of the fireshots. Prentax was more than pleased when the ball as large as Belle’s head had cut through an oak as big around as the arm span of three grown men. He’d clapped and his men roared their approval, but all Belle could think was that it was a waste of a beautiful tree.
After that Prentax had seemed to be a little less wary of Belle, though guards still dogged her heels throughout the Palace. Accordingly, she spent most of her time in the smithy and in the workshop across the main courtyard, where she had been putting together the barrels of powder. She had finished nine fireshots in twelve days, and almost all of the barrels. Belle couldn’t help the small smile that slipped across her lips thinking about the weapons. After pouring the first fireshot she’d altered the mold slightly. Only another blacksmith would have noticed, but it ensured that every fireshot after that had a fatal weakness. Each would have maybe one, at most two, good shots in them before the cylinders would peel open from the force of the powder. With a little luck, the weapons would be rendered useless as soon as they were fired for the first time. And with even more luck, Belle would not be around when Prentax found out.
Ever since the first day, when Belle had convinced Merry to join her in her scheme, the clerk had performed magnificently, including aiding Belle’s plans of escape for herself and Cara. With astounding efficiency, Merry had not only requisitioned supplies for the blacksmith’s official duties, but she had also made contacts with the burgeoning resistance in Aydindril, ferreted out the guard rotation for Cara’s cell, and squirreled away provisions for the journey. Even in the atmosphere of dark suspicion that permeated the Confessors Palace, the clerk seemed to be able to move unnoticed at will. When Belle had remarked on Merry’s uncanny knack for evading scrutiny and finding what she needed, the clerk had given her a mysterious smile and told her that any clerk worth their salt always knew how to be unseen, while knowing exactly who to see. Now Belle needed only one more piece before she could set her escape plans in motion, and as usual, it fell to Merry to provide.
As if the blacksmith’s thoughts conjured her up, the red-haired clerk strode into the smithy. Merry pulled her cloak off and shook it out with a decisive snap, flinging water drops everywhere. A few stray droplets shimmered in her fiery curls. Belle resisted the urge to run her hand over the clerk’s hair and wipe away the rain, instead picking up a hammer as if she were examining it closely. The blacksmith blushed when the clerk gave her a shrewd, knowing look, but Merry thankfully chose not to comment.
“By the Creator, it’s raining pails and buckets out there!” Merry said.
“Yes, it is,” agreed Belle lamely. Once again, she inwardly winced at how tongue-tied she became around the clerk.
With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the guards posted outside the smithy were not watching, Merry dropped her voice to a low whisper, “I’ve got what you need.”
The clerk pulled out a heavy, iron key from a pocket in her dress and held it out to Belle. Grinning, the blacksmith took it from her excitedly.
“How-“
“The chief jailer’s got a spare set. A little Weatherwax root in his cup of wine with the midday meal and he was as senseless as a stoned hare. I can tell you, Mistress Sanderholt didn’t need much convincing, either. Seems he’s been getting a bit too forward with her serving girls.”
Merry’s eyes glittered with something that Belle thought must be glee, though the clerk’s face was stern and her tone was a business-like as usual.
“I’ve got to get it back soon though. I only gave him a small dose. We didn’t want to have him out too long. If someone comes along and can’t wake him, it might raise suspicions.”
“Of course. Just give me a minute.”
Belle hurried to one of her workbenches and opened up the left-hand drawer. She withdrew a small box, barely larger than the key itself. She pried the lid off the box, revealing the wax inside both halves of the container. Quickly she thrust the key in one half and closed the box tightly. Once she was sure that the key’s imprint was set in the wax, she carefully retrieved the key from the box. Wiping it off with a rag to remove any traces of wax, she handed it back to Merry.
“I’ll need a couple of days. I need time to make the key and I want to make sure everything is set,” said Belle hastily. “Are you sure Prentax suspects nothing?”
“Well, Prentax and his officers keep their own confidences, of course, but from everything I’m overhearing from the guards, our grand lord wizard is very happy about your fireshots,” answered Merry as she drew her cloak around her again. “I should go.”
“Yes.”
The clerk looked like she wanted to say something more, but she turned to leave instead. In a move that surprised even her, Belle captured Merry’s elbow. The clerk gave her a startled look.
“Will I see you tonight?” Belle asked quietly.
Over the past fortnight, Merry had been showing up on the doorstep of the blacksmith’s chambers almost every evening. Originally it had been at the clerk’s insistence - keeping up appearances, she had insisted. It wouldn’t do to let Prentax and his men think that Belle was not enjoying her new assistant, Merry had said. Some evenings the clerk would only stay a few hours, while others she would not leave the chambers until dawn. Belle always slept in an armchair by the fire when Merry stayed the night, despite the clerk’s protests that the bed was plenty large enough for the two of them to have space and then some. Though the original purpose had been purely for show, Belle found that she enjoyed the clerk’s company, perhaps more than she ought to. While her wits might flee at the sight of the red-head, the blacksmith found that if she asked enough questions Merry would do most of the talking, and Belle was content to listen to the clerk’s stories of her family and life in Aydindril. Belle found herself wanting Merry’s visits enough that she was even willing to suffer the guard’s lewd comments and brazen ogling without comment, though she had to restrain herself when their stares swept over Merry.
“Tonight?” repeated the clerk, her gaze softening as she met Belle’s eyes. Belle nodded, her breath hitching a little. Merry’s lips lifted in a soft, shy smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Merry gently disentangled herself from Belle’s hold. She headed to the open archway leading out of the smithy, pausing at the threshold to give Belle one more glance before plunging out into the rain.
***
“I sent Dennee away, for you,” snarled Kahlan, twisting in the chains that held her. Her face was contorted with rage as she spat the words. “My sister, who you murdered, and still I chose you over her. Time and again I have chosen you, and this is how you repay my love.”
Cara had expected that Kahlan’s anger would surface eventually, had hoped for it, really. Anything was better than the nearly catatonic state Kahlan had slipped into after Cara had convinced the Confessor to continue her training. Kahlan’s detachment had become so strong that sometimes nearly a day would go by without Cara seeing a glimmer of recognition in Kahlan’s eyes. As much as she knew that this was part of Kahlan partitioning her mind from the pain, Cara was swallowed by loneliness every time she caught the distant look in Kahlan’s eyes. Kahlan’s sudden anger had been a relief.
Now, however, the words stung. Cara honestly couldn’t tell if Kahlan simply said them out of spite, or if the Confessor still resented Cara for killing her sister, even after Dennee had been brought back from the dead. Part of Cara had always suspected the latter. Especially since her new place in Kahlan’s life had caused Kahlan to lose Dennee yet again.
When Cara had first returned to Aydindril with Kahlan and Richard after their successful quest for the Stone of Tears, Dennee had been cool but polite toward the Mord’Sith. Cara had expected nothing better, and had feared far worse from the woman whom she had once murdered. Yet the Mord’Sith and the resurrected Confessor had found a sort of truce as long as Cara left with Richard each time he traveled to the People’s Palace. Then things had changed.
Cara could remember the shocked expression on Dennee’s face when Kahlan first told her little sister of her newfound feelings for Cara. Dennee’s eyes had almost blackened with rage as Cara hastily left the room. For nearly a week, word of the constant arguments between the Mother Confessor and her sister were all that anyone in Aydindril had seemed capable of speaking about, much to Cara’s chagrin. Then suddenly, Dennee had left Aydindril with her adopted son. Official word was that she was taking a post in one of the provincial capitals, extending the rule of law further into the Midlands. In private, Kahlan had been nearly inconsolable, though every time Cara had offered to leave and recall Dennee to Aydindril Kahlan had adamantly refused.
