The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (10/16)
Title: The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (10/16)
Author: ortunata13
Pairing: ara/Kahlan
Rating: R slightly NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 9588
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: In this chapter, our lovely travelers arrive at a city at which, unbeknown to Kahlan, she'd been expected for a very long time. It is up to Cara to get Kahlan out of there in one piece. To do so, Cara will have to face foes the likes of which she's never imagined. Expect tons of action, excitement, and romance. Also, did you ladies know that Cara is an excellent dancer?
A/N: Via my FBI contacts, I was able to get statuepup out of Hawaii. She put up quite a struggle but I got her back on the mainland. It may have been selfish of me, but I'm nothing without her.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 10
The Queen of Hearts
It isn’t so much what he is saying -- although that too is infuriating -- it is the whiny, nasal tone in which he speaks, along with his penchant for accentuating the last syllable of his words with an ear-piercing squeal, that has Kahlan wanting nothing more than to confess him. Cara has the ability to tune out annoying sound -- it is the sight of him that disturbs her. To be fair, he is an odd-looking little thing. Why, with the perfectly round head, and the perfectly round eyes and the pudgy round nose, it is as if he’s a flabby bundle of spheres squished together in a haphazard attempt at a person.
“For the last time, I am Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor of all the Midlands, First Chair of the Central Council, Queen of Galea, and Queen of Kelton. I know nothing of this Queen of Hearts of whom you speak,” she says, her palm meeting her forehead at the frustration of having to repeat herself time and again.
“Don’t be obtuse,” he says, waving his chubby arms in the air, “I --“
Having been holding back the impulse to bludgeon him for over a half a candlemark, that remark suffices as a reason for Cara to grab the rotund little man by the collar, lifting him off the ground so that their eyes meet. Kicking his short legs in the air, he releases a series of those annoying squeals, causing Kahlan to shield her ears from the assault.
“Speak that way to the Mother Confessor again and I will strangle you with your own entrails, little man,” Cara says, unceremoniously dropping him on the ground. Much to their amazement, he seems to have an ass made of rubber for he actually bounces off the ground twice before returning to his feet.
“See here, I am just a government employee earning a measly wage. Look at the scroll yourself,” he says, handing her the document. “It’s right there,” he adds, emphatically poking his finger on it. “I’m assuming you can both read. It has been written for a millennium that on this day, the Queen of Hearts will face the Queen of Spades in a battle to the death. Now where are your champions?”
“Champions?” Kahlan asks. “What do you mean?”
“Why, the warriors who will fight with their lives to return your heart to you, of course.”
Thinking she’s found an out, Kahlan says in an even tone, “It’s settled then, since my champions aren’t here, I’ll have to come back tomorrow. Have a nice day.” She punctuates the statement by grabbing Cara’s wrist in an attempt at a quick exit.
“No, no, no,” whines the little man. “Today is your appointed day. You can’t leave.”
“Watch us,” says Cara, shoving him out of their way, only to stop dead in her tracks when, as they attempt to cross the city gates, Kahlan keels over, clutching her chest, only to find that her heart isn’t beating.
“I tried to tell you,” he says to Cara, “get her back inside. How do you expect her to walk around without her heart?”
The entire mess began when, after examining Berdine’s maps, they followed a long winding path that led to what promised to be an impressive city. The defensive walls were taller than any trees either of them had ever seen, made of brick and concrete. Two watchtowers flank the arched entrance that culminates in a heavy iron gate with a colorful coat of arms. They stood there ringing the bell when Kahlan took a step forward to peer into a garden. As soon as she did, the annoying little man, who in Cara’s estimation is to blame for their predicament, stood before them.
“What did you do to her?” Cara growls, supporting the Mother Confessor’s weight until she is finally able to stand on her own.
With a petulant eye roll and a whiny sigh, he proceeds to explain that all the proper documents were sent to her domicile, as is customary. “If you didn’t want to participate you should have sent back the proper form declining the offered honor. Your name would have been scratched off the list.”
“Honor?” Kahlan asks.
“Yes, of course, only the most well-respected leaders are invited to partake in the games. Obviously saving the world qualified you for an invitation,” he says. “You are only the third ruler to ever show up so the crowd is very excited.”
“I received no such documents and as I already told you, I didn’t bring any champions so now what?” Kahlan crosses her arms in over her chest, already eyeing his throat.
Pursing his lips and tilting his chin up, he says, “I suppose you could forfeit.”
Before Kahlan can accept the out, Cara -- ever cautious -- steps between them. “And what is the penalty for forfeiting?” she asks. He promptly informs her that in this case the penalty for forfeiting would be a vital organ -- namely Kahlan’s heart.
“And how many champions does this other Queen have?” Cara asks.
Realizing what she’s getting at, Kahlan says, “Cara, no, I won’t have you risking your life. This is completely insane.” Just then, they hear the roar and claps of what must be an enormous crowd.
“The Queen of Spades has thirteen champions, as is customary, and she’s already entered the arena. You’ll have to make a decision,” he says, tapping his fingers impatiently on the scroll.
Cara and Kahlan exchange a wordless nod -- Cara never met thirteen men she couldn’t bring down with one hand tied behind her back.
“The Mother Confessor needs but one champion, and she stands before you,” Kahlan informs him, turning toward Cara. She pulls Cara aside for a moment, and says, “Please make this quick. Never in my life have I been as tempted to confess someone for the sole purpose of ordering them to never speak again.”
“Very well then, let’s get going,” he says. When he notices that Cara is walking behind them, he scrunches his chubby face. “No, no, no. You have to go through the champion’s entrance,” he says, pointing her toward a long hallway.
Noticing a slight twitch of Kahlan’s hand, Cara takes hold of her wrist before she can reach for his throat, for this time his squeals are in an even higher pitch and it is all she can take of it. “Oh, no you don’t,” Cara whispers into Kahlan’s ear, “I’ll take care of him after I dispose of the so-called champions.” This is one occasion in which Kahlan may allow the Mord’Sith to have at it.
When she enters the huge amphitheater, the crowd, comprised of thousands upon thousands of people of all ages, goes wild with excitement. The little round man with the rubbery ass walks Kahlan to her seat next to the Queen of Spades. The sight of the decapitated woman resting her elbow on her own head makes Kahlan cringe -- but it isn’t until the head speaks that she nearly jumps out of her own skin. “Your heart is over there,” says the head, using its jaw as a pointer. Kahlan politely smiles at the space where the head should be attached and gingerly lifts the silk cloth at which the head pointed, only to gasp in horror when it reveals a glass box that contains a pumping organ she can only assume is her own. Her palm again meeting her forehead, she replaces the cloth thinking that all of this must be a side effect of those hallucinogenic ginger candies she and Cara naively ingested days before, for nothing as absurd as this can actually be happening.
The sound of trumpets quiets the crowd as the herald, a reed-thin lanky thing with an abnormally long neck, announces that the games are to begin shortly. “Handsome, isn’t he?” says the head, its eyes shifting to look at its rival.
Kahlan nods politely thinking that the woman is either blind or mad as a hatter. “I’ve been duped into this,” Kahlan says, this time craning her neck to look at the head, “But why did you accept this insane offer?”
With a snort, she replies, “My no-good husband, the King of Spades, bamboozled me into it. It will be his head rolling once I get home. Do you have a husband?” Kahlan shakes her head, gazing expectantly at the arena in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Cara. Detecting the motion out of the corner of its eye, the head says, “They are all dreadful.”
From the entrance opposite to where Kahlan sits, Cara saunters into the arena as if she hadn’t a care in the world, giving Kahlan a quick nod and a smirk. In an instant, the crowd is on their feet. She isn’t at all what they expected. Rushing in from across the arena is a well-muscled man wearing what Cara decides is a rather comical skirt, spinning a net over his head and wielding a gigantic fork. “Ritiarius, ritiarius, ritiarius,” the crowd chants.
“What does that mean?” Kahlan asks a man sitting next to her. She’s had her fill of talking to the headless woman.
“Ritiarius are net fighters and this one is good. That little girl doesn’t stand a chance,” he says.
When her foe suddenly releases the net, Cara is caught off guard but without hesitation, ducks and rolls out of the way. “No matter,” says the head, “he still has his trident.” Cara closes the distance between them and as her opponent pulls his fork back to strike, she slides beneath him causing him to topple over and drop his weapon. Quick to his feet, he seizes her by the throat, using his size advantage to lift her off the ground.
“This is your plan, you nebbish fool?” she hisses at him, head-butting him and slamming a hand to each of his ears. The impact of the combined blows knocks him back causing him to lose his grip on her. The moment her feet hit the ground, the crowd is on theirs, cheering for the leather-clad female warrior -- Kahlan the most enthusiastic of them all. In less than a heartbeat, Cara buries her boot in his groin and punches him square on the chin. “Glass jaw,” she says, with a smirk, “I knew it.” The strike not only breaks his jaw, it renders him unconscious. Cara looks up at Kahlan and tips her head. The smile on the Mother Confessor’s face alone is worth the battle.
The headless woman lifts her arm signaling at her champions with a clenched fist, followed by four raised fingers. As the defeated ritiarius is dragged out of the arena, the herald announces that because the Queen of Hearts’ champion won the first battle, and is to face four adversaries at once, she is free to choose a weapon off the rack that sits on the edge of the arena. Kahlan wrinkles her forehead and parts her lips for a moment, but with a deep intake of air, steels her nerves. She’s overcome four to one odds many times, and is certain Cara will as well. With a lopsided smile, she watches as Cara purses her lips while choosing her weapon, one by one, taking them in her hand until she finds one the suits her. And the moment she does, four horsemen in full armor, leaving in their wake a cloud of dust, rush at her carrying round shields and spears. Needless to say, Cara’s eyes widen, but with excitement not fear. Things were about to get interesting.
Kahlan, for her part, is tempted to toss the Queen of Spades’ head into the arena for displaying such a lack of sportsmanship. Knowing, however, that her own heart is at stake, she thinks better of it, opting instead for sending up a silent prayer to the Creator. At that very moment, one of the riders releases his spear, nicking the side of Cara’s shoulder with enough force to tear through her leather and draw blood. The other three take advantage of the momentary opening and surround her but she’s too quick for them. Swinging the scythe she’d chosen as her weapon over her head she blocks two spears and with one fluid motion strikes at one of the riders’ shields hard enough to bring him down, horse and all. The crowd is on their feet again, realizing that this is far from over.
Left only with their shields, the riders have no choice but to dismount their steeds and engage their fierce opponent in hand to hand combat. Cara wields the foreign weapon with surgical precision, striking them over and over. When the three of them rush at her all at once, she manages to take one down by swinging her weapon with enough momentum to pierce through his armor. Perhaps too much momentum for an instant of struggle to retrieve it leaves her open to a strike to the back of the head that knock her to the ground -- face down and not moving. A collective gasp fills the arena when one of the two men left standing picks up the scythe and brings it down with every intention of leaving Cara as headless as his Queen. Kahlan covers her mouth with her hands, thinking that this is the end but before the blade can make contact, Cara sweeps his feet out from under him and as he falls to the ground, draws the dagger Kahlan gifted her from its scabbard, stretching out her arm so that his own weight causes it to pierce through his armor. The last man standing squares his shoulders, preparing for the face-off but when she stalks toward him with a confident smirk on her face, he drops to one knee, releasing his shield and raising his hands in surrender. As boos and jeers fill the amphitheater, the Queen of Spades throws up her arms in frustration and her head rolls its eyes. Cara unceremoniously turns the fallen man over with the tip of her boot and retrieves her treasured dagger.
