LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

I’ll Carry You With Me,

Just Please Hold On

foiblesfables

Title: I’ll Carry You With Me, Just Please Hold On

Characters/Pairings: Cara, Kahlan, one–sided Cara/Kahlan

Rating: R

Word Count: 5,794

Summary: While in hiding with Kahlan, Cara makes a startling discovery and is forced to keep a secret from her that, if revealed, could destroy them both. AU after 2x17, Vengeance. Slightly cracky.

Notes: For beerbad. It was getting too long to post in one go, so I split it. Final part should be up before the weekend.

I’ll Carry You With Me,

Just Please Hold On

foiblesfables

As long as the Mother Confessor’s pure heart beats, the Keeper is doomed to fail.

As time went by, this became Cara’s mantra. Constantly present in her mind, the words drove her. They were the purpose to be upheld through toil and peril. During the daytime, they were a subtle glow, underscoring her actions on a nearly–subconscious level. At night, especially while she was on watch, they came to the forefront, echoing in the empty silence as she stared into the inky darkness. Shimmering disturbances in the air brought about a change in volume. The words throbbed with every beat of her own heart, relentless, a steady crescendo with no diminuendo. Her mission, her duty; everything hinged on that statement. True to form, Cara was not going to take it lightly. So she committed it to her every action, attaching her own fate to its implications.

That statement was exactly what led to their current arrangement.

When the Seeker and his team learned of the prophecy, along with the secrets of the scroll that dictated the use of the Stone of Tears, a divergence was created in their path: not a single road, but one that forked in two completely different directions. The first led once again to the Stone of Tears – the other to safety in hiding for the Mother Confessor. Deliberation and argument invariably followed, over the important matters: who was to go where, with whom, when, how, or if they should split up at all.

Zedd was the one to come up with the most logical solution, of course. He would accompany Richard on that path that extended into the great unknown, in continued search for what now seemed simply unattainable. Cara and Kahlan would depart, search for safety in seclusion, taking the prophecy at its word. If it was indeed accurate, Cara’s abilities were of more importance to Kahlan’s safety than to Richard’s. They would meet up again when it was all over. When they had won.

(silence had lingered for a moment, during which the gravity finally settled)

Even though both Richard and Kahlan tried, tried with all of their might and combined brainpower, they couldn’t justify any other solution. They had nothing better to offer, nothing that could keep them together. No persuasive arguments, no eureka moments of epiphany.

It was what must be done, for the future of the living. For their own future, together. As long as the Mother Confessor’s pure heart beats. It had to keep beating.

Richard came to terms with the decision before Kahlan did.

“Kahlan,” he had said softly, gently lifting her chin so that her tear–filled blue eyes met his, “we’ve been separated before. I’ve always come back.” She blinked, and a few drops escaped and rolled over her cheeks. He brushed them away. “You once told me to do something – to leave – on the grounds that you love me. That you couldn’t live in a world without me. Right now, I’m asking the same of you. Please, Kahlan.” He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m asking you to stay alive.” The words were the same as the ones that she had used to convince him all that time ago. “If you can stay alive, then we’ll see each other again. I promise.”

Her hands were trembling, and he drew her into a tight embrace. Her weight slumped against him, a sort of surrender. A handful of paces away, Zedd and Cara took their cue to face the opposite direction.

“Richard, I’m frightened.” Her whisper was almost lost against his shoulder, but he heard her. He had left before, but this was different. They would be apart until their journey was finished. The sense of finality gripped her stomach and squeezed her heart. “If I can’t be with you…” The words trailed off into nothingness, in case speaking the words would make her fears come true. The conclusion was lost. If I can’t be with you in the end.

“I’ve always been with you,” he replied. “And that’s not going to change.”

She kissed him, then, cupping his cheeks in her hands and drinking in deep. It was desperate, heated, and they wished they could take enough to last a lifetime. His arms encircled her waist and held her close, and he only let go by the intervention of concentrated power of will. Kahlan shuddered as their lips parted, leaving her forehead pressed to his.

“Go with Cara,” Richard had murmured, dropping his hands to grasp hers. After a second of hesitation and deep, deep breath, Kahlan nodded, biting back more tears. Acknowledgement of fate. Apart, for a little while. Just like before, he’d return to her. He always found a way. He was the Seeker.

He gave her hands one final squeeze, accenting it with a mental wave of reassurance he hoped she could feel. She held his warm gaze, and unrelenting strength poured from them. If he could be strong, so could she. She gave a tiny nod, catching her lower lip between her teeth.

And then he let go. Her arms fell to her sides as he made a few strides towards where Zedd and Cara were waiting.

“Take care of her. Keep her safe.” His voice was grave and his gaze was stern, almost dark, not typical of Richard. Cara raised an eyebrow at him before nodding somberly. Yes, Lord Rahl, it said. A solemn oath.

Too quickly, it was time. Richard held the compass in his hand, craning his neck in the direction in which it commanded him. Zedd stood beside him, at arm’s length away, having already said his goodbyes. Too much space separated them from Cara and Kahlan, who were poised to head in the opposite direction. Richard had to make sure his voice projected, had to make sure his words were perfectly clear as they passed through that absurd amount of open air.

“Keep Cara in line, will you?” he commented to Kahlan with an impish grin, raising his eyebrows. “Make sure she stays out of trouble.”

Kahlan giggled, the action contrasting with her red–rimmed eyes. Cara gave a good–natured roll of her eyes, shouldering her pack, relieved to see the smile on Kahlan’s face. It would be a long time in hiding if all she planned on doing was crying.

“I will,” she promised, glancing at the Mord’Sith. Then, she looked back at Richard. “Stay alive?”

Richard beamed, and it sparkled under the afternoon sun. Kahlan made a copy of the image in her head. “Only if you do.” A beat. “I’ll see you soon.” Another, longer. “I love you, Kahlan Amnell.”

Her smile softened along with her voice. “I love you too, Richard.” Cara pursed her lips, doing her best to make it subtle.

They were off, then. Separate directions, separate missions, separate destinies, until their paths crossed again. Cara and Kahlan headed east, stopping only for short, inadequate bursts of sleep, hiking through the woods and the chill that had begun to settle in the air. They worked in zigzagged trails, around and over and under, circling here and there, but always making sure to cover their tracks. Kahlan was quiet at first, with an air of gloominess, and Cara found herself talking more than usual to make up for the silence, always in hushed tones. Eventually, Kahlan brightened. Cara did not think she was the factor that made it happen.

After a few taxing days, they finally came to an acceptable spot: a wayward pine, huge, with strong branches, one that seemed to have been put there just for them. Kahlan stopped one day and pointed excitedly, telling Cara that Richard had introduced her to that kind of shelter. Cara crossed her arms and considered. The area was isolated and thick with trees, far from the regular path. She could hear the babble of a stream somewhere in the distance. The last town they passed was half a day’s walk, she surmised. It would do. They could hide here. They could wait there until it was over.

Cara nodded her consent. Kahlan grinned.

That was exactly thirty–two days ago.

* * * * *

It happened while Cara was hunting.

The doe was blissfully unaware of her predator, grazing to her heart’s content. Cara watched from a distance, in a low crouch. Something larger would be better, but meat was meat. She hadn’t seen many animals at all, lately, which was mildly disconcerting. The doe’s ear twitched, but it continued munching, and Cara rose from her position. Her sharp gaze followed its every moment. Everything depended on the first strike. She would strike to kill. The noise of the forest melted, giving way to an amplified version of her heartbeat. It was calm, regular, and she drew a breath, furrowing her brow in utmost focus.

Normally, she would have used the bow Richard had given her. But her supply of arrows had been spent – she needed time to clean and repair them. Her Agiels would do, for now, even though it wasn’t the neatest way of getting the job done. Still, it was just that: getting the job done.

Just like she had done countless times before, she reached for her hip and grasped the handles in tight fists.

A jolt of surprise, one that froze her blood, made her jerk her hands back with urgency. Her eyes widened, breath quickened. A moment of absolute stillness passed. Slowly, almost regretfully, she freed one from its holder, gripping it for all she was worth.

There was no sting, no burn, no shock to her system. No pain thundered its way up her arms and spread through her body. There was nothing to fuel the fire inside of her and give her purpose.

Immediately, the problem materialized in her mind. This had happened before. Logical calculation gave way to a cold blast of numb shock.

The magic had stopped working.

All of the reassurances and determination of the past months suddenly fell to nothing.

The Agiel slipped from her fingers. The strap, unimpeded by her wrist, floated gently as the weapon fell. The sound it made when it hit the leave–smattered ground should have been much louder.

The doe sensed the disturbance and bolted to invisibility.

* * * * *

It would be easy enough to pretend they were still working.

She would remember to tense her arms, to squint slightly, and to let her upper lip flinch the instant when she first grasped them. All of this was second–nature, something years and years had taught and reinforced. The habit would not break without difficulty. She would still feel the sear and scorch in her muscles as she pulled the pain from her memory. She would convince herself that it was real. Her body would react as it always had. The Agiels would not, she knew. They were blunt weapons now, hard sheaths of leather.

She would fix her arrows, or find some way to get more, and make sure to take the bow hunting every time. Maybe she would even take one of Kahlan’s daggers.

She would put on a mask and allow life to continue as it had been. She would fight against the sudden, unwelcome hollowness, pushing it so far below that it would never show on her face.

There was one thing she would not do, however. She would not tell Kahlan that the bloodline that fueled her magic had been extinguished.

She would not tell Kahlan that somewhere, somehow, Richard was dead.

