Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s the incessant pounding of the midday sun, coupled with the thickness of the air that is most unbearable. Even nights lack the respite that, in most lands, comes in the form of a cool breeze after the sun sets. Given the climate, the landscape should be thick and lush, but war and greed have left in their wake a vast wasteland in which barely anything can grow. At times, torrential rain exploding from the sky in blinding sheets, causing steam to rise from the ground as if water were boiling over a hot flame, replaces the scorching sunlight but is useless in easing the punishing heat.

Never again will a winter storm be a source of consternation, not after weeks of blisters, and sweat, and grime covering every speckle of skin that isn’t hidden under the thick leather of her travel dress. That such terrain exists is something she would have never fathomed. Not even the dry air and arid landscape of D’Hara is as unforgiving as this humid, bug-infested, wretched land in which she finds herself. Bugs that feast on her formerly flawless skin, odious flying creatures, easily ten times the size of those she remembers from the rare summer heat wave in Aydindril, are all over this land, which she has concluded came to be by a wave of the Keeper’s own hand.

She’d chosen this path because the map she’d been given by the seer weeks before showed this as the shortest route. Now she realizes that even several more weeks of travel would have been preferable to this tropical purgatory. The only positive aspect of it is that various resilient fruit trees were spared from the devastation; it is from them that she picks her meals. The sweet taste of exotic fruits, which she cannot name, serve as an elixir of sorts, giving her body just enough energy –– if not much strength –– to put one foot in front of the other. Her mount had fallen prey to a deadly snake bite a week earlier, leaving only her heat-exhausted legs to carry her. Kahlan decides that if she succeeds in rescuing Richard from Darken Rahl and the Sisters of the Dark, she will confess him if ever again he even contemplates deviating from a predetermined task. For it was his inability to turn away a buxom blonde claiming her life was in peril that led to his capture. Kahlan has yet to decide whether it was the Seeker’s kindheartedness, or the blonde’s plunging neckline that prompted him to immediately yield to her plea for help.

It is as she is gathering her belongings just before dawn that she hears a rider approaching. The hostile climate has at least served as a means of traveling unnoticed, for it would seem no one other than she had been foolish enough to venture this way. She listens attentively, but suddenly, it stops. Not taking any chances, she quickly draws her weapons and waits. After almost a full candlemark without hearing a sound, she sheathes her daggers but remains keenly alert as she walks on.

Moments later, as if by magic, a woman dressed in black leather armor from head to foot suddenly stands before her. Out of pure instinct, Kahlan’s hand wraps around the woman’s throat.

“Who are you, and why are you following me?” Kahlan fixes her gaze on the blonde woman’s eyes waiting to gauge the veracity of her words but sees nothing. “Before you respond, know that the price of a lie is the loss of your free will.”

“No, Confessor, you are mistaken. The price of a lie, in my case, is my life,” the woman retorts with a smirk on her face.

“Mord’Sith,” Kahlan says, equal parts statement and question, as she tightens her grip on the woman’s throat. “That can’t be possible. Darken Rahl, he killed…” she trails off.

“Much like yourself, I am the last of my kind, Confessor. Think of me as the one who got away.”

“If you are Mord’Sith, you must be a rather daft one if you would walk straight into the hands of a Confessor. Tell me, is this your chosen day to die?” Kahlan asks menacingly. “And what kind of Mord’Sith forgoes her agiel? That isn’t even Mord’Sith leather you are wearing.”

Kahlan’s words are met with no small amount of derision. “I’ve been tracking you for weeks, Confessor. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking that you caught me off guard. I’m here because I want to make certain you succeed on your mission.”

“A reformed Mord’Sith that wants to align herself with a Confessor, yes, that’s highly believable,” Kahlan says mockingly, raising an eyebrow for effect. “Now tell me, what are you really after? Unless you prefer to reply while begging my forgiveness with your last breath.”

“I am Mord’Sith, Confessor, I do not expect to live a long life. Darken Rahl’s new body has no magic. Those badly dressed whores created a spell that allows him to control the Seeker’s Han, and by extension, the bond. In return, the whores demanded that my kind be wiped out.”

“Of course, what could the Sisters of the Dark fear more than the magic against the magic?” Kahlan murmurs more to herself than to the Mord’Sith. After thinking for a long moment she says, “So you are out for vengeance and expect me to be your instrument?”

“Vengeance means nothing to my kind. This is a question of honor. Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl, the only thing we expect in return is an honorable death. His betrayal was not my sisters’ deaths; it was the disgraceful way in which they died.”

Kahlan isn’t sure what to make of her story, but she allows her hand to drop from the Mord’Sith’s throat. While she can’t read her, there is something about her that intrigues Kahlan. “Tell me, what do I have to gain by taking you with me?” Kahlan asks, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“For one, you will no longer have to climb trees for sustenance. Your various attempts at hunting were pathetic, by the way.” Kahlan does her best to look offended but the Mord’Sith spoke the truth. “I also have a horse which will hasten our travels. But more importantly, I will protect you with my life. All I ask in return is retribution for my sisters’ disgrace. Should I meet with death during this journey, can I count on you to kill our common enemy?”

“You can,” Kahlan says without hesitation. In truth, the implication that they will be eating something other than fruit had already sealed the deal. That the Mord’Sith does not carry an agiel makes this a calculated risk that she’s willing to take. “I will allow you to travel with me, but one wrong move and you are dead,” Kahlan says, thanking the Creator that her feet will have a chance to recuperate as well.

“Here,” the Mord’Sith says, reaching into her pack and tossing her a small jar, “salve for the bug bites and the sunburn.”

It is then that Kahlan notices that the blonde is completely unaffected by the stifling heat. “How can you possibly wear that in this climate?”

With a smug look on her face, she says, “When I realized you were taking this ridiculous route, I had my leathers spelled.” Kahlan considers confessing her just to take her spelled leathers, but decides it would be wrong.

Shortly after, the Mord’Sith returns on her horse and stretches out her hand to Kahlan, lifting her onto the saddle. “Press yourself tightly against me. It will help with the heat.” Kahlan looses a soft moan at the instant relief provided by the cool leather pressed against the front of her body. She wraps her arms even more tightly around the blonde’s waist and closes her eyes. This arrangement may not be so bad after all.
***

“What are you called?” Kahlan asks, realizing after a full day of travel that she doesn’t know her companion’s name.

“Cara Mason,” the Mord’Sith replies, pulling out some dry meat from her pack and tossing it to Kahlan without looking up at her.

"Cara,” Kahlan says in a whisper. The name echoes in her head over and over. It's important somehow, she's certain of it, but it's almost as if she's locked away the reason why it’s important in a place just beyond her reach. Instinctively, she gazes into the other woman’s eyes searching for answers but, of course, finds nothing.

Being in the company of someone who she can’t read is unnerving. It is as if one of her senses has failed her, causing the others to overcompensate. Without even realizing what she’s doing, Kahlan takes in every detail of her companion. Her mannerisms, the way her eyes constantly flicker from one thing to the next, the fullness of her lips, her lean firm physique, the way the glow of the moon reflects off her golden hair, she commits it all to memory hoping that somehow it will make up for the missing level of understanding she usually takes for granted. During the horseback ride, she’d molded her body to the Mord’Sith’s, inhaling the unique scent of the woman’s skin, mixed with the smell of leather and a hint of vanilla in her hair.

“Beautiful,” she says absentmindedly.

“What?” Cara asks, her brow slightly furrowed.

Realizing she’d said the word aloud, Kahlan quickly blurts out, “The night, it’s a beautiful night.”

***

While still conflicted about traveling with a Mord’Sith, Kahlan quickly realizes that the speed at which they are progressing outweighs the unease she feels. There is also a part of her that empathizes with the other woman. Never having fully accepted the notion that Mord’Sith were incapable of feelings, she is quite certain that Cara is experiencing the same isolation and despair that have plagued her since the massacre at Valeria. She is also keenly aware that bearing a child will reverse her fate, whereas the Mord’Sith has no such possibility: Mord’Sith are made, not born.

They follow Kahlan’s map for a fortnight, finally arriving at a structure that resembles the rough drawing made by the seer. ‘After that point, I am of no help to you,’ the seer had said. The words had echoed in Kahlan’s head for days. Now, confronted by a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, her worst fears are confirmed.

An arched structure as high as the tallest trees in the forest, covered by what appears to be limestone, stands before them. There are a series of images etched into it, drawings that seem to tell a story but neither of them can decipher it. The two most prominent figures appear to be those of two women, one of which has a sword strapped to her back, but that isn’t important now. Their focus is traversing the arch. Its opening can easily accommodate their passage but an invisible barrier prevents them from crossing to the other side. Kahlan recalls another barrier she’d crossed years earlier with her sister by her side.

When she turns to the Mord’Sith Kahlan notices she’s unfazed, standing perfectly still as if piecing together a puzzle in her head. “You know something. What is it?” Kahlan asks, eyeing the other woman suspiciously.

Cara drops to her knees, digging through her pack. When she’d escaped certain death at the People’s Palace, she’d taken with her a bag of gold coins, and a tightly wrapped bundle tossed to her by Berdine, a Sister of the Agiel and her most trusted friend. ‘In it you’ll find all your answers, sister.’ Those were Berdine’s last words to her and, come to think of it, quite possibly her final words in this life.

“Berdine,” she whispers, and pauses for a long moment thinking that even in death, her old friend found a way to get her out of trouble. “She said everything I needed to complete my quest could be found here.” She lifts the tightly wrapped bundle and stares at it –– now more certain than ever that nothing will stop her from righting the wrong done to her kind.

“A Mord’Sith gave you these? How is that possible?” Kahlan asks, kneeling beside her, perusing the stack of parchments.

“Contrary to what you may think, Confessor, Mord’Sith are not savages. Berdine was the most learned scholar in all of D’Hara, quite possibly in all of the territories,” she snaps at Kahlan.

“No, I didn’t mean it like…” she trails off, regretting her choice of words. “These documents, they must have come from the Old World. How did she come by them? And what of this?” she asks, holding up a rune made of lapis lazuli, a stone seldom found in the New World.

“Her hunger for knowledge was insatiable. Most likely, with Raina’s assistance, she had them smuggled out of the Old World.” Cara carefully examines the documents then hands one of them to Kahlan. “Turn it over, the translation is on the back.”

“It’s all here, Cara, the instructions as to how to open the portal with the rune, and the steps we must follow to reach Darken Rahl’s hideout. It’s all here.” She stares at the parchment in her hand with no small amount of awe at an accomplishment that rivals that of all the historians in Aydindril combined. “But I don’t understand, why didn’t she leave with you?”

The Mord’Sith stares at the ground, attempting to steel her emotions. “By the time we realized what Darken Rahl was planning, it was too late to warn the others. Berdine chose the Underworld with Raina at her side over the world of the living without her.”

With that single statement, Kahlan realizes that nothing in this world is as it seems. “Then let’s make certain their deaths were not in vain,” Kahlan says, firmly gripping her shoulder. The Mord’Sith’s eyes instantly go to the offending hand. Casual contact is not something to which she’s accustomed, let alone a Confessor’s touch. Noticing her discomfort, Kahlan quickly removes it.

They then gather their belongings and gingerly approach the ominous structure before them. Kahlan reads Berdine’s instructions aloud and Cara carefully follows them. They are to sequentially place the rune at various preset indentations along the edge of the arch. The slightest deviation from the pattern set forth in the instructions will result in the structure’s permanent disappearance. There are a total of thirteen such indentations, but when they reach the eleventh, the impossibility of their task becomes obvious.

“I can’t reach it,” the Mord’Sith says, clenching her fists at her sides. “It’s too high.”

“Stand on my shoulders.”

The Mord’Sith raises an eyebrow, glaring at her wordlessly. “We are on this quest together, we’re going to have to learn to trust each other,” the Mother Confessor says. “I’ve brought down men twice your size. Now get on my shoulders.” She drops down on one knee, and after a long moment the Mord’Sith complies. With Kahlan firmly gripping her legs just below the knees, the Mord’Sith easily reaches the three remaining indentations.

A bright blue glow accompanied by a swirling gust of wind marks their success. With the exchange of a quick glance, they mount their horse and traverse the arch.

Chapter Text

A cool breeze, along with the hushing and hissing of waves against the seawall, leave no doubt that gone are the snow-covered peaks of Aydindril and the sand dunes of D’Hara. Kahlan encircles Cara’s waist with just a bit more zeal and Cara tightens her grip on the reins. Ahead, the silhouette of a tower stubbornly piercing through a veil of fog that seeks to conceal its presence, hints at the possibility of a warm meal and perhaps a bed for the night. Since turning back is no longer an option, they ride on.

Just as the sun fades into an orange haze of shimmering light, they find themselves at what appears to be the end of the world. At this proximity, the sound of waves crashing against rocks mimics the sound of shattering glass. Cara looks back at Kahlan over her shoulder for a moment, and at once they both gaze out at the immense expanse of the sea.

“Ahoy, old friends, a sight for sore eyes you two are,” says a voice coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. Cara instinctively reaches for her agiel but her hand remains empty, only the ghost of her weapon is still perceptible –– not unlike that which is experienced by a soldier who has lost a limb.

“Over there,” Kahlan says, pointing to the red and white tower they’d seen in the distance. “It’s a lighthouse,” she adds.

The voice that calls out to them is that of a young woman with flaming red hair, and eyes the color of the sea; her freckled skin speaks of years spent in the sun. Cara looks at her from head to foot and, by the expression on her face, is not at all displeased by what she sees.

“Cara Mason and Kahlan Amnell,” says the woman, shaking her head with a grin on her face, as if their presence were cause for humor. “Come on then, let’s go inside. This wind could blow the fins off a fish.”

“Our horse.” Kahlan says, not knowing what to make of any of it.

“Behind the lighthouse,” the woman says. “Well, go on, help your lady off the horse, you scoundrel,” she tells Cara, who furrows her brow, now glaring at this stranger who somehow knows their names. Kahlan promptly jumps off the horse on her own.

“How?” Kahlan asks, as the two of them walk back; Cara shrugs in response.

The young woman, who stood by the door waiting for them, ushers them into a well-appointed, albeit small, circular room –– the walls of which are covered with colorful paintings of fish. “How do you know our names?” Cara asks without preamble.

“The Mother Confessor and her Mord’Sith have crossed my path many times. You may not remember, but I am a creature of the sea, and as such, carry its memories from one lifetime to the next. What it knows, I know as well.” She looks between them for a long moment as if something is off somehow. “My name is Marina. The two of you seem different, yet very much the same. Sit, please.”

“‘One lifetime to the next’?” Kahlan asks, looking into the woman’s eyes, finding they hold no trace of deceit.

“I could tell you stories of those other times but they will not serve you now.” She gazes between the Confessor and the Mord’Sith, scrutinizing them with great care. “You’ve lost your way,” she says, her smile fading.

“We have a map,” Cara says matter-of-factly. “We just need to get across the water.” Kahlan realizes that Cara is being too literal. Marina’s words had nothing to do with their quest.

“In two days’ time, a Captain will stop at the nearby harbor. He will take you where you need to go, I will see to it, old friends, but the voyage won’t be easy. These are stormy times.” Cara watches the sway of her hips as she opens a door that reveals a staircase into which she disappears. Kahlan in turn, watches Cara shamelessly ogling Marina’s posterior, causing her to hiss and narrow her eyes.

“That’s very ill-mannered,” she says. Cara furrows her brow, not sure exactly what she’s talking about. “Looking at our hostess as if she were a piece of meat,” Kahlan adds, crossing her arms in front of her and shifting in her seat so that she doesn’t have to look at the Mord’Sith. Cara rolls her eyes, doing her best to hide her amusement.

When Marina returns, carrying a tray with three bowls of fish stew, she notices the look of consternation on Kahlan’s face, and asks, “Did I miss something?”

As Marina places the bowls in front of them and takes a seat, Cara considers the question then replies, “I was admiring your assets, but apparently the Mother Confessor wants you for herself.” Kahlan practically chokes on a piece of fish, while their hostess laughs so hard her eyes tear up.

“I really should confess you and continue on without you,” Kahlan says.

Marina looks over at Cara for a long moment then turns to Kahlan and says, “Already I think you couldn’t if you tried.” Neither of the women gives much thought to the implication of her words. “Come then, you must be tired. A ship will travel past us; you two can take my bed for the night while I light its path through the storm. Water runs up a pipe so you can shower.”

“I could keep you company,” Cara says, licking her lips, her gaze raking over Marina’s breasts. Kahlan rolls her eyes and throws her arms up in frustration.

“Mm, with those pouty lips and those soulful eyes, the offer is tempting but those waters run deep,” she says, looking over at Kahlan. “I value my life far too much to tempt her wrath.”

“You’re worse than a man,” Kahlan grumbles as they are going up the stairs.

“Oh no, I’m so much better than a man,” Cara replies, this time enjoying the view of Kahlan’s assets.

With every step up the spiraling staircase, the space narrows considerably. The room is lit by an oil lamp that sits on the night table next to the bed, and through a small window opposite the bed, flashes of lightning and thunderclaps speak of the coming storm. A curtain hides a tiny opening that leads to the shower and the small hearth that warms the water as it rises up the pipe. Cara quickly strips off her leathers and with no regard for her modesty or the temperature of the water, steps into the ingenious contraption. Kahlan turns around but not before getting quite the eyeful. Cohabitating with a Mord’Sith is certainly not something for which her Confessor training has prepared her. Still, they need each other if they are to accomplish their respective goals.

“Put this on,” Kahlan demands, averting her gaze from the naked Mord’Sith and handing her a shift before walking into the shower herself.

“She wasn’t lying when she said our paths had crossed before,” Kahlan says once they are squished together on the small bed.

Cara takes her time to consider the implication of the Confessor’s statement. She’s never been one to contemplate such matters but the words of her fallen friend come to mind. “Berdine once told me that all of life takes place in a single moment. She believed souls come in pairs, destined to be everything to each other all at once. She was certain that is how it was between her and Raina.”

“Perhaps she was right,” Kahlan murmurs as they both drift into sleep.

***

When Marina looks in on them the next morning, she finds the two of them tangled together in such a way that Kahlan’s hand is cupping Cara’s breast while the Mord’Sith nuzzles Kahlan’s hair in her sleep. “Well, you two are looking much more like yourselves,” Marina says, her voice causing Kahlan to gingerly open her eyes.

“Good morning,” Kahlan mumbles, absentmindedly caressing the sensitive peak of Cara’s breast with her thumb. The Mord’Sith hums at the pleasant sensation and grinds her hips against Kahlan’s.

Realizing her predicament, Kahlan blushes furiously and snatches up her hand as if it had been resting upon hot coals. Cara whimpers at the loss, causing both Kahlan and Marina to suppress their laughter, knowing full well she would never forgive herself for making such an unbecoming sound. “Come on, let’s allow her a bit more sleep.” Kahlan nods and quickly dresses.

The two of them sip on hot tea as Marina arranges smoked fish and freshly baked bread on a platter. “How long have you been the keeper of this lighthouse?”

Marina gazes out of a window that faces the sea, losing herself in the roar of the surf for a long moment. “I have never known another place. My mother gave birth to me in the room where you slept, as her mother birthed her in that room. Just as your destiny is tied to your land and to Cara, mine is tied to this lighthouse and to the sea.”

“Cara?” Kahlan asks. “Why would you think our destinies are linked? We are bound only by a common enemy. Up until a few weeks ago we were strangers.”

“And yet here you are,” she says, “just as you’ve been before, but think what you will, Kahlan Amnell. I know only that which has already been. What is to come is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.” For as much as not being able to read Cara has been disconcerting to her during their time together, the sheer transparency of this lovely creature overwhelms her. It is human nature to keep parts of oneself hidden, to resist being fully exposed to the scrutiny of others. Yet Marina is as crystal clear as water, freely opening herself up to such an extent that Kahlan has to break her gaze.

Kahlan watches in silence as Marina arranges the table for their breakfast. So much about this new place in which she finds herself is in stark contrast to her homeland, yet there is a peacefulness about it that she hasn’t known since before the Seeker was called years earlier and it became her responsibility to protect him. One quest and now another, both with Richard as the common link. Why would Marina think her destiny is tied to Cara when, so clearly, it is Richard to whom she is bound? “Richard,” she murmurs, the mere thought of him is exhausting.

Before she can think further on it, Cara stomps down the stairs at an alarming speed, already in her leathers. “What is it, what’s wrong?” the Confessor asks, but does not receive a response.

Marina looks over at her and sees it as well, except she immediately recognizes its cause. “Sit and break your fast,” she says, urging Cara to her seat by a light press of her hands on Cara’s shoulders. “She’s safe here,” Marina leans in, assuring Cara in a whisper. “I am going to take rest for a while. Behave yourselves.”

The two of them sit awkwardly across from each other, unable to manage idle prattle. “We should check on our horse,” Kahlan finally suggests, and Cara is promptly on her feet. “What was bothering you earlier?”

“Nothing,” Cara snaps back, a little too emphatically. “It’s just that…” she trails off for a moment. “We should stick together.” It is then that Kahlan realizes her absence must have caused Cara some momentary distress. As they walk behind the lighthouse and turn toward the stable, Cara adds, “Our odds of succeeding at our mission are far greater if we do. That is why Mord’Sith always traveled in quads.” Kahlan finds the last remark rather superfluous, but it provides her with a little more insight into her enigmatic travel companion’s complex personality.

After caring for the animal’s needs, they decide to walk up the coastline in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the harbor Marina mentioned. They’ve both seen rivers and lakes, of course, but the sight of waves as tall as trees and sea creatures flying out of the water and back again, leaves them both breathless. Even the Mord’Sith can’t hide her amazement when she sees a peculiar-looking bird dive into the water and snatch up a fish.

“Did you see that?” Cara says, wide-eyed and curling her lips into something that hints at a smile. To see her usually aloof companion allow herself even the slightest display of emotion surprises Kahlan. This Mord’Sith is turning out to be a puzzle, the pieces of which reveal themselves one at the time. Kahlan dutifully takes mental note of each new discovery.

Further up the coast, they come across hundreds of beaked creatures that appear to have wings but instead of flying, waddle about in a most amusing manner. Kahlan takes a liking to them instantly. “Cara, they’re the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. What are they?” she asks, clinging to Cara’s arm, and beaming with excitement. The Mord’Sith raises her brow, looking down at the hand and then up at Kahlan. Not exactly sure why, she decides to allow it.

“Penguins,” says a man who happens to be passing by. “They travel across hundreds of leagues from the coldest of climates to collect food for their mates who eagerly await their return. The females care for their eggs until the males return and then their roles are reversed.”

“Penguins?” Cara asks with no small amount of skepticism. “I’ve never heard of such an animal.”

“Well, that’s what they are called,” he says emphatically, holding on to his hat as it threatens to take flight in the swirling wind. “Once they choose a mate, it is for life. No matter what the cost to themselves, they will do whatever it takes to return to their chosen one. Perhaps you two will know such a love one day.”

As the creatures dive into the water, the two of them walk on and shortly thereafter, arrive at a small seaside town. Most of the buildings are boarded up and, save for a few fishermen sitting on the pier with their poles, the harbor is empty. At the end of the pier, they spot a small eatery with an ‘open’ sign, and venture inside in an effort to escape the intensifying weather.

“Come, come,” says the elderly woman ushering them in. “You girls will catch your death without your coats in this weather. The storm will be here soon. I’ll bring you some soup and some fried fish. Sit, please,” she adds as she disappears into the kitchen

Cara frowns, crossing her arms in front of her. “Do these people eat anything other than fish?” Kahlan shrugs and shakes her head.

“You girls aren’t from these parts, are you?” the woman asks, studying their clothing and taking in their distinct features.

“No, we are just passing through,” Kahlan says, as a gust of cold wind blows the door open, bringing with it squalls of heavy rain.

“Eat up, girls,” she says, patting Cara on the back as she rushes over to shut the door.

“We should go, Confessor, it looks bad out there.” As soon as they finish eating, she places several coins on the table and they start to leave.

“Wait, wait, take these or you’ll catch your deaths, I tell you,” the woman says, handing each of them raincoat.

“Thank you,” Kahlan says, giving her a light hug. The citizens of this town are far kinder than those of other lands through which she’s traveled.

“You two take care of each other,” the woman calls out from the door.

Upon making their exit, they are met with a fog so thick they can hardly see more than two paces in front of them. Kahlan reaches her hand out for the Mord’Sith but finds nothing. The deafening roar of the wind, together with the torrential rains, and the incessant crashing of waves against the seawall, makes it impossible to discern each other’s voices.

“Confessor,” Cara calls out, before realizing that she can’t hear her own voice, thus Kahlan certainly won’t hear her. Finding no other option, she plows on, growing increasingly concerned about the other woman’s safety.

Kahlan manages to walk further inland where the visibility, if not the conditions, is somewhat improved. She screws up her eyes, trying to peer through the fog, catching a glimpse of an orange blur swooshing by then stumbling forward. “Cara.” she mumbles, recognizing the raincoat as the twin of her own. In a flash, she makes her way to the Mord’Sith and pulls her to her feet. Kahlan firmly grabs on to her shoulder, and Cara wraps hers arm around Kahlan’s waist. Cara points to a faint glow in the distance, indicating that the lighthouse will guide them to safety.

When they arrive at back at the lighthouse, Marina cringes at the sight of them. “By Poseidon, the two of you are a mess,” she says, shaking her head. “I told you these are stormy times. Go get out of those wet clothes. I’ll make you some tea.”

It is only when they attempt to make their way up the narrow staircase that they realize they are still clinging to each other.

“Go ahead,” Cara says.

When Marina brings up their tea Kahlan is already in the shower, while Cara sits on the bed wrapped in a blanket, her wet leathers left to dry on the back of a chair. “So you two decided to go on an adventure I see. Well, try to rest, old friend, your ship sets sail tomorrow.” She runs her fingers through Cara’s wet hair, stroking her cheek for a moment. Cara thinks it impossible, but Marina’s touch doesn’t feel new to her. Then again, with what she’s lived through of late, there is scarcely anything she doesn’t think possible. Last night she shared her bed with a Confessor and today she saw flying fish, and waddling birds. “Say good night to your beautiful lady for me,” Marina says.

“You were right,” Kahlan says, sitting on the bed next to her, already wearing her shift. Cara furrows her brow, staring at her for a long moment. “About us sticking together, we would not have weathered the storm otherwise.”

***

Early the next morning, Marina walks back to the harbor with them to await the arrival of the vessel that will carry them across the water. Unlike the previous day, all of the shops along the harbor are bustling with activity. The town, which Marina has informed them is named Ushuaia, is the southernmost city in all of the world and a common stop along the merchant routes of the region.

She and Kahlan walk side by side prattling on about random topics and gazing into shop windows. Cara lingers several paces behind them, carrying both Kahlan’s pack and her own, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. When the two other women linger at one particular shop before disappearing inside, Cara rolls her eyes and sits on a bench overlooking the water. Shopping is apparently among the many things Mord’Sith do not do. Kahlan walks out with a bright smile on her face, clutching a package wrapped in plain paper with a red string tied around it.

“Ahoy Marina,” calls out a silver-haired man standing on the deck of a medium-sized dogger with tall white sails, flying a multi-colored flag.

“Fernão, you old sea urchin, come down here and give me a hug.” Cara and Kahlan watch as the two share an affectionate embrace and walk further up the pier to talk in private. A tall man with piercing green eyes and golden brown skin remains on the deck. Kahlan looks up at him, thinking that his gaze could penetrate granite. The long robe he wears brings back fond memories of the Wizard of the First Order for a brief moment, but this man is much younger, and the turban on his head, with its bright red gemstone, gives him a noble air of mystery that perfectly matches his striking features.

“Ladies, this is Captain Fernão de Magalhães.” Marina’s hand rests on the Captain’s shoulder, as he bows his head politely. “I trust him with my life,” she adds, turning towards Kahlan. “And that beautiful specimen over there is Jamal, his first mate,” she says pointing at the tall man still standing on the deck. A corner of the Captain’s mouth curls up into a smile at the remark.

“It’s an honor to meet you both,” the Captain says. “Marina has explained the importance of your journey. My crew and I will do everything in our power to get you to your destination safely.”

“We will meet again, old friends, and I am certain when we do, things will be as they should,” Marina says. With that, they say their farewells. Marina’s gaze follows them onto the deck, as the crew of Las Reinas del Mar raises the anchor so that the Captain can maneuver the vessel out of the harbor. “Take care of each other,” Marina whispers, hoping that the wind will carry her words to them.

Chapter Text

Once on board, Jamal carries their packs to the small cabin they will share during the journey. The rest of the crew consists of two twin boys, no more than sixteen summers old, who the Captain introduces as his nephews, and two deckhands whose job it is to man the sails and the trawls. The Captain explains that they will travel across open water for two months before touching land again. The weather, he expects, will be harsh at times but not perilous. Given the small size of the crew, it is the recent rash of pirate attacks that concerns him the most, in particular because he is unaccustomed to traveling with women. When he brought the matter to Marina’s attention, she’d laughed and said she pitied any pirates who attempted to board a ship with the Mother Confessor and her Mord’Sith on board. Having never traveled far inland enough to truly understand what either of those things meant, he remained skeptical. A lifelong sailor hears many a tall tale, and those of the Midlands are no different from the rest.

Having settled in as best as they could given the tight quarters, Cara and Kahlan stand on deck side by side in a comfortable silence watching the sky darkens and the lights of Ushuaia fade into the distance. Cara wordlessly points toward the lighthouse as they sail past it. In less than two candlemarks of travel, they are surrounded by nothing but water. It is then that Abilio, or perhaps Alfonso –– it is impossible to tell them apart –– informs them that dinner will soon be served in the dining hall. Cara and Kahlan both grimace and say in unison, “Fish.”

Dinner is a pleasant affair in which the young boys speak of their sweethearts back home, and the deckhands of the many adventures they’ve shared with their Captain. Kahlan replies to questions about their journey but makes a point of being vague about its purpose. The Captain is as charming as he is attentive, and generously shares his finest bottle of wine with them. Cara nods and faintly smiles in all the right places but, much like Jamal, does not say a word the entire evening. Once the boys and the deckhands return to their respective duties, Kahlan and the Captain discuss a myriad of topics at great length. It happens that they share many common interests and, in Cara’s estimation, an incomparable passion for the sound of their own voices. She and Jamal wait patiently –– and silently –– for their tongues to tire, and when it finally happens, they are both quick to their feet.

“That was fun,” Kahlan says, still buzzing with excitement as they enter their cabin. “The Captain is such a lovely man, don’t you think?”

“Mm.” That is all Cara can manage in response. She quickly strips off her leathers and walks into the washroom. Kahlan is certain that by the end of their quest, she’ll be far more familiar with Cara’s nakedness than she is with her own.

“Shift, please.” She doesn’t have to turn around to know Cara walked back out without bothering to slip into it. “The Captain mentioned the temperature would drop tonight,” she adds as an incentive. Cara recognizes it as a ploy but decides to wear it anyway. Late into the night she’s grateful she did, for even with the heavy blankets and each other for warmth, she’s shivering. So much so, that Kahlan soon takes notice.

“What’s wrong?” Kahlan isn’t fully awake but the clacking sound of Cara’s teeth suffices as an explanation. “Here, come closer,” she says, pulling Cara into her arms. The Mord’Sith’s muscles tense for a moment, but the feel of Kahlan’s soft, warm skin melts away her tension. It isn’t long before they are both asleep again.

Cara wakes up first but remains perfectly still in the Confessor’s arms. She wonders what her Sisters would think if they were alive to see the sight of her, curled up in a tiny bed with her kind’s natural predator no less. Since Darken Rahl murdered her Sisters, she’s felt as if she is Mord’Sith and not Mord’Sith all at once. She can still feel the bond but it elicits disgust, not fealty. Serving the Lord Rahl was simple: follow orders and take your pleasure when the opportunity arises. Now she’s all alone in the world, no Lord Rahl, no Sisters of the Agiel, no one, save the Confessor, of course, but that will end with their quest. There’s no point thinking on such things since she probably won’t survive the quest anyway, but on the off chance that she does, the prospect of what will follow isn’t particularly appealing. Just then the Confessor shifts in such a way that Cara can feel her breath gently humming in her ear. It is a good sound, so she closes her eyes and allows herself the luxury of hope for better days, and the possibility of perhaps someday soon eating something other than fish.

By daybreak, they are both up on deck, watching the men prepare the ship for rougher waters. Walking past them, Jamal hands them each two pieces of bread with a fish pressed between them. “Sardines,” says Abilio, or perhaps Alfonso –– it is still impossible to tell. “They are very delicious,” he assures them. They both nod politely but even Kahlan can’t manage a smile after countless days of meal after meal consisting of nothing but fish.

When a sizable wave sprays water on them both, Cara suggests they return to their cabin to go over the documents Berdine gave her. After two years of traveling with Richard, Kahlan finds Cara’s focus on their mission refreshing. She’s had enough of random meandering and unnecessary detours to last her a lifetime. Still, she does miss the Seeker’s gentle expressions of affection, whether a smile or a light squeeze of her hand, Richard always made her feel loved. The lack of that emotional comfort –– and meal after meal of fish –– adds to the challenges of this quest.

After several candlemarks of sifting through maps and illustrations, Kahlan looks over at Cara. Noticing that something is off, she asks, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course I am,” Cara snaps back.

Kahlan furrows her brow, tilting her head for a long moment. “You look a bit…green,” she finally says.

“I’m fine. Excuse me.” With that, she’s on her feet and out the door –– Kahlan, of course, follows. It is all Cara can do to achieve the deck before emptying the contents of her stomach overboard. While Kahlan had noticed the increased swaying of the vessel, having been unaffected by it, she hadn’t given it any thought.

“Your friend hasn’t gotten her sea legs yet,” says one of the deckhands, turning toward Cara and taking hold of her forearm.

“I’m fine,” Cara says, emphatically tearing away from his grip, only to be spared the humiliation of crumbling to the ground by the Confessor’s quick reflexes.

“Thank you,” Kahlan tells him, “I’ll take care of her.”

Once they are back in the cabin, Kahlan lowers Cara onto the bed where she promptly covers her face with a pillow. The Confessor holds her tongue for as long as she can –– which isn’t very long at all. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” Cara doesn’t answer, of course. “You’ll suffocate if you don’t remove that pillow from your face,” Kahlan points out. Still not receiving a response, she releases a long-suffering sigh and lies alongside her, running her hand up and down Cara’s back.

After the third or fourth pass, Cara’s head snaps up, glaring at her. “What are you doing?”

“You’re sick; I’m comforting you. What else would I be doing?” Cara wants desperately to protest but with the way her stomach is flip-flopping and her head is spinning in every direction, she hasn’t the strength. Kahlan continues her ministrations until the Mord’Sith falls asleep. She then carefully tucks her in so as to spare her a chill and removes the pillow from her face, all the while wondering if all the Mord’Sith Darken Rahl killed looked as angelic as this one in their sleep. Kahlan decides to forgo her fish ration for the evening, choosing instead to drift into sleep next to Cara.

For the next few days, the rough waters continue to wreak havoc on the Mord’Sith and, truth be told, Kahlan is starting to worry. She’s uncharacteristically pale, and the dullness in her eyes is undoubtedly caused by her inability to hold down food. “Here, drink some tea.” Kahlan supports her neck as she takes in tiny sips. That, for the first time, she isn’t met with a death stare actually worries Kahlan even more. The next day, when Cara finally manages to hold down a bowl of fish broth, it takes every morsel of the Confessor’s self-control to not plant a big sloppy kiss on her face. Cara is all she has right now, and facing the uncertainty of what lies ahead without her is more than she can bear.

“You look much better, and you’ll be happy to learn that the waters are considerably calmer today,” Kahlan says, perched on the edge of the bed watching Cara stretch and yawn. Cara pulls the covers over her head and after a moment mumbles something that sounds suspiciously similar to an expression of gratitude. Kahlan unceremoniously pulls off Cara’s covers and says, “Enough lounging around. Let’s go eat our fish.” That last part earns her a grunt and an eye roll –– both evidence that the Mord’Sith is on the mend.

On deck, they find the crew huddled around the mast, Jamal at its very top, peering through a spyglass. The Mother Confessor is no stranger to conflict and already she senses that something is off. “Is everything all right, Captain?”

“These waters have seen their fair share of pirates of late. Jamal spied a suspicious vessel earlier.” Kahlan clearly sees through his calm demeanor and turns to the Mord’Sith standing at her side.

“There could be trouble,” Kahlan tells her, guiding her back to the cabin by the elbow. “Pirates,” she adds when they are inside, “you’ll need this.” She pulls out a package from her pack that Cara recognizes as the one she’d clutched in her hand when she walked out of the shop in Ushuaia. “Go ahead, open it. I bought it for you.” Cara tilts her head, raising an eyebrow, not knowing exactly what is expected of her. “It’s a gift,” Kahlan says.

“A gift?” She hadn’t received one since her ninth summer, when her mother made her a dress in celebration of the anniversary of her birth. “For me?”

“Yes, of course it’s for you. Who else would it be for? Go on, open it.” The Confessor smiles in anticipation, hoping she made the right choice.

“It’s an excellent weapon,” Cara says, tossing the dagger from hand to hand, gauging its weight. “Why?” she asks.

Kahlan breaks her gaze for moment. “I saw you reach for your agiel several times, only to find nothing there. I thought perhaps it would help.”

Cara furrows her brow, staring at her for a long moment, not sure what to say. “You don’t like it?” the Confessor asks.

“I do, very much.” That’s when she remembers the words for dealing with such situations. “Thank you.”

Kahlan releases a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding and says, “You’re welcome. I chose it because the hilt is wrapped in red leather. I thought maybe…” She trails off, not wanting to add to the awkwardness of the moment. Cara nods and holsters the dagger then looks up at Kahlan, who nods back at her.

“Maybe we should go,” Cara says, pointing toward the door.

The Captain soon informs Kahlan that the approaching vessel is flying a distress flag which, by maritime custom, means they are bound by fraternal honor to provide assistance. Not fully understanding that he stands before two formidable warriors in their own right, he attempts to downplay the potential volatility of the situation. Cara and Kahlan exchange a meaningful glance and set about examining the perimeter of the vessel. Neither of them has ever engaged in combat under such circumstances but remain unfazed by the possibility of doing so. Cara has taken to clutching and alternately releasing the hilt of her new weapon and, by the glint in her eyes, Kahlan suspects she’s actually looking forward to a good fight.

There is, however, a battle that needs to be fought even before the threatening vessel reaches them. “Cara, you have to,” the Mother Confessor says emphatically, in that authoritative voice she usually saves for her foes.

“No, absolutely not.” Cara crosses her arms over her chest and plunks down on the bed.

“Fine, then you’ll have to remain in the cabin. I won’t allow you to do otherwise.”

“You won’t allow me,” Cara echoes back with no small amount of righteous indignation. That’s when it happens, the Confessor’s steely countenance gives way to a sad, almost vulnerable look that Cara has no idea how to handle. Her first impulse is to strike her but, fortunately, she reconsiders. Instead, she paces before the bed glancing over at her several times, finding no change. Clenching her fists until her knuckles turn white, she grits her teeth and says, “Fine, I’ll eat the stupid fish.” Kahlan sighs and hands her the plate.

“Thank you, Cara,” she says, in a whisper, looking at Cara through her lashes. “We certainly can’t go into battle with you not having eaten in three days.”

By late evening, the approaching ship is faintly visible even to the naked eye. Jamal identifies it as a sloop, a vessel popular with pirates in these waters, and also known for its ability to easily reach high speeds. That the vessel can hold a crew of as many as twenty to seventy men is causing no small amount of concern among the Captain and his crew. Theirs is a fishing vessel that has seen the occasional scuffle but never a bona fide battle.

Cara and Kahlan stand side by side leaning on the taffrail. The waters are eerily calm on this moonless night, and the stars light the night sky in such a way that they can see their reflections shimmering on the surface of the water. The Mord’Sith’s short hair is tousled about by the steady breeze as she looks over at the Confessor who is gazing out at the vastness of the sea. Unlike the others aboard the small vessel, Kahlan isn’t at all anxious or thrown off by this unexpected turn of events. Much like Cara, she’s merely considering every possible scenario and how to turn it in their favor. Kahlan Amnell is a beautiful woman, but also a woman of strength and courage, a woman deserving of respect.

“You should get some sleep,” Cara says, “I’ll stand watch with Jamal.” Kahlan thinks to argue for a moment but, having won the fish battle, she simply nods and allows Cara the small victory. It isn’t so bad traveling with a Mord’Sith; it isn’t so bad at all.

***

By daybreak, Cara and Jamal are both certain that the sloop has as its purpose to board their vessel –– Jamal has spent enough time at sea to recognize the difference between a crew in distress and one preparing for an assault. With a quiet glance between them, Cara rushes to the cabin to fetch the Confessor who is already up, but most certainly not ready to go on deck.

“Cara!” she says, giving the Mord’Sith and eyeful of, well, all of her. “Spirits, you could knock!” While the appropriate reaction would have been to turn away, Cara shamelessly takes in the lovely view. It is the Confessor who turns around but quickly realizes that doing so doesn’t really help matters. By now her face is crimson and she’s finding it difficult to form words –– especially with the hungry look Cara is giving her. “Go,” she finally manages to say, collapsing back onto the bed and covering her face with her hands. “Mord’Sith,” she mumbles, as her travel companion walks out the door.