The Mother Confessor is on her feet, and were her heart still in its proper place, it would be pounding through her ribcage. Cara, quite a bit the worse for wear, wipes her brow and gives her a reassuring nod. Kahlan bites the corner of her lower lip and claps. This bizarre ordeal will soon come to an end. The head scowls as the headless woman raises two clenched fists this time. “This ends now,” growls the head. Growls, as it turns out, soon fill the entire arena for Cara’s next opponent hasn’t the capacity for human speech. The massive creature is almost twice the size of any Gar she’s ever seen, and even uglier than one. Its most disturbing features are the unsightly single eye on its forehead and the horns on either side of its head. It is, however, the beast’s size that has Kahlan in a panic and Cara mystified as to how to take on such an opponent.
“Spirits, what is that thing?” Kahlan mumbles to herself.
The man sitting next to her seems to feel the inquiry was directed at him. “A Cyclops,” he says, “the ugliest and fiercest of creatures in all of the lands, created by the Keeper’s own hand.” Kahlan decides it’s probably a good thing that she isn’t currently in possession of her heart for if she were, she’d probably be going into cardiac arrest.
“You’re ugly enough, but can you fight?” Cara taunts her foe. Her scythe is resting on her shoulder with both hands clasping its handle. Being on the offensive is, in general, her preference but her instincts, in this case, tell her to wait until the creature makes a move. Having never faced one of these things, she needs to discern its weaknesses and gauge how fast the massive thing can move.
With a deafening grunt, it lunges at her; it’s all she can do to avoid its grasp. It’s fast, very fast. Physical prowess alone isn’t going win her this fight; it is her wits that will carry her to victory. When the creature lunges at her a second time, she holds her position and surprises it by striking at its foot or paw -- it’s difficult to define the odd-looking thing. With a yelp it jumps back and Cara plows forward striking at its foot again, and then a third time. This approach won’t win the battle but it will certainly slow the massive thing down.
The beast pounds its chest and with a roar lunges at her a second time -- this time with a little less spring in its step. Still, it manages to knock her off balance but she quickly recovers and strikes at one of its knees. When she goes for a second blow, her adversary spins away from her and backhands her across the face with enough force to knock her at least ten paces away. She’s quick to recover but blood is pouring out of her nose. From the stands, Kahlan looks on in horror and frustration. She wants nothing more than to join the fray but this fight is Cara’s alone. “Oh, you are going to pay for that,” Cara says, wiping the blood from her nose.
With a maniacal grin, she rushes at the beast and hacks away at it from every conceivable angle, jumping out of the way after each blow. Her constant movements from side to side have the creature’s arms flailing but always just short of reaching its mark. Cara is panting from exhaustion but she doesn’t stop. This hack and jump, hack and jump tactic has her foe off balance and the crowd is loving it. When the beast shows signs of weariness, Cara takes it as an opening and leaps up to strike at its chest. Only as she comes down, she loses her footing and the beast pounces on her. Lifting her up over its head, it tosses her halfway across the arena and stalks towards her. Cara reaches for her scythe but it’s beyond her reach. Just as the beast is about to stomp on her with its sizable foot-paw, she manages to roll out of the way and, in the same motion, pulls her dagger from its scabbard and plunges it into the creatures foot with all her might. The blade having pierced straight through the creature’s bones, it releases a bloodcurdling scream that sends a collective jolt through the spine of every spectator in the amphitheater. The moment Cara is back on her feet, the crowd goes wild, but Kahlan is worried, very worried. She can tell by the way Cara is moving that it isn’t just exhaustion slowing her down - Cara is hurt.
As the creature reaches down to pull out the blade, Cara hobbles toward it and kicks it in the jaw. She knows it won’t do much damage but her aim is to slow it down long enough to reach her weapon. It’s to no avail, however. The creature takes hold of her ankle, flinging her away as if she were a rag doll. It then stomps over to the scythe and cracks it in two. But even without a weapon, Cara battles on -- she may be at half speed but so is her adversary. This one is to death, they both know it. She rises to her feet, taking a fighting stance, and starts swinging. It’s all bob and weave but for as many times as she connects, the beast is rock solid. With a hand to her chest, it knocks her back several paces and is on the attack. For the first time in her life, Cara can taste her own looming defeat.
That’s when Kahlan takes matters into her own hands. Jumping to her feet, she calls out to the Mord’Sith and releases her daggers. With the last bit of strength she has left, Cara leaps higher than should have been possible and, by the grace of the Creator, manages to catch the weapons by their hilts. With an astounding midair twist, she travels through the air and plunges a dagger into each side of the creature’s neck. “A born flier,” Kahlan breathes out. The creature crumbles to the ground, a river of blood flowing out of its wounds.
Kahlan is threatening the head with confession for complaining that tossing Cara the daggers violates the rules. She must have presented a convincing argument for the head hasn’t said another word. Already terrified by the possibility of Cara having to face more adversaries, Kahlan is certainly not about to put up with a talking head. Much to her surprise, however, instead of more champions entering the arena, the herald returns.
“The Emperor has declared that defeating the Cyclops trumps all other achievements. The Queen of Hearts is the victor. The Games are now over,” he says. Still panting from exhaustion, Cara scales up the wall and up to the stands where Kahlan is already waiting for her. Once the Mord’Sith stands before her, without hesitation, Kahlan grabs her by the collar and pulls her into deep, passionate kiss. The crowd cheers louder than they had even during the battle, but Cara and Kahlan are oblivious to it all. When their lips part -- out of the need for air -- Cara remedies the situation by taking in a deep breath and initiating a second kiss that goes on for twice as long as the first one.
It is the annoying squeal of the rotund little man that finally breaks the kiss -- both the women gasping for air and wanting nothing more than to toss him into the arena. “Would you like a bag for your head?” he asks.
“What?” asks Kahlan, still reeling from the kiss. “No, of course not,” she says, once she regains her bearings. “I don’t want this woman’s head. I’m perfectly content with my own.” At that very moment she feels the pounding of her own heart and presses Cara’s hand to her chest so that she can feel it as well. “Thank you,” she says, with a smile on her face as she leans in to kiss Cara’s cheek.
“But, but, but,” squeals the little man, bouncing on each word, “you won, you get the head.”
Kahlan rolls her eyes, and says, “Fine, the head is mine, I hereby gift it to the Queen of Spades. Now reattach it.”
The little man is not at all comfortable with the arrangement but concedes. “Fine,” he whines, plunking it on the other woman’s neck.
“Thank you,” says the Queen of Spades, “that was very gracious of you.” When she stands up, both Cara and Kahlan are taken aback by how disproportionately large the head looks on the woman’s tiny body.
“I’ll take you to your quarters now,” squeals the little man.
“Quarters?” asks Kahlan.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he says, rather agitated, “the Emperor has asked that you join him for dinner. A healer will be up shortly. You can’t very well go to dinner looking like that,” he says glaring up at Cara. “The servants have already prepared your baths and a fresh set of clothes.” Cara and Kahlan talk between themselves, finally agreeing that they can both use a bath and a meal.
He then proceeds to escort them to their quarters, all the while standing between them. “You were a very good champion,” he says to Cara, nodding the perfect circle that sits above his shoulders; Cara doesn’t reply. “These are your quarters,” he says, ushering them inside and standing there looking up at them. Cara turns toward Kahlan, and with a tilt of her head Kahlan gives her blessing. Cara lifts him off the ground and deposits him on the other side of the door, turning the lock for good measure.
The healer, a bug-eyed old woman who looks very much in need of a healer herself, enters the room moments later. She looks Cara up and down and pokes and prods at her a few times, then shakes her and says to Kahlan, “Bah, this one is strong as an ox. Just make sure she doesn’t blow her nose too hard.”
“That’s it?” Kahlan asks, in complete disbelief. The woman shrugs and walks out the door. “I really dislike the people of this city,” she mumbles.
Now that they are alone, neither knows what to say, much less how to act. That shared moment of unbridled passion had been long in coming, they both know it, yet neither is quite ready to deal with it. “Here, let me help you,” Kahlan says when Cara busies herself with removing her leathers. Cara takes a step toward her -- the intensity of her gaze leaving Kahlan breathless. She loosens the laces down the front and sides of Cara’s leathers, and when she steps behind her, undoing the laces enough to pull Cara’s top down, one by one she kisses every bruise and scar she comes across. Cara closes her eyes and stands perfectly still. It’s Kahlan’s lips on her bare skin, and the emotions that summons in her are overwhelming. After helping her step out of her leathers, Kahlan walks Cara into the bath chamber and helps her step into the tub.
“You don’t have --”, Cara starts to say, but Kahlan shushes her. Arguing with the Mother Confessor is an impossible undertaking so she lies back and allows it. Kahlan washes her hair and back, and takes great care in cleaning the cut on her shoulder. Once Cara steps out of the tub Kahlan swaddles her in a towel. Once she’s dry, Kahlan helps her into the perfectly tailored white trousers and red silk blouse that had been left for her. “You look beautiful,” Kahlan says, before walking into the bath chamber for her own bath.
She walks out wearing an elegant red gown that accentuates her lovely figure, and milky white skin. “You, Mother Confessor, are the one who looks beautiful.” At that moment, a knock on the door signals that it is time for dinner.
“Time to go,” says that now all-too-familiar voice when Kahlan opens the door. “Dinner will be very delicious,” the round little man assures them.
***
The Emperor, in contrast with his peculiar-looking citizenry, is a strikingly handsome man with impeccable manners. As the ladies enter the dining room, he rises to his feet, bowing his head to each of them. “Congratulations on your victory,” he says to Kahlan. Every bit the gentleman, he pulls out their chairs and waves over a servant to pour their wine. As they eat their meal, he and Kahlan discuss politics, various systems of government, and the role of a monarch in these turbulent times. He is certainly a learned man which strikes Kahlan as odd -- given the savagery of these so-called games he endorses.
All the while, however, it is Cara who holds his interest. She hasn’t spoken all evening but his eyes rarely leave her. Kahlan, having noticed it as well, can certainly understand: Cara is a beautiful woman, his interest is only natural. That he hasn’t said a word to her, Kahlan assumes, is because perhaps he is bashful when it comes to such matters. And truth be told, that he is keeping his distance from Cara doesn’t bother Kahlan in the least; quite to the contrary, she prefers it. After dinner, he gives them a tour of his extensive library and generously gifts Kahlan a lovely tome of verse.
It is the unexpected question he asks as he pours them a nightcap that causes Kahlan to nearly fall off her chair. “What?” she asks, thinking, or rather, hoping, that she’d misunderstood. Her hand is clamped on Cara’s wrist, awaiting his reply.
Flashing a charming smile, he bows his head, and says, “I asked how much you want for her. She’s as beautiful as she is deadly -- a worthy addition to my menagerie.”
She looks over at Cara who is rather amused by the entire exchange. What is it about her that seems to make powerful men feel she’s an object for their use, she wonders. It takes Kahlan a moment to manage to form words. “She isn’t for sale.”
The Emperor chuckles at the response and rakes his eyes over the Mord’Sith. “Oh but everything is for sale.”
With a deep intake of air Kahlan sets her jaw, and says, “Perhaps that is where your confusion lies. She isn’t a thing, nor an animal to put on display for your amusement.”