The absurdity of it nearly made her laugh. The fears were always there, but always just out of reach. Blind hope (considered foolish, but comforting, by Cara) kept them at bay. But it really happened.

The thought of hiding it from Kahlan made her stomach roil. She bit back the unpleasant feeling, forgetting to breathe for a moment. The wayward pine appeared in the distance, and her knees almost buckled.

Richard meant what he said. Take care of her. Keep her safe, at all costs. Safe from what, though? Banelings? Wolves? Herself? All of them.

She had no way of knowing what Kahlan might do in agonized desperation and distress, if she told her. This was keeping her safe. Safe from the knowledge that would break her resolve, exhaust her will to stay alive, even though the entire realm of the living depended upon just that. Cara was responsible for her, and if that secret was the burden she would have to carry, so be it. It was an impossible load, but she had given her oath. She was charged to protect Kahlan from everything that threatened her, tangible or intangible, flesh or feeling.

When she finally reached the small fire Kahlan had apparently built while she was on the hunt, the Mother Confessor smiled cheerily at her and called a greeting, eyes and hair gleaming in shafts of sunlight that penetrated the trees. Cara faltered for the quickest instant, shaken by Kahlan’s happiness. If she told her, that smile might never surface again.

Her duty accounted for the bulk of her decision.

But a chill ran down her spine, one she couldn’t blame on the brisk air. It quickly transformed into a surge of anger, of disgust – an automatic reaction to the note of dread that had swept through first.

She also did not want to be the one to tell Kahlan something that would shatter her heart into innumerable pieces, tiny fragments, rendering it useless, beyond any kind of repair.

* * * * *

Days passed. How many, she wasn’t entirely sure. She kept the secret from Kahlan.

Cara decided to go to the village for two reasons.

One, for supplies. She told Kahlan she needed more arrows and more string for her bow. She would also see if she could pick up any rations – grain, fruits, vegetables, anything they couldn’t forage from the area around their wayward pine. It was a good ruse; Kahlan nodded enthusiastically, saying that it was a great idea. She would stay and watch the camp. They hadn’t seen a single person since they arrived. She could handle herself for a day.

Though Cara felt dubious about leaving her there alone, she was thankful for Kahlan’s cooperation. Because the true reason she wanted to head into the town was that curiosity had finally gotten the best of her. She had to know for sure if anyone else was aware of what had happened to Richard. Though her Agiels gave her all the proof she could have asked for, she needed to hear it from someone else.

She borrowed Kahlan’s traveling dress, not willing to risk having her leather recognized. It was long in the hem, dragging on the ground when she walked, but it would do. She kept her Agiels hidden beneath, pressed against bare flesh. The pain she felt at the contact was merely a phantom, but it made her shudder more violently than the true pain would have. She took one of Kahlan’s knives as well, under the guise that she would have it sharpened at the blacksmith. A few days later and she would do the same for the other. Again, Kahlan was obliging. Almost too obliging. It made Cara a little bit sick. The weight of the secret pressed against her shoulders, nearly a physical force. Richard is dead. Her mind screamed it, but her mouth remained silent and tight.

It was early morning and foggy when she set out. The air was turning colder and colder with each passing day. She pulled up the hood of Kahlan’s dress and pressed onward. Her Agiels felt like ice against her warm skin.

The trip to the town was longer than she thought – she didn’t reach its limits until late afternoon. A lone sentry kept guard; the town was small and unimportant, so much that Cara didn’t even know the name of it. But the name wasn’t important. Getting inside and getting information was.

The sentry saw that she as alone. He also caught the slightest glimpse of full lips and blonde hair. He let her pass without trouble.

What she found beyond the walls chilled her to the core.

This time of day should have brought with it crowded streets and the rumble of conversation. People bumping into one another and excusing themselves. Street performers tricking crowds. Merchants lined up with their wares, trying their very hardest to outdo one another.

Instead, there was absolutely nothing. The streets were as bare as a bleached bone, with no pulse or bustle. Cara strained to hear, something, anything, but there was nothing to hear. Silence hummed and hung over the buildings. To anyone else, it would have been downright terrifying. It felt like she was the last person left alive.

The shop she was looking for was halfway down the main drag. Cara saw the sign and headed for it, moving with a purpose. When she pushed on the door, it opened, and she let out a tiny exhalation of relief. Empty, but open. Besides the shopkeeper, distractedly arranging jars on the shelving behind him, the only sign of movement was the dust floating in red–sunset beams from the windows.

She stepped across the threshold, not bothering to remove her hood, raising an expectant eyebrow at the person behind the wooden counter. He was a portly man with unruly silver hair, scruffy eyebrows, and a moustache to match. Wide green eyes stared at her, mouth hanging slightly agape, as if her presence didn’t make any sort of sense. She crossed her arms, cleared her throat, and he sprang back to life.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, shaking his head to clear it. “Yes, yes, how can I help you?” His voice was overly–exuberant, as if he hadn’t had an excuse to use it in a log while. He smiled, revealing crooked teeth. Cara inclined her chin, peering at him with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

“I need supplies.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place!” His grin brightened as he puffed out his chest proudly. Cara’s brow wrinkled further, growing impatient. “What exactly are you looking for?”

“Arrows and bowstring,” she replied quickly, and he nodded vigorously, not stopping to wonder why a woman would be in need of such items.

“Wonderful! What kind?” Cara showed him the correct type. He nodded, even more eagerly than the first time, and Cara thought his head might flop off of his body. She remained silent as he began to wrap her purchases, but that would simply not do for him, she learned. “I haven’t seen you around here before,” the shopkeeper remarked jovially, keen for conversation. Cara stared, deadpan.

“You haven’t.” A statement of fact. His enthusiasm faltered, but only for a second.

“Welcome, then. My name’s Robert.” He turned back to the counter, holding her bundled arrows and string. He looked at her, waiting for the introduction to be returned. Of course, he didn’t get one from Cara. Coolly collected in her voice, she asked what she had wanted to since she set foot into the village.

“What happened here?” She placed a hand on her hip. “Why is there nobody outside?”

Robert deflated almost visibly, moustache squirming above his lips. This obviously not something he was looking to discuss. It was better than nothing, he supposed, sighing and running a hand through his already–tousled hair.

“Everyone’s afraid,” he said simply. When Cara narrowed her eyes in confusion, he continued, dropping his voice. “Banelings have been laying waste to villages around here.” Cara steeled her jaw. “Rumor has it that they’re within two towns of us. Everyone in the village is scared stiff.”

He made a broad sweep with his hand, gesturing to the outside. “So many have packed their things and fled. Those who haven’t spend their days locked in their homes, praying to the Creator to protect them.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with thick fingers. “My customers don’t come around anymore. You’re the first one in, oh, three days, I’d say.”

Banelings were nearby. Good information to know. But not what she came looking for. Cara would have to continue the conversation, no matter how insufferably cheerful this man was.

“I see,” she said, nodding once. “I’m sorry.”

Robert’s cheeks tinged and he shrugged. “Well, you know, it’s alright. I’m content with my work, customers or not.” He roared with sudden laughter, and it surprised Cara before she forced a dry laugh herself. When he calmed himself down, he cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you need today, miss? Food, drink…?”

Cara said it before she realized she was going to. “Apples.” They were Kahlan’s favorite. “Do you have any apples?”

Robert beamed and gave her a sign of affirmation. “Yes! I have delicious apples, fresh and sweet, a shipment received just yesterday.” He bent over to retrieve the crate, brushing his hands on his oversized tunic. “Before, they would have all been gone within hours. Not now, though.” He picked out six of the best for her, proudly letting her see how shiny the skins were as he packed them into a parcel.

Cara interrupted his very lengthy verbal train of thought, holding up a hand and closing her eyes. “If banelings are coming and you haven’t been making any business, why haven’t you left?” She punctuated it with a one–eyed squint, indicating something that wasn’t disdain, but came dangerously close. The words were blunt, and she knew that. She wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t absurd. This man was overstocked with everything, losing money like a waterfall.

For the first time, he sobered.

“My shop is my life,” he told her with a tiny, somber smile. “I built her up from nothing. I couldn’t bear the thought of her being destroyed without me here. As if stands now, I’m all she’s got, and she’s all I’ve got. I’m sticking with her to the bitter end.” He patted the wooden countertop as though the building could feel and appreciate the show of affection.

And somehow, in a state of affairs completely bewildering to her, Cara unexpectedly understood exactly what he meant.

Warmth trickled over her, invigorating her skin, hitching her breath. Her chest swelled with purpose. An image flashed in her mind, of the woman waiting for her in the wayward pine. It dizzied her for a moment, and she blinked it away to regain her bearings. A hollow sadness replaced the burning in her chest when the picture was gone, but only for an instant. The feeling was gone, back to wherever it came from.

When Cara went to pay, Robert took only half of the coins she placed on the counter, pushing the rest back to her. “Discounted price for my prized customer,” he stated with a playful smile.

“Please, let me pay.” That was what Richard would have said. She considered it best to say it as well.

Robert shook his head just as vehemently as he had been nodding it before. “I’ll waive the rest of the fee in place of the conversation you’ve given me. It’s gotten lonely.”

She dropped it, then, realizing that he would not take no for an answer.

Gathering her packages in her arms and placing the arrows in her pack, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep. It was now or never. She opened her mouth and let the words flow. They came out stiffly, more formal and rehearsed that she would have hoped.

“Thank you for everything. I truly hope the Seeker can do his job before the banelings reach your village.”

