The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (13/16)
Title: The Ride With You Was Worth The Fall (13/16)
Author: ortunata13
Pairing: ara/Kahlan
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4098
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: The quest is over. Cara and Kahlan achieved their respective goals. Darken Rahl is dead and the Seeker of Truth is safe. All is well with the world, except maybe it isn't because, as we all know, winning isn't always all it's cracked up to be.
A/N: I apologize for the delay in posting. Life gets complicated from time to time.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 13
Letting Go
At that very moment, Rahl’s decapitated body ceases its twitching and the entire world seems to falter. Cara walks out of the glass room, limping and bloodied, taking comfort in Kahlan’s arms but only for a moment. The Hall of Mirrors is crumbling as is the rest of the Palace. “Nicci,” Kahlan calls out, “use your Han to keep the Palace in place.” She then runs toward the Seeker, who is flat on his back writhing with pain -- his grandfather at his side. “What’s wrong with him?” Kahlan asks, kneeling beside him.
“Richard’s Han returned to his body when Rahl died, but he wasn’t prepared for it. It’s a wonder he survived at all,” the Wizard says, “I have to get him back to his quarters.”
“Go,” Kahlan says.
She turns around, her eyes searching for the Mord’Sith but it’s as if she’s vanished. All around her, servants, witches, and soldiers are fleeing the Palace. Nicci is invoking some sort of incantation to hold the place together but apparently it’s quite lengthy. Everything, including the ground beneath Kahlan’s feet, is on the verge of collapsing. “The library,” Kahlan mumbles, certain that she will find Cara there. Given the mayhem, making her way to Cara will be a challenge but she has no intention of allowing anything or anyone to get in her way.
She’s right, of course, Cara is sitting in Berdine’s chair -- or rather its replica -- in complete darkness, holding the Champion’s sword in her hand. The aftermath of killing Darken Rahl isn’t at all what she’d expected. While having kept her promise to Berdine is a weight off her shoulders, it doesn’t change anything, not really. It occurs to her that, much like this room, the entire world is an illusion, a parlor trick with her as its prisoner. She feels as completely alone as she did months ago, watching her Mord’Sith leathers fade into ashes over a campfire. Only this time it’s worse: there is no mission and there is no Kahlan. The Mother Confessor may be the last of her kind, but she has an entire life eagerly awaiting her return. Cara will have to forge her own path in a world that has failed her time and again.
“Cara?” Kahlan calls out, as she enters the dark room. “Spirits, please be here.”
After a long silence, Cara strikes a match to her boot and lights the lamp on the desk. “I knew you’d be here.” Her hand goes to Cara’s chin, inspecting the various cuts and bruises. “Let’s get you to Zedd. He’ll heal these for you.” Cara doesn’t move, instead she studies Kahlan’s face attempting to discern if she too is an illusion. “Cara, please, say something. You’re scaring me.”
The anguish in Kahlan’s voice snaps Cara out of her stupor. “I’m fine,” she says, staring into the flickering flame that lights the room. Not knowing what else to do, Kahlan pulls up a chair and sits next to her. Her mind is dizzy with questions but this isn’t the time to ask them. She can’t read Cara but she can sense that something in her has changed; she feels distant and broken. Kahlan hadn’t expected jubilance from the Mord’Sith, but certainly not this profound sadness. “The Seeker?” Cara asks, without looking up at her.
It takes Kahlan a moment to process the question. Her concern for Cara had pushed everything else to the back of her mind. “Zedd is with him. The Han returning to his body was too much for him.”
“Shouldn’t you…?” she trails off gesturing with her hand toward the door.
“I should,” Kahlan says, “Nicci has probably killed the entire D’Haran army by now. Come with me, please.” Cara looks up at her, furrowing her brow as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue. “Please,” Kahlan says, this time extending her hand. Cara nods and rises to her feet, but Kahlan’s hand remains empty. Instead, the Mord’Sith shoulders her pack and blows out the flame, signaling she will never return to the library again.
As they make their way back to the others, Cara surveys the crumbling Palace with a curiosity of sorts. The walls around them move in blurry waves of energy, magical energy she supposes. Stopping for a moment, she stretches out her arm, and puts her hand through the wall. “What a world,” she says, shaking her head. Kahlan smiles a sad smile and squeezes Cara’s hand, as if trying to convey that some things are real. Just then, Nicci finishes the spell, and the Palace is, once again, whole. Whether Cara will ever be whole again remains to be seen.
“Zedd,” Kahlan says, when they reach Richard’s chambers, “Cara’s wounds.” The Wizard nods without leaving his grandson’s side, and mumbles a few unintelligible words. The bulk of Cara’s injuries vanish, but the ache behind her ribcage will not budge.
“How is he?” Kahlan asks, sitting down on the edge of the Seeker’s bed and placing her hand on his cheek.
“The boy is strong,” he says, with a grandfather’s pride, “it will take a few days of rest but he’ll be fine.”
Kahlan’s gaze moves to the Mord’Sith leaning against the doorframe who looks as if her own legs aren’t enough to keep her upright. “I think we can all use some rest.”