Noticing the Mother Confessor’s upset, he politely bows his head once again, and says, “Very well then, perhaps we should say good night.”
Cara and Kahlan are on their feet and headed for the door but he blocks their path. “You’ve misunderstood me,” he says to Kahlan. “My offer to purchase her was a mere courtesy toward a well-respected monarch. You may go now, Mother Confessor,” he says stepping out of the way. “But she stays.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Kahlan says, in a most menacing tone, “and somehow I doubt that you’d be able to stop us.”
“As skilled as she is,” he says, pointing toward Cara with his chin, “I doubt she’d stand a chance against the five hundred soldiers standing guard outside the door.” He smiles at her, and adds, “I’m a very cautious man.”
Cara starts toward him, but Kahlan raises her hand and says, “No, no, allow me.” In less than a heartbeat, her hand is wrapped around his throat and both their eyes are black swirls; even Cara hadn’t expected it.
“Command me, Confessor,” he says, looking up at her adoringly. It takes nearly half a candlemark for Kahlan to give him a laundry list of instructions ranging from the new system of government he is to implement, to the way he will, henceforth, treat women.
“Oh, and take me off your mailing list,” she adds, emphatically.
“That was a surprise,” Cara says as they walk down the corridor to their appointed chambers.
“A man like that would never accept no as an answer. That he was leading an empire was a detriment to his people and to the world in general,” says Kahlan. “And I didn’t like him very much.” Cara didn’t require an explanation. If she were a Confessor, half the people in this city would have been confessed already.
“You must be exhausted,” Kahlan says, once they are in their room. “Let me help you.”
“Confessor, I’m perfectly capable of undressing myself, and for your information, Mord’Sith never tire.”
“Yes, I know, but I also know you’re in pain so I’m going to help you.” She unbuttons Cara’s blouse, and leaning over her shoulder, says, “You should keep the outfit, you wore it well.” Having given up on Cara wearing a shift to bed, once she is down to her underthings, Kahlan helps her into bed.
When Kahlan returns from the bath chamber, already in her shift, she takes her place in the bed behind Cara as has become her habit, and says, “Cara, about what happened earlier, I don’t know what came over me. The way you fought for my heart, it was all so intense that my emotions got the best of me. I never should have taken you like that, wait, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t actually take you, I only kissed you but it was wrong. Not that the kiss was wrong, the kiss was perfect, they both were. Spirits, that second one was so… But it was wrong of me to kiss you. Because, well, I’m a Confessor and there is also Richard and you probably hated it but you have to understand, I’m only human…” Realizing that she’s rambling, she stops to give Cara an opportunity to speak. “Cara,” she says after a lengthy, and rather uncomfortable, silence. “Cara,” she repeats a second time. It’s when she props up on her elbow to look at her that she finds Cara sound asleep. Having fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, Cara hadn’t heard a word of her speech. “Good night, Cara,” she says, kissing her on the cheek.
***
“Kahlan!” Cara says, realizing that the Confessor’s arms weren’t wrapped around her. She calls out a second time thinking that perhaps Kahlan was in the bath chamber. When she gets no reply, she jumps out of bed, grimacing at the pain caused by the sudden movement, and reaches for her leathers, only to find they are gone.
The door is still where she left it so she heads directly for it. “Spirits, Cara, you nearly killed me.” Kahlan says, having walked in just as Cara was rushing out of the room, dagger in hand, and ushers the barely dressed Mord’Sith back inside. “Where were you planning on going without any clothes on?” Kahlan asks.
“I, I needed some air,” she says. “What did you do with my leathers, and why didn’t you wake me? And why are you wearing that gown again?”
“I’m having the Emperor’s tailor wash and mend our clothes. Your boots are also being resoled and polished. Oh, and our new horses are being groomed. Perhaps I should have someone sharpen our daggers as well. What would you like to eat? I’ll have the chef send it up for us.” Still standing in her underthings, Cara nods and tilts her head taking in the extensive list of tasks Kahlan had delegated while she slept. As much as she tries, she can’t manage to repress her laughter. “What’s so funny?” Kahlan asks.
“Nothing, your Majesty,” Cara says, “You seem to have conquered an entire nation while I slept. Are we staying in your new empire permanently?”
Kahlan rolls her eyes and leads Cara back to bed. “No, we leave tomorrow. Now get back into bed. I’ll be back shortly.”
“As you wish, Empress.” Kahlan opens her mouth to reply but waves her off instead.
She returns with two maids carrying in their meal and a third one who sets their clothing atop the dresser. “Will that be all, my Lady?”
Kahlan thinks for a moment, then says, “For now, yes. Thank you.”
“Am I to stay in this bed like an invalid for the rest of the day?” Cara asks as Kahlan sets a tray of food next to her on the bed.
“No, we have plans this evening. That’s why I need you well rested.”
“Are we conquering another nation? Because if we are, I’d like to be awake this time.”
Kahlan takes her place next to Cara on the bed and pokes at her nose a bit; it’s a wonder that after the blow she took it’s still attached to her face. “No, we are not. We are going to celebrate your victory, but first we are going to finish our meal and take a nap.”
For the rest of the afternoon, they stay in bed going over Berdine’s maps, and drifting in and out of sleep. Although she’d never admit it, Cara is grateful for this time to recuperate from her injuries. She’d been in many battles but never had she been so terrified of losing. The Mother Confessor’s heart had literally been in her hands; that thought alone kept her going when her body was on the verge of giving out. Now, as she lies next to the sleeping Confessor, she can feel their hearts beating as one. It is a good day, but also a day closer to the end of their quest. By what they’d gathered from the maps, they are a day, perhaps two -- depending upon the terrain -- away from their final destination. Kahlan will rescue the Seeker and Cara will make things right for her fallen sisters. That is, after all, the purpose of this journey. Only it suddenly feels as if it is happening much too fast, as if there are many more cities to visit, and interesting characters to meet, and strange animals to discover. But most of all, more moments like this one, lying in bed with Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her. Tonight they will celebrate, and Kahlan will smile and laugh and be happy, and Cara will share in that happiness but tomorrow, the ride continues. Cara closes her eyes, choosing to take in the perfection of this moment without concern for the next.
“Cara,” Kahlan whispers into her ear, “wake up.” She almost regrets having to wake her. The angelic expression on Cara’s face when she’s perfectly still like this is well worth missing the celebration. There’s something about the way Cara looks in her sleep that makes Kahlan wish she could go back to that day on the hill with her father and Dennee. This time she’d be faster, more clever somehow, and keep her from being taken so that she could see the woman that little girl would have grown into. Yet, even now, the woman she turned out to be is perfect. Perhaps things do happen as they should. Just then, Cara’s lashes flutter and her eyes open, finding Kahlan’s smiling face looking down at her. “We have to get dressed for the celebration but only if you feel up to it.”
After a series of stretches and yawns she is on her feet. “What am I wearing this time?” Cara asks, as if she were the most put upon person in the world.
Kahlan considers the question for a moment, taking in the sight of the Mord’Sith in her smallclothes. “Anything you’d like but what you have on now, although very flattering, is a bit too revealing. These are your choices.” She plunks down Cara’s clean and mended black leathers on the bed, followed by the outfit she wore the previous night, and much to Cara’s delight, a pair of red leather trousers and a fitted white shirt. The Mother Confessor had indeed been very industrious. “The tailor was having a slow day,” she adds with a shrug.
“If my wardrobe continues to expand, I’ll need a larger pack, but I must say, you chose well. Thank you.” She dresses in a flash and admires herself in a looking glass. “And what will you be wearing to this celebration?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” says Kahlan, as she heads for the bath chamber. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
This is certainly a far cry from her former life, but Kahlan’s enthusiasm is contagious. Cara can’t recall having ever been excited about anything other than the possibility of a good fight, or perhaps a talented whore; things have certainly changed since she joined the Mother Confessor on this quest. Her musings are cut short when her lovely companion for the evening makes her entrance.
In stark contrast to the intricate red gown she’d worn the previous night, for this celebration she’d chosen a backless white gown with no embellishments and a plunging neckline that makes Cara’s heart skip a beat or two. Even with the shawl thrown over her shoulders for the sake of modesty, the manner in which the flowing material shimmers with every step she takes and accentuates her curves will most certainly elicit many an impure thought from their fellow party goers.
With a shy smile on her face and no small amount of tentativeness, she asks, “What do you think?”
Cara’s lips part but it takes her a moment to actually speak. “I think there has never been a woman more beautiful than the Mother Confessor of the Midlands.”
It’s the way in which she says it that makes Kahlan blush furiously. The tone of her voice, the look in her eyes, the way in which she licked her lips, all of it sends a jolt through Kahlan’s entire body -- even places best left un-jolted. “Thank you. We should probably…” she trails off, feeling Cara’s hand on the bare skin of the small of her back. There’s that jolt again.
The Emperor, in an effort to win his mistress’s favor, spared no expense. The celebration is a grand affair with glitz and glamour the likes of which Cara has never known. While the People’s Palace hosted events such as this one from time to time, Mord’Sith were never invited. The round little man greets the two women as if they were the closest of friends. “This is my friend, the Champion,” he tells anyone who will listen. “She fought very well.” Kahlan is amused, albeit still unnerved by his squeals. Cara has a very enthusiastic supporter.
The large-headed Queen of Spades is in attendance as well. That the woman, given her cranial disproportion, chose to accentuate it by wearing an enormous feathered hat is baffling. Cara contorts her face, staring at the woman as if she were the product of wizard’s spell gone awry. A not at all subtle nudge from Kahlan causes Cara to head for the bar. “I must say, dear, I can see why you would choose her over a husband.” Kahlan is more than a little scandalized by the woman’s remark -- not to mention the salacious tone in which she said it. Then again, with the way those red trousers hug Cara’s hips, Kahlan would be hard pressed to argue the truth of her words.
Cara returns to the table with two glasses and a bottle of a bubbly wine recommended by the barmaid. By the speed at which the Mother Confessor gulps it down, Cara decides the barmaid chose well. Not a moment later, the round little man is tugging at Cara’s sleeve. “Champion, Champion,” he whines and squeals all at once, “dance with me.”
Horrified by the suggestion, Cara’s eyes are as round as his. “I will do no such thing.”
Noticing his slumped shoulders and pout, Kahlan graciously saves the day. “The Champion would love to dance with you but she promised me this dance.”
“Oh,” he drawls in an extended squeal. “It’s off with your head if you a break a promise to your Queen,” he warns in a whispered squeal to Cara.
With that, Cara finds herself twirling and gliding across the dance floor with Kahlan in her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re such a wonderful dancer?”
“You never asked,” Cara says, dipping her so low that their lips are a mere hairsbreadth away from brushing together. Cara holds her there for a long moment before bringing her back up and spinning her around with such zeal that Kahlan’s laughter fills the entire ballroom.
Both breathless, they return to their table only to find the next person on Cara’s dance card eagerly awaiting her return. Kahlan tries to offer herself in Cara’s place, but there isn’t a chance Cara will allow those chubby hands to touch the Mother Confessor.
“Just do I what do, Champion. I’m a very good dancer,” he says, then proceeds to do a ridiculous little jig, waving his arm in the air as if he were swatting flies. Reminding herself that Kahlan would not be pleased if she were to spoil the celebration by stabbing him in the eye, Cara imitates his awkward motion but somehow manages to make it look graceful. When the music stops he escorts her back to the table and says, “With a little practice, someday you’ll be as good a dancer as me.”