Dragging Cara back from her memories, Kahlan continued, “How you must be enjoying this, Cara. All those months pretending to love me - it must be so much easier when you can just have me as one of your pets. How many did you break, Cara? How many pets did you make during your years as a Mord’Sith? You never did tell me.”
“I am still Mord’Sith,” said Cara stiffly. “And I never told you because you didn’t want to know.”
“I never needed to know. You were enough as you were. But look at you now, torturing the woman you supposedly love.” Kahlan’s voice was bitter.
“Kahlan, you know what they will do to you if I don’t.” That reasoning somehow seemed to be weaker than it had just a few days ago as Cara looked at the expression of disgust on her lover’s face. Kahlan laughed a harsh, humorless laugh.
“Stop fooling yourself, Mistress Cara. This is about control, about fear. You’re a coward. If you actually loved me you wouldn’t be doing this. Richard would never hurt me this way.”
The mention of Richard’s name was like a slap. Cara knew what Kahlan was saying was true, but still she felt her own anger rise. Somehow it always circled back to him. She glowered at Kahlan. “Be quiet.”
But Kahlan persisted, goading Cara. “At least with Richard, I never needed this damn thing around my neck.”
Cara back-handed Kahlan so quickly it stunned both of them into silence. Kahlan went ghostly pale and Cara felt her cheeks flush. Cara stumbled back a step. Her insides twisted and burned with shame. She may have hurt Kahlan over the past two weeks, but not once had she truly wanted to, not once had she lost control, until now. Maybe she was the monster that Kahlan thought her to be.
“It will always come down to him, won’t it?” Cara said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll never be able to love me the way you loved him.”
“It was never about him,” hissed Kahlan. The fury was back in her eyes as she spat out the blood from where Cara’s blow had split her lip. “I loved you, more than I have ever loved anyone. I chose you. I sent my sister away. I refused to take a mate, when I should be trying produce children to continue the Confessor blood-line. I did that for you!”
Cara stared at her as Kahlan continued.
“But you held back. You hid!”
“I gave you everything I had,” shouted Cara, her voice desperate and angry. “What more do you want from me?”
“Your trust! Trust comes from love, but it is more than love, Cara. You never trusted me. Not completely anyway. You want to know why Richard and I could be together without me confessing him? Because he trusted me, Cara. He trusted me absolutely. He didn’t need to be kept safe, because he was safe. As long as you hid one part of yourself away from me, one shred, my magic could take a hold of you. Richard had nothing to fear because there was nothing in him that was not mine already. You could never let yourself love me that way. You always had to be in control. Well, now you have it, Cara, and I hope you’re happy!”
Cara stumbled back even further, as if Kahlan’s words had been blows to her body. Her whole frame shook as her thoughts and emotions swirled and collided in her mind. Kahlan was right. She had been so stupid. Guilt and shame turned her stomach. Kahlan had loved her and Cara had tried to break her for it. She had told herself it was to keep Kahlan safe. If Kahlan was hers, then no one else could harm her. But it was a lie. In the end it was still about control. No matter how many ways Kahlan had shown her that she loved her, some part of Cara couldn’t believe it, resisted it, couldn’t trust it. If you can’t fix the problem, contain it, and if you can’t contain the problem, destroy it - that was the Mord’Sith way. And Cara had done just that by trying to take the Mother Confessor’s will.
Cara fumbled blindly to the corner of the cell and doubled over, retching. What had she done?! Her head was swimming from the enormity of her violation. How could she make it right? She needed to free Kahlan, and…and what? She had clearly lost Kahlan, but she owed the Mother Confessor as much freedom as she could give her. Yet even out of chains and rid of the Rada’Han, Kahlan would still be stuck in this blasted cell.
Cara’s head spun and the dull throbbing was beginning again, just behind her eyes. She tried to sort through her thoughts. She turned back to the Confessor, who still hung in chains. The guilt that washed over her was overwhelming. She was getting light-headed, and objects in the room seemed to blur, edges indistinct as if obscured by a light blue mist. Buzzing filled her ears, like the sound of angry bees heard from a distance.
Think, she ordered herself, but suddenly her thoughts moved slowly, thick and viscous like molasses. Free Kahlan. She moved forward, her steps halting, as if she was not quite in control of her own body. She looked down and saw the key to the Rada’Han in her hand. Had she always had it? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t quite make sense, but that didn’t seem to matter right now. She had to free Kahlan.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she unlocked the Rada’Han and removed it from Kahlan’s throat. Cara regarded it as if it were a scorpion in her hand, poised to strike. The cold, lifeless collar mocked her, its heavy weight a reminder of her failings. As if the chill of the metal were spreading through her body, Cara shivered, letting the Rada’Han drop from seemingly nerveless fingers. It clattered to the floor.
“That’s not enough,” said Kahlan coldly.
“I know,” Cara replied as she reached to open the shackles holding the Confessor’s wrists. As her hands touched Kahlan’s arms, the sensation stirred something in the back of her mind. It felt like something she should remember, something very important, but every time she tried to catch the memory it wriggled away again like a slippery fish. The buzzing in her ears grew louder.
As soon as her wrists were free, the Confessor’s hand went to Cara’s throat. Cara struggled weakly in her grasp, but her body felt leaden. Vaguely, an alarm sounded in the depths of her mind. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what. After all, she deserved this for what she had done to Kahlan. A small voice in her mind whispered, “Submit.”
Cara found herself on her knees. Kahlan’s hand tightened around her throat. The Confessor leaned over her, her face inches from Cara’s. Kahlan snarled softly, “Do you surrender?”
Cara wanted to. Her head was splitting and the buzzing had risen to an excruciating cacophony. The voice whispered again, “Let go. Submit.” She could feel herself yielding to it, but part of her resisted.
Something was definitely wrong. She cast about in her muzzy, slow mind, searching for an answer. And where was that blue light coming from?
Kahlan repeated her question, “Do you surrender?”
As Cara looked up at the Confessor, she noticed three pinpricks of light behind Kahlan’s head. Even over the buzzing, she could hear chirps, hums and whistles filling the air. Night Wisps, here? What were they saying? She couldn’t understand them, which was strange because she had learned the magical language of the Night Wisps years ago. She frowned and tried to concentrate harder on what they were telling her. Something about the Mother Confessor coming for her. But the Mother Confessor was right here, didn’t they see?
“Do you surrender?” Kahlan said a third time, her voice a whispered hiss.
Cara looked back at Kahlan. Why wasn’t Kahlan saying anything to the wisps? The Night Wisps were the Confessor’s friends. Kahlan had shared a special bond with them long before she had even met Cara. Now Kahlan wasn’t even responding to their presence. What was going on?
Then the answer hit Cara. It was as if the tumblers of her mind fell into place all at once, unlocking the knowledge she needed. The buzzing ceased instantly and the pain behind her eyes dissipated. The world snapped into sharp focus.
Cara grabbed Kahlan’s wrist and tore it away from her throat. She stood swiftly, forcing the Confessor back, Cara’s hand still gripping Kahlan’s wrist.
