LOTS - CARA/DAHLIA

This Is How You Break

Tempest

Title: This Is How You Break

Author: Tempest

Fandom: Legend of the Seeker

Pairing: Cara/Dahlia

Word Count: 6,162

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, but if I did, this is how it would go down.

Disclaimer 2: Again, I haven’t read any of the Sword of Truth series, strictly a LotS watcher, so of course I am taking liberties.

Summary: Cara’s drifts in and out of consciousness as she is being re–broken and memories of her past assault her mind.

This Is How You Break

Tempest

It starts with the wrists. This is the feeling of flesh battling against manacles of metal, a battle made epic by the weight of arms, head, body and legs being pulled to the ground by the action of gravity.

Resistance.

Flesh… so easily torn, so rife with weakness. Iron …forged by the elements of earth, engineered to endure and impose.

Iron is the victor and flesh offers tears of supplication. The baptism begins. Blood flows down the white canvas of the skin, down forearms sullied with dirt and oil that seeps from the pores, over the shoulders and into the crevasse between the breasts. It lingers there, until the bosom begins to heave, and it is ushered on. It veers to the right, over the ridges of the ribcage, the pinnacle of the hip bone, the slope of the thigh, the summit of the knee, the decline of the leg, the curve of the ankle, down to the toes until it is discarded to the ground.

This is a good thing. It will make you clean again.

* * * * *

Cara is five years old. She is standing near the water’s edge and skipping stones into the lake near her home. She has to practice because her sister skipped a rock eight times yesterday and she won’t be outdone. It has to be the right stone, that’s what her father taught her. If the stone is flawed it will never skip, no matter how well it’s thrown. Looking around she finds several suitable candidates. Bunching up the end of her dress she creates a basket and begins to gather them there one by one. She wouldn’t have to do this if she wore pants like the boys, they had pockets.

The sound of someone crying distracts her from her quest. In the distance she spies another girl sitting under the shade of a tree. The girl’s head is resting on her knees and her arms are wrapped around legs, pulling them close to her body.

Cara approaches her slowly and kneels in front of her, careful not to spill her bounty of skipping stones.

“Why are you crying?”

The girl looks up, eyes squinting against the glare of the sun, and wipes away the remnants of her tears. Cara notices her eyes are gray, like the color of the sky before a storm and her hair is brown, but not dark like the her mother.

“My brother won’t let me play with him and his friends. He says girls can’t play their games.”

Cara tilt’s her head in confusion. “That’s silly. All the boys I know are always falling off the branches when they play ‘Top the Tree,’ and cry when they get hit playing ‘Dodge the Daharan.’”

The other girl giggles. “I never fall off a branch when I play ‘Top the Tree.’”

Cara smiles, “That’s because girls are better.”

The other girl returns her smile and looks down at the rocks piled in Cara’s dress.

“What are those for?”

Cara sits back on her heals and picks up one of the stones. Holding it out for the other girl to see she explains, “They’re skipping stones.”

“Oh.” The other girl looks down.

Cara, picking up on her confusion, continues, “You throw them on the water to see how far they go until they sink. You have to make them skip, instead of sink.”

“Is it hard?”

“Oh, very!”

“Wow.”

The other girl reaches out and takes the stone from Cara’s hand. She investigates it thoroughly, feeling the texture and shape of it, and then hands it back to Cara. “Could you teach me?”

Cara contemplates the idea for a moment, appraising the other girl as she does so.

“Okay.”

The other girl’s eyes widen with delight. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh , thank you! Maybe one day I’ll be as good a skipper as you.”

Cara immediately shakes her head in opposition. “Oh no, that’s impossible. I’m going to be the best stone skipper in Stowecroft.”

The other girl sheepish looks away. “Of course.”

Cara pushes off her knees and stands up. The other girl looks sad again and Cara finds it unacceptable. “But, you could be the second best in Stowecroft.” She offers her hand.

The other girl’s face erupts with a smile and she reaches up to take the offered hand. Cara returns the grin and decides that it makes her feel better when she sees this girl smile.

“My name’s Dahlia.”

“I’m Cara. Cara Mason.”