Robert’s eyes widening under busy eyebrows told Cara that he knew something she didn’t. Or, at least, hadn’t yet heard from another person. A mixture of incredulity and pity lit his gaze as he gaped at her.

“Haven’t you heard the rumors?” he asked in a hushed voice, leaning toward, rounding his shoulders. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she shook her head. Robert’s jaw went taut and his eyes drooped sympathetically, knowing that what he was about to tell her would crush her hope (along with a bit more of his).

It was barely a whisper by the time it left his mouth.

“The man who brought these apples also brought news he heard on his journey here.” His mouth moved wordlessly while he tried to shove the words out. He was still getting used to the idea as well. “The Seeker is dead.”

Cara feigned devastated shock better than she ever imagined she could have.

* * * * *

She didn’t return to their shelter until very late that night. In the dark, she had gotten turned around. All of the trees looked the same when she was distracted by the thoughts swirling in her head. Disorienting proof. Others had heard as well. Richard was dead. At any moment, the world could have torn apart at the seams. It followed her like an extra shadow, closing the gap, threatening to swallow her. She would just have to make sure it never got the chance.

She traveled for half an hour in the wrong direction before she noticed. Cursing herself, she set her bearings once again, hating all of this.

Along the way, her stomach began to growl, and she finally realized how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten since the morning. Having seen no creatures to hunt, she was forced to open the package that contained the apples and eat one. She grimaced on the first bite – it wasn’t fulfilling. Meat would have been better.

One didn’t satisfy her, so she ate another, promising to leave the other four for Kahlan. The food sat like a rock in her stomach as she continued to hike, legs moving numbly. It was long before she could focus simply on where she was going and not what she had learned.

When she finally reached the wayward pine, she was properly exhausted, though she would admit it to nobody. She peered into the entrance and let out a feeble sigh at what she saw. Kahlan was fast asleep, curled on her side toward the wall created by the branches. Her lips were parted, and her chest rose and fell with the steady pattern of peaceful slumber. Cara watched her breathe for a few moments and was briefly comforted by the motion. It was nearly hypnotic. Up and down. Brilliantly alive.

Cara grabbed a waterskin and drank until she thought her stomach might burst. Too worn out to be angry at Kahlan for falling asleep before she returned and too worn out to stand watch, she collapsed onto the bed roll beside Kahlan’s, begrudgingly grateful that Kahlan had thought to set it out for her. They could afford a few hours of vulnerability.

The Mother Confessor’s back was pressed to hers, very warm. The muscles in her legs quaked from the day’s journey. It would have been wonderful to surrender to the fatigue, both physical and mental. She let her heavy eyes slip closed.

Kahlan stirred.

“Cara?” she asked after a moment, voice thick with the delirium of first waking up, wondering if this was a dream, if it had all been a dream, if they were all still together.

“Yes,” she replied in a muffled murmur, not bothering to move or open her eyes. “Now go back to sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” Kahlan was more awake now, and delayed reality was setting in. She rolled over to face Cara, propping herself up on one elbow, rubbing her eyes. “It got late, and I couldn’t help myself.”

Cara held back a sigh of intense exasperation, coiling in on herself. “Kahlan,” she said, forcing one eye open in aggravation. The other woman regarded her carefully. “Go back to sleep.” The repeated phrase was emphasized heavily, sharply. It was so much like Cara that Kahlan had to suppress a smile.

She turned back over under her blanket, her back against Cara’s once again. A soft, contented hum vibrated in her throat when she settled. The tiny noise sent a shock straight for the Mord’Sith’s spine.

Sharing the warmth amplified it. It wasn’t long until both were drowsy and spiraling headlong into unconsciousness. Before sleep claimed her, Kahlan reached backwards, finding Cara’s hand and lightly touching it. Cara’s chest swelled again, and the sensation rolled across her entire body, simultaneously prickling and calming. Kahlan held her hand in a loose grasp, asleep again within moments.

Cara, meanwhile, felt like someone had just tossed a bucket of cold water all over her. Not because Kahlan was holding her hand – it had happened a few times before, and Cara had allowed it simply to appease her. But it hadn’t happened since her Agiels stopped working. Kahlan’s hand in hers seemed to drag something from deep within. There was a part of her plan that she hadn’t considered.

Kahlan trusted her. When she would find out what Cara was hiding from her – and she would find out, when Richard didn’t return – she would never be able to forgive her for not telling her. Kahlan would hate her, forever.

This thought pervaded everything she had learned that day. It was the most frightening of all.

The guilt and fear made Kahlan’s grip feel like an open flame. It gnawed at her until she was nearly squirming. But Cara simply couldn’t pull away. The pain was better than nothing. It soothed her in its own twisted way.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Richard drawing the Sword of Truth, determined and unwavering as he always was, even to the point of stupidity.

Then, she saw Kahlan’s face. The image lingered, piercing blue eyes and soft smile, sending emotions both familiar and foreign, cascading through her all at once. It was overload – she found that she couldn’t swallow.

Though her body ached for it, she could not cling to one bit of sleep.

* * * * *

Cara frowned into the pot, wondering whether or not the stew should be bubbling like that. It was too think, almost altogether unyielding, as she prodded it with the spoon. Not promising. Her frown deepened into a genuine scowl. This was simple – find a deer, kill the deer, skin the deer, chop it up, start a fire, toss the meat into a pot with some vegetables and spices. And somehow, this mess resulted. She hated cooking. Luckily, Kahlan enjoyed it enough to take care of it herself. But Cara had volunteered today for reasons she couldn’t exactly comprehend.

And Kahlan sat by the fire despite the unpleasant odor lifting from Cara’s attempt at lunch, holding an apple that she knew would soon become her meal. Sure enough, Cara let out a frustrated sigh and sat down beside her, giving up. She gave the Mord’Sith a tight–lipped smile, arching a single dark eyebrow mischievously.

“I think you’re improving,” she said, her voice tinkling with hidden laughter, blue eyes bright with teasing. “Your last try ended up in flames, literally.” Cara gave the Mother Confessor a half–heated sneer, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Kahlan drew her knees to her chest and held them with one arm. She brought the other hand, the one with the apple, to her mouth. When she bit into it, the taut skin snapped and crunched as her teeth sunk into the pale yellow fruit beneath. Cara couldn’t help but watch, entranced, as she chewed; as she wiped away the little bit of juice that ran down her chin. She rotated the fruit in her hand and took another bite. Her lips moved over the red flesh, leaving a subtle hint of wetness. Cara fidgeted. The fire in front of them had grown too hot. Her leather made it worse. Tingling heat raced over her skin, overtaking her senses.

As Kahlan chewed this second bite, she gazed thoughtfully at the apple in her hand, furrowing her brow at the dainty bite marks. She continued to stare for a few moments, apparent introspection growing deeper and deeper as each passed. When it became uncomfortable, Cara leaned forward, tilting her head to peer into her face.

“Is the apple saying something to you?” she asked, smiling wryly, and it was the first time she didn’t have to force it merely for the sake of normalcy. “Asking you to command it?”

It was Kahlan’s turn to roll her eyes and give Cara a light, chiding tap on the shoulder. Cara pulled her lips to one side in something close to a smirk.

“No,” Kahlan replied, though clarification was technically not necessary. “I was just thinking.” She paused, considering her next words carefully, as if saying them the wrong way would tempt fate. “About Richard and Zedd. I wonder what they’re doing right now.”

Cara’s stomach plummeted. She made sure the discomfort didn’t appear on her face, not even the slightest twinge of reaction. She stared straight into the fire, even though the brightness of the flame closest to the embers distorted her vision. “Why are you wondering that?” She controlled her voice, giving it the inflection of blunt confusion. Inside, her heart was hammering. If she said the wrong thing, all of this painstaking work would have been for nothing.

It must have been convincing – typical direct Cara talking – because Kahlan just shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted, absentmindedly twisting a silky dark curl around her finger. “I just had this feeling that I should be wondering about them. They’re always on my mind, of course, they have been since they left…but I never really think specifically about where they are or what they’re doing.” Cara scrunched her face in puzzlement, since it was what she usually would have done. Kahlan sighed with a slow shake of her head. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Don’t,” Cara offered as quick advice, raising her eyebrows sternly. “Don’t wonder about them. If you wonder, you’ll start to think of horrible things. You’re just torturing yourself.”

When, really, she was torturing Cara. Her skin crawled unnervingly, like a million little bugs’ feet all over her body. The heat of the fire had turned Kahlan’s cheeks pink. She focused on that instead. It was enough of a distraction. It was a reminder of all that she was working to keep.

After a minute of consideration, Kahlan spoke quite softly. “I guess you’re right. It makes sense.” Relief flooded. When Cara did not respond, she took another bite of her apple. The crunch was a satisfying one. After another, she slowly stood, shaking the sleep from her legs. Narrowing her eyes in contemplation, she glanced at the pot that still sat on the fire, still bubbling menacingly. “Let me see if I can salvage this. I know you probably don’t want an apple.”

Part 2

Robert was right; banelings were nearby.

They struck at dusk, as shadow was just beginning to settle across their section of forest. The banelings wielded weapons, the hunger, or, most dangerously, both. Cara estimated their number at about nine or so, men. Quite obviously not the entire army, but still dangerous enough against the two of them. Luckily this hadn’t been a deliberate, planned attack; it was merely a chance encounter with a fringe group. Cara did not want to think of what would have happened if it had been the former.