“You aren’t her,” said Cara darkly, her eyes blazing. “I remember what the blacksmith told me. Kahlan is free.”
“Cara, of course I’m me! I’m right here in the same cell you are!” cried the Confessor, but Cara drove on relentlessly.
“Kahlan would never ignore the Night Wisps. And, no matter what I did to Kahlan, she wouldn’t confess me. Oh, she might leave me, she might despise me, but she wouldn’t confess me. Because she loves me, and I-,” Cara hesitated, realizing she was about to utter something she’d never been brave enough to say aloud, “I love her.”
Cara paused sucking in a deep breath. The would-be Confessor struggled in her grasp, whimpering in fear, but Cara tightened her fist around the false woman’s wrist, drawing her closer.
“Understand this - I will not surrender!”
There was a crack like a tree being struck by lightning, and the false Confessor disappeared, along with the chains, the Rada’Han, even Cara’s agiels. The blue glow was still there though, and seemed to be emanating from her chest. Cara looked down. A luminous blue stone dangled from a chain of golden links draped loosely around her neck. It was the necklace Prentax had put on her almost two weeks ago. She tore the jewelry from her throat and threw it to the ground with disgust. As the necklace skittered across the stone floor, the stone’s light faded and went out.
Rubbing her face as if waking from a deep sleep, Cara let reality wash over her. Although she knew now that what had transpired between her and Kahlan had been an illusion, the false Confessor’s words still rang in her mind. No doubt the fictional Kahlan’s words had been meant only to force her to succumb to the magic of the stone, yet there was enough truth in them to disturb Cara. Before she could dwell too long on those thoughts, the insistent chirping of more than one Night Wisp drew her attention. Lowering her hands, Cara could see the three wisps dancing excitedly around her in the air.
“I see you three are real enough. I suppose I owe you some thanks, so - thanks,” she finished lamely, not knowing what else to say.
The wisps hummed in a delighted fashion. The creatures talked over one another and Cara could barely make out what they were saying, but she was able to determine that Kahlan and Zedd were alive and well, and making their way back to Aydindril. There were also bits about Prentax and the Stones of Surrender that she was able to catch, enough to realize that the wizard from the Old World posed more of a threat than even she had first believed.
“Those two hare-brained fools,” she grumbled, though part of her secretly enjoyed the thought of Kahlan returning for her. She quickly suppressed these thoughts, reminding herself coldly that it was the Mother Confessor’s duty to protect Aydindril. She addressed the wisps as one.
“Do you know how to get me out of here?”
The Night Wisps’ reaction was more subdued this time. Cara frowned.
“No, of course you don’t.” She sighed. “Well, at least I’ll have pleasant company for a change.”
Part VIII
Author: burning_arrow
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: R/NC-17 (varies by chapter and I’m not going to rate each one)
Warnings: torture
Disclaimer: My life would be so much more interesting if I owned Cara and Kahlan, but, alas, I don’t. However, thanks to Terry Goodkind and ABC for creating such wonderful playthings.
Word Count: 8,492
Summary: Takes place several years after Tears. Kahlan rules over D’Hara and the Midlands, with Cara at her side, but behind the tentative peace lies a new threat. Part VII.: Cara does things she never thought she could do, Kahlan and Zedd flounder and learn to begin again, and Belle balances Prentax’s demands with her true agenda.
A/N: If this first time you’re reading this, I suggest going back to Part I - or else you will be confused.
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI
Part VII. The Rod and the Rada’Han
Kahlan screamed. The agiel whined loudly, almost screaming too, jammed into the Confessor’s side by Cara’s steady hand. Kahlan’s agony cut through Cara like a knife, slicing deep into her heart. She had explained to the Confessor how to partition her mind, how to let the pain flow through the body without touching the inner self. When faced with the torture of being broken, most people fought to control their body’s reactions, as if holding back a scream or a moan were a victory, but it was only in disengaging the mind and releasing the body that one could truly remove the threat of the pain. Few understood this and even fewer could do it, but Kahlan was a fast learner. Cara could see from the distant look in Kahlan’s eyes that the scream was a pure reflex of the body. The Confessor had retreated into her head. Nonetheless the piercing sound flayed Cara’s soul.
A grueling week had slipped away since they had begun Kahlan’s ‘training’, and each passing day tore out another chunk of Cara’s being. She had given Kahlan as much rest as possible, but it seemed that no sooner would she allow the Confessor to breathe than a guard, or sometimes Prentax himself, would appear at the cell door, staring in with silent, menacing eyes. Cara would be forced into resuming her work, and soon almost every inch of Kahlan’s exposed skin was laced with a web of welts, cuts, and bruises. Cara knew the Mother Confessor was strong, that she could bear the abuse, but every new cut, every yelp of pain, every stifled moan felt like a testament to Cara’s transgressions. After all, what kind of woman would torture her own lover? How could she have ever imagined that she was worthy of any mate, let alone the Mother Confessor?
In the end it was Cara’s Mord’Sith training that steeled her nerves and kept her focused. Pain was something she understood. Too little pain and Kahlan would be taken from her to face a far worse fate, too much pain and she would risk permanent damage to the Confessor’s body and mind. For days she kept Kahlan balanced on that razor-thin edge, coaxing just enough of a response out of Kahlan to appease their captors.
The scream faded as Cara lifted the agiel away from Kahlan’s midsection. The Confessor’s hands and arms were held taut over her head by a chain from the ceiling - the standard pose for any Mord’Sith trainee. The manacles cut into her wrists as Kahlan’s weak body hung limply. Kahlan gasped for air, gulping down great breaths, her mouth gaping like a fish pulled from the water. The Rada’Han at her throat bobbed up and down with each breath. Nearly choking with shame, Cara stared at the collar balefully. It was a stark reminder of how powerless Kahlan was now, and seeing the Mother Confessor in such a helpless state almost drove Cara mad with rage.
“Cara.” Kahlan’s voice came out in a broken whisper, sounding hoarse and scratchy.
Two different urges surged through Cara at once. The first, to lift a hand to Kahlan’s face in comfort, she suppressed only because it could endanger them both if the guards witnessed Cara’s compassion. The second, to strike Kahlan for forgetting to call her ‘Mistress’, troubled Cara far more deeply. There had been a time when a trainee would be guaranteed to feel the sting of her backhand had they failed to use her proper title, but Cara had thought that that part of her was dead and buried. Now Cara could feel the instincts she had learned from the Sisters of the Agiel reasserting themselves, and the sensation brought her no pleasure. She had worked so hard to put distance between her new life and her former self - and more importantly, between Kahlan and her former self. The idea that that woman was just below the surface of her consciousness left Cara queasy with dread.
Torn between the two impulses, Cara stood frozen.
“Cara.” Kahlan’s tone was stronger, more insistent.
Cara blinked. She cast a wary eye towards the cell door, but for the moment there was no guard watching them. Cara responded slowly, softly, “What is it?”
Blue eyes bleary and bloodshot, Kahlan peered at Cara through strands of hair that had fallen in her face. Her thick tresses were now stringy and matted from days of sweat and neglect. “We have to stop. I can’t do this anymore.”