* * * * *

Its starts with a blow. This is the feeling of blunt force pummeling the barely cushioned skull. The impact is brief, but the sensation is operatic. The throb starts as a low note, one that gestates in the belly. It begins its ascent up the octave scale, a bit louder now; the pulse spreads throughout the cranium, like smoke filling an empty room. It becomes a steady beat, and the ears start to ring in harmony. Throbbing, pulsing, pounding, ringing, everything turns white. There is no sight; there is no sound, only the percussion of pain.

It happens again. One more blow and then the next. The pressure is building, but there is no exit. The head falls to the chest, the pressure has made it too heavy to hold.

The flesh near the forehead is torn. Something wet seeps out, it is warm and thick. The pressure is released and replaced with the piercing sting of air against a fresh open wound. This is the feeling of pain upon pain.

The warm, wet substance reaches the lips and slithers inside the mouth. It tastes of copper and salt.

Blood. More blood.

This is a good thing. It will make you clean again.

* * * * *

Cara is seven years old. The rocks around her are not smooth. They have sharp edges and cut into her skin if she rests against them too long. The air is thick, like how she remembered early mornings at home, just before it began to rain. There is no sunlight, only residual glow from a torch beyond the confines of her cell.

Dahlia is sitting next to her. She hasn’t spoken in three days. The brunette only holds her hand. Cara doesn’t mind, she has nothing left to say. She has lost count of the days since she was taken from her family. The women dressed in red leather have not spoken, other than to give them commands. They certainly do not explain themselves. They don’t explain to Cara why they are being beaten, why they are being drowned, why they are being attacked with those rods that the woman press to their flesh until their body feels as though it is burning from the inside.

She only knows that the more she cries, the more they hurt her and Dahlia. She tells Dahlia to be strong, to not cry like the boys from Stowecroft. She says this to Dahlia, but she also says it to herself. Dahlia does not reply, only reaches out for Cara’s hand and squeezes it. She reminds Dahlia that it will end soon, Cara’s father will come for them, he will make everything warm and bright again.

A flicker of the light streaming into their cell signals that they are no longer alone. A woman in red enters. She does not speak, only reaches for the rod at her side.

Cara squeezes Dahlia’s hand. She will not cry. This will be over soon. Her father will save them.

Dahlia screams first.

Cara screams second.

Neither of them cries.

* * * * *

It starts with a crack. This is the feeling of the air turning into a knife as it cuts through the chest and sides as you try to breathe. Fractured ribs are meddlesome things. There is no relief to the pressure upon them.

Breathing becomes short and shallow. It makes the knife smaller for a moment, but only a moment.

The lack of breath makes the rest of the body’s senses more intense. Heightened senses means heightened pain. This is no surprise; this is why they hang your body at the wrists, so that you are taut, so that the strain is evermore. It is effective and economical.

The lack of breath threatens to cause unconsciousness. Eyes become heavy, vision begins to blur. This is not acceptable.

Crack. Another well aimed strike.

Breathe. The air is now a sword.

This is a good thing. It will make you clean again.

* * * * *

Cara is 12 years old. Dahlia is standing behind her, binding her corset, making it tight. Their leathers are brand new, a sign of their accomplishment. Today is the day they officially begin their training to become a Mord’Sith, a Sister of the Agiel.

Their arrival to this moment was no small feat. It was five years of preparation, five years of pain to achieve enlightenment. They were aware now. The power they possessed was formidable and they achieved it together. Bound by what they once were and what they would become, their connection is ever strong.

Dahlia now stands in front of Cara, securing her collar to her bodice. The brunette is half smiling.

“Is something funny?” Cara questions.

“No. I’m just happy.”

“Happy?”

“To be here with you, to share this moment.”

Cara returns the smile. She is used to this, to Dahlia marveling at their accomplishments. She replies, “Yes. We are Sisters of the Agiel.”

Dahlia reaches out and takes Cara’s hand into her own. “And, sisters of the heart?”

Cara nods her head in agreement. Their bond is unique. “Always, Dahlia.”

Dahlia smiles and brings their clasped hands over her heart. “You’ve always been the strong one, Cara. I know that. I never would have made it this far if it not for you. They way you held my hand…even when they separated us I still felt it.”

“Dahlia, you made it because you are strong. I created nothing in you. It was already there.”

“No. It wasn’t. But you made believe it was and that was enough to get me here. It’s because of you that I eventually found that strength, Cara. You will be a great Mord’Sith one day. A true leader, like Mistress Nathair.”

“We both will.”