“Good morning, Confessor,” Cara says with a smirk when Kahlan walks on deck. Kahlan starts to say something but thinks better of it and walks past her instead. She and the Captain discuss strategy while Jamal and Cara look on. It is decided that the two boys will be given weapons as well, but will remain below deck until signaled to do differently. Kahlan waves Cara over to discuss tactical details, for her conversation with the Captain made it clear that, in such matters, he is at a loss. He does, however, assure her that he and Jamal are both skilled swordsmen. The deckhands, Pau and Sebi, are strong enough and can hold their own in a bar fight, but have never faced a situation such as this one. By Cara’s estimation they are easily outnumbered ten to one but neither she nor the Confessor are at all uncomfortable with those odds.

It is just past midday when the other ship’s crew makes its move. Suddenly, they swing the boom causing the vessel to shift abruptly and gybe their sails for added momentum. Pau immediately takes the helm attempting to veer away from them. At the Captain’s indication, Pau turns the ship’s stern windward to alter its course. But given the other vessel’s speed, they know it is to no avail – their attackers are already within range to board their vessel.

“These pirates must get their fashion advice from the Sisters of the Dark,” Cara says to Kahlan over her shoulder. Kahlan chuckles at the remark, and with a nod signals that it is time to proceed with their plan. With her bow at the ready, Cara deftly releases arrow after arrow, not once missing her mark. The first wave, comprised of at least two dozen pirates, is down, but quickly replaced by twice as many. Although she manages to do away with several more, soon the deck is flooded with invaders. It is then that the real battle begins.

The Mother Confessor and the Mord’Sith, along with the four men, find themselves still badly outnumbered but charge on. The women instinctively fight back to back – their contrasting styles complementing each other to perfection. The Captain and his first mate are indeed skilled swordsmen capable of easily handling as many as three attackers at once, all the while making an effort to cover each other.

When Kahlan finds herself backed into a corner, it is Cara’s shiny new dagger that meets its mark, keeping Kahlan from harm. Pau motions for Sebi to take the helm and with a loud war cry, picks up an ax and swings like a madman. While his technique isn’t pretty, heads are soon rolling. It is, however, the Mother Confessor who quickly turns the odds in their favor. While the others are engaged in combat, she manages to wrap her hand around throat after throat, instantly turning foes into the most loyal of allies. One by one, they fall to their knees begging their Mistress to command them. The mere sight of it strikes such fear in the other pirates that many jump overboard in an attempt to swim back to their ship.

“Their Captain,” Sebi points out to Cara, who quickly releases an arrow leaving the pirates leaderless.

At that very moment, the Mord’Sith notices a tiny man whose garb clearly indicates he is out of place. She follows his gaze, finding that it is fixed on the Mother Confessor. Without hesitation, she dashes across the deck and, noticing the movement of his hands, she steps between them, deflecting the spell that had been meant for Kahlan. “No!” Kahlan calls out just as Cara is about to slit his throat, “He’s of more use to us confessed than dead.” As Kahlan wraps her hand around his throat, Cara nods and rejoins the fray.

With most of the pirates dead or attempting to swim back to their ship, the battle appears to be all but won. It is then that tragedy strikes. Jamal, whose voice is seldom heard, lets his sword fall to the ground and, releasing a bloodcurdling scream as he runs across the deck, drops to his knees next to the dead body of Captain Fernão de Magalhães who was run through with a sword moments earlier. Wrought with despair, Jamal tears the turban off his head –– a beautiful mane of jet black curls falling over his shoulders almost reaching his waist –– and weeps like a small child over the Captain’s body. It takes Cara a moment to realize what has happened, and when she does, she shoves him aside and drops to her knees beside the Captain. “Move,” she orders him, just as Kahlan rushes to her side, holding Jamal back by the shoulders. The Mord’Sith kneels beside the Captain, and with the Breath of Life, returns him to the world of the living.

His eyes open as he is restored to full health. “I was dead,” he says, looking up at them. With tears still running down his cheeks, Jamal tenderly kisses him on the lips and pulls him into an embrace.

“I thought you were lost to me forever,” he says, resting his forehead on the Captain’s before kissing him a second time.

“Oh,” Kahlan says, realizing that Fernão and Jamal are lovers.

Needless to say, at the sight of the leather-clad woman bringing the Captain back from the dead, the pirate ship quickly raises a white flag indicating the surrender of their vessel to Captain Magalhães. At that moment, the two young boys who had been below deck gingerly open the door. “Have the pirates attacked?” one of them asks, earning himself a hearty laugh from all of those still standing.

“That was a surprise,” Kahlan says, as she and Cara walk over to the confessed wizard. “Jamal and the Captain, I mean.”

“Perhaps to you,” Cara says, with a snort.

“You knew,” Kahlan says. “How?”

“You wore that to dinner,” Cara says, pointing at Kahlan’s dress. “The Captain talked to you the entire night, and not once did he look at those.” With her lips pursed, she points at Kahlan’s breasts with her chin. “Clearly, the man hasn’t the slightest interest in women.” Kahlan rolls her eyes but doesn’t dispute the Mord’Sith’s logic.

Moments later Kahlan finds herself surrounded by over a dozen confessed sailors and a wizard, all gazing at her adoringly and vying for her attention. While Cara is undoubtedly amused by the situation, Kahlan has no idea what to do with them, but at this moment, her primary concern is questioning the wizard.

That’s when he informs her that his purpose there was to be her murderer. He further explains that he is a Wizard of the Fourth Order with just enough magic to carry out his crime and transport himself back to his Master. The seer who had drawn the map for Kahlan was captured and tortured until she revealed Kahlan’s whereabouts, dying shortly after. That the price for being loyal to the Mother Confessor had been the seer’s life filled her with both anguish and rage. This, however, is not the time to let her emotions get the best of her.

“How did your former master find me?” she asks.

“The seer, Mistress, she identified this ship by name. She told the Lord Rahl you would be aboard Las Reinas del Mar,” he says, swelling with pride at being of service to his mistress.

Kahlan thinks for a moment, doing her best to ask as many relevant questions as she can. “Did the seer inform him that I am not traveling alone?”

“No, Mistress, she did not. The Lord Rahl thinks you alone are in pursuit of him.”

“Surely he required more than your word as evidence of the Mother Confessor’s demise,” Cara says to the wizard, having served Darken Rahl long enough to know that nothing was ever that easy with him.

With a nod from Kahlan, he promptly replies. “No, Mistress, the Lord Rahl expects me to return with your blood-drenched Confessor’s gown and the hair off your head.”

“My hair?” Kahlan asks with no small amount of panic in her voice.

“Yes, Mistress,” he replies, nodding enthusiastically.

Having stood just a few paces away, Jamal promptly stands beside her and says, “My Lady, what you and your friend have given me, I cannot repay, but this,” he says, bringing his hair to fall over his shoulders, “is yours.” Without hesitation, and before Kahlan can stop him, he pulls out his knife and cuts it all off.

“Jamal, your beautiful hair,” Kahlan says, cupping his cheek with her hand.

He tousles what’s left of his dark locks and smiles. “It will grow back, my Lady.” Giving her shoulder a light squeeze, he walks away.

“I’ll take care of the dress,” Cara says.

Once inside the cabin, she pulls the dress out of Kahlan’s pack and it occurs to her that its loss will feel to the Mother Confessor much how the loss of her Mord’Sith leathers felt to her. Having wished on more than one occasion that she’d kept a small piece of them, she cuts off part of the white gown’s hem with her dagger and tucks it away in her pocket.

Ever the pragmatist, Cara drags the dress along the deck which, due to the battle, in more than a little bloodied, then returns to Kahlan’s side. The expression on Kahlan’s face when she sees the dress is a mixture of sadness and anger. It is yet another loss to add to the growing list of losses she’s experienced since embarking on her journey to find the one true Seeker in a thousand years.

Turning back toward the wizard – afraid of what he might respond – Kahlan hesitates for a moment, then asks, “The Seeker, is he alive?”

“Yes, Mistress, Master Richard and the Lord Rahl are both in good health,” the Wizard replies.

Kahlan furrows her brow, tempted to inquire further, but decides against it. That he referred to the Seeker as Master Richard is unsettling but not something with which she can concern herself now.

Before handing the dress over to the wizard, Cara pulls out her dagger and slides it across her own palm, deep enough to draw a fair amount of blood.

“Cara, why?” Kahlan asks, reaching out for her bloody palm.

“In case Rahl checks for magic,” she replies matter-of-factly as she tosses the gown to the wizard.

“Wait,” Kahlan calls out to him, just as he’s about the cast the spell. “Tell no one, not even Richard, that I am alive.” Having stood next to her as she questioned the Wizard, Cara suspects Kahlan is concerned that the Seeker’s loyalties may have wavered.

When he disappears into a puff of smoke, she orders the rest of her confessed to obey the Captain, and never again take up arms if not to defend the innocent. With that, she and Cara set about helping the others deal with the aftermath of the pirate attack. Jamal, however, will not allow it. “No,” he says. “You have done enough for us already. Please take your rest and join us for dinner this evening.” Cara nods in agreement, for she had realized that confessing so many men and subsequently dealing with the wizard had left the Mother Confessor exhausted.

“Let me see your hand,” Kahlan says, reaching for it as soon as they walk into the cabin. “Spirits, Cara, it’s so soft and beautiful. Now it will have a scar.”

“It’s nothing,” she replies. “I have salve and bandages in my pack.”

“I could have used my own blood you know,” Kahlan admonishes, reaching into Cara’s pack for the supplies.

“Kahlan, stop. You’re paler than usual, if such a thing is even possible, and your hands are shaking from exhaustion. Lie down, please.” Given the look in Cara’s eyes and the way that she said it –– half order, half plea –– Kahlan cannot refuse her.

Kahlan loosens the laces of her dress a bit and collapses onto the bed. In less than a quarter of a candlemark, she is fast asleep. Cara takes her bath and soon after assumes her usual place on the tiny bed next to the Confessor, making a point of pulling the covers over them both. Kahlan’s sleep, however, is fitful. She mumbles incoherently, tossing and shaking as if caught in the throes of a nightmare. Cara suspects it is probably the result of having depleted too much of her magic. She thinks to wake her but decides on another course of action –– one that she’d learned from the Confessor just days earlier. Propping herself up on an elbow, she runs her hand up and down Kahlan’s back, all the while shushing her. Much to her surprise, this comforting tactic Kahlan taught her actually works. Her breathing soon evens out and her muscles relax. Cara continues the comforting until a knock and a voice on the other side of door informs her it is dinnertime.

“Kahlan,” she says, lightly squeezing her shoulder. “It’s time for our fish.”

“Fish?” Kahlan asks, snuggling up closer to Cara. “Do we have to?” After an extended silence, she finally concedes, “Fine, fish it is.”

Much to their surprise, while they took their rest, the crew had been quite industrious. The smaller vessel had already been attached to the larger one, the decks of both vessels are free of any signs of the violent confrontations, and more importantly, the galley of the pirate ship had apparently been far better stocked than Fernão’s. Kahlan and Cara look at each other wide-eyed realizing that the sumptuous aroma coming from the other vessel is certainly not fish. “Ladies, let me help you,” the Captain says, extending out his hand to the Mother Confessor so that she can board the other vessel; Cara follows close behind.

Dinner is a jubilant affair in which the former pirates and the crew of the fishing vessel exchange tall tales of the many perils they’ve faced at sea and swear by various deities that their sweetheart back home is by far the most beautiful of them all. Kahlan’s laughter reverberates across the deck where the Captain has arranged multiple tables alongside each other, comfortably accommodating the crew and their two lovely passengers. One of the young boys displays his musical talent by plucking at the strings of a lute, while his brother sings a melancholy love song that seems incongruent with the festivities, but at the same time moving and filled with enough emotion to have all of the men softly humming along.

Kahlan looks over at Cara only to finds her seat empty. Out of the corner of her eye she spots her standing with Jamal by the helm. The two of them have strikingly similar dispositions, and Cara having brought the Captain back to Jamal, seems to have led to an uncharacteristic closeness between them. Kahlan notices that Jamal hands the Mord’Sith a tightly wrapped bundle, then firmly shakes her hand. Soon after, they both walk back to the table, Cara taking her place next to Kahlan, and Jamal at the Captain’s side.

As the festivities wind down, the two women find themselves once again standing side by side, leaning on the taffrail. They can still hear the faint chatter and the sounds of laughter coming from the other side of the ship, but it is the hypnotic sound of waves gently crashing into the anchored vessel that holds them in place. The stars are concealed behind clouds and only a silvery sliver of moonlight faintly reveals itself. A gentle breeze sweeps by for a moment, carrying the smell of the sea mingled with the scent of Kahlan’s hair. Cara takes in a deep inhalation in the hopes of holding on to both for a while. Much to Kahlan’s surprise, it is Cara who breaks their silence. “I’ve never used it that way before,” she says, “the Breath of Life, I mean.” Kahlan turns to her with great interest but remains silent. “Its purpose is to revive the Lord Rahl or a fallen sister if they were to die in battle, and to serve as a training aid.”

“A training aid how?” Kahlan asks.

“When you are breaking someone, it’s a common practice to kill them and revive them multiple times.” She looks out at the water to avoid Kahlan’s gaze. “The pain of dying, it’s indescribable.” She pauses for a long moment trying to find a way to explain how this last time it was different. “I’ve never used it for something…good.” There is a raw honesty about the way she says it that makes Kahlan’s heart clench. It’s almost as if Cara never realized she was capable of doing something worthwhile, something selfless, and kind.

“Let’s call it a night,” Kahlan says, resting her arm across Cara’s shoulders. The Mord’Sith stiffens for a half a breath but doesn’t tear herself away.

Later that night when they are both drifting off to sleep, Kahlan asks, “Have you died before?”

“I have. Several times.” She says it as if doing so were commonplace.

Kahlan turns around so that they are facing each other and, holding back the impulse to cup Cara’s cheek, says, “Please don’t do it again.” She turns back around without saying another word.

***

Their next six weeks at sea are, for the most part, a leisurely affair. The time serves Kahlan well as building up her magical reserves took more time than she’d expected. Cara disguises her attentiveness with eye rolls and off-color remarks, but that she bring Kahlan tea and warm bread every morning, make her concern for her travel companion obvious. Kahlan rather enjoys Cara’s attempts at masking her little acts of kindness.

She’s also noticed that the Mord’Sith loves to learn. Cara sits for hours with Pau and Sebi learning to tie various nautical knots. She’s also consulted Jamal on how to navigate by the stars, and is trying to learn how to man the trowels. Most impressive are her exceptional ability to work with her hands and how quickly she absorbs knew information. Having spent the past few weeks observing the Mord’Sith, Kahlan has concluded that notion that Mord’Sith are merely weapons, is certainly not true of Cara.

When the Captain informs them that due to the increased agility of the larger vessel they’ve acquired they will make landfall sooner than they had originally planned, Cara and Kahlan prepare for another change, as well as one more round of farewells. For Cara, who has spent most of her life in a controlled environment surrounded primarily by her sisters, the unease it causes her is palpable. Kahlan decides to allow the Mord’Sith the space she needs to deal with her emotions. She’s learned to gauge Cara’s state of mind by simply watching how many times, in the span of a candlemark, she alternately squeezes and releases the hilt of her dagger. On this morning, she quickly loses count.

Kahlan is well-traveled and, having spent over two years on the road with the Seeker, constant change has come to be expected. It is the knowledge that with every passing day she is further away from Aydindril, from her people, that eats away at her peace of mind. There is also a different quality to the bonds she’s formed with the people with whom she’s crossed paths on this journey.

During the Keeper’s war she’d interacted with a myriad of people –– most of whom were great big balls of need, tugging at her sleeves as if she could save the world while simultaneously managing their lives. It was the Seeker’s inability to refuse even the most mundane of requests that had set that expectation, and she somehow found herself caught up in it. At the time, she had interpreted it as kindheartedness but now, through the clarity provided by distance and time, she realizes that much of it was a need for adulation. Richard loved playing the hero, and Kahlan would have been his damsel in distress of choice.

On this quest, however, Marina and the crew of Las Reinas del Mar had, time after time, given freely of themselves. They were not random faces clamoring for attention; they were friends whom perhaps she would never see again. And there is, of course, Cara, who is becoming an integral part of her life. Cara, who claims to be incapable of feelings but is nothing if not a raw tidal wave of emotions. Already Kahlan wonders what will become of her if they succeed in their mission.

It is in such musings that she loses herself, standing at the helm of the ship next to the Captain. “Your friend,” he says, breaking their long silence, “she is much like my Jamal. People like them are difficult to know, but impossible to not love.”

“Is that how it was with you and Jamal?” she asks, watching as his entire face softens at merely hearing his name.

“Yes. We were much younger then, thrown together by chance. I wanted to strangle him half the time but before I knew it, he made my heart his home, and fortunately never left.” Kahlan can’t help but smile at the way his entire demeanor changes. He seems younger somehow and in her mind’s eye she can see them, the sailor and his strikingly handsome young suitor. “There are things that people like them will never say, but they show you, day after day, until you can’t imagine how you ever managed to even breathe without them.” He gives her shoulder a squeeze, and she is certain that she will never forget this gregarious Captain with the kind eyes and his enigmatic first mate.

Just past midday, a knock on the cabin door signals that their time on Las Reinas del Mar is over. Sebi, already aboard the dinghy that will take them ashore, waits for Kahlan and Cara.

“Well, my beautiful friends, I will not say goodbye for I know we will meet again,” the Captain says, pulling Kahlan into a warm embrace and then patting the Mord’Sith firmly on the back. Jamal, sporting a newly shaved head, standing beside his Captain, bows his head at each of them. The rest of the crew members and the confessed former pirates wave cheerfully as they go about their duties.

Cara, who had not uttered a word for two days, hands Sebi their packs, then turns toward Kahlan and says, “These are good people.” While she nods and does her best to smile, Kahlan’s heart sinks, having recognized by the way Cara said it, that never before had she allowed for the possibility of good people. They both watch as the ship becomes smaller and the voices of those aboard fades into silence.

“Every day, we will pray for you both,” Sebi says, as he hands Cara their packs and helps Kahlan off the dinghy. Standing on the shoreline, they look out onto the vastness of the sea that, as it meets the horizon, becomes one with the sky.

Chapter Text

Cara shoulders their packs and, with a tip of her head, indicates that it is time to leave the sea behind. Having gone over Berdine’s maps, they have no doubt that they are exactly where they are supposed to be. Unlike the rocky landscape of Ushuaia’s coastline, here they find a soft, sandy terrain and an inviting breeze. The surrounding foliage is too dense to easily walk through but they soon spot a well-worn path that leads to a walkway flanked by trees on either side. The leaves and branches form a canopy that shields them from the sun and leads them directly to the gates of what appears to be a small village.

Upon sounding the bell, a young girl, no more than thirteen summers old, opens the gate. “May I help you?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

“We are passing through and would like to see about a room for the night,” says Kahlan. Reading the slight apprehension in the girl’s eyes, she adds, “We have coin to pay for our stay, and we mean you no harm.”

“Please wait here.” The girl promptly closes the gate and runs off. Kahlan turns to Cara, who cants her hips and crosses her arms on her chest. Moments later the girl returns with a woman by her side who must be her mother for they have the same features.

Wrinkling her nose, she asks, “May I help you?” Promptly earning herself an eye roll from Cara which, in turn, earns Cara an elbow to the ribs from Kahlan.

“We are in need of a room, and as I told the child, we have coin to pay for it.” She smiles her gentlest smile and awaits a response.

“This is a resort town but you have arrived during our off season. There is very little we can offer by way of amenities this time of year. Still, you are welcome to stay.” With that, she allows them to enter the village which is comprised of a series of bungalows of varying sizes.

Handing Kahlan a key, she says, “It’s the white one with the red door.”

“Are there any eateries nearby?” Kahlan thinks to ask just as the woman turns to go back inside.

“I’ll bring you some stew when it’s ready. The tavern up the road only opens a half a day this time of year.” She turns back at the last moment and adds, “Strange things happen in the off season so you best keep your wits about you.” She and the child are gone before Kahlan can inquire further.

Cara and Kahlan glance over at each other but neither has any inkling as to what she meant. They both inspect their surroundings as they make their way to the bungalow but the place appears to be perfectly safe. All of the dwellings have distinctive color combinations and well-manicured lawns. Theirs sits atop a slight elevation which overlooks a nearby grotto. Even from this distance they can hear the sound of a cascade gently crashing against pebbles, and see that at its center sits a fountain filled with coins –– meant to bring wishes to fruition, no doubt. Its most distinctive feature, a dazzling blue glow that casts its light like a halo on the flowerbed beside it. Steam rising from the water also hints at a nearby hot spring.

“I can see why vacationers choose this place as a destination. It’s certainly lovely enough,” Kahlan says. Noticing the creases on Cara’s forehead, she asks, “What’s wrong?”

Pursing her lips for a moment, Cara asks, “The stew. Do you think it will be fish?” Kahlan rolls her eyes. Leave it to the Mord’Sith to focus on the practical details.

On the other side of the door they find an understated yet charming room. The furnishings are what one would expect to find in the home of an affluent family. The décor, having obviously been selected so that those who occupy it, even short term, do not experience the generic coldness of a random inn, is tasteful and inviting. One attribute in particular strikes Kahlan: two small beds separated by a wide night table. That the sight of two beds causes her discomfort, she decides, is best left unexamined.

Just then, the blonde woman arrives with their meal. “My child and I will be away for a few days so be sure to secure your meals at the tavern up the road. There is a slot on the door where you can deposit your coins if you were to leave before we return.”

“Thank you,” Kahlan says. “It’s very kind of you to share your food with us. May I ask your name?”

“My name is Valeria,” she says. Cara flinches, instantly gripping the hilt of her dagger. It is a name she’d rather never hear again. “You should return during the season some time. This place comes alive then.”

“Valeria,” Kahlan echoes, “thank you once again for your kindness.” The moment the woman leaves, Cara watches as the Confessor wraps her arms around herself, and sits on the edge of her bed with her eyes shut. It would seem she too is deeply affected by it.

“It’s lamb,” Cara says, “not fish.” She has no idea why exactly she thought that would bring the Confessor comfort but no other alternatives came to mind.

“I’m going to go for a walk.” Cara looks out the window as Kahlan rounds the corner disappearing from her line of vision.

“Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl,” Cara mumbles, leaning her head against the window pane, knowing that Kahlan is reliving the grief she caused. Taking in a deep breath, Cara walks out the door and follows a short distance behind her. The corners of Kahlan’s mouth curl into a valiant attempt at a smile when Cara catches up and takes a seat beside her on a small bench in front of the grotto. Cara tosses a coin into the fountain, wishing she believed in wishes. They sit side by side, Kahlan gazing up at the stars, Cara staring down at the ground. It’s a long silence that, for Cara, is heavy with words that will remain unsaid and a lump in her throat that tastes of shame and remorse.

“It’s getting chilly. We should go back.” Cara nods in agreement.

The stew looks appetizing enough, and after a few moments on the warm hearth, its aroma beckons, yet neither manages more than a few spoonfuls. Each of them bathes and curls up in their own bed, but sleep doesn’t come easily to either of them. It is late into the night when Cara finally gives up on the possibility of finding slumber and, wearing only her smallclothes, sits on the windowsill looking up at the night sky.

From the opposite side of the room, Kahlan gazes at her dark silhouette, mentally tracing the dip of her spine and the swell of her breasts. Her features, from Kahlan’s vantage point, look as if they were chiseled in marble, yet her soft delicate curves could only have been molded by a gentle pair of hands, out of a substance that is uniquely Cara.

After watching her for quite some time, Kahlan walks over to the window and, resting her hand on the small of Cara’s back, says, “It was selfish of me to take the more comfortable bed. Let’s share.” They both know it’s a lie but sometimes deceit can conceal truths that are not yet ready to be revealed.

As she’d done nightly aboard Las Reinas del Mar, Kahlan covers them both with a blanket and presses the front of her body to Cara’s back. It isn’t long before they are both sound asleep.

Just before dawn, still in that space that lingers between sleep and wakefulness, they feel a cool breeze sweep over their bodies and instinctively snuggle closer together for warmth. Kahlan hums at the feel of fingers softly running through her hair. “That feels so good,” she breathes into Cara’s ear.

“What feels good?” Cara mumbles, with her eyes still closed.

“It is my touch you feel, Kahlan, not Cara’s,” says a strangely alluring voice.

The sound of giggles that follows causes them both to stir and finally open their eyes. When they do, they find themselves lying in a grassy meadow in front of the grotto –– their naked bodies draped with flowers. The source of the sounds of mirth that still ring through the air is a group of at least two dozen beautiful women kneeling beside them, their breasts covered only by their own long flowing locks.

Kahlan quickly sits up, now wide awake, attempting to make sense of the scene. Just as she is about to speak she realizes that her upright position has left her own breasts fully exposed –– and eagerly responding to the chilly morning air. Cara, already propped on her elbows, makes no attempt at protecting her modesty, or at concealing her obvious interest in the Mother Confessor’s breasts.

“Will you stop ogling me?” Kahlan says, then realizing that her own gaze has veered south of Cara’s eyes, she adds, “And cover yourself!”

“With what?” Cara asks, raising an eyebrow at the impossible demand.

Taking her cue from their beautiful abductors, Kahlan covers herself with her own dark mane. “Who are you people and what do you want from us?” Kahlan asks, more grateful than ever for Jamal’s willingness to sacrifice his own hair for her sake.

“You have nothing to fear from us, Mother Confessor. My name is Aruana, and we’ve brought you here to express our gratitude by providing you both with pleasure and comfort,” says a beautiful redhead. “You are both as lovely as our littlest sisters told us.” She gently traces Kahlan’s jaw line, and by the way she leans into the touch, it does not appear to be at all unpleasant. The redhead then turns toward Cara and kisses her cheek, catching just a tiny bit of the corner of her lips.

“I like them,” Cara says to the Mother Confessor, nodding enthusiastically, “they are very…friendly.” By the way Kahlan glowers at her, Cara decides it is in her own best interest to let Kahlan do the talking.

“Who are these sisters of yours who claim knowledge of us?” the Mother Confessor asks, growing tired of the situation. Cara notices Kahlan is flexing and relaxing her hand as if preparing to use it for a decidedly unfriendly purpose.

“The Night Wisps,” Aruana says. “This grotto is directly connected to the Grottoes of the Northern Foothills that our tiny sisters use as their birthing ground.” She looks over at the Mord’Sith and with a tender smile on her face adds, “Cara Mason knows it well.” Cara shifts uncomfortably as all eyes are now on her. “It is our love and care for this magical place that keeps the birthing ground alive.”

Kahlan tilts her head, furrowing her brow, as if searching for a memory that is just beyond her grasp. “It was you,” she says, finally making the connection. “You were the Mord’Sith who picked up the last Night Wisp and took her to the birthing ground when I was attacked by the Gars. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was nothing,” Cara says, with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Nothing? You saved an entire race from extinction, and possibly the whole world from imminent destruction. You call that nothing?” She grips both of Cara’s shoulders as she speaks, then pulls her into a tight embrace, forgetting for a moment that they are both completely naked.

“I failed,” Cara says, pulling away from her. “I was ordered to follow you to make certain the creature and her offspring survived but I wasn’t fast enough. By the time I got to the Northern Foothills the mother was too weak to survive the birth.”

“You didn’t fail, Cara Mason, the Night Wisps live because of you,” says a lovely dark-haired woman, extending her hand to Cara and leading her into the warm waters of the grotto. Several more of them follow as Kahlan looks on.

“It’s all right, Kahlan, Sandrine will take very good care of her. You have a long journey ahead of you; allow us to provide you with respite, even if only for a short while.” Kahlan reluctantly takes Aruana’s hand, releasing a soft moan the moment her body is submerged in the water.

Cara, for her part, has made her way to the depths of the cave, enjoying the attention lavished upon her by four beautiful women. Soft lips and gentle caresses threaten to overwhelm her senses after months of forced abstinence. “Relax, beautiful girl,” one of them whispers, licking the shell of her ear and working her way down to Cara’s breasts. Soon another woman joins her, promptly taking the neglected twin in her mouth.

All the while Cara’s gaze is fixed on the distant figure of the Mother Confessor whose hair is being washed by Aruana as she is bathed by several others. When Kahlan leans back to rinse her hair, the pink peaks of her breasts come to the surface of the water. Even surrounded by a bevy of beautiful women, it is all Cara can do to tear her eyes away from Kahlan.

“Mm, so it is another set of hands you long for,” says Sandrine, having followed Cara’s gaze and finding that it led to the Mother Confessor. Cara doesn’t deny it but quickly changes the subject by pulling her into a kiss. “Are you sure this is what you really want?” the brunette asks, with her fingers tracing circles up and down Cara’s torso –– the three other women carefully regard the exchange. When she hesitates for a moment, one by one, they kiss her chastely on the lips and swim away. Frustrated –– in more ways than one –– Cara dunks her head under the water until the need for air overwhelms her resolve.

After sitting there alone for nearly half a candlemark, she swims back from the depths of the cave and saunters out of the water without the least bit of self-consciousness. Kahlan, already wrapped in a towel enjoying a meal –– along with the company of her new friends –– can’t take her eyes off the taut, golden flesh walking toward her. She silently thanks the Creator when two of the women wrap a towel around her. Cara sits next to Sandrine who promptly hands her a plate with an assortment of fruits and cheeses.

Cara surveys the scene and finds it to be eerily familiar, yet completely foreign. She’s done this before –– enjoyed the company of exceedingly beautiful women in various states of undress tending to her every whim. Sexual encounters with her sisters had been copious and no doubt pleasurable, but it always held as its end the intention to assert power and control over another –– taking, never giving. It occurs to her that these creatures are Mord’Sith and yet not, just as she is these days. She wonders, for the first time, what it is to take a lover on equal footing, no agenda other than to pleasure and be pleasured.

Once Kahlan is done with her meal, Aruana sits behind her and nudges her forward so that her head rests on her own knees. “I’m going to massage your back,” Aruana says, adjusting the Confessor’s hair so that it drapes in front of her. “This scent will help you sleep better and cause you to have the most wonderful dreams,” she says, as she rubs the warm liquid in her palms. The feel of Aruana‘s hands, at once impossibly soft yet strong, instantly releases all of the tension from Kahlan’s body. As Aruana runs her hands along the expanse of creamy white skin, she pauses to press her lips on any spots where Kahlan is still holding tension. The occasional nibble on particularly sensitive areas causes waves of pleasure to ripple through Kahlan’s body. She’s certain this is the most decadence she has ever allowed herself and if possible, would like to blame the Mord’Sith somehow, but she’s enjoying this too much to be anything but grateful. After a lifetime of longing to be touched, having these expert hands and soft lips caressing her skin is intoxicating.

Sandrine pours Cara a glass of wine and nuzzles into her hair as Cara watches the redhead coax tiny sounds of pleasure from Kahlan. Putting down her glass, she pulls Sandrine into a kiss and rolls one of her nipples between her fingers. “You taste delicious, Cara Mason. If only I could have tasted more of you, but I could never take that which isn’t mine.” Cara frowns at the remark and kisses her again, this time sliding her hand up one of Sandrine’s thighs which quickly part to provide access, but Cara stops short of her goal. “You’re a tease, Cara Mason,” she breathes into her ear. Having been left unfinished herself, Cara decides turnabout is fair play, but chooses not to think on why exactly she declined the invitation.

As the sun begins its descent, Cara and Kahlan say their goodbyes to the women of the grotto, and are magically transported back to their bungalow. Finding themselves back in their bed and wrapped in each other’s arms, Cara in her smallclothes and Kahlan in her shift, neither of them is completely certain that any of it happened at all. The only evidence that perhaps it did is the heat pooling between both their thighs. “I need some fresh air,” Cara says, and gets out of bed.

“Dressed in that?” Kahlan says, propping herself up on her elbows.

“If you haven’t noticed, Confessor, we’re the only ones here,” Cara says, with her hand on her hip.

“Still, it’ll get cold soon. Take this.” She tosses a blanket to Cara, who, with an exaggerated eye roll, throws it over her shoulders. “Don’t go too far,” she adds in a whisper that she knows Cara won’t hear.

Not unlike the previous night, with the empty space beside her, sleep doesn’t come easily. That the absence of a Mord’Sith in her bed keeps her awake is as shocking as it is comical. Only a few short months ago, at the mere sight of one she would have confessed her and asked questions later. Now there is an unspoken closeness between them, a kind of mutual understanding and respect that she hadn’t expected. She’s even starting to wonder if she’ll ever achieve sleep once they take leave of each other. Richard will fill that void, of course, but the thought of Cara alone in the world gnaws at Kahlan constantly. So much so that in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Cara, she gets out of bed and looks out the window. And there she is, sitting by the door, wrapped in her blanket with her knees hugged to her chest.

It’s almost as if she’d made herself small. The brash Mord’Sith retreating so deeply inside herself that even her physical form seems miniscule. For a moment Kahlan thinks to scoop her up in her arms and tuck her safely into bed. It’s a terrible idea that she quickly dismisses. “Where is it that you go when you drift off like this?” Kahlan asks the figure separated from her only by a pane of glass, before returning to her empty bed.

Taking care to not disturb the Confessor’s sleep, Cara gingerly covers her with the blanket and slips into bed beside her. “Spirits, you are cold as snow,” says Kahlan, who’d lain awake all along.

“I’ll go,” she says, thinking she’d given Kahlan a chill.

“Come here,” Kahlan says, pulling Cara into her arms.

Having sat outside for nearly half the night, she’s too cold and too tired to argue. There is also something about the way Kahlan holds her on this night, something that feels different from all the others. There is a tenderness about it that Cara is sure would have turned her stomach had it been anyone other than Kahlan, but it is Kahlan and they are breathing the same breath and their heartbeats have fallen into perfect sync and she thinks maybe she should run because this can’t be good but extracting herself from Kahlan’s arms would probably kill her so she decides to stay. That her mind is racing this way is likely caused by that scented oil Aruana used to massage Kahlan which Cara is convinced is several thousand times more powerful an aphrodisiac than shadrin liver. Unable to think of a solution to her predicament, she reaches under her pillow for the scabbard that holds her dagger and takes to squeezing and releasing its hilt until sleep finds her.

When she opens her eyes the next morning, she finds the Confessor propped up on an elbow staring at her. “What was it like?” Kahlan asks.

Cara mewls and stretches, arching her back off the bed. “What was what like?”

“Witnessing the birth of the Night Wisps.”

Narrowing her eyes and wrinkling her nose, Cara pulls the covers over her head in the hopes that Kahlan will go away. “I’m not letting you out of this bed until you tell me,” says Kahlan.

Cara pulls the covers down just enough so that her eyes are visible. “We are on a quest, if you haven’t forgotten; your precious Seeker’s life depends on it.” Kahlan raises her eyebrows and settles back into a comfortable position. Fully grasping the implication of Kahlan’s actions, she relents. “Fine…it was nice.”

“Nice? That’s it? ‘It was nice’?” Kahlan says, throwing her arms up in frustration and turning her back to Cara.

Rolling her eyes, and wishing she could give Kahlan just a small taste of her agiel, she says, “It was,” then pauses for a long time, trying to find the right words for it, but there are no words for such a moment so she settles for a description that falls far short of the perfection of the event itself, “the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Kahlan finally turns around to see the expression on Cara’s face. “I wish you could have been there.”

Kahlan thinks for a moment, trying to imagine the look on Cara’s face when she found herself surrounded by thousands of baby Wisps whose life she had saved. She can see it, Cara’s face lighting up, her eyes softening, and her heart opening wide enough to hold all of the babies inside it. “I’m glad it was you,” Kahlan says, and she means it. For as much as she would have loved to have been there, that Cara was there is better, much better.

“Spirits, Cara, we have to go. The tavern only opens half a day. We need supplies and a horse.”

“Oh, so now she’s in a hurry,” Cara grumbles as she gets dressed. Kahlan gives her a shove and flies into the washroom.

Chapter Text

The walk to the tavern is a long one but not at all unpleasant. Tall trees shade them from the sun, and a cool breeze that smells of spring and of the sea makes for an idyllic setting. On either side of them, wildflowers create speckles of colorful light that appear as if they were lovingly painted by the brush of a skillful artist. It is the type of day that suggests possibilities and makes promises of a future, of a life that no Mord’Sith, or Confessor has ever known as real.

“Cara,” Kahlan says, lightly squeezing her forearm to stop her advance. “A ladybug. On your shoulder,” she says, wide-eyed and smiling. “They are harbingers of good luck.”

Her smile grows even wider as the Mord’Sith, both hands on her hips, raises her eyebrows and purses her lips. “And you believe in such things?” Kahlan nods, causing Cara to roll her eyes and look up to the heavens for a moment. “I suppose you expect me to allow this bug to remain on my shoulder then.”

Kahlan starts walking again –– now grinning –– and says, “I do.”

“Come on, bug, the Mother Confessor has requested that I play nursemaid to insects on this quest.” And so they walk on, Kahlan smiling a few paces ahead, and Cara having a conversation with a ladybug –– while lingering behind just enough to lose herself in the hypnotic sway of Kahlan’s hips.

That’s when Kahlan decides to ask a question with which she’s been increasingly preoccupied. “After I rescue the Seeker, and you right the wrong done to your sisters, will we still see each other?”

Cara considers the question, having thought from the moment she decided to kill Darken Rahl that it would probably be a suicide mission; she’d gain access to his compound, knowing that she would not come out alive. “Yours is a search and recovery mission, Confessor. I’m going in to assassinate the heavily guarded ruler of a nation who has eluded, and even defeated, death. I will kill Darken Rahl, but I have no illusions of living to tell anyone about it.” She thinks further on the matter and says, “Besides, if I did make it out alive, what then? Everything I’ve known is gone.”

“You’re not in this alone,” Kahlan says. “I won’t leave you there to die any more than you would leave me. Losing you isn’t an option. It can’t be; we’ve both lost too much already.” Kahlan walks beside her, every now and then eying the ladybug on Cara’s shoulder. The longer it stays there, the better the odds that they will both succeed, she decides.

With the tavern barely in sight, they hasten their pace, drawn in by the aroma of exotic spices that hints at culinary delights the likes of which neither has ever experienced. As they draw nearer, faint sounds of festive music and laughter grow louder.

“Do you think there’s some sort of a festival going on?” By the enthusiasm with which she asks, Cara suspects the Mother Confessor is in the mood for a party.

“Well, if it’s the only place with food and drink, I suppose we’ll have to put up with it,” Cara says, looking over at the ladybug still on her shoulder.

Kahlan gives her a nudge with her elbow and wrinkles her nose. Surely not even Cara can be grumpy on a day as lovely as this one. “Is having fun on the long list of things Mord’Sith don’t do? Because if you feel put upon by the idea, you could wait for me outside.” She looks over at Cara with a lopsided grin, knowing full well that Cara will remain by her side.

***

“This seems to be it,” Kahlan says, as they stand before a structure that is every bit a feast of colors. Although small, the building mimics the grandeur of a temple or even a palace. The dome at its top is gold in color with symbols carved along its edges that neither of them recognizes. Two intricately carved white marble pillars –– standing in stark contrast with the mosaic tile work that covers the walls –– flank either side of the arched entrance. The images formed by the tiles are of various women dressed in bright shades of nearly every color of the rainbow, all wearing golden headpieces.

“Look at this one,” Kahlan says, pointing to the image of an eight-armed woman sitting atop a tiger.

Cara nods, taking in the details of it. “That many arms would work well in a battle.” Kahlan sighs at the comment from her ever-practical companion as they walk inside.

“Hello,” Kahlan says to the dark-haired man with a thick mustache standing behind the podium of the empty tavern. “Are we still in time for a meal?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he says, leading them to a table. The source of the music, as it turns out, had been three little girls, each still holding a musical instrument. “My name is Rabindranath and these are my three littlest goddesses: Lakshmi, Saraswati, and Kali, the baby.” The oldest cannot be much more than six summers old and the little one, at most three.

“They are beautiful,” Kahlan says, earning herself smiles from the two oldest –– the youngest eyes the two strangers suspiciously.

“Lakshmi, lassi for our guests, please,” he tells the oldest who promptly runs into the kitchen. “Saraswati, some chapati,” he says to the middle one, who runs behind her sister. “I will bring out your meals as soon as they are ready,” he says, addressing the women. “Kali, will you keep our guests company?” The little girl nods, and walks to their table, crossing her arms in front of her. When she spots the ladybug on Cara’s shoulder, her eyes grow wide, and she edges closer to the Mord’Sith who stares back at her as if she were a baby gar.

“Cara,” Kahlan says, tipping her head and pointing toward the child with her chin. “Be nice,” she adds under her breath.

“You have pretty eyes,” the little girl says in a grave tone. “Will mine look like that when I grow up?” Cara leans in to closely examine the child’s eyes, tilting her head to take in various angles before giving her final assessment.

“No,” she replies, leaving no room for doubt.

Kahlan’s hand meets her own forehead as she watches Kali’s previously dispassionate expression instantly transform into abject misery. Noticing the changes in both of them, Cara panics, not knowing what exactly is called for in this type of crisis. Then it occurs to her that given that they are both women –– albeit one of them a short one –– she should implement a tactic that, historically, has served her well with the fairer sex. “They will be as beautiful as hers,” she says, pointing at Kahlan. “Far prettier than mine,” she adds, causing Kahlan to blush and the child to happily climb up on her lap.

Before Cara can get herself into trouble again, the two older girls walk out of the kitchen, one carrying two glasses holding a thick peach-colored beverage and the other a plate with a stack of what appears to be some sort of bread, their father following close behind with their meals. All three of them stop dead in their tracks at the sight of the little one curled up in Cara’s arms. “She likes you,” Lakshmi says, raising both her brows as if it were a rare occurrence, “she doesn’t like very many people.”

“Here you are, ladies. Enjoy.” After setting the plates down, he holds out his arms but the little one vigorously shakes her head. “Do you mind?” he asks Cara.