Cara had not thought it was possible for the ache in her chest to deepen anymore, but with Kahlan’s words, Cara felt as if her heart was being torn apart. She had feared this turn of events, even as she had succumbed to Kahlan’s urgings to train her. She had warned Kahlan that this point may come, when the pain was simply too fierce. Kahlan had forced Cara to promise that the Mord’Sith would persist, knowing that the alternative was an even more painful and humiliating end at Prentax’s bidding. Cara had protested and raged, but Kahlan had won out in the end. Now, Cara’s gut clenched with spasms as if it was she who had been struck with the agiel. Kahlan’s willing acceptance of the pain was one of the very few reasons Cara had acquiesced to this absurd plan. She didn’t know if she had the strength in her to continue if she had to force the Confessor.
Cara sheathed her agiel, snug on her hip next to its companion. She peeled off her gloves and stuck them in her belt. She drew close to Kahlan and placed gentle fingers on both of the Confessor’s cheeks, carefully avoiding any bruises. She rubbed her thumbs over Kahlan’s high cheekbones in small circles.
“Kahlan, listen to me,” Cara began, her voice calm and measured. “Do you remember why I’m doing this, what Prentax will do if I don’t?”
Kahlan nodded, closing her eyes, her mouth a thin line. Cara moved even closer to the Confessor, placing her forehead on Kahlan’s. She hated herself for having to remind Kahlan what was at stake.
“Aydindril needs you alive, Kahlan. I need you alive. But you’ll only stay alive if we do this.”
Cara could feel Kahlan’s forehead wrinkle under her own, and the muscles of Kahlan’s jaw tensed under Cara’s fingers. The Confessor remained silent. Not for the first time, a voice in Cara’s head railed against the injustice of their situation. Her heart screamed at her to stop, to free Kahlan immediately, and pull the Confessor into her arms. But she had a duty to protect the Lady Rahl, and, if she was forced to admit the selfish truth, she did need Kahlan alive.
“Do you want to stay alive?” Cara asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kahlan nodded again, her eyes still closed.
“Do you want me to continue then?”
For a long, agonizing moment, the Confessor did not react. Cara held her breath, afraid that Kahlan would say no and equally afraid that she would say yes. The throbbing was back, her brain feeling as if it were too large for her skull. Then Kahlan gave one slight nod. Cara felt a wave of relief flood through her, followed by a wave of guilt. She needed Kahlan’s permission, but having gotten it returned her thoughts to the task at hand. She laced her fingers through the locks of Kahlan’s hair behind her neck.
“Remember what I taught you. It will keep you safe, even when you think you can’t stand it anymore. Trust me. ”
Then Cara kissed Kahlan, her lips searching out some sort of absolution she knew she would not find. The Confessor’s mouth moved under her own, but all Cara could feel was cold seeping into the core of her being. She dropped a hand to her agiel, retrieving it from its sheath. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then brought it up hard under Kahlan’s chin. The tentacles of pain passed through the Confessor’s body into Cara’s. Kahlan screamed into her mouth, but Cara kept her lips clamped to Kahlan’s. As the fire crackled along the nerves in her body, Cara swallowed Kahlan’s pain - and her own.
***
The rain poured down in great, heavy torrents, with fat, hard droplets driven at an angle by the howling wind. Kahlan shivered as the cold water doused her and Zedd yet again, soaking them to the skin. It had been raining for three straight days, a mix of cloud bursts, like the one they were stumbling through now, and monotonous, gray drizzle. Normally docile creeks swelled, and the rushing waters made crossing them a treacherous affair. The earth beneath their feet was saturated and the trail they were following was a slippery, muddy mess. Kahlan was sure that, had it not been for the Night Wisps, she and Zedd would have lost the path altogether several times.
For the first week, Zedd and Kahlan had made careful but steady progress toward Aydindril, travelling mostly at night and sticking to the woodsmen’s paths and game trails in the thick woods. They avoided the main roads whenever possible. They scavenged for what food they could find, occasionally finding a bush of gagnon berries or a squirrel’s stash of winter nuts. Richard had taught Kahlan to use snares, but they had no time to wait for the snares to do their job, and without a bow she could take no game while on the move. The wizard had complained often and loudly about his empty stomach, but Kahlan knew it was just Zedd’s way of passing the time.
Then the skies had opened up, drenching them. The first night, Zedd had managed to start a fire with his magic, but it could not dry their sodden clothes as water still dripped relentlessly from the limbs of the tree under which they’d taken shelter. Though the enchanted flames resisted the rain’s attempt to smother them, the fire offered little warmth. After that they didn’t bother lighting a fire again. Zedd had stopped complaining after the second day of storms. The wizard’s silence, combined with a persistent cough that he could not hide, worried Kahlan far more than his laments could. Yet they trudged on. There was no shelter for them in the forest that seemed to be slowly drowning around them. The rain was so persistent and the skies so gloomy, Kahlan could practically feel the damp chill creeping through her body and into her soul. At times she was sure they were no closer to Aydindril than they had been three days ago.
The trail ahead of them narrowed as it climbed a small but steep rise. Kahlan hauled herself up the hill, gripping saplings on either side of the path for support. She could hear Zedd grunting with effort as he climbed up behind her. When they reached the top, a fit of coughing overcame the wizard, wracking his body and bending him over. Kahlan put a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort.
“We need to get out of this rain, Zedd,” she said as his coughs subsided, “or we’re not going to make it to Aydindril in any shape to fight a cold, let alone an army.”
“I’m fine,” protested Zedd, though another round of coughing undermined his assertion. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Let’s be sure you stay fine,” replied Kahlan. In her heart, she wanted nothing more than to keep going, but reason told her they’d both be better off if they found some shelter and dried off for a little while. She gave a short whistle and Stella zipped up to her. Even as the dreary world around them wilted with gray sogginess, the Night Wisps had somehow remained chipper and perky.
“Zedd and I need to rest, somewhere out of the rain. Is there anything nearby?”
The wisp chirped.
“Show us,” said Kahlan.
The Night Wisp flew off a short distance, then paused, waiting for Kahlan and Zedd to follow. They followed at a slow pace, the trail narrowing even further and becoming overgrown with brambles. Over and over, Stella zoomed ahead and then returned to Kahlan, her tiny form unimpeded by the thick vegetation that tangled in the humans’ clothes and hair. Finally, the trail widened into a small clearing. In the clearing sat the ruins of a woodsman’s hut, half of the roof collapsed after years of neglect. The rough-hewn logs were covered with moss and fungus, and where the wood showed through, its surface was blackened with rain and decay. Yet Kahlan could see that enough of the structure remained to provide them shelter.
Squeezing through the open door-frame that leaned threateningly to one side, Kahlan found herself in half a room barely big enough to fit three sleeping men, but in the dim light filtering in from the door-frame and the collapsed wall, she could see that the dirt floor was dry. Apparently this part of the roof remained waterproof. Kahlan sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Creator. Then she called for the wizard to join her. He eased in through the doorway, his tall frame twisting to slide through. When he stood up, his head brushed the rafters, but he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed to be relieved as she was just to be out of the rain.
Kahlan wanted nothing more than to settle into a heap on the floor, but she had noticed some burdock near the edge of the clearing. They needed food almost as badly as they needed shelter. She eyed the rain outside balefully, not relishing the prospect of digging up roots, but there was no way around it.
With a deep sigh, the Confessor said, “Zedd, make us a fire if you can. I think some of the wood is loose on that back wall, but be careful you don’t bring the place down around your head.”
“Where are you going?”
“There’s a patch of burdock out there. I thought you might like something to put in that growling belly of yours tonight.” She gave him a weak smile, which he returned, equally as half-hearted. They both knew the roots would be no feast, but it was better than going hungry again.