“The room across the hall is empty. Cara can rest there,” the Wizard says, “Richard will be glad to find you next to him in the morning.” Without saying a word, Cara picks up her pack and walks out.
Just as Kahlan rises to follow Cara, the Seeker calls out Kahlan’s name, leaving her frozen in place for a moment. Finally sitting back down at his bedside, Kahlan finds his hand reaching for hers. “Rest,” she says, lying down next to him as he drifts off to sleep. The Wizard gingerly walks out, closing the door behind him. Kahlan stares up at the ceiling, hoping sleep will find her but already knowing that it won’t -- not without Cara beside her.
Cara enters the empty room, dropping her pack on the ground, and climbing onto the bed -- still fully clothed. She sits there, hugging her knees to her chest for nearly three candlemarks. Her eyes never leaving the door, certain that at any moment the Mother Confessor will walk in and take her place next to her on the bed. It’s only when her eyelids are too heavy with sleep to wait any longer that she takes off her boots and crawls under the covers. Kahlan isn’t coming, not on this night or any other. As she drifts into sleep she can feel the ghost of Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her, knowing that there will never be a night in which she will not long for those arms.
It is almost daybreak when Kahlan finally gives up on finding sleep and decides to look in on Cara. She finds the Mord’Sith curled up into her own body, with her fist clutching the blanket that covers her as if it were the one thing keeping her safely in place. Seeing her like that brings up images of that child by the stream whom she failed to keep well all those years ago. She stays there for a long time watching Cara sleep, tempted to crawl under the covers with her, knowing that if she does she’ll surely find sleep. But already the light of the morning sun shimmers in Cara’s hair, and soon she’ll make those little noises that, for months, have caused the corners Kahlan’s mouth to curl into a smile even before she’s fully awake. Not willing to disturb the Mord’Sith’s sleep, she settles for a light brush of her nose to Cara’s earlobe. Just as quietly as she walked in, she walks out and returns to Richard.
She finds him sitting up in bed with that familiar grin on his face, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. That’s Richard’s gift, she decides, moving from one moment to the next, unscathed by whatever came before it while the rest of the world carries the burden of invisible wounds that will never heal. Perhaps that is how it is for those who were blessed with a carefree youth, or it could be a byproduct of his undying optimism. Whichever of the two, it occurs to her that people like her and Cara are drawn to each other because of such wounds.
“Kahlan,” he says, the name leaving his lips like a warm summer breeze. Unable to resist the pull of her presence, he steps out of bed wearing his red silk trousers, and wraps his arms around her, kissing her temple, still unsteady on his feet. “You look tired,” he says, furrowing his brow. All Kahlan can manage by way of reply is a weak smile. Explaining that she’s lost the ability to achieve sleep without feeling Cara’s body pressed to her own isn’t a conversation she is ready to have, not when he’s looking at her with so much tenderness and concern in his eyes.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. There is so much left to do.” Darken Rahl is dead and for that Kahlan is grateful, but D’Hara -- the real D’Hara -- has been without a ruler for months. The time has come for Richard to take the throne that is his birthright -- and his obligation. D’Hara and the Midlands have paid a high price for his unwillingness to do so after they saved the world. Her travels with Richard, and those with Cara, have done away with any illusions she may have clung to in the past. In her heart, she knows that had she done her duty by doing away with the male Confessor born to her sister, the massacre at Valeria may have been avoided. Never again will she allow anyone to sway her opinion as the Seeker had done back then. Richard Rahl will take the throne of D’Hara, even if it is under confession. It will break her heart to do it, but leaving the people of D’Hara to perish would make her no less of a tyrant than Darken Rahl.
The Seeker shakes his head and smiles, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s finally over, Kahlan. We’re free to begin our life together, that’s all that matters. Everything else will take care of itself.”
“No, Richard, not this time. I won’t allow it. You will see to the well-being of your people.” Her tone sends a chill through to his very bones. It’s the Mother Confessor of the Midlands who’s addressing him and he knows what she expects of him.
Releasing a deep sigh, he leans his forehead on hers and stays there for a long moment. “It isn’t the life I want for us, Kahlan. It never has been but I know you’re right. I’ll need your help.”
Her hands go to his cheeks, grateful that he isn’t fighting her on this, that he’s finally willing to grow up. “Of course I’ll help you,” she says. It’s at that moment that, sensing Cara’s presence, Kahlan turns around with a smile on her face, only to have it disappear when she notices the Cara is leaning on the doorframe with her pack in tow.
Stepping out of Richard’s arms to stand next to Cara, she closes her eyes for a moment before meeting Cara’s gaze. “You’re leaving,” she says, in a whisper.
“I am,” Cara says, looking between Kahlan and the Seeker with a deep crease between her brows.
Inexplicably, Kahlan busies herself tightening the laces of Cara’s leathers, and attempting to adjust the buckles of the neck-guard the Mord’Sith hadn’t worn in months, but the trembling of her hands renders the task insurmountable. Cara takes hold of Kahlan’s hands and presses them to her own chest, holding them there until the trembling stops. “Spirits, I don’t know how to say goodbye to you.” Already, she’s struggling to hold back tears. “Where will you go?”