“That was very sweet of you,” Kahlan says, leaning in and placing a lingering kiss on her cheek. It’s Cara’s turn to experience a pleasurable jolt.
For several candlemarks, they drink and dance and laugh as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Cara is actually quite charming, and exceedingly attentive, when she sets aside the warrior façade. Kahlan doesn’t seem to mind having the Mord’Sith fawn over her in the least -- quite to the contrary -- it’s been far too long since the Mother Confessor has felt as beautiful and happy as she does on this night.
Much to their surprise, the festivities end with an award ceremony that turns out to be quite a boon for them both. The Queen of Hearts’ victory is rewarded with a generous parcel of land on which, she is told, there is already a marvelous castle. The Queen’s Champion is awarded a substantial amount of gold and a sword that Kahlan decides rivals the Sword of Truth in both quality and design. “Everybody,” says the round little man, “clap for my friend, the Champion. She’s very brave.” Cara rolls her eyes at the unwanted attention, but the proud smile on Kahlan’s face makes the humiliation tolerable.
When the crowd calls for one last dance between the Queen of Hearts and her Champion, Cara extends her hand out to the Mother Confessor who is happy to accept it. In contrast to the lively tunes the musicians played throughout the evening, this last one is a ballad with a twinge of melancholy sung by young man accompanied only by a lute. Cara wraps her arm around Kahlan’s waist and, pressing their bodies together, sways and glides to the gentle rhythm of the music. Kahlan melts into Cara’s arms and nuzzles into her shoulder, forgetting that there is anyone else in the room, or perhaps the world. Even after the song is over, they continue dancing, oblivious to the world around them. “Champion, Champion,” whispers the little man, nudging her a bit, “the song is over.” Cara glares at him for a moment but his words finally sink in. “Take care of your Queen, I’ll keep your winnings safe until morning.” Cara nods, thinking that perhaps the round rubbery man isn’t so bad after all.
With a gracious bow, they take leave of the party goers and head back to their chambers. Cara’s hand finds the bare skin of Kahlan’s back again, this time with her thumb making gentle circles on her rapidly heating skin. They both remain silent yet the air is heavy with words and perhaps something more. With every step, they hasten their pace.
“Well, that was fun,” Kahlan says, once they are inside. She’s leaning against the closed door, wishing the organ that is now back in its proper place wasn’t so unruly as to pound against her ribcage with so much zeal.
“It was,” says Cara, taking a step toward the Mother Confessor and then another until they are breathing the same breath.
“Mm, yes, with the dancing and the music, oh, and that delicious bubbly wine and all of the guests --” She’s rambling again but this time Cara is very much awake.
“Kahlan,” Cara says, resting her forehead on Kahlan’s.
“It was very sweet of the little man to offer to take care of your winnings and the Queen of Spades with that peculiar hat and --“
“Kahlan,” Cara says again, this time pressing their bodies together. “Stop talking.”
With that, she kisses one corner of Kahlan’s mouth and then the other. The feel of Kahlan’s hands taking purchase on her hips suffices as encouragement to dart out her tongue and lick Kahlan’s lips. With what sounds suspiciously like a moan, her lips part. This isn’t like the hurried kisses they’d shared at the arena, this is slow and deliberate, this is a lover’s kiss filled with passion and meaning, this is the type of kiss one never forgets. When their lips part, Kahlan isn’t rambling anymore, she’s leading Cara to the bed.
“I don’t want to stop,” she says, her hands going to the ties on Cara’s blouse and doing away with the garment. “Spirits, you’re too lovely for words,” she says, tucking her head down to place a kiss on each of Cara’s breasts.
Cara grunts at the sensation and in less than a heartbeat she shifts their bodies so that the Confessor is beneath her. If this were any other woman, Cara would rip the dress off of her body and quickly find her mark. But this isn’t some random wench, this is Kahlan, so she’s careful, tentative even. Her hands are trembling but she can’t find any shame in it. She lowers her head kissing her way down to Kahlan’s neck, and her shoulder, and collarbone, and the tops of her breasts. Kahlan responds by arching into Cara’s mouth and kneading at one of her own breasts. Looking into her eyes, Cara replaces the hand with her own, rolling the tender flesh between her fingers through the fabric of her dress. Kahlan shifts a bit and pulls the dress off her shoulders, leaving Cara breathless. She lowers her head to takes one of Kahlan’s peaks in her mouth but hesitates, looking up at her for a moment. Kahlan runs her fingers through Cara’s hair and urges her on.
From then on they are both all eager hands and hungry mouths. Cara gets as good as she gives; it isn’t long before her lips and hands are trailing down Kahlan’s belly -- her dress already bunched up at her waist. When one of Cara’s fingers slips into her smallclothes, Kahlan looses as obscene a sound as Cara has ever heard, instinctively parting her thighs even further. Kahlan had been intimate with Richard at the Pillars of Creation but this is different. This time she’s surrendering to her own pleasure, not someone else's. This is too good, this is better than she’d ever dared to imagine. Her body responds by matching the rhythm of Cara’s touch and it isn’t long before she feels herself on the verge of coming undone -- magic already prickling at her skin.
“Magic,” she mumbles, trying to recall why exactly it’s important when she’s about to experience more pleasure than she’s ever known. “Magic!” she says again, this time pushing Cara away. “We have to stop. Now,” she says, shoving Cara hard this time and jumping off the bed.
“What did I do?” Cara asks, her voice filled with anguish as Kahlan steps as far away from her as the room will allow. Kahlan lifts her palm, signaling for her to stay away. Cara lies back on the bed covering her face with her hands and waits.
When she regains enough control to push down her magic, Kahlan kneels on the floor beside the bed and runs her fingers through Cara’s hair. “I’m sorry, I never should have…I’m as selfish as I am irresponsible.”
“Kahlan, no, I kissed you. I’m the one to blame,” Cara says, pulling her onto the bed. “I swear on my honor, the Seeker will never know about this.”
“This isn’t about Richard, Cara. I’m a Confessor, you’re a Mord’Sith. I could have killed you just now.” Cara’s mention of Richard only serves to intensify her guilt. Confessor magic hadn’t crossed Cara’s mind and even if it had, it’s doubtful that it would have changed anything. This thing between them is too strong, they’ve grown far closer than either of them should have allowed.
On this night it’s Cara who presses the front of her body against Kahlan’s back and wraps her arms around her. “Sleep,” she says, pressing her lips to the shell of Kahlan’s ear, “we can talk about this tomorrow.” It’s what Kahlan would have said.
***
A knock on the door rouses them from sleep. Cara starts to get up but Kahlan grabs hold of her wrist. “Put this on,” she says, handing Cara a robe that lay at the foot of the bed.
“Good morning, Champion. Here is your new sword and your gold. You’re very rich now,” he assures her. “I packed very delicious food for your journey.” Kahlan can’t manage to suppress a giggle at the notion of Cara having such a loyal fan. “I drew you a map to your new castle, Queen. These are the keys.”
For as annoying is he is, he’s starting to grow on them both. “What is your name, little man?”
“Horatio Phineas Panza,” he says with no small amount of gravity. The name, she decides, is as peculiar as its bearer. “At your service.”
Cara tilts her head, taking in every detail of his appearance and mannerisms, and says, “Horatio Phineas Panza, you are quite a character.”
Horatio, elated by the remark, bounces off the ground several times, his mouth fixed in the shape of an ‘o’, and his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Thank you, Champion,” he says with that familiar squeal. “You have a friend for life, and across this entire land, I will make certain no one forgets your name.” All the while his chubby little arms are waving about and his perfectly round head is bobbing. Waving at Kahlan, who is still lying in bed, he turns back toward Cara and asks, “What is your name?”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Cara Mason, but tell no one. You can call me Champion.” With that he scurries out of the room, squealing and bouncing along.
When Cara turns to find Kahlan’s eyes fixed on her, she almost wishes the little man had stayed longer. That the Mother Confessor remembers the events of the previous evening as clearly as she does is written all over her face. On the off chance that she may have spontaneously developed some latent magical abilities, Cara focuses all of her will on the ground opening up and swallowing her whole before Kahlan has an opportunity to engage her in dialogue. Her strategy, sadly, backfires for the look on her face causes Kahlan to leap out of bed, wearing only her smallclothes, and rush to Cara’s side.
“Are you feeling ill?” Kahlan asks, filled with concern.
“No, I’m fine,” Cara says, doing her best to fix her gaze at a point above Kahlan’s head so as to avoid the temptation of ogling her breasts. Kahlan, of course, notices and turns to follow her line of vision.
“Is there something on the ceiling?” she asks, narrowing her eyes in an effort to find it.
Cara rolls her eyes and throws her arms up in defeat. “About last night,” she says, but has absolutely nothing with which to follow up the phrase.
Kahlan, it seems, takes pity on her and interjects. “I think we both got caught up in the excitement of the evening. The bubbly wine, the dancing, it was all so…perfect.” Cara purses her lips and nods, knowing there is no chance Kahlan will stop talking any time soon. “And you really are a beautiful woman, Cara. We’ve spent so much time together, it’s only natural that we would be attracted to each other. There is no reason for either of us to be embarrassed about last night, nor should we allow it to affect our friendship.” Cara can’t help but wonder who exactly Kahlan is trying to convince. She is, however, certain that she’s beautiful like that, standing in the middle of the room wearing next to nothing and rambling like a mad woman. “I’m glad you agree,” Kahlan adds. Cara has no idea to what she’s agreed to but thinks it best not to ask. Kahlan, having run out of words, gets dressed and packs their belongings as they prepare to ride on.
Standing at the city gates is Horatio, waving and calling out to Cara. “Champion, Champion,” he says, “don’t worry, we’ll see each other again someday.” Cara and Kahlan can’t help but smile. Like many others they’ve met on this journey, Horatio Phineas Panza has found a home in their hearts. This is yet another place neither of them will ever forget.
And so they ride, this time with a little more trepidation than before. The weight of an impending battle with an enemy that has defeated even death, along with the knowledge that their time together will soon come to end has them both on edge. “Let’s stop and go over the maps one last time,” Cara says, when she spots a shaded area next to a stream; by the smile on Kahlan’s face, Cara knows she chose well. Tulips in every conceivable color surround them and a cool breeze whistles through the tree branches, leaving in its wake a deluge of leaves floating to the ground.
“Cara, look,” says Kahlan, pointing to a young deer wading in the stream. There she stood, shimmering, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands on the edge of the stream in awe of a creature that, as far as Cara is concerned, would make for an excellent meal. On this day, however, the animal is something precious for it makes Kahlan happy. “Time to look at maps,” Kahlan says, looking back at Cara over her shoulder.
They find that they are closer to Rahl’s hideout than they had originally thought. “And what’s this?” Kahlan asks, pointing at a spot on the map just west of Rahl’s supposed location. Cara stares at it for a long moment, and making the connection, her eyes widen with surprise. She reaches into her pack and pulls out another map, the one the round little man had drawn for Kahlan. She had only glanced at it, but Cara has no doubt, the spot on the map to which Kahlan pointed is her new castle. Which, by Cara’s assessment, could not be located in a more strategically beneficial location. Once again, Kahlan cannot help but think that all of the forces of Creation are arranging themselves to ensure the completion of their quest. With renewed zeal, they mount their horses and head for the Mother Confessor’s newly acquired property.