“Of course not,” Kahlan replies. Not having been given a choice on the matter, Cara nods politely before glaring at Kahlan, who promptly looks down at her plate.

All is forgotten, however, when Cara catches a whiff of the food. Kahlan watches intently as Cara brings a forkful to her mouth and nods in approval. “This is good,” she says, “it’s very good.” With that ringing endorsement, Kahlan promptly digs in.

“Spirits, this is the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth,” she declares.

Cara purses her lips and with a smirk on her face, responds, “The food is undeniably delicious, but I’ve had far tastier things in my mouth.” She punctuates the statement by licking her lips –– promptly earning herself a kick on the shin courtesy of the Mother Confessor.

“The child,” Kahlan says, scowling at her. Cara rolls her eyes and keeps eating.

“Navrattan korma is a nine gem curry because of the nine types of vegetables, nuts, and dried fruits that are in it,” says Kali, rather pleased with herself.

“Thank you for that very important information,” says Kahlan to the precocious little chef.

It isn’t long before their plates are empty and their bellies full. So much so, that Cara shares her dessert with Kali. Kahlan watches as Cara spoon-feeds the little girl, carefully wiping the corners of her mouth between mouthfuls.

“Do you suppose she plans on joining us on our quest? We already have a bug, why not a toddler?” Kahlan smiles, grateful that this particular Mord’Sith has a sense of humor.

***
“Ladies, is it safe to assume from the empty plates that the meal was to your satisfaction?” Having no doubt that that was the case, he smiles and awaits a response.

“Yes, everything was delicious, thank you so much,” Kahlan says. “Tell me, Rabindranath, is there somewhere nearby where we can purchase or at least hire a horse? My friend and I have a long way to travel.”

He scratches his head, trying to think of a helpful suggestion but none comes to him. “I’m sorry, my friends, but this is the off season. Other than my girls and I, no one is here. My wife, who is preparing for our fourth child, and the innkeeper left on the last coach yesterday. If you follow this road, in five days you will reach the next city where you will surely find stables.”

The look of concern on their faces is obvious, for traveling on foot for such a distance will slow their progress considerably, and leave them both exhausted. Still, Kahlan manages a polite smile. “No matter; thank you and congratulations to both you and your wife on the upcoming birth.”

“Don’t leave yet, I’ll pack you some food for the road,” he says, going back to the kitchen.

“Little one,” Cara says to the child she’s still holding in her arms, as Kahlan listens with interest, “I have a long way to travel. Do you think you can take care of my friend for me?” she asks, pointing at the ladybug.

Kali, with a steely look in her eyes, replies, “I will.” Cara carefully maneuvers her way off the chair, while still holding the child, without disturbing the insect.

“Put her in here,” says Saraswati, handing Cara a small jar into which she’s scoops some dirt from a potted plant. Kahlan then carefully removes the tiny creature from Cara’s shoulder and deposits it safely into the offered container.

“Baba, look.” The little one holds up the jar for her father’s inspection just as he returns with a neatly wrapped package. Cara puts her down and her father quickly scoops her into his arms. She kisses him on cheek and whispers something into his ear.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “we’ll have to ask your sisters.” He and the girls step into the kitchen leaving the women a bit confused. Cara shrugs and places a stack of coins on the table to pay for their meal.

Having stood there waiting for quite some time, Kahlan finally says, “They must be discussing a family matter. Maybe we should go.” Cara shoulders their packs and heads for the door. “Goodbye,” Kahlan calls out, in an effort to be polite.

The moment they step outside, rounding the corner from behind the building is the most enormous beast either of them has ever seen, carrying on its back Rabindranath and his three daughters. Cara and Kahlan stand dumbfounded, thinking that perhaps they’ve fallen prey to some sort of spell. The gray beast is easily four times the size of a horse, with an elongated appendage growing out from its head, and legs as thick as tree trunks.

“Ladies, wait,” Rabindranath calls out. He pats the beast gently on its neck, causing it to lean forward enough for him to easily hop off its back. One by one, his daughters jump into his arms and he places each of them safely on the ground. “This is Ganesh,” he says. “My daughters and I have agreed that he will transport you to Veritas. My brother works in town and will ensure Ganesh’s safe return home.”

Kahlan and Cara turn toward each other and then toward the gigantic animal in front of them. Kahlan extends one of her arms out and opens her mouth as if to speak but doesn’t exactly know what to say. “Ganesh is our family elephant. We brought him over as a baby when we moved here from our country,” Rabindranath explains. “Elephants are the most intelligent and loyal of animals. You need not be frightened.” Cara scowls at the implication that she and the Confessor fear the beast for as big as it is, she’s certain they could take it in a fair fight. Maybe.

Smiling, but looking rather pained, Kahlan asks, “Do you mind if we discuss it between ourselves for a moment?” He nods in acquiescence, walking back toward the animal with his daughters.

“What should we do?” Kahlan asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of such an animal, nor seen one before.”

“Well, we’d never seen penguins before either,” Kahlan points out.

“So you are seriously considering we ride atop that beast,” Cara says, astonished by the mere suggestion of it.

Kahlan wrings her hands and worries her lower lip for a moment. “We don’t have a choice,” she says.

“Of course we do. We both have legs, don’t we?”

“Yes, I know, but that’s not the problem.” Cara crosses her arms over her chest awaiting an explanation. With a long-suffering sigh, Kahlan finally says, “I don’t want to hurt their feelings.” Cara purses her lips, wishing once again she could acquaint Kahlan with her agiel. Without a word, she picks up their packs and heads toward the elephant.

“What do we feed it?” she asks Rabindranath, in a complete monotone.

“He will pick fruits from trees along the way,” Rabindranath replies. The three little girls are all smiles as their father gives Cara and Kahlan detailed riding instructions. While he repeatedly assures them that riding an elephant is far easier than riding a horse –– they both remain reluctant.

As they are saying their goodbyes, he adds, “He is very brave and will protect you with his life if necessary, but,” he pauses, patting the side of the animal’s belly, “he is deathly afraid of rodents. Should you encounter any, do your best to reassure him until he calms down.”

“Thank you so much for your generosity, Rabindranath. We will take very good care of him.” One by one, the little girls say goodbye to their elephant, and to the Mother Confessor and the Mord’Sith.

With that, Rabindranath gives Ganesh the signal to lean forward so that they can mount him. Both Cara and Kahlan step forward with the intention of mounting first. Noticing the sudden tension, the little girls look on in amusement.

“You rode in front on the horse,” Kahlan says.

Cara quickly replies, “It was my horse.”

“We’re on this quest together so, technically, it was our horse.” Kahlan waits for a reply but when the Mord’Sith wrinkles her nose and furrows her brow, she relents. “Fine, you go in front.”

“No, I don’t want to anymore. Besides, I can better protect you from the back,” Cara points out.

Kahlan does her best to look offended, but the hint of a smile on her face betrays her. “So you think me incapable of taking care of myself?” Cara starts to reply but the giggles coming from the three girls –– as well as their father –– shames them both enough to end their bickering.

With Ganesh already leaning forward, Kahlan takes a deep breath and gingerly climbs atop the beast, extending her hand out to help Cara do the same. “The Creator help us,” Kahlan says, “we are traveling on a cowardly creature that may get spooked by a mouse. The fall alone will kill us both.”

“Don’t call him a coward,” Cara says. “No one likes rodents.”

“Fine,” Kahlan says, “but please hold on tight. If you fall, there will be no one left to protect me,” she says, with no small amount of amusement in her tone. Cara rolls her eyes and wraps both her arms tightly around Kahlan’s waist.

While Ganesh is certainly slower than a horse, they are making far better time than they would on foot and it’s a much smoother ride. So smooth in fact, that with the way all of Cara’s weight is resting against her, Kahlan suspects the Mord’Sith may be napping. When she turns to look back at Cara over her shoulder, she nearly slides off the animal, taking Cara with her. Were it not for Cara’s strong legs gripping on to Ganesh, they would have both toppled over. “You are an impressive elephant woman, Confessor.” Kahlan doesn’t need to look back as Cara to know that one of her eyebrows is arched up and she has that petulant smirk on her face. The thought of it actually makes Kahlan smile.

As the sun starts to set, the beginning of what will soon become a storm darkens the afternoon sky. Still uneasy about their unorthodox mount, Kahlan hastens their pace in the hopes of finding shelter before the rain starts. As the wind whistles through the trees and birds take flight to make their escape, Cara spots a cave tucked away from the road that will serve as their home for the night.

Ganesh leans forward, allowing Cara to jump to the ground, motioning for Kahlan to toss down their packs. Once the Confessor is safely on the ground they look around the cave and find that, as everything else has been during this quest, it is surprisingly pleasant. Cara builds a fire while Kahlan lays out their bedrolls side by side at the far end of their shelter.

“After we have our meal, I will take watch,” Cara says.

Looking over at the entrance, Kahlan chuckles and shakes her head. “I don’t think you’ll have to,” she says, directing Cara’s attention to the massive gray beast blocking access to anything or anyone who would dare approach.

Cara walks over and strokes Ganesh’s trunk. “Good elephant.” She turns toward Kahlan and says, “I told you he isn’t a coward.” The Confessor concedes with a tilt of the head and a nod.

Just as they are finishing off the last of the food Rabindranath had so graciously packed for them, the downpour, accompanied by a cold wind, rips through the sky. Nestling close to each other for added warmth, they sit by the fire in silence. Kahlan can’t help but recall the many nights she’d spent in front of a campfire with the Seeker and the Wizard. The Wizard would certainly have enjoyed Rabindranath’s cooking, she thinks to herself, and Richard would have had his arms around her, nuzzling her hair, smiling that smile that is uniquely Richard. A twinge of guilt pricks at her chest realizing that she hadn’t missed them of late, not really, not how she should have. Truth be told, aside from that purgatorial tropical forest, this journey feels more like a holiday than a quest. She’d met Marina at the end of the world, traveled across the sea with the crew of Las Reinas del Mar, allowed herself a taste of decadence at the hands of some very beautiful women, seen penguins for the first time, and now even ridden an elephant. Each of these experiences had, in their own way, altered her worldview, changed her somehow. Then there is Cara, of course, but on this night, with the way Cara’s hair falls over her shoulders, and the flames flicker in her eyes, and her plumb lips practically beg for attention, Kahlan thinks it best not to dwell too much on her travel companion, not on a night such as this one.

Instead, she runs her hand down Cara’s back until it comes to rest on her hip, and says, “We should probably get some sleep.” Cara turns to face her, fixing her gaze on Kahlan’s in a way that makes Kahlan’s breath catch in her throat. She can’t read the Mord’Sith but she doesn’t need to because she knows what Cara is thinking –– she knows because she’s thinking it, too. Gathering up every bit of resolve she has in her, Kahlan reminds herself that this may feel like a holiday but it is, in fact, a quest, and even if it weren’t, what they are thinking could very well get someone killed.

Taking in a deep breath, she is on her feet and walking to where their bedrolls await. Cara lingers by the fire, her eyes still on Kahlan, watching as she unlaces her dress, then her boots, and finally slips on her night shift, allowing her travel dress to fall at her feet. Kahlan places a shift on Cara’s bedroll, slides under the blanket and squeezes her eyes shut. Feigning sleep, she listens as Cara slips out of her leathers and slides under the blanket –– without the shift.

Feeling heat radiate off Cara’s body, Kahlan edges closer so that their bodies are pressed together and says, “I think tomorrow I should sit behind you.”

Cara’s lips quirk into a smile. “I thought you were asleep.” Kahlan doesn’t like to lie so she remains silent.

Chapter Text

When they arrive at the city of Veritas, a man who cannot be anyone other than Rabindranath’s brother –– for they have the same face –– rushes to Ganesh’s side speaking to him in a language that neither of the women can understand. He finally turns to them with a smile on his face. “You are friends of my brother, yes?”

“We are,” Kahlan says, “and we met your beautiful nieces as well.” The elephant slings his trunk around Cara’s shoulders and pulls her into something that resembles an embrace.

“Ganesh likes you,” he tells her. “That means you’ve made a friend for life. If ever you are in peril, you can be sure he will travel any distance to help you.” The women say their goodbyes to the elephant and to Rabindranath’s brother who has already given them directions to a reputable inn.

Although she doesn’t mention it, there is something about the city that has been causing Cara a fair amount of uneasiness since their arrival. She cannot identify its source but it manifests itself as a prickly sensation on her skin and acrid taste in her mouth. As they approach the inn her discomfort only increases, so much so, that she waits outside as Kahlan makes arrangements for their room. When the innkeeper hands Kahlan the key, Cara crosses the threshold and, shouldering their packs, follows the Confessor into their room. “Oh, I’ll ask about a tavern,” Kahlan says, and walks back toward the front desk.

As she turns the corner, she hears a heart-wrenching wail in what she immediately recognizes as Cara’s voice. With the innkeeper following, she rushes in to find Cara sobbing and writhing in pain. Without missing a beat, Kahlan reaches for his throat. “She was fine before we walked in here. What did you do?” The black swirls in her eyes leave no doubt as to what she is and of the price he will pay for a lie.

“I did nothing, Confessor,” he says, trembling in Kahlan’s hand. “This is the city of Veritas. The land upon which our city is built is imbued with the ability to purify a sinner’s heart, to release their guilt and absolve them of their sins. I’ve seen it cause grown men to crumble to their knees and ask forgiveness but never something like this,” he says, gasping for air when Kahlan finally releases her hold on him.

“It’s like confession,” Kahlan says, recognizing the similarities. “Spirits, it will kill her. How do we stop it?”

“I, I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before. Tears, shame, yes, but this…I don’t know.”

“Then find someone who does,” she orders, briefly grabbing his throat again. Once he leaves, Kahlan kneels beside Cara and takes her in her arms. “Hold on, Cara, please hold on,” she says, doing her best to keep her own tears at bay.

The innkeeper returns with an elderly woman at his side whom he introduces as a healer. “Can you help her?” Kahlan asks.

With Kahlan’s assistance the woman lowers herself next to Cara’s prone form, flinching at the sound of her cries. “I’ve seen this a few times before. Your friend had parts of her soul stolen from her at a young age. Without those parts, her own past misdeeds are consuming her.” She looks at Cara then back at Kahlan and adds, “I don’t know who she is to you but to help her you will have to provide those missing parts for her.”

“I don’t understand,” Kahlan says.

“To save her, you will have to walk through her life and be that which she lacks,” the healer says, handing Kahlan an amulet that appears as if it were made from shards of glass pressed together by force. “But be forewarned, that she reacted this way to the magic of this land can only mean that what was done to her and, in turn, what she has done to others will be horrific. Once you place the amulet around your neck you will have to see this through to the end.”

“But why, why would your people use such magic?” Kahlan asks.

The woman’s eyes soften as she reaches for Kahlan’s hand. “It’s a gift to those who cross the city gates for the first time. Your feelings for her are keeping you from experiencing the shift in your heart but you will feel it, too.”

Kahlan shakes her head and brings her hands up to cover her eyes for a moment. “How can it be a gift, if it can kill her?” Kahlan asks.

“This isn’t the same as your Confessor powers. Her remorse isn’t brought about by the magic, the magic sensed remorse she was already feeling and attempted to absolve her. It’s the parts of her that are broken that are killing her. Go to her, before it’s too late. I will pray for you both.”

Now alone with Cara, Kahlan gazes at the amulet in her hand wishing that it weren’t she who has to do this for the Mord’Sith, but in a strange way it feels right, almost as if it could never have been otherwise. Briefly closing her eyes to steel her resolve, she places the amulet around her neck and the moment she does, the entire world changes. Only something must have gone wrong because it isn’t Cara she sees, it’s her own face, or rather, a younger version of her face. “Spirits, that’s me. Why, Cara, why am I here?” she asks, turning toward Cara who stands a few paces in front of her, only to realize the Mord’Sith isn’t aware of her presence.

It’s Dennee’s voice that brings it all back, the two of them sitting on the side of a hill with their father, taking their midday meal. From where they sit they can hear the sounds of laughter and see the stream where the two little girls are fishing with a man who can only be their father, for they fit together, the three of them, like a jigsaw puzzle. But suddenly it all goes wrong, very wrong. “Look, Kahlan,” Dennee says, pointing to the women in red beating the man and taking the girl, the little one with the pretty dress who put the fish back in the water.

Without hesitation, the young Confessor is on her feet and running toward them. ‘Mord’Sith hurt little girls,’ her mother had explained once, ‘as Confessors, it is our duty to protect them.’ But then she feels it, the rough hand grabbing a fistful of her hair and pushing her to the ground.

“That girl is none of your business. We have our own matters to attend to,” her father says, hovering over her menacingly.

“She isn’t even Dennee’s age,” the young Confessor pleads, hoping to elicit some compassion from him. Instead he backhands her so hard that blood mixes with the tears already streaking her face. “Get up, we have to go,” he growls, pulling her up by the collar of her dress. The scar on her lip still serves as a reminder of that awful day.

As they walk away, the young Confessor hears the man crying out his little girl’s name, “Cara,” he says, over and over.

It was a day that had haunted the Mother Confessor for years, the day she failed to protect an innocent little girl from five Mord’Sith who would torture her until she became a monster. It was also the day she found the courage to plan her escape from her father’s house so that both she and her sister could return to the Confessor’s Palace where they belonged.

“It was you, Cara. You were the little girl who changed my life,” she says, closing the short distance between them.

She and Cara stand side by side now, only Cara still doesn’t see her. They are in a dungeon watching the little girl, Cara Mason, curled up in a corner, shaking with fear. “Please, I want my mother,” she cries. When she’s awake she’s beaten with the agiel, and when she tries to sleep the rats gnaw at her flesh. A Mord’Sith hands her an agiel, the same one they’ve been torturing her with for days, and gives her the option of killing her tormentors. She resists at first. “I don’t want to kill anything,” she says, but in the end, it’s too much for her. “I’m sorry,” she says to each of them as she kills them.

“In this world it is kill or be killed, Cara,” one of her captors had said. None of this is new to Cara, until she hears a familiar voice. She and Kahlan now stand before another cell, one that holds a man. Kahlan recognizes him as the man she saw by the stream, Cara’s father.

He’s hanging from chains, four Mord’Sith subjecting him to all manner of torture. By the marks on his body Cara can see that it’s been going on for weeks. “If you want this to stop, all you have to do is tell your daughter that you sold her,” one of the Mord’Sith says. His love for her is too strong, he won’t break, and Cara doesn’t understand; this isn’t how it happened, or at least not how the Mord’Sith told her it happened. “If you won’t say what I want you to say, then I will make it so you can’t speak at all.” It takes four Mord’Sith to subdue him so that they can pour the hot oil down his throat.

The Mord’Sith look on as the child, Cara Mason, presses the agiel to her father’s heart. She is now a Sister of the Agiel.

Cara drops to her knees, realizing she’d killed her father over a lie.

“Spirits, what they did to you, Cara,” Kahlan says, but the Mord’Sith, kneeling beside her father’s dead body, doesn’t know she’s there. Still, Kahlan sits next to her and gently rocks her in her arms. “This wasn’t your fault, Cara. None of it was your fault. You were a sweet little girl and they made you do it. You have to forgive yourself.”

“It’s an honor, sister, you should be grateful that the Lord Rahl has called you to his quarters,” the tall Mord’Sith standing at the door says. Young Cara Mason, now wearing Mord’Sith leather, still no more than twelve summers old, is trembling even as she grips her agiel.

Cara remembers this day well, so much so that she has to look away. Kahlan’s hand is on her shoulder, and she says, “You already lived through whatever is about to happen here, Cara. I know you can’t hear me but I’ll be by your side no matter what.” Only what happens next is inconceivably perverse.

**Young Cara Mason is able to hold back her tears, but her hands won’t stop shaking and she’s lost all her color. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” Darken Rahl says, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.

By the way he looks at her, Kahlan realizes what’s about to happen. Unable to bear it, she buries her face in Cara’s chest. Yet the sound of the young Mord’Sith’s cries, she is certain, will never leave her.

“Stop, please,” she begs, “you’re hurting me.”

“So you don’t want to please your Lord?” Darken Rahl asks, in that silky smooth tone that is his preferred preamble to cruelty.

That’s when the bloodcurdling screams start, and the unmistakable sounds of a brutal beating followed by a deafening silence that, after what seems like an eternity, is broken by Darken Rahl’s moans as he reaches his release.

Taking hold of the child’s braid, he drags her to the door as she attempts to cover herself with what is left of her leather. “Clean her up,” he says to the Mord’Sith standing outside his door, “and bring her back to me tomorrow.”

Kahlan finally turns toward her, deciding that she owes it to the child to see what was done to her. What she finds is even more horrifying than she’d imagined. Both of young Cara Mason’s eyes are swollen shut, her body covered with cuts and bruises, patches of hair torn off her scalp, and blood runs down her legs. Kahlan lived through a nightmarish childhood herself, but this is something altogether different, this is something which, for the first time in her life, makes her question her faith in the Creator. Were it not that Cara’s very life is at stake, she would tear the amulet off her neck and make it all stop.**

She closes her eyes for a moment, attempting to free herself of the image, and when she opens them again she’s somewhere else, a different room, but still in the People’s Palace, she’s certain of it. Instinctively, her eyes search for Cara, spotting her in the far corner, sitting on the floor with her knees hugged to her chest and her face resting on them. She’s a grown woman attempting to make herself small to shield herself from what comes next. Kahlan sits beside her taking in the scene.

 “Push,” says the midwife, “you have to push.”

From the bed across the room from where the Mord’Sith and the Mother Confessor sit, someone cries out, “I’m trying.” Kahlan instantly recognizes the voice as that of young Cara Mason. There is a Mord’Sith at her bedside holding her hand and two others standing by the door, waiting.

“You’ve lost too much blood already. If we don’t get this thing out of you, you’ll die –– now push.”

Moments later, the midwife places a crying baby boy in Cara’s arms. “He has your eyes and your lips,” the midwife says.

“Look, Berdine, he’s beautiful. He’s the most beautiful baby in the world. I’m going to call him Mason, Mason Rahl,” young Cara Mason says, with tears running down her face but with a smile so bright it lights up the room.

Berdine sees them approaching first and has to look away for she knows what’s about to happen. In the space between two heartbeats, the two Mord’Sith that were at the door stand at either side of the bed, one holding Cara down while the other tears her son from her arms.

“No, Denna, please don’t take my baby,” she begs, trying to get up but she’s too small and too weak to protect him. “What’s going to happen to my baby?” she asks over and over for several candlemarks, almost as if she’s gone mad.

Never having left her side, Berdine rests her hand on Cara’s forehead and shaking her head, murmurs, “Don’t ask anymore.” A few days later, strong enough to return to her duties, Cara tears away from Berdine’s grip when she tries to help her up from the bed and insists on dressing herself.

For Kahlan, it feels as if her gaze has fallen upon an entirely different person. It’s been only a matter of days but she’s much older somehow, her expression harder, and her movements are not unlike those of a predator stalking its prey. “Kill or be killed,” Kahlan says, understanding that no trace of that sweet little girl by the stream could remain if the young Mord’Sith was to survive the horrors of her childhood.

Kahlan and Cara continue alongside her, watching her grow into a formidable Mord’Sith; indeed, Darken Rahl’s best. She’s the most skilled fighter, the most intelligent, but not always the most vicious.

“You’re weak, Cara,” says Dahlia, her childhood friend and sometime lover, throwing her arms up in frustration. “It could have been you that led the raid at Tamarang. Our Lord would have made you the head of your own temple, with me by your side.”

Cara tips her head, with a smirk on her face. “So your plan is to reach your ambitions on my coattails? Is that it, Dahlia?”

Cara walks away but Dahlia stalks behind her. “I only want what’s best for you. Garen brought in fifteen girls, most of whom are useless. You would have brought in twice as many and all of them of the mettle to become true Mord’Sith.”

“I have no interest in spending my days behind the walls of a temple, chasing after little girls,” Cara says, derisively. “Tell me, Dahlia, how did Denna find out I planned on requesting a post under Commander Trimack?” She awaits a response but she knows it won’t come. “You’ll never change, always scheming. Even when we were children you lied to get your way.”

“I did it for you, Cara, to keep you safe.” That earns her a hard strike across the face.

“No, you did it for you, Dahlia.”

“You’re soft, Cara, if it weren’t for me you’d still be licking Denna’s boots,” she says, but Cara walks away, not bothering to reply.

That Dahlia would go to Denna behind her back was the one thing of which Cara hadn’t thought her capable. She’d aligned herself with the murderer of Cara’s son, a transgression that Cara will not forgive or forget. Alone in her cell, she allows herself to feel the sting of yet another of Dahlia’s betrayals. Lying on the bed of the windowless room, with its bare walls and stone floors, she makes herself small and watches as the single candle that lights the room burns out, leaving only darkness to take its place.

Kahlan turns to the Mord’Sith who leans on the door of her old cell with her brow furrowed and her arms wrapped around herself, almost as if seeking comfort –– even if only from herself. “Oh, Cara,” Kahlan murmurs, resting her palm on Cara’s cheek, “you cared for her. With all that you lived through, you were still capable of love.”

There is a cruelty about her from that day on that hadn’t been there before. She carries out her duties with zeal now, a vicious enthusiasm that she’d previously lacked. Even her face takes on a hardness that makes her look older than her years. The coldness in her eyes as she beats pets into submission, without a trace of emotion  –– only a hint of curiosity –– like that of a madman tearing the wings off insects for no purpose other than studying their suffering.

Wherever her Lord sends her, she leaves a trail of corpses in her wake. She never hesitates, she never stops to question why, she just keeps moving. In between assignments, she opts for the company of whores or random strangers, only on rare occasions partaking in the distinctly Mord’Sith brand of pleasure her sisters provide. Even that is too much intimacy for her.

Kahlan is sickened by her actions. She can’t believe that the Cara she’s seeing is the woman she’s traveled with for months, the one who fought by her side aboard Las Reinas del Mar, the one without whose body pressed to her own she can’t achieve sleep.

The little girl by the stream grew into a murderer, Kahlan realizes. Yet she can’t fault her. Cara Mason is the cumulative sum of all her experiences. It could not have been otherwise, not without the circumstances of her life having been different. Still, Kahlan can’t bear to look at the Mord’Sith standing a few paces away from her, not while watching this phantom Cara, who is nothing like the woman who has been by her side for months, kill and torture indiscriminately.

This journey through Cara’s past takes an unexpected turn, one that causes Kahlan to wince, terrified by the thought of what she may be about to witness. She knows this place well. She’s spent many carefree days here in the company of her little sister and other Confessors. For years, she’d held fond memories of this beautiful hideaway, memories that turned into nightmares when this one-time oasis became a mass grave for her sister Dennee and the rest of their kind. Kahlan’s gaze seeks out the Mord’Sith finding her kneeling under the shade of a tall tree. It is the only spot on the island from which the peaks of the snow-covered mountains of Aydindril, which serve as a backdrop to the Confessor’s Palace, are visible.

The island of Valeria, the Confessors’ sanctuary, uncovered by a seer known for doing Darken Rahl’s bidding, is being overrun by Mord’Sith. Dozens of them killing and being killed in their search for a child, an infant boy born to a Confessor. They are to find him and bring him back to their Lord –– alive. His plan is to raise the child as his own son, grooming him into the ultimate weapon. His breaking is to begin as soon as his Confessor magic manifests; a tiny Rada’Han already awaits his arrival at the palace.

It is the Mord’Sith Cara Mason, who since her twelfth summer had developed an uncanny ability to discern even the faintest cries of a child, who finds the infant and his mother. She walks through the door, not at all concerned with the element of surprise, and follows the sounds until she stands before Dennee Amnell, holding the boy, who is her very image, in her arms. The Confessor doesn’t move for there is nowhere to go.

With her brow furrowed and her hand on the hilt of her undrawn weapon, the Mord’Sith leans against the door, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun that pours through a small window. The rest of the room covered in a blanket of darkness, it is as if Cara Mason herself is luminous.

She stands there, still glimmering, with her gaze fixed on the Confessor. They stay that way for what seems like an eternity. It is the Confessor who, no longer able tolerate the uncertainty, breaks their silence. “What are you waiting for?” she asks, with her head held high, even as tears threaten to leave her eyes.

For the first time, the Mord’Sith veers her gaze toward the boy, her expression never changing. Shaking her head, she says, “I will not tear a child from his mother’s arms.”

The Confessor doesn’t know what to make of the woman standing before her. She’d gone over a thousand possible scenarios when she was told that the Mord’Sith were attacking, but this she hadn’t conceived of for a single moment. “Will you allow us to leave then?” she asks, with no small amount of skepticism.

“I will not allow nor disallow it. You are free to do as you please…but there are dozens of Mord’Sith outside this door who do not see things as I do. One of them will kill you and take your son to Darken Rahl,” she says without a trace of emotion.

“Will you help me then?” Dennee asks, for the first time dropping her Confessor mask, allowing every bit of fear and vulnerability to show through.

Cara looks down at the child again, and without looking up at his mother says, “He is a male Confessor.” Her tone is different this time as is her gaze. It sounds almost like a plea, an interjection of reason into an impossible situation.

Dennee has no reasonable argument to present. “I love him,” she says, “even as he grew inside me I already loved him more than my life.” She pauses for a moment, trying to gather herself, then asks a second time, “Will you help me?”

That’s when it happens, the door swings open revealing a tall Mord’Sith with light hair and delicate features. “Get out of here, Dahlia,” Cara says, in a low, threatening tone.

“Take the child. What are you waiting for?” Dahlia spits out.

“I’m warning you, Dahlia, leave now. I’m going to handle this my way,” Cara says, menacingly.

“You’re a fool, Cara, a weak fool. Be glad that it’s me here and not one of our sisters, or you’d be dead already.” With that she takes a step toward the Confessor and reaches for the child, but the Confessor is faster, much faster. Gripping Dahlia’s throat, while still holding her son in her arms, she releases her magic, not stopping to consider that every Mord’Sith on the island will sense it.

“Dahlia,” Cara murmurs, watching her beg for forgiveness with her last breath.

It’s over, they both know it; already they can hear the Mord’Sith approaching. The Confessor draws her weapon but Cara stops her, pointing down at her agiel with her chin. “No,” she says, “this will be quicker and less painful.” The Confessor weeps, clinging to the boy, but it is already too late, it was too late on the day of his birth but she can’t see that, not loving him much as she does, it isn’t possible.

 “I am his mother,” she says, closing her eyes as she drives her weapon through his heart; Cara has to look away.

Kahlan looks on in complete horror. “Little sister,” she cries out, left gasping for air at the sight of Dennee taking her own son’s life, not by choice but to spare him a fate far worse than death. Kahlan notices that present day Cara is in the room too, leaning against a wall, watching the blonde Confessor cradle her dead child.

“Do it,” says Dennee, still holding the boy’s lifeless body in her arms.

“That isn’t necessary,” Cara says, “it’s the child they are after. You can still ––“

Looking up from the dead child in her arms, she says, “I just killed my own son. It is necessary.”

Cara nods and, swallowing the lump in her throat, presses her agiel to Dennee Amnell’s heart. She understands, it’s what she would have wanted. Just then a pack of Mord’Sith burst through the door. “Give him the Breath of Life,” one of them says.

“I’ve already tried, I couldn’t bring him back. She drove the dagger through his heart.”

The others pick up their fallen sister, whose body is already cold, but Cara stays behind. “I’ll catch up,” she says.

Kahlan charges at Cara who is kneeling beside Dennee and the dead child. Her eyes are black swirls of rage as she cries out in the grip of the Con'Dar but it’s to no avail, Cara is there and yet not. She pounds her fists against Cara’s back, stabs her with both her daggers even, but the Mord’Sith feels nothing. Finally drained from the release of her magic, she collapses on the ground and weeps.
 
The sun having finished its descent, it is in complete darkness that Cara buries both mother and child in what she deems to be the most appropriate spot. The wind already carrying the acrid smell of death, Cara Mason leaves Valeria without bothering to retrieve her horse. She decides, instead, to walk with no particular destination in mind.

She has a handful of coins –– enough for a meal and perhaps a room –– but no supplies. It is late into the night when she finally finds an inn. Even before she’s crossed the threshold, the sneers and looks of disdain come at her from every angle. “Please, we don’t want any trouble,” says the man behind the counter.

“All I want is a room and a hot meal,” she says. That’s when she spots him, the stranger who will serve as her distraction for the night. She knows that it isn’t what she needs but she has to do something because this dull, hollow ache behind her ribcage is more than she can bear. It isn’t like the breathtakingly beautiful agony of an agiel nor is it like the white-hot symphony of sensations caused by a blade piercing through flesh and bone –– both of those serve as reminders that one is still alive. No, what she’s experiencing is a kind of death, only it doesn’t involve the body. That type of death she’s experienced several times over. This is far worse. This is the kind of death that culminates in the realization that everything one thought to be true was, in fact, a lie.

She takes her pleasure from the stranger roughly, an act of violence mixed with anguish and disgust –– at herself for who she is and for who she isn’t, and at him for being unable to satisfy the need in her. The act itself leaves her with an emptiness the likes of which she’s never known. Without looking back, she takes leave of him at dawn.

Already a mob has gathered. “We don’t want your kind here,” says the tavern owner, with the courage that comes with numbers. Only Cara is still Mord’Sith and arithmetic may not yield the expected results. Twenty men, maybe more, wielding a variety of weapons, come at her all at once, but they don’t stand a chance, not against Darken Rahl’s finest. Lying on the ground, defeated and bloodied, he says, “Nobody wants you. Why don’t you get out of my tavern and go back to whatever vile pit you crawled out of?” The words cut through her far deeper than any blade ever could.

Without a fixed destination or purpose, she walks. For days she walks, drinking water from streams when she finds them but eating nothing. At night she stops sometimes but sleep never finds her. Instead, she leans against trees and looks up at the stars.

A few days later she stands outside a small farm, the one by the stream she’d fished as a child. There’s a woman tending to the wash, a woman in which even from a distance, Cara sees her own mother’s delicate mannerisms, only she’s far too young. Cara concludes that it’s her mother’s other daughter, the one who wasn’t abducted and tortured by the Mord’Sith. She watches her for a long moment, allowing for the possibility that maybe there is a place where she’s wanted, but she’d lost those illusions long ago.

When she turns to leave she comes face to face with a little girl who, at the mere sight of her, releases a bloodcurdling scream. The girl’s mother calls out her name, running to her side, and in less than a heartbeat a man stands between Cara and the child, aiming an arrow at her. “Get away from my daughter,” he growls.

“I’m not here to hurt anybody,” Cara says, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Then leave, now, before I put an arrow through your eye,” he says. Cara tips her head and turns to go but there’s something about the way in which she quirked up one of the corners of her mouth that sets off a spark of recognition in the other woman.

“Wait,” she says, releasing her daughter and walking past her husband before saying the name, the name she hadn’t uttered in fifteen years. “Cara?” she asks, her question answered the moment the Mord’Sith looks into her eyes, which are the mirror image of her own, and of her daughter’s as well.

“Yes,” Cara says.

“Grace, you know her?” the husband asks, with no small amount of disgust.

“She’s my sister,” Grace replies. “I can’t believe it’s you,” she adds, but Cara flinches when Grace reaches out to touch her cheek. Already Cara understands that she doesn’t belong here.

Still, she’s willing to try.

She’s kind, Cara’s mother’s other daughter, even as a child Cara remembers her as such. Thus, at Grace’s request, she forgoes her Mord’Sith leather for a dress. Gazing at her own image in the mirror, a tidal wave of memories threatens to overwhelm her. She sees the child version of herself reflected back at her, as well as her mother. These are images that she’s buried deep inside herself but standing in her childhood home, they cut through her like a thousand shards of glass.

And still, she’s willing to try.

All the while, present day Cara watches the scene play out, leaning on the threshold of the door that opens to a life that is no longer hers. Kahlan can’t look at her, she’s too angry –– at Cara and at herself –– because for as much as she wants to hate her for taking her sister’s life, she can’t manage it. Not as she watches her try so hard to turn back the hands of time so that she can be the person she would have been had it not been for that fateful day when her life was stolen from her.

Dinner is an awkward affair. The little girl, Ela, and her brother both tremble with fear, and Grace’s husband cannot hide his rage.

It is when the soldiers burst through the door that Cara’s willingness to try comes to an end. Out of habit, she’d kept the pack that held her belongings at her side; quickly able to draw her agiel, she fights her way out of the house.

The next morning, Grace finds the dress Cara wore the night before folded neatly on the small bench next to the door. Grace will always be grateful that Cara had been willing to try.

Three days later, as she leans against a tree, looking up at the stars, she feels a strong hand on her shoulder that she knows all too well. “Berdine,” she says in a whisper, without turning toward her.

“It’s a beautiful night,” Berdine says, handing Cara a water skin and some bread with dry meat.

“It is,” Cara replies.

“I’ve missed our talks, sister,” Berdine says, “Perhaps we can have one now.” Cara purses her lips and tips her head in assent.

“It was different for me, Cara. I was in my sixteenth summer when I was taken, and not because of my potential as a Mord’Sith but because our Lord took an interest in all the nonsense that fills the space between my ears. My breaking, if you can even call it that, took less than a candlemark and within days I found Raina. I have my books and I have my girl,” she says, with a shrug.

“How did you find me?” Cara asks, after a long silence.

“When you didn’t return from Valeria with the others, it was rumored that you were captured, but I didn’t believe it so I set out to find you. Our Lord is too busy raging over the loss of the male Confessor to concern himself with my whereabouts so I left no stone unturned until I found you.” Berdine, too, is now gazing up at the stars.

“So what happens now?” Cara asks.

Berdine ponders the question for a long moment, already knowing that there is only one possible course of action. “I suppose we mount my steed and ride back to the People’s Palace. Where else is a Mord’Sith to find a bed and a hot meal?”

“Nowhere else,” Cara replies, shaking her head.

With that, they are on their feet.
   
Kahlan struggles to take it all in. She’s caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, oscillating between rage and compassion, and wanting nothing more than to put an end to this madness. There is, however, a perverse need to know how it all ends that keeps her from ripping the blasted amulet off her neck. Whatever it is that’s expected of her in this affair, she’s certain that she does not have it to give. She even suspects that if she did have it, she wouldn’t give it, not to her sister’s murderer.

By the look of her, no one doubts her story of having been captured and thrown into a dungeon for days without food or water. She returns to her duties but with a little less spring in her step, and spends much of her time with Berdine.

During the last few months, the rift between the worlds of the dead and the living had grown much worse. Darken Rahl’s allegiance to the Keeper seems to change from one day to the next. On any given day, the Mord’Sith are ordered to either help save the world or help destroy it. By now every Mord’Sith in the Palace is experiencing one symptom of whiplash or another. It had been the Seeker’s failed attempt at uniting the Boxes of Orden that had set off this sequence of events but, as usual, it was up to the Mord’Sith to fix it.

Her latest assignment is to ensure that Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, succeeds in her mission to save the Night Wisps from extinction. This is yet another contradiction since it was Darken Rahl himself who had the Night Wisp forest burned to the ground, killing all but one of the creatures. Cara doesn’t care much about the world either way so she goes along with the madness. Except that just as she’s about to set off, Darken Rahl says, “Oh and Cara, while you’re at it, kill Kahlan Amnell.” Cara nods and closes the door behind her.

Making certain that the other woman doesn’t notice her presence, Cara skulks behind her, listening in on her nonsensical prattle with the tiny creature. To an onlooker, the scene would seem absurd. The Mother Confessor prancing around the forest apparently having a conversation with her own hand, which responds in a series of headache-inducing squeaks, is almost laughable. Just as she’s having that thought, a Gar attacks the Confessor. The woman puts up a good fight, but on this moonless night Cara knows that even she would have missed the protruding root that caused Kahlan Amnell to fall. When the Confessor hits the ground, the tiny creature falls out of her hand and, without hesitation, Cara picks it up and heads for the Grottoes of the Northern Foothills. Darken Rahl’s last order replays in head several times over –– each one of them taking her back to her last encounter with a Confessor.

Having been lectured at length by Berdine as to the needs of this particular species, Cara grudgingly engages the creature in a rather one-sided conversation. That she refers to it as ‘bug’ is probably not conducive to any meaningful interaction. Especially since Cara has yet to decode the Wisp’s magical language. Berdine told her she was to listen with her heart but Cara informed Berdine that she did not have ears anywhere other than on the sides of her head.

“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,” Cara says. “I’m sorry the Confessor isn’t here to talk to you. She had to draw the Gars away but it’s your good fortune that it happened. Now you have me, which means we’ll succeed.” With that, she takes off running, not stopping until they are safely out of Gar territory. It is midmorning when she finally takes rest for a moment. “Well, Wisp, what do you want to talk about?” The creature chirps in response, earning itself an eye-roll from Cara. “I bet you use words to talk to the Confessor, but she couldn’t have run all night like I did.”

Cara stops dead in her tracks, amazed at herself. “Wait, did you just ask me what I’m doing with my life?” Able to discern the meaning behind the Wisp’s chirps for the first time, Cara’s entire face lights up.

“Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl,” she explains.

“Mord’Sith don’t have choices, so no, I can’t choose to serve someone else.” She rolls her eyes, realizing that now she’s the one walking around talking to her own hand.

“Fine, say I did have a choice, who would you have me serve? Some other power-hungry tyrant?”

“I’m a Mord’Sith, nobody wants me.”

“How am I supposed to find someone to serve who won’t make me do terrible things?” Cara flails her arms in frustration. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

“I am not a good person. Ask the Confessor, she’ll tell you.”

“Wisp?” she asks, after a long silence from the creature “Wisp, say something. Please.”