“I promise I will never disappoint you, Cara.”

“And I you, Dahlia.”

* * * * *

It starts with a whip. This is the feeling of leather slicing through flesh. It is different than the cut of a knife. Flesh is not cut; it is torn from the combination of force and precision. The sting is immediate as air enters the wound. Salty sweat seeps into the lesion and the sting is now a conflagration.

The body keeps stretching as it hangs at the wrists from chains. The skin of the back stretches with it and so does the fresh wound. Human flesh is not designed for such treatment; it will never look the same.

The leather cuts again and crosses over the original wound. This is the feeling of pain made new.

The flesh is now a tapestry, a tapestry frayed and tattered. This tapestry tells of suffering, this tapestry tells of strength, this tapestry tells of regret. Someone will mend it…eventually. With needle and thread, what was once torn will be made whole. Eventually, but, not yet.

Slice. The whip is unfurled once more. Now a feeling of warmth again. Blood flows, like rain on a window pane.

This is a good thing. It will make you clean again.

* * * * *

Cara is 17 years old. Mistress Nathair is speaking to a room with newly designated Mord’Sith as Lord Rahl watches from his throne. Five years of breaking and five years of education and now it is done. Graduation day and they were ready to serve.

Cara listens to her Mistress.

“You were once my students and now you are my sisters. Today you receive the instrument that has been your tutor. You will now become its master. With this agiel, you are bound to each other and to our Lord Rahl. Wield it with pride and ferocity. Let anyone who opposes the rule of your Lord be made to tremble and perish at its touch.”

One by one the sisters approach the dais. The Lord Rahl hands over the weapons to each candidate. Dahlia is in front of her and when she sees her receive the agiel, her heart is filled with pride. Cara approaches her master. He pauses briefly to appraise her, racking his eyes over her form, and then stares intently into her before speaking.

“Mistress Nathair has spoken often of your acute dedication to your training, Cara. We expect great things of you.”

Cara bows her head in reverence. “And you shall have it, my Lord.”

He places the agiel in her hand and Cara grips it tightly. It was finally hers.

Cara walks off the dais and returns to her post among her sisters, standing next to Dahlia as she did before. She feels Dahlia’s hand briefly clasp her own and allows herself a moment to appreciate the familiar touch.

Mistress Nathair addresses them again. “Sisters, join me in the devotion.”

They recite the incantation in a unified voice.

“Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.”

The newly ordained Mord’Sith enjoy an evening of celebration for their achievement. When the festivities end, Cara and Dahlia return to their shared chamber.

In their room, they perform their nightly custom. Cara removes Dahlia’s corset and leathers. It’s a routine she has carried out for many years, but, this night, it is does not feel ordinary. She takes special care disrobing Dahlia and her hands linger over the porcelain flesh as it is exposed. She can see her actions have an effect on the brunette. Her Mord’Sith eyes are trained to detect the slightest change in disposition.

When she is finished, Dahlia is naked before her. It is a familiar sight, and, yet, it seems as though she is seeing it for the first time. Dahlia’s skin is glorious and almost luminescent. Her body is perfection; pert breasts, a taught stomach, and lean limbs. Cara feels a fire begin to stir in her belly.

Her appraisal is cut short as she is drawn out of her daze by the feeling of Dahlia’s hands unbuckling her belt. Dahlia is close to her now and her touch borders on a caress. Her breath mingles with her own as she leans in to remove the collar from Cara’s neck.. The brunette circles Cara’s back and begins to unstring her leathers and pulls the garment over her shoulders and down her torso, leaving her naked when it’s done.

Cara feels the tickle of the other woman’s breath on her neck as Dahlia whispers, “I saw how the Lord Rahl favored you at the ceremony. It filled me with such pride. He sees in you the same greatness that I do. In that moment, I knew I would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked it of me.”

Cara’s lips purse, she smirks and turns to face her sister. Dahlia would always be a little sentimental. That could never be broken. She doesn’t mind though, since the sentiments were only directed at her, and only when they were alone. Still, her training demanded a retort. She cautions her sister, “We serve each other and Lord Rahl, Dahlia, but, we follow only him.”

Dahlia lowers her head in a sign of acquiescence and backs away. “Of course, Cara.”

Cara fears her words of prudence may have gone too far. She reaches out to halt the other woman’s retreat.