Author: ortunata13
Pairing: ara/Kahlan
Rating: R slightly NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 9588
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: In this chapter, our lovely travelers arrive at a city at which, unbeknown to Kahlan, she'd been expected for a very long time. It is up to Cara to get Kahlan out of there in one piece. To do so, Cara will have to face foes the likes of which she's never imagined. Expect tons of action, excitement, and romance. Also, did you ladies know that Cara is an excellent dancer?
A/N: Via my FBI contacts, I was able to get statuepup out of Hawaii. She put up quite a struggle but I got her back on the mainland. It may have been selfish of me, but I'm nothing without her.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 10
The Queen of Hearts
It isn’t so much what he is saying -- although that too is infuriating -- it is the whiny, nasal tone in which he speaks, along with his penchant for accentuating the last syllable of his words with an ear-piercing squeal, that has Kahlan wanting nothing more than to confess him. Cara has the ability to tune out annoying sound -- it is the sight of him that disturbs her. To be fair, he is an odd-looking little thing. Why, with the perfectly round head, and the perfectly round eyes and the pudgy round nose, it is as if he’s a flabby bundle of spheres squished together in a haphazard attempt at a person.
“For the last time, I am Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor of all the Midlands, First Chair of the Central Council, Queen of Galea, and Queen of Kelton. I know nothing of this Queen of Hearts of whom you speak,” she says, her palm meeting her forehead at the frustration of having to repeat herself time and again.
“Don’t be obtuse,” he says, waving his chubby arms in the air, “I --“
Having been holding back the impulse to bludgeon him for over a half a candlemark, that remark suffices as a reason for Cara to grab the rotund little man by the collar, lifting him off the ground so that their eyes meet. Kicking his short legs in the air, he releases a series of those annoying squeals, causing Kahlan to shield her ears from the assault.
“Speak that way to the Mother Confessor again and I will strangle you with your own entrails, little man,” Cara says, unceremoniously dropping him on the ground. Much to their amazement, he seems to have an ass made of rubber for he actually bounces off the ground twice before returning to his feet.
“See here, I am just a government employee earning a measly wage. Look at the scroll yourself,” he says, handing her the document. “It’s right there,” he adds, emphatically poking his finger on it. “I’m assuming you can both read. It has been written for a millennium that on this day, the Queen of Hearts will face the Queen of Spades in a battle to the death. Now where are your champions?”
“Champions?” Kahlan asks. “What do you mean?”
“Why, the warriors who will fight with their lives to return your heart to you, of course.”
Thinking she’s found an out, Kahlan says in an even tone, “It’s settled then, since my champions aren’t here, I’ll have to come back tomorrow. Have a nice day.” She punctuates the statement by grabbing Cara’s wrist in an attempt at a quick exit.
“No, no, no,” whines the little man. “Today is your appointed day. You can’t leave.”
“Watch us,” says Cara, shoving him out of their way, only to stop dead in her tracks when, as they attempt to cross the city gates, Kahlan keels over, clutching her chest, only to find that her heart isn’t beating.
“I tried to tell you,” he says to Cara, “get her back inside. How do you expect her to walk around without her heart?”
The entire mess began when, after examining Berdine’s maps, they followed a long winding path that led to what promised to be an impressive city. The defensive walls were taller than any trees either of them had ever seen, made of brick and concrete. Two watchtowers flank the arched entrance that culminates in a heavy iron gate with a colorful coat of arms. They stood there ringing the bell when Kahlan took a step forward to peer into a garden. As soon as she did, the annoying little man, who in Cara’s estimation is to blame for their predicament, stood before them.
“What did you do to her?” Cara growls, supporting the Mother Confessor’s weight until she is finally able to stand on her own.
With a petulant eye roll and a whiny sigh, he proceeds to explain that all the proper documents were sent to her domicile, as is customary. “If you didn’t want to participate you should have sent back the proper form declining the offered honor. Your name would have been scratched off the list.”
“Honor?” Kahlan asks.
“Yes, of course, only the most well-respected leaders are invited to partake in the games. Obviously saving the world qualified you for an invitation,” he says. “You are only the third ruler to ever show up so the crowd is very excited.”
“I received no such documents and as I already told you, I didn’t bring any champions so now what?” Kahlan crosses her arms in over her chest, already eyeing his throat.
Pursing his lips and tilting his chin up, he says, “I suppose you could forfeit.”
Before Kahlan can accept the out, Cara -- ever cautious -- steps between them. “And what is the penalty for forfeiting?” she asks. He promptly informs her that in this case the penalty for forfeiting would be a vital organ -- namely Kahlan’s heart.
“And how many champions does this other Queen have?” Cara asks.
Realizing what she’s getting at, Kahlan says, “Cara, no, I won’t have you risking your life. This is completely insane.” Just then, they hear the roar and claps of what must be an enormous crowd.
“The Queen of Spades has thirteen champions, as is customary, and she’s already entered the arena. You’ll have to make a decision,” he says, tapping his fingers impatiently on the scroll.
Cara and Kahlan exchange a wordless nod -- Cara never met thirteen men she couldn’t bring down with one hand tied behind her back.
“The Mother Confessor needs but one champion, and she stands before you,” Kahlan informs him, turning toward Cara. She pulls Cara aside for a moment, and says, “Please make this quick. Never in my life have I been as tempted to confess someone for the sole purpose of ordering them to never speak again.”
“Very well then, let’s get going,” he says. When he notices that Cara is walking behind them, he scrunches his chubby face. “No, no, no. You have to go through the champion’s entrance,” he says, pointing her toward a long hallway.
Noticing a slight twitch of Kahlan’s hand, Cara takes hold of her wrist before she can reach for his throat, for this time his squeals are in an even higher pitch and it is all she can take of it. “Oh, no you don’t,” Cara whispers into Kahlan’s ear, “I’ll take care of him after I dispose of the so-called champions.” This is one occasion in which Kahlan may allow the Mord’Sith to have at it.
When she enters the huge amphitheater, the crowd, comprised of thousands upon thousands of people of all ages, goes wild with excitement. The little round man with the rubbery ass walks Kahlan to her seat next to the Queen of Spades. The sight of the decapitated woman resting her elbow on her own head makes Kahlan cringe -- but it isn’t until the head speaks that she nearly jumps out of her own skin. “Your heart is over there,” says the head, using its jaw as a pointer. Kahlan politely smiles at the space where the head should be attached and gingerly lifts the silk cloth at which the head pointed, only to gasp in horror when it reveals a glass box that contains a pumping organ she can only assume is her own. Her palm again meeting her forehead, she replaces the cloth thinking that all of this must be a side effect of those hallucinogenic ginger candies she and Cara naively ingested days before, for nothing as absurd as this can actually be happening.
The sound of trumpets quiets the crowd as the herald, a reed-thin lanky thing with an abnormally long neck, announces that the games are to begin shortly. “Handsome, isn’t he?” says the head, its eyes shifting to look at its rival.
Kahlan nods politely thinking that the woman is either blind or mad as a hatter. “I’ve been duped into this,” Kahlan says, this time craning her neck to look at the head, “But why did you accept this insane offer?”
With a snort, she replies, “My no-good husband, the King of Spades, bamboozled me into it. It will be his head rolling once I get home. Do you have a husband?” Kahlan shakes her head, gazing expectantly at the arena in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Cara. Detecting the motion out of the corner of its eye, the head says, “They are all dreadful.”
From the entrance opposite to where Kahlan sits, Cara saunters into the arena as if she hadn’t a care in the world, giving Kahlan a quick nod and a smirk. In an instant, the crowd is on their feet. She isn’t at all what they expected. Rushing in from across the arena is a well-muscled man wearing what Cara decides is a rather comical skirt, spinning a net over his head and wielding a gigantic fork. “Ritiarius, ritiarius, ritiarius,” the crowd chants.
“What does that mean?” Kahlan asks a man sitting next to her. She’s had her fill of talking to the headless woman.
“Ritiarius are net fighters and this one is good. That little girl doesn’t stand a chance,” he says.
When her foe suddenly releases the net, Cara is caught off guard but without hesitation, ducks and rolls out of the way. “No matter,” says the head, “he still has his trident.” Cara closes the distance between them and as her opponent pulls his fork back to strike, she slides beneath him causing him to topple over and drop his weapon. Quick to his feet, he seizes her by the throat, using his size advantage to lift her off the ground.
“This is your plan, you nebbish fool?” she hisses at him, head-butting him and slamming a hand to each of his ears. The impact of the combined blows knocks him back causing him to lose his grip on her. The moment her feet hit the ground, the crowd is on theirs, cheering for the leather-clad female warrior -- Kahlan the most enthusiastic of them all. In less than a heartbeat, Cara buries her boot in his groin and punches him square on the chin. “Glass jaw,” she says, with a smirk, “I knew it.” The strike not only breaks his jaw, it renders him unconscious. Cara looks up at Kahlan and tips her head. The smile on the Mother Confessor’s face alone is worth the battle.
The headless woman lifts her arm signaling at her champions with a clenched fist, followed by four raised fingers. As the defeated ritiarius is dragged out of the arena, the herald announces that because the Queen of Hearts’ champion won the first battle, and is to face four adversaries at once, she is free to choose a weapon off the rack that sits on the edge of the arena. Kahlan wrinkles her forehead and parts her lips for a moment, but with a deep intake of air, steels her nerves. She’s overcome four to one odds many times, and is certain Cara will as well. With a lopsided smile, she watches as Cara purses her lips while choosing her weapon, one by one, taking them in her hand until she finds one the suits her. And the moment she does, four horsemen in full armor, leaving in their wake a cloud of dust, rush at her carrying round shields and spears. Needless to say, Cara’s eyes widen, but with excitement not fear. Things were about to get interesting.
Kahlan, for her part, is tempted to toss the Queen of Spades’ head into the arena for displaying such a lack of sportsmanship. Knowing, however, that her own heart is at stake, she thinks better of it, opting instead for sending up a silent prayer to the Creator. At that very moment, one of the riders releases his spear, nicking the side of Cara’s shoulder with enough force to tear through her leather and draw blood. The other three take advantage of the momentary opening and surround her but she’s too quick for them. Swinging the scythe she’d chosen as her weapon over her head she blocks two spears and with one fluid motion strikes at one of the riders’ shields hard enough to bring him down, horse and all. The crowd is on their feet again, realizing that this is far from over.
Left only with their shields, the riders have no choice but to dismount their steeds and engage their fierce opponent in hand to hand combat. Cara wields the foreign weapon with surgical precision, striking them over and over. When the three of them rush at her all at once, she manages to take one down by swinging her weapon with enough momentum to pierce through his armor. Perhaps too much momentum for an instant of struggle to retrieve it leaves her open to a strike to the back of the head that knock her to the ground -- face down and not moving. A collective gasp fills the arena when one of the two men left standing picks up the scythe and brings it down with every intention of leaving Cara as headless as his Queen. Kahlan covers her mouth with her hands, thinking that this is the end but before the blade can make contact, Cara sweeps his feet out from under him and as he falls to the ground, draws the dagger Kahlan gifted her from its scabbard, stretching out her arm so that his own weight causes it to pierce through his armor. The last man standing squares his shoulders, preparing for the face-off but when she stalks toward him with a confident smirk on her face, he drops to one knee, releasing his shield and raising his hands in surrender. As boos and jeers fill the amphitheater, the Queen of Spades throws up her arms in frustration and her head rolls its eyes. Cara unceremoniously turns the fallen man over with the tip of her boot and retrieves her treasured dagger.