The Seeker, who stands riveted by the exchange, says, “If I am to take the throne of D’Hara, I could use a good fighter.”
“Richard,” Kahlan says, glaring at him over her shoulder.
Cara looses a derisive chuckle and shakes her head. “I’ve been used enough by the House of Rahl.” She starts to leave but Kahlan’s arms wrap around her, holding her in place until Cara returns the embrace. Resting her chin on Kahlan’s shoulder, she closes her eyes.
“You could go back to the castle,” Kahlan says, still holding Cara in her arms. “Once things are settled here…” she trails off, knowing that she hasn’t anything concrete to offer. Her own life feels like a series of unanswered questions at this point. Cara’s silence, however, speaks for itself. She’s made a decision and will not be swayed from it.
“I’ll never forget you,” Kahlan says, no longer able to keep the tears at bay.
“Nor will I ever forget you, Mother Confessor.” With that, Cara Mason leaves the illusionary People’s Palace with no particular destination, for one place is as good as the next for someone for whom there has never been a place in this world.
“What was that?” Richard asks in as demanding a tone as Kahlan has ever heard him employ.
“Not now,” she says, walking out of his room and into the one in which Cara had spent the night. Burying her face in the pillow on which she can still smell the scent of Cara’s hair, she allows herself to cry as she hadn’t done in years.
***
Cara mounts her horse without paying any mind to the reins, allowing her animal to set both the pace and the destination. Everywhere she turns, the scenery seems completely foreign. It’s almost as if she’s stepped into a dream or perhaps out of one. If Kahlan were here she’d call it a beautiful day but for Cara, the light is far too bright, blindingly so, and those birds chirping -- it’s a deafening sound that reverberates throughout her body, making her feel as if her bones will shatter from it.
It is well past sunset when it occurs to her that she hasn’t any supplies. Her appetite having left her, she decides to take rest by a stream and worry about the supplies tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that. All she has now is an endless supply of tomorrows -- none of which she knows how to put to good use. A Mord’Sith should always have a plan but she isn’t a Mord’Sith anymore; she’s a lonely traveler on a lonely road to nowhere.
***
It takes her most of the day, but Kahlan is finally ready to face her responsibilities. Cara is gone but life doesn’t stop because of it. She finds Richard in the dining hall taking his evening meal, along with Zedd and Nicci. The witch’s eyes light up when she see her mistress, while Richard’s brow furrows, still bothered by the exchange he’d witnessed between Kahlan and the Mord’Sith.
“Sit, child, you must be starving.” The Wizard smiles warmly, squeezing her shoulder before filling a plate for her.
Kahlan stares down at her food for a long moment trying to decide whether she’s hungry or not. In the end, she takes a few bites before pushing the plate aside. “We need to draft a treaty,” she says, all eyes turning toward her. “D’Hara and the Midlands must find common ground.”
Richard’s eyes soften. “That won’t be a problem. We love each other, what more common ground could there be than that?”
She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow and placing both her palms on the table. “This has nothing to do with our personal relationship. We are the rulers of two nations that have been at war for generations.”
Noticing the disdain in her Mistress’s voice, Nicci flies to her side and cheerfully asks, “Will it please you if I kill him, Mistress?”
Kahlan rolls her eyes, releasing a long-suffering sigh. Between Richard’s infantile view of politics and the homicidal confessed witch, she’s ready to crawl back into bed. “No, Nicci, don’t kill Richard.”
“Thank you,” Richard says, having been a bit concerned by how long it took Kahlan to call off the witch. “Let’s go back upstairs.”
Once they are alone, Richard cups her cheeks, and says, “Whatever happened while we were away from each other is in the past. All that matters is that you’re here now.” He presses their lips together for a moment, and adds, “I love you, Kahlan.” Closing her eyes, Kahlan allows herself to take comfort in his words, and in his embrace. “Let’s get ready for bed. The treaty can wait until morning.” She smiles weakly and reaches into her pack for her shift. Ever the gentleman, Richard steps into the other room, allowing her some privacy. She feels nothing but gratitude for his tenderness.
Kahlan slips into bed and Richard soon joins her. The feel of his arms around her and his soft kisses on her neck bring her much needed comfort, as do his hands caressing her back. During their travels together there’d been many intimate nights like this one. Kahlan closes her eyes, feeling the tension release from shoulders. His hands instinctively travel down to her hips, drawing their bodies closer. When she feels evidence of his desire for her pressed against her belly, her body stiffens and, much to his dismay, she pushes him away; that hadn’t been the response he’d expected. “Spirits, I can’t do this,” she says, pulling up the sheet to cover herself.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, with a pained expression on his face, “I’m as immune to confession as I was at the Pillars of Creation.”
“I, I need time,” she says, on the verge of tears.
Richard shuts his eyes and grimaces. “Of course you do,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “Kahlan, I’m so sorry. I just thought… It was insensitive of me. I’ll sleep in the other room.”