“I live to serve and follow the Lord Rahl.” Cara pauses to raise Dahlia’s chin so they are eye to eye. “But, through it all, I would have you at my side.”

Dahlia’s eyes fill with pride and she leans into Cara’s palm that is now cupping her cheek. “And there I shall be.”

Despite their years of training, the bond between them never diminished. However, only on rare occasions did they acknowledge their bond out loud; they were certain enough of its existence without the need to validate it constantly with words. Yet, this night, they were filled with too much to remain stoic. Something was stirring inside them.

Though their connection was strong, it had never been sexual. Mord’Sith training forbade physical intimacy between the candidates until their education was complete and they joined the active ranks of their veteran sisters. It was imperative that no attachments, either physical or emotional, develop during the years between their induction as a Mord’Sith and their graduation. This forced abstinence fostered their devotion to Lord Rahl. It was he who took the virginity of every Mord’Sith, thus sealing the emotional connection with a physical one. After their graduation, they were free to share pleasure with their sisters, as well as pain.

And so on this night, a dam had been unleashed, and a wave of desire was threatening to drown them both.

Cara’s approach is predatory and she stops with only of the width of a hair separating them.

“There is something else I would have, Dahlia.”

“What?”

“Your skin pressed against me, your body entwined with my own. After all the pain we’ve endured, I would have you feel such pleasure.”

“Then take what is already yours.”

Cara steps into Dahlia and a whimper escapes her lips at feel of her flesh pressed against her own. Her body is paralyzed as a wave of pleasure erupts on her skin. Her chest becomes heavy and breathing labored, her heart starts to pound. Louder . The pounding is now deafening. There is no sound. She extends her right hand at her waist and presses her fingertips to the back of Dahlia’s hand, starting a slow ascent along the porcelain limb. She can see a wake of flesh colored bumps bloom on Dahlia’s skin as her fingers move higher and higher.

The sound of Dahlia’s heavy breathing drowns out the sound her own. It is intoxicating. She wants more.

Cara fingers reach Dahlia’s shoulder and she lowers her palm to it. Her hand slides over the brunette’s shoulder and up her neck with her fingers clutched to the back it. She extends her thumb so that it passes over her cheek and grazes Dahlia’s lips.

Her vision starts to haze as she slowly leans in. She can feel it now, Dahlia’s breath.

So close.

When she tastes her lips, when the softness is felt, she immediately pulls Dahlia close at her waist. She is overcome with want. Her chest is heaving now, and she pulls her lips away to steal a breath of air. Dahlia immediately pulls her back. Cara returns the passion and sneaks her tongue across lips. When Dahlia returns in kind, her knees start to falter.

Cara pushes them toward the bed and Dahlia falls back against it. The sudden loss of contact is shocking and it makes her feel as though she has been pulled out a dream. She looks at Dahlia who is now laid out on the bed in front of her, takes several deep breaths, and lets her eyes roam over the landscape of her form.

Without thinking she declares, “I hate that he touched you first.”

Cara knows how dangerous her words are. She doesn’t care.

She feels Dahlia’s hand take her own and the brunette replies, “He only touched my flesh. You were inside me first.”

Dahlia pulls her toward the bed and Cara lies on her side next to her. Slowly she lowers herself to the brunette’s body and becomes undone again by the sensation of flesh upon flesh. She kisses Dahlia deeply, for what feels like an eternity, and then pulls her lips away to devour the skin on her neck. She lingers there and then continues down her throat, past her collarbone and pauses when she comes to the swell of her breast. She glides her hand over Dahlia’s trembling stomach, cups the breast with her hand and then trails her over the supple flesh. When she covers it with her lips and tongue, Dahlia cries out.

On instinct she drapes her leg over Dahlia’s thigh and moans when she feels the slickness there.

Cara is pulled back up to meet Dahlia’s feverish lips. She loses herself in them.

Her hand begins to descend the plain of Dahlia’s body. When it comes to the apex at her legs, she pulls back and stares deeply into her gray eyes. They stay locked in each other’s gaze and hold their breath until Cara’s hand reaches for its destination. They exhale and moan when it does. Cara begins to stroke the velvet folds and Dahlia bites her shoulder when Cara’s fingertip brushes her center. She continues to stoke her and presses her lips to the brunette’s throat.