The Mother Confessor is on her feet, and were her heart still in its proper place, it would be pounding through her ribcage. Cara, quite a bit the worse for wear, wipes her brow and gives her a reassuring nod. Kahlan bites the corner of her lower lip and claps. This bizarre ordeal will soon come to an end. The head scowls as the headless woman raises two clenched fists this time. “This ends now,” growls the head. Growls, as it turns out, soon fill the entire arena for Cara’s next opponent hasn’t the capacity for human speech. The massive creature is almost twice the size of any Gar she’s ever seen, and even uglier than one. Its most disturbing features are the unsightly single eye on its forehead and the horns on either side of its head. It is, however, the beast’s size that has Kahlan in a panic and Cara mystified as to how to take on such an opponent.
“Spirits, what is that thing?” Kahlan mumbles to herself.
The man sitting next to her seems to feel the inquiry was directed at him. “A Cyclops,” he says, “the ugliest and fiercest of creatures in all of the lands, created by the Keeper’s own hand.” Kahlan decides it’s probably a good thing that she isn’t currently in possession of her heart for if she were, she’d probably be going into cardiac arrest.
“You’re ugly enough, but can you fight?” Cara taunts her foe. Her scythe is resting on her shoulder with both hands clasping its handle. Being on the offensive is, in general, her preference but her instincts, in this case, tell her to wait until the creature makes a move. Having never faced one of these things, she needs to discern its weaknesses and gauge how fast the massive thing can move.
With a deafening grunt, it lunges at her; it’s all she can do to avoid its grasp. It’s fast, very fast. Physical prowess alone isn’t going win her this fight; it is her wits that will carry her to victory. When the creature lunges at her a second time, she holds her position and surprises it by striking at its foot or paw -- it’s difficult to define the odd-looking thing. With a yelp it jumps back and Cara plows forward striking at its foot again, and then a third time. This approach won’t win the battle but it will certainly slow the massive thing down.
The beast pounds its chest and with a roar lunges at her a second time -- this time with a little less spring in its step. Still, it manages to knock her off balance but she quickly recovers and strikes at one of its knees. When she goes for a second blow, her adversary spins away from her and backhands her across the face with enough force to knock her at least ten paces away. She’s quick to recover but blood is pouring out of her nose. From the stands, Kahlan looks on in horror and frustration. She wants nothing more than to join the fray but this fight is Cara’s alone. “Oh, you are going to pay for that,” Cara says, wiping the blood from her nose.
With a maniacal grin, she rushes at the beast and hacks away at it from every conceivable angle, jumping out of the way after each blow. Her constant movements from side to side have the creature’s arms flailing but always just short of reaching its mark. Cara is panting from exhaustion but she doesn’t stop. This hack and jump, hack and jump tactic has her foe off balance and the crowd is loving it. When the beast shows signs of weariness, Cara takes it as an opening and leaps up to strike at its chest. Only as she comes down, she loses her footing and the beast pounces on her. Lifting her up over its head, it tosses her halfway across the arena and stalks towards her. Cara reaches for her scythe but it’s beyond her reach. Just as the beast is about to stomp on her with its sizable foot-paw, she manages to roll out of the way and, in the same motion, pulls her dagger from its scabbard and plunges it into the creatures foot with all her might. The blade having pierced straight through the creature’s bones, it releases a bloodcurdling scream that sends a collective jolt through the spine of every spectator in the amphitheater. The moment Cara is back on her feet, the crowd goes wild, but Kahlan is worried, very worried. She can tell by the way Cara is moving that it isn’t just exhaustion slowing her down - Cara is hurt.
As the creature reaches down to pull out the blade, Cara hobbles toward it and kicks it in the jaw. She knows it won’t do much damage but her aim is to slow it down long enough to reach her weapon. It’s to no avail, however. The creature takes hold of her ankle, flinging her away as if she were a rag doll. It then stomps over to the scythe and cracks it in two. But even without a weapon, Cara battles on -- she may be at half speed but so is her adversary. This one is to death, they both know it. She rises to her feet, taking a fighting stance, and starts swinging. It’s all bob and weave but for as many times as she connects, the beast is rock solid. With a hand to her chest, it knocks her back several paces and is on the attack. For the first time in her life, Cara can taste her own looming defeat.
That’s when Kahlan takes matters into her own hands. Jumping to her feet, she calls out to the Mord’Sith and releases her daggers. With the last bit of strength she has left, Cara leaps higher than should have been possible and, by the grace of the Creator, manages to catch the weapons by their hilts. With an astounding midair twist, she travels through the air and plunges a dagger into each side of the creature’s neck. “A born flier,” Kahlan breathes out. The creature crumbles to the ground, a river of blood flowing out of its wounds.
Kahlan is threatening the head with confession for complaining that tossing Cara the daggers violates the rules. She must have presented a convincing argument for the head hasn’t said another word. Already terrified by the possibility of Cara having to face more adversaries, Kahlan is certainly not about to put up with a talking head. Much to her surprise, however, instead of more champions entering the arena, the herald returns.
“The Emperor has declared that defeating the Cyclops trumps all other achievements. The Queen of Hearts is the victor. The Games are now over,” he says. Still panting from exhaustion, Cara scales up the wall and up to the stands where Kahlan is already waiting for her. Once the Mord’Sith stands before her, without hesitation, Kahlan grabs her by the collar and pulls her into deep, passionate kiss. The crowd cheers louder than they had even during the battle, but Cara and Kahlan are oblivious to it all. When their lips part -- out of the need for air -- Cara remedies the situation by taking in a deep breath and initiating a second kiss that goes on for twice as long as the first one.
It is the annoying squeal of the rotund little man that finally breaks the kiss -- both the women gasping for air and wanting nothing more than to toss him into the arena. “Would you like a bag for your head?” he asks.
“What?” asks Kahlan, still reeling from the kiss. “No, of course not,” she says, once she regains her bearings. “I don’t want this woman’s head. I’m perfectly content with my own.” At that very moment she feels the pounding of her own heart and presses Cara’s hand to her chest so that she can feel it as well. “Thank you,” she says, with a smile on her face as she leans in to kiss Cara’s cheek.
“But, but, but,” squeals the little man, bouncing on each word, “you won, you get the head.”
Kahlan rolls her eyes, and says, “Fine, the head is mine, I hereby gift it to the Queen of Spades. Now reattach it.”
The little man is not at all comfortable with the arrangement but concedes. “Fine,” he whines, plunking it on the other woman’s neck.
“Thank you,” says the Queen of Spades, “that was very gracious of you.” When she stands up, both Cara and Kahlan are taken aback by how disproportionately large the head looks on the woman’s tiny body.
“I’ll take you to your quarters now,” squeals the little man.
“Quarters?” asks Kahlan.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he says, rather agitated, “the Emperor has asked that you join him for dinner. A healer will be up shortly. You can’t very well go to dinner looking like that,” he says glaring up at Cara. “The servants have already prepared your baths and a fresh set of clothes.” Cara and Kahlan talk between themselves, finally agreeing that they can both use a bath and a meal.
He then proceeds to escort them to their quarters, all the while standing between them. “You were a very good champion,” he says to Cara, nodding the perfect circle that sits above his shoulders; Cara doesn’t reply. “These are your quarters,” he says, ushering them inside and standing there looking up at them. Cara turns toward Kahlan, and with a tilt of her head Kahlan gives her blessing. Cara lifts him off the ground and deposits him on the other side of the door, turning the lock for good measure.
The healer, a bug-eyed old woman who looks very much in need of a healer herself, enters the room moments later. She looks Cara up and down and pokes and prods at her a few times, then shakes her and says to Kahlan, “Bah, this one is strong as an ox. Just make sure she doesn’t blow her nose too hard.”
“That’s it?” Kahlan asks, in complete disbelief. The woman shrugs and walks out the door. “I really dislike the people of this city,” she mumbles.
Now that they are alone, neither knows what to say, much less how to act. That shared moment of unbridled passion had been long in coming, they both know it, yet neither is quite ready to deal with it. “Here, let me help you,” Kahlan says when Cara busies herself with removing her leathers. Cara takes a step toward her -- the intensity of her gaze leaving Kahlan breathless. She loosens the laces down the front and sides of Cara’s leathers, and when she steps behind her, undoing the laces enough to pull Cara’s top down, one by one she kisses every bruise and scar she comes across. Cara closes her eyes and stands perfectly still. It’s Kahlan’s lips on her bare skin, and the emotions that summons in her are overwhelming. After helping her step out of her leathers, Kahlan walks Cara into the bath chamber and helps her step into the tub.
“You don’t have --”, Cara starts to say, but Kahlan shushes her. Arguing with the Mother Confessor is an impossible undertaking so she lies back and allows it. Kahlan washes her hair and back, and takes great care in cleaning the cut on her shoulder. Once Cara steps out of the tub Kahlan swaddles her in a towel. Once she’s dry, Kahlan helps her into the perfectly tailored white trousers and red silk blouse that had been left for her. “You look beautiful,” Kahlan says, before walking into the bath chamber for her own bath.
She walks out wearing an elegant red gown that accentuates her lovely figure, and milky white skin. “You, Mother Confessor, are the one who looks beautiful.” At that moment, a knock on the door signals that it is time for dinner.
“Time to go,” says that now all-too-familiar voice when Kahlan opens the door. “Dinner will be very delicious,” the round little man assures them.
***
The Emperor, in contrast with his peculiar-looking citizenry, is a strikingly handsome man with impeccable manners. As the ladies enter the dining room, he rises to his feet, bowing his head to each of them. “Congratulations on your victory,” he says to Kahlan. Every bit the gentleman, he pulls out their chairs and waves over a servant to pour their wine. As they eat their meal, he and Kahlan discuss politics, various systems of government, and the role of a monarch in these turbulent times. He is certainly a learned man which strikes Kahlan as odd -- given the savagery of these so-called games he endorses.
All the while, however, it is Cara who holds his interest. She hasn’t spoken all evening but his eyes rarely leave her. Kahlan, having noticed it as well, can certainly understand: Cara is a beautiful woman, his interest is only natural. That he hasn’t said a word to her, Kahlan assumes, is because perhaps he is bashful when it comes to such matters. And truth be told, that he is keeping his distance from Cara doesn’t bother Kahlan in the least; quite to the contrary, she prefers it. After dinner, he gives them a tour of his extensive library and generously gifts Kahlan a lovely tome of verse.
It is the unexpected question he asks as he pours them a nightcap that causes Kahlan to nearly fall off her chair. “What?” she asks, thinking, or rather, hoping, that she’d misunderstood. Her hand is clamped on Cara’s wrist, awaiting his reply.
Flashing a charming smile, he bows his head, and says, “I asked how much you want for her. She’s as beautiful as she is deadly -- a worthy addition to my menagerie.”
She looks over at Cara who is rather amused by the entire exchange. What is it about her that seems to make powerful men feel she’s an object for their use, she wonders. It takes Kahlan a moment to manage to form words. “She isn’t for sale.”
The Emperor chuckles at the response and rakes his eyes over the Mord’Sith. “Oh but everything is for sale.”
With a deep intake of air Kahlan sets her jaw, and says, “Perhaps that is where your confusion lies. She isn’t a thing, nor an animal to put on display for your amusement.”