She tried to tell herself that it would be like any other fight. But it wouldn’t be; it was much more treacherous. Her weapons were useless, reduced to nothing more than bludgeons. Still, she had to use them, or Kahlan would become suspicious. So she reached for her hip, grasped the harnesses of her Agiels tightly, and drew them. She flexed her arms until the tendons were quivering just below her skin, pretending to harness pain. Kahlan, hood up to conceal her identity, brandished her knives. Cara stood in front of her, planting her feet in a wide, sturdy stance.

“Don’t die,” she commanded, looking over her shoulder and from the corner of her eye at Kahlan. She kept one part of her gaze trained on the approaching horde. “If you do, I promise that it will be a long eternity in the Underworld with me there to remind you of it. And don’t you dare even think about giving your life to save mine. Then the eternity will be even longer.”

Kahlan seemed to be successfully persuaded. The banelings were approaching faster now, no more than fifteen paces away. Their eyes were wild, and one initiated a battle cry. As they got even closer, Cara noticed the festering sores on some of the faces, skin turning back into rot.

She planned to relieve them of that little problem, and not on their terms.

Strategy began to formulate. If she got lucky with a well–placed strike, she would kill. If she didn’t, she would try to render them incapacitated so she and Kahlan could use fire. The flames would do the rest for them. It could work. She squeezed the hilts of her Agiels, building up the ghosts of pain until she could really feel it. It churned inside of her, sparking rage and deadly focus. The wind whipped, blowing her hair wildly around her face. She scarcely noticed. This was the part she loved. Anticipation boiled low in her belly, eager and unbridled, every fiber of her being itching for a fight, waiting to clash with these bastards who dared to come at them.

The banelings were upon them, each with a set of bared teeth and an infuriated cry exploding from their lungs. Cara dropped to a crouch. Her duty overrode everything else in her mind, including the secret. Protect Kahlan. She intended to do just that.

When she leapt into the air, legs pushing against the ground with immense but effortless power, Cara felt more like herself than she had in a long time. No matter how long it had been since she had tasted combat, it was always familiar, always second–nature. This comforted her to lethal calmness as she twisted in midair, reared back with her arm, and swung a lame Agiel at the nearest baneling: the brawniest male.

The first hit was a lucky one. Hard, fast, and with expert precision, the Agiel struck him directly at the temple before he could raise his knife. A yelp and a crack accompanied the contact – the baneling’s skull seemed to give under the pounding force, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. Cara landed on her feet, and her mouth formed into a twisted grin as she went to work on the others that came at her in retaliation.

She weaved and dodged with a mixture of practice and pure instinct, trusting herself to feel the attacks before they came. She would counter before the banelings could react. Her Agiels swept through the air, all passion and fierce kinetic energy. She became the weapon; the Agiels were extensions of her body. Her body loved the fight, energized, working as a whole instead of in pieces. She fought for Richard, for everything he was, for everything he trusted her to do. She caught one baneling in the jaw, sending him staggering off–balance just long enough for the underside of Cara’s boot to connect with his side. There was the satisfying crack of rib underneath the blow. How many, Cara wasn’t sure. A swift, solid strike to the neck finished it, and she quickly turned and hit the one advancing from behind in the head with the broad side of an Agiel.

Suddenly, her focus broke. Disintegrated, even.

Without thinking, she was compelled to break her guard to glance at Kahlan, to see how she was faring. It was an involuntary response to spontaneous panic, to an image her paranoid mind unexpectedly created: Kahlan being overrun by the attackers. So she stopped, turned, and realized all too late that it was the worst mistake she could have made.

Cara didn’t see it coming. For the record, neither did the tree.

An abrupt, shattering pain in her mouth and neck indicated that she had been slugged across the jaw. Her head snapped to the side with its force, and anger flared as it made contact, anger at herself for becoming distracted and at this bastard for getting the better of her. Before she could spin to return the favor, one strong hand found her collar and the other her belt. Cara snarled and tried to wrench herself free, but she was airborne before the effort paid off. She contorted, suspended above the ground for much longer than necessary, eyes locking on the sneering baneling who had managed to get his hands on her. She promised to kill him just as her back collided with a thick tree trunk.

There was a splintering feeling and, for a moment, Cara imagined her spine being crushed. The back of her head made hard contact as well, blurring her vision and dizzying her. As she came crashing to the ground, her foot rolled painfully under her ankle despite her boot, bending incorrectly underneath the entirety of her weight. She couldn’t catch herself quickly enough – she fell, sprawling on the ground, trying without avail to draw a breath. No air whatsoever passed.

And they swarmed her, two at once, coming after her in vengeance for the ones she had felled. She groped behind herself urgently, searching for something to pull herself up on. She shimmied and clambered her way up the trunk, leaning on it as she reached a standing position. Her ankle felt deadened. Blind desperation moved her arms as she swung with reckless, disoriented abandon. Her heart pounded so fast it should have broken free of her chest, but she remained in control. She whipped one of them in the chin, enough to anger him. The hilt of a knife walloped her on the forehead. She felt skin tear. But she was still conscious. He wasn’t as strong as Richard was –the Seeker had knocked her out with a single strike of the same kind.

Completely trapped, she decided to try kicking her way out. But her ankle combined with the close proximity reduced the attempt to a noble failure. One of the banelings backhanded her across the face. Her lip split in a stinging flash. She let out a cry of rage and swung again, but a fist pounded into her side before there was any follow–through. Hands grabbed both sides of her collar and bashed her head against the tree again. Helplessness flooded her, froze her, a sickening and bizarre sensation. She was instantly reminded of the last time she was in this position. An apparition of a knife strained against her hair, sawing and pulling jaggedly. Outrageously irrational thoughts flooded in, spurred on by the desperation. Maybe her sisters should have made sure they had killed her then; failure there was preferable to failure here with Kahlan. She still could hardly breathe.

The baneling – the same one that had thrown her into this tree – raised his knife. It glinted under in the rapidly dying twilight, along with his eyes, which were crazy with hunger. The world slowed down, and her body seemed to go from heightened sense to complete disappearance. Somewhere far in the distance, somebody might have cried out her name. And the voice, so familiar and terrified, so lovely, brought shame. Right here, she was going to fail. Kahlan would be defenseless. The Mother Confessor’s pure heart. Her promise to Richard. She waited for the knife, the fate she deserved for her failure.

When the pierce didn’t come, though, she forced her eyes open, squinting through the blurriness. The baneling’s face hovered just in front of hers, eyes (they were blue, flecked with gold, and so young) wide with bewilderment, mouth the same. His face froze that way in death as the Mother Confessor gripped his shoulder from behind and wrenched her dagger free of his body. Cara watched, half–coherent, as Kahlan fluidly twirled and met the two remaining banelings, blue eyes glowed with bright ferocity in the shadow of her hood, cold and severe, anger forcing through everything else. Graceful movements completely absorbed Cara’s woozy mind. There was only Kahlan, composed of twist and exertion, fighting almost defiantly. If you want me, take me, she was saying, and Cara blinked to clear her vision.

Almost simultaneously, Kahlan flipped one knife into a reverse grip and stabbed one baneling in the gut and slashed the other’s throat in a quick gush of blood. They both crumpled to the ground as she pulled her weapons back. The men lay motionless at her feet, joining the rest of their group. Kahlan’s chest heaved as she replaced her knives and pulled her hood back. She pushed a lock of curls from her face. There was a streak of blood across her cheek, bold and scarlet against her skin, and Cara’s eyes were automatically drawn to it. Kahlan’s eyes reflected extreme concern as she rushed to the Mord’Sith, eyebrows pulled together, forehead wrinkled.

“Cara!” Her voice wavered with urgency, inflection spiking on the first syllable. Cara shifted, wincing when her weight moved to the injured ankle. “Are you alright?”

Cara blinked again, holding her eyes shut taking a second longer than usual to comprehend the words. “Yes,” she replied. It came out hollow, croaking, lungs still debilitated from the blow to her back. “I thought I told you not to do that.” She hoped she was saying the right words in the right order. She felt detached from them, like they were out of control.

Still, the words were Cara, and Kahlan sighed with relied, allowing a tight smile on the finishing note. “I’ll suffer the consequences later,” she told her. “But, for right now, I’m perfectly fine.” Cara’s nostrils flared, furious at Kahlan’s recklessness, but even more furious at herself for letting her intervention become necessary.

“I’ll gather wood for the bodies,” she muttered, pushing herself off of the tree, finally leaning forward on her own two feet. Her right ankle was dead weight, and it protested the work with a sharp pain up her leg. She redirected it by clenching her fists around her Agiels.

“Do you need help?” Kahlan asked, reaching for her, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No.” Short, clipped, final. Cara didn’t mean to snap at her or jerk away, but she had to get away from there as quickly as possible. Something was wrong. Kahlan didn’t seem convinced – the corners of her lips curled downward into a subtle frown – but the look in Cara’s eyes unnerved her. Reluctantly, she moved aside.

Cara re–sheathed her weapons and took the first staggering step away from the tree. It was the worst, the clumsiest. The weakened joint shook as she placed weight on it. But, blank–faced, she took another step, and then another, growing used to the throbbing sensation as she walked, harnessing it and using it to propel her. Her back was straight with the illusion of strength as she moved, despite the slight hobble of her gait. The ground tilted back and forth. The blow to her head was worse than she thought. She closed her eyes and pressed onward.

When she glanced over her shoulder and could no longer see Kahlan, her knees locked and she grasped another tree trunk, easing herself to the ground. Her head throbbed almost numbly. She could feel warm blood seeping from the gash on her forehead. Her hair was matted with it, dried and tangling, and some of it was her own. Her mouth was dry. When she ran her tongue over her lips, she tasted bitter metal.