When it finally replies, Cara almost wishes it hadn’t. “What do you mean you’re dying?”

“You used all your strength to save the babies –– hold on, Wisp, I’m going to get you to the birthing ground.”

Running faster than she’d ever thought herself capable of, Cara arrives at the Grottoes of the Northern Foothills just as the tiny creature’s light fades to nothing. She gently lays the lifeless Wisp on a flower petal, and says, “I’m sorry I failed you.” Closing her eyes for a long moment, fighting back tears, Cara turns to leave.

It is the soft humming of hundreds of newborn Wisps that causes her to dare to look back. Like a million stars in the night sky, the babies are all around her, each of them a brightly lit promise that there could perhaps be a place in this world for a Mord’Sith who longs to be more. Cara stays there for a long time, gazing up at them, wishing that their mother had lived, that she were there to keep them well. Just then she hears footsteps approach; it’s the Mother Confessor, she’s certain of it. Tucked away behind some bushes, she watches as the babies flock to her, all of them glowing bright pink when they make contact with her skin. Cara listens as she comforts them, telling them that their mother lives inside each of their hearts and will always be with them.

It sounds like complete nonsense to Cara but the babies seem happier because of it, and since Confessors don’t lie, Cara decides to believe her. She’d been ordered by her Lord to kill Kahlan Amnell and this would be a perfect moment to do it. Not only is she lame, she’s also open and vulnerable in other ways. The Confessor has obviously forgotten herself, focusing only on reassuring the newborn Wisps. It would be easy, too easy, Cara decides.

“You did it, you saved the Night Wisps from extinction,” Kahlan says grudgingly to the Mord’Sith standing beside her. There is softness in Cara’s eyes, a look of pure awe that Kahlan wishes wasn’t there. It’s too beautiful, too pure an expression to be found on the face of a murderer.

For the next three days, she follows Kahlan Amnell, stepping into her every footstep, eating when Kahlan eats, taking her rest when she does, allowing her eyes to fall on the same objects as her, and after a while even favoring her left ankle as she Kahlan does. So great is her focus while carrying out this self-appointed task that by mid-afternoon she can practically predict Kahlan’s next gesture: a slight tilt of the head here, followed by a hand to her forehead to shade her eyes from the sun now, a brief pause to relieve the stiffness in her ankle.

At some point Cara’s thoughts become muddled, the line between her and Kahlan Amnell becomes increasingly blurred. Perhaps it’s the hot sun or maybe exhaustion, but it’s almost as if she’s feeling Kahlan’s feelings, thinking her thoughts, breathing the air in her lungs. She’s supposed to be stalking her prey, but instead she’s losing herself in the Mother Confessor and, much to her surprise, it feels good –– like the bond to the Lord Rahl, except better; like her agiel, except without the pain. At that moment, and for a long time after, she’d rather cut off her own hand or even press her agiel to her own heart than harm Kahlan Amnell. Her mission has changed, she will not kill Kahlan Amnell, she’ll make certain she arrives at her final destination. Unharmed.

The Confessor hastens her pace as she approaches the Seeker’s open arms. Cara’s gaze remains on the Confessor until she’s safe in his embrace. She’ll now return to the palace and deal with the consequences of failing at half of her mission. The Night Wisps were saved from extinction, and so was the line of Confessors.

Kahlan turns toward present day Cara, who, of course, still isn’t aware of her presence, and asks, “Why, why didn’t you kill me? It would have been so easy but you didn’t. Why?” She knows an answer won’t come. By now she feels as if she’s experienced a thousand different versions of Cara, some unbearably beautiful, others cruel beyond measure. None of it matters anymore; all she wants is the ride to be over.

As Cara approaches the People’s Palace, she’s struck by the immensity of it. This massive monstrosity rising up as high as the clouds, a monumental display of arrogance and excess –– its size and form chosen to accommodate the egotistical demands of the Rahl bloodline. “Mord’Sith serve the Lord Rahl,” she mumbles to herself, rather amused by the notion.

The moment she crosses the city gates she sees them, Sisters of the Dark walking about the grounds, talking amongst themselves, plotting no doubt. Her Lord is yet again resorting to magic as a means of bending reality to his will. That the Mord’Sith will have to clean up yet another mess is a given. In an effort to avoid them, she circles around the stables and enters through the north tower, taking the stairs that lead directly into the library. “Berdine,” she calls out, as she slips in through this little known entrance.

“They’re casting a spell,” she blurts out, taking it for granted that Cara spotted the witches. “I haven’t been able to decipher all of it but it has something to do with us, and transferring the Seeker’s Han to the Lord Rahl.” Cara scowls, peering down at the parchment on Berdine’s desk over her shoulder.

Cara’s hand goes to her own chin for a moment as if weighing their options. “Why don’t we kill them?” Cara asks, matter-of-factly.

Berdine rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Is that your solution for everything?” Cara shrugs and nods her head. “We can’t. The Lord Rahl has tasked the entire D’Haran army with their protection. They are to kill anyone who dares approach them. I’ve learned through journey books from several Sisters that it’s the same at all the temples. We’d be outnumbered five hundred to one if we tried.” Berdine’s voice is thick with concern and her eyelids heavy with sleep. Cara can’t recall ever seeing her like this.

“Where’s Raina?” It doesn’t often happen that she and Berdine are not at each other’s sides.

“The temple at Jandrilyn, she’s to return in three days.” Berdine veers her gaze from the parchments to her friend standing beside her, and says, “I miss her, Cara.” She hasn’t any words that will help matters so she squeezes Berdine’s shoulder, and heads for the door.

“I’ll be back,” she says. “I have to go tell our Lord that Kahlan Amnell isn’t dead.”

“Cara, my dear, I was beginning to think you’d joined my brother and his merry band of idiots.” He’s lying on his bed with a half-naked slave girl beside him. She’s not exactly a child, but certainly not a woman; Cara’s hand goes to her agiel and stays there. “The Night Wisps, do they live?”

“Yes, my Lord.” She pauses for a moment, then says, “As does the Mother Confessor.”

“I see, and why is that exactly?” he asks, in that low tone reserved for those who are about to pay the price for having failed him.

Not one for spinning tales, Cara decides to make do with the truth. “I couldn’t do it, my Lord.”

Darken Rahl furrows his brow, as if deep in thought. “A spell of protection,” he declares, as if having arrived at a brilliant conclusion. “Did it feel as if some powerful force were preventing you from killing her?”

Cara found the exchange as comical as it was pathetic. Her Lord had spun a tale all on his own. Pursing her lips for a moment, she raises both her eyebrows, and says, “Yes, I suppose it could be described as such.”

“That damned wizard. It’s just as well, I have far more interesting matters to tend to,” he says, raking his eyes over the frightened girl in his bed. “Leave us,” he says, with the wave of a hand.

Cara returns to the library with a smirk on her face, finding Berdine slumped over her desk in deep slumber, Cara blows out the flame on the lamp that lit the room. Deciphering the spell would have to wait. She spends the night curled up on a small chaise in the back of the room, not at all surprised that behind closed eyelids, the Mother Confessor’s face greets her with a smile so bright it would put the sun to shame. Because it brings her a measure of peace that has escaped her for months, she chooses not to question it.

News that the Seeker and his cohorts have succeeded in closing the rift between the world of the living and the world of the dead reaches the People’s Palace, and in the instant it does, the entire world takes on a dizzying momentum. Everything is happening much too fast. Everywhere she turns, Cara sees witches and soldiers rushing from one end of the Palace to the other. The mayhem culminates with Darken Rahl ordering all the Mord’Sith to gather at the Garden of Life. Since she’d given up on following orders weeks ago, Cara heads to the library instead.

Berdine is stuffing various parchments and books into a pack that she tosses at Cara as soon as she crosses the threshold. “Your agiel, Cara,” Berdine says, looking up at her with tears already streaking her cheeks, “drop it, now.” When Cara hesitates, Berdine rips it out of its holster and throws it across the room.

“Have you lost your mind?” Cara asks, clenching her fists at her sides.

“He’s going to kill us, Cara, he’s going to kill us all with our own agiels. Already, our sisters at the outer temples lay dead.” Berdine grips the edge of her desk with both hands to steady herself. “That’s what the spell does, Cara, I deciphered it moments ago; it kills the Mord’Sith with the magic of their agiels.”

“The outer temples,” Cara says, “Raina.”

“Already dead, my girl is already dead, and you have to make it right for me, for all of us.”

“Come with me,” Cara says, grabbing her shoulders.

“And do what? Live in a world without her? Never.”  And then the screams come from the Garden of Life. “Take the pack, in it you’ll find everything you need, sister.”

“I’ll make it right,” Cara says, speaking with more conviction and emotion than she ever has in her life. She then jumps out of the window, certain that the fall alone will kill her, but somehow she lands on her feet and has the good fortune of finding a horse waiting for her below. She hasn’t as yet crossed the Palace gates, and already she smells the stench of burning flesh. From that moment on, everything she does is pure instinct.

Traveling all night to the point that her animal is about give out, she finally stops by a stream so that the horse can drink, and she can fill a water skin. Attached to the saddle, she finds a pack and quickly empties its content. A knife catches her eye; staring at it for a long moment, she reaches behind her head hacking off her braid. All of her movements are quick and precise now –– they have to be, or she’ll fall to pieces. The next step is to rid herself of her Mord’Sith leathers… rid herself of her Mord’Sith leathers. The implication of it is staggering but she can’t think about it, attaching meaning to it will surely kill her and that can’t happen, not after she promised Berdine that she’d make things right. Cara will stay alive long enough to make things right.

Just before dawn, she catches a glimpse of the back of a farm. Never in her life has she been reduced to thievery, but on this day, she has no choice. With one swift move, she’s over the fence and skulking over to a clothesline. In the name of the Ancient Order of the Sisters of the Agiel, she confiscates a pair of trousers, a shirt, and pair of boots that lay by the door. Having managed a wardrobe change, she stops just outside the walls of a fairly large city and lights a fire. Holding her hand above the flames, then lowering it enough to feel the burn –– up and then back down, over and over –– she’s finally ready to tie the last loose end. Cara Mason reaches back into her pack and tosses her leathers into the flames, gazing into the crackling fire as it consumes the last remnants of her life as a Mord’Sith.

The city is bustling with activity, everywhere she looks there are merchants peddling their goods. People crowd the streets, going about their lives as if nothing has happened, as if the entire world hadn’t changed. Then again, why would they care? It is only Mord’Sith who have been wiped off the face of the Earth. Most likely the news has already reached the people of the Midlands and they are celebrating the demise of her kind. At this moment, and for a long time after, she wishes that Berdine hadn’t deciphered the spell, that she’d stood beside her sisters in the Garden of Life with her agiel at her side. It would be far better than being all alone in the world, with no Lord, no sisters, and nowhere to go.

The inn at which she takes a room is at least quiet and clean. It will give her an opportunity to think, to devise some sort of plan, a Mord’Sith must always have a plan. It’s been inculcated in her since childhood, except she isn’t really Mord’Sith, not anymore, not without her agiel or her leathers. She isn’t anything anymore. She lies on the bed staring up at the ceiling for days, watching the sun rise and set in nothing but shades of gray, not bothering to take meals, and unable to find sleep. It occurs to her that this is how the Mother Confessor must have felt upon learning of the massacre at Valeria. If she believed in such things, Cara would have categorized the annihilation of the Mord’Sith as some sort of cosmic retribution. The promise she’d made to Berdine feels like a noose around her neck for she has no way of keeping it. Still, she’s willing to try.

It isn’t yet midmorning and already the tavern is filled with patrons. Cara orders her meal then takes a seat at a table in the back of the room, hoping to avoid having to interact with overly friendly strangers who, without her Mord’Sith leathers, will not think twice about approaching her. Being a Sister of the Agiel carried as one of its many benefits the ability to ward off unwanted company.

The barmaid who brings her meal to the table instantly drops her gaze to the not at all unpleasant view provided by the ill-fitting man’s shirt Cara’s wearing. Under different circumstances, the pretty brunette would have made for fairly interesting company but right now Cara has too much on her mind to even consider it. “Will that be all, then?” the woman asks, leaning in just enough so that her breast brushes up against Cara’s arm. Cara allows her eyes to rake over the woman from head to toe but doesn’t reply. “The last woman who spurned my advances was a Confessor, what’s your excuse?” she asked, miffed by the rejection.

In less than a heartbeat, Cara is on her feet with her arm firmly wrapped around the woman’s waist. “Wait, what did you say?”

Taking it as an invitation, her hands quickly go to Cara’s hips, nudging her closer so that their bodies are pressed together. “Mmm, you’re a strong one, and such pretty eyes. Why don’t we ––”

“The Confessor was here?” Cara asks, tightening her hold on the woman.

“Yes, three days ago. I could wear a pretty white dress for you,” she breathes into Cara’s ear.

Cara loosens her grip but doesn’t release her. “Where was she headed?”

The barmaid tears away from her with a scowl on her face. “Are you interested in her or in me?”

“I have an important message for her,” Cara says, her hands are now gripping the woman’s arms.

“I don’t know,” she says, “go ask the blacksmith. He tended to her horse.”

Cara rushes toward the door, dropping some coins on the table on her way out. “Nice to meet you, too,” the barmaid adds, walking off in a huff.

Gold, as it turns out, is as effective a means of gathering information as is an agiel. It isn’t long before she pieces together enough details to go about the task of finding Kahlan Amnell, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands –– to what end she does not know but that is her plan. That one look from the Confessor will reveal what she is doesn’t concern her at the moment. Death at the hand of Kahlan Amnell is far more honorable than the way in which her sisters met their end. Wearing a newly acquired black leather armor, and shoulder length hair, she mounts her horse and follows the Confessor into the harshest land in all of the territories.

It is with a violent jolt that Kahlan suddenly finds herself back at the inn, kneeling on the floor next to Cara as she had been before placing the amulet around her neck. She’s disoriented, as if just having woken from a dream, or rather a nightmare, that hadn’t reached its logical conclusion. It takes her a moment to situate herself, to gain some clarity as to what is happening or has happened to her. Past and present are jumbled together in a series of images that are still replaying in her head. “Cara,” she murmurs, registering the Mord’Sith’s presence in the room.

The sound of her name leaving Kahlan’s lips stirs something in Cara, something strong enough to draw her back into the present moment. She’s writhing in agony, pain the likes of which she’d never thought possible. Not even dying felt as bad as this wrenching sensation that’s taken hold of her entire body. Coupled with the reality of the things she’s done, of the life she’s lived, the thought of dying feels like a gift. A Mord’Sith never second guesses herself, and more importantly, she never looks back. It had been inculcated in her throughout her training but it’s only at this moment that she fully understands why.   

Kahlan furrows her brow and narrows her eyes, listening to the wretched sound coming from the prone form beside her. That’s when it all comes back to her –– the newly gained clarity, renewing her rage. “You killed my sister,” she says. “For months, we’ve traveled together, fought side by side, and it was you who took her from me. I trusted you.” Her hand is already on Cara’s throat, magic teetering on the edge of release.

“Confess me,” Cara says, “I deserve it.” A single tear runs down her cheek as she meets Kahlan’s gaze.
 
Only it isn’t Kahlan who is looking back at her, it is the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, and her grip tightens for a moment –– leaving no doubt in Cara’s mind that this is how it will end. Kahlan is silent for a long moments. This is an internal struggle that she’s experienced before –– every Confessor has. She know that the choice she’s about to make will define her, and decide Cara’s fate. “No, you don’t,” she says, briefly closing her eyes, and releasing her grip. “Your life was taken from you as a child; I will not take it from you again.”

“But you have to,” Cara pleads, “take your revenge. My crimes are too great. You’ve seen the things I’ve done. Do it, please.” She’s still in agony –– death is her only avenue of escape.

“I’ve looked into your eyes and I have seen that you are truly remorseful. While I would like nothing more than to avenge my sister’s death, I am neither executioner nor murderer, I am the Mother Confessor.” Her hand moves to Cara’s cheek and rests there for a long moment. “AlI I feel for you, and for the child that you were, is compassion.”

The moment Kahlan utters the words, the amulet around her neck glows bright blue and what were previously broken pieces of glass pressed together, becomes whole and complete. The pain leaves Cara’s body and all she can do is look up at Kahlan in complete awe.

Cara’s wails having ceased, the healer gingerly opens the door, knowing either Cara is dead, or Kahlan and the amulet still around her neck succeeded at making the Mord’Sith whole. “You must both take rest now,” she says, surprised to find that Cara is still alive. Turning toward Kahlan, she adds, “You are as formidable a woman as you are reputed to be, Mother Confessor. I did not tell you before, but all others who have attempted to wear the amulet for this purpose have failed. You alone had sufficient courage and goodness in your heart to see it through. Your compassion saved her life.” With that, she nods at Cara and takes leave of them.

“I should go,” Cara says, now seated on the floor resting her elbows on her knees. “You should not be forced to wake up to the face of your sister’s killer every day.”

Drifting out of her own reverie, Kahlan allows Cara’s words to hover above her before finally taking in their meaning. “I can never forgive you for what you did to my sister but if anything were to happen to me, the Seeker will still need rescuing, and it will be up to you to make certain that Darken Rahl pays for what he’s done.”

It’s pity, Cara is certain of it, for Kahlan Amnell needs no one at her side to defeat Darken Rahl or any other enemy. It’s pity, but on this day she feels nothing if not pitiable, so she’ll accept it. What’s more, she will serve Kahlan Amnell for as long as she’ll have her, and just as she’d promised, she’ll protect her with her life.

The sun still shines high in the midday sky when, out of exhaustion, they each settle into their own bed. Things have changed, and while it causes Cara to experience an entirely new type of agony, she knows it could not be otherwise. Neither of them finds sleep easily but the smell of clean linens and the soft pillows supporting their heads provide some measure of comfort. Perhaps not the type they both long for, but comfort nonetheless. For the first time in weeks, Kahlan’s thoughts turn to Richard, to the ease with which he finds ways to make her smile even when she’s angry, to his boundless optimism and the many times it has gotten him into trouble, to that warm expression that rarely leaves his face. It’s tempting, the thought of losing herself in some idealized notion of eternal happiness with Richard by her side, so she allows herself to do just that. Heavy eyelids and the deafening silence between her and Cara finally deliver her into the refuge of sound sleep.

Chapter Text

At dawn, when the Mother Confessor looks over at Cara’s bed only to find it empty, a surge of panic takes hold of her, much like Cara experienced months ago at the lighthouse when she woke to find that Kahlan wasn’t at her side. A quick scan of the room reveals that the Mord’Sith’s pack is also gone and that her bed is made. Without thinking, Kahlan is on her feet, and dressing at a dizzying speed, she rushes past the innkeeper and out the door, only scarcely able to avoid tripping over Cara who, having already secured two horses and supplies, is sitting on the walkway waiting for her.

“What’s wrong?” Cara asks, jumping to her feet at the sight of Kahlan’s disheveled appearance. The laces on her dress are only half done, her hair is in woeful need of combing, and she hasn’t any boots on.

Kahlan is still laboring to breathe but is more concerned about preserving her dignity than replying to the question. After an extended silence, she finally says, “I needed some air.” A series of inappropriate remarks crosses Cara’s mind but, having been spared from confession only a few candlemarks ago, she decides not to press her luck. She does, however, gesture to the ample amount of flesh that is one inhalation away from pouring out of her dress. “Oh,” Kahlan says, “I’ll be back shortly.” Cara is impressed by the manner in which, even in bare feet and hair that looks as if something had nested in it, the Mother Confessor manages to carry herself like a queen. The healer’s assessment had been correct; Kahlan Amnell is a formidable woman.

Cara had taken care in selecting the animals, for they are to travel across mountainous terrain for two days which will surely take its toll on them. As soon as Kahlan settles the bill, she walks out of the inn and mounts the white steed she knows is meant for her. Both eager to put as much distance between themselves and the city of Veritas as possible, they ride hard and fast until well past midday. With Kahlan taking the lead, Cara follows a short distance behind, neither of them uttering a word. Even without Kahlan’s eyes on her, Cara feels more exposed than she has ever before in her life.

The ride is a blur of long forest roads with mountains on either side, red rocks blending into clear blue skies, and the faint sound of rushing water hinting at a nearby canyon. Under different circumstances, they would have stopped by now, or at the very least ridden side by side. Kahlan would have pointed out various things she deemed worthy of being called beautiful, and while doing so, she would have squeezed Cara’s shoulder and allowed her hand to run down the length of Cara’s arm. She would have also smiled that lovely Kahlan smile that, on any given day, rivals the brightness of the sun, even at its apex. On this day, however, the Mother Confessor hasn’t once turned back to look at her, to make certain that she’s still there, to give her one of those reassuring nods that serve to let Cara know that she’s not alone, that they are in this together. Cara is all too familiar with loss, it has been the one constant in her life, but the sense of emptiness and loneliness left by this abyss between them feels like a boulder crushing her ribcage under its weight.

It’s at that exact moment that Kahlan pulls back on her reins, bringing her horse to a halt. With two long strides from her animal, Cara is at her side. “Is something wrong?” She furrows her brow, but unable to meet Kahlan’s gaze, fixes her eyes on her horse’s mane. Kahlan doesn’t reply but points to a path off the main road. Perhaps Kahlan has decided to confess her after all, which at this moment, Cara would welcome. After they lead the horses to water, Kahlan sits on a large rock, studying Cara’s face as if it held the answers to every question Kahlan has ever asked.

“Darken Rahl ordered you to kill me. Why didn’t you?” she asks, in a tone that isn’t the Mother Confessor, but isn’t Kahlan either. There is a sharpness, a bite, to her words that is pure frustration.

Cara cants her head, looking up at Kahlan for the first time. “You’re angry that I didn’t kill you?”

Kahlan clenches her jaw. Releasing an exaggerated sigh, she says, “Answer my question, Cara.”

Cara fiddles with some twigs on the ground, arranging them into various shapes, as she contemplates her response. Without looking up from her self-appointed task, she says with a shrug, “I didn’t want you to be dead.”

“That’s it, that’s your answer?” Kahlan is on her feet pacing in front of her. Any answer she’d given would probably have been inadequate, but this one is infuriating.

“It’s the truth. You being dead, it was the last thing in the world I wanted. I heard the things you said to the babies. You made them feel better, you made them light up brighter than all of the stars in the night sky. Then I followed you, for days I followed. Not once could I find a single reason why you should be dead.” She looks up at Kahlan whose lips are slightly parted, caught off guard by that response. “You matter, Kahlan, like the Night Wisps, and the sun, and the rain, you matter. A world without you would be wrong. I certainly wouldn’t want to be in it.”

Kahlan takes a step toward her, wanting nothing more than to pull Cara into her arms, to close her eyes and lose herself in the comfort that for months she’s found in the warmth of Cara’s body, in her soft skin and supple curves, in her steady heartbeat that, night after night, falls into sync with Kahlan’s own. Yes, she’s moved by Cara’s words but the image of Cara’s agiel pressed to her sister’s heart is too much. “And what of my sister and her child? A world without them wasn’t troubling to you?”

“You were there, Kahlan, I couldn’t see you but I felt you by my side. The boy, he was a male Confessor. He never should have…” Kahlan knew it was true. The boy never should have lived as long as he did. It had been a mistake to allow the Seeker to weaken her resolve. There isn’t a day that goes by in which she doesn’t consider that perhaps if she had done her duty and ended the boy’s life, Dennee and the rest of the Confessors in Valeria would still be alive.

“But you didn’t have to kill Dennee. She was drowning in the grief of losing her child. You of all people should have been able to empathize.” Kahlan recognized the cruelty in those last words the moment they left her lips. “I didn’t…I just meant that you could have walked away. Dennee would have gotten through it. All you had to do was walk away.”

Cara rises to her feet, arms over her middle, nods, and purses her lips. “It’s what I would have wanted. I wasn’t about to deny her, not after she had the courage to do what I failed to do for my…” Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she walks away, not willing to shed tears in front of Kahlan.

Left standing there, staring at the spot where Cara had stood, knowing that she has to make a decision, Kahlan crosses her arms over her middle –– just as Cara had. She’s a Confessor, truth is her currency; she cannot read a Mord’Sith, but having literally lived Cara’s life, the truth is hers to accept. It’s a question of being willing to try. Certainly that’s one lesson she’s learned from Cara.

After Cara disappears into the forest, Kahlan sits back down, suddenly flooded with images of Cara’s life, of their shared life, for it occurs to her that Marina was right, she and Cara are bound to each other somehow. In hindsight, Kahlan has no explanation as to why she even agreed to travel with the Mord’Sith. While she hadn’t given it much thought before this moment, it makes absolutely no sense and yet, it felt right at the time, and if she were to be honest with herself, it still feels right. With the events replaying in her head, she looses a sigh and looks up at the heavens. “Spirits, Cara, you tried so hard. With everything you lived through, you never stopped trying to be more.” She can feel the sting of tears at the injustice of it all. It is then that she decides that she will see this through no matter the cost. She owes it to herself, but also to Cara and Dennee

It’s almost two candlemarks before Cara returns, finding that Kahlan has already built a fire and laid out their bedrolls –– side by side. Cara grips the hilt of her dagger before making her way to where the Confessor stands, tending to the horses.

She isn’t willing to admit it, but Kahlan breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the sound of creaking leather approaching. “I didn’t hunt,” Cara says, staring down at her boots.

Kahlan nods, quirking up one of the corners of her mouth. “We have enough bread and meat for at least three days.” Cara tilts her head approvingly. For the rest of the evening they sit before the fire without saying a word.

Once Kahlan is tucked away in her bedroll, Cara leans against a tree, allowing her eyes to flicker from one side of their camp to another, every pass ending with a glance at the Mother Confessor bundled up under the covers.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Kahlan asks after a half a candlemark.

“I’m taking first watch,” Cara replies.

Kahlan cranes her neck to look up at her and with a gigantic yawn says, “Watching what? We haven’t seen a soul since we left Veritas. Come to sleep, I’m cold.”

With a low-hanging moon hovering above them, Cara slips into her bedroll –– for the first time in months, Kahlan turns her back to her as she attempts to find sleep. Cara gazes up at the moon for almost half a candlemark before finally closing her eyes. Sometimes everything one can possibly hope for seems well within reach but is, in reality, as unattainable as the stars, or on this night, the moon.

It is Kahlan who awakens first, building a fire to ward off the cold morning air. When Cara joins her, there is a long silence. In it, an exchange is going on between them. Mord’Sith can’t read Confessors but she’s travelled with Kahlan long enough to recognize that, somewhere between Kahlan’s heart and her throat, there are words, important ones, searching for a voice.

Pouring some tea into Kahlan’s cup, Cara says, “You know things about me that no one else ever will.” While her words seem random for a moment, Kahlan quickly recognizes them as an invitation to unburden herself of whatever it is she needs to say.

With a nod and a deep intake of air, Kahlan steels her resolve and speaks, not because she wishes to do so, but because she knows that she must. “At Valeria,” she says, watching Cara’s eyes squeeze shut and her shoulders slump, “you allowed my sister her dignity which no other Mord’Sith would have done. I don’t know that the image of your agiel pressed to her heart will ever leave me, but I do know that you did it for her, not to her.”

Cara swallows the lump in her throat, tipping her head in acknowledgement, thinking that on this day or any other, it would be over her dead body that anyone would dare speak ill of the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, let alone harm her.

By midmorning, they ride on. Veritas changed things between them but all of life is change, Cara has begun to accept. After a short while, Kahlan slows down so that they are riding side by side, and looking over at Cara says, “What happened at Veritas is over. Dwelling on the past doesn’t serve either of us; today is a new day and you are still the person who has been my loyal ally for months.” As soon as the words leave her lips, Kahlan experiences a deep of sense of peace –– as if a lifetime of burdens has suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. It occurs to her that perhaps this is the gift of which the old healer in Veritas spoke.

Chapter Text

Upon arriving at their next destination, Cara and Kahlan find themselves in a city without floors. While it appears perfectly normal from a distance, upon entering the city gates, travelers are met with what would look to be ordinary buildings, except that they are not constructed upon a foundation. Instead, an intricate web of wires and stilts holds them suspended high above the ground. It is an engineering feat the likes of which neither of them has ever imagined, let alone seen. Through this series of tightropes, swings, and high-wires, its residents fly through the air, seamlessly going about their lives. The tightropes serve as what, in ordinary cities, would be walkways, and the swings are a means of moving higher up within the city. Some of them are dressed in brightly colored, skintight attire, decorated with rhinestones, and a glittery substance comprised of every imaginable color. Others are wearing intricate face-paint and extravagant hairdos, reminiscent of traveling carnival acts the Mother Confessor recalls from her childhood.

This, however, is no carnival act; this is a city easily twice as large as Aydindril whose citizens perform staggering feats of acrobatics just to get from one place to the next. Everywhere, even tiny children who should not yet have the ability to walk, fly deftly through the air without hesitation or fear. Shopkeepers hand customers their goods while hanging upside down from swings as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Kahlan stands bemused at the sight of it and turns toward to Cara only to find that she’s no longer standing at her side.

“Hello,” says an elegantly dressed man, doing a pirouette on a razor-thin wire above her. “Welcome to Avenio. I am the Mayor of this humble city.”

Not accustomed to having conversations with men spinning above her head, it takes Kahlan a moment to gather herself. “Hello,” she finally says, her brow tightly furrowed as she cranes her neck up to look up at him, only to turn away when she finds that the experience is rather dizzying. “I,” she starts to say, but finds herself at a loss as to what exactly she should ask a man who governs a city while spinning on a wire. “My travel companion,” she finally says, “she was here just a moment ago.”

“Ah yes, such an enthusiastic, and beautiful, young woman.” While beautiful is certainly accurate, enthusiasm is not something Kahlan associates with the Mord’Sith. “No, no, she’s wearing black leather and has blonde –– “

“Oh, here she comes now,” he says, cutting Kahlan off before she can finish. Moments later, Cara flies through the air, releasing the swing that supported her, and after a series of mid-air somersaults, lands on her feet next to Kahlan. Her cheeks are ruddy and her eyes are dancing with excitement. If she didn’t know better, Kahlan would have labeled the expression on her face joy.

“Mother Confessor, is there a problem?” Cara asks, eyeing the spinning man as if perhaps he were a threat.

It takes Kahlan several attempts before she can actually form words. “How did you…?” she trails off.

“You two beautiful ladies have arrived on a most auspicious day. As you can see, some of our residents are already dressed for the occasion.” He then leaps high in the air and lands on the ground next to them. “This evening marks the beginning of the annual celebration of our city’s birth. I do hope you ladies will join the festivities.”

Kahlan is still attempting to find some sort of logic to the design of the city, while Cara stares up at the structure as is if it were taking every bit of her Mord’Sith training to keep from returning to it. “Is there an inn nearby where we can stay the night?” Kahlan asks at length.

“Why yes, of course, we have several. The Avenio Grand is a favorite with tourists,” he says, pointing up at a building so high above them that Kahlan decides it would require a winged creature to get them there.

“I appreciate your hospitality but perhaps you can recommend an establishment that is,” she pauses, attempting to find a way to not offend the Mayor, “on the ground?”

He ponders her inquiry but cannot seem to find an answer to such a question. Why would anyone want to be on the ground when they can fly? By the look on Cara’s face, Kahlan quickly realizes that this city possesses some charm that escapes only her. It is impressive, and no doubt beautiful, but people cannot go about their lives in such an unconventional way.

“Tell me, from where do you hail?” he asks.

“The Midlands. I am Kahlan Amnell, Mother Confessor of the Midlands, and this is Cara Mason, my travel companion.” Kahlan is hoping that informing the man of her high rank will compel him to assist her in finding more adequate accommodations. She has never been one to use her title to secure favor but if ever there was a time that called for such measures, this is it.

“The Mother Confessor of the Midlands, why many a bard that has passed through our city has spoken of your valor. Please do me the honor of staying at my home while you are in Avenio,” the mayor says, pointing up at a dwelling that looks indeed worthy of a high-ranking official. “My wife will be thrilled to have you.” Kahlan instantly regrets having revealed her identity, for refusing his kindness would surely reflect poorly on all Midlanders. Noticing the skeptical look on the Confessor’s face, he adds, “It isn’t as difficult as it looks. Let me help you.” The moment he reaches out his hand to her, Cara steps between them in a most menacing fashion. “I see,” he says, doing his best to smile, “you’d like to teach her yourself.” Kahlan loses all hope of leaving a good impression of Midlanders when she notices the terrified look on the poor man’s face.

Cara climbs up high enough to grab on to one of the swings and tucks her knees into her chest so that she can thread her legs through her arms and dangle from her knees. She then spreads her fingers and nods. Noticing Kahlan’s hesitation, Cara glares at her and says, “We are in this quest together, we have to trust each other.” Realizing that her own words from months earlier have come back to haunt her, Kahlan swallows her apprehension and mirrors Cara’s hands. “When I say ready, keep your eyes on mine, reach for my wrists and jump. I will be there to catch you. Relax your body and allow me to set the pace.” She has no idea how Cara knows any of this but she nods and does her best not to look down, focusing on Cara’s eyes and resting in the knowledge that she’ll soon feel Cara’s arms wrapped around her –– either that or this is some sinister assassination plot conceived by Darken Rahl and the Sisters of the Dark, she thinks for a moment, but quickly dismisses the notion.

“Ready,” Cara bellows, and with that Kahlan finds herself flying through the air with her hands around Cara’s wrists. Before she can fully grasp what is happening, Cara deposits her on the Mayor’s doorstep. Cara then reaches for a swing just vacated by another flier, grabs hold of the bar and releases her knees to land with the front of her body pressed to Kahlan’s back, her arms encircling her waist.

Turning around so that they are facing each other, Kahlan says, “I flew, Cara, I flew through the air like a bird.” She pulls Cara into such a tight embrace that Cara could swear she heard one of her ribs crack. Resting her chin on Kahlan’s shoulder, she closes her eyes and, just for a moment, allows herself to share in Kahlan’s happiness. The Mayor and his wife ushering them into their home breaks their embrace. Kahlan’s face is flushed, and her chest is heaving, eyes beaming with excitement as she crosses the threshold, with Cara walking in behind her.

While Kahlan enjoyed taking flight, she is grateful to find herself standing on solid ground. The home is warm and inviting, with large windows that overlook a lake and, at a distance, snow-covered mountains. Kahlan and Cara turn to face each other, surprised to find that much like Marina’s walls were covered with paintings of fish, all around this home are images of birds, figurines of birds, bird-shaped objects, and shelves filled with books about birds.

“Mother Confessor, it is an honor to meet you,” says the dainty woman who walks into the room, her skin as fair as Kahlan’s, and bowing her head in deference to her station. “My mother, may she rest in peace, hailed from the Midlands and spoke often of Aydindril and the beautiful women who mercifully ruled the land.”

“Thank you for your kind words as well as your hospitality,” Kahlan says. “May I ask how such an… unconventional city came to be?”

“The events that led to the founding of our great city are said to have occurred thousands of summers ago from this very day.” Suspecting that it will be a lengthy tale, they both settle onto a large sofa across from the Mayor and his wife.

The Mayor speaks of a man, Jean-Marie Jules, who lost his wife in childbirth. Having promised her, as she lay dying, that from that day on he would live only for the happiness of their daughter, he traveled with the infant, who was herself as tiny as a hummingbird, and built the cottage by the lake Cara and Kahlan had seen out of the Mayor’s window.

As time passed, it became clear that the girl’s legs were too weak to ever sustain her upright –– that she’d survived at all had been hailed as a miracle by the midwife. While it broke her father’s heart, he still managed the strength to keep his promise. Every day he found new ways to bring a smile to the child’s lips. Her every wish, he made a reality, so much so that the sound of her laughter, which was pure song, was said to travel for leagues. The little girl was loved by all who made her acquaintance, and by some, even believed to possess magical qualities that transformed the once impoverished valley into the most prosperous and peaceful spot in the entire region.

It was during her fourth summer that, as the child gazed out of her window, her father noticed a melancholy in her that had never been there before. When he inquired as to its source, the child spoke these words, “My arms are so strong, if only they were wings, I could soar through the air like a bird.” That evening, he wept as he had on the day he’d lost a wife and gained a daughter. Never before had he thought it impossible to make one of her wishes a reality.

It came to him in a dream, a sweet voice that could belong to no one other than his late wife, reminding him of the high-flying carnival act at which they had met and instantly fallen in love. Being an engineer by profession, from that day on he endeavored to build a world in which his little girl could soar through the air like a bird. People from all around came to lend a hand, most of them so enamored with the initial structure that they never left. It was out of love and necessity that the city grew to its current size.

Riveted by the story, Kahlan could not help but ask what eventually became of the child. “Legend has it,” he says, “that in her ninth summer, she vanished into thin air. Some claim she was taken by a tyrant looking to usurp her magical powers. It has even been prophesied that she will someday rise from ashes like a phoenix, and right the wrong that was done to her and to her father, who soon after her disappearance died of a broken heart.” Although she’d never admit it, Cara was so moved that she hadn’t noticed that Kahlan had taken her hand, interlacing their fingers together and squeezing so tightly it hurt.

“In this region, some still await the return of the magical child of Avenio,” the Mayor’s wife says. “It is said that into this world, one true champion will be born who will stand by the child’s side and right the crime perpetrated against her. On that day, she will be free and all of the land will rejoice.”

“Ladies, please forgive me. It occurs to me that you must be tired from your journey. I’ll show you to your respective quarters so that you can freshen up before dinner, and after that my wife and I will see to it that we find a way to include you in tonight’s celebration.”

“What do you think he meant by ‘including us in the celebration’?” Kahlan whispers as they follow him down a long hallway. Cara responds with a shrug, and lopsided smile.

Upon opening the door to her appointed room, Kahlan gasps at the sight of the spacious tub, already filled with water and brimming with bubbles. These small luxuries that she’d taken for granted prior to the leaving Aydindril are among the things she misses the most. The scent of vanilla and jasmine, the soft candlelight, the faint sound of music coming from outside the window, all of it causes her to forget herself. Removing her travel dress and laying it to rest on the back of a chair, she slides into the tub, basking in the sensation of the warm water and imagining that the hand gliding over her skin isn’t her own. Closing her eyes, she allows her mind to drift off into the sanctum that is the Mother Confessor’s private chambers at the Palace –– doing exactly what she would have done if she were there.

It is Cara who, from her room across the hall, feels the unmistakable prickling of magic. Fearing that the Confessor had been forced to protect herself from an assailant, or worse, that Darken Rahl had sent another wizard to do his bidding, she bursts through the door, dagger in hand, ready to protect her at any cost. “Kahlan!” Cara says, causing the Confessor to turn toward the door, realizing that, unlike her chambers at the Palace, this room is not spelled to provide the level of discretion required by someone of her stature.

The magic still swirling in her eyes, the heaving of her chest, and the suspicious flush on her usually pale skin causes Cara’s concern to be replaced by a knowing smirk –– and more than a little envy. Taking pity on her, she decides to forgo the many off-color remarks that fly through her mind, choosing instead to lick her lips as she saunters over to the tub. “Mother Confessor, do you require my assistance?” Kahlan attempts a reply, but too mortified to form words, opts for shaking her head no.

“Oh, but I think you do,” she says, in a low, raspy tone that Kahlan hadn’t heard her use before. “Trust me, I’m very skilled in this area. Why, when I lived at the People’s Palace I did it practically every day, sometimes multiple times a day.”

Kahlan, not having quite finished her previous undertaking, looks away and swallows the lump in her throat. It’s quite possibly the best offer she’s had in, well, ever. “Cara, we can’t,” she mumbles with an uncharacteristic shakiness in her voice.

“Just lie back and relax,” she hums into Kahlan’s ear –– her hot breath melting Kahlan’s usually steely resolve: there is, after all, no harm in a small taste. Cara deliberately removes her gloves, tugging at the tip of each finger, then tossing them aside. She kneels at the end of the tub, massaging Kahlan’s shoulders before working her way up to her scalp. Even these simple gestures carry with them the promise of pleasure the likes of which Kahlan can scarcely imagine. “I assure you, this is an experience you’ll never forget." The seductive tone in which she says it has Kahlan trembling with anticipation. “Hand me the basin,” Cara says.

“The what?” Kahlan breathes out.

The basin. How can I properly wash your hair without it?" Cara says, holding back a chuckle. "At the Palace, we always used a basin to blend in the cleanser and the oils." The Mother Confessor had been expecting far more than clean hair.

She has a mind to confess her for the ruse, but once Cara’s fingers thread through her hair and gently press into her scalp, all is forgiven. The Mother Confessor releases a tiny sound of pleasure, relaxing as Cara’s strong hands find her shoulders again. Were it not for the Mayor’s dinner invitation she’d have gladly done this all night. “We should get ready,” she finally says, picking up a towel that lay on a stool next to the tub. “Oh, and Cara,” she says, as the Mord’Sith turns to leave, “thank you.”

Dinner, as it turns out, is quite an event. The Mayor had invited many prominent members of the community, all eager to make the acquaintance of the Mother Confessor of the Midlands. The double doors that open to the dining room reveal a lavish decor, with enormous chandeliers the likes of which Kahlan has only seen in Aydindril. Dinner is served on porcelain dishes with gilded edges, and wine flows into glasses made of the finest crystal. Even in her travel dress, Kahlan manages to carry herself with the dignity of her station, engaging in conversations on topics ranging from politics to poetry. All the while, Cara remains a few paces away from her, marveling at the ease with which she drifts from one world to the other –– the previous night spent on the forest floor like a peasant, on this night the ruler of a nation.