Kahlan pulled her hood up over her head. It was soaked as thoroughly as the rest of her, but at least it kept the rain out of her eyes while she dug. Using a piece of a jagged-edged plank as a makeshift trowel, she flung sodden clumps of earth out of the way. Soon she had four of the rough, wrist-thick roots set aside. She knew they’d probably need more, for breakfast if nothing else, but her own stamina was flagging and the temptation of a fire and a dry room proved to be too powerful.
The fire crackled merrily in the center of the small room, greeting Kahlan as she reentered the hut. Zedd was in the far corner, wringing water out of his robes. Long past modesty with her old travel companion, she peeled off the white Confessor’s dress, now turned a muddled shade of gray-brown from days of travel. She wrung it out in a corner and hung it from a broken piece of rafter near the fire. In nothing but her corset and her black skirt, Kahlan crouched by the flames, while Zedd settled himself across from her with a satisfied groan. Goosebumps covered her bare arms, but at least her skin was drying for the first time in days. As the warmth rolled over her in delicious waves, she could feel her muscles slowly unclench. She had been shivering for so long that she’d long ceased noticing the way it made her ache.
Kahlan threw the burdock roots in the embers. Their tough skins would scorch, but at least the white flesh in their center would make for the evening’s meal, meager as it was. Then she too found a seat close to the fire. The Night Wisps hovered in one corner, humming softly, conversing among themselves in voices too low for Kahlan to make out. With a dry roof overhead, the prospect of food on the horizon, the fire warming her bones, and the droning of the Wisps, the Confessor let herself relax for the first time in over a week. Staring into the flames, she let her mind drift. At first, her reflections briefly touched on the fate of Aydindril, the wizard Prentax, and the battle ahead, but they finally snagged on thoughts of Cara. Kahlan had not let herself think too much about her lover as she and Zedd forged their way through the woods. Too many emotions welled up when she dared ponder the whereabouts of the blonde Mord’Sith, and Kahlan knew it would do neither of them any good if she turned into a hysterical mess. Yet now that there was no other task at hand with which to distract herself, the Confessor’s heart wrested control of her thoughts from her mind.
Grimacing, Kahlan wondered where Cara was now. Had Cara made it safely from the city? Was she searching for Kahlan? Organizing the remnants of the Home Guard and gathering allies to fight Prentax? Had she been captured…or…or…killed? Kahlan shuddered at the last possibility. Surely, some part of her would have known, but then again, she had not known with Richard. It was only naïve hope that it would be any different with Cara.
Before she could drive herself completely mad contemplating the unbearable, she forced her musings onto more pleasant grounds. She tried to picture Cara as she had been on the day when the Mord’Sith had finally returned her advances. Kahlan had stunned Cara by admitting her feelings toward the blonde warrior on an afternoon ride through the countryside. For two weeks after, neither of them could look at each other, and the Mord’Sith took every opportunity to avoid the company of the Confessor. Eventually though, Cara had come to dine with Kahlan. At this memory, Kahlan smiled. Only under great duress and the direct order of the Lady Rahl had the Mord’Sith come, but eventually, late in the evening, Cara had made her own feelings known…
A sharp cough from Zedd startled Kahlan from her reverie.
“Once, you would have looked that way thinking about Richard,” the wizard said, his gray-blue eyes inscrutable as he stared at her from across the fire.
“Am I so easy to read as all that?” replied Kahlan, chuckling.
Zedd did not echo her humor. His expression carried a trace of something Kahlan did not fully understand - disapproval perhaps, or even anger? The Confessor was taken aback. She was baffled by the wizard’s reaction.
“Zedd, what is it?” she asked, disturbed by the strange look he was giving her.
The wizard shook his head, as if clearing away an unpleasant thought. Evasively, he said, “Forgive me, Kahlan. Just an old man’s slow wits, nothing more.”
“You may consider yourself old, Zedd, but there is nothing slow about you. And you know full well that you can’t lie to a Confessor. What’s bothering you?” she persisted.
Zedd took a long time answering. He turned his eyes from her and considered the fire instead, his countenance grave. The silence lingered so long that Kahlan thought that he might not reply at all, but finally the wizard stirred.
“Cara…does she make you happy?”
Of all the responses that Kahlan expected, this was not one. Her brows knitted together in surprise and confusion, but she answered earnestly.
“Yes, she does.”
“Why?” The wizard’s voice was a mix of great sadness, curiosity, and a hint of resentment. In his eyes, his emotions battled each other for the upper hand, swirling in a tangled mass that startled Kahlan. Not once had Zedd broached the subject of Cara with her, and Kahlan was starting to suspect why.
“You don’t approve of her?” she asked softly.
It was Zedd’s turn to grimace. “It’s not that I don’t approve, exactly. It’s just that-“
“That she’s not Richard?” asked Kahlan gently.
The wizard’s head jerked up and, as his eyes met Kahlan’s, she knew she had struck upon the truth.
Without a word, Kahlan rose from her place and circled around the fire, taking a seat by Zedd’s side. She placed a light hand on his arm, her heart reaching out to the man that she had always turned to for wisdom and council, the man that had become as much a grandfather to her as he had been to Richard. At the touch, he looked from her hand to her face. Kahlan’s tone was solemn, as she began to speak.
“Zedd, you asked why Cara makes me happy. I don’t think I can tell you all of it, but in part, it’s because she reminds me that I’m alive. She reminds me that underneath the exterior of the Mother Confessor, there is a living, breathing woman. For a long time after Richard died, I didn’t know if that part of me existed anymore, but Cara brought it back to me.”
Kahlan searched Zedd’s eyes for understanding. “Would you have me play the part of Richard’s widow for the rest of my life?”
Color rose in Zedd’s cheeks, and she knew that at least a small part of the wizard did indeed wish that very thing, though he would hardly admit it. If she put herself in his position, she could even make sense of it. Zedd had buried his father, his daughter, and eventually, his grandson, all in the name of overthrowing the tyranny wrought upon D’Hara and the Midlands by the Rahl family. Losing Richard was more than another tragedy - it was a blow that lesser men would have crumbled under. Yet the First Wizard had continued to serve the Mother Confessor without faltering. Only now did Kahlan begin to comprehend the toll that had been exacted on the old man’s heart. Initially, she had been so wrapped in her own pain, and then later, in the thrill of a new love that she had never given more than passing thought to Zedd’s struggles. This realization shamed her.
“I owe you an apology, Zedd,” she began.
“Kahlan-“ he raised his voice to protest, some of the normal gentleness returning to his eyes.
“Hear me out. Sometimes you are so strong, I forget that you are human, too,” she said sadly. “I’ve been like a child, who thinks that their parent is invincible. I can’t imagine what losing Richard must have been like for you - what it is like for you still. I’m sorry that I didn’t see it before.”
Zedd’s eyes did not waver from hers, but as she watched, they began to glisten in the firelight. When he did not speak, she continued.
“Maybe you think that I have forgotten Richard, or that I’ve tried to replace him with Cara?”
“No, of course, not,” he said quickly, his voice gruff with unshed tears. “Kahlan, I trust your judgment as I would Richard’s - perhaps better than I would Richard’s.”