“No, you stay, I’ll go.” With that, she picks up her pack and walks back to the room where Cara had slept. This is all far more difficult than she’d imagined.
***
In the days that follow, the Mother Confessor sits alone in the room that had been Cara’s for a single night, working tirelessly at drafting a treaty that will serve the interest of both the Midlands and D’Hara. Its primary goal is achieving a lasting peace between the two warring nations that will ultimately lead to stability in all of the territories. Her current bout of insomnia has served her well, for all of her sleepless nights have been dedicated to the task.
“Where do I sign?” Richard asks when she presents him with the document -- that ever-present boyish grin of his, perfectly complementing the playfulness with which he reaches up to twirl locks of hair on either side of her head.
Only there is no trace of playfulness on the Mother Confessor’s face. “Richard, you can’t just sign it. You have to read it and determine if it serves the well-being of your people.”
“I trust your judgment. And besides, I’m not a politician, Kahlan. I can’t just sit around the People’s Palace barking out orders. What of my responsibilities as the Seeker? The people need me.” Kahlan tilts her head, listening to his list of excuses and watching him shift from side to side like a schoolboy trying to get out of his lessons.
For years, Kahlan has balanced her responsibility to the Seeker with her duties as the Mother Confessor. It hasn’t been easy but she’s done it. One way or another, Richard will as well. “You’ll have to find a way,” she says, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her.
Setting aside her frustrations, she spends the afternoon working out the details of dismantling this illusionary palace and getting what’s left of the troops and servants back to D’Hara. There is also the dilemma as to what to do with Nicci. While she is quite solicitous under confession, if anything were to happen to Kahlan she’d surely unleash her wrath on the entire world. All of these concerns will have to wait until after their evening meal. Given her inability to find sleep, skipping meals as well is out of the question.
“I’ve been doing some research,” the Wizard says, between mouthfuls of food. “As I suspected, that was no ordinary weapon your friend had strapped to her back. Where did she get it?” Kahlan doesn’t look up from her plate, reluctant to discuss a topic she feels belongs to her and Cara alone. “Well,” the Wizard continues, “the weapon is said to have been kept in the City of Cagliari, not too far from here, waiting for a Champion brave enough to battle the fiercest of enemies.”
“Mistress, may I speak?” Nicci asks. Releasing a deep sigh, Kahlan nods in assent.
“The Wizard’s research skills, much like his mediocre Han, are seriously lacking.” Ignoring his consternation, she continues -- addressing only her Mistress. “It has been long prophesied that one person alone will be born into this world with a soul so pure no amount of evil can tarnish it. If that soul were to meet its twin, then the stars would align so that the Champion can claim the weapon and use it to end tyranny across all of the land.”
“Yes, I knew that,” the Wizard snaps, “but clearly this Champion can’t be a Mord’Sith so she must have gotten hold of the sword by some other means.”
“You’re wrong,” Kahlan says to him, tossing aside her napkin and leaving the table without another word.
Richard finds her looking out of the large window in the room that has also become her makeshift office. He walks up behind her, encircling her waist. “I read over the treaty and made a list of some points that could be problematic.” His tone is at once soothing and apologetic. When he turns her around in his arms, he finds her eyes filled with tears. “Kahlan, what’s wrong? This can’t be about the treaty.”
“I miss her, Richard. I miss her so much I can hardly breathe.” She wipes the tears from her eyes but they are soon replaced by new ones.
Richard cups her cheeks, and says, “She was your sister, Kahlan, of course you miss her.” They both know she hadn’t been speaking of Dennee.
“I made peace with my sister’s death months ago and even forgave the person at whose hand she died. This isn’t about Dennee.”
The Seeker’s chin drops to his chest and his hands to his sides. “Do you love her?”
Kahlan closes her eyes for a moment, and is instantly flooded with images of her time with Cara. “I do,” she says, lifting her palms to the sky, “but it’s more than that. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since she left. It’s as if a part of me is missing, and sleep without her beside me is impossible. Everything feels wrong since she left.” Richard pulls her into his arms and holds her there until her sobs subside. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” she says, “but I’m not sorry I fell in love with her.”
He pulls away from her enough to look her in the eyes, and tucks strays locks behind each of her ears. “Don’t be sorry. We both lived our lives while we were away from each other. The Mord’Sith, does she feel the same?”
With a sad smile, Kahlan says, “I think she does, yes.” She pauses for a moment, fighting back the tears. “Richard, she’s so good to me, and so good for me. She makes me feel beautiful and strong. She makes me…Cara makes me happy.”
“Then you have to go to her,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “There is someone who deserves better from me than what I’ve given her since you arrived.”
“You care for her, then,” Kahlan, says.
“I do. My mistake was holding you up for comparison. She wants to be a wife and mother, nothing more but that is all I’ve ever wanted in a mate. Now go, I’ll take care of things here.” Kahlan throws her arms around his neck and holds him there for a long moment. She too was guilty of using a measuring stick only to conclude that Richard fell far short of Cara.