The sound of horns marks the end of dinner and the beginning of the festivities. Buzzing with excitement, the guests rush out the door, Kahlan mystified as to how, dressed in such finery, they walk out of the door and leap onto swings and high-wires as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Ladies,” the Mayor’s wife says with a glint in her eyes, “we must get you ready for the celebration.” With that, the tiny woman ushers them into a room that is wall to wall costumes, props, and glitter. “My husband and I have discussed it. Tonight you are Arlequína,” she announces, turning toward Cara, “the star of our annual high-flying act. You shall soar through the air, dazzling us with your talent and beauty.” Without hesitation, Cara pulls a red and white skintight outfit off the rack.

“And you, Mother Confessor,” she says, causing Kahlan no small amount of panic, “are Fortunata. Our citizens and visitors will line up to hear your predictions for their future.”

“But I’m no seer,” Kahlan says, eyes wide with concern.

“Ah, but the future is an illusion. Tell them what you see at this moment, the next moment will take care of itself. The truth is all we ever need.” Noticing Kahlan’s apprehension, she adds, “Unless you prefer to fly.”

Raising an index finger to the sky, Kahlan quickly replies, “Fortunata, yes, that sounds perfect.” She reaches for a bright-colored chiffon skirt and a puffed-sleeve blouse with a low neckline. “What do you think?” she asks Cara once she’s changed.

The Mord’Sith surveys the top of Kahlan’s breasts for a long moment. “They are lovely,” she says, earning herself an eye roll and a shove. “What?” Cara asks, “They are.”

As soon as they walk out the door, it becomes clear that this night is designed for pleasure. There are fire-eaters and jugglers and mimes walking on tightropes while still managing to practice their crafts. All types of women –– some who aren’t women at all –– bump and grind to the beat of the music. The men attempt to form a human tower to reach the lovely Arlequína as she soars through the night sky. Alas, the tower topples over and she remains beyond their reach.

Fortunata finds herself sitting on a swing –– mercifully close to the ground –– answering questions about love and life and even death. The pouch sewn on her skirt quickly filling with coins as she is declared the most skilled fortune teller to have ever graced the festivities. Perhaps the truth of this moment really is all anyone needs.

Taking a break from her trapeze duties, Cara attempts to make her way to Kahlan’s side, her face gleaming with beads of sweat, her chest rising and falling at twice its normal rate. “Cara!” Kahlan cries out, stretching out her hand but not quite able to reach her.

“Can you take a break?” Cara asks. Kahlan happily complies, gingerly stepping onto the rope ladder beside her, while Cara dismounts with a somersault.

“You look happy,” Kahlan says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Cara’s ear and allowing her hand to trail down to her cheek.

“Wait here,” Cara says, disappearing into the crowd before Kahlan can object. She returns moments later with a basket full of sweets and a jug of wine, and sits on the lawn next to Kahlan who promptly takes a gulp of the offered beverage and grabs a handful of candied ginger. Cara purses her lips and nods approvingly before taking a swig of her own.

“Ladies, you’ve picked a good spot, the fireworks are about to begin,” says a man, as he reaches up for the rope ladder on which Kahlan had descended. Cara and Kahlan glance at each other, neither understanding his meaning. “Oh, and don’t eat too many of those candies. They could get you into trouble,” he adds, with a grin on his face.

“Fortunata, Arlequína!” the Mayor, with his wife by his side, calls out to them. “May we join you?”

“Yes, of course,” Kahlan replies, as the sound of drum rolls silences the crowd and every lantern in the city turns off. Out of pure instinct, Cara pulls Kahlan toward her, holding her so tightly that Kahlan’s breath catches in her throat at the unexpected contact.

With a series of loud bangs, the night sky lights up with intricate designs in a myriad of colors. It’s as if the stars were exploding into a shower of sparkling lights, the likes of which neither of them has ever seen. “Magic?” Cara asks, her lips pressed to Kahlan’s ear so that she can hear her. Kahlan doesn’t reply, too awed by the splendorous sight before her to form words. As the feast of light and color goes on, she relaxes into Cara’s arms and allows her head to rest on the blonde’s shoulder. The show goes on for a half a candlemark, ending with the roar of the crowd.

The celebration has moved from the city to the lawn below it. Even the Mayor and his wife are dancing, but not in the courtly manner to which Kahlan is accustomed. This is wild and primal and brazenly sexual. Taking in her fifth gulp of wine, Kahlan bites her lower lip for a long moment. “Dance with me,” she says, pulling Cara to her feet.

Losing themselves in the exotic beat of the music, Cara’s arms flail above her head and Kahlan’s palm presses to the dip of her spine, grinding their hips together. It is the feel of Cara’s thigh pressed between her legs that prompts Kahlan to take hold of a fistful of blonde hair, throwing her own head back only to have Cara nuzzle into her neck, licking and nipping at her pulse point.

Both panting for air, they collapse onto the lawn, finishing off the rest of the wine as they take in the wild scene before them. While Cara has partaken in many interesting activities at Mord’Sith temples, even she’d never seen so many people releasing all inhibitions to lose themselves in their own private bliss.

“Cara, I think there’s something funny about these candies. They turned your hair blue,” says Kahlan, rubbing her nose on Cara’s.

“You’re one to talk,” Cara replies, “at least I don’t have a purple rabbit sitting on my head.” Clearly, it wasn’t ordinary candy they ingested. With a shrug, she is back on her feet, a hand stretched out to Kahlan who promptly accepts the silent invitation.
***

How, exactly, they ended up naked on Kahlan’s bed, tangled in sweaty sheets with Cara lying between the Mother Confessor’s legs –– head resting on her belly –– neither can explain. The awkwardness of the morning after, however, is undeniable. Cara makes a valiant attempt at a stealthy exit –– mostly to spare Kahlan from embarrassment –– but as she lifts her head off the deliciously soft pillow that is Kahlan’s belly, her hair spills over her eyes making contact with Kahlan’s bare skin. A giggle and the feel of fingers running through her hair spoil her exit. The pleasant sensation keeps Cara in place until Kahlan’s back pops off the mattress, breasts bouncing about, and a horrified look on her face.

With a pained smile and a nod, Cara wraps a sheet around herself and walks toward the door, which she’d swear is several leagues away. Kahlan, for her part, covers her face with a pillow to escape her humiliation.

The entire city having slept through breaking their fast, it is a knock on the door announcing that the midday meal is about to be served that finally gets Kahlan out of her room. One look at the Mayor and his wife lifts Kahlan’s spirits considerably –– for they look as bad as she feels. “Good morning,” she offers, “that was quite a celebration.”

Looking the worse for wear, he says, “Yes, there is a reason why we only hold this celebration once a year.” His wife sitting next to him nods vigorously in agreement.

Cara enters the dining room shortly after, bringing both their packs with her. “May I have a word with you?” Kahlan asks, as soon as she walks in.

“Of course, Mother Confessor,” Cara replies, tipping her head to one side, and holding the door open for Kahlan.

Once they are out in the hall, she takes in a deep breath, debating whether or not she wants to know the answer to the question she’s about to ask. “Did we…?” Kahlan trails off, gesturing between them.
“Did we what?” Cara replies with a smirk on her face.

“Cara…” she says.

Canting her hips and crossing her arms over her chest, Cara says, “Do I resemble a baneling this morning? Because I assure you, if we had, I could not stand before you otherwise.”

Kahlan covers her mouth with her hand to suppress her laughter. “Quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she says, hooking their arms together, and dragging Cara back to the table.

“Are you ladies leaving us so soon?” the Mayor asks, having noticed Cara carrying their packs. “Tonight’s festivities will be a bit more subdued,” he offers, thinking that perhaps his guests were overwhelmed by the previous night’s activities.

“We would love to but we haven’t the time to spare,” Kahlan explains. “I must say, it’s an experience we will never forget. Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“Arlequína,” he says, “you are a born flyer. Your performance last night was the loveliest we’ve had in years. Thank you.” Cara’s entire face lights up at the compliment, as does Kahlan’s.

Standing outside the door, Cara drops their packs and stretches out her hand to Kahlan. “One last flight?” Kahlan bites down on her lower lip contemplating the invitation before finally taking the offered hand. “This time we’ll do it together,” Cara says. She takes hold of a swing leaving enough room so that they can both grab the bar; they leap into the air and fly across to the other side. Once certain that Kahlan is on sure footing, Cara goes back for their packs. She can still hear the Confessor’s giggles as she makes her way down the rope ladder.

“We got a very late start today. There’s no chance we’ll reach an inn before dark,” Cara says, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as she tries to determine how much daylight they have left. “I think rain is coming as well.”

“Then let’s try to find good spot to stop for the night.” With that, they urge the horses to full gallop and ride on.

Chapter Text

It is a small cave, facing away from the main road, that they choose as their resting place for the night. With the temperature dropping, Kahlan builds a fire while Cara tends to the horses. Once they are settled in, Kahlan asks, “So are you going to explain how exactly you came upon your skill as a trapeze artist? And please don’t tell me that it was part of your Mord’Sith training.”

“It wasn’t. There is a circus that travels across D’Hara every year. During the winter months, they used to train in Stowecroft. Our father would take me and my sister to watch them before we were even old enough to walk.” Had she known that it involved Cara’s father, Kahlan would not have asked.

“So you learned by watching them?” Kahlan asks, eyes wide with surprise.

Cara chuckles a bit ––– more at the look on her face than at the question. “No, of course not. When I was in my fourth summer I asked them to teach me and they did. I practiced with them for years.” For a moment, she’s lost in deep thought. “Had the traveling circus stayed in town for one more day, perhaps I never would have been taken.” She stares into the fire, holding her hands over the flames for warmth, but also for the comfort the pain brings her.

“Here,” Kahlan says, taking Cara’s hands in her own, wishing she hadn’t asked the question, “my hands are very warm.”

“You should rest, I’ll keep watch.” The Mother Confessor thinks to protest but an enormous yawn she can’t manage to suppress seals her fate.

As the cold rain begins to fall, Cara leaves her spot by the entrance of the cave, and walking to where Kahlan lays on her bedroll, she places a second blanket over her. “Stay,” says Kahlan, in a small voice, looking up at Cara through her lashes, “just until I fall asleep.” Cara, rolling her eyes and releasing a long-suffering sigh, takes her place next to Kahlan. They both know it’s all for show but this is the dance that suits them best. “Closer,” the Mother Confessor demands, “I’m cold.” Cara slides her arm underneath Kahlan to encircle her waist, nuzzling into her hair. “Much better,” Kahlan says, and the moment the words leave her throat, it happens, the Earth moves.

Without hesitation, they are on their feet. “An earthquake,” Kahlan says, both waiting for a long moment before moving gingerly back toward the bedrolls. That’s when it happens again, only this time it’s as if the entire world is crumbling. Cara pushes Kahlan down to a crouch and leans over her, shielding her from falling debris. They stay that way until the cave is completely silent.

“Are you hurt?” Cara asks, helping Kahlan to her feet.

“No, but you are,” she replies, her hand going to the cut on Cara’s temple. Even through all the dust, she can see the blood running down her face. Cara dismisses her concerns, choosing instead to assess the situation. Only to find that what moments earlier was an entrance is now an impenetrable stone wall. Just as she’s about return to Kahlan’s side, she thinks to pick up the one piece of firewood that is still flickering and fans it to keep the flame lit. A quick survey of the other end of the cave confirms that, strategically, the cave had been an excellent choice, for aside from what was the entrance, it is completely sealed.

“Cara, stop, I have to tend to that cut.” With an eye roll, she complies, but only because she’s not ready to inform the Mother Confessor that they are buried alive. Digging their packs from beneath the rubbles, Kahlan manages to get Cara to sit still long enough to clean and bandage the wound. One quick glance over the Mord’Sith’s shoulder, however, tells her everything Cara didn’t. “Spirits, we are going to have to dig our way out of here.” And that is exactly what they set out to do.

For three candlemarks, it’s pull, push, dig, dig, push, pull repeated over and over and still, not even a minuscule amount of air enters what, for all practical purposes, is their tomb. Thinking that perhaps higher up they will find a rock loose enough to dislodge, Kahlan climbs on Cara’s shoulders, pushing on a large boulder with so much force that she loses her balance and ends up falling flat on her back. “It’s like trying to move a mountain,” she pants, removing her jacket and tossing it aside. “Let’s take a break for a moment.” Cara nods in agreement but in reality she’s already certain that their efforts are futile. Her best guess is that they have one, maybe two candlemarks of air left.

“The air is getting thinner,” Cara says.

“There’s one way to double how long it lasts.” Kahlan’s reply is slow and deliberate. “Kill me,” she says.

Cara turns to look at her, eyes widening with astonishment. “Has the lack of air driven you mad?”

“Think about it, Cara, you’ll have enough air to keep trying to dig us out. If you succeed, you can bring me back with the Breath of Life; if you don’t we’ll both die anyway. At least it will give us a chance,” she says.

Cocking her head, Cara turns away from her and says, “As tempted as I am to kill you for suggesting such a ridiculous course of action, the answer is no.”

“If you dig us out, I’d only be dead for a little while. When we’re rescued you can bring me back with the Breath of Life,” she says.

“We dug for three candlemarks and accomplished nothing. What makes you think that I will suddenly develop superhuman strength?” Cara’s expression changes to one of certainty. When she turns to face Kahlan again, there is an intensity in her eyes, a hint of excitement and, oddly enough, her lips are curled into a smile. “If it’s a question of conserving air, I’ll be the one to die, that much I can promise,” she says.

“Cara, no. Let’s stop this right now,” she says, sitting down on a pile of rubble. “We both need to calm down.” Taking her place next to Kahlan, she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and shaking her head in disgust.

“What is it?” Kahlan asks, her hand finding Cara’s shoulder.

She turns her head to meet Kahlan’s gaze, and says, “I swore to protect you.”

“Cara, it was an earthquake. How can you possibly blame yourself?” Tucking a wisp of hair behind the Mord’Sith’s ear, she strokes her cheek for a moment, and adds, “Maybe someone will find us.” The feel of Kahlan’s soft skin on hers makes her believe for a moment that it’s possible, that perhaps anything is possible.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” Cara says after a long silence.

“We have.” There is hint of a sad smile on Kahlan’s face. This isn’t how it is supposed to end, not when they’ve come this far.

“I want you know that there is no one in this world that I…” she trails off furrowing her brow, as Kahlan’s lips part and she meets Cara’s gaze. “There is no one that I respect more than you and…I consider you my friend.”

Kahlan looks away for a moment –– those hadn’t been the words she expected. Still, she nods and wraps her arms around the Mord’Sith with all her might, holding her until she relaxes in her arms and returns the embrace. “We’re going to get out of here,” Kahlan assures her, “but on the off chance that we don’t, I want you to know that our time together was worth it, and I’d do it all over again.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cara pulls away just enough to look into Kahlan’s eyes. “For me it’s same, Confessor. I think it has been since before we ever met,” she says. “Although, I’d choose a different cave.” She delivers her punch line in a deadpan tone and with an unreadable expression.

Kahlan chuckles and gives her a shove, “We’re facing certain death, and still you manage to make laugh. Thank you for that.”

Cara replies with a tilt of her head, then says, “Rest, I’ll keep digging.” They both know it’s futile but for Cara being idle makes it all the more difficult. She digs until she can barely stand, using what little energy she has left to get back to Kahlan’s side. Resigned to their fate, they hold each other and take their last breath.

Just as the remaining flicker of light from the fire dies down, a thundering sound shakes the cave with as much force as the earthquake had, followed by a second thump that pushes the massive wall of rubble aside. A gust of wind fills every corner of the cave with a rush of air that breathes life back into their lungs. Realizing that they are not in the Underworld, Cara and Kahlan look up at the entrance where sitting atop Ganesh, is Rabindranath’s brother looking every bit like a madman. His clothing disheveled, eyes bloodshot as if he’d never slept a day in his life, and his hair, well, impossible to describe. Hopping off the elephant, he rushes to their side –– both Cara and Kahlan thinking him a divine, albeit untidy, apparition. “Ladies,” he says, “this was a big mess you got yourselves into.” He raises both his eyebrows and rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

“Spirits, how did you find us?” Kahlan asks as he helps her to her feet and then does the same for Cara.

“Not me, Ganesh. He dragged me out of bed three nights ago. I didn’t know where we were going, but one must never argue with the wisdom of an elephant.” Cara and Kahlan look at each other and nod. The truth of his words is undeniable.

“Three nights ago?” Kahlan asks, “but we’ve only been here since yesterday, how did he ––”

“One must never question the wisdom of an elephant, either,” Cara tells her, before turning toward the animal. “Good elephant,” Cara says, stroking Ganesh’s big floppy ear. “I knew you were noble and courageous.” Ganesh nods his head and flings his trunk over Cara’s shoulder.

“Ladies, now that you are both safe, I must leave you or Ganesh will have to rescue me from my wife’s wrath. That woman is fiercer than Ganesh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck again. With that, they say their farewells, and with Cara shouldering both their packs, they watch as the elephant and the man sitting atop him ride off into the forest.

The two of them, unfortunately, have no choice but set off on foot, as their horses are nowhere to be found. “I told you she’d bring us luck,” Kahlan says with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Who?” Cara asks, furrowing her brow.

“The ladybug, of course.” Cara starts to protest, but with a raised index finger, Kahlan cuts her off. “As you may recall, it was due to the ladybug that Kali befriended you, and it was because you gave her the ladybug that Rabindranath and his daughter offered to lend us their elephant. Therefore, you cannot deny that my assertion that ladybugs are harbingers of good luck is correct.” She looks over at the Mord’Sith with a triumphant smirk on her face.

“Am I now allowed to speak, Mother Confessor?” asks Cara, with a scowl. Kahlan tips her head in acquiescence. “You are unjustly crediting that ridiculous spotted bug with saving our lives when, clearly, Ganesh is the hero.”

“I am doing no such thing,” Kahlan replies in a calm, even tone. “Ganesh saved us, but,” she says, raising her index finger for emphasis again, “if it weren’t for the ladybug, Ganesh would have never come into our lives.”

Cara decides that the next time she makes that gesture with her finger will be the last, for she will bite it off. Although she probably won’t because Kahlan’s hand are masterful weapons, and they are also quite lovely: long slender fingers, soft skin, tiny freckles, it would be a shame to damage them.

“What’s wrong with my hand?” Kahlan asked, bringing it up to her face for inspection. Cara’s lips part but she quickly presses them together. “You were staring at my hands. Is something wrong with them?”

“They are weapons, I was merely verifying that they are in good working order,” she says. Kahlan scrunches her face, not exactly sure what to do with that remark.

“You are a very odd person, but we can discuss that at another time,” Kahlan says. “Right now I want you to know that it meant a lot to me, what you said back at the cave.”

Turning toward her with a raised eyebrow, Cara says, “You mean while I was delusional due to air depravation?”

“That is so mean,” Kahlan say, giving her a shove, “and it’s also not true.” She punctuates the statement with another shove. “Take it back,” she demands.

“I will do no such thing.” There is a playfulness to their exchanges, a levity that makes it easy to forget this is a quest. It hasn’t caused them to lose focus, quite to the contrary, they have easily covered twice the distance the Seeker had traveled in the search for the Stone of Tears in a fraction of the time. At first Kahlan felt guilty about moments like these but after the ordeal they just lived through, she’s grateful for a reprieve from all the chaos and violence. Until, that is, they meet him.

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

“You’ve done well for yourself, Mother Confessor,” says Cara, nodding in approval of the impressive structure.

“Clearly, you’ve never visited the Confessor’s Palace in Aydindril. This is only slightly larger than the stables,” says Kahlan with a smug smile.

“Perhaps because no Mord’Sith has ever been invited,” Cara says, doing her best to look offended.

Kahlan is quick to remedy the situation. “Nothing in this world would make me happier than having you in Aydindril with me. You don’t need an invitation, consider it your home.” Cara can’t find words to reply for she knows Kahlan is being sincere, but she also knows that once this quest is over Kahlan will return to a world in which there is no place for her.

Standing before the door, Cara insists Kahlan wait outside in case it’s a trap. After a heated debate, Kahlan agrees but not before threatening Cara with confession if she ends up dead. Cara agrees to Kahlan’s terms, pointing out that posthumous confession is a bit redundant.

“It’s safe to come in,” Cara says, causing Kahlan to loose a sigh of relief.

While it may not be as grand as the Confessor’s Palace, it is certainly fit for a queen. The staff consists of a cook, two groundskeepers, and a chambermaid. They’d been informed the Queen of Hearts was to take possession of the castle but hadn’t been told when and had, thus, been prepared for her arrival. The confessed Emperor, Cara decides, is the gift that keeps on giving for he had personally chosen the staff and ordered their utmost discretion. While Kahlan’s hand around his throat had freed him of his despotic tendencies, the staff still quaked with fear at the mere mention of his name.

The Queen’s bedchamber, with its high ceilings and lavish décor, is most pleasing, in particular the heated tub with running water, positioned in such a way that she can overlook the garden while taking her bath. Cara, having spent most of her life in windowless rooms at the People’s Palace and various Mord’Sith temples, doesn’t concern herself with luxuries but can appreciate the comfort of a warm bath and a soft bed.

Instead of having the cook prepare a meal, they have her warm up the food Horatio packed for them. Being in such proximity to Darken Rahl’s hideout has them both on edge –– any company aside from each other is more than either of them can bear. Kahlan even requested the food be sent up via the dumbwaiter. Cara sits on the balcony while Kahlan takes her bath, already formulating a plan of attack, or at least that’s what she tells herself. In reality, it’s the Mother Confessor’s safety that she’s most concerned about. Kahlan is as capable as any Mord’Sith she’d served with –– more even –– but the possibility of having come this far and losing her is on the forefront of Cara’s mind. She would like nothing more than to keep her behind the walls of this castle, but she knows Kahlan will never agree to it.

That night, after they’ve eaten their meal which, as it turns out, was quite delicious, they lie in bed, with Kahlan’s front pressed to Cara’s back as is their custom, but sleep doesn’t come easily to either of them. It is Kahlan who decides to say something she’d been holding back for weeks. “Cara,” she says, propping herself up on an elbow, “look at me.” Cara shifts her position so that they are facing each other. “I want you to know you are the best friend I’ve ever had and if anything were to happen to you, it would break my heart.” Cara doesn’t say a word. Instead, she lies on her back and pulls Kahlan toward her so that her head rests on Cara’s shoulder, with one of her arms draped over Cara’s middle. She’d already willingly risked her life for the sake of Kahlan’s heart, now she’ll have to fight for her own life, also for the sake of Kahlan’s heart. No worthier cause comes to mind.

It is just before dawn that they climb the three hundred steps to the top of the watchtower for the purpose of getting a clear view of Rahl’s lair. Save for its smaller size, it’s a replica of the People’s Palace –– Darken Rahl always has had a sentimental streak. Peering through a spy glass, Cara can already see witches and D’Haran soldiers walking about the grounds, bringing back images of her last day at the other Palace –– the one where her old life ended and this new one began. Certain that the internal distribution of space in this scaled down version also mirrors its counterpart, they both feel themselves one step closer to victory.

While they would prefer a closer look, it isn’t possible. The witches would certainly recognize the Mother Confessor –– even out of her Confessor’s gown –– and if Darken Rahl were to catch a glimpse of Cara, this final portion of their quest will be over before it begins. There is no room for a reconnaissance mission: they get one chance and one chance only. It is decided then that their attack upon this common enemy will come in the early morning hours and may require a distraction of some sort. They are to enter this miniature People’s Palace just as Cara had days before the massacre of her sisters. They will circle around the stables and then enter through the north tower, taking the stairs that lead directly into the library. From that point they will survive by wits, skill, and divine intervention.

After much protest, Kahlan admits that Cara must take the lead at all times. D’Haran soldiers are no match for either of them but the witches pose much more of a threat. Cara will be the magic against the magic, allowing Kahlan to wrap her hand around as many throats as possible, turning foes into allies just as she had on Las Reinas del Mar. That will be their path to victory.

Back at Kahlan’s new palace, they are met with quite a selection of delicacies to break their fast. It occurs to Cara that this is a very good thing: Kahlan will have to conserve as much energy as possible if they are to succeed. Having already witnessed how exhausted and frail she was left by multiple confessions, Cara has no intention of allowing it to happen again.

“Spirits, Cara, no more,” Kahlan says, when she notices Cara is about to fill her plate again.

“Then let’s go rest,” she says, practically dragging Kahlan off her chair and up the stairs to the bedchamber.

“Thank you,” Kahlan calls out to the cook from the top of the stairs.

As soon as they walk in the door Cara fluffs Kahlan’s pillow and pulls the covers, patting the bed indicating that Kahlan is to lie down immediately. “I’m not sleepy,” she says, staring back at the Mord’Sith as if she’s lost her mind. The response earns her an eye-roll and yet another pat on the bed. “I — am — not — sleepy,” she says, this time in a long drawl adding emphasis to each word. “Why don’t we go for a walk, or better yet, a ride around the grounds?”

Cara crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head no. “We cannot risk being spotted by anyone, and you, Mother Confessor, need to rest. I’ve seen what using your magic does to you. For the next two days you are to build your reserves.”

The idea of lounging in bed with Cara for two days isn’t at all displeasing. Whatever the outcome of this last leg of their quest, the reality that their time together may be about to end has been weighing heavily on Kahlan for longer than she cares to admit. “Fine, but only if you keep me company.” Cara delivers her best put-upon eye-roll, takes off her boots, and lies on the bed next to her.

Pulling up her pack, she sifts through the many documents Berdine gathered for her before she left the Palace, while Kahlan spends her leisurely morning twirling a lock of Cara’s hair. “It’s getting long,” she says, after fiddling with it for quite some time. “Are you going to braid it, or will you cut it again?” Cara shrugs and keeps reading –– Kahlan keeps twirling.

“Will you do it for me?” Cara asks, still not looking up from her reading.

“Do what?”

“Cut it for me.”

Kahlan runs her fingers through it several times, trying to decide. “If you want me to, I will, yes.” Cara promptly offers her dagger. “Not with that!” Kahlan says, jumping out of bed and disappearing behind the door.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Cara calls out to no avail.

When she returns, Kahlan is armed with bath oils, soap, and scissors. “You take haircutting rather seriously,” Cara says.

“I do,” Kahlan says. Cara shrugs and strips off her leathers. Although by now she’s quite familiar with Cara’s nakedness, for the sake of decorum, Kahlan turns around until she hears her splash into the tub. “First I’ll massage your scalp with chamomile oil to keep the lovely color, then with vanilla oil since it’s the scent you prefer. After that I’ll wash it with this gentle soap. It will keep your hair healthy and beautiful.” Cara muses that Kahlan’s reverence for the haircutting process must have something to do with her Confessor magic –– either that or she has some sort of hair fetish Cara hadn’t noticed. Either way, the feel of Kahlan’s fingers on her scalp reverberates throughout her entire body so she closes her eyes and loses herself in the sensation. Had she known Kahlan’s version of a haircut was this pleasurable she would have requested them on a regular basis. “Lean forward so that I can wash your back,” Kahlan says, pressing her lips to Cara’s ear.

“Dry yourself off,” she says, handing her a towel once she’s satisfied with her prep-work. “You are now ready for your haircut.” Cara is now ready for much more than a haircut but decides not to mention it.

“What do you think?” Kahlan asks, with Cara standing next to her in front of the looking glass, her hair now falling just above her shoulders. Only Cara isn’t looking at her own reflection, she’s looking at Kahlan’s. It’s that look that causes Kahlan’s knees to go weak and her heart to beat a little faster than normal. Perhaps two days behind closed doors with Cara isn’t as good an idea as she’d initially thought it. “I’m hungry,” she says, heading straight for the door.

Cara turns around, cutting off her escape route. “What would you like to eat?” A valid question given Kahlan’s previous declaration, but the way she said it, especially standing so close that she can smell those blessed oils in Cara’s hair, rouses Kahlan’s appetite but not for anything the chef can prepare.

Stammering a bit, she says, “Bread and some cheese, also a piece of fruit and maybe some…lamb.”

Quite aware of the effect she’s having on the Mother Confessor, Cara steps just a little closer. “Bread, cheese, fruit, and lamb. Interesting choices,” she says. “And how would like the lamb prepared?”

“You decide,” says Kahlan. “Go, please, I’m very hungry.” With that, she takes hold of Cara’s wrist and ushers her out, closing the door behind her. She then collapses onto the bed and covers her face with her hands. “Spirits, give me strength.”

When Cara returns, she finds her sitting out on the balcony, overlooking the garden. Placing the dish with the cheese, bread, and fruit on a small table, she takes a seat next to Kahlan. “I’m sufficiently rested,” Kahlan says, still gazing out at the garden. “We make our move tomorrow. The moonless night will work to our benefit.”

“No,” Cara says, “we need one more day.” Kahlan thinks to argue but when she turns to face her, she can’t bring herself to do it. They do need one more day, what’s more, they deserve it.

“You’re right,” Kahlan says, running her fingers through Cara’s hair. They spend what’s left of this day sitting on the balcony watching the sun make its descent behind the trees.

Neither says much during their meal but by the conspicuous way in which she’s parted her lips on various occasions, Cara is certain Kahlan will burst if she doesn’t say whatever it is that’s floating around in that Confessor brain of hers. “What is it?” she asks, no longer able to bear the suspense.

Biting her lower lip, she gazes at Cara through her lashes, debating whether or not to make her request. It is when Cara crosses her arms over her chest, and purses her lips, giving her that impatient yet tender look that her resolve stiffens. With a deep intake of air, Kahlan finally says, “Dance with me.”

That she hears no music confuses Cara for a moment, but with a nod, she is on her feet reaching for Kahlan’s hand. For the rest of the evening Kahlan hums the same tune they’d danced to a few nights earlier, while Cara holds her in her arms, doing her best to memorize the feel of Kahlan’s body pressed against her own. She twirls the Mother Confessor around the room just as she had at the celebration, thinking that Kahlan’s laughter filling the room is far lovelier than the sound of any musical instrument she’s ever known. When Kahlan’s hum fades to a murmur, their dance is over. “Thank you,” she says, pressing a kiss to Cara’s cheek –– the Mother Confessor’s, or rather, the Queen of Hearts’ lamb long since forgotten in the dumbwaiter.

When Cara removes her boots and starts to undo the laces of her leathers, Kahlan decides to make the task her own. It surprises Cara at first for it’s as meaningful a gesture as any they’ve shared. “Thank you,” Cara says, and returns the kiss with more gentleness than that of which she thought herself capable. This isn’t a type of kiss she’s ever delivered but if the blush on Kahlan’s cheeks is any indication, it is one she should add to her repertoire. It is with smiles on their faces and a deep sense of contentment that they drift off to sleep.

***

“I’ll prepare our weapons,” Cara says, after they break their fast. For the rest of the morning, she sharpens and polishes Kahlan’s daggers as well as her own. The Champion’s sword she’d been awarded is already in pristine condition. It feels good in her hand, not as good as an agiel, of course, but good –– almost as if it had been made for her hand. Kahlan watches her as she readies their packs. There’s something beautiful about the care and attention to detail with which Cara works. Then again, the Mord’Sith is as thorough a person as she’s ever known. It’s comforting to know she’s going into battle with someone who, much like herself, leaves nothing to chance. For as much as she wishes she didn’t, Kahlan can’t help but compare Cara to Richard, especially now that she’s strapped the sword to her back. She even wonders for a moment what she would have been like –– Cara Mason, the one true Seeker in a thousand years.

“What?” Cara asks in response to Kahlan’s giggles.

“You wear the sword well,” Kahlan says. “It’s a beautiful weapon.” Cara nods, although still not certain as to the source of her amusement. Rather than dwelling on it, she busies herself making arrows and adjusting the tension on her bow. For the rest of the day, they are quieter than usual –– both too busy preparing themselves mentally for whatever comes next.

As the sun is about to set they make their way to the stables to check on the horses. The crisp air gives Cara a shiver and brings a rosy blush to Kahlan’s cheeks. Aside from the rustling of leaves, it is as if the entire world is perfectly still. “We’ve seen so much beauty during our time together,” Kahlan says, with a twinge of sadness. There is a necessary melancholy that comes with the realization that once this quest comes to an end so many places will remain unseen, potential friends whom they will never meet, and more importantly, words left unsaid.

“Let’s go have our meal, and take our rest. Tomorrow will be a long day,” Cara says, placing her hand on the small of Kahlan’s back. That small gesture alone is enough to lift Kahlan’s spirits.

Dinner is a quiet affair, neither willing to dwell on anything other than the pleasure of a good meal. On this night, when they climb into bed, Kahlan decides to reverse their usual positions, allowing herself to find slumber with the comfort of Cara’s arms around her for only the second time.

Still cloaked in the dark of night, they rise from their bed, Cara stepping into her leathers with Kahlan, already dressed, lacing them up for her. With a silent exchange, they each pick up their weapons and leave behind the safety of the castle. Just as they are about to mount their horses, Kahlan reaches for Cara’s arm and says, “Don’t die.” Cara nods in agreement, having every intention to see where this ride ends. Of one thing she’s certain, no harm will come to the Mother Confessor of the Midlands –– not while Cara Mason is still breathing.

Chapter Text

Their approach is as slow as it is methodical. Cara’s eyes flickering from one place to another, catching even the slightest motion, while Kahlan’s gaze is fixed on the structure that is their final destination, which seems to her as if it is rushing toward them. When they are just outside the gates, Cara determines that even the positioning of the guards is identical to what it had been in D’Hara; only here they are lesser in numbers which stands to reason given the smaller building. Gaining access will not be a problem as Cara knows exactly where the ideal opening lies ––she’d taken advantage of it many times as a young Mord’Sith out for a tryst. Cara signals to Kahlan, and she follows –– not a role that comes easily to the Mother Confessor but Cara’s plan is a sensible one, and there is ample trust between them.

Thus, without consequence they find themselves behind the north tower, standing before the stairway that ends at the library. Cara takes the lead with Kahlan, daggers drawn, so close behind her that Cara can feel her breath on the back of her neck. Upon opening the door, they find the room empty just as Cara had thought it. Save for Cara’s occasional visits, no one other than Berdine and Raina frequented the room –– Berdine did not take kindly to interruptions. Cara’s brow furrows, struggling to keep at bay the flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. It isn’t easy, standing outside the door of a room that is an exact replica of the one in which she’d last seen her closest friend.

When they cross the threshold they both feel it, the unmistakable prickle of magic all around them. Having a deeply rooted disdain for that unpredictable force, Cara instinctively draws her weapon. She’d only ever felt such a force in the Garden of Life which was completely sustained by magic.

Mouth agape, she looks around the room and says, “None of this is real. It’s all a parlor trick.”

“Are you sure?” Kahlan asks.

“I am,” she says. “I don’t know how he’s doing it, but none of this is real.”

“The most powerful wizard in all of the land,” Kahlan mumbles, more to herself than to Cara. “It’s Richard’s Han, Cara, that’s how he’s doing it.”

It makes sense that Richard Rahl, the product of two magically gifted bloodlines, would have enough power to sustain an illusion of this magnitude, but it must come at a high price. If they are correct, Darken Rahl only has a fraction of the Seeker’s Han at his disposal and is relying on the witches for protection. But in the end, all of this speculation is irrelevant. Their mission has not changed: free the Seeker and kill Darken Rahl. “Let’s go,” Cara says, already her eyes are dancing with excitement at the prospect of a good fight.

“Wait,” Kahlan says, “we have to think. Where would Rahl keep Richard? A dungeon maybe?”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Cara does her best to measure her words but subtlety isn’t something for which she has much of an affinity. “Master Richard, in a dungeon? I don’t think so.”

While she doesn’t admit it, Kahlan suspects Cara’s right. The Wizard of the Fourth Order gave no indication that Richard was experiencing any sort of hardship. “Where then?”

“Friends close, enemies closer. Your precious Seeker is in Darken Rahl’s private wing.” With that, they walk out of the library, heading for the other end of the palace. She’s never met the Seeker but that he’s a Rahl alone makes Cara despise him. Add to that his designs on the Mother Confessor and it’s safe to say she has only slightly less disdain for him than she does for Darken Rahl himself. It is as she’s entertaining various murderous thoughts that half a dozen D’Haran soldiers turn down the corridor, finding themselves face to face with intruders. Before they can draw their weapons, Cara backhands one of them with enough force to knock him unconscious, while another one feels the blade of her dagger pressed to his throat. “Is this your chosen day to die, D’Harans? If it isn’t, get on your knees.”

D’Haran soldiers not being known for their good judgment, they refuse Cara’s counsel and draw their swords instead. It isn’t long before Cara and Kahlan are standing before a bloody pile of bodies, and in the company of a most solicitous lieutenant. “Try to conserve your magic,” Cara chastises her for being too quick to reach for his throat.

Kahlan rolls her eyes. “I’m a Confessor, it’s what I do. Besides, he’ll come in handy.” She has him move the bodies out of sight and clean up the blood. “Tell no one we are here,” she commands him. “And allow no one into the library.”

In an effort to avoid any further confrontations, Cara opts for accessing Rahl’s private wing via what used to be the Mord’Sith’s quarters. Because it was their purpose to protect their Lord, direct access in case of an attack was made possible by a series of concealed passages to which even D’Haran soldiers weren’t privy. That he turned on those who were most loyal to him only fuels Cara’s need to make him pay for his crimes.

“Stay behind me,” Cara says when they exit a passage that leaves them standing in a section of the palace with which she’s all too familiar. Her admonishment is a timely one for already they can hear the Sisters of the Dark chanting in the main hall.

“Yes, Master Richard,” says a woman as she steps out of a room that back in D’Hara served as a guest room for foreign dignitaries and lovers with which Rahl was particularly taken. Cara and Kahlan stay out of sight, but as soon as the woman turns the corner, Kahlan steps around Cara and rushes into the room where Richard stands shirtless in a pair of red silk trousers. “Richard,” she says, running into his arms.

Richard’s eyes fill with tears the moment her sees her. “I thought you were dead,” he says, cupping her cheeks and pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss –– the Mother Confessor clinging to him as if her very life depended on it. Cara watches the scene from the doorway and waits, but apparently the Seeker’s arms around her suffice to make the Mother Confessor forget the whole of the world as she wipes the tears from his eyes as well as her own, before nuzzling herself into the crook of his neck. Cara stands there for what seems like an eternity listening to their loving exchanges, then takes a step back and closes the door behind her.

***

The Mother Confessor in the Seeker’s arm is, perhaps, the way it should be. It isn’t something she can think on now, not when she’s dealing with this stinging sensation in her eyes and this thing in her chest that makes it hard to breathe and that inexplicable wrenching pain in her stomach that feels as if she’d been stomped on by that huge Cyclops she killed a few days ago. She tells herself the proximity to the bond is causing these peculiar symptoms but she knows it’s a lie. Right now she needs to put all of that out of her mind and focus on finding her former Lord –– for Kahlan’s sake as well as her own. That the thought of dying isn’t at all unpleasant at this moment can’t deter her from keeping her promise to Berdine, and making certain Kahlan remains unharmed.

She knows Darken Rahl well, and while he’s aligned himself with the witches, Cara is certain he’s found a way to safeguard himself from their imminent betrayal. It is in the very nature of those who have power to always seek more of it, her former Lord would often say. Her task, therefore, is to find that safeguard and use it in her favor.
***

“Zedd, is he…?” Kahlan trails off, once she and Richard break from their kiss.

“No,” Richard assures her, “he’s fine. Not happy about the Rada’Han around his neck but he’s still the same old Zedd.”

“Thank the Spirits,” she says, noticing for the first time that Richard is quite comfortable in his lavish surroundings. “Richard, what are you wearing?” It strikes her that he seems more like a willing houseguest than a hostage.

“Oh, just my sleeping clothes. It’s still very early,” he says. Having traveled with him for two years, Kahlan is certain she’d recall if ever before she’d seen him take rest wearing red silk trousers. That he hasn’t once mentioned escape convinces her that something is wrong, very wrong.

“Master Richard, are you ready for me?” asks a barely dressed, buxom blonde who lets herself in without bothering to knock. Kahlan steps behind the door so as not to be seen, but sees enough of the blonde to recognize her as the very woman who lured Richard into the trap that started this mess. That his face has taken on the color of his trousers makes her purpose crystal clear.

“No,” Richard says, ushering her out the door by the forearm. Stammering a bit, he turns toward the Mother Confessor and says, “Kahlan, it isn’t what you think. I. You. I. I thought you were dead. You can’t know what, what that did to me.”

Kahlan tips her head, watching him shift from side to side. “Mm, apparently you found…ample comfort.”

***

If only that image in her head, the one where Kahlan is kissing the Seeker and wiping away his tears, would go away, she’d be able to think clearly. Having no other choice, she steps back into the passage she and Kahlan used earlier. Leaning against the wall, she covers her face with her hands, willing the image to go away, only it doesn’t, not really, not until she reaches for that part of herself that is still Mord’Sith. Shutting out this weakness that seeped in during her travels with the Mother Confessor, she gathers herself enough to step back out, but a faint sound draws her attention enough to make her walk deeper into the passage instead. The farther she walks, the louder it gets until she finally discerns the rantings of a madwoman locked in what used to be a Mord’Sith training room.

***

“Kahlan, it isn’t like that. You have to believe me.” He paces in front of her trying to find the right words but clearly there aren’t any.

“You seem quite comfortable here,” she says, with her arms crossed in front of her. “Is it that you and your brother are of one mind these days? Because Cara and I didn’t risk our –– Cara,” she says, realizing after far too long that the Mord’Sith isn’t by her side. “Cara,” she says again, this time her hands going to the sides of her head. “Let’s go, we have to find Cara,” she says, already heading for the door.

“It isn’t that simple,” he says, stepping in front of her, “if I leave this room without one of the Sisters of the Dark lifting the binding spell, every soldier in the palace will rush in to protect me.”