The sun had finally set, throwing everything into darkness. Cara’s vision swam sickeningly in and out of focus, and she breathed heavily, almost gulping air. There was heaviness in the pit of her stomach, and it churned menacingly around itself. She bit it back, bidding the nausea back. This reaction was utterly ridiculous and she was ashamed of herself. Tears she would never let fall stung her eyes. Richard was dead. Richard was dead and she hadn’t truly felt it until now, until she nearly failed him. Disgrace grasped her heart. She shuddered against it, bearing it down. She fought the feeling. She hadn’t failed. Kahlan was still alive. She hadn’t failed.

But she came so terrifying close that she could taste it just as clearly she could taste the blood. It was just as bitter.

She gathered herself under painstaking control and rose to unsteady feet. She almost forgot the timber for the banelings’ bodies before she returned to Kahlan.

The flames blazed as they lugged their attackers’ bodies onto the embers. Kahlan made a comment about missing wizard’s fire and Cara’s guts roiled again. But the scent of burning bodies was vengeance that served to distract her for a moment or two.

When they were finished, Kahlan regarded her closely, narrowing her eyes. “You look awful,” she deliberated.

“Thank you,” she replied, sarcastic speech pattern still affected by the exasperating pounding in her head. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Really, Cara, you’re bleeding. And you’re favoring your ankle.”

“No I’m not.” She made a point of shifting to that side, even though her foot shrieked under the pressure. She could take it.

Kahlan pursed her lips in frustration. “You’re only going to make it worse if you do that.” After consideration, she softened, shoulders sinking to calmness. “Come on. There are no others coming.” She gestured to the smoldering pile of wood and charred, incomplete remains. “We’ll get cleaned up and then we can make you a splint.”

The idea of cleansing was enticing. Maybe it would remove the stench of near–failure from her body. But. “I don’t need a…” The end of the argument was overpowered by a sigh. “I’m fine,” she told Kahlan sternly, stubbornly. “I can do it myself.” Through her protest, however, Kahlan was carefully taking Cara’s arm and bringing it around her shoulder. Suddenly they were close together, Cara’s face pressed into Kahlan’s neck before she had a chance to adjust her position. The single breath she had time for was followed by an accidental tremble. Kahlan’s scent hit her with wind–taking force; sweet with a hint of salty sweat, a fierce accent from the fight. Cara’s mouth went dry and she quickly turned her head.

“Let me help you,” Kahlan insisted. “It’s not a crime to need help, and just because you do doesn’t make you weak. You need to learn how to accept that.” Cara glowered, but Kahlan went on. “You’ve done so much for me. Let me do something for you. Besides,” (and here her dark eyebrows arched in the slightest way possible) “you won’t be able to protect me with a lame ankle.”

Kahlan smirked and Cara’s upper lip flinched involuntarily. Didn’t she know it.

“Whatever you desire, Mother Confessor,” she said, giving in for the simplicity of doing so. The sarcasm was half–hearted at best, and not only because her head hurt. There might have been truth mixed in with it.

They began to walk, Cara’s arm slung around Kahlan, elbow bending around her neck. Kahlan held her wrist. When Cara would step on her right foot, Kahlan would use her hips to urge Cara to lean on her. After the first few repetitions, Cara finally complied, and found that it was somewhat of a relief. Kahlan stopped to take a drink, and Cara tried not to stare as she put the waterskin to her lips and took swallow after swallow. When she offered it, Cara took it, silently and begrudgingly thankful. The coolness felt good in her mouth. Some of it spilled out over the numb, swollen part of her lip.

By the time they reached the rushes of the stream, the night air was cold and the fight’s bright adrenaline had worn off. Cara began to feel the extent of her injuries. Pain that would have reduced anyone else to helpless tears caused her to cringe, and she cursed herself for every single one she let show. Her head was heavy, pulsing, and felt too full. The pressure made her shaky. The blood on her forehead had dried, but a tiny bit still trickled from her lip. Her ankle throbbed and her muscles were too tight. It felt like she had been dragged through the underbrush by a horse in full gallop.

“Are you alright?” Kahlan asked her as the let go, eyes filling with badly–hidden unease. Cara nodded, steeling herself against the wicked head–rush that immediately followed the motion. “The look of battle becomes you,” she commented, then, with a tiny smile. “But you’ll feel better when you’re clean.” Cara opened her mouth to tell Kahlan that she felt absolutely wonderful as it was and thanks for asking. There was no sound on the follow–through – she realized protest would be useless. It just wasn’t worth it.

Her movements were automatic, practiced. She dutifully removed her gloves and, with more difficulty, her boots (her ankle was righteously puffy and discolored). Her belt came next, and then she reached back to begin undoing the laces of her leather. Instead, she touched a soft hand as the Mother Confessor beat her to it, gripping the tie from behind.

“Let me help,” she said. But, she hesitated. Cara sighed.

“If you’re going to undress me, then undress me,” said Cara, closing her eyes against the blurriness that came with the exertion of speaking. “If you’re going to play shy, I’ll do it myself. There’s no reason for it. This was your idea, after all.”

She could actually feel Kahlan’s frustrated frown, but she also felt the tie coming undone as Kahlan tugged. Her fingers were timid as they moved on, but also nimble, insistent, purposeful. The touch sent her heart pounding. There was an abrupt pull and apology every so often as the laces confused her. Cara acknowledged them from the corner of her mouth.

The leather fit her like a second skin, and she treated it as such. But still, it felt nice as it loosened and pulled away from her body, exposing sweat–slick skin to the open air. Cold liberation lapped first at her shoulders, then at her breasts, arms, stomach, hips, and below as Kahlan finished. Cara sensed the aversion of her gaze, the flash of blush.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked her, turning (the color of Kahlan’s cheeks deepened) and raising an eyebrow, even though her voice was hollow with the slightest slur. Speaking seemed to make her head feel worse. Her eyes were starting to ache. “This is nothing, just come on. Help me if you’re so ardently committed to it.”

Unable to come up with an argument, Kahlan slowly began to remove her clothing. Her dress fell in a crumpled heap and she was as naked as Cara; Cara made it a point not to look away. Her eyes swept over Kahlan’s body once – she really was quite beautiful, smooth skin and taut muscle and dark hair falling around her bare breasts, and if she had to pinpoint the first stirrings of arousal it would have been that moment – before they returned to hold her gaze, a steadfast, intense stare.

Though she had grown used to bathing with other women, this was different from her experiences. First of all, the water was cold, unlike the steaming baths at the temple. Waist–deep, it assaulted her skin, but she did not allow herself to shiver. Also, it was Kahlan here with her, and Cara knew that she would not have the option of making a relaxing bath anything more than a relaxing bath. All the same, Kahlan bumped against her from behind, breasts brushing against Cara’s back, nipples responsive to the temperature. The contact was unintentional, as Kahlan murmured a bashful apology, but Cara wondered why she had been so close. Maybe it meant nothing – it probably meant nothing, most definitely meant nothing – but the touch sent a shock straight to her core, sparking an intense pulsation between her legs. It had been so long. The water was suddenly much warmer. She did her best to ignore it.

She asked Kahlan to wash her back (with no lack of bothersome necessity) and Kahlan complied. Using handfuls of cold water, she gently rubbed the sweat and grime from Cara’s skin. Appreciative, admiring touches ran over the firm musculature of her shoulders, and Cara would have made a comment about Kahlan being jealous had the touches not been intoxicating her. She stood and stared at nothing at all, lips parted, and eyes drooping as Kahlan’s hands moved below the surface of the water, sliding against the indentation at her lower back. Waves of longing washed over her, spreading from the apex of her thighs. She couldn’t think. She could only focus on Kahlan’s palms and the way they were stroking soft, calming circles on her skin.

Cara knew lust. Desire and its fulfillment were not strange concepts to her by any stretch of the imagination. She could have permanently turned Kahlan’s face apple–red by relaying all she knew. But this wasn’t simply an involuntary carnal response to tactile stimulation; this was something that Cara couldn’t even begin to grasp. A steel blade wrapped in subtlety. It made her chest hurt and her stomach ache, but the sensation only glorified itself, made her want to feel it more. It was akin to what she felt before battle. Every time Kahlan removed her hands, Cara found herself unwittingly holding her breath, anticipating the return of the touch, heart fluttering. She would only exhale, relieved, when Kahlan made contact, proving that she was alive, that she was here. Her breathing had become irregular; a tiny, feeble moan might have escaped with one exhalation, and Cara instantly hated the helplessness it seemed to reveal. Vulnerability sickened her. But it was mixed with the intense desire to let herself give in to it, and that sent her mind reeling. It wasn’t long until she wanted nothing more than to turn, grab Kahlan’s cheeks, knot her fingers in her hair, and press her lips against hers, hard, proving the connection and bringing relief. But that was impossible. Still, she trembled at the thought, just as Kahlan’s fingers ran over her spine.

It was all becoming too much. Her desperate need to not let it get the best of her did simply that. Injury, fatigue, arousal, loathing, and helplessness amplified one another, exacerbated one another, confusing her to near–delirium. There was room for nothing else in her already–confused head. But in the corner a shadow remained, the secret, Richard was dead, and her tongue felt dazed and heavy as the secret slid to the front. Panic gripped her, but she could do nothing. She was going to say it. She was too exposed in this moment, and she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. Living Richard’s ghost had taken a toll on her.

“Kahlan,” she whispered, throat going totally dry.