When Cara feels Dahlia’s fingers sliding through her own center, it releases shockwave of pleasure. Her eyes widen and she pulls back to stare directly into Dahlia’s. They caress each other in unison, alternating between kissing each other’s lips and throat.

When they become too short of breath to kiss, they rest their foreheads against one another. Cara feels the pleasure build; she is starting to feel that she may burst. Looking into Dahlia’s eyes, she knows the brunette feels the same.

Eyes locked they both cry out when a bolt of lightning is unleashed inside them and they collapse onto each other when it’s done.

They stay motionless and bask in the aftershock. Cara rests her head in the nook of Dahlia’s neck. Her breathing starts to slow as her mind finally registers what they did. The sound of Dahlia inhaling a strained breath draws her attention and she looks up to see tears streaming down the brunette’s cheeks. She hasn’t seen Dahlia cry since they were children.

Dahlia stares into her eyes and confesses. “So much…I feel–”

Cara silences her with a gentle kiss and rests her forehead against her lover’s. She whispers her reply.

“I know…”

* * * * *

It starts with a flame. This is the feeling of hot iron searing flesh. The initial burn is the most intense. This is the one that will linger. This is the one you will remember.

The targeted skin begins to shrink. This is what heat does. It consumes the air and leaves a brittle wake.

The burn remains, though the source of heat is gone.

Now it will blister.

Now it will fester.

Now it will seep.

This is a good thing. It will make you clean again.

* * * * *

Cara is 21 years old. She is in the Temple baths with Dahlia and for the moment they have the chamber to themselves. Cara is resting against the brunette who is stationed behind her, massaging her back. She closes her eyes and relishes in the lavish attention of her lover. This last week she has begun to notice a change in herself. She is slower to rise in the morning and her hunger, for both food and other pursuits, has noticeably increased; her condition is becoming very inconvenient.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Dahlia reaches around her and places her hands on her swollen belly. Cara leans back into the embrace and covers the hands with her own. Dahlia can always tell when her thoughts turn sullen.

“Must you always be despondent about your condition?”

Cara’s eyes snap open. “Despondent? And what would have me be, Dahlia? You forget it’s not your body that resembles an overgrown pear.”

“Oh, I don’t know about a pear. With the way these are growing too…” Dahlia trails her hand upward and cups her breasts gently. “...I’d say it’s more like a kind of gourd.”

Cara laughs and pinches Dahlia for her smart remark. “I thought your need for me would diminish considering my appearance.”

“You thought wrong.” Dahlia replies and begins to caress her breasts.

Cara smiles, reaches behind her and guides Dahlia’s face to her neck. The brunette complies and begins to kiss the sensitive spot behind her ear. In a voice heavy with desire, Cara replies, “Oh? So, I won’t catch stealing away to another’s bed in the middle of the night? Between the army and the Sisters you have many admirers.” Cara pauses. “Mistress Denna seems to favor you.”

“Mistress Denna wants me because I don’t fawn over her like the other sisters.”

“She wants you because you’re beautiful. We all want something beautiful.”

“Well if that’s all it takes, then why hasn’t she tried to steal you for herself?”

“Because she’s already had me.”

Dahlia’s ministrations cease at those words. It was always awkward when either of them admitted to their relations with others. They never harbored jealousy, as it was part of their duty to please their superiors when it was requested of them. Still, it was a subject matter they avoided when possible.

Cara twists her body so that she is facing Dahlia. She reaches out and tucks an errant strand of wet hair behind the other woman’s ear. Dahlia closes her eyes at that act of tenderness and smiles in return. Cara continues, “Some people tire of things they once desired after they’ve had them, Dahlia. Perhaps she found me wanting.”

“Impossible.”

“Well, then, she must be like me and prefers brunettes.”

“Perhaps.” Dahlia’s smile fades and she pauses. “Should I be worried?”

Cara furrows her brow in confusion. “About what?”

“About you…growing tired of me.”

Cara leans into Dalia and places a gentle kiss on her lips. “Impossible.” Her right hand travels down Dahlia’s torso and strokes the tender flesh between her legs. Her actions elicit a slight moan from the brunette. She pulls back and sees that Dahlia’s eyes have clouded with desire. Their lips come together again, this time hungry and with intent. Cara pushes Dahlia the edge of the pool and starts to feast on the soft flesh at her neck. Her pursuits are interrupted when she feels an unwelcomed sensation.

