Made
Cara hid her nervous excitement behind the stare of a sphinx. It was the blank look, the predator’s watching eyes, the glare of the knowing huntress that all Mord’Sith perfected in some way or another.
Today, she would meet Lord Rahl.
She had been training for years for this moment. The torture of the Agiels, the growing understanding that serving Lord Rahl was the only path to glory, the grueling combat drills.
Finally the trials, the final scream of her childhood as she avenged herself on her father, the approving half smile of the training mistress as Cara was granted her red leathers and her Agiel.
The sweet sing of pain up her arm as the Agiel, her Agiel, whined high in her hand for the very first time.
The following years of boring assignments and guard duty, breaking men hardly worth the effort.
And then the summons.
Lord Rahl was traveling and required an escort.
The First Mistress of the temple chose Cara.
Cara did not care why. Whether it was because the mistress considered her worthy or because there was no one else remotely competent to send, it did not matter.
All that mattered was that Cara was going to be able to prove her worth to Lord Rahl.
And then…
Cara cut her eyes at the mistress of Jondralyn, who rode beside her.
There were two unspoken rules among the Mord’Sith.
Solidarity against outsiders.
And might makes right.
Cara could not hope to gain control over her fate and her favored companion Dahlia’s without first gaining a political advantage against her own mistress.
What better way than to become one of the favored few of Lord Rahl himself?
She did not even acknowledge the possibility that she would not succeed.
When she first laid eyes on him she was surprised. She had imagined him much… bigger somehow. He was attractive, with his dark hair and muscular arms, but he lacked the raw waves of presence she had expected.
That was, of course, before she looked into his eyes.
They were a striking clear blue that looked straight into her spirit. She was certain that in one glance her every mutinous thought, her every strength and weakness had been analyzed.
Lord Rahl knew her heart in a glance.
It was a very disconcerting feeling.
Darken glanced at the young blonde Mord’Sith Mistress Bekah had brought with her. He had not seen this particular Mord’Sith before. He continued to watch her from the corner of his eye, deciding he liked the way she moved, the spark in her eyes.
Perhaps he would take her to his bed when they reached their destination.
Cara rode proud and straight at the side of Lord Rahl, trying not to choke on the dust kicked up by the horses of the soldiers around them. She was not important enough to know the reason for Lord Rahl’s journey.
But she would be. Soon.
They came to a fork in the road. The path to the left was overhung by the branches of enormous trees. Sheer cliffs rose on either side of the path to the right. Consulting his journey book and narrowing those piercing hawk eyes at the path ahead, Lord Rahl signaled for them to take the road to the left.
“Lord Rahl, if I may,” Cara began, breaking all the rules of protocol she had been taught at the point of a knife, “the canyon provides the safer path. The walls are too sheer for enemies to scale. Not like the trees.”
Mistress Bekah glared, and Cara knew the only thing saving her from a sharp reprimand and even sharper slap was the fact that Lord Rahl rode between them.
Cara waited with baited breath, knowing that this moment might make or break her future in an instant.
Darken allowed his gaze to slowly fall upon the impertinent Mord’Sith. She did not fidget, to her credit. She did not even drop her eyes.
They were an intriguing green.
“What,” he said, his voice like heavy black velvet - capable of both providing a soft caress and cloaking sharp steel until it was too late, “is your name?”
“Cara, my lord.”
“Cara,” Darken rolled the name over his tongue, testing the feel of it upon his lips. He rubbed at them with the second finger of his right hand, a habit from childhood.
His lips tingled.
“We will take the path to the left. It is the shorter distance.”
“My lord -”
“Ah, ah, Cara,” Lord Rahl said, leaning in his saddle to caress Cara’s face, his thumb over her mouth, “I have made my decision.”
Cara closed her eyes, fighting the desire to lean into his touch.
She grazed his thumb with the barest tip of her tongue, her eyes hooded.
Lord Rahl straightened in his saddle and they proceeded down the forested path.
Mistress Bekah was amazed that Cara still lived, and anxious to see how long that state of affairs could continue.
Mord’Sith were not to question Lord Rahl. If Cara continued to do so, she would be journey book ink by sunrise.
They were halfway through the forest when arrows rained from above. Darken’s horse reared, spooked by an arrow whizzing by its eye, threatening to overbalance and crush him.