Noticing the Mother Confessor’s upset, he politely bows his head once again, and says, “Very well then, perhaps we should say good night.”
Cara and Kahlan are on their feet and headed for the door but he blocks their path. “You’ve misunderstood me,” he says to Kahlan. “My offer to purchase her was a mere courtesy toward a well-respected monarch. You may go now, Mother Confessor,” he says stepping out of the way. “But she stays.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Kahlan says, in a most menacing tone, “and somehow I doubt that you’d be able to stop us.”
“As skilled as she is,” he says, pointing toward Cara with his chin, “I doubt she’d stand a chance against the five hundred soldiers standing guard outside the door.” He smiles at her, and adds, “I’m a very cautious man.”
Cara starts toward him, but Kahlan raises her hand and says, “No, no, allow me.” In less than a heartbeat, her hand is wrapped around his throat and both their eyes are black swirls; even Cara hadn’t expected it.
“Command me, Confessor,” he says, looking up at her adoringly. It takes nearly half a candlemark for Kahlan to give him a laundry list of instructions ranging from the new system of government he is to implement, to the way he will, henceforth, treat women.
“Oh, and take me off your mailing list,” she adds, emphatically.
“That was a surprise,” Cara says as they walk down the corridor to their appointed chambers.
“A man like that would never accept no as an answer. That he was leading an empire was a detriment to his people and to the world in general,” says Kahlan. “And I didn’t like him very much.” Cara didn’t require an explanation. If she were a Confessor, half the people in this city would have been confessed already.
“You must be exhausted,” Kahlan says, once they are in their room. “Let me help you.”
“Confessor, I’m perfectly capable of undressing myself, and for your information, Mord’Sith never tire.”
“Yes, I know, but I also know you’re in pain so I’m going to help you.” She unbuttons Cara’s blouse, and leaning over her shoulder, says, “You should keep the outfit, you wore it well.” Having given up on Cara wearing a shift to bed, once she is down to her underthings, Kahlan helps her into bed.
When Kahlan returns from the bath chamber, already in her shift, she takes her place in the bed behind Cara as has become her habit, and says, “Cara, about what happened earlier, I don’t know what came over me. The way you fought for my heart, it was all so intense that my emotions got the best of me. I never should have taken you like that, wait, that didn’t come out right. I didn’t actually take you, I only kissed you but it was wrong. Not that the kiss was wrong, the kiss was perfect, they both were. Spirits, that second one was so… But it was wrong of me to kiss you. Because, well, I’m a Confessor and there is also Richard and you probably hated it but you have to understand, I’m only human…” Realizing that she’s rambling, she stops to give Cara an opportunity to speak. “Cara,” she says after a lengthy, and rather uncomfortable, silence. “Cara,” she repeats a second time. It’s when she props up on her elbow to look at her that she finds Cara sound asleep. Having fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, Cara hadn’t heard a word of her speech. “Good night, Cara,” she says, kissing her on the cheek.
***
“Kahlan!” Cara says, realizing that the Confessor’s arms weren’t wrapped around her. She calls out a second time thinking that perhaps Kahlan was in the bath chamber. When she gets no reply, she jumps out of bed, grimacing at the pain caused by the sudden movement, and reaches for her leathers, only to find they are gone.
The door is still where she left it so she heads directly for it. “Spirits, Cara, you nearly killed me.” Kahlan says, having walked in just as Cara was rushing out of the room, dagger in hand, and ushers the barely dressed Mord’Sith back inside. “Where were you planning on going without any clothes on?” Kahlan asks.
“I, I needed some air,” she says. “What did you do with my leathers, and why didn’t you wake me? And why are you wearing that gown again?”
“I’m having the Emperor’s tailor wash and mend our clothes. Your boots are also being resoled and polished. Oh, and our new horses are being groomed. Perhaps I should have someone sharpen our daggers as well. What would you like to eat? I’ll have the chef send it up for us.” Still standing in her underthings, Cara nods and tilts her head taking in the extensive list of tasks Kahlan had delegated while she slept. As much as she tries, she can’t manage to repress her laughter. “What’s so funny?” Kahlan asks.
“Nothing, your Majesty,” Cara says, “You seem to have conquered an entire nation while I slept. Are we staying in your new empire permanently?”
Kahlan rolls her eyes and leads Cara back to bed. “No, we leave tomorrow. Now get back into bed. I’ll be back shortly.”
“As you wish, Empress.” Kahlan opens her mouth to reply but waves her off instead.
She returns with two maids carrying in their meal and a third one who sets their clothing atop the dresser. “Will that be all, my Lady?”
Kahlan thinks for a moment, then says, “For now, yes. Thank you.”
“Am I to stay in this bed like an invalid for the rest of the day?” Cara asks as Kahlan sets a tray of food next to her on the bed.
“No, we have plans this evening. That’s why I need you well rested.”
“Are we conquering another nation? Because if we are, I’d like to be awake this time.”
Kahlan takes her place next to Cara on the bed and pokes at her nose a bit; it’s a wonder that after the blow she took it’s still attached to her face. “No, we are not. We are going to celebrate your victory, but first we are going to finish our meal and take a nap.”
For the rest of the afternoon, they stay in bed going over Berdine’s maps, and drifting in and out of sleep. Although she’d never admit it, Cara is grateful for this time to recuperate from her injuries. She’d been in many battles but never had she been so terrified of losing. The Mother Confessor’s heart had literally been in her hands; that thought alone kept her going when her body was on the verge of giving out. Now, as she lies next to the sleeping Confessor, she can feel their hearts beating as one. It is a good day, but also a day closer to the end of their quest. By what they’d gathered from the maps, they are a day, perhaps two -- depending upon the terrain -- away from their final destination. Kahlan will rescue the Seeker and Cara will make things right for her fallen sisters. That is, after all, the purpose of this journey. Only it suddenly feels as if it is happening much too fast, as if there are many more cities to visit, and interesting characters to meet, and strange animals to discover. But most of all, more moments like this one, lying in bed with Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her. Tonight they will celebrate, and Kahlan will smile and laugh and be happy, and Cara will share in that happiness but tomorrow, the ride continues. Cara closes her eyes, choosing to take in the perfection of this moment without concern for the next.
“Cara,” Kahlan whispers into her ear, “wake up.” She almost regrets having to wake her. The angelic expression on Cara’s face when she’s perfectly still like this is well worth missing the celebration. There’s something about the way Cara looks in her sleep that makes Kahlan wish she could go back to that day on the hill with her father and Dennee. This time she’d be faster, more clever somehow, and keep her from being taken so that she could see the woman that little girl would have grown into. Yet, even now, the woman she turned out to be is perfect. Perhaps things do happen as they should. Just then, Cara’s lashes flutter and her eyes open, finding Kahlan’s smiling face looking down at her. “We have to get dressed for the celebration but only if you feel up to it.”
After a series of stretches and yawns she is on her feet. “What am I wearing this time?” Cara asks, as if she were the most put upon person in the world.
Kahlan considers the question for a moment, taking in the sight of the Mord’Sith in her smallclothes. “Anything you’d like but what you have on now, although very flattering, is a bit too revealing. These are your choices.” She plunks down Cara’s clean and mended black leathers on the bed, followed by the outfit she wore the previous night, and much to Cara’s delight, a pair of red leather trousers and a fitted white shirt. The Mother Confessor had indeed been very industrious. “The tailor was having a slow day,” she adds with a shrug.
“If my wardrobe continues to expand, I’ll need a larger pack, but I must say, you chose well. Thank you.” She dresses in a flash and admires herself in a looking glass. “And what will you be wearing to this celebration?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” says Kahlan, as she heads for the bath chamber. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
This is certainly a far cry from her former life, but Kahlan’s enthusiasm is contagious. Cara can’t recall having ever been excited about anything other than the possibility of a good fight, or perhaps a talented whore; things have certainly changed since she joined the Mother Confessor on this quest. Her musings are cut short when her lovely companion for the evening makes her entrance.
In stark contrast to the intricate red gown she’d worn the previous night, for this celebration she’d chosen a backless white gown with no embellishments and a plunging neckline that makes Cara’s heart skip a beat or two. Even with the shawl thrown over her shoulders for the sake of modesty, the manner in which the flowing material shimmers with every step she takes and accentuates her curves will most certainly elicit many an impure thought from their fellow party goers.
With a shy smile on her face and no small amount of tentativeness, she asks, “What do you think?”
Cara’s lips part but it takes her a moment to actually speak. “I think there has never been a woman more beautiful than the Mother Confessor of the Midlands.”
It’s the way in which she says it that makes Kahlan blush furiously. The tone of her voice, the look in her eyes, the way in which she licked her lips, all of it sends a jolt through Kahlan’s entire body -- even places best left un-jolted. “Thank you. We should probably…” she trails off, feeling Cara’s hand on the bare skin of the small of her back. There’s that jolt again.
The Emperor, in an effort to win his mistress’s favor, spared no expense. The celebration is a grand affair with glitz and glamour the likes of which Cara has never known. While the People’s Palace hosted events such as this one from time to time, Mord’Sith were never invited. The round little man greets the two women as if they were the closest of friends. “This is my friend, the Champion,” he tells anyone who will listen. “She fought very well.” Kahlan is amused, albeit still unnerved by his squeals. Cara has a very enthusiastic supporter.
The large-headed Queen of Spades is in attendance as well. That the woman, given her cranial disproportion, chose to accentuate it by wearing an enormous feathered hat is baffling. Cara contorts her face, staring at the woman as if she were the product of wizard’s spell gone awry. A not at all subtle nudge from Kahlan causes Cara to head for the bar. “I must say, dear, I can see why you would choose her over a husband.” Kahlan is more than a little scandalized by the woman’s remark -- not to mention the salacious tone in which she said it. Then again, with the way those red trousers hug Cara’s hips, Kahlan would be hard pressed to argue the truth of her words.
Cara returns to the table with two glasses and a bottle of a bubbly wine recommended by the barmaid. By the speed at which the Mother Confessor gulps it down, Cara decides the barmaid chose well. Not a moment later, the round little man is tugging at Cara’s sleeve. “Champion, Champion,” he whines and squeals all at once, “dance with me.”
Horrified by the suggestion, Cara’s eyes are as round as his. “I will do no such thing.”
Noticing his slumped shoulders and pout, Kahlan graciously saves the day. “The Champion would love to dance with you but she promised me this dance.”
“Oh,” he drawls in an extended squeal. “It’s off with your head if you a break a promise to your Queen,” he warns in a whispered squeal to Cara.
With that, Cara finds herself twirling and gliding across the dance floor with Kahlan in her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re such a wonderful dancer?”
“You never asked,” Cara says, dipping her so low that their lips are a mere hairsbreadth away from brushing together. Cara holds her there for a long moment before bringing her back up and spinning her around with such zeal that Kahlan’s laughter fills the entire ballroom.
Both breathless, they return to their table only to find the next person on Cara’s dance card eagerly awaiting her return. Kahlan tries to offer herself in Cara’s place, but there isn’t a chance Cara will allow those chubby hands to touch the Mother Confessor.
“Just do I what do, Champion. I’m a very good dancer,” he says, then proceeds to do a ridiculous little jig, waving his arm in the air as if he were swatting flies. Reminding herself that Kahlan would not be pleased if she were to spoil the celebration by stabbing him in the eye, Cara imitates his awkward motion but somehow manages to make it look graceful. When the music stops he escorts her back to the table and says, “With a little practice, someday you’ll be as good a dancer as me.”