She slaps the water in frustration and then looks into Dahlia’s eyes and sees that surprise has replaced desire.

The brunette, smiling with wonder, questions, “Did you feel that?”

Cara rolls her eyes. “Of course I did, Dahlia. It’s inside me!”

Dahlia reaches out and touches her belly. “I just never felt that before. It’s incredible.”

Cara looks down and sees the evidence of the life inside her as it kicks against her. For a moment she is overcome with tenderness and marvels at the sight of the miracle inside her, but the moment doesn’t last. “If you want to play nursemaid, perhaps you should return to Stowecroft.” She pushes Dahlia’s hand away and moves to the other side of the pool.

“Do you ever think about it?” Dahlia questions

“What?”

“What our lives would have been, if we hadn’t been taken.”

“Taken? I think you mean liberated from that predictable life”

“Yes, of course.” Dahlia wades through the water and closes the distance between them.

Cara contemplates the question for moment and replies, “I probably would have ended up something so common, like a seamstress…married to an even more common man, who expected my servitude despite his unremarkable station. You would have fared no better, same ordinary husband, same ordinary life.”

Cara notices that Dahlia’s eyes look pained. She cups the other woman’s chin and shakes it slightly before letting go. “Is my assessment offensive to you? Is there some grand destiny you would have achieved in Stowecroft that I don’t know about?”

Dahlia shakes her head vehemently. “Hardly.”

“Then, what?”

Dahlia reaches out to Cara and joins their hands, threading their fingers together. “I hate to imagine a world without your touch.”

Cara’s demeanor softens immediately. “You’ll never have to.” She squeezes their clasped hands for emphasis. Just as she leans in to kiss Dahlia, a voice calls out to them.

“How I hate to interrupt such a tender moment, but I must rid myself of this filth.”

Cara, recognizing the voice immediately, smirks and turns to face her superior. “I take it your travels were less than pleasant, Mistress Denna.”

Denna wades into the pool and submerges herself completely before replying. “Yes. Though I think sloppy is a better word. It seemed like the rain would never end. I fear I am covered in all sorts of earthly elements. And how fairs our Temple? It hasn’t grown…” Denna pauses and Cara sees her gaze shift to her and Dahlia’s joined hands. “…sloppy, as well, in my absence, has it?”

Cara dismisses her concern with a look of ambivalence. “On the contrary, it’s as if you never left.”

Dahlia lets go of her hand and moves to exit the pool. She offers, “Allow me to gather some oils for you, Mistress.”

Denna rakes her gaze over the brunette’s naked form and a wonton smile consumes her face. “Thank you, Dahlia.”

Cara’s hands ball into fists under the cover of the water. She bows her head to Denna and replies, “I should leave. If I stay any longer I fear this child may slip from my loins and rob you of your well earned rest and relaxation.”

Denna returns the nod. “How funny you are, Cara, such a quick tongue. Your company will be missed, but, I think Dahlia and I can find some way to entertain ourselves.”

Cara’s eyes widen as she processes those words.

Denna moves so that she is standing next to Cara at the edge of the pool and continues, “I think I’ll have her. Tell me, does she taste as sweet as she looks?”

Cara offers a forced smile. “Sweeter.”

Denna laughs at her response. “I’ll let you know if I agree.”

Cara feels a fire start to burn under her skin. Unable to hold her tongue she leans into Denna and whispers in her ear. “You can have her all you want, Mistress.” She continues in a menacing tone, “But she’ll never be yours.”

* * * * *

It starts with a splash. This is the feeling of every wound on the body being reborn as it dowsed with a mixture of wine and salt. This tactic serves two purposes.

First, acute pain.

Second, it rouses the senses and overrides any adjustment the body has made to its previous punishment.

The body begins to shake as the pain begins to erupt. Foam starts to form in the mouth and seeps out the side.

This is a good thing. It will make you clean again

* * * * *

Cara is 25 years old. She is walking alongside Dahlia to meet with Lord Rahl at his request. At the moment, she is ignorant of the reason she was beckoned. She would have an answer soon enough.

They enter the great hall and approach the Lord Rahl who is sitting at his throne. He immediately stands at their entrance and opens his arms in a welcoming gesture. Cara and Dahlia both fall to their knees in supplication.