“Mm, yes, to protect you.” Kahlan says with no small amount of derision.

“Kahlan, you don’t understand. Sister Mariana will come get me to break the fast in a little over a candlemark. Then we’ll go find your friend.” He says as if he were speaking to a daft child who had misplaced a favorite toy.

“Richard, listen to me very carefully. I risked lives to get you out of a mess you created. Choose your allegiance now. I haven’t any more time to waste. I’m going to go find Cara and if you’re not here when I return, I’ll assume you’re my enemy.” The Mother Confessor walks out the door without looking back.

“Kahlan, wait,” he calls out to no avail.

***

The woman locked in the training room is going on about her Han and the high price her captors will pay once she finds a way out of her prison. As best as Cara can make out, she plans on castrating Darken Rahl and feeding him his own testicles. There is also something about cleansing the world of the small-minded vermin that is the human race. If it weren’t for her mind refusing to stop replaying the images of Kahlan and the Seeker, she’d be amused by the madwoman’s tirade. Still, it crosses her mind that she must be significant somehow, for why else would her former Lord keep her alive? Darken Rahl was always a pragmatist when it came to disposing of enemies. This woman, perhaps, will prove to be the opening she needs.

Just as the invective spewing from Rahl’s prisoner’s mouth turns to the topic of the Seeker, Cara hears someone approaching from the other end of the passage. Taking care to not reveal her presence, she listens for a moment, before making her exit.

***

Having no idea where exactly to look, Kahlan wanders down random hallways, stopping dead in her tracks at the sound of a familiar voice. Drawing her weapon, she gingerly opens a door, her jaw dropping at the sight on the other side. The Wizard of the First Order, lying naked on a gigantic round bed, surrounded by a bevy of scantily-dressed women, giggling like a schoolboy, and looking up at her as if she were a ghost. “Kahlan,” he says in as much a statement as a question, attempting to move his bedmates out of the way so that he can rise to his feet. Rendered speechless by the sight of him, Kahlan silently decides the Zorander men are all pigs.

“Kahlan, child, you’re alive,” he says, throwing his arms out to embrace her, but is met with a firm hand to the center of his chest. “We were told you were dead. Only the Spirits know how much Richard and I grieved for you.”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Kahlan tilts her head, and says, “Yes, well, apparently you both found comfort. Please dress yourself before I go blind.” The wizard haphazardly puts on his robe, while Kahlan taps her foot, releasing a long-suffering sigh. “The key to the Rada’Han, who has it?”

“Roderick, a Wizard of the Fourth Order but he’s loyal to Rahl.”

“Take me to him now.” The wizard thinks to speak further but given the way Kahlan is glaring at him, he follows her order without saying a word.

“Mistress, how I’ve missed you!” says Roderick, leaving Zedd more than a little confused.

“Thank you, Roderick, now unlock Zedd’s Rada’Han, please,” she says, trying her best to be patient. Zedd takes in a deep breath the moment he’s released from the collar. Rubbing his fingertips together, he grins at the sight of the sparks the motion produces; Kahlan quickly relieves him of both the Rada’Han and the key. “Roderick, stay here and tell no one you’ve seen me. Zedd, let’s go, we have to find Cara.” Zedd has no idea who this Cara is but, quite certain the Mother Confessor isn’t in the mood for idle prattle, he doesn’t ask.

“Spirits, where are you, Cara…?” As if by powerful magic, the moment the words leave her lips, Cara steps out of the passage, inadvertently walking into Kahlan’s arms. Kahlan starts to speak but not finding words to express what she’s feeling, she pulls Cara into a tight embrace. “Zedd, get us out of here. The library, now.” With a wave of his hand, they are there.

“Cara, I,” Kahlan says, still holding the Mord’Sith in her arms but Cara interrupts her before she can finish.

“You owe me no explanations, Mother Confessor,” Cara says, stepping out of Kahlan’s embrace.

“I do,” Kahlan says, “and I owe you an apology as well. But right now we need to focus on our mission.” Not known for being discreet, the wizard takes in their exchange with great interest.

“My mission,” Cara corrects her, stepping around her and heading for the door.

Kahlan throws her arms up in frustration. “This is your grandson’s fault,” she tells the wizard, as she runs after Cara. “Wait, please,” she says, taking hold of Cara’s wrist. “We’ve been through too much together to have it end this way. Please, don’t push me away now.” Still unable to look at her, Cara relents with a curt nod. “Thank the Spirits,” Kahlan says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Cara’s ear. If the Wizard didn’t know better he’d swear he’d just witnessed a lovers’ quarrel.

Kahlan’s attention immediately turns toward Zedd. “I don’t know what has gone on here and I don’t care, but I expect the truth from you. Has Richard aligned himself with his brother?” The question strikes Cara as odd, given the passionate reunion she’d witnessed between the two.

The Wizard considers the question for a long moment, knowing that there is no clear response. “Kahlan, you know the boy as well as I do. He sees only the good in people. After we received news of your death, Richard was despondent, completely devastated. Darken reached out to him. He helped Richard through his grief and swore he’d bring your murderer to justice and he did, or at least that is what we thought.”

Kahlan shakes her head, realizing Richard’s gullibility knows no bounds. “And you and Richard believed him because he’s what, renowned for his good character? It was he who sent Roderick to kill me. It’s only because Cara stopped him that I live to tell you about it.” The wizard, on that occasion –– as well as all others –– having deferred to his grandson’s judgment, has no reply. His gaze, however, falls upon Cara, realizing that there is more to Kahlan’s new friend than meets the eye.

“Richard said he can’t leave his quarters without one of the Sisters of the Dark lifting some sort of spell. Why?”

“A binding spell. All of this,” he says, gesturing with his hands, “is made possible by Richard’s Han. If anything were to happen to him, it would be gone and Rahl would be left with nothing more than a mortal body.”

“You were right,” Kahlan tells Cara, “it is all an illusion.”

“How did your friend stop Roderick?” Zedd asks.

”Zedd,” Kahlan says, every bit a warning. “I will ask the questions, you’ll supply the answers.”

“Who’s the madwoman locked in a training room?” Cara asks, quite casually.

“Madwoman in a training room?” Kahlan asks, furrowing her brow.

Cara nods, pursing her lips. “Yes, a raving lunatic spewing some nonsense about her ‘magnificent Han’ and her plans for Rahl’s testicles.”

“Sister Nicci,” the Mother Confessor and the Wizard say in unison.

“The Sword of Truth, is it in Richard’s possession?” Kahlan asks; already Cara can tell she is formulating a plan.

“Yes, but he hasn’t had a need for it since we’ve been here,” he says, veering his gaze to the sword strapped to Cara’s back. “That’s quite a weapon your friend carries as well.”

When he takes a step toward Cara, Kahlan cuts off his path. “Wizard, both you and your grandson are testing my patience today. Just as I told him, now I’ll tell you, on this day you are either friend or foe. Save me the trouble of having to confess you by deciding right now which it will be.”

Zedd has spent enough time with the Mother Confessor to know that, for as compassionate as she is, toying with her one time too many will lead to dire consequences. Whoever this other woman is, Kahlan is very protective of her; he makes the prudent decision and keeps a respectful distance from her.

“Zedd, get us back to Richard. It’s time we find out where his loyalties lie.” That she would even question such a thing, Zedd finds ridiculous, but keeps the opinion to himself.

In a puff of smoke, they find the Seeker, already dressed, pacing the length of his room. He immediately notices that the Rada’Han that adorned the wizard’s neck for months is gone. His attention then turns to Kahlan’s blonde companion, the one she’d been so eager to find. There’s something about her, something he can’t quite name, that arouses his suspicions. “Kahlan, we need to talk,” he says, leading her toward another room. Without missing a beat, Cara is at her side. “In private,” he adds, with a sneer.

Kahlan takes a step away from the Seeker, which leaves her standing so close to the Mord’Sith that they are breathing the same breath. “It’s all right,” she says, running her arm down the length of the Mord’Sith’s arm. Raising an eyebrow and clasping the hilt of her dagger, Cara backs away, her gaze fixed on Kahlan as she disappears behind a closed door. The wizard thinks to strike up a conversation but before he can utter a single syllable, she shoots him a murderous glance, causing him to reconsider.

***

“That woman, I don’t trust her, Kahlan. Something isn’t quite right about her, I can feel it.”

“At this moment, I trust her far more than I trust you, Richard. Tell me, are you doing your brother’s bidding these days?” It isn’t so much Richard’s loyalty that she’s calling into question, as it is his judgment. Were she to stand there and recount the many times Richard’s faulty logic led them astray, she’d probably confess him out of frustration alone.

Richard takes her hand in his, squeezing it gently before bringing it to his lips. “Kahlan, I love you more than my own life. Losing you broke me. Darken was a brother to me when I was at my lowest. He’s changed so much since freeing himself from the Keeper’s grasp.”

“Apparently not enough to keep him from sending an assassin after me.” Kahlan went on to tell him exactly what happened on the Las Reinas del Mar, including the physical evidence of her demise required by Darken Rahl. It had been the very evidence Darken shared with Richard when he informed him of the Mother Confessor’s death. An innocent man, Richard now realizes, was executed for a crime that never occurred. The weight of that realization is staggering, given that Richard Cypher, now Richard Rahl, is the Seeker of Truth. He admits that, having been blinded by his own grief and rage, it was at his hands that an innocent man died. Richard killed him, with the Sword of Truth no less, to avenge Kahlan’s supposed death

Overcome with shame, he collapses onto his knees, weeping like a small child. Kahlan cradles him in her arms, whispering words of forgiveness and encouragement. “We’ll get through this together,” she tells him, knowing that Richard is a good man, and because he is a good man, the guilt will never leave him. “I love you more than my own life,” he says a second time, and for Kahlan it’s like coming home. They are words she hadn’t heard in months, only now realizing how much she’d longed for them. Richard, the first person to look upon her with love, not fear, still knows how to speak to her heart.

She leans in, kissing him on the lips, and says, “I love you, too.” They walk out hand in hand, neither mentioning what transpired on the other side of the door, but the renewed bond between them is obvious to the Mord’Sith and the Wizard.

“Zedd, if it is Nicci being held in the training room ––”

“What?” Richard says, cutting Kahlan off before she can finish. “Nicci is here? Kahlan, if she is, you have to leave now. She’s too dangerous.”

And there it is; Richard’s inability to accept that it is the Mother Confessor who protects the Seeker, that she isn’t the one in need of rescuing, that it wasn’t she who was lured into a trap by a plunging neckline and a conspicuously large posterior. While Kahlan is tempted to react to his remark, she decides to ignore it. “As I was saying,” she says, addressing the Wizard, “if it is Nicci, could Cara hold her off long enough for me to confess her?” Predicting the Seeker’s reaction, she raises her palm without turning toward him and says, “Richard, not a word.” Cara looks over at the sulking Seeker with a smirk on her face.

“If she is what I think she is, the answer is yes, but removing the Rada’Han so that you can confess Nicci will require impeccable timing. Not to mention the key,” he says.

“Roderick, perhaps?” Kahlan asks, looking between Richard and Zedd.

“It could be, he does trust the little weasel more than the Sisters of the Dark,” says the Wizard, eyeing Cara. “But this plan requires unquestionable loyalty from all parties involved.”

“Zedd, don’t,” Kahlan says. Richard thinks to chime in but knows Kahlan well enough to hold his tongue. “Let’s go,” she says to Cara, resting a hand on her shoulder. Cara doesn’t say a word, but her gaze goes to the offending hand –– something that hadn’t happened since their days back in Ushuaia. “You two, don’t do anything to arouse suspicion,” she calls out to the men as she and Cara walk out the door.

Having been ordered by his Mistress to stay put, Kahlan finds Roderick exactly where she left him. She questions him about the woman in the training room, who, he informs her, is a powerful sorceress whose captivity serves a dual purpose: causing her as much misery as possible and providing Darken Rahl with an opportunity to seek out a means of absorbing her Han –– without involving the other witches. Darken Rahl, he tells her, trusts no one. It would stand to reason since he killed his most loyal allies: the Mord’Sith. The location of the key to the Rada’Han, however, remains a mystery for it isn’t in Roderick’s possession. “What now?” Kahlan asks, leaving Cara to ponder the answer for a long moment.

“Everything you’ll need,” Cara mumbles, echoing Berdine’s final words. “Let’s go,” Cara says. When the Wizard tries to follow, she turns toward him and adds, “Not you.”

Kahlan isn’t certain what Cara has in mind, but knowing that she’s already on shaky ground with her, she follows without question. That Cara hasn’t as much as glanced at her is causing her no small amount of distress. It feels as if she were, once again, dealing with the leather-clad stranger who approached her in the tropical forest what seems like a lifetime ago.

Through yet another route, they end up back in the library –– Cara digging through her pack, Kahlan standing behind her debating whether to speak to her or remain silent. While she knows the latter would be the Mord’Sith’s preference, they are still in this together. “What are you looking for?” Kahlan asks, fully anticipating the death glare that follows.

She looks up at the Mother Confessor from her crouched position, and tosses her a parchment –– still not speaking to her. Kahlan reads through it once, and then a second time, unsure whether to interpret its meaning literally or figuratively, “A Spell for Every Occasion,” reads the top of the document. Either way, she decides, it’s worth a try. “Let’s go,” she says, “we’ll need Zedd’s help.”

While they intended a swift return via the same passage that got them to the library, an unexpected run-in with a group of witches spoils their plans. Cara gives Kahlan a hard shove –– harder than necessary –– stepping back enough to deflect the dacra that had been aimed at the Mother Confessor. Ignoring the dull pain in her shoulder, Kahlan looses her daggers, each finding its mark –– two Sisters of the Dark down, three left standing. Choosing to release their dacras in unison proves to be their undoing for Cara quickly deflects them back to their source, each buried in its owner’s own chest.

“Nice work,” Kahlan says as she retrieves her daggers. “That shove, however, will definitely leave a bruise.” Cara ignores the remark, busying herself with stashing the bodies in a stairwell. To say that Kahlan’s frustration at her silence is growing would be understating the matter, but just as frustrating is the guilt she’s feeling. She and Cara are not lovers, yet she feels like an unfaithful husband caught with his hands up the wrong skirt. That she’s even having such a thought at a time like this serves as evidence she’s allowed her feelings for Cara to drift beyond the pale.

Before she has a chance to fully examine her thoughts, she’s back in Richard’s arms, for the moment she walks into the room, he pulls her into an embrace and says, “What took you so long? I’ve been worried sick.” Having too much on her mind already, Kahlan tears away from him, and hands the Wizard the parchment.

“These are ancient spells that require powerful magic,” says the Wizard.

“Will any of them open the witch’s Rada’Han?” Cara asks, her impatience palpable.

“I don’t know yet,” the Wizard snaps back with a scowl.

“Zedd, don’t take that tone with Cara. Please don’t make me have to tell you a second time,” the Mother Confessor says, “it is thanks to her that we have the spells.” That she’s trying to get back in Cara’s good graces is obvious even to the Seeker.

Richard pulls Kahlan aside to inform her that Zedd suspects her new friend is a Mord’Sith. With as much patience as she can gather, she reminds him that it was his poor judgment that created this situation and it is she and Cara who have risked their lives to save his. She goes as far as informing him that if he’d prefer to put his life in his brother’s hands rather than hers, he’s welcome to do so. Knowing this is an argument he will not win, Richard puts his hands up in surrender.

The Wizard clears his throat to get their attention, and when all eyes are on him, says, “This incantation will work, but you’ll have to confess her as soon as I utter the spell or she’ll kill us all. Nicci’s Han is surpassed only by Richard’s.” Kahlan glances over at Cara, who, with a quick nod, assures her it won’t be a problem. Realizing that Kahlan is relying on a suspected Mord’Sith to keep them alive, the two men can only hope that Kahlan’s trust isn’t misplaced. The plan is to confess Nicci –– something Kahlan is looking forward to for reasons of her own –– and then use Nicci’s Han as a means of bringing down Rahl permanently. But first they need to remove the Rada’Han from the witch’s neck.

Once Cara provides a detailed description of where exactly she heard the witch, a wave of the Wizard’s hand leaves them standing in the training room with Nicci looking more wretched than they’d thought possible. “Bad hair day?” Kahlan asks, staring back at the emaciated witch whose hair is matted and clothes are in shreds. Already they can hear the commotion set off by the Seeker leaving his quarters.

“Still bitter about that little maternity spell, are we?” says Nicci with as much arrogance as she had before being captured and collared by Darken Rahl. Her eyes, however, soften at the sight of the Seeker. “Tell me, are you ready to accept my offer? Get this thing off me,” she says, yanking at the Rada’Han, “and the world will be ours.”

“Say the spell, Wizard, we haven’t the time for this,” Cara says, taking a step toward Nicci, only to be left grimacing by the stench of her.

“What’s your plan?” Kahlan asks, pulling her away from the others for the sake of discretion. “Zedd is right, she’ll kill us all in less than a breath once he finishes the spell.”

“All you need to confess her is for her to be alive and the Rada’Han to be off, correct?” Kahlan tips her head in agreement while Zedd and Richard brace themselves for certain death. “Say the spell,” Cara growls and with a nod from Kahlan, the Wizard does as he’s told. Cara and Kahlan stand less than a pace away from her, and the moment the Wizard utters the last of the spell, the Rada’Han releases from the witch’s neck. Before it travels more than a hair’s width, Cara’s fist meets with the witch’s chin, sending her careening into Kahlan’s hand.

With eyes swirling black, Nicci, as so many before her, drops to her knees, begging her Mistress to command her. “Good plan,” Kahlan says, smiling brightly at the Mord’Sith –– none of them had considered taking that practical an approach.

“Definitely Mord’Sith,” the Seeker whispers to his grandfather, and it’s pure mayhem from that point on. Cara leads them out of the passage on the opposite end from Rahl’s private wing, the five of them looking on as hallways flood with Sisters of the Dark and soldiers searching for Richard.

“Stay behind me,” Cara says, speaking to Kahlan for the first time since her reunion with Richard.

“I will,” Kahlan assures her, loosing a sigh of relief at receiving confirmation that the Mord’Sith still cares.

“Go tell Darken Rahl that Sister Nicci has escaped,” Sister Mariana orders one of the D’Haran soldiers. By the look on his face, it would seem the army hadn’t been informed of Nicci’s presence.

The Mother Confessor and the others stay out of sight, waiting for the right moment to make their move. It is Cara who catches a glimpse of a panic-stricken Rahl being ushered away by several dozen Sisters of the Dark. “Stop him,” Kahlan orders the newly confessed Nicci, who happily sets about her task with as much zeal as she had when she intended to wipe out humanity and replace it with her and Richard’s spawn. The hissing of dacras flying through the air fills the Palace, as do the stomping feet of soldiers fleeing in droves. Nicci, however, is relentless in following her Mistress’s order. “I’m glad she’s on our side,” says Kahlan, as they rush through the path Nicci’s Han has opened for them.

While to the others victory seems imminent, Cara turns toward them with an outstretched arm, causing them to come to a halt. It is she, after all, who knows the Palace as well as Darken does. “That entrance, it leads to the hall of mirrors,” she says, “if Rahl crossed the threshold into the glass room, the witch will not be able to enter.”

As Cara predicted, Nicci returns, having left in her wake countless dead bodies scattered about, and says, “Mistress, I failed you. There is a room even my Han cannot penetrate. Darken is already inside.”

Nicci continues to do away with anyone who dares to even glance at Kahlan and her companions, while all eyes turn to Cara for an explanation. “It’s as ancient as the Sisters of the Agiel,” she says, “a barrier sealed in Mord’Sith blood, magically spelled to keep the Lord Rahl from harm if the Palace were ever under siege.”

“The Sword of Truth,” Richard says, “it can cut through anything.” Cara knows it's a waste of time but remains silent.

“It’s worth a try,” Kahlan says. They make their way through an intricate maze of narrow, mirrored halls, which ends before a luxurious room with glass walls. The Seeker draws the Sword of Truth and strikes with all his might over and over, as Darken Rahl, reclined on a bed, wearing his favored garish red robe, looks on in amusement. Until, that is, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands and the Mord’Sith Cara Mason step out from behind the Seeker and the confessed witch –– their images, his worst nightmare, reflected back at him in the mirrored walls to infinity.

***

Not once had Cara contemplated a different outcome. She’d said as much to the Mother Confessor but now that the time has arrived, the reality of it is too much for her. “Cara, no. I’m not letting you go in there alone,” Kahlan says, already Cara and the others can see she’s on the verge of tears. “We agreed that we were in this together. There has to be another way.”

For over a half a candlemark, she has the Seeker and the witch try to break through the invisible barrier but it isn’t possible. They all know it. Still, Kahlan refuses to face the truth. The Mord’Sith leans against the mirrored wall, patiently waiting for Kahlan to accept that they’ve run out of options. When the Seeker, too exhausted to wield the Sword of Truth, collapses to the ground gasping for air, Cara decides to put an end to the madness.

“Kahlan, we need to talk.” Cara places a firm hand on the small of Kahlan’s back, just as she has so many times before, and leads her away from the others. “There is no other way. The spell is over a thousand years old and not once has it failed.” Kahlan’s arms are wrapped around her own middle, her eyes never leaving the Mord’Sith leaning on the wall across from her. “Only Mord’Sith can get through. I am the last one. It is up to me to make things right.”

“He’ll kill you,” Kahlan says in a small voice that feels like a knife through Cara’s heart. “He has Richard’s Han, and he’ll use it to kill you.” No longer able to hold Cara’s gaze, she looks down at her own boots for a long moment. “But,” she says, tilting her head as if she’d suddenly come upon an ideal solution, “we could have Zedd cast a spell. We leave him in there, to live out his days locked up like the beast that he is.”

“No, we can’t,” Cara says.

“Why? Because you made a promise? Berdine would not want you dead, Cara, and neither do I.”

“He holds the bond. What’s to stop him from coercing someone into taking a D’Haran girl and torturing her until she breaks?” Cara shuts her eyes to push back the flood of memories of her own breaking. “No, that can’t happen, Kahlan. I won’t allow it to happen.”

Kahlan’s hand goes to Cara’s cheek, staying there for a long moment. “You’re much nobler than I am.”

It is the Seeker who puts an end to their exchange. “Kahlan?”

She turns toward the Seeker for a moment, and says, “Richard, Cara and I have not finished.” Only to find, when she turns to face the Mord’Sith again, she is gone.

As Kahlan is about to set off after her, Richard takes hold of her wrist. “What’s going on?” he asks. She tears away from his grip but it’s too late. With the dagger Kahlan gifted her, Cara has already sliced the palm of her hand and pressed it against the invisible barrier, leaving an ominous bloody palm-print behind.

“Don’t die,” Kahlan says in a whisper that will remain unheard for already Cara has crossed the threshold into Rahl’s sanctuary. Kahlan and the others can see the two of them circling each other –– Rahl with that smug smile on his face –– but they can’t hear what they are saying. “Don’t die,” Kahlan implores a second time, her hands on either side of the doorless doorway.

***

“Lord Rahl,” Cara says, tipping her head with a smirk on her face. It was always going to come down to this, the two of them locked in a room in a fight to the death. Who will be left standing when it’s over, a mystery that will reveal itself in due time. Cara has no plan to speak of, only to attempt to comply with Kahlan’s request. ‘Don’t die’, she’d asked of Cara repeatedly. That request alone will serve as her compass.

“Cara, my dear, so lovely to see you. I should have known my most talented Mord’Sith would manage to survive that unfortunate ordeal at the Palace. You always were resourceful –– not unlike vermin.” The moment he stops talking Cara lunges at him but with a wave of his hand, he flings her across the room, her head smashing into the wall. Kahlan can’t bear to watch this, to watch Cara crumple to the ground like a rag doll, but turning away isn’t an option. Even separated by this magical barrier, they are still in this together.

“Do you really think you’re a match for me?” he says. Cara rises to her feet, her nose bloodied, and goes at him a second time, managing to nick him with her dagger as he, again, flings her across the room without so much as touching her. “Was that really necessary?” he asks, healing the wound by merely looking at it. “You do know I’m going to kill you for it.” He says it in a low sultry tone that turns Cara’s stomach. It occurs to her that sparing anyone from ever being addressed in that tone again is reason enough to kill him, or even die trying.

Without a trace of hesitation, she’s on her feet, only this time, when he waves his hand, Cara squares her shoulders, and raises her own hand, holding Rahl’s magic at bay with all of her might, and using her other hand to release her dagger, delivering it to the center of his chest. Having been caught off guard, with eyes widening, and gasping for air, it takes Rahl a moment to react. Pulling the dagger out of his chest, he heals his own wound, and tosses the weapon aside. But that momentary lapse provides Cara with enough of an opening to charge toward him –– this time seizing him by the throat and squeezing with every bit of strength in her. If ever she’s wished for Confessor magic, it is at this moment.

“She’s brave, I’ll give her that much,” the Seeker says, with Kahlan clinging to his arm.

“She’s that and so much more,” Kahlan murmurs, her tone pure anguish.

Rahl wasn’t expecting such boldness from his former Mord’Sith. He reacts with a strong show of force that Cara can only hold off for a moment. Slamming her against the glass wall with bone-crushing force, he keeps her there, suspended in midair. “I’m disappointed in you, Cara. I would have thought you’d stand by your sisters in death as you did in life. Are you Kahlan Amnell’s pet these days?” When Kahlan’s name leaves his lips, Cara shuts her eyes and their entire journey together flashes before her, culminating with their dance at the castle –– the sound of Kahlan’s laughter echoing in her head, and the blue of her eyes, a sea of possibilities. Even if this is the one fight she cannot win, the ride with Kahlan was worth the fall. Cara doesn’t reply to her former Lord, instead she relaxes into her current predicament, allowing Rahl to hold her in place with no resistance.

“I’m tempted to kill you, but I’m having too much fun.” With that, he releases his magical hold on her and watches as she falls at his feet. “I always did like you on your knees,” he says. That choice of words, however, proves to be a grave error in judgment for Cara Mason has never taken kindly to taunting. With nothing to lose, her hands go to his ankles, sweeping his feet out from under him. Before he has a chance to react, Cara pins down his arms with her knees and takes to pounding her fists into his face. It isn’t long before he’s a bloody mess, spitting out his own teeth.

The Seeker raises his eyebrows, not for a moment had he imagined this turn of events. “How?” he asked, shaking his head in amazement.

“Cara is always willing to try,” Kahlan says under her breath.

“You. Can’t. Win,” Rahl says, and with a minuscule flick of his wrist, he sends the Mord’Sith flying across the room.

“Perhaps, but I’m having fun trying,” Cara says, her chest heaving from exertion.

Rahl extends his arm and clenches his fist, causing Cara’s hands to go to her throat in an attempt to tear away the magical chokehold that is stealing her ability to breathe. “Yes, well, I’m afraid the fun is over,” he says, clenching his fist even tighter.

“He’s killing her,” Kahlan says, tears already streaking her cheeks.

Cara tries to break his hold but it isn’t possible. Rahl’s magic is too strong. She can feel it, the life force leaving her body –– her only thought that she’s failed both Berdine and Kahlan. With her last breath, she turns her head just enough to look upon Kahlan one last time.

That’s when it happens, a second bloody handprint appears on the magical barrier, only this one is smaller, much smaller. It’s accompanied by a whoosh of wind that carries with it a cloud of what appears to be ashes. From those ashes a child, beautiful and magnificent, manifests at the Mord’Sith’s side. “It isn’t over,” says the child, looking up at Cara, before raising her palm and turning toward Rahl. It’s as if she casts a shadow over time, a wing-shaped shimmering shadow, that makes it all stop for a moment, and suddenly Cara can breathe again.

Kahlan gazes at the child in awe. “‘She will someday rise from ashes like a phoenix, and right the wrong that was done to her,’” Kahlan says, echoing the words the Mayor of Avenio used when he told them the story. “It’s her.”

“The girl has the magic against the magic,” the Wizard says, having trouble believing his own eyes.

“You are the Champion,” the child says, and Cara instinctively reaches for the sword she’d forgotten was strapped to her back.

With a single stride she is within striking distance of her former Lord, whose magic is still being held back by the child. Looking into his panic-stricken eyes, Cara grips the weapon with both of her hands and swings, feeling the blade crush muscles and tendons and bones, causing his head to fly off his shoulders, while his body is left twitching on the ground.

“I was the first and you are the last. It was my gift that he used to make you what you are and for that I am sorry. For over a thousand years I’ve waited for you and now we are both free,” the child says to Cara. “You are a born flier, Cara Mason.” With that, she disappears before Cara’s eyes. The magical child of Avenio, her savior.

Chapter Text

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.

Chapter Text

Cara is up at dawn, her eyes searching for something comforting, something to make her feel as if she’s still a part of this world. She hadn’t felt this alone since the death of her sisters but this is different, worse somehow. Her sisters gave her a sense of belonging, yes, but Kahlan made her feel whole and complete. Now it feels as if her lungs and heart are no longer in her body, leaving her a hollow shell. Her eyes go to her bow for a moment, thinking that killing something will perhaps make her feel better; she quickly dismisses the idea. She’s still without an appetite, and it’s never been in her nature to gratuitously kill an animal she has no intention of eating. Since she has plenty of coin and can’t be too far from a town, she waters over the fire she’d made the night before and packs her bedroll. Her destination being the nearest brothel, for surely a bed full of whores will erase all memories of the Mother Confessor.

Traveling at a pace as slow as she had the previous day, Cara arrives at a small village that isn’t very likely to have a brothel. It’s just as well, women are nothing but trouble. Besides, big city brothels have always been her preference. The women are much more likely to willingly accommodate the sexual proclivities of the Mord’Sith –– not that she’s Mord’Sith anymore. Still, whores in this type of place usually run out screaming before she’s had a chance to get warmed up.

Her gaze travels across this desolate dust bowl, reeking of poverty and despair. With the midday sun pounding the back of her neck, she leads her horse to a trough, considering a visit to the local tavern, but the place isn’t the least bit inviting. Just as she’s about to walk off, a faint yet eerily familiar sound takes hold of her. She tilts her head and listens intently as it gets consistently louder, finally drowning out all other sounds in the vicinity. That’s when she realizes what it is –– as well as its only possible source: Horatio Phineas Panza.

“Champion, Champion.” Cara looks down at him in astonishment. Releasing a series of squeals and shrieks and squawks, he bounces circles around her as if he were searching for something she’s deliberately concealing from him. “Where is she, where is she?” When Cara fails to respond, he opts for a more direct approach. “Queeeeeennnnnn,” he calls out in a spectacular squeal that Cara is certain will shatter every bit of glass in the village. Thoroughly dejected by the lack of response, he asks, “Where’s my friend the Queen?” By the tone of his voice, and the expression on his face, Cara suspects Kahlan’s absence is as upsetting to him as it is to her. “Did something happen to the Queen, Champion? The Queen loves you very much. She’d never leave your side of her own free will.”

Cara looks off into the distance for a moment, and says, “The Queen loves the Seeker, not me.”

Horatio Phineas Panza contorts his face to such an extent that Cara frowns and takes a step away from him, thinking perhaps his head will explode all over her leathers. Waving his chubby little arms at his sides, he finally manages to find his voice. “Seeker, shmeeker,” he declares, “Seeker, shmeeker.” He squeals and bounces every syllable then takes to pacing in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest. “The Queen loves you and only you. I saw the way she looked at you. And what about that kiss? Ooh, that kiss was very, very good.”

“Kahlan and I were on a quest and now it’s over. There’s no place for me in her life.”

The little round man pouts and sniffles. “Come meet my family, Champion, I’ve told them all about you.” Cara hesitates for a moment but then walks beside him. For as much she’d wanted to kill him back in Cagliari, at this moment he is her closest friend –– if ever she’s needed a friend, it’s on this day.

“Malèna, this is my friend, the Champion.” His entire face lights up as his wife, a beautiful dark-skinned woman with piercing gray eyes, who had been bent over a loom, rises to her feet to meet the Champion. “I’ll go get the children.” Horatio skips out of the room, leaving Cara awkwardly standing before his unlikely mate.

“My husband has told us all about you and your Queen. It’s an honor to welcome you into our humble home.” And humble it is. The room in which they stand is no bigger than Cara’s old cell at the People’s Palace, with dirt floors, and ceilings so low they scarcely accommodate Malèna’s height. “Where is your Queen? I’d like to thank her. Horatio feels her good influence on the Emperor is responsible for the many improvements in nearby villages, as well in as ours.” If this is an improvement, Cara shudders to think what their lives were like before Kahlan confessed the Emperor.

“Champion, Champion, these are our children. Beautiful, very, very beautiful, like their mother.” His wife doesn’t seem to mind his squeals or his bounces in the least. Cara reasons that love must muffle the squeals.

“And handsome like their father,” Malèna adds, bending at the waist to kiss his cheek.

Two boys and two girls, none more than six summers old, stare up at Cara in awe. Their father had obviously told them all about his friend the Champion and her Queen.

Taking a step away from her siblings, one of the girls, the older of the two, stands before Cara studying her leathers, and the dagger she carries in her holster. “Can I see your sword?” she asks.

Cara glances over at Malèna who nods her approval with a gentle smile. Cara removes the weapon strapped to her back allowing the girl to inspect it. “Someday I’ll be a Champion, too,” she says, in a tone that leaves no room for doubt. Cara purses her lips and tips her head. “And I’ll save the world. Lots of times.” It would seem Horatio had also told them stories about Kahlan.

“I’m going to be a queen,” blurts out the youngest boy. “I’m going to wear pretty dresses and live in a castle. That’s what queens do.”

All eyes are on him for a long moment. “Boys can’t be queens,” says his brother, causing the little one’s eyes to tear up.

“Is that true, Champion?” asks the crestfallen boy.

Cara lifts him off the ground, inspecting him much like his sister had inspected the sword. With a shrug Cara turns toward Horatio, and says, “If that headless woman in Cagliari can be a queen, I don’t see why the boy can’t be.”

“The Champion is right. You children can be anything you’d like,” Horatio declares, earning himself a second kiss from his beautiful wife. All four of them squeal with delight, throwing their arms around Cara, who isn’t exactly sure how to react. Thankfully, they release her and run into their mother’s arms instead.

Clearly, Horatio has been true to his word and shared his stories of the Champion and her Queen with anyone who would listen. Soon neighbors and shopkeepers are standing outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the warrior woman who defeated the Cyclops. Horatio allows it for a while then sends them on their way. “The Champion needs her rest,” he tells them.

Cara watches Horatio tend to his children as his wife prepares their evening meal. She’s suddenly glad Kahlan didn’t confess him during their first encounter. These are good people, she decides, they deserve to live a long, happy life together.

Later that evening, Cara sits out on the front porch staring out into the darkness of night. “I’ve prepared a bed for you,” Malèna says, taking a seat next to her.

Cara turns to her debating whether or not to ask a question that’s been lingering in her mind since she first saw the woman. In her experience, women who look like Malèna only take men like Horatio as a mate to advance their financial position; certainly that isn’t the case here.

As if reading Cara’s mind, Malèna says, “You’re wondering about Horatio and me.” Cara thinks to deny her curiosity but it would be too obvious a lie. “I was born poor. When my father left my mother and me, along with my two younger sisters, she did what she had to do to provide for us.” She pauses, gazing into Cara’s eyes for a moment. “As the daughter of a whore, I too was assumed to be one. Horatio alone showed me respect. He was only sixteen summers old –– just a boy –– but he treated me like a lady. On several occasions he even took beatings to protect my honor. I love my husband for who he is, not for his appearance, or his wealth.” As she rises to go back inside, Malèna rests her hand on Cara’s shoulder, and says, “If Horatio says this Queen of yours loves you, you should believe him. No one knows more about love than my husband.”

The next morning Cara says goodbye to Horatio and his family, but before leaving she reaches into her pack pulling out the hefty bag of gold that, along with the Champion’s sword, had been her reward for winning Kahlan’s heart. She takes two handfuls of coins and tosses them back into her pack. The rest, she places on the table. “This is for you and your family,” she says. While at first Horatio and Malèna refuse to accept it, Cara will not be denied. After much squealing, Horatio finally relents.

“How could the Queen of Hearts not love someone with a heart such as yours?” Malèna says, as Cara mounts her horse and rides on.
***

Leaving the Seeker and the Wizard with a long list of instructions, Kahlan says her farewells and sets out to find Cara but not before securing a journey book to communicate with them. To say that she’s concerned about leaving the two of them to their own devices would be understating matters. Ironically, her one source of comfort is having left Nicci with strict orders to keep them out of trouble –– and not kill either of them to achieve that end.

It isn’t long before she realizes she hasn’t the vaguest idea as to where Cara is headed, nor is she a particularly skilled tracker. Cara has been gone for days and could be anywhere by now. Having no other option, with every league she travels, she does her best to allow her heart to serve as her compass –– not exactly a stellar plan, but it will have to do.

By midmorning she finds herself atop a vertiginous cliff, looking down on an enormous mosaic of colors that makes her feel as if finding Cara will take up the rest of her days. With two deep furrows between her eyebrows, she releases a sigh and rides on.

After almost a full day’s journey, Kahlan decides to see about a meal and room. Sleep, she already knows, will not come easily, but riding through the night in a land she does not know, will not serve her. Were she to even consider such a thing, Cara would wring her neck, she’s certain of it. If only for a brief moment, the thought brings a hint of a smile to her face. She should have gone after her when she left the palace but regrets are pointless. All she can do now is focus on getting Cara back.

The village in which she stops for the night has a small, rather uninviting inn with a tavern that looks as if it hasn’t seen a patron in years. The innkeeper, however, is attentive and polite. After giving Kahlan a key to one of the two rooms in the establishment, he sees to her horse, and brings up her meal. It’s as watery and insipid a concoction as she’s ever tasted but it will fill her belly and help her keep up her strength. For most of the night, she sits on the windowsill counting stars.

It’s the chilly night air that causes her to climb into bed and get under the covers. In the hopes of finding sleep, she hugs a pillow to her chest, doing her best to pretend it’s Cara in her arms. The smell, however, is all wrong, as is the consistency and the texture. Cara’s hair always smells of leather and a hint of vanilla, and her body is a perfect combination of supple curves and lean muscles, and her skin, well, her skin is soft and warm and inviting. Before she even realizes it, tears are streaking her cheeks as if she were some lovesick school girl. She should probably be ashamed of herself, the Mother Confessor of the Midlands, pining away for a woman, a Mord’Sith no less, but she doesn’t care because it’s Cara and she misses her and, what’s more, she loves her and when she finds her she may chain her to the bed in her chambers at the Confessor’s Palace in Aydindril to make certain she never leaves her side again. Yes, that’s exactly what she’ll do. But right now she needs to blow her nose and stop blubbering like an infant. It is lost in such musings that, out of exhaustion, her eyes close, providing her with a few candlemarks of rest.

The sorry image that stares back at her in the looking glass the next morning, causes her to grimace. The dark circles under her bloodshot eyes practically reach her chin and her nose is still red from all of the sniffling. If Cara were here, she’d probably run screaming out of the room the moment she caught sight of her. In an effort to improve her appearance, she asks the innkeeper to bring her a cup of tea, a sliced cucumber for her puffy eyes, and a glass of cold water. Surely out of respect for her station, she must pull herself together before going out in public. Not that anyone in this land knows who she is, but one never knows when an acquaintance may show up unexpectedly.

Her effort is not wasted for as soon as she walks out of the inn, she collides with none other than Horatio Phineas Panza, practically causing her to topple over as he glares up at her with a scowl, loosing a series of those high-pitched, ear-piercing squeals that almost led her to confess him during their first meeting.

“Horatio,” she says, once she’s steadied herself, “it’s so good to see you.” In response, he unceremoniously crosses his chubby little arms over his chest and turns his back toward her.

Puzzled by his behavior, she walks around to face him, but again he gives her his back. It’s when a lovely dark-skinned woman with a brood of bouncing children joins him that he finally turns around. Only he doesn’t speak to her directly. “Malèna, tell the Queen I’m very upset with her.”

“What did I do?” Kahlan asks, with a quizzical look on her face.

No longer able to hold his tongue, with a series of bounces and squeals, he says, “You-you-you-you broke the Champion’s tender heart!”

“Horatio, calm down,” Malèna says. “You’re setting a bad example for the children.” Turning toward Kahlan, she adds with a bowed head, “Forgive my husband, Queen of Hearts. Please do not punish his impertinence. He’s a good man.” Clearly, her concern is for her husband’s head for in this land, heads are known to roll for disrespecting royalty.

“Punish?” Kahlan asks. “No, of course not. Why would you think…? I have no intention of harming anyone.”

“How could you choose that Seeker-shmeeker over the Champion? She fought for your heart!” This time Kahlan’s hands go to her ears as it would seem that as his passion increases so does the pitch of his squeals.

“I didn’t,” she says, “I’d never put anyone above her. It was her choice to leave.”

Horatio eyes her skeptically. “The Champion said you love that shmeeker.”

“I don’t love the shmeeker –– I mean Seeker, I don’t love him. Is Cara here?”

“Horatio, go. The children are going to be late for their lessons. I’ll talk to the Queen.” With that, Malèna guides her into their humble home. Kahlan grimaces at the sight of the place. Not even the poorest of Aydindril’s citizens live in such depressing conditions. “Your Champion passed through here over a week ago.”

“Did she say where she was headed?” Kahlan asks.

“No, she stayed with us for only one night.” Malèna looks into Kahlan’s eyes for a long moment. “But before she left, she saved our family from ruin. Thanks to your Champion’s generosity, my children have a future.”