As his soldiers drew their swords and swarmed into the trees, Cara jumped from her horse, running up to drag at the reins of his steed, pulling on the bridle with all her weight.
She could have been crushed by the powerful thrashing hooves, yet she fearlessly held on until Darken’s horse was on all fours again.
An arrow sprouted from her shoulder, though it did not penetrate deeply thanks to her protective leathers.
Before his eyes, she pulled it free, flinging it end over end back into the trees.
It was not that she had endangered her life for his. That was to be expected of all Mord’Sith. It was not even her bravery.
It was the way her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him from beneath sooty lashes.
It was the way she had dared to question him.
And been right.
Mord’Sith were taught that the Lord Rahl’s will was law. That order of things had always pleased Darken greatly. Yet, this Cara was different.
And it was not bad.
In fact, it was rather exciting. She presented a challenge.
They stopped at an Inn for the night. Darken paid the innkeeper handsomely not to broadcast his location.
Contrary to popular belief, being Lord Rahl was not all plunder and destruction. Nor was it all soft beds and willing women.
He watched Cara from the corner of his eye.
“Come,” he said to her, gently grasping her neck, teasing the tiny hairs at the base of her braid with his fingers, “I will tend your wound.”
She smiled at him and it was seductive and feral.
“It isn’t needed, Lord Rahl.”
Pulling her flush against his body, fingers splayed over the puncture in her leathers, he whispered in her ear, “I insist.”
The next morning, as they were mounting up, Cara knocked Bekah to the ground, standing on the older woman's hands before she could reach for her Agiel.
After a moment of struggle and a glance at Lord Rahl, Bekah conceded, knowing she could not win.
She was no match for Cara in her advancing years.
“I yield,” she said, eyes downcast.
“I yield, what?”
“Mistress Cara.”
Cara let her up and then mounted, taking her position as ranking Mord’Sith at Lord Rahl’s right.
Darken smirked, pleased with his fiery lioness.
Cara smirked back, pleased to be mistress of her own destiny.
Bekah mounted slowly, rubbing her wrists, face carefully blank.
She was pleased that her plan to choose a new First Mistress of Jondralyn had gone so well.
Today, she would meet Lord Rahl.
She had been training for years for this moment. The torture of the Agiels, the growing understanding that serving Lord Rahl was the only path to glory, the grueling combat drills.
Finally the trials, the final scream of her childhood as she avenged herself on her father, the approving half smile of the training mistress as Cara was granted her red leathers and her Agiel.
The sweet sing of pain up her arm as the Agiel, her Agiel, whined high in her hand for the very first time.
The following years of boring assignments and guard duty, breaking men hardly worth the effort.
And then the summons.
Lord Rahl was traveling and required an escort.
The First Mistress of the temple chose Cara.
Cara did not care why. Whether it was because the mistress considered her worthy or because there was no one else remotely competent to send, it did not matter.
All that mattered was that Cara was going to be able to prove her worth to Lord Rahl.
And then…
Cara cut her eyes at the mistress of Jondralyn, who rode beside her.
There were two unspoken rules among the Mord’Sith.
Solidarity against outsiders.
And might makes right.
Cara could not hope to gain control over her fate and her favored companion Dahlia’s without first gaining a political advantage against her own mistress.
What better way than to become one of the favored few of Lord Rahl himself?
She did not even acknowledge the possibility that she would not succeed.
When she first laid eyes on him she was surprised. She had imagined him much… bigger somehow. He was attractive, with his dark hair and muscular arms, but he lacked the raw waves of presence she had expected.
That was, of course, before she looked into his eyes.
They were a striking clear blue that looked straight into her spirit. She was certain that in one glance her every mutinous thought, her every strength and weakness had been analyzed.
Lord Rahl knew her heart in a glance.
It was a very disconcerting feeling.
Darken glanced at the young blonde Mord’Sith Mistress Bekah had brought with her. He had not seen this particular Mord’Sith before. He continued to watch her from the corner of his eye, deciding he liked the way she moved, the spark in her eyes.
Perhaps he would take her to his bed when they reached their destination.