“Yes?” Her voice felt like it was coming from a mile away. Cara’s head buzzed. She wanted to feel nothing. Tears brimmed in her eyes, blurring her vision even more. She didn’t want to give Kahlan the satisfaction of seeing what this was doing to her, what she was somehow doing to her. But that fell to nothing as she was compelled to turn and look at Kahlan. A few tears spilled over with surprising dignity. The secret flowed to her mouth, to the tip of her tongue, and if she breathed and moved her lips that would be it. It would feel so wonderful to say it. The weight would lift and she would finally be free. Distraction forcing her, she drew a breath and opened her mouth…

Her vision cleared for an instant. She saw Kahlan and the soft, sweet, almost melancholy smile that set the curve of her lips. Her kind eyes seemed to glow in the pale moonlight, looking at Cara, direct to center. The night caressed her skin, causing it to radiate, and Cara was suddenly engulfed by a wave of inward revulsion. If she said it, it would ruin her. She couldn’t believe she had been so careless.

There was so much she couldn’t tell Kahlan, not simply Richard is dead. There was take me and I want you so badly I think it might kill me and you’ve changed me so much and I never want to live without you. All of these culminated in the final, ultimate truth, the one she had just realized while Kahlan was touching her. The murderous anticipation. Primal urge, violent tension that both ripped her heart apart and made it feel whole at the same time. And it hurt; she knew the feeling was not returned. Kahlan felt that way about another, about a man who was dead, and anything she felt for Cara was felt out of obligation to Richard. Cara should have been furious but instead felt powerless and sick.

She broke with a barely–suppressed sob.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracked but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Kahlan hushed her softly, squeezing her shoulder, which did absolutely nothing for Cara’s situation. She leaned into the pressure of skin on skin. “Nothing happened to me. None of this is your fault.”

Kahlan was referring to the fight. Cara was not.

She couldn’t say anything more.

Kahlan helped her to a position that would let her wash her hair. Numbly, Cara tipped her head back, ears dipping below the surface of the stream. Suddenly she could hear nothing. The low, subtle rumble of moving water swirled into her head, and it gradually quieted her mind. Her eyes fluttered closed.

As Kahlan’s fingers began tenderly working through her hair, rinsing the blood away, toying with the tangles, Cara was finally swallowed by the tendrils of blackness.

* * * * *

Kahlan’s kisses were soft, delicate, and Cara should have been irritated by the gentleness. Instead, she found that she liked it more than she ever dreamt she would have. It gave her the opportunity for control, for domination, the opportunity to clasp Kahlan’s lower lip between her teeth and run her tongue along it in warning before opening her mouth against the Mother Confessor’s. And Kahlan, surprised into submission, matched Cara, making the kiss blazing, passionate, tangling her hands in Cara’s hair. It was all the permission Cara needed to round her palm to the contour of Kahlan’s breast. Kahlan gave a little gasp into Cara’s mouth, corners twisting into a shy smile, and the longing Cara felt almost made her scream. Kahlan’s hands slid to the indentation at the small of Cara’s back, needing her closer, needing the friction heat of skin on skin. The Mord’Sith made up for the rest of the distance, leaning into her until Kahlan’s body was flush with hers, appreciative of the fumbling grabs Kahlan was taking.

This was like moving in a dream – subtle, unsure, but undeniably entrancing. In this place, she was free of both injuries and inhibitions, not afraid to let herself feel what she didn’t know how to feel and say what she was so afraid to say. I care about you, only that much stronger. She felt complete, and nothing could be so powerful as to separate her from herself again. Kahlan made up for everything she lacked, all the tenderness and righteousness she tried so hard to get right. This was everything she wanted to have, everything she desired, and here, she could finally have it. This was a safe place, and even though this was so new and daunting to let herself experience, she knew she would survive it. With Kahlan, it would be alright.

She was not incapable of feeling this. This was simply learning how to once again.

Kahlan sighed as Cara’s nails dragged down her back, raising both scratches and gooseflesh as they glided over the skin. She held Kahlan by the curve of her waist as her lips moved to her neck, teeth grazing, biting just for the sake of it. Her one hand slid downward between her breasts and over her firm stomach before it found purchase between Kahlan’s legs. She gave a choked cry of pleasure at Cara’s first touch, and for once the bubbling feeling that rose in Cara’s chest did not feel strange. Kahlan’s arousal was strong and obviously impatient; Cara’s fingers were already covered in her.

Their foreheads were pressed together, and Cara watched with cool satisfaction as Kahlan struggled to keep her eyes open. Her jaw went slack while Cara’s fingertips teased her. She shuddered and moaned as Cara silently denied Kahlan’s desperate pleas to slip them inside. When Cara finally gave that to her, deep and with brilliant expertise, Kahlan’s breath hitched and her fists tightened in blonde hair. She kissed her again, hard, relentless, urgent for release, and the sweet taste of the lip caught between her own was a clever negotiator for Cara. She began to work her fingers, curling as she moved, pulling Kahlan under, and Kahlan’s head lolled forward against her shoulder, mouth agape, bucking into the sensation. Dampness collected in the hollow between Cara’s neck and collarbone, put there by hot breaths and an open mouth. Kahlan was lost in shivers and the rushes of hot fluid that ran onto Cara’s hand. Overwhelmed whines eventually formed trembling words.

“I love you, Cara,” was her breathy promise, and that brought the daydream to an abrupt halt.

Her eyes opened and she was in the wayward pine, dressed in her leather, legs drawn into her chest as she stared into the dark night beyond the entrance. She wasn’t perfect anymore, like she had just been in her mind. The bandage was wrapped tightly around her head, hoping to heal the wound below, and her ankle still smarted even though it had been free from its wrap for an entire day (she had been scolded already, you need to slow down). Inside, too, she felt torn. Guilt clawed at her while her heart still managed to expand. Any arousal she felt was doused with a blast of reality. She had no right to be having those thoughts when Richard was dead. The sudden memory of Richard and Kahlan’s goodbye stuck in her head, faded with time and raw to recall. So sure, so blindly hopeful. All the things it shouldn’t have been.

She had no right to be having those thoughts at all.

But she couldn’t help it, and that loss of control gave the bold underscore to the rest. This person – this infatuated, distracted person – wasn’t her. Somewhere along the way (Cara couldn’t tell where), the situation had changed. This, protecting Kahlan, was no longer a duty placed upon her by the Lord Rahl. She was not here because Richard asked her to be here. She needed Kahlan to stay alive. Kahlan had somehow gotten under her skin and created this, something completely different from what was planned, and Cara was growing terrified that she was beginning to accept it.

In moments of weakness, much like this one, Cara found herself wondering what it would be like if she and Kahlan were the last ones alive. An eternity of them, together, alone but not lonely. Kahlan would have her forever. With a bitter sneer, Cara realized the folly of that sentiment. Kahlan already did have her forever.

And still there was another question behind the question.

With Richard gone – with everyone gone – who would Kahlan have to love?

Leaving the question unanswered, since the resolution only served to make her head spin and chest swell, Cara sighed heavily and looked at Kahlan. She was asleep on the bedroll beside her, body curled away from her, tight with the cold, covered to the waist with a blanket. Her hair was tucked behind her ear and spread behind her head, mouth askew. So peaceful, innocent, even though she was a powerful warrior with a mortality rate that could make even the strongest D’Haran soldier grow pale. If Kahlan could be at peace, so could she. She wanted to feel everything Kahlan felt. The sensation from the daydream pervaded into the real, powerfully but fleetingly. Cara swallowed as it overcame her.

Something was shifting inside of her, trying to claw its way out, a transformation she was wholly unsure of but also wholly unable to suppress. Her training, everything she once knew, told her to fight against it, gnashing teeth and boiling blood. But, all the same, it was there. It had been building up and breaking her down since Richard took his first step away from them, since the first time Kahlan held her hand, since the magic of her Agiels ceased to work.

Being here with Kahlan, she knew they would survive. It wasn’t something she could explain, let alone admit out loud. But that didn’t change the fact that the foolish hope was there, thrumming low in her chest, pulsing through her veins, irrational and infuriating but breathtaking and profound.

Kahlan had her forever. That was unquestionable. Duty and desire intertwined.

Maybe, somehow, she could have Kahlan forever too.

She pushed the thought away with hurry. The thought of someday being enough was too fanciful. There were lines she still wasn’t willing to cross, some parts of herself she wasn’t willing to risk.

Kahlan was starting to fidget in her sleep, legs twitching, hands grasping at the blanket. Tiny noises that might as well have set Cara’s heart on fire came from her throat. Her eyes were still closed; her face was contorting in her dream and passing the wayward pine. Fear, happiness, sadness, anger – Cara couldn’t tell. She also didn’t care. She only knew she wanted to be closer to her.

She tossed a wary glance from side to side and then behind before she realized how idiotic the caution was. Who was going to see her?

So she lay behind Kahlan, drawing near to her, curling against her back. Her knees, bent, fit snugly into the space created by Kahlan’s. Cara couldn’t stand the way she noticed that the grooves of their bodies matched. Her face was buried in the Mother Confessor’s silky hair, and her hand skirted down Kahlan’s arm from her shoulder, always touching but never applying waking pressure, if only to prove to herself that she could be that gentle. Her fingers reached her wrist, which she held in a loose grasp. Defenses lowered, she felt naked, but wasn’t that how this was supposed to be done?