The wizard grinned wryly at this last statement, but tears still shimmered in his eyes. They both knew that Richard had always been more likely to think with his heart than his head, and it had caused all of them a great deal of trouble on more than one occasion. Nevertheless, Kahlan knew it had been one of Richard’s strengths as much as it had been one of his weaknesses.
“Then what is it, Zedd? And please don’t say that it’s nothing. I’ve seen the distance between you and Cara grow ever since she returned to Aydindril. Do you blame her,” she hesitated, then forged ahead, “for Richard’s death? Is that it?”
Zedd sighed, and Kahlan felt his shoulders sag a little.
“It’s not that, Kahlan. I know Cara well enough to know that she did everything she possibly could, and then some, to save Richard. I’m ashamed to admit that I would have been happier if you had waited much longer than you did to find someone new. But that’s only part of it. As to another, well, let me just say that Cara seemed too quick to take up the mantle of your - consort.”
Kahlan bristled at the title Zedd used for Cara, but she forced herself to relax. From the outside it may have indeed seemed as if Cara had succeeded Richard with some haste.
Biting back a sharp retort, instead Kahlan replied, “Did you know that it was I who pursued her?”
Zedd’s look of surprise confirmed that he had not. Kahlan’s next words tumbled out before she could reconsider their wisdom. She realized even as she was saying them that she had never told Zedd exactly because she feared what his reaction would be.
“After Richard died, I didn’t know which end was up, and almost losing Cara on top of it all nearly broke me. Yet even as she was recovering from her own wounds, she took care of me. She was always there, holding me up, keeping me safe. I can’t explain it, Zedd. It’s not - it’s not like it was with Richard. You know Cara. She’s all edges where Richard would be gentle, silent when he would be overjoyed. It’s different, and believe me I haven’t forgotten Richard, but I’ve come to realize what I feel for Cara is just as strong. I love her more than I can say.”
Zedd was mute as Kahlan paused for breath, so she nervously let her words continue to spill out.
“It’s true that Cara had feelings for me, perhaps even before we lost Richard. But not once did she express those feelings to me, not a single word. It was me, Zedd. It was I who told her how I felt first. It was I who confronted her. Even then, she did not want to betray Richard’s memory by acknowledging her feelings, but I didn’t give her much of a choice. So if you need to blame someone, Zedd, blame me. I’m the one you should hate, not Cara.”
Zedd mulled her words over in silence, his eyes once again almost unreadable. Then he let out a long, pained sigh.
“I don’t hate her, and the Creator knows, I could never hate you, Kahlan. But, Spirits help me, every time I see her with you, I can’t help but think that it should be him standing there, instead of her. Every time I see her, it reminds me that he’s not there.”
“Then you and she have a lot in common,” said Kahlan, almost bitterly. “I think sometimes she really does wish it was she who had died up in that mountain pass, even now. Everyone wants to be the hero, but no one wants to live with the aftermath, with...”
With her - the unsaid words seemed to ring in the air. Zedd seemed to be flustered by her sudden despair. He looked at her as if he were seeing part of her for the first time.
“I think we’ve both made the mistake of thinking the other stronger than mere mortals,” he said contritely. He placed a gnarled hand over her own. Softly, he added, “I am glad that there is someone to care for your heart. And I hope she has the good sense to realize what a precious gift she’s been given.”
Kahlan gave him a sad smile, a smile that the wizard returned. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She knew that no words from her would take the sting of Richard’s loss away from Zedd’s heart, but maybe, after tonight, he would no longer look on Cara with such bitter eyes.
After a few moments, during which they were both lost in their own thoughts, Zedd shifted slightly. Wistfully he said, “Perhaps, when I get back, and this Prentax is taken care of, I should see to naming a new Seeker.”
“Perhaps,” Kahlan replied evenly, carefully hiding her amazement. Zedd had never spoken of naming a new Seeker. Of course, seeing the Sword of Truth in another’s hands would be yet another reminder of Richard’s death. Perhaps talking about Richard was finally giving the wizard the release he needed to be able to move forward.
Kahlan gave him a slight shake on the arm. “But one thing at a time. I believe our burdock roots have finally cooked.”
“That is definitely the best thing I’ve heard all night,” he said, his tone brightening markedly, and for the first time in days he gave her a smile that actually reached his eyes.
***
The familiarity of the forge comforted Belle, regardless of the circumstances that brought her here. The blast of heat from the open furnace baking the skin of her face and arms was like the embrace of a long-lost friend. She let the blaze seep into her muscles, as she waited for the next batch of steel to be ready to pour into the mold she’d made for Prentax’s weapons. The fireshots, the men had started calling them when she’d said she had no name for them. A few of the men had other names. The Keeper’s Friends seemed to be the most popular alternative she’d heard - or at least the most colorful. Just as she had first proposed to Merry, the blacksmith had held an exhibition for Prentax and his men with the first of the fireshots. Prentax was more than pleased when the ball as large as Belle’s head had cut through an oak as big around as the arm span of three grown men. He’d clapped and his men roared their approval, but all Belle could think was that it was a waste of a beautiful tree.
After that Prentax had seemed to be a little less wary of Belle, though guards still dogged her heels throughout the Palace. Accordingly, she spent most of her time in the smithy and in the workshop across the main courtyard, where she had been putting together the barrels of powder. She had finished nine fireshots in twelve days, and almost all of the barrels. Belle couldn’t help the small smile that slipped across her lips thinking about the weapons. After pouring the first fireshot she’d altered the mold slightly. Only another blacksmith would have noticed, but it ensured that every fireshot after that had a fatal weakness. Each would have maybe one, at most two, good shots in them before the cylinders would peel open from the force of the powder. With a little luck, the weapons would be rendered useless as soon as they were fired for the first time. And with even more luck, Belle would not be around when Prentax found out.
Ever since the first day, when Belle had convinced Merry to join her in her scheme, the clerk had performed magnificently, including aiding Belle’s plans of escape for herself and Cara. With astounding efficiency, Merry had not only requisitioned supplies for the blacksmith’s official duties, but she had also made contacts with the burgeoning resistance in Aydindril, ferreted out the guard rotation for Cara’s cell, and squirreled away provisions for the journey. Even in the atmosphere of dark suspicion that permeated the Confessors Palace, the clerk seemed to be able to move unnoticed at will. When Belle had remarked on Merry’s uncanny knack for evading scrutiny and finding what she needed, the clerk had given her a mysterious smile and told her that any clerk worth their salt always knew how to be unseen, while knowing exactly who to see. Now Belle needed only one more piece before she could set her escape plans in motion, and as usual, it fell to Merry to provide.
As if the blacksmith’s thoughts conjured her up, the red-haired clerk strode into the smithy. Merry pulled her cloak off and shook it out with a decisive snap, flinging water drops everywhere. A few stray droplets shimmered in her fiery curls. Belle resisted the urge to run her hand over the clerk’s hair and wipe away the rain, instead picking up a hammer as if she were examining it closely. The blacksmith blushed when the clerk gave her a shrewd, knowing look, but Merry thankfully chose not to comment.
“By the Creator, it’s raining pails and buckets out there!” Merry said.
“Yes, it is,” agreed Belle lamely. Once again, she inwardly winced at how tongue-tied she became around the clerk.
With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure the guards posted outside the smithy were not watching, Merry dropped her voice to a low whisper, “I’ve got what you need.”
The clerk pulled out a heavy, iron key from a pocket in her dress and held it out to Belle. Grinning, the blacksmith took it from her excitedly.