“We serve at your pleasure, Lord Rahl, and await only your command.”

“First I would have you rise and smile for I have good news for your both.”

Cara rises and smiles as requested. She stands firm as Lord Rahl leans in to place a delicate kiss on her lips and then to Dahlia’s.

“Your loyalty and dedication has not gone without notice and now I must call on you both to put your talents to new missions. With the wind whispering about the return of the Seeker I have to be vigilant. The Seeker has always been a figure of inspiration for the disenfranchised. If he is coming, he will use their loyalty to disrupt the foundation of my kingdom and have it falter beneath me. I must reinforce my relationships with my allies. I need to know all that they know without filter. Dahlia I am sending you to be stationed with Duke Arthrain. As far as he is concerned you are there only as a gift from me to fortify his security.” He trails a finger delicately across Dahlia’s cheek and over her lips. “As well as other benefits.”

Cara’s eyes widen.

“This mission calls for pleasure instead of pain, Dahlia. Your efforts will allow me certain liberties that will be important to the future of Dahara. It requires a delicate touch and a mastery of manipulation. He won’t be able to resist your many charms, but, he must believe his devotion to you is authentic. I don’t want him broken, but I still want him compliant. Is that understood?”

“Without question, my Lord. I am honored by your request.”

“You can thank Mistress Denna. She recommended you for this mission. Her confidence in your skills was very compelling.”

“Such confidence fills me with pride.” Dahlia pauses. “Will this be a permanent position?”

“In these times, Dahlia, very few things last forever,” He pauses and his eyes connect with Cara for a moment and then return to the brunette. “However, I expect your stay will not be brief. Several of your sisters will join you on this assignment. They will serve at your command.”

“Your will shall be done, my Lord.”

“Of that I have no doubt. And you, my loyal, Cara.” The sound of her name breaks Cara out of her stupor. “You will move to the People’s Palace. One of your sisters who served in my elite guard has fallen and I have chosen you to take her place.”

Cara struggles to find words as she begins to feel the weight of what she has gained and what she is about to lose. She grinds her teeth and clamps her jaw before she replies in an emotionless voice.

“My Lord honors me beyond my worth.”

“It’s overdue, to say the least.” He turns away from them and returns to his throne. “Dahlia, you will leave at once. Cara, we will travel to together to the People’s Place at first light tomorrow. You may go and prepare for your journeys.”

They speak in unison. “Thank you, my Lord.”

They walk in silence back to their chambers. Once inside Cara walks to the far side of the room. She stands stiff and stares intently at the wall. She is overwhelmed by the thoughts and memories that are swirling in her mind like wine around the rim of a chalice.

Dahlia breaks the silence. Her voice is strained. “Do you know this Duke Arthrain?”

Cara shakes her head and replies, “I know only that his land is not in the proximity of the People’s Palace.”

“Then I suppose I will learn all I need to know soon enough.”

“So it would seem.”

Silence looms between them again. Cara hears Dahlia’s footsteps. The other woman now stands directly behind her.

“It’s so abrupt.”

Cara hears Dahlia’s voice quiver, as if she is choking on her words. Her heart constricts at the sound. She turns to see that the brunette’s cheeks are wet with tears and she remembers the last time Dahlia cried.

Cara wipes them away swiftly and whispers, “I know.”

She stares deep into the brunettes eyes and kisses Dahlia. She pours into her kiss all that her pride will not allow her to say and then pulls back slowly, commanding herself to remember everything; the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her lips, her scent, her warmth.

When she is done she steps away and her eyes widen. With a single look she reminds Dahlia that they are Mord’Sith first. Dahlia nods her head, understanding what Cara is saying without words.

Cara commands, “Serve our Lord with honor.”

Dahlia adjusts her posture and all emotion is erased from her eyes.

“Yes, Mistress.”

The brunette turns on her heel and marches to the door. As she opens it, she turns her head to the side and declares, “Cara, I will return to you.”

When the sound of the door closing reaches her ears, Cara feels tears stream down her cheeks.

* * * * *

It ends with a rod.

This is the feeling of every pain you have ever inflicted on another surging through the body.

There are no more thoughts.

This is death.

This is rebirth

This is a good thing. You are clean again.

* * * * *

Cara is awake.

“Cara, you’ve come back to me.”

“Yes, Dahlia.”

………………….This is how you break.

~ ~ ~