Cara rode proud and straight at the side of Lord Rahl, trying not to choke on the dust kicked up by the horses of the soldiers around them. She was not important enough to know the reason for Lord Rahl’s journey.
But she would be. Soon.
They came to a fork in the road. The path to the left was overhung by the branches of enormous trees. Sheer cliffs rose on either side of the path to the right. Consulting his journey book and narrowing those piercing hawk eyes at the path ahead, Lord Rahl signaled for them to take the road to the left.
“Lord Rahl, if I may,” Cara began, breaking all the rules of protocol she had been taught at the point of a knife, “the canyon provides the safer path. The walls are too sheer for enemies to scale. Not like the trees.”
Mistress Bekah glared, and Cara knew the only thing saving her from a sharp reprimand and even sharper slap was the fact that Lord Rahl rode between them.
Cara waited with baited breath, knowing that this moment might make or break her future in an instant.
Darken allowed his gaze to slowly fall upon the impertinent Mord’Sith. She did not fidget, to her credit. She did not even drop her eyes.
They were an intriguing green.
“What,” he said, his voice like heavy black velvet - capable of both providing a soft caress and cloaking sharp steel until it was too late, “is your name?”
“Cara, my lord.”
“Cara,” Darken rolled the name over his tongue, testing the feel of it upon his lips. He rubbed at them with the second finger of his right hand, a habit from childhood.
His lips tingled.
“We will take the path to the left. It is the shorter distance.”
“My lord -”
“Ah, ah, Cara,” Lord Rahl said, leaning in his saddle to caress Cara’s face, his thumb over her mouth, “I have made my decision.”
Cara closed her eyes, fighting the desire to lean into his touch.
She grazed his thumb with the barest tip of her tongue, her eyes hooded.
Lord Rahl straightened in his saddle and they proceeded down the forested path.
Mistress Bekah was amazed that Cara still lived, and anxious to see how long that state of affairs could continue.
Mord’Sith were not to question Lord Rahl. If Cara continued to do so, she would be journey book ink by sunrise.
They were halfway through the forest when arrows rained from above. Darken’s horse reared, spooked by an arrow whizzing by its eye, threatening to overbalance and crush him.
As his soldiers drew their swords and swarmed into the trees, Cara jumped from her horse, running up to drag at the reins of his steed, pulling on the bridle with all her weight.
She could have been crushed by the powerful thrashing hooves, yet she fearlessly held on until Darken’s horse was on all fours again.
An arrow sprouted from her shoulder, though it did not penetrate deeply thanks to her protective leathers.
Before his eyes, she pulled it free, flinging it end over end back into the trees.
It was not that she had endangered her life for his. That was to be expected of all Mord’Sith. It was not even her bravery.
It was the way her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him from beneath sooty lashes.
It was the way she had dared to question him.
And been right.
Mord’Sith were taught that the Lord Rahl’s will was law. That order of things had always pleased Darken greatly. Yet, this Cara was different.
And it was not bad.
In fact, it was rather exciting. She presented a challenge.
They stopped at an Inn for the night. Darken paid the innkeeper handsomely not to broadcast his location.
Contrary to popular belief, being Lord Rahl was not all plunder and destruction. Nor was it all soft beds and willing women.
He watched Cara from the corner of his eye.
“Come,” he said to her, gently grasping her neck, teasing the tiny hairs at the base of her braid with his fingers, “I will tend your wound.”
She smiled at him and it was seductive and feral.
“It isn’t needed, Lord Rahl.”
Pulling her flush against his body, fingers splayed over the puncture in her leathers, he whispered in her ear, “I insist.”
The next morning, as they were mounting up, Cara knocked Bekah to the ground, standing on the older woman's hands before she could reach for her Agiel.
After a moment of struggle and a glance at Lord Rahl, Bekah conceded, knowing she could not win.
She was no match for Cara in her advancing years.
“I yield,” she said, eyes downcast.
“I yield, what?”
“Mistress Cara.”
Cara let her up and then mounted, taking her position as ranking Mord’Sith at Lord Rahl’s right.
Darken smirked, pleased with his fiery lioness.
Cara smirked back, pleased to be mistress of her own destiny.
Bekah mounted slowly, rubbing her wrists, face carefully blank.
She was pleased that her plan to choose a new First Mistress of Jondralyn had gone so well.