Realizing Cara must have gifted this family her gold, Kahlan decides to further Cara’s effort at improving their lives. “I know Horatio is a bit upset at me but I’d like to ask a favor of you and your family.” Not accustomed to monarchs asking, rather than taking, what they want, Malèna gives her a tentative nod.

“Cara’s victory earned me a castle. Because of my responsibilities to my people, I won’t have many opportunities to visit it. It has a small staff and a groundskeeper but it lacks the laughter of children to fill its halls. I ask that you please make it your home.” Reading the hesitation in Malèna’s eyes, she adds, “It is not charity that I am offering. Please, I’d consider it a personal favor.”

Malèna tilts her head, gazing at this woman whose mate has already changed her family’s life, thinking she is surely an angel. “You and your Champion, you’ll find your way back to each other,” she says, “The two of you share a single heart as big as this entire world. It cannot be otherwise.”

She bows her head but Kahlan quickly lifts her chin so that their eyes meet. “Bow your head to no one. You are as much a Queen as I am.” With that, she mounts her horse, feeling more certain than ever that she and Cara are meant to be together.

After witnessing the horrid state of the surrounding villages, Kahlan is obliged to make an impromptu visit to the city of Cagliari with the purpose of chastising the confessed Emperor for the deplorable conditions in which his people are living. She has no choice but to set forth a plan for urban renewal and an extensive list of policy changes. Kahlan is anxious to continue her search for Cara but not at the expense of an entire nation.

Her search continues the next morning. With every day that passes, her hopes of finding Cara fade. Still, she will not give up. If necessary, once she makes her way back to the Midlands, she’ll task her entire army with finding her. In fact, she’ll have Richard’s army search for her as well, and the Kelton army, too. Every person under her command will search for Cara, and she’ll also secure the services of seers and listeners and even Gars if she has to. It’s a tremendous abuse of power but she’s a queen and queens aren’t obliged to always be reasonable. It will be her one selfish act as monarch. Releasing a deep sigh, she shakes her head, marveling at her own insanity as she rides on.

The Creator should have shown some restraint, Kahlan decides. Had she not made the world so exceedingly large, Kahlan would have found Cara by now and they would be in Aydindril, dancing in her chambers before climbing into bed in each other’s arms. These unsightly dark circles under her eyes would not be there and her posterior would not ache from days of nonstop riding and, most importantly, Cara would be at her side, where she belongs.

***

It felt good, helping Horatio and his family. Much like when she’d used the Breath of Life to bring back Fernão. It occurs to her that the Mother Confessor would have shown her approval by pressing her lips to Cara’s cheek. For a moment she can almost feel Kahlan’s lips there but the pleasurable sensation fades quickly. She would have liked to hold on to it a bit longer –– or perhaps forever.

These aren’t thoughts she can afford to entertain right now, not when she hasn’t any idea where she’s going or any inkling as to the type of life she’d like to live. D’Hara certainly isn’t a land to which she’ll ever return, nor will she allow herself to be some master’s creature: those days are over. All she can do is ride on in the hopes of finding a place where she belongs, but even that will have to wait until tomorrow; she’s much too tired to do anything other than sleep.

As she lies in her bedroll looking up at the moonless sky, she starts to suspect that her mind is playing tricks on her. It should not be possible –– not having only traveled for such a short time –– but she’s certain that along with ruffling the leaves on the ground, the night breeze carries with it the smell of the sea. Voices coming from just beyond the trees soon follow. It’s one word in particular that causes her to sit up as if propelled by a gigantic spring: ‘Ahoy,’ she hears from the distance.

Even as exhausted as she is, curiosity drives her to put her boots on and investigate further. Peering through the bushes she clearly sees lights dancing on the surface of rippling water and a ship at least ten times the size of Las Reinas del Mar docked on a pier. That such a vessel can stay afloat is inconceivable to her. Surely some sort of magic is at play. Then again, her time in the city of Avenio had given her an entirely new respect for engineering. “I’ll be back, horse,” she says to her animal and follows the sound of the voices.

“Well hello,” says a stout man wearing a hat the likes of which she’s never seen before. The peculiar thing has its brim folded up to form a triangle and is decorated with feathers that must have been plucked from a gigantic bird.

“What sort of ship is this?” she asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Why, it’s a cruise ship. Our passengers travel for pleasure.” The images that statement brings to Cara’s mind probably bear no similarity to the events themselves.

She furrows her brow, taking in the vessel and the man she suspects is its captain. “Does this ship cross the sea to Ushuaia?” She hadn’t previously considered returning there but at this moment it seems to her that it’s the perfect solution to all of her woes.

“Not the southernmost tip, no, but we will stop in Bonaria. From there you can easily make your way south.” As with most of the places she and Kahlan visited during their quest, she has never heard of such a city. During this journey she’d seen things she still isn’t sure are possible.

“How much is the fare?” she asks.

“For you, my friend, nothing. You are a living legend in these waters. There is scarcely a sailor alive who hasn’t heard of the leather-clad woman with the golden hair who breathed life back into the lungs of Captain Fernão de Magalhães. Many sailors regard you as a divine apparition.” Cara shrugs at the peculiar remark. “We set sail tomorrow at dawn,” he says. Cara nods and returns to her camp, thinking that a new chapter of her life is about to begin. Still, it won’t be same, being at sea without the Mother Confessor at her side.
***

The hustle and bustle of passengers boarding the ship causes a commotion that unsettles Cara. It’s a wave of colliding bodies that leaves her feeling small somehow, as if she were a child who has lost sight of her mother. There is no greater loneliness than that which is experienced in a sea of unfamiliar faces, Cara decides. Instinctively, she steps into an empty corridor, waiting until her follow passengers find their cabins.

Once they set sail, Cara is reminded of her time with Kahlan on Las Reinas Del Mar. Standing on deck, she watches the landscape fade into nothing, and with it, any possibility of ever crossing paths with Kahlan again. It’s just as well; surely by now she’s planning her nuptials to the Seeker which is, of course, as it should be. Besides, given all the people on board, she’s bound to meet someone who will hold her interest –– at least for a candlemark or two. That is all she needs, a sweet distraction to erase all memories of the Mother Confessor from her brain –– and from another, far more treacherous organ.

And thus, that is the task she sets for herself, to roam the ship in search of a worthy candidate to extricate all traces of Kahlan from her life. It will be her own personal quest and one at which she will surely succeed. Only it will have to wait because, really, one cannot embark on such an undertaking lightly. There are many details to consider, especially since Kahlan is a formidable woman. She’s beautiful and strong and smart and honorable and kind and considerate and the list goes on to such an extent that already Cara finds herself exhausted. The logical decision is to retire to her cabin and take rest. In the interim, she’ll compile a mental list of desirable qualities –– ones that surpass those Kahlan possesses –– and begin her search. Tomorrow.

***

“My friend,” the Captain says, “you’ve been aboard my ship for days and you’ve hardly touched your meals. Do I need to have my chef walk the plank?”

Cara hasn’t any idea what that means but to be on the safe side, she shakes her head no. “Haven’t had an appetite of late,” Cara says.

Giving her a swift pat on the back, he says, “One thing alone can take away the appetite of one as young and beautiful as you. Who has caused you such heartache?” Cara does her best to look offended but all she can manage is a shrug. “Here,” he says, “let’s take a walk around the deck. There is still much beauty in this world you haven’t seen.”

Just then, a gigantic white fish, spewing water out of a hole in its head, flies out of the water. “What sort of sea monster is that?” Cara asks, taking a step backwards.

The Captain chuckles. “It’s no monster at all, it’s a white whale. Few people have ever seen one and yet it came to the surface to make your acquaintance. And do you see that land mass over there?” he asks, pointing at a small island. “Take a gander,” he says, handing her a spyglass. Through it she sees an island populated by the most exquisite of women –– well, none more exquisite than the Mother Confessor –– frolicking around with hardly a stitch of clothing –– not a man in sight. ”That is the Island of Lesbos. No man has ever set foot there and those who have tried paid a high price. The women are eternally young and beautiful, kept that way by the pleasure they take in each other.”

Cara makes a mental note to visit that island as soon as she manages to erase Kahlan’s smile from her memory. Maybe she’ll even take up permanent residence there, but not today. Today even a giant sea creature and a land full of beautiful women are not enough to lift her spirits. The Captain looks over at her and shakes his head. “You’ve got it bad, my friend.” Cara knows she should deny it but it seems pointless. Surely being back in Ushuaia will make her feel better. All she needs is a hearty bowl of Marina’s fish stew and all thoughts of Kahlan will disappear.

***

By end of the week, Cara’s ship makes landfall in the city of Bonaria. It is unlike anything she has ever seen: cobblestone streets, tall buildings, and lights everywhere. There are street performers, horse-drawn carriages, ladies in fine dresses, and squares with huge monuments. It is as impressive a place as the Captain had said, but its diagonal streets and crowded walkways are positively dizzying. The Captain gave her directions that sounded simple enough. Nothing is easy, however, when one’s head is spinning as hers is right now.

The weapon strapped to her back and her dagger garner no small amount of attention. It appears as if this isn’t the sort of place in which violent confrontations take place. “She must be an actress,” a gentleman wearing a tall hat says to the lady walking beside him.

“Yes, of course,” she replies, as if he’d solved a great mystery. “She’s very beautiful. Probably the star of that new production at the Teatro Colon.”

Cara shrugs at the odd remarks she overhears, looking around in an attempt to locate one of the landmarks the Captain had described. She isn’t one to ask for directions but on this day that may have to change. After walking around in circles for nearly a candlemark, she feels a tug on her sleeve. When she looks down, a pair of big brown eyes belonging to a young boy stares up at her. He’s no more than thirteen summers old, wearing a hat and a smile. “Are you lost?” he asks, “Because if you are, for a small fee, I could assist you.”

Cara eyes him with no small amount of skepticism. “You’re just a child.”

“Yes, and a tour guide. Here’s my card.” He hands her something –– that is nothing like parchment –– saying as much. “Marcelo Alejandro Rivadavia, Tour Guide,” it reads.

“I need to get to Ushuaia,” she says, still not convinced this child is trustworthy.

The boy purses his lips, looking at her from head to toe. “Are you prepared to pay for my services?” he asks.

Cara rolls her eyes and produces a gold coin from her pack, causing the boy’s eyes to open as wide and round as the coin. He presses the coin between his teeth, nods approvingly, and says, “Very well, let’s go.” He takes her by the hand, expertly leading her through a series of streets, pointing out various tourist attractions, until they end up at some sort of station where a man, wearing a strange hat, sits in a booth. “They won’t change gold so I’ll buy your ticket for you.”

When the boy returns he again hands her something that certainly isn’t parchment. “Keep that,” he says, “You’ll have to give it to the station master when you board.” Cara nods but hasn’t the vaguest idea as to his meaning. “What do you do?” the boy asks.

Cara thinks for a long moment before finally saying, “I’m an actress.” Since that is what had been assumed about her earlier, it seemed a believable response.

“So you’re going to Ushuaia to star in a play!” he says, thrilled by the notion.

Tilting her head, Cara purses her lips and shrugs. This is a very odd child but she likes him. Children his age in D’Hara beg or steal to get gold. This boy is smart enough to earn his coin. Never will he have to serve some master or sit in a dungeon.

Just then, she jumps to her feet startled by a loud whistle and a roar the likes of which she’s never heard in her life. Turning toward the source of the noise, she’s confronted with a huge steel beast blowing smoke out of its head, coming at her at an alarming rate. Cara starts to reach for her sword but noticing that the boy and the other people standing at the station are perfectly calm, she grasps the hilt of her dagger instead.

The beast comes to a halt with a screech reminiscent of those produced by Horatio Phineas Panza. Inside what she assumes is its belly, are people sitting as if it were as normal as anything. It occurs to her that the beast hires itself out for a fee –– like a whore, except different. Gars, she decides, would do well to be as enterprising as this beast. It would certainly increase their life expectancy. “All aboard,” calls out a man wearing a hat similar to the one worn by the station master.

“Go on,” the boy says, “and don’t forget to hand over your ticket.”

Cara nods, and with a deep intake of air prepares herself to enter the belly of the beast, but not before turning toward her guide. “Marcelo Rivadavia,” she calls out. When he turns to look at her, she tosses him another coin.

“What is your name?” he asks.

“Cara Mason,” she says as she steps inside the beast.

“I’m going to make you the biggest star the world has ever known, Cara Mason.”

Never having thought herself a celestial object, she shakes her head with what could be regarded as a smile on her face. There are many more good people in this world than she would have thought.

A man who appears to be as old as time takes her ticket and walks her to her seat. Next to her sits a young girl, perhaps sixteen summers old, with a stack of those things that are not parchment, looking out at the landscape, attempting to capture it with a stick of charcoal. Cara wishes for a moment that the girl would have been on the ship to capture an image of the white sea monster, and in Bonaria to draw pictures of the impressive city and perhaps a portrait of the enterprising boy so that if ever she were to see the Mother Confessor she could share them with her. With a small sigh, she closes her eyes, allowing the beast’s roars and the cool breeze to lull her to sleep. Lately, it’s all she can do to stay awake.

Quite unexpectedly, the girl places one of her drawings on Cara’s lap, causing Cara’s eyes to snap open. “It’s a portrait of you,” the girl says.

Cara cannot recall ever seeing as much sadness as she finds in this girl’s eyes. Her first instinct is to look away but she thinks better of it. “Thank you,” Cara says, surprised by the unexpected gesture. The girl nods in acknowledgement. After a long pause, Cara asks, “Why are you so sad?” Never in her life has she asked such a question. Other people’s feelings haven’t been something with which she’s ever concerned herself before –– except maybe Kahlan’s.

The girl sighs. “I am traveling home to see my brother. He has fallen ill and isn’t expected to live through this day.” Cara listens with great interest. “He’s a hero,” she says. “He traveled to a land no one dared visit for the purpose of delivering an herb that was the only cure to a plague that was consuming them. He saved thousands of lives.” Wiping away her tears, she continues, “As he journeyed back, he was attacked by a band of thieves. His injuries are too great.” The girl leans into Cara’s chest and weeps. Cara silently closes her eyes and presses her palm on the girl’s back causing her tears to eventually subside. Cara rests her chin on the top of the girl’s head and sleep for the remainder of their long journey.

***

When Kahlan arrives at an empty pier next to a tavern with a prominent ‘Closed’ sign nailed to its door, she looks out into the vastness of the sea, just as she and Cara had done when they arrived at Ushuaia. It is then that she accepts her utter lack of control over the situation. The time has come to let go and move on with the rest of her life. Far too many people are counting on her, people whom she is sworn to serve and protect.

She opens her pack with the purpose of reaching for her journey book but instead pulls out a neatly wrapped bundle. She tilts her head staring at it for a long moment before recognizing it as the package Jamal had given Cara after they defeated the pirates –– attached to it, a piece of white cloth. Running her fingers over it several times, it dawns on her that it came from her Confessor gown. “Cara,” she says, “how could I not be in love with you when you do something like this for me?” she says, knowing that the Mord’Sith had been the last person to handle the dress before handing it over to the Wizard of the Fourth Order. If Cara had placed the package in her pack, it must be important somehow.

Hoping that its contents will help her find her way back to Cara, she sits on a small bench outside the tavern and unwraps the package, rolling her eyes and throwing her arms up in frustration when she sees what’s in it. “Floor covering? For Spirits’ sake, Jamal gave Cara floor covering. Why not cutlery or perhaps a nice vase?” she says with as much sarcasm and frustration as she can muster. Just as she’s about to toss the useless thing aside, a note written on something that most certainly isn’t parchment slips to the ground in front of her.

My friend,

I owe you and your lady everything. If ever you lose your way, lay this, my gift to you, upon the ground and take a seat. With your heart as its compass, it will take you where you need to be. Its place of origin is Bisnagar, where all things are possible and also the city of my birth. This is the highest gift I can bestow upon you and, still, it falls short of what you have given me.

With my deepest gratitude,
Jamal

Kahlan hasn’t a clue as to how this unsightly green silk thing with frilly golden tassels will reveal Cara’s whereabouts but being fresh out of ideas, she follows Jamal’s instructions. Dropping her pack, she sits down and waits, and waits some more, and some more after that. “Oh for Spirits’ sake, are you going to take me to Cara or not?” The moment the words leave her lips, she finds herself flying through the air at an alarming velocity with nothing but a piece of floor covering sustaining her weight –– the scream she looses, probably loud enough to be heard across all of the territories. With nothing else handy, she takes hold of her pack and hugs it to her chest, if only for the illusion of safety. “Don’t look down, don’t look down,” she repeats over and over. Still, she looks down which causes her to release yet another blood-curdling scream.

After almost two candlemarks, however, she loosens her grip on her pack, and decides to enjoy the ride. If she hasn’t come crashing down to the ground yet, it’s possible that she will survive the experience. Of one thing she is certain, if after enduring this mode of transportation Cara rejects her, she will hurl herself off the Great Tower back at the Palace in Aydindril for surely no one has ever gone to such lengths for love. “A born flier,” she says, “how I wish you were here to share this with me, Cara.”

Kahlan soon realizes that Jamal’s gift is much more sophisticated than meets the eye. When nature calls, the thing actually knows what is required of it and promptly lands her on an island that, much to her surprise, is populated by beautiful, frolicking women who greet her enthusiastically. “Welcome to the Island of Lesbos,” a rather fetching blonde says, her lips lingering on Kahlan’s cheek for a little longer than necessary. She promptly makes a mental note to never, ever allow Cara to set foot on this island. The rest of the afternoon is spent enjoying a delicious meal and learning about how their island came to be –– not to mention enduring various rather enticing sexual overtures. While they are nice enough, Cara is still never, ever setting foot on this island. “Good bye,” she calls out as she takes flight. The women wave back at her from the shore.

After three days of soaring through the clouds without a sign of Cara, Kahlan decides that if this flying contraption doesn’t deliver her into Cara’s arms, she’ll have one of the seamstresses at the Palace chop it up into tiny flying doilies. Her eagerness to find Cara aside, she’s enjoying the ride. Never has she experienced such beauty as this magnificent world seen from above –– mountain ranges and deserts and breathtaking waterfalls from a birds-eye view that she never imagined possible. She tries her best to memorize it all so that she can tell Cara about it but it’s too much to take in. If Cara returns her love, she’ll do it all over again with Cara seated beside her. And even if she doesn’t love her, the ride with Cara was worth the fall.

Her comfort level with this peculiar mode of transportation has grown to such an extent that she’s even corresponding with Richard via journey book. It would seem Nicci is terrorizing him and the Wizard enough to motivate them to forgo their usual meandering. At their current pace, they will reach D’Hara in half the time they had originally planned. When she writes that she is currently soaring through the air on a piece of floor covering in an attempt to reunite with Cara, the Seeker assumes it’s some sort of metaphor. Kahlan decides to leave it at that.

With nothing but the night sky surrounding her, she wishes upon star after star that they lead her to Cara. She then lies back and gazes up at the heavens. Every bit of this life is a miracle, she decides. Surely, her miracle will come to pass. That thought paints a bright smile on her face that stays there as the morning light tints the sky a pale blue that matches her eyes.

Chapter Text

“We’ve reached the last stop,” the girl says to Cara. It takes her a moment to gain her bearings but when she does, Cara is on her feet, allowing the girl to walk past her.

Just as she is about to walk off, Cara’s hand goes to her shoulder. “Wait,” she says, “I would like to meet your brother.” The young artist pauses for a moment, gazing at this stranger who has become something akin to a friend. They walk in silence, the girl because she is consumed by grief, Cara because she has no words for these types of situations. Once inside the well-appointed home, Cara can feel the sadness emanating from the mourners there to honor the young hero on the verge of taking his last breath.

When the life force drains from his body, leaving his loved ones heartbroken, the young man’s mother is given a moment alone with her son. From behind the closed door, Cara can hear her wails for there is no pain greater than the loss of a child, that much Cara knows. Once the woman bids farewell to her son, she walks out of the room and into the arms for her family members who embark upon the impossible task of consoling her. In that brief instant of distraction, Cara steals into the candle lit room, and breathes life back into his body. “Are you an angel?” he asks, after taking his first breath, for he’d felt his very soul leave his body and come back again.

Cara hasn’t an answer, thus, she walks out of the room wordlessly. A moment later the young hero calls out for his mother. All those present rush into the room, certain that on this day the Creator has delivered a miracle. “It was an angel,” he tells them, “an angel brought me back to life.”

By then Cara has left the home, her absence unnoticed. This is a good day. Even if she never crosses paths with Kahlan again, Cara knows she will somehow find her way in this life.

“Which way to the lighthouse?” Cara asks a man walking down the road.

“Take the ferry,” he says pointing toward a nearby dock. “It will leave you by the harbor; it’s a short walk from there.” With a nod, she walks on with Marina’s lighthouse as her destination.

***

Much to her surprise, Ushuaia has been transformed by the change of season. All around her flowers bloom and lovers walk hand in hand along the seashore. Sounds of laughter and music are everywhere as street performers put on shows to earn their coin. The gray winter that had greeted her and Kahlan, replaced by a feast of colors. That familiar pang that she’s been struggling to keep at bay returns full force. In her mind’s eye, she can see it, the excitement in Kahlan’s eyes had she been here. Her chin falls to her chest as she makes her way to the lighthouse, lost in her thoughts of the Mother Confessor. It’s a squawking sound that snaps her out of her reverie. At her feet, she spots a lone baby penguin demanding her attention. While at first she steps over it and keeps walking, she thinks better of it and stops dead in her tracks. With a sigh, she turns back and picks up the tiny thing, tucking it into her pack, with only its head exposed. She walks around for nearly half a candlemark in the hopes of finding its parents, but it’s a lost cause. “Come on, penguin, Marina will find you a family.”

Finally reaching the lighthouse, she debates for a moment as to whether or not she should ring the bell. Surely Marina will ask about Kahlan –– a topic she’d rather avoid –– but the fact is she hasn’t anywhere else to go.

Marina greets her with a joyful smile and an embrace. “Cara Mason, a sight for sore eyes you are,” she says, echoing the words she’d said during their previous meeting. “Where’s your beautiful lady?” Cara is more than a little grateful when a squawk coming from her pack diverts Marina’s attention. “And what’s this?” Marina asks, spotting the creature’s bobbing head.

“My penguin,” Cara says with a shrug.

“Well then, let’s get you and your penguin fed. You both look as if you’ve missed several meals.” She ushers Cara in, furrowing her brow and rubbing her hand on Cara’s back. Something was obviously wrong.

Just as Cara had hoped, Marina returns with a bowl of fish stew, and a small plate of sardines for her baby penguin. For weeks she’s been convinced that all she needs to get over this sudden loss of appetite and constant need for sleep is a bowl of Marina’s stew.

After Cara has taken her meal and the baby penguin has found sleep on a cushion, Marina hooks her arm with Cara’s and says, “Let’s take a walk, old friend.” Cara nods in silent assent.

“So tell me, what’s going on with you and your lady? You two have crossed my path many times, and not once have I seen one of you without the other.”

Cara steps away from her to stand looking out into the sea. “Kahlan loves the Seeker,” she says after a long silence.

“What?” Marina says in a tone that is several octaves higher than normal. “Seeker shmeeker,” she hisses, throwing up her arms in frustration. “The Mother Confessor loves her Mord’Sith. It has been so since the beginning of time. Seeker shmeeker.” Cara tilts her head. She hasn’t any idea what exactly a shmeeker is, but this being the second time she’s heard the term used to described that new Lord Rahl, she decides he is one. “Sit down and tell me what happened between you two.”

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, Cara plunks down on a large rock and proceeds to recount all the events of their quest and how they led to her current state of dejection. Never before in her life has she strung so many words together, but talking to Marina about it actually eases her burden a bit. At least if she decides to hurl herself into the sea, one living being will know what she and Kahlan shared.

“Did you tell her that you love her?” Marina asks.

“Mord’Sith do not lov—” she starts to say but the murderous glare Marina gives her causes her to reconsider. “No, I didn’t.”

“For Spirits’ sake, why not?”

Cara shakes her head, watching the waves crash against the shoreline. “I killed her sister,” she says. “I’m the reason she’s the last of her kind. Kahlan deserves far better than I could ever give her.”

“That’s for her to decide, not you,” Marina says, putting her arm around Cara’s shoulders. “You can’t take away her right to choose, old friend.”

“Even if she did choose me, it’s impossible. Kahlan needs to have babies. And besides, she can’t very well walk into the Confessors’ Palace and declare that she’s taking a Mord’Sith as her mate.”

Mariana’s lips curl into a hint of a smile. “Nothing is impossible when the one you love loves you as well.” The cliché earns her a petulant eye roll from the lovelorn former Mord’Sith. “So you doubt the truth in my words?” Marina asks. “I will prove it to you.”

Marina slips out of her dress, and wearing only her smallclothes, dives into the sea. When she reaches a rock formation in the shape of a crescent moon, she climbs atop it and begins to sing. Shortly afterward, out of the sea emerges a being who, much to Cara’s dismay, is half woman, half fish. The beautiful hybrid creature dives back into the water, resurfacing in Marina’s arms, and kissing her as passionately as Cara has ever seen any two lovers kiss. While she hasn’t any idea how they mate, Marina has certainly made her point. With the setting sun painting orange and violet streaks of the surface of the water, Cara watches them together, witnessing what can only be described as love.

In a single gulp, the sea swallows up the sun forcing the lovers to part. There is a tenderness to their parting, a sad sort of devotion that the former Mord’Sith feels in the center of her own chest. It’s what the Mother Confessor would call empathy; only in Valeria, when she’d watched Dennee Amnell end the life of her son, had she experienced it to such an extent.

“Love isn’t always easy,” Marina says when she returns to shore, “but it always finds a way.” Noticing the tears streaking Marina’s cheeks, as they walk back to the lighthouse, Cara implements the comforting technique Kahlan taught her on Las Reinas Del Mar. Feeling her hostess lean into her touch, Cara decides it’s working.

That night, as Marina mans the lighthouse, Cara takes her rest on the tiny bed she and Kahlan had shared, thinking that perhaps things would have been different if she’d told Kahlan how she feels. It’s too late now, of course. Surely all of Aydindril is already celebrating the impending nuptials of the Mother Confessor of the Midlands and the shmeeker. When Cara closes her eyes, she sees her there, the Mother Confessor in a beautiful gown, smiling that radiant smile. Sleep finds her cuddled up with her baby penguin; even then the image of Kahlan remains.

***

“Cara,” Marina, says, nudging her shoulder. “You haven’t gotten out of bed in two days. Enough.” With that, she removes the sleeping baby penguin from Cara’s arms and places it on the empty pillow next to her. “Get dressed. We are going to break our fast and go watch the sunrise.” She pulls off Cara’s covers and unceremoniously tosses her leathers at her.

“Fine,” Cara says, with an eye roll. Getting out of bed is pointless and she hasn’t an appetite but Marina is her hostess. It would be rude not to comply –– at least that’s what Kahlan would say.

Marina serves her a healthy helping of a fish porridge that by Cara’s assessment is as foul a concoction as anyone has ever thought up. “Eat. When your lady comes for you she’ll think I’ve been starving you.”

Cara wrinkles her nose and takes a spoonful. “How can you be so certain that she’ll come? She’s probably forgotten all about me by now.”

“Will you stop feeling sorry for yourself? I know she’ll come because she loves you, just as you love her.”

Once Marina is satisfied that Cara has eaten enough, they sit by the shoreline gazing out into the sea. “You do know the sun rises to the east,” Cara points out, with complete disinterest.

“You’ll see,” Marina says.

Suddenly, the reflection of the tall mountain range behind them, lit by the rising sun, turns the sea into a never-ending pool of orange, purple, and swirling clouds of gold. The colors are at once shimmering in the rippling water in front of them, and bursting through the darkness behind them. It’s as beautiful as anything Cara has ever seen –– so beautiful, in fact, that she has to look away. In the end, it is yet another experience that without the Mother Confessor at her side, means nothing.

“What was that?” Cara asks, jumping to her feet when an unidentified flying object swooshes past them.

Marina looks back over her shoulder, furrowing her brow, and says, “Jamal’s flying carpet. He and Fernão must have returned ahead of schedule.” The object in question then makes a second pass, causing both Cara and Marina to duck in an effort to keep their heads firmly attached to their shoulders. “He’s usually a better pilot,” Marina huffs.

The flying contraption lands just a few paces in front them, revealing the Mother Confessor of the Midlands as its cargo. Her hair is a mess of tangles, and by the way she’s glaring between Cara and Marina, she hadn’t expected the Mord’Sith to have company. Marina rolls her eyes and raises her index finger. “No, don’t even think it. She’s been miserable without you,” she says, earning herself a pointed look from Cara.

Sighing in relief, Kahlan closes the space between them, and with a shy smile says, “Hi.”

Cara stands before her, wide-eyed and struggling to form words. When she finally manages it, what comes out isn’t exactly what she’d intended. “Where’s the shmeeker?” Cara asks. Kahlan’s smile disappears but the elbow Marina, in turn, delivers to Cara’s ribs will definitely leave a mark.

“I’m here to see you,” Kahlan says, turning her palms toward the sky. “You Cara, not Richard.”

Thankfully, Marina decides to take matters into her own hands. Grabbing each of them by the elbow, she ushers them inside, and says, “You two go upstairs, I’ll tend to the flying carpet.”

Cara and Kahlan stand awkwardly in the round room for a long moment. With a nod, Cara finally stretches out her arm and says, “Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Kahlan says, a tentative smile returning to her lips as Cara follows her up the stairs. ‘You’ve lost weight,” she says, once they are in the room. Cara shrugs in response.

“You look tired.” This time it is Kahlan who shrugs.

Cara is right, Kahlan is tired. She’s been traveling on a piece of floor covering for days and her seat bones still ache from weeks spent on that purgatirial saddle. All she wants is to hold Cara in her arms so that she can finally get some sleep. “Do you love me?” she asks, as if such questions were commonplace.

Even her Mord’Sith training can’t help Cara disguise the panic on her face. “Marina mates with a fish-woman,” she blurts out for no apparent reason. “Fish,” Cara says, gesturing from her waist down with her hands, “woman.” She repeats the gesture in the opposite direction.

Kahlan blinks and wrinkles her nose. “That’s…different. But I don’t want to talk about Marina’s peculiar love life or about the shmeeker –– I mean the Seeker, I want to talk about us.” She takes a step toward Cara, who promptly takes a step back which leaves her flush against the wall. Kahlan takes another step toward Cara which leaves them breathing the same breath. “I think you love me,” Kahlan says, kissing the corner of Cara’s lips.

“There is a gigantic white sea monster called a whale and a city called Bonaria and a beast that hires itself out for transport, like a whore only different and ––”

“Cara,” Kahlan says, this time kissing her on the lips. “Stop talking. I’ve traveled for days and I’ve hardly slept a wink since you left me. I really need to know if you love me, because if you don’t, I have to get back to Aydindril so that I can hurl myself off the Great Tower.”

Before Cara can answer, a loud squawk startles Kahlan, causing her to pull away. “What was that?”

Cara rolls her eyes, and says, “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, then you’ve lost your hearing during my absence,” Kahlan says, walking around the room in an effort to find the source of the odd sound.

“It’s nothing,” Cara says, but a second squawk makes her lose all credibility. Shaking her head in frustration, she reaches under the covers and pulls out the baby penguin. “She’s shy sometimes.”

“Cara, she’s adorable. Can I hold her?” Cara shrugs, and hands her the creature. “Aw, she’s just a baby.” As Cara predicted, ridiculous cooing ensues –– it’s a welcome distraction from Kahlan’s interrogation. “Here, you little cutie, get you back into bed. Don’t worry, your mommy is coming too.” Cara frowns at the implication that she gave birth to the waddling bird but lies on the bed anyway. Kahlan promptly takes her place behind her, resting her chin on Cara’s shoulder so that she can gaze at the baby penguin. Cara pull the covers over the three of them and blows out the flame on the lamp that lights the room.

The feel of Kahlan’s arms around her fills Cara with so much emotion that she decides to take Marina’s advice and express her feelings. Her mouth opens and shuts several times before she can produce actual words. “I do… you know, what you said.” While not the most poetic declaration of love, Cara expected some sort reaction. Instead she is met with a deafening silence that fills her with dread.

“Kahlan?” she says, turning around to look at her, only to find that the Mother Confessor is sound asleep and probably hadn’t heard a word she’d said. It’s just as well, Kahlan did look very tired and Cara has missed lying in Kahlan’s arms so much; talking about feelings will have to wait. “Good night, Kahlan,” Cara says, although it’s less than a candlemark past sunrise.

Marina gingerly opens the door, finding the three of them sound asleep, Cara, Kahlan, and the baby penguin. She shakes her head with a bright grin on her face. Things are as they should be –– well, except that she’ll have to sleep on the tortorous chaise downstairs. Seeing the Mother Confessor and her Mord’Sith together again is well worth it.

***

It is a full two days before the Mother Confessor opens her eyes again. Cara hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time, save to swallow a few spoonfuls of that atrocious fish porridge Marina has been force-feeding her. When she feels Kahlan shift ever so slightly, Cara’s heart pounds against her ribcage with so much zeal that it actually hurts. She also feels a strange churning in her belly that she wishes she could attribute to the porridge. Holding her breath, she lifts her head off the pillow and turns toward her bedmate, finding a pair of beautiful blue eyes looking back at her. “Well? Do you love me or not?” Kahlan asks, as if they’d been engaged in conversation while they slept. Cara rolls her eyes, and shifts so that they are facing each other. With her brows tightly kneaded, Cara tucks a few unruly locks behind Kahlan’s ears and traces her jaw line until she arrives at the Mother Confessor’s chin. She then lifts it ever so slightly and pulls her into a kiss so tender and filled with emotion that when their lips part, Kahlan sighs and says, “You definitely love me.” Cara tips her head and Kahlan smiles; she knows the words will come. For now, it’s enough.

Before Cara can say a word, with a look on her face that is somewhere between panic and confusion, Marina bursts through the door now carrying the baby penguin in her arms, along with a stack of those things that are definitely not parchment. While they are both fond of Marina, her timing is less than ideal. “What is it?” Cara says, shifting her eyes and tipping her head in a not so subtle attempt at making it clear that her visit is inopportune.

“When exactly did you become an actress? These are posted all over Ushuaia,” Marina says, handing her one of those things that are not parchment.

Kahlan promptly sits up on the bed and takes one in her hand as well. “The highly anticipated Ushuaia theatrical debut of the world-renowned actress Cara Mason to take place on the solstice. BUY YOUR TICKETS EARLY,” Kahlan reads aloud.

Cara’s jaw goes completely slack for a moment, but then a flash of insight causes her to roll her eyes. “I’m going to kill him,” she says, or rather growls.

“Who?” Kahlan ask, sitting up in bed rather alarmed.

“Marcelo Alejandro Rivadavia, that’s who.” For Cara is certain that the enterprising boy she’d met during her travels is behind this mess.

“The youth from Bonaria,” Marina says. “It could be. He arrived a few days ago. But why would he think you’re an actress?”

“You know him?” Cara asks, already suspecting there is a conspiracy of some sort.

“Yes, of course, his grandmother runs the fried fish house on the pier. He comes to Ushuaia often.”

Kahlan’s eyes widen and she takes hold of the Mord’Sith’s arm. “Cara, you can’t kill him. That’s the nice lady who gave us raincoats to weather the storm. And…why does he think you’re an actress?” She furrows her brow awaiting a response but it’s much too slow in coming. “Cara,” she says in that tone that makes it clear to Cara that she has no choice but to fess up.

Releasing a long-suffering sigh, she mumbles something that sounds very much like i-maybav-bubbedim. “What?” Kahlan asks, scrunching her nose, thinking that perhaps Cara has taken to speaking in tongues.

Realizing there is no way out of this, Cara finally says, “I may have told him.”

“Well, that explains it,” says Marina to the baby penguin now pressed to her nose, “your mother wishes to explore her creative side.” Noticing the murderous look Cara is shooting her, Marina gingerly steps out of the room.

When they are alone, Kahlan pulls Cara close and kisses the tip of her nose. “Don’t be angry, not when I’m so happy to see you.”

She bites her lower lip and bats her lashes in that way that makes Cara’s heart skip a beat –– or maybe ten. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Cara asks.

The raw emotion and vulnerability Kahlan sees in her eyes moves her to such an extent that she feels herself on the verge of tears. “After everything we’ve been through together, I only know one thing with any degree of certainty. I don’t want to live my life without you. For as implausible as it may seem, you and I make sense, Cara.”

“But what about…babies? The Midlands isn’t like Ushuaia and the other lands we’ve visited. They need the line of Confessors to guide them.”

Kahlan nods. “Yes, they do and I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way. For now, the Midlands will have to settle for the Mother Confessor and her Champion –– if you’ll have me, of course.”

Cara frowns and scratches head; for as smart as she is, Kahlan says the most ridiculous things. The only logical course of action is to stop talking and start kissing. She settles herself alongside Kahlan with her arm draped over Kahlan’s middle. That act alone is enough to cause the Mother Confessor to purr like a kitten. Cara kisses the spot behind Kahlan’s ear, and all along her jaw line before pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss that leaves them both breathless. “If people see us like this,” Kahlan says, “they are going to talk.”

The breathy way in which she says it paints a smirk on Cara’s face. “Really? She asks. “What will they say?”

In one deft move, Kahlan shifts their positions so that she’s lying on top of Cara. “That I’m the luckiest woman in the world.” Taking advantage of their size difference, Kahlan sets about kissing every mole, freckle, and scar that isn’t covered by Cara’s leathers. Not at all displeased by the attention, Cara loses herself in the sensation of Kahlan’s lips traveling across her face and neck, stopping just short of the tops of Cara’s breasts. While Kahlan would love nothing more than to remain in this tiny room forever, after two candlemarks of kissing she pulls away. “I’ve missed this,” Kahlan says, “lying in bed with you like we did at the castle. You make me happy, Cara, happier than I’ve ever been. But now I need to feed you.” She shifts to her side, propping herself up on an elbow and runs her hand down the side of Cara’s body, from shoulder to hip. “You’re too skinny. I can feel your ribs, and your hip bone is as sharp as a razor blade.” Despite Cara’s grumbles, Kahlan drags her out of bed so that they can start their day –– in the middle of the afternoon. What kind of a mate would she be if she allowed Cara to waste away?

Kahlan plans on taking Cara for a leisurely meal at the fried fish house, and while there, making certain young Marcelo Alejandro Rivadavia returns all of the coin he’d made selling tickets for Cara’s alleged theatrical debut. Only it isn’t that simple. “All the inns in Ushuaia are full,” Marina says.

Cara and Kahlan can’t see the relevance of the remark, but in an effort to be polite, Kahlan says, “Oh, that’s nice. The proprietors must be very happy.” After a long silence, Kahlan’s hand goes to her own forehead. “Of course,” she says, “you want your bed back. Marina, I’m so sorry.” Cara tips her head and nods; it’s a logical assumption.

Marina looks between them several times, realizing that they do not understand her meaning. “The inns are sold out because people from places I nerve knew existed have traveled to Ushuaia to watch her,” Marina says, pointing at Cara, “star in The Princess Sleeps. Marcelo’s marketing skills are formidable.”

Cara cants her hip, and turns toward Kahlan. “Now can I kill him?” she asks.

While the thought of killing him isn’t as unappealing as it was earlier, Kahlan still refuses to allow it. “We’ll just have to inform the people at the theatre that there was a misunderstanding. Surely there is an understudy who can take over the role.” It seems like a perfectly reasonable course of action, except that the moment the two of them walk out of the door, they are met with dozens of people outside the lighthouse, hoping to get a glimpse of the highly publicized actress who none of them had actually heard of before. Still, the buzz created by the young marketing genius has set all of Ushuaia ablaze with excitement.

“Ms. Mason,” they scream, all of them vying for her attention. Cara reaches for her weapon but Kahlan quickly takes hold of her wrist. Having heard the commotion, Marina rushes outside and in a deft effort at crowd control, manages to get Kahlan and Cara back in the lighthouse.

“They’ve all gone mad,” Cara says, her expression as close to panic as Kahlan has ever seen. “What do we do?”

Marina and Kahlan look at each other for a moment, then fix their gaze on Cara –– both of them crossing their arms across their chests. It takes a moment but Cara finally understands the implication of that look. “Oh no, don’t even think about. No. No. No,” she says, all the while backing away from them.

“Cara, I know it isn’t fair but we can’t very well disappoint all of those people.” She runs her hand down the length of Cara’s arm and squeezes her hand, all the while looking at her through her lashes –– tossing in a pout for good measure. It’s a tactic Kahlan has successfully implemented throughout their travels, but on this occasion it’s a hard sell.

The bell rings just as Cara is about to protest and Marina, being a woman of discernment, promptly heads for the door, leaving Kahlan to deal with her grumpy Mord’Sith. “My love,” Kahlan says, kissing her sweetly on the lips, “it’s just one night and I’ll be by your side.” She kisses her again, and again after that until she feels Cara’s lips part. The kiss turns passionate, indicating a clear victory for the Mother Confessor. Cara takes her by the hand with the intention of leading her upstairs, but the door opens before they can manage a single step.

“My friends,” says Captain Fernão de Magalhães who stands with his first mate by his side, “I knew we’d meet again, but what I did not know,” he says, turning toward Cara, “was your abilities as a thespian.”

Cara scrunches her nose and tilts her head. “A what-pian?”

Kahlan starts to explain but yet another ring of the bell interrupts her. “Oh Spirits,” she says, suspecting that Cara is on the verge of fleeing. The door opens and before them stands the elderly woman from the fried fish house, and holding her hand is her grandson, the youth from Bonaria. “Cara Mason,” he says, with a grin on his face, “I told you I’d make you a star.”