Author: ortunata13
Pairing: ara/Kahlan
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4098
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Most certainly, I do not own these characters.
Summary: The quest is over. Cara and Kahlan achieved their respective goals. Darken Rahl is dead and the Seeker of Truth is safe. All is well with the world, except maybe it isn't because, as we all know, winning isn't always all it's cracked up to be.
A/N: I apologize for the delay in posting. Life gets complicated from time to time.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 part 1 | 6 part 2 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Chapter 13
Letting Go
At that very moment, Rahl’s decapitated body ceases its twitching and the entire world seems to falter. Cara walks out of the glass room, limping and bloodied, taking comfort in Kahlan’s arms but only for a moment. The Hall of Mirrors is crumbling as is the rest of the Palace. “Nicci,” Kahlan calls out, “use your Han to keep the Palace in place.” She then runs toward the Seeker, who is flat on his back writhing with pain -- his grandfather at his side. “What’s wrong with him?” Kahlan asks, kneeling beside him.
“Richard’s Han returned to his body when Rahl died, but he wasn’t prepared for it. It’s a wonder he survived at all,” the Wizard says, “I have to get him back to his quarters.”
“Go,” Kahlan says.
She turns around, her eyes searching for the Mord’Sith but it’s as if she’s vanished. All around her, servants, witches, and soldiers are fleeing the Palace. Nicci is invoking some sort of incantation to hold the place together but apparently it’s quite lengthy. Everything, including the ground beneath Kahlan’s feet, is on the verge of collapsing. “The library,” Kahlan mumbles, certain that she will find Cara there. Given the mayhem, making her way to Cara will be a challenge but she has no intention of allowing anything or anyone to get in her way.
She’s right, of course, Cara is sitting in Berdine’s chair -- or rather its replica -- in complete darkness, holding the Champion’s sword in her hand. The aftermath of killing Darken Rahl isn’t at all what she’d expected. While having kept her promise to Berdine is a weight off her shoulders, it doesn’t change anything, not really. It occurs to her that, much like this room, the entire world is an illusion, a parlor trick with her as its prisoner. She feels as completely alone as she did months ago, watching her Mord’Sith leathers fade into ashes over a campfire. Only this time it’s worse: there is no mission and there is no Kahlan. The Mother Confessor may be the last of her kind, but she has an entire life eagerly awaiting her return. Cara will have to forge her own path in a world that has failed her time and again.
“Cara?” Kahlan calls out, as she enters the dark room. “Spirits, please be here.”
After a long silence, Cara strikes a match to her boot and lights the lamp on the desk. “I knew you’d be here.” Her hand goes to Cara’s chin, inspecting the various cuts and bruises. “Let’s get you to Zedd. He’ll heal these for you.” Cara doesn’t move, instead she studies Kahlan’s face attempting to discern if she too is an illusion. “Cara, please, say something. You’re scaring me.”
The anguish in Kahlan’s voice snaps Cara out of her stupor. “I’m fine,” she says, staring into the flickering flame that lights the room. Not knowing what else to do, Kahlan pulls up a chair and sits next to her. Her mind is dizzy with questions but this isn’t the time to ask them. She can’t read Cara but she can sense that something in her has changed; she feels distant and broken. Kahlan hadn’t expected jubilance from the Mord’Sith, but certainly not this profound sadness. “The Seeker?” Cara asks, without looking up at her.
It takes Kahlan a moment to process the question. Her concern for Cara had pushed everything else to the back of her mind. “Zedd is with him. The Han returning to his body was too much for him.”
“Shouldn’t you…?” she trails off gesturing with her hand toward the door.
“I should,” Kahlan says, “Nicci has probably killed the entire D’Haran army by now. Come with me, please.” Cara looks up at her, furrowing her brow as if she’d spoken in a foreign tongue. “Please,” Kahlan says, this time extending her hand. Cara nods and rises to her feet, but Kahlan’s hand remains empty. Instead, the Mord’Sith shoulders her pack and blows out the flame, signaling she will never return to the library again.
As they make their way back to the others, Cara surveys the crumbling Palace with a curiosity of sorts. The walls around them move in blurry waves of energy, magical energy she supposes. Stopping for a moment, she stretches out her arm, and puts her hand through the wall. “What a world,” she says, shaking her head. Kahlan smiles a sad smile and squeezes Cara’s hand, as if trying to convey that some things are real. Just then, Nicci finishes the spell, and the Palace is, once again, whole. Whether Cara will ever be whole again remains to be seen.
“Zedd,” Kahlan says, when they reach Richard’s chambers, “Cara’s wounds.” The Wizard nods without leaving his grandson’s side, and mumbles a few unintelligible words. The bulk of Cara’s injuries vanish, but the ache behind her ribcage will not budge.
“How is he?” Kahlan asks, sitting down on the edge of the Seeker’s bed and placing her hand on his cheek.
“The boy is strong,” he says, with a grandfather’s pride, “it will take a few days of rest but he’ll be fine.”
Kahlan’s gaze moves to the Mord’Sith leaning against the doorframe who looks as if her own legs aren’t enough to keep her upright. “I think we can all use some rest.”