Kahlan responded to this new source of warmth with a contented sigh, dreaming through the contact. Simultaneous shame and jealousy slammed into her. She knew Kahlan wasn’t feeling her arms in her dream. She felt empty, selfish, and she was too proud for this, but she also wanted to hold Kahlan too badly to move away. She felt her, breathed her, swore she could taste her.

If this was all she could ever have, she would take it.

But.

“Cara,” Kahlan breathed, still existing in a world without any semblance of lucidity, speaking through her dream. Tenderness, gratitude, and affection seeped from the soft exhalation of the name, threatening to drown her. Too much, not enough, all at once.

After the initial wave of disbelief, Cara did not even bother trying to stop the smile from spreading across her face.

* * * * *

It began with a hunt, and it ended with a hunt.

Positively vibrating with the thrill of successful killing and the promise of a good meal, feeling like herself, Cara slipped out of the velvety night’s chill and into the wayward pine. Her bow rested over one shoulder, and over the other two large, very dead rabbits were slung, tethered together, swinging back and forth as she moved. She had just run all the way back to their shelter (her ankle was back to prime condition) to show Kahlan her prizes, but her legs barely hinted exertion. The creatures were really quite rare for the season, and, of course, quite delicious. No doubt Kahlan would be excited to prepare the meal.

“Look,” she said as she placed her bow beside her feet, shrugging the rabbits from her shoulder and holding them up for Kahlan to see. They waggled in midair as Cara shook them triumphantly. “I invited some dinner guests.”

But Kahlan didn’t look over or stand up to greet her. She sat on the ground, curled into a tight ball, arms hugging her knees to her chest. Her forehead was creased with some great concern as she stared at the wall with a distant, and there was this dark gleam to her eyes, mouth drawn to a tight line. She looked like she was about to break in half. Cara pursed her lips. Apprehension began to settle in the pit of her belly. This moodiness wasn’t like Kahlan. She hadn’t even acknowledged Cara. The silence amplified the tension, and she just kept staring. Cara held her defeated prey out for a moment longer before retracting her arm uneasily.

Maybe it was nothing. She decided to play it off as such.

“I see,” she commented, just loud enough for Kahlan to hear her playful sarcasm. A glimmer of caution remained. She quirked an eyebrow. “I suppose I’m just expected to chase these fleet–footed bastards for nearly an hour in order to provide for the Mother Confessor’s repast. How foolish of me to wait for some expression of appreciation. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Normally, Kahlan would have given Cara a faintly bothered look, or perhaps even giggled. But not this time. Nothing in her body language even hinted that she had heard Cara. She dropped the rabbits entirely and placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head to one side, narrowing her eyes in something that resembled worry.

“Kahlan,” she called firmly after another moment of discomforting quiet. Finally, Kahlan moved, but not much. She pushed a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear – automatic, force of habit, Cara had seen it countless times – before she replaced her arm.

When she spoke, her voice was next to nothing, hoarse with tears that must not have been ready to come yet.

“Richard’s dead, isn’t he?” It was flat and blunt – closer to a statement than a question. Cara’s heart squeezed painfully and quickened while her stomach coiled around itself. The secret flared inside of her, curling like fire in her chest. She let none of that touch her face. She didn’t let herself falter. It was quick reaction and proficient skill: hide the pain and panic roiling beneath. She reverted to the instincts given to her by her training: let nothing show.

“Why would you think that?” Composed but concerned. A good ruse.

And here Kahlan looked at her from the corner of her eye, biting her lip, thinking it through. Cara allowed herself to calm; it seemed that Kahlan had no proof. Sure enough, she answered, “It was that feeling again. That pressing, sickening feeling that I should be thinking about him. Only this time, it told me he was…” She didn’t allow herself to finish the sentence, as if saying it would make it true. Instead, she shivered. Cara shifted her weight, leather creaking, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, opening her mouth again.

“You’re basing this on a feeling?” She let exasperation flow into her voice and let her forehead wrinkle in disbelief.

“I suppose I am,” Kahlan replied after a moment, with a weak smile that didn’t touch her eyes. Her skin was sickly pale. “It’s silly, that’s true. But I need to know. Enough has happened to us that I can’t simply ignore this.” The smile faded. “I need to prove to myself that I’m insane.” She paused, then, looking down at her hands before her ice–blue gaze locked with Cara’s once again. “Let me touch one of your Agiels.”

She extended her hand. Cara’s eyes widened. Impulse took over.

“No,” she answered quickly with just enough excess bite to support it, taking an unconscious step back. “I’m sworn to protect you from harm of any kind, and that includes my own Agiels. I can’t let you do that.”

The words came out emptier than she would have liked.

“I understand, Cara, but…” She sighed as she thought of how to continue. “I don’t care.” Cara’s gaze hardened, but Kahlan went on. “I can take the pain as long as it’s telling me that Richard is still alive, still fighting. That he’s still coming back someday. Besides, we both well know that I can handle the touch of an Agiel. So, please.”

The beginnings of a cold sweat broke out across her skin, dampening her forehead and beneath the collar of her leather. Kahlan was staring at her, and those piercing eyes were in danger of seeing right through her.

“No. Stop ask–”

“Cara.” The melody of her voice was replaced by frozen marble. Grave, sober, completely seriously. Coming from her lips that way, the name sounded like a curse. Her expression matched her tone: hard, blank, neither smile nor frown, telling nothing of what lay beneath. It was a Confessor’s face, the one she wore in Aydindril. The ultimate warning. Cara balked. Seeming to step out of Kahlan’s skin, the Mother Confessor gave her command. “Hand me an Agiel.”

Cara didn’t need to be confessed to be obliged to obey. Chilled to the bone, she was forced into reluctant action.

Stripped bare of her resistance, succumbing to crippling futility under the frost of the Mother Confessor’s gaze, she reached for her hip. Slowly, deliberately, her fingers curled around the hilt of an Agiel and she drew it with equal care. Her fist squeezed automatically. It felt heavy. The lack of pain seemed hollower than it ever had before. Instant she was reminded of that first time: that escaped doe, the shock, and the secret she had promised to keep. All of it resonated inside of her, ebbing and flowing with her heartbeat. She hoped Kahlan couldn’t sense it. Not that it mattered anymore. Everything was about to come crashing down and all Cara could do was turn her weapon so that the handle faced Kahlan. The gold chain dangled there, dancing with the almost imperceptible tremor of Cara’s hand. This was defeat, and never before had it felt like this. But she kept her head high, eyes narrowed, fastened to Kahlan’s.

Their hands moved closer to one another. The hilt was nearing Kahlan’s fingertips. They were suspended in midair as time ran too slowly. Just an inch farther and it would be done. The secret writhed within Cara, excited at the promise of destruction, wrenching itself free, preparing to lunge into the open.

Just before Kahlan’s fingers brushed the weapons, Cara halted, retracting her arm slightly. The Agiel was still outstretched, but neither made a move – Cara didn’t snap it the rest of the way back, and Kahlan didn’t take hold of it.

And Cara gazed at her, throat suddenly dry and eyes suddenly wet, stomach turning and chest cleaving. Her mouth opened but words wouldn’t come. There were no words. So she looked at Kahlan, looked at her hard, trying to convey absolutely everything. Everything this was supposed to be, everything it wasn’t. What they could have had, what she tried to do and why. Apology washed over the rest, dreary and gray. In one look, she tried to show enough sorrow for a lifetime. But she knew that was impossible. Nothing she could say or do would make this hurt any less. She held her breath and waited. All was deadly silent.

This would be unforgivable; the loss of that forever Cara had scolded herself for hoping for.

Kahlan grasped the hilt just as Cara convinced herself to let go.

There was a moment of absolutely nothing. Kahlan filled Cara’s vision, taking over everything else, distracting her from the too–fast rhythm of her heart. She was staring blankly at the Agiel in her hand, waiting for something to happen, waiting to feel jolting agony crawl up her arm and through the rest of her body. And Cara could tell by the way her expression changed, face dropping. Her emotions were sharply defined, simple fluctuations. First confusion, then curiosity, furrowed brow and tiny frown. Disbelief followed next, and then her eyes widened in terror she couldn’t possibly conceal.

With a flurry of movement, she cast the Agiel away, flinging it to the ground in reaction to pain of a different kind. Her breath both quickened deepened, as she gaped at the hand from which the weapon had just fallen. Premise met conclusion with an involuntary gasp and a hand clamped to her mouth. Cara immediately opened her own, stepping toward the Mother Confessor.

“Kahlan–”

“How long?” It was a quick, hushed whisper, a painful crack of the voice muffled by the hand before it. Her intense watch remained on the discarded Agiel, as if she could put the magic back into them by sheer force of will alone, as if she could will Richard back to life. Cara took to long to answer, so Kahlan repeated herself, and her voice managed to harden and tremble at the same time. The careful emphasis dashed on each word hit Cara with nearly–physical force. “How long?” Not shrill, carefully checked. The waver in her voice was haunting.

“A fortnight. Maybe more,” Cara answered without hesitation, quieting, gaze dropping to her boots. There was no point in protest now.

Each world that fell from her mouth shattered her. Kahlan was breaking. The Mother Confessor’s pure heart, ripped from her chest and maimed with a battle axe. Cara was rendered motionless as Kahlan’s eyes opened, unseeing, covered by a shroud of devastating loss, darkening the blue. Her forehead was creased deeply in distress. She made a fist and clamped her teeth around the knuckle of her first finger to hold back the rush of agony. Nothing came of it – she was too grief–shocked to let tears flow. She held her midsection with the other arm to quell nausea and the pain was poisoning her blood, flowing through her, tainting everything else inside.