It is all Cara can do to keep from strangling him, but she does know she is partly responsible for the situation. “I’m not an actress,” she says, pursing her lips with both her hands on her hips.

The boy’s jaw drops and his eyes widen while his grandmother’s hand goes to the center of her chest. “But I’ve invested all of our savings on the play. You, you said you were an act––.”

Fearing the elderly woman is about to experience a syncope from the shock of Cara’s words, Kahlan quickly steps in. “Joking,” she says, doing her best to smile, “she’s just joking. Everything will be fine.” Cara raises a skeptical eyebrow but doesn’t contradict her. Surely Kahlan has a plan of some sort. Perhaps, she’ll borrow the funds to keep the boy and his grandmother from ruin from Aydindril’s treasury.

Jamal and Fernão glance over at each other; this isn’t the best time to mention that the ferry brought with it even more travelers eager to watch the highly touted play. Pulling Marina aside, the Captain says, “The ladies seem a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps some time for themselves would help.”

“Definitely,” Marina says without hesitation.

“We’ll make the arrangements,” the Captain says, squeezing her hand.

For the rest of the afternoon, Kahlan sits on the bed helping Cara learn her lines. Except they can’t seem to keep their hands and lips to themselves long enough for any meaningful learning to occur. “Cara, I have really missed you,” Kahlan moans in to her mouth. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was to keep my hands off of you all those times you paraded around naked?” Her lips have now moved to the tops of Cara’s breasts and the script lies discarded at the foot of the bed. “Oh, that reminds me,” Kahlan says, slipping her hand into the bodice of her travel dress and pulling out the strip of cloth that is all that remains of her Confessor’s gown. “Do you know how much it means to me that you did this for me?” she asks, cupping Cara’s cheek. “No one, Cara, no one in this world has ever made me feel so loved.” Overwhelmed by Kahlan’s words, Cara closes her eyes for a moment, allowing the statement to sink in. Kahlan loves her, not the Seeker, not some knight in shining armor. Kahlan loves her, she has no doubts left.

When Marina walks in –– without bothering to knock –– the laces to Kahlan’s bodice are already half undone. “Oh my,” Marina says, with a smirk on her face, “aren’t you two studious?” Kahlan blushes furiously while Cara scowls at her, wishing she could give her just a tiny taste of her former weapon. “I’m afraid you’ll have to…” Marina trails off, gesturing at Kahlan’s laces, “Jamal has a carriage and driver waiting for you.”

“Has something happened?” Kahlan asks, sitting up on the bed as she laces up her dress.

Looking between them, Marina’s hand goes to her own chin and she says, “Not yet, but I’m sure it will.” Uncertain as to what to expect, both women take their daggers and rush out to the awaiting carriage.

The driver takes them up a mountain path that leads to a cottage providing a breathtaking view of the city. It doesn’t take long for them to realize that they are not headed for a battle of some sort. Kahlan clings to Cara’s arm and kisses her cheek. “It’s beautiful,” she says, as the driver helps them step out of the carriage and hands them the keys to the cottage.

“Captain Fernão de Magalhães and his First Mate have graciously requested that you stay at their home. You will find that everything you need for a comfortable stay has been provided. I will return to take you back to the city in two days.” He bows his head, ushering them inside. Candles are already lit as is the fireplace. The cabin is small and inviting, with round windows like those on Las Reinas Del Mar.

“Nice,” Cara says, with an appreciative nod.

“Look,” Kahlan says, pointing at a pair of doors that have been left open to reveal a gorgeous bedchamber. The implication of it makes Kahlan blush but when she feels Cara’s hand take purchase on her hip, the heat she’d felt on her cheeks radiates to various other areas. Cara kisses her temple and that gesture alone is enough to cause Kahlan to go weak in the knees. “Spirits, Cara, I’m so in love with you.”

Cara kisses her a second time as she leads her into the bedchamber. “I’m not good enough for you, Kahlan, we both know it. But I promise to never stop trying to deserve you.”

“This is what I want, Cara, you are what I want. You don’t have to try and you don’t need to change. I love everything about you.” She punctuates the statement by pulling the former Mord’Sith into a deep, passionate kiss that, she is certain, will stay with them forever. “Now, I’d like you to make love to me. Here, in this perfect place.”

Cara knows this part, she knows it better than most –– but this is Kahlan so she hesitates for a moment, her nerves betraying her. Ever gracious, Kahlan smiles bringing Cara’s trembling hands to the laces of her traveling dress. It’s strangely beautiful, this sudden coyness from Cara. Kahlan savors it for a long moment –– it’s a new side of her soon-to-be lover that she hadn’t seen before. When the dress pools at her feet, Cara takes her hand and helps her step out of it before pressing the hand to her lips –– a sweet and unexpected gesture that only confirms that the Mother Confessor of the Midlands has chosen her mate well.

When Cara reaches for her own laces, Kahlan stops her, mirroring Cara’s previous gesture. “Let me,” she says, as her one of her hands goes to Cara’s cheek. “From this day on, this task is mine and mine alone.”

It isn’t long before they stand before each other in nothing but their own skins. “You’re beautiful,” Cara says, earning herself yet another one of those gorgeous smiles.

Cara watches as Kahlan climbs onto the bed, reaching out her hand for Cara to do the same. She kisses Kahlan’s temple and eyelids and lips, patiently making her way down the column of Kahlan’s neck. A brief pause to gaze up at her eyes is met with a disapproving grunt for Kahlan has wanted this for much longer than even she’d realized. When Cara returns to her task, she’s rewarded by Kahlan releasing tiny sounds of pleasure that, as Cara presses on, quickly turn into a series of moans. It’s as if Cara had prepared for this moment her entire life, as if they’d studied each other’s pleasure for lifetimes. “You’ve always been mine,” Kahlan breathes out and Cara can feel the truth of those words down to her very bones. It isn’t long before Kahlan’s back arches off the bed as Cara’s skillful hands have her on the verge of finding her release. But it’s too soon; Cara wants this to last, to go on forever perhaps, so she pulls away and returns to Kahlan’s lips. It earns her a groan but when she feels Cara’s tongue licking her lips, Kahlan’s own lips part and all is forgiven –– for now. She’s wanted this for far too long to be patient.

“I need you,” she moans into Cara mouth. Cara complies by turning her attention to Kahlan’s breasts, taking one hard peak in her mouth and rolling the other between her fingers. Kahlan responds to Cara’s attentions with perfect candor, holding nothing back. It’s a type of honesty Cara has never experienced. With one last glance at the Mother Confessor, Cara glides down Kahlan’s body and parts her thighs with the intention of taking Kahlan in her mouth. Except Kahlan stops her. “Wait,” she blurts out quite unexpectedly.

“Why?” Cara asks, confused by Kahlan’s abrupt shift.

“There’s a place, an island called Lesbos,” she says, laboring to breathe, “I need you to promise me you’ll never set foot there. It’s a…very dangerous place.”

Cara manages to repress a smirk. Thinking it best not to mention that during her journey she’d considered taking up permanent residence there, Cara nods in agreement.

“Oh Spirits,” Kahlan breathes out, “carry on.” Her legs are now slung over Cara’s shoulders, and the things the former Mord’Sith is doing to her are, well, very pleasurable. Her only regret is not having a name for them so that she can request them in the future –– in the very near future. It isn’t long before Cara can feel Kahlan on the verge of coming undone, and that alone pushes Cara’s own desire to the brink. Only, when Kahlan feels her magic fighting for release, she pushes her away.

“Kahlan,” Cara says, the name every bit a plea.

“My magic, Cara, I’d never forgive myself if…” she trails off panting.

Cara knows what will erase Kahlan’s fear, but it isn’t easy, saying those three words she hasn’t uttered since childhood. After shutting her eyes for a moment to steel herself, she looks up at Kahlan and says, “I love you more than my own life, Kahlan. I’m already yours.” And, for the first time, Kahlan can see past Cara’s Mord’Sith training, finding nothing but love.

Kahlan feels herself on the verge of tears, tears of joy. Cara loves her, it’s there, in her eyes, and she loves her enough to speak those three words. Kahlan takes hold of a fistful of Cara’s hair, and draws her into a kiss. “I want to feel you inside me,” she says when their lips part. Cara complies without hesitation. This is Kahlan, writhing beneath her, aching for her touch. Kahlan reaches her release like that, clinging to Cara as she cries out her name in ecstasy. All the while Cara’s arms are wrapped around her, feeling Confessor magic course through her own body. For a moment, it feels as if she were melting into Kahlan, as if their bodies were occupying the same space. It’s like nothing she’s ever experienced. As Kahlan returns to her body, she notices a single tear rolling down Cara’s cheek. Instead of mentioning it, she kisses it away.

“I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you,” Kahlan says, her head now resting on Cara’s shoulder. “In my heart, I knew it, but my mind could not make sense of it. Every time I held you in my arms, I knew you were mine and I was yours.”

“Every Mord’Sith is trained to hate Confessors, but when I saw you for the first time, I didn’t hate you. I knew someday we’d come face to face again, and it would change my life.” She traces Kahlan’s features with her fingertips, lingering on her lips. “Perhaps Marina was right all along.”

Kahlan smiles and nuzzles into Cara’s hair. “I have so much to learn,” Kahlan says in a small voice.

Cara furrows her brow for a moment before understanding her meaning. With a smirk on her face, she says, “I guess you can practice on me –– every day, for the rest of our lives.”

“Are you suggesting I’m a slow learner?” Kahlan asks with mock indignation. Before Cara can defend herself, Kahlan pins down her shoulders and straddles her. In less than a heartbeat, she deftly takes hold of Cara’s wrists and crushes their lips together. Cara is duly impressed.

Kahlan pulls away for a moment to take in the view. “Spirits, Cara, you’re impossibly beautiful, and these,” she says wide-eyed looking down at Cara’s breasts, “oh my.” That is all she can manage before tasting the apex of one of Cara’s breasts with the tip of her tongue. “Oh, these are wonderful,” she says.

With that, she nips and licks and swirls her tongue on each of them, too focused on her task to notice that Cara is writhing and mewling and arching beneath her. “K-K-Kahlan,” Cara says, finally breaking the Mother Confessor’s breasts-induced trance. “I need you to…” she breathes out.

Kahlan swallows hard and furrows her brow, kissing her way down Cara’s body with so much tenderness that Cara thinks she may shatter from it, but it feels good. This, she supposes is the difference between having sex and making love –– a distinction she’d previously regarded as mythical.

“Oh Cara,” Kahlan says in awe, parting Cara’s legs and kissing her inner thighs, before taking in the scent of her. She can feel heat radiating from Cara’s center, along with ample evidence of Cara’s desire for her. It’s overwhelmingly beautiful so she pauses for a moment to take it all in, which prompts Cara to arch her hips off the bed as a means of emphasizing the urgency of the situation.

“Right,” Kahlan says, returning to herself. She takes Cara in her mouth, feasting on her through two consecutive orgasms, leaving the former Mord’Sith looking every bit the picture of contentment. Kahlan is certain that nothing in this world is more beautiful than Cara Mason taking her pleasure. The sight of her like that is something of which Kahlan will never tire.

“How did I do?” Kahlan murmurs in Cara’s ear when she feels her shift in her arms.

Cara, definitely well-sexed, purses her lips and nods. “You’ve either done this before, or you’re some sort of sexual savant.” Kahlan giggles and kisses her. Tasting herself on the Mother Confessor’s lips is a pleasure Cara never thought she’d experience. They drift off into sleep already knowing what is in store for them tomorrow. Sometimes life can be so very beautiful.

***

While Cara and Kahlan are away, Ushuaia bustles with activity. Given the unprecedented amount of tickets sold for The Princess Sleeps, a change of venue has been arranged. The play will be performed at an outdoor arena overlooking the sea. The mild spring climate and the natural lighting, young Marcelo has determined, will only add to the performance. In the interim, tourists continue to arrive in droves; this due mostly to the efforts of one woman, who having seen one of the many flyers distributed through a series of outlets, took it upon herself to provide expedited means of transportation. She’d sent Marcelo a cryptic correspondence claiming her “Mistress” would be pleased if the play were to succeed. The boy had no idea how she managed it, but true to her word, people were arriving from as far away as Cagliari and beyond in a tenth of the time it would usually require.

Fernão’s driver delivers Cara and Kahlan back to the lighthouse via a little known path to avoid the crowd. By the broad smiles on both their faces and the way they are clinging to each other, Marina has no doubt their time at the cottage was exceedingly pleasurable. “You two look happy,” Marina says, raising both her eyebrows and nodding approvingly. “I take it you enjoyed each other –– I mean, yourselves.” Kahlan blushes furiously at the remark, while Cara delivers her smuggest of smirks.

“Sit,” Marina says, “I’ll bring dinner out.” Noticing the expression on Cara’s face, she adds, “Fish stew, not porridge. That was just to put some meat on your sorry bones.” Cara releases a breath, relieved at the change in menu. “She’s a mess without you,” Marina tells Kahlan and promptly heads for the kitchen to escape Cara’s imminent protest.

“So you missed me,” Kahlan says, nuzzling into Cara’s neck.

Cara frowns and thinks to deny it, but having no doubt that Kahlan can now read her, she gives up on subterfuge. “You already know I did.” Her forced candor is rewarded by a series of kisses that are on the verge of turning passionate just as Marina walks in with their meal.

Over dinner, Marina casually mentions that Cara’s wardrobe for the play had been delivered that morning. “Have you learned all your lines?” she asked.

Cara turns toward Kahlan in the hopes finding a kindred spirit but is met with a cringe followed by a gentle squeeze of her hand, instead. Clearly not what she’d expected. “I have not learned any lines nor do I intend on ––.” Her statement cut short by a ring of that blessed bell.

“I’ll get it,” Kahlan and Marina say in unison, both quick to their feet to avoid Cara’s wrath.

All the former Mord’Sith can do is watch as the other two women make their escape. Already she knows that in the end she’ll have no choice but to make a public spectacle of herself. It isn’t as if she’ll be able to refuse Kahlan. How can she when Kahlan will surely do that thing with her lashes, and nibble at her earlobe, and probably lean in to kiss her at just the right angle to provide her with an exquisite view of her cleavage. It’s a lost cause that will only get worse over the years. Already she knows that someday there will be little Confessors tugging at her sleeves only it won’t feel like her sleeves, it will feel like her heart, and much like Kahlan, they will have their way with her. She might as well give up now and march upstairs to try on whatever ridiculous costume Marcelo has dreamed up for her to wear. The worst part of this mess is that she can feel the immense grin on her face at the thought of Kahlan and those hypothetical little Confessors ruining her life. Her treacherous mind is already selecting names for these unborn little girls who will be the image of their mother. If she still had her agiel, she’d surely use it on herself, except if she did, she’d miss Kahlan so much she’d have to strike a deal with the Keeper and come back as a baneling.

“Cara,” Kahlan says, interrupting her musings, “come quickly.” She takes hold of Cara’s hand, dragging her outside.

Standing before her are the Mayor of Avenio and his wife, Rabindranath and his three daughters, a woman carrying an infant, and most surprising of all, Ganesh. “Hello,” says the Mayor, “we thought we’d miss your performance but it’s as if time flew. The voyage seemed a magical experience.” The others glance as each other nodding in agreement.

Kali promptly reaches out her arms to Cara. The former Mord’Sith lifts her off the ground and carries her on her hip. “Little one, you’ve grown,” Cara says, with a lopsided smile on her face

“Yes, I’m old,” Kali says, shaking her head, “that’s my new sister.” She point to the woman holding the infant who must be Rabindranath’s wife. “I’m not the baby anymore.”

Cara walks over to Ganesh, still carrying the child in her arms, thinking it best to leave Kahlan to do the talking. How, exactly, they transported the elephant to Ushuaia is a question that she dares not ask. She is, however, more certain than ever that short of divine intervention, she will be performing in that ridiculous play. “It isn’t easy,” Kali says. “I liked being the baby. Now I’m a big girl.”

Cara is certain she’s supposed to say something but she has no idea what. “There’s a gigantic sea monster called whale,” she finally tells Kali. Blurting out random facts has become her preferred approach to all difficult conversations these days.

“Bigger than Ganesh?” Kali asks, eyes opened wide. Cara purses her lips and nods. Kali is render speechless; Cara has a deep appreciation for whales. As the sun sets, she and Cara sit on a rock looking out onto the sea until the sound of the waves lull the little one to sleep. For as much as Cara laments the fate of her fallen sister, feeling Kali’s chest rise and fall against her own lead Cara to consider that perhaps it was for the best. The world is a safer place for this beautiful child and many more like her.

After what to Cara seem like a lifetime of idle prattle, both families say good night and head for their respective inns. Rabindranath has set up a comfortable tent for Ganesh behind the lighthouse, with a promise from Cara to look in on him in the morning. For as much as Cara and Kahlan would like nothing more than time to themselves, reconnecting with their friends made them both very happy.

Since Marina will be manning the lighthouse for the rest of the evening, Cara and Kahlan decide take a stroll along the seashore. Cara cannot recall having ever held hands with anyone; it feels surprisingly good to look down to find their fingers threaded together. “Berdine and Raina used to do this when they thought no one was watching,” Cara says.

“I wish I would have had a chance to meet Berdine. I’d like to thank her for being good to you.” As the temperature drops, Cara pulls Kahlan closer so that she can benefit from the warmth provided by Cara’s spelled leathers, or maybe because she loves holding Kahlan in her arms.

Just then a young man walks past them and Cara does her best to avoid his gaze by nuzzling into Kahlan’s hair. “Excuse me for staring” he says, “you…I…forgive me.” He walks away, looking over his shoulder at Cara repeatedly.

“Do you know him?” Kahlan asks.

Aware that Kahlan will read her deceit, Cara ops for a true, if incomplete, response. “He’s a good person.” Perhaps some day she’ll tell Kahlan about the young hero who mistook her for an angel. Kahlan takes her cryptic response as a signal that Cara isn’t ready to talk about whatever transpired between them.

Chapter Text

“No, no, no, absolutely not.”

“Cara, my love, you have to. Everyone is counting on you.”

“Why can’t I wear my own clothes? What about one of those outfits you got me in Cagliari?”

Kahlan rolls her eyes. “Cara please, just try on the dress.” She edges in a bit closer –– just enough for one of her breasts to press against Cara’s arm. While Cara feels a rather pleasant jolt course through her body at the contact, she’s on to these underhanded Confessor tactics.

 “No,” Cara says flatly. Except that saying ‘no’ to Kahlan has an unexpected side-effect she hadn’t counted on: it feels like a knife through her own heart. So much so that she’d willingly walk around Ushuaia in monkey costume to make it stop. With a scowl and one of her hands clenching the hilt of her dagger, she walks past Kahlan without so much as glancing at her.

Kahlan panics for a moment, worried that being coerced into wearing a dress could be enough to make Cara reconsider her choice of a mate. She turns to follow the disgruntled former Mord’Sith only to find she’s already holding the dress. Kahlan leans in and kisses her neck. “Thank you, Cara.” Cara doesn’t answer, already reaching for the laces of her leathers. “No,” Kahlan says, “that’s my job.” Cara suppresses a smile, but with Kahlan kissing every newly-exposed bit of skin, it’s impossible to hold back the tiny sounds of pleasure leaving her throat. It doesn’t help that Kahlan takes full advantage of Cara’s nakedness by leaving a trail of wet kisses on Cara’s neck, breasts, and belly. Cara groans when Kahlan stops her descent. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” Kahlan says in a sultry tone.

“Out,” Cara orders, when she’s about to put on the dress. Kahlan rolls her eyes and obeys. She can hear Cara’s grumbles from the other side of the door. “You’d think I asked her to nurse a baby Gar,” Kahlan mumbles.

“I heard that,” Cara snaps back from the other side of the door. Kahlan covers her mouth with her hands. Cara’s hearing is clearly superior to that of mere mortals.

After almost a half a candlemark, Cara opens the door just enough to poke out her head. “Tried it on. It’s hideous.”

She tries to quickly shut the door, but the Mother Confessor uses her size advantage keep it open. “Cara, please let me in.” She says it in a small, vulnerable voice that makes it impossible for Cara to refuse. She has no choice but to endure the humiliation.

When Kahlan walks in, her lips part –– eyes dropping to Cara’s plunging neckline for a moment. “Spirits, you take my breath away.” She pulls the former Mord’Sith into a kiss so passionate that wearing a dress suddenly seems a little less torturous. “Let me take a good look at you,” Kahlan says, attempting to twirl Cara around in the small room. Given the limited space, it proves to be a bad choice for Cara gets tangled in the gown’s elaborate train and topples over onto the bed –– with her legs over her head. Only it was an excellent choice since Kahlan soon discovers Cara hadn’t deemed it necessary to wear smallclothes under her dress. “Oh my,” Kahlan say, kissing her way up Cara’s thighs. Wearing a dress may not be so bad after all.

“Ladies, are you decent?” Marina is an excellent friend but her timing leaves much to be desired. Kahlan is forced to tear herself away just short of the prize; Cara is none too happy about it.

“Don’t you dare take that dress off,” Kahlan says, kissing the tops of Cara’s breasts. “We have unfinished business,” she adds, as she walks out of the room. Cara lies back on the bed. This dress could turn out to be a fine addition to her ever-expanding wardrobe.

“We have to go,” Kahlan says, when she walks back in. “Oh, and put these on.” In an effort to protect Cara’s nonexistent modesty, she tosses her a pair of smallclothes.

“Go where?” Cara asks.

“Dress rehearsal.” Surprisingly, Cara shakes her head and sighs, but doesn’t protest. She does, however, grab Marina’s cloak on her way out, pulling the hood over her head to avoid being recognized.

“Cara Mason, Mother Confessor,” Marcelo says, beaming with excitement. Cara stands with her arms hanging at her sides, and produces a low guttural sound that the boy interprets as a greeting. Ever gracious, Kahlan smiles, and pats him on the back.

“Why don’t we take a few moments to read through the script?” A sound suggestion since all the kissing had prevented her and Cara from getting past the first few pages. Cara shrugs in response; Kahlan decides to interpret it as a resounding yes. Marcelo, in the interim, is talking to laborers about set design and various other details relevant to the upcoming performance. How the child is so knowledgeable about such matters is mystifying to them all.

Just then, Kahlan notices an odd indication in the script. She taps him on the shoulder and asks, “Marcelo, this line, ‘HP enters stage right,” what is ‘HP’?”

“Ah, that would be me,” says a striking, well-muscled young man with thick wavy hair, and features that appear as if they’d been chiseled out of marble. When he smiles at her, Kahlan is certain one of his bicuspids literally sparkles for a moment. “The handsome prince,” he punctuates the statement with yet another one of those impossibly sparkling smiles.

“And you, I assume, are the beautiful, golden-haired princess I am to kiss awake,” he says to Cara, who gives him an appreciative look from head to toe. She then turns toward Kahlan who, by the look on her face, is mentally measuring the would-be prince for a casket.

“Marcelo, we need to talk,” says the Mother Confessor of the Midlands in that thundering tone she employees when about to decimate a foe. Her hand goes to the back of his neck, practically lifting him off ground as she guides him outside to educate him on various matters. Cara smirks, convinced the glorious male specimen Marcelo chose as her prince is about to spare her from public humiliation.

She and her costar stand awkwardly on the stage waiting for Marcelo and Kahlan to sort out their differences. It’s almost a full candlemark before the two of them return. Marcelo is uncharacteristically quiet –– a sure sign that Kahlan is the victor in this exchange. “Cara, let’s go,” Kahlan says. When she walks past the prince, she stops for a moment and glares at him, mumbling something about a dead body.

“So, no play,” Cara says with a little too much enthusiasm as they walk back to the lighthouse.

“The play will go on,” Kahlan says, earning herself a scowl from her mate. “Marcelo agreed that the script would be vastly improved by presenting a more progressive view on the classic tale of The Princess Sleeps. I’ll be rewriting it this evening.”

“So, no dress,” Cara says hopefully.

“Oh, you’re still wearing the dress.”

Cara thinks for a moment, wrinkling her brow. “So why not un-write the dress?” Kahlan doesn’t answer, leading Cara to conclude that Kahlan always wins. And those little Confessors whose names she’s already chosen will always win, too. And they will probably also coerce her into wearing dresses. In fact, she suspects that someday soon she’ll be forced to participate in little Confessor tea parties. Her life is definitely over.

  ***

“Back already?” Marina asks.

“Yes, Kahlan threatened Marcelo with confession because she didn’t want me to kiss the handsome prince.”

“I did no such thing,” Kahlan says, mortified by the accusation. “I merely explained to him how Confessor magic works, and that under extreme circumstance it is difficult to control.”

“I see, you terrified him enough to cancel the play,” Marina says.

“No,” Cara says, “she terrified him enough to allow her to rewrite the script.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds awful,” Kahlan protests. “My aim is to improve upon the story.” With that, she marches upstairs, with Cara right behind her.

“You can take off the dress, if you’d like,” Kahlan says, nuzzling Cara’s hair and kissing the corner of her mouth. Cara does her best to resist the Confessor’s tactics but her Mord’Sith training didn’t include any advice on how to turn away from delicious milky-white skin, and soft lips, and lovely hands cupping her cheeks. Kahlan always wins.

 “I’m going to need your help with the script,” she breathes into Cara’s ear. “You’ll have to serve as my desk.”

Cara raises her eyebrows, quickly stripping off the dress. It’s the first pleasant offer she’s had all day. Lying down parallel to the foot of the bed, she feels Kahlan’s lips leaving a trail of wet kisses on her backside. “Mm, if my desk at the Confessor’s Palace were as lovely as this one, surely I’d get much more work done.” Cara smiles, considering a clerical career as a definite possibility, especially since Kahlan’s lips have traveled further south. “Spirits, I can’t wait to take you back to Aydindril with me.” Needless to say, the script writing takes a few rather interesting –– and pleasurable –– detours that Kahlan claims serve to inspire her writing. By the end of the night, Cara’s posterior is covered with bite marks and the new script is completed. Kahlan falls asleep using her favorite desk as a pillow.

The rest of the week flies by in a flurry of rehearsals, costume fittings, and Cara’s endless grumbling. Were it not that so many of their friends had traveled to see her performance, she’d lock herself in the lighthouse until the confounding thing were over. Surely they could make do with an invisible princess. As far as Cara is concerned, that would certainly be a play worth watching.

***

This, Cara decides, is the worst night of her life. She’d gladly face and army of Cyclopes rather than step out on that stage. “Cara, my love, please calm down. Everything will be fine.” Kahlan runs her hand up and down Cara’s back in an effort to calm her but the action seems to have the opposite effect: it causes her to lose the contents of her stomach into a nearby bucket.

“That’s a good sign,” says one of the stagehands walking past her, “break a leg.” Cara is tempted to kill him for wishing such a thing upon her. But just then, the sound of string instruments and horns announces that the play is about to begin. Kahlan pulls her into a tight embrace then shoves her onto the stage, her feet landing exactly on her mark.

When the curtain rises, the crowd numbers in the thousands. She stands there frozen for an instant –– until she notices that sitting in the first few rows are all of her friends. Marina is there with her mate, the fishwoman, except on this day she’s a regular woman, and Jamal, wearing his turban and a smile, sits beside them; all of the women of the Grotto are there as well, thankfully wearing a bit more than their own hair; Rabindranath and his family, including Ganesh standing off at the side of the stage; the Mayor of Avenio and his wife, on their feet, clapping like mad; even the shmeeker, the homicidal witch, and the annoying Wizard are there. Cara’s eyes dart out toward the crowd in the hopes of finding Horatio and his family, smiling when she spots Maléna and the bouncing children. The grin on her face at the realization that they are all here for her, to support her, she fears may become permanent.

When the music stops, the narrator, none other than Horatio Phineas Panza, steps onto the stage.

“Once upon a time,” he says, without a trace of a squeal or a bounce, “there lived in this land a princess so beautiful that those who looked upon her became themselves more beautiful. When she roamed the countryside on her black stallion, the sun shone more brightly, as did the moon and the stars. Her beauty, some say, was a reflection of the purity of her heart, for she was also kind, this Princess.”

“Suitors traveled from faraway lands to ask for her hand in marriage, some bringing extravagant gifts, others offering great treasures and promising to expand the tiny kingdom a thousandfold. The King, however, was not interested in trading his daughter’s happiness for riches. His only wish in this life, that his daughter someday experience a love as great as he and the recently departed Queen had shared. ‘Someday, my beautiful girl, you will find someone worthy of your heart,’’” said the king, portrayed by Captain Fernão de Magalhães, walking onto the stage and taking Cara’s hand. She’s a vision in her Princess dress –– evidenced by the oohs and aahs of the crowd.

“The Princess told her father time and again that in a dream she had seen the face of her one true love and would die a maid rather than give her hand to another. Respecting his daughter’s wishes, one by one, he turned them away, always believing that someday her love would come. Not once had he imagined that tragedy would soon strike.” The ominous tone in which Horatio says it causes the audience to gasp in anticipation.

“It was on a hot summer’s day, that the dark Prince from the Land of Sand, arrived bearing gifts and speaking words of love in the hopes of wooing the beautiful Princess with the long, golden curls and eyes the color of the sea. As was his custom, the King greeted the visitor and listened intently to his words. As was also his custom, when the young man asked for her hand, the King looked up at his only daughter who stood at the top of the stairs, and waited for her response. As she had done so many times before, she shook her head no. The King informed the Prince that his daughter had seen the face of her true love in a dream, and it was not his.” Cara, still standing at the top of the stairs, barely manages to hide her amusement at the realization that the would-be handsome prince had been relegated to the role of the villain. Leave it to Kahlan to arrive at a compromise that did not involve him kissing Cara.

“The Dark Prince flew into a rage,” Horatio says, waving his arms dramatically, “hurling threats at both the King and the Princess, swearing vengeance and a curse upon his daughter if the King did not compel her to accept his proposal. Before the evil Prince could harm either of them, the Royal Guards dragged him, kicking and screaming, out of the Palace.” The crowd cheered as Cara ran down the stairs and into Ferñao’s arms. “Father, are you hurt?”  Cara delivers her line to perfection, one of her hands going to Ferñao’s cheek, just as Marcelo had indicated.

“While the experience was unsettling, father and daughter put it behind them. It wasn’t until months later when a gift arrived at the Palace with the Princess as its intended recipient, that everything went horribly wrong. Because she was well-loved, such expressions of affection were not unusual; she’d received countless presents from her adoring subjects. Only that upon opening this particular package, the Princess was overcome with a sense of malaise that would plague her for days. Various healers examined her, none able to precisely diagnose her condition. All of them, however, agreed that the proper prescription was rest.

“On the night of the thirteenth moon, the King kissed his daughter good night just as he had done every other night of her life. When in the morning the Princess did not cheerfully enter the dining hall to break her fast as she had always done, the King’s heart filled with dread, remembering the words uttered by the evil Prince from the Land of Sand. He found his only daughter in a deep slumber from which she could not be roused. Healers, clergymen, and well-wishers from the remotest of lands, having heard of the beloved Princess’s plight, traveled to the tiny Kingdom to offer their help. Alas, it was to no avail. Heartbroken as he was, the King tended to his daughter for as best as he could, never giving up hope that someday soon he would look upon those eyes that perfectly matched the sea, one more time. ‘I am here by your side, my angel,’ he’d say to her every day.” This is Cara’s favorite part of the play: all that is required of her is to feign sleep. And that is a very good thing because she had fallen asleep while Kahlan went over the script, and thus, hasn’t any idea what happens next.

“Because the Princess loved winter best, on the evening of the Solstice celebration the King made arrangements to have the sleeping Princess moved to her beloved rose garden. A receptacle made of the finest crystal, lined with silk pillows, and kept warm by a hearth, was built for her comfort. Residents of the kingdom shed many a tear at the sight of her like that, perfectly still as if life had left her. Their only comfort, that her golden complexion remained unchanged as did her lovely full lips.” Cara had been wondering what purpose that big glass box served, little did she know that it was meant for her.

“At dusk, only moments before the Royal Guard was to return the Princess to her bedchamber, an entire battalion led by the Prince from the Land of Sand, leaving in its wake a cloud of dust, stormed the castle, forcing its way into the garden.” Marcelo must have hired every able-bodied man in Ushuaia who owned a horse for all around the stage and the audience horsemen really were leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. “The Royal Guard fought bravely, every one of them willing to give up his life for the Princess. The King himself took up a sword to fight for her, but theirs was a peaceful land that had no army to speak of, their defeat, thus, a certainty.

“At the very moment that the evil Prince hovered over the Princess with the intention of driving a dagger through her heart, the Queen of the Land of Snow, the bravest, fiercest warrior in all of the world, riding her white stallion at full gallop, ran him through with her sword. She then stood strong against the entire battalion long enough for every citizen, women and children among them, wielding pans and rocks, and hurling pots of hot oil, to drive them back to the evil land from which they hailed.” Still in her glass box, Cara grinned when she opened her eyes for a moment only to find that Kahlan had written herself into the play.

“‘My Kingdom is yours,’ the King said to the Queen of the Land of Snow, dropping to one knee before her, his cheeks slick with tears.

“‘I ask only that you allow me to court the Princess and, if she’ll have me, someday take her hand in marriage. She has lived in my dreams for the whole of my life.’ The King wept like a small child, convinced that hers was the face the Princess had seen in her own dreams. Alas it was all for naught, for the Princess, he explained, could not be roused from the deep slumber brought about by the dark Prince’s curse. ‘May I at least see her?’ asked the Queen of the Land of Snow, her own heart shattered by the loss of her one true love. The King nodded, walking the brave warrior woman to the glass enclosure, then giving her a moment alone with the Princess for whose life she had been willing to die.

“‘My love,’ she said, looking down at the beautiful sleeping princess, ‘all my life I’ve searched for you and now that I’ve found you, it is too late.’  A single tear ran down the Queen’s cheek, landing on the Princess’s heart. Inexplicably, the tear transformed into a flawless diamond –– it, too, shaped like a tear. Moved by the precious stone created by their love, the Queen leaned in and kissed the Princess on the lips.

“‘I knew you’d come for me,’ said the Princess gazing up the Queen’s eyes, the curse broken by her true love’s kiss.” Standing offstage, Marcelo frowned; that wasn’t the line he’d written. The audience’s reaction, however, led him to consider that perhaps it was the line he should have written. The crowd was on its feet cheering –– and the play wasn’t even over yet.

When they settled down, Kahlan took Cara by the hand, helping her step out of the box.

“‘You’ve returned my daughter to me,’ said the King, wrapping his arms around his precious child, while the Queen smiled a smile so bright it put the sun to shame. She then dropped on one knee, taking the Princess’s delicate hand in her own and said, ‘If you’ll have me, for the rest of my days I will endeavor to deserve the heart of so fair a lady.’”

“‘My heart has been yours since the beginning of time,’ said the Princess, pulling the Queen into a passionate kiss.”  That last line was also not written by Marcelo. Those words were strictly the product of Cara’s heart. 

At that very moment, a canopy of thousands of tiny blue points of shimmering light hovers above them as if their sole purpose in this life is to celebrate their love. Poor Horatio, standing only a few paces away, could not help but let loose one of his patented squeals at the sight of such beauty. “And they lived happily ever after,” he says, when he remembers his last line.

The curtain drops to a standing ovation and when it rises again, Cara and Kahlan are still kissing –– the rest of the cast, including the narrator, are onstage beside them. It takes several curtain calls before the audience returns to their seats. Ferñao, who before taking to the sea must have harbored a dream of being a stage actor, puts his arms around Cara and Kahlan, and says, “I’ve always wanted a daughter, now I have two.”

“Wisps,” Cara says to Kahlan, her entire face lighting up at the sight of them, “the baby Wisps are here.” Kahlan only smiles, already one of them is whispering into her ear. The rest of them, overjoyed to see Cara, are talking to her all at once. She does her best to answer all their questions but, badly outnumbered, she shakes her head and laughs.

When the crowd dissipates, Cara and Kahlan find themselves surrounded by all of their friends. The three candlemarks that follow consist of laughter and hugs and well-wishes all around. Marcelo is already talking about a sequel to The Princess Sleeps which earns him an eye roll from Cara. Kali and Ludovico, the boy who wishes to be Queen, are never more than a few paces away from Cara, and Ferñao, with Jamal at his side, is signing autographs on those things that aren’t parchment.  This quest, with its many twists and turns, turned out to be a quest for love. “So what happens next?” Richard asks, with his soon-to-be mate by his side.

“We will see all of you in Aydindril for the wedding,” Kahlan replies, mounting her white stallion and extending her hand out to Cara, who is still wearing her pink princess dress. While she’s not particularly pleased at having to ride side-saddle in front of Kahlan, on this day, nothing can take the smile off her face.

“The Seeker’s mate has a very big ass,” Cara says, scrunching her nose as she looks back at them. Kahlan laughs so hard she nearly falls off the horse.

 Their evening ends at the lighthouse where they find Marina sitting by the seashore, watching her mate, the fishwoman as Cara calls her, dive into the sea.

“Why is she a fishwoman again?” Cara asks, recalling the sadness of their previous parting.

“The odd blonde woman did something but Ariel is a creature of the sea. She must always return to it, just as the two of you must always return to each other.” There is no trace of sadness in her words for she knows that in this world and all others, they will find happiness together.

“Look,” Kahlan says, pointing to Cara’s penguin who has found a friend. “I guess we’ll be introducing a new species to Aydindril’s ecosystem.” Cara nods, her pet penguin had been a source of comfort while Kahlan was away. She’s certain the little Confessors will love their pet penguins.

“So when will you return to your people?” Marina looks between them with a twinge of sadness in her eyes. “While I know we will see each other again, goodbyes are never easy.”

“We will leave in the morning,” Kahlan says, “but you’ll come to the wedding.”

“Poseidon himself could not keep me away.” She squeezes Kahlan’s shoulder, then turns toward Cara, gazing into her eyes for a long moment. “Take good care of your beautiful lady.” Cara gives her a firm nod and takes Kahlan's hand.

“Go on,” Marina says, “take rest. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

The circular room with the tiny bed is now filled with happy memories. Kahlan endeavors to take in every detail of it. It is the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks that she will miss most. The ebb and flow of the sea always matches the rhythm of Cara’s breathing as she sleeps; it is a good sound. And there’s the lamp that lights the room –– its flickering flame causing the specks of gold in Cara’s green eyes to shimmer. This is also the room in which she saw Cara naked for the first time, a sight to which she protested but secretly enjoyed. For all of the grandeur of the Confessors’ Palace back in Aydindril, she would happily spend the rest of her days here, with Cara in her arms, eating meal after meal of fish.

“What’s wrong?” Cara asks, encircling Kahlan’s waist.

“I’m going to miss this place and all of the friends we’ve made.”

Cara purses her lips and surveys the room. “It’s too small,” she says, “they won’t all fit.”

“Who won’t fit?”

“The little Confessors.” Kahlan asks the silliest questions sometimes.

Kahlan smiles. “You’ve thought about our children?” she asks.

“Yes, we’ll need at least four.”

“I love you.” She kisses Cara's lips and collapses onto the bed. “Do you plan to sleep in that?”

“I do not,” Cara says, promptly discarding the gown. On this night, Kahlan forgoes her shift, opting for the pleasure of feeling Cara’s bare skin pressed to her own.

***

They leave Ushuaia at dawn on a single horse, just as they had arrived months ago, Cara at the reins with Kahlan’s arms wrapped around her. Only everything is different now. Kahlan nibbles on Cara’s earlobe and nuzzles into her hair, knowing that the former Mord’Sith is doing her best to suppress a smile. They take the same road that led them to the lighthouse, but heading in the opposite direction, and after almost two candlemarks of travel, they come face to face with the arched structure that had led them to this great adventure. Dismounting their horse, Cara and Kahlan gaze at the arch, then at each other. The figures that were etched on the arch are now colorful drawings that Cara and Kahlan recognize as images of themselves. Each drawing a depiction of the events that transpired at the cities they visited, but also images of places they do not recognize. Kahlan’s lips curl into a smile and Cara’s eyes dance with excitement: many more adventures lie ahead.

Pulling out the lapis lazuli rune from her pocket, Cara places it at each indentation, standing on Kahlan’s shoulders to reach the last one. When she does, the opening of the arch becomes a vortex of sorts, projecting images of them, images of lives in which they have been all things to each other. Every one of those lives a quest for true love at the end of which they find each other. Because these images are unending, it is impossible to discern where exactly the vortex will take them. Without a trace of apprehension, Kahlan pulls Cara into her arms and says, “Wherever we end up, the ride with you will always be worth the fall.” Cara nods, and holding the horse’s reins in one hand, and Kahlan's hand in the other, she leads them into vortex. The only certainty, that in the end it will always be the two of them.

“This is different,” Kahlan says to Cara who, as she looks around the room, finds it strangely familiar. Her Champion’s sword leans against the wall, and Kahlan’s daggers lie atop the mantel. They are standing in the Mother Confessor’s bedchambers at the Palace in Aydindril.

After a long pause, Cara shrugs and says, “We’re home.”

The moment the words leave her lips, four rambunctious little girls rush into the room, flying into their mothers’ arms. It takes them a moment but Cara and Kahlan recognize the children as their own. “Marina, Kali, Malèna, and Ariel, why aren’t you girls sleeping?” Kahlan asks.

“We want to hear all about your travels,” says a beautiful blue-eyed girl with long black curls like her mother’s.

Kahlan looks over at Cara who nods, happy to indulge her little Confessors. The youngest of the four, a tiny, blonde Confessor who is Cara’s very image, tugs at her sleeve and says, “Let’s have a tea party.” Cara rolls her eyes; she knew this was going to happen.