“The room across the hall is empty. Cara can rest there,” the Wizard says, “Richard will be glad to find you next to him in the morning.” Without saying a word, Cara picks up her pack and walks out.
Just as Kahlan rises to follow Cara, the Seeker calls out Kahlan’s name, leaving her frozen in place for a moment. Finally sitting back down at his bedside, Kahlan finds his hand reaching for hers. “Rest,” she says, lying down next to him as he drifts off to sleep. The Wizard gingerly walks out, closing the door behind him. Kahlan stares up at the ceiling, hoping sleep will find her but already knowing that it won’t -- not without Cara beside her.
Cara enters the empty room, dropping her pack on the ground, and climbing onto the bed -- still fully clothed. She sits there, hugging her knees to her chest for nearly three candlemarks. Her eyes never leaving the door, certain that at any moment the Mother Confessor will walk in and take her place next to her on the bed. It’s only when her eyelids are too heavy with sleep to wait any longer that she takes off her boots and crawls under the covers. Kahlan isn’t coming, not on this night or any other. As she drifts into sleep she can feel the ghost of Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her, knowing that there will never be a night in which she will not long for those arms.
It is almost daybreak when Kahlan finally gives up on finding sleep and decides to look in on Cara. She finds the Mord’Sith curled up into her own body, with her fist clutching the blanket that covers her as if it were the one thing keeping her safely in place. Seeing her like that brings up images of that child by the stream whom she failed to keep well all those years ago. She stays there for a long time watching Cara sleep, tempted to crawl under the covers with her, knowing that if she does she’ll surely find sleep. But already the light of the morning sun shimmers in Cara’s hair, and soon she’ll make those little noises that, for months, have caused the corners Kahlan’s mouth to curl into a smile even before she’s fully awake. Not willing to disturb the Mord’Sith’s sleep, she settles for a light brush of her nose to Cara’s earlobe. Just as quietly as she walked in, she walks out and returns to Richard.
She finds him sitting up in bed with that familiar grin on his face, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. That’s Richard’s gift, she decides, moving from one moment to the next, unscathed by whatever came before it while the rest of the world carries the burden of invisible wounds that will never heal. Perhaps that is how it is for those who were blessed with a carefree youth, or it could be a byproduct of his undying optimism. Whichever of the two, it occurs to her that people like her and Cara are drawn to each other because of such wounds.
“Kahlan,” he says, the name leaving his lips like a warm summer breeze. Unable to resist the pull of her presence, he steps out of bed wearing his red silk trousers, and wraps his arms around her, kissing her temple, still unsteady on his feet. “You look tired,” he says, furrowing his brow. All Kahlan can manage by way of reply is a weak smile. Explaining that she’s lost the ability to achieve sleep without feeling Cara’s body pressed to her own isn’t a conversation she is ready to have, not when he’s looking at her with so much tenderness and concern in his eyes.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better. There is so much left to do.” Darken Rahl is dead and for that Kahlan is grateful, but D’Hara -- the real D’Hara -- has been without a ruler for months. The time has come for Richard to take the throne that is his birthright -- and his obligation. D’Hara and the Midlands have paid a high price for his unwillingness to do so after they saved the world. Her travels with Richard, and those with Cara, have done away with any illusions she may have clung to in the past. In her heart, she knows that had she done her duty by doing away with the male Confessor born to her sister, the massacre at Valeria may have been avoided. Never again will she allow anyone to sway her opinion as the Seeker had done back then. Richard Rahl will take the throne of D’Hara, even if it is under confession. It will break her heart to do it, but leaving the people of D’Hara to perish would make her no less of a tyrant than Darken Rahl.
The Seeker shakes his head and smiles, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s finally over, Kahlan. We’re free to begin our life together, that’s all that matters. Everything else will take care of itself.”
“No, Richard, not this time. I won’t allow it. You will see to the well-being of your people.” Her tone sends a chill through to his very bones. It’s the Mother Confessor of the Midlands who’s addressing him and he knows what she expects of him.
Releasing a deep sigh, he leans his forehead on hers and stays there for a long moment. “It isn’t the life I want for us, Kahlan. It never has been but I know you’re right. I’ll need your help.”
Her hands go to his cheeks, grateful that he isn’t fighting her on this, that he’s finally willing to grow up. “Of course I’ll help you,” she says. It’s at that moment that, sensing Cara’s presence, Kahlan turns around with a smile on her face, only to have it disappear when she notices the Cara is leaning on the doorframe with her pack in tow.
Stepping out of Richard’s arms to stand next to Cara, she closes her eyes for a moment before meeting Cara’s gaze. “You’re leaving,” she says, in a whisper.
“I am,” Cara says, looking between Kahlan and the Seeker with a deep crease between her brows.
Inexplicably, Kahlan busies herself tightening the laces of Cara’s leathers, and attempting to adjust the buckles of the neck-guard the Mord’Sith hadn’t worn in months, but the trembling of her hands renders the task insurmountable. Cara takes hold of Kahlan’s hands and presses them to her own chest, holding them there until the trembling stops. “Spirits, I don’t know how to say goodbye to you.” Already, she’s struggling to hold back tears. “Where will you go?”