“That was very sweet of you,” Kahlan says, leaning in and placing a lingering kiss on her cheek. It’s Cara’s turn to experience a pleasurable jolt.
For several candlemarks, they drink and dance and laugh as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Cara is actually quite charming, and exceedingly attentive, when she sets aside the warrior façade. Kahlan doesn’t seem to mind having the Mord’Sith fawn over her in the least -- quite to the contrary -- it’s been far too long since the Mother Confessor has felt as beautiful and happy as she does on this night.
Much to their surprise, the festivities end with an award ceremony that turns out to be quite a boon for them both. The Queen of Hearts’ victory is rewarded with a generous parcel of land on which, she is told, there is already a marvelous castle. The Queen’s Champion is awarded a substantial amount of gold and a sword that Kahlan decides rivals the Sword of Truth in both quality and design. “Everybody,” says the round little man, “clap for my friend, the Champion. She’s very brave.” Cara rolls her eyes at the unwanted attention, but the proud smile on Kahlan’s face makes the humiliation tolerable.
When the crowd calls for one last dance between the Queen of Hearts and her Champion, Cara extends her hand out to the Mother Confessor who is happy to accept it. In contrast to the lively tunes the musicians played throughout the evening, this last one is a ballad with a twinge of melancholy sung by young man accompanied only by a lute. Cara wraps her arm around Kahlan’s waist and, pressing their bodies together, sways and glides to the gentle rhythm of the music. Kahlan melts into Cara’s arms and nuzzles into her shoulder, forgetting that there is anyone else in the room, or perhaps the world. Even after the song is over, they continue dancing, oblivious to the world around them. “Champion, Champion,” whispers the little man, nudging her a bit, “the song is over.” Cara glares at him for a moment but his words finally sink in. “Take care of your Queen, I’ll keep your winnings safe until morning.” Cara nods, thinking that perhaps the round rubbery man isn’t so bad after all.
With a gracious bow, they take leave of the party goers and head back to their chambers. Cara’s hand finds the bare skin of Kahlan’s back again, this time with her thumb making gentle circles on her rapidly heating skin. They both remain silent yet the air is heavy with words and perhaps something more. With every step, they hasten their pace.
“Well, that was fun,” Kahlan says, once they are inside. She’s leaning against the closed door, wishing the organ that is now back in its proper place wasn’t so unruly as to pound against her ribcage with so much zeal.
“It was,” says Cara, taking a step toward the Mother Confessor and then another until they are breathing the same breath.
“Mm, yes, with the dancing and the music, oh, and that delicious bubbly wine and all of the guests --” She’s rambling again but this time Cara is very much awake.
“Kahlan,” Cara says, resting her forehead on Kahlan’s.
“It was very sweet of the little man to offer to take care of your winnings and the Queen of Spades with that peculiar hat and --“
“Kahlan,” Cara says again, this time pressing their bodies together. “Stop talking.”
With that, she kisses one corner of Kahlan’s mouth and then the other. The feel of Kahlan’s hands taking purchase on her hips suffices as encouragement to dart out her tongue and lick Kahlan’s lips. With what sounds suspiciously like a moan, her lips part. This isn’t like the hurried kisses they’d shared at the arena, this is slow and deliberate, this is a lover’s kiss filled with passion and meaning, this is the type of kiss one never forgets. When their lips part, Kahlan isn’t rambling anymore, she’s leading Cara to the bed.
“I don’t want to stop,” she says, her hands going to the ties on Cara’s blouse and doing away with the garment. “Spirits, you’re too lovely for words,” she says, tucking her head down to place a kiss on each of Cara’s breasts.
Cara grunts at the sensation and in less than a heartbeat she shifts their bodies so that the Confessor is beneath her. If this were any other woman, Cara would rip the dress off of her body and quickly find her mark. But this isn’t some random wench, this is Kahlan, so she’s careful, tentative even. Her hands are trembling but she can’t find any shame in it. She lowers her head kissing her way down to Kahlan’s neck, and her shoulder, and collarbone, and the tops of her breasts. Kahlan responds by arching into Cara’s mouth and kneading at one of her own breasts. Looking into her eyes, Cara replaces the hand with her own, rolling the tender flesh between her fingers through the fabric of her dress. Kahlan shifts a bit and pulls the dress off her shoulders, leaving Cara breathless. She lowers her head to takes one of Kahlan’s peaks in her mouth but hesitates, looking up at her for a moment. Kahlan runs her fingers through Cara’s hair and urges her on.
From then on they are both all eager hands and hungry mouths. Cara gets as good as she gives; it isn’t long before her lips and hands are trailing down Kahlan’s belly -- her dress already bunched up at her waist. When one of Cara’s fingers slips into her smallclothes, Kahlan looses as obscene a sound as Cara has ever heard, instinctively parting her thighs even further. Kahlan had been intimate with Richard at the Pillars of Creation but this is different. This time she’s surrendering to her own pleasure, not someone else's. This is too good, this is better than she’d ever dared to imagine. Her body responds by matching the rhythm of Cara’s touch and it isn’t long before she feels herself on the verge of coming undone -- magic already prickling at her skin.
“Magic,” she mumbles, trying to recall why exactly it’s important when she’s about to experience more pleasure than she’s ever known. “Magic!” she says again, this time pushing Cara away. “We have to stop. Now,” she says, shoving Cara hard this time and jumping off the bed.
“What did I do?” Cara asks, her voice filled with anguish as Kahlan steps as far away from her as the room will allow. Kahlan lifts her palm, signaling for her to stay away. Cara lies back on the bed covering her face with her hands and waits.
When she regains enough control to push down her magic, Kahlan kneels on the floor beside the bed and runs her fingers through Cara’s hair. “I’m sorry, I never should have…I’m as selfish as I am irresponsible.”
“Kahlan, no, I kissed you. I’m the one to blame,” Cara says, pulling her onto the bed. “I swear on my honor, the Seeker will never know about this.”
“This isn’t about Richard, Cara. I’m a Confessor, you’re a Mord’Sith. I could have killed you just now.” Cara’s mention of Richard only serves to intensify her guilt. Confessor magic hadn’t crossed Cara’s mind and even if it had, it’s doubtful that it would have changed anything. This thing between them is too strong, they’ve grown far closer than either of them should have allowed.
On this night it’s Cara who presses the front of her body against Kahlan’s back and wraps her arms around her. “Sleep,” she says, pressing her lips to the shell of Kahlan’s ear, “we can talk about this tomorrow.” It’s what Kahlan would have said.
***
A knock on the door rouses them from sleep. Cara starts to get up but Kahlan grabs hold of her wrist. “Put this on,” she says, handing Cara a robe that lay at the foot of the bed.
“Good morning, Champion. Here is your new sword and your gold. You’re very rich now,” he assures her. “I packed very delicious food for your journey.” Kahlan can’t manage to suppress a giggle at the notion of Cara having such a loyal fan. “I drew you a map to your new castle, Queen. These are the keys.”
For as annoying is he is, he’s starting to grow on them both. “What is your name, little man?”
“Horatio Phineas Panza,” he says with no small amount of gravity. The name, she decides, is as peculiar as its bearer. “At your service.”
Cara tilts her head, taking in every detail of his appearance and mannerisms, and says, “Horatio Phineas Panza, you are quite a character.”
Horatio, elated by the remark, bounces off the ground several times, his mouth fixed in the shape of an ‘o’, and his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Thank you, Champion,” he says with that familiar squeal. “You have a friend for life, and across this entire land, I will make certain no one forgets your name.” All the while his chubby little arms are waving about and his perfectly round head is bobbing. Waving at Kahlan, who is still lying in bed, he turns back toward Cara and asks, “What is your name?”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Cara Mason, but tell no one. You can call me Champion.” With that he scurries out of the room, squealing and bouncing along.
When Cara turns to find Kahlan’s eyes fixed on her, she almost wishes the little man had stayed longer. That the Mother Confessor remembers the events of the previous evening as clearly as she does is written all over her face. On the off chance that she may have spontaneously developed some latent magical abilities, Cara focuses all of her will on the ground opening up and swallowing her whole before Kahlan has an opportunity to engage her in dialogue. Her strategy, sadly, backfires for the look on her face causes Kahlan to leap out of bed, wearing only her smallclothes, and rush to Cara’s side.
“Are you feeling ill?” Kahlan asks, filled with concern.
“No, I’m fine,” Cara says, doing her best to fix her gaze at a point above Kahlan’s head so as to avoid the temptation of ogling her breasts. Kahlan, of course, notices and turns to follow her line of vision.
“Is there something on the ceiling?” she asks, narrowing her eyes in an effort to find it.
Cara rolls her eyes and throws her arms up in defeat. “About last night,” she says, but has absolutely nothing with which to follow up the phrase.
Kahlan, it seems, takes pity on her and interjects. “I think we both got caught up in the excitement of the evening. The bubbly wine, the dancing, it was all so…perfect.” Cara purses her lips and nods, knowing there is no chance Kahlan will stop talking any time soon. “And you really are a beautiful woman, Cara. We’ve spent so much time together, it’s only natural that we would be attracted to each other. There is no reason for either of us to be embarrassed about last night, nor should we allow it to affect our friendship.” Cara can’t help but wonder who exactly Kahlan is trying to convince. She is, however, certain that she’s beautiful like that, standing in the middle of the room wearing next to nothing and rambling like a mad woman. “I’m glad you agree,” Kahlan adds. Cara has no idea to what she’s agreed to but thinks it best not to ask. Kahlan, having run out of words, gets dressed and packs their belongings as they prepare to ride on.
Standing at the city gates is Horatio, waving and calling out to Cara. “Champion, Champion,” he says, “don’t worry, we’ll see each other again someday.” Cara and Kahlan can’t help but smile. Like many others they’ve met on this journey, Horatio Phineas Panza has found a home in their hearts. This is yet another place neither of them will ever forget.
And so they ride, this time with a little more trepidation than before. The weight of an impending battle with an enemy that has defeated even death, along with the knowledge that their time together will soon come to end has them both on edge. “Let’s stop and go over the maps one last time,” Cara says, when she spots a shaded area next to a stream; by the smile on Kahlan’s face, Cara knows she chose well. Tulips in every conceivable color surround them and a cool breeze whistles through the tree branches, leaving in its wake a deluge of leaves floating to the ground.
“Cara, look,” says Kahlan, pointing to a young deer wading in the stream. There she stood, shimmering, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands on the edge of the stream in awe of a creature that, as far as Cara is concerned, would make for an excellent meal. On this day, however, the animal is something precious for it makes Kahlan happy. “Time to look at maps,” Kahlan says, looking back at Cara over her shoulder.
They find that they are closer to Rahl’s hideout than they had originally thought. “And what’s this?” Kahlan asks, pointing at a spot on the map just west of Rahl’s supposed location. Cara stares at it for a long moment, and making the connection, her eyes widen with surprise. She reaches into her pack and pulls out another map, the one the round little man had drawn for Kahlan. She had only glanced at it, but Cara has no doubt, the spot on the map to which Kahlan pointed is her new castle. Which, by Cara’s assessment, could not be located in a more strategically beneficial location. Once again, Kahlan cannot help but think that all of the forces of Creation are arranging themselves to ensure the completion of their quest. With renewed zeal, they mount their horses and head for the Mother Confessor’s newly acquired property.