“How-“
“The chief jailer’s got a spare set. A little Weatherwax root in his cup of wine with the midday meal and he was as senseless as a stoned hare. I can tell you, Mistress Sanderholt didn’t need much convincing, either. Seems he’s been getting a bit too forward with her serving girls.”
Merry’s eyes glittered with something that Belle thought must be glee, though the clerk’s face was stern and her tone was a business-like as usual.
“I’ve got to get it back soon though. I only gave him a small dose. We didn’t want to have him out too long. If someone comes along and can’t wake him, it might raise suspicions.”
“Of course. Just give me a minute.”
Belle hurried to one of her workbenches and opened up the left-hand drawer. She withdrew a small box, barely larger than the key itself. She pried the lid off the box, revealing the wax inside both halves of the container. Quickly she thrust the key in one half and closed the box tightly. Once she was sure that the key’s imprint was set in the wax, she carefully retrieved the key from the box. Wiping it off with a rag to remove any traces of wax, she handed it back to Merry.
“I’ll need a couple of days. I need time to make the key and I want to make sure everything is set,” said Belle hastily. “Are you sure Prentax suspects nothing?”
“Well, Prentax and his officers keep their own confidences, of course, but from everything I’m overhearing from the guards, our grand lord wizard is very happy about your fireshots,” answered Merry as she drew her cloak around her again. “I should go.”
“Yes.”
The clerk looked like she wanted to say something more, but she turned to leave instead. In a move that surprised even her, Belle captured Merry’s elbow. The clerk gave her a startled look.
“Will I see you tonight?” Belle asked quietly.
Over the past fortnight, Merry had been showing up on the doorstep of the blacksmith’s chambers almost every evening. Originally it had been at the clerk’s insistence - keeping up appearances, she had insisted. It wouldn’t do to let Prentax and his men think that Belle was not enjoying her new assistant, Merry had said. Some evenings the clerk would only stay a few hours, while others she would not leave the chambers until dawn. Belle always slept in an armchair by the fire when Merry stayed the night, despite the clerk’s protests that the bed was plenty large enough for the two of them to have space and then some. Though the original purpose had been purely for show, Belle found that she enjoyed the clerk’s company, perhaps more than she ought to. While her wits might flee at the sight of the red-head, the blacksmith found that if she asked enough questions Merry would do most of the talking, and Belle was content to listen to the clerk’s stories of her family and life in Aydindril. Belle found herself wanting Merry’s visits enough that she was even willing to suffer the guard’s lewd comments and brazen ogling without comment, though she had to restrain herself when their stares swept over Merry.
“Tonight?” repeated the clerk, her gaze softening as she met Belle’s eyes. Belle nodded, her breath hitching a little. Merry’s lips lifted in a soft, shy smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Merry gently disentangled herself from Belle’s hold. She headed to the open archway leading out of the smithy, pausing at the threshold to give Belle one more glance before plunging out into the rain.
***
“I sent Dennee away, for you,” snarled Kahlan, twisting in the chains that held her. Her face was contorted with rage as she spat the words. “My sister, who you murdered, and still I chose you over her. Time and again I have chosen you, and this is how you repay my love.”
Cara had expected that Kahlan’s anger would surface eventually, had hoped for it, really. Anything was better than the nearly catatonic state Kahlan had slipped into after Cara had convinced the Confessor to continue her training. Kahlan’s detachment had become so strong that sometimes nearly a day would go by without Cara seeing a glimmer of recognition in Kahlan’s eyes. As much as she knew that this was part of Kahlan partitioning her mind from the pain, Cara was swallowed by loneliness every time she caught the distant look in Kahlan’s eyes. Kahlan’s sudden anger had been a relief.
Now, however, the words stung. Cara honestly couldn’t tell if Kahlan simply said them out of spite, or if the Confessor still resented Cara for killing her sister, even after Dennee had been brought back from the dead. Part of Cara had always suspected the latter. Especially since her new place in Kahlan’s life had caused Kahlan to lose Dennee yet again.
When Cara had first returned to Aydindril with Kahlan and Richard after their successful quest for the Stone of Tears, Dennee had been cool but polite toward the Mord’Sith. Cara had expected nothing better, and had feared far worse from the woman whom she had once murdered. Yet the Mord’Sith and the resurrected Confessor had found a sort of truce as long as Cara left with Richard each time he traveled to the People’s Palace. Then things had changed.
Cara could remember the shocked expression on Dennee’s face when Kahlan first told her little sister of her newfound feelings for Cara. Dennee’s eyes had almost blackened with rage as Cara hastily left the room. For nearly a week, word of the constant arguments between the Mother Confessor and her sister were all that anyone in Aydindril had seemed capable of speaking about, much to Cara’s chagrin. Then suddenly, Dennee had left Aydindril with her adopted son. Official word was that she was taking a post in one of the provincial capitals, extending the rule of law further into the Midlands. In private, Kahlan had been nearly inconsolable, though every time Cara had offered to leave and recall Dennee to Aydindril Kahlan had adamantly refused.
Dragging Cara back from her memories, Kahlan continued, “How you must be enjoying this, Cara. All those months pretending to love me - it must be so much easier when you can just have me as one of your pets. How many did you break, Cara? How many pets did you make during your years as a Mord’Sith? You never did tell me.”
“I am still Mord’Sith,” said Cara stiffly. “And I never told you because you didn’t want to know.”
“I never needed to know. You were enough as you were. But look at you now, torturing the woman you supposedly love.” Kahlan’s voice was bitter.
“Kahlan, you know what they will do to you if I don’t.” That reasoning somehow seemed to be weaker than it had just a few days ago as Cara looked at the expression of disgust on her lover’s face. Kahlan laughed a harsh, humorless laugh.
“Stop fooling yourself, Mistress Cara. This is about control, about fear. You’re a coward. If you actually loved me you wouldn’t be doing this. Richard would never hurt me this way.”
The mention of Richard’s name was like a slap. Cara knew what Kahlan was saying was true, but still she felt her own anger rise. Somehow it always circled back to him. She glowered at Kahlan. “Be quiet.”
But Kahlan persisted, goading Cara. “At least with Richard, I never needed this damn thing around my neck.”
Cara back-handed Kahlan so quickly it stunned both of them into silence. Kahlan went ghostly pale and Cara felt her cheeks flush. Cara stumbled back a step. Her insides twisted and burned with shame. She may have hurt Kahlan over the past two weeks, but not once had she truly wanted to, not once had she lost control, until now. Maybe she was the monster that Kahlan thought her to be.
“It will always come down to him, won’t it?” Cara said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll never be able to love me the way you loved him.”
“It was never about him,” hissed Kahlan. The fury was back in her eyes as she spat out the blood from where Cara’s blow had split her lip. “I loved you, more than I have ever loved anyone. I chose you. I sent my sister away. I refused to take a mate, when I should be trying produce children to continue the Confessor blood-line. I did that for you!”
Cara stared at her as Kahlan continued.
“But you held back. You hid!”
“I gave you everything I had,” shouted Cara, her voice desperate and angry. “What more do you want from me?”
“Your trust! Trust comes from love, but it is more than love, Cara. You never trusted me. Not completely anyway. You want to know why Richard and I could be together without me confessing him? Because he trusted me, Cara. He trusted me absolutely. He didn’t need to be kept safe, because he was safe. As long as you hid one part of yourself away from me, one shred, my magic could take a hold of you. Richard had nothing to fear because there was nothing in him that was not mine already. You could never let yourself love me that way. You always had to be in control. Well, now you have it, Cara, and I hope you’re happy!”