“A fortnight,” she repeated, voice jagged and tight. “Weeks!” It became a cry of fury and she snapped to meet Cara’s eyes abruptly. The pitch of it reverberated in Cara’s spine, filling the shelter. She flinched, but hastily recovered. Kahlan’s eyes were wild, cheeks red, mind trying to grasp too many ideas at once all while avoiding the most disturbing. “It’s been weeks? Cara, why didn’t you tell me!” The last words came out as a croak.

Cara’s mouth opened and closed. Her heartbeat provided the background rhythm as she tried to remember the explanation. Kahlan’s eyes were burning into her, and she felt swallowed by them. Coherence and focus seemed to slip through her fingers. She grasped it mentally, willing herself to stay in control, but it was to no avail.

“Because I wanted to protect you!” she exclaimed in defense, gesturing with open palms, desperate for Kahlan to see. Oh, if she would just see. “I needed to protect you, Kahlan, from everything! And I couldn’t tell you because it would destroy you.” Because this would happen. And it happened anyway. Damned if she had, damned because she didn’t. Damned from the very beginning, since the moment they arrived here, since the very moment she set eyes on the Mother Confessor.

“But Kahlan, you can go on. As long as you stay alive, Richard will not have died in vain.” Her voice shook fiercely but she went on no matter how ridiculous it made her feel. “He would want you to go on, Kahlan. He loved you and if you love him like I know you do, you’ll do it for him.” The words were unrehearsed but they came easily. Maybe she did have some kind instinct for this. It wasn’t lost forever.

But Kahlan was beyond hearing. Slowly, she stood and straightened, eyes fixed on a point somewhere past Cara’s head. Cara clenched her fists until her arms quaked, trying to keep calm despite the desperation rising inside of her.

“Kahlan.” Please understand. Please don’t hate me. Please stay alive, for Richard, for me. She meant all of these but said none of them.

Again, Kahlan didn’t respond. Her breathing was ragged, chest heaving. Her gaze remained transfixed on that invisible spot.

“Richard is dead,” she murmured, saying it to herself for the first time. The absurdity made her recoil and touch her lips, eyes widening in panic. “Richard is dead.” It wasn’t any better the second time around. She looked like she might vomit. Cara edged backward. Kahlan’s voice quickened. “Richard is dead. Richard–”

A strangled, guttural moan sliced through the words and ended the repetition.

What followed the sound was something that Cara had overlooked.

Something Cara couldn’t see slammed into Kahlan, hitting her solidly in the chest, causing her frame to buckle and sway. The pain of the blast first sent her eyes bulging, mouth opening in a breathless gasp. Her face contorted again, and she squeezed her eyes shut and bared her teeth against the tumult rising inside. Harsh broken grunts emanated from her as her entire body began to convulse. Violent spasms caused her teeth to gnash and her vocalizations and labored shook along with the rest. And somehow Cara’s senses were in tune with this – her heartbeat moved and changed right along with Kahlan. The connection was disorienting, surreal; she could feel every pulse of Kahlan’s movements, swelling in her own blood. Tiny disturbances in the air, thrown off from Kahlan’s body, strained and tense as the source, and they caused the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle. Phantom Agiels prodded all over her body. They told her to run from this.

With a brutal rush of heart–stopping alarm, she knew. This happened before, a very long time ago.

Mord’Sith were afraid of nothing. She had prided herself on that ever since she could remember.

Mord’Sith were afraid of nothing, but the Con Dar of the Mother Confessor could have passed as an exception.

For the first time, the wayward pine seemed too small. The branch–walls of their home, the one they had built, were suddenly the bars of a cage. Cara was about to turn and sprint – just to give Kahlan time to calm down, if she even could calm down – but it was too late.

For a split second, there was utter silence. Kahlan threw her head back. The motion was one of utmost grace.

Then, a scream tore from her lungs; a scream that sent shards of terror through Cara’s entire body; a scream that could have raised the dead. Scarlet swirled in her eyes, reaching out from her pupils and devouring the whites.

Cara stood there, immobilized by fear. But there was something else in her gut, both dense and heavy. This was captivating, majestic. It proved that Kahlan was still strong – that she had fight left within her.

But Cara did not have much of a chance to be captivated, because before another heartbeat passed, Kahlan was lunging at her, arm outstretched, hand curved distinctly to fit Cara’s throat. This time, there was nobody to hold her back.

A surge of adrenaline linked Cara’s mind to instinct. With speed that seemed impossible even to her, she drew her other Agiel and slammed it into Kahlan’s wrist in one fluid motion. In her state, Kahlan was less than affected by it – her arm barely even moved – but it gave Cara enough room to dodge the grab, bending sharply away from Kahlan’s hand. Fighting for survival, life or death, not properly calculating the risks, she wrapped her arms around Kahlan’s waist and hurtled into her. Grunting with exertion and the release of fright, she wrenched Kahlan’s legs from underneath her and drove her into the hard ground, bringing the entirety of her weight down on top of her.

She immediately clambered to straddle Kahlan’s hips, and though Kahlan was taller, the leverage Cara had gained overpowered her. Somehow Cara managed to pin Kahlan’s wrists to either side of her head, being extremely careful of her hands. One touch and it would be over.

Scarlet had mixed with Kahlan’s irises to create another layer of black. Dark red circles blossomed beneath each eye, and she looked unhinged, savage. She screamed again, thrashing beneath Cara’s weight, arching her back and writhing at the unwelcome suppression. And Cara unconsciously screamed right back at her, just as loud, drawing strength from the noise that ripped from her own throat, keeping Kahlan’s wrists trapped. But her biceps soon began to quake violently with the effort. Kahlan was strong, and even more so now.

Kahlan thrashed her head against the ground and shrieked through a clenched jaw, showing Cara her teeth. All of the gentleness was gone from her eyes, the smile had left her lips, and she was not Kahlan. Kahlan was gone, replaced by this wrath and frenzy.

Kahlan couldn’t see her. Kahlan couldn’t see how hard she was fighting for her. Kahlan couldn’t see how much she needed her to stay alive.

That was more terrifying than the Con Dar.

Cara’s elbow locked and then gave out. Force smashed into her hips. Before she knew it, she was on her back, dazed, propped up by her elbows; Kahlan leaned over her, hair falling forward, one palm on the ground, the other curled around the column of Cara’s throat.

This was it. Death. Failure. Ghosts of words floated to consciousness. Confess me. I deserve it. Because she did. She should be subject to no worse fate.

Something else escaped her lips as tears stung her eyes. It was soft, pleading, utterly panicked. Her hands were shaking. “Kahlan.” Those chilling eyes, the gaze of the Blood Rage, continued to stare into hers. But she still hadn’t confessed her. “Kahlan, please, stop. It’s me, Kahlan, you need me.” I need you.

Pleading for her life with a Confessor was the way Cara had once been terrified she would die. But never this Confessor.

Kahlan was still watching her with that wild calm in her onyx eyes, and a tiny change in the angle of her chin implied a possible reaction. Cara took the opportunity to breathe and blink back tears. “Kahlan, you don’t want to hurt me, and I never meant to hurt you. I did not want this to happen either. Kahlan, it’s me. It’s Cara.”

It was the name that did it, echoing so far into Kahlan’s mind that it managed to fracture the furor. Her grip on Cara’s throat loosened as her eyes closed. Cara took a gasping breath, choking as cold air filled her lungs, and scrambled to a more proper sitting position, scooting away until her back was against the wall. She took spastic, impulsive clutches at her throat, feeling for damage. It was sore from the crushing grip, but she was not dead.

Kahlan’s body swayed weakly for a moment before her eyes slid open again. The color slowly returned to normal, darkness churning in reverse until bright blue revealed terror at the comprehension of what she had just almost done. Her mouth fell open, and her eyes matched the wary fear in Cara’s. Her whole body trembled. Wetness pooled at her bottom eyelids until it could not be contained. She broke again.

The anguished wail of all hope lost was undoubtedly worse than the bloodcurdling screams of the Con Dar.

Without warning, she reached for Cara, burying her head in the crook of her neck. Her entire weight, frightfully exhausted, slumped against Cara’s side. Fists grasped at her body, trying without success to take handfuls of leather. Kahlan’s sobs were deep and shuddering, and her throat sounded raw with every breath she drew in. Cara knew that she should wrap her arms around Kahlan’s shaking body, knew that was expected, so she did. It was strange, but not unpleasant, she decided, giving comfort instead of giving pain. Kahlan’s response was to cling to her more tightly, bawl more freely, hide her face more completely in Cara’s neck. Hot tears fell onto her skin and rolled beneath her collar as Kahlan wept.

Cara pressed her face into Kahlan’s disheveled hair, inhaling. Her body was still so warm. She was still alive. She would go on.

Still, she said nothing. No reassurances, no everything will be alright. It would have no meaning to Kahlan right now. There was no concept of future in the throes of agony, Cara knew. So instead, she shifted her position, moving to hold her more fully, curling herself around Kahlan’s body in the same way that Kahlan was curled around hers. This was good. This was how to help her.

Cara made her promise.

In a world without the Seeker, in a world without Richard, they would survive. Kahlan would see. The last ones alive; an eternity of them.

Kahlan had her forever.

A few silent, reserved tears rolled over Cara’s cheeks before she could persuade them otherwise. The strength of the Mord’Sith combined with whatever it was that Kahlan had influenced her to become. Two parts, not incongruous as once believed, discovering how to coexist. She allowed it.

She held Kahlan until she had cried herself numb.

~ ~ ~