The Seeker, who stands riveted by the exchange, says, “If I am to take the throne of D’Hara, I could use a good fighter.”
“Richard,” Kahlan says, glaring at him over her shoulder.
Cara looses a derisive chuckle and shakes her head. “I’ve been used enough by the House of Rahl.” She starts to leave but Kahlan’s arms wrap around her, holding her in place until Cara returns the embrace. Resting her chin on Kahlan’s shoulder, she closes her eyes.
“You could go back to the castle,” Kahlan says, still holding Cara in her arms. “Once things are settled here…” she trails off, knowing that she hasn’t anything concrete to offer. Her own life feels like a series of unanswered questions at this point. Cara’s silence, however, speaks for itself. She’s made a decision and will not be swayed from it.
“I’ll never forget you,” Kahlan says, no longer able to keep the tears at bay.
“Nor will I ever forget you, Mother Confessor.” With that, Cara Mason leaves the illusionary People’s Palace with no particular destination, for one place is as good as the next for someone for whom there has never been a place in this world.
“What was that?” Richard asks in as demanding a tone as Kahlan has ever heard him employ.
“Not now,” she says, walking out of his room and into the one in which Cara had spent the night. Burying her face in the pillow on which she can still smell the scent of Cara’s hair, she allows herself to cry as she hadn’t done in years.
***
Cara mounts her horse without paying any mind to the reins, allowing her animal to set both the pace and the destination. Everywhere she turns, the scenery seems completely foreign. It’s almost as if she’s stepped into a dream or perhaps out of one. If Kahlan were here she’d call it a beautiful day but for Cara, the light is far too bright, blindingly so, and those birds chirping -- it’s a deafening sound that reverberates throughout her body, making her feel as if her bones will shatter from it.
It is well past sunset when it occurs to her that she hasn’t any supplies. Her appetite having left her, she decides to take rest by a stream and worry about the supplies tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that. All she has now is an endless supply of tomorrows -- none of which she knows how to put to good use. A Mord’Sith should always have a plan but she isn’t a Mord’Sith anymore; she’s a lonely traveler on a lonely road to nowhere.
***
It takes her most of the day, but Kahlan is finally ready to face her responsibilities. Cara is gone but life doesn’t stop because of it. She finds Richard in the dining hall taking his evening meal, along with Zedd and Nicci. The witch’s eyes light up when she see her mistress, while Richard’s brow furrows, still bothered by the exchange he’d witnessed between Kahlan and the Mord’Sith.
“Sit, child, you must be starving.” The Wizard smiles warmly, squeezing her shoulder before filling a plate for her.
Kahlan stares down at her food for a long moment trying to decide whether she’s hungry or not. In the end, she takes a few bites before pushing the plate aside. “We need to draft a treaty,” she says, all eyes turning toward her. “D’Hara and the Midlands must find common ground.”
Richard’s eyes soften. “That won’t be a problem. We love each other, what more common ground could there be than that?”
She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow and placing both her palms on the table. “This has nothing to do with our personal relationship. We are the rulers of two nations that have been at war for generations.”
Noticing the disdain in her Mistress’s voice, Nicci flies to her side and cheerfully asks, “Will it please you if I kill him, Mistress?”
Kahlan rolls her eyes, releasing a long-suffering sigh. Between Richard’s infantile view of politics and the homicidal confessed witch, she’s ready to crawl back into bed. “No, Nicci, don’t kill Richard.”
“Thank you,” Richard says, having been a bit concerned by how long it took Kahlan to call off the witch. “Let’s go back upstairs.”
Once they are alone, Richard cups her cheeks, and says, “Whatever happened while we were away from each other is in the past. All that matters is that you’re here now.” He presses their lips together for a moment, and adds, “I love you, Kahlan.” Closing her eyes, Kahlan allows herself to take comfort in his words, and in his embrace. “Let’s get ready for bed. The treaty can wait until morning.” She smiles weakly and reaches into her pack for her shift. Ever the gentleman, Richard steps into the other room, allowing her some privacy. She feels nothing but gratitude for his tenderness.
Kahlan slips into bed and Richard soon joins her. The feel of his arms around her and his soft kisses on her neck bring her much needed comfort, as do his hands caressing her back. During their travels together there’d been many intimate nights like this one. Kahlan closes her eyes, feeling the tension release from shoulders. His hands instinctively travel down to her hips, drawing their bodies closer. When she feels evidence of his desire for her pressed against her belly, her body stiffens and, much to his dismay, she pushes him away; that hadn’t been the response he’d expected. “Spirits, I can’t do this,” she says, pulling up the sheet to cover herself.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, with a pained expression on his face, “I’m as immune to confession as I was at the Pillars of Creation.”
“I, I need time,” she says, on the verge of tears.
Richard shuts his eyes and grimaces. “Of course you do,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “Kahlan, I’m so sorry. I just thought… It was insensitive of me. I’ll sleep in the other room.”