Cara stumbled back even further, as if Kahlan’s words had been blows to her body. Her whole frame shook as her thoughts and emotions swirled and collided in her mind. Kahlan was right. She had been so stupid. Guilt and shame turned her stomach. Kahlan had loved her and Cara had tried to break her for it. She had told herself it was to keep Kahlan safe. If Kahlan was hers, then no one else could harm her. But it was a lie. In the end it was still about control. No matter how many ways Kahlan had shown her that she loved her, some part of Cara couldn’t believe it, resisted it, couldn’t trust it. If you can’t fix the problem, contain it, and if you can’t contain the problem, destroy it - that was the Mord’Sith way. And Cara had done just that by trying to take the Mother Confessor’s will.
Cara fumbled blindly to the corner of the cell and doubled over, retching. What had she done?! Her head was swimming from the enormity of her violation. How could she make it right? She needed to free Kahlan, and…and what? She had clearly lost Kahlan, but she owed the Mother Confessor as much freedom as she could give her. Yet even out of chains and rid of the Rada’Han, Kahlan would still be stuck in this blasted cell.
Cara’s head spun and the dull throbbing was beginning again, just behind her eyes. She tried to sort through her thoughts. She turned back to the Confessor, who still hung in chains. The guilt that washed over her was overwhelming. She was getting light-headed, and objects in the room seemed to blur, edges indistinct as if obscured by a light blue mist. Buzzing filled her ears, like the sound of angry bees heard from a distance.
Think, she ordered herself, but suddenly her thoughts moved slowly, thick and viscous like molasses. Free Kahlan. She moved forward, her steps halting, as if she was not quite in control of her own body. She looked down and saw the key to the Rada’Han in her hand. Had she always had it? She couldn’t remember. It didn’t quite make sense, but that didn’t seem to matter right now. She had to free Kahlan.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled as she unlocked the Rada’Han and removed it from Kahlan’s throat. Cara regarded it as if it were a scorpion in her hand, poised to strike. The cold, lifeless collar mocked her, its heavy weight a reminder of her failings. As if the chill of the metal were spreading through her body, Cara shivered, letting the Rada’Han drop from seemingly nerveless fingers. It clattered to the floor.
“That’s not enough,” said Kahlan coldly.
“I know,” Cara replied as she reached to open the shackles holding the Confessor’s wrists. As her hands touched Kahlan’s arms, the sensation stirred something in the back of her mind. It felt like something she should remember, something very important, but every time she tried to catch the memory it wriggled away again like a slippery fish. The buzzing in her ears grew louder.
As soon as her wrists were free, the Confessor’s hand went to Cara’s throat. Cara struggled weakly in her grasp, but her body felt leaden. Vaguely, an alarm sounded in the depths of her mind. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t tell what. After all, she deserved this for what she had done to Kahlan. A small voice in her mind whispered, “Submit.”
Cara found herself on her knees. Kahlan’s hand tightened around her throat. The Confessor leaned over her, her face inches from Cara’s. Kahlan snarled softly, “Do you surrender?”
Cara wanted to. Her head was splitting and the buzzing had risen to an excruciating cacophony. The voice whispered again, “Let go. Submit.” She could feel herself yielding to it, but part of her resisted.
Something was definitely wrong. She cast about in her muzzy, slow mind, searching for an answer. And where was that blue light coming from?
Kahlan repeated her question, “Do you surrender?”
As Cara looked up at the Confessor, she noticed three pinpricks of light behind Kahlan’s head. Even over the buzzing, she could hear chirps, hums and whistles filling the air. Night Wisps, here? What were they saying? She couldn’t understand them, which was strange because she had learned the magical language of the Night Wisps years ago. She frowned and tried to concentrate harder on what they were telling her. Something about the Mother Confessor coming for her. But the Mother Confessor was right here, didn’t they see?
“Do you surrender?” Kahlan said a third time, her voice a whispered hiss.
Cara looked back at Kahlan. Why wasn’t Kahlan saying anything to the wisps? The Night Wisps were the Confessor’s friends. Kahlan had shared a special bond with them long before she had even met Cara. Now Kahlan wasn’t even responding to their presence. What was going on?
Then the answer hit Cara. It was as if the tumblers of her mind fell into place all at once, unlocking the knowledge she needed. The buzzing ceased instantly and the pain behind her eyes dissipated. The world snapped into sharp focus.
Cara grabbed Kahlan’s wrist and tore it away from her throat. She stood swiftly, forcing the Confessor back, Cara’s hand still gripping Kahlan’s wrist.
“You aren’t her,” said Cara darkly, her eyes blazing. “I remember what the blacksmith told me. Kahlan is free.”
“Cara, of course I’m me! I’m right here in the same cell you are!” cried the Confessor, but Cara drove on relentlessly.
“Kahlan would never ignore the Night Wisps. And, no matter what I did to Kahlan, she wouldn’t confess me. Oh, she might leave me, she might despise me, but she wouldn’t confess me. Because she loves me, and I-,” Cara hesitated, realizing she was about to utter something she’d never been brave enough to say aloud, “I love her.”
Cara paused sucking in a deep breath. The would-be Confessor struggled in her grasp, whimpering in fear, but Cara tightened her fist around the false woman’s wrist, drawing her closer.
“Understand this - I will not surrender!”
There was a crack like a tree being struck by lightning, and the false Confessor disappeared, along with the chains, the Rada’Han, even Cara’s agiels. The blue glow was still there though, and seemed to be emanating from her chest. Cara looked down. A luminous blue stone dangled from a chain of golden links draped loosely around her neck. It was the necklace Prentax had put on her almost two weeks ago. She tore the jewelry from her throat and threw it to the ground with disgust. As the necklace skittered across the stone floor, the stone’s light faded and went out.
Rubbing her face as if waking from a deep sleep, Cara let reality wash over her. Although she knew now that what had transpired between her and Kahlan had been an illusion, the false Confessor’s words still rang in her mind. No doubt the fictional Kahlan’s words had been meant only to force her to succumb to the magic of the stone, yet there was enough truth in them to disturb Cara. Before she could dwell too long on those thoughts, the insistent chirping of more than one Night Wisp drew her attention. Lowering her hands, Cara could see the three wisps dancing excitedly around her in the air.
“I see you three are real enough. I suppose I owe you some thanks, so - thanks,” she finished lamely, not knowing what else to say.
The wisps hummed in a delighted fashion. The creatures talked over one another and Cara could barely make out what they were saying, but she was able to determine that Kahlan and Zedd were alive and well, and making their way back to Aydindril. There were also bits about Prentax and the Stones of Surrender that she was able to catch, enough to realize that the wizard from the Old World posed more of a threat than even she had first believed.
“Those two hare-brained fools,” she grumbled, though part of her secretly enjoyed the thought of Kahlan returning for her. She quickly suppressed these thoughts, reminding herself coldly that it was the Mother Confessor’s duty to protect Aydindril. She addressed the wisps as one.
“Do you know how to get me out of here?”
The Night Wisps’ reaction was more subdued this time. Cara frowned.
“No, of course you don’t.” She sighed. “Well, at least I’ll have pleasant company for a change.”
Part VIII