“No, you stay, I’ll go.” With that, she picks up her pack and walks back to the room where Cara had slept. This is all far more difficult than she’d imagined.
***
In the days that follow, the Mother Confessor sits alone in the room that had been Cara’s for a single night, working tirelessly at drafting a treaty that will serve the interest of both the Midlands and D’Hara. Its primary goal is achieving a lasting peace between the two warring nations that will ultimately lead to stability in all of the territories. Her current bout of insomnia has served her well, for all of her sleepless nights have been dedicated to the task.
“Where do I sign?” Richard asks when she presents him with the document -- that ever-present boyish grin of his, perfectly complementing the playfulness with which he reaches up to twirl locks of hair on either side of her head.
Only there is no trace of playfulness on the Mother Confessor’s face. “Richard, you can’t just sign it. You have to read it and determine if it serves the well-being of your people.”
“I trust your judgment. And besides, I’m not a politician, Kahlan. I can’t just sit around the People’s Palace barking out orders. What of my responsibilities as the Seeker? The people need me.” Kahlan tilts her head, listening to his list of excuses and watching him shift from side to side like a schoolboy trying to get out of his lessons.
For years, Kahlan has balanced her responsibility to the Seeker with her duties as the Mother Confessor. It hasn’t been easy but she’s done it. One way or another, Richard will as well. “You’ll have to find a way,” she says, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her.
Setting aside her frustrations, she spends the afternoon working out the details of dismantling this illusionary palace and getting what’s left of the troops and servants back to D’Hara. There is also the dilemma as to what to do with Nicci. While she is quite solicitous under confession, if anything were to happen to Kahlan she’d surely unleash her wrath on the entire world. All of these concerns will have to wait until after their evening meal. Given her inability to find sleep, skipping meals as well is out of the question.
“I’ve been doing some research,” the Wizard says, between mouthfuls of food. “As I suspected, that was no ordinary weapon your friend had strapped to her back. Where did she get it?” Kahlan doesn’t look up from her plate, reluctant to discuss a topic she feels belongs to her and Cara alone. “Well,” the Wizard continues, “the weapon is said to have been kept in the City of Cagliari, not too far from here, waiting for a Champion brave enough to battle the fiercest of enemies.”
“Mistress, may I speak?” Nicci asks. Releasing a deep sigh, Kahlan nods in assent.
“The Wizard’s research skills, much like his mediocre Han, are seriously lacking.” Ignoring his consternation, she continues -- addressing only her Mistress. “It has been long prophesied that one person alone will be born into this world with a soul so pure no amount of evil can tarnish it. If that soul were to meet its twin, then the stars would align so that the Champion can claim the weapon and use it to end tyranny across all of the land.”
“Yes, I knew that,” the Wizard snaps, “but clearly this Champion can’t be a Mord’Sith so she must have gotten hold of the sword by some other means.”
“You’re wrong,” Kahlan says to him, tossing aside her napkin and leaving the table without another word.
Richard finds her looking out of the large window in the room that has also become her makeshift office. He walks up behind her, encircling her waist. “I read over the treaty and made a list of some points that could be problematic.” His tone is at once soothing and apologetic. When he turns her around in his arms, he finds her eyes filled with tears. “Kahlan, what’s wrong? This can’t be about the treaty.”
“I miss her, Richard. I miss her so much I can hardly breathe.” She wipes the tears from her eyes but they are soon replaced by new ones.
Richard cups her cheeks, and says, “She was your sister, Kahlan, of course you miss her.” They both know she hadn’t been speaking of Dennee.
“I made peace with my sister’s death months ago and even forgave the person at whose hand she died. This isn’t about Dennee.”
The Seeker’s chin drops to his chest and his hands to his sides. “Do you love her?”
Kahlan closes her eyes for a moment, and is instantly flooded with images of her time with Cara. “I do,” she says, lifting her palms to the sky, “but it’s more than that. I haven’t had a moment’s peace since she left. It’s as if a part of me is missing, and sleep without her beside me is impossible. Everything feels wrong since she left.” Richard pulls her into his arms and holds her there until her sobs subside. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” she says, “but I’m not sorry I fell in love with her.”
He pulls away from her enough to look her in the eyes, and tucks strays locks behind each of her ears. “Don’t be sorry. We both lived our lives while we were away from each other. The Mord’Sith, does she feel the same?”
With a sad smile, Kahlan says, “I think she does, yes.” She pauses for a moment, fighting back the tears. “Richard, she’s so good to me, and so good for me. She makes me feel beautiful and strong. She makes me…Cara makes me happy.”
“Then you have to go to her,” he says, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “There is someone who deserves better from me than what I’ve given her since you arrived.”
“You care for her, then,” Kahlan, says.
“I do. My mistake was holding you up for comparison. She wants to be a wife and mother, nothing more but that is all I’ve ever wanted in a mate. Now go, I’ll take care of things here.” Kahlan throws her arms around his neck and holds him there for a long moment. She too was guilty of using a measuring stick only to conclude that Richard fell far short of Cara.