LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

For Want of a Nail

orange_creative

Title: For Want of a Nail

Author: orange_creative

Fandom: Legend of the Seeker

Pairing(s): Cara/Kahlan, Cara/Dahlia–friendship

Rating: PG (for now)

Summary: The Spell of Undoing changed much more than ever expected.

Spoilers: Through the S2 finale, but this is a completely AU verse. Very, very AU, but so very familiar.

word count: 2,735

A/N: I should mention that Kahlan will not make an appearance for a while and for the first few installments, it will focus on Cara and Dahlia. Beta’ed by my most–awesome friend sinisterseraph. I ♡ you shipping all the femslash couples in LotS as much as any gay lady.

Disclaimer: Copyrights associated with Legend of the Seeker and the Sword of Truth do not belong to me.

For Want of a Nail

orange_creative

Minuscule tendrils of magic seeped through the cracks of time intent with a destination. It moved with one simple purpose that made the magic undetectable and invisible to even the most talented wizards. The complexity of the magic resided in bringing it to a new destination, already accomplished, as the wisp of a spell seeped upward from the floorboards of a schoolhouse. It had traveled years back in time, no longer summer, and moved through the fresh air of a springtime morning.

At the largest desk, the teacher of a dozen young children felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She had been the teacher at Stowecroft to many years and her sharp gaze cast about the room furtively, wondering, but saw nothing out of place, nothing suspicious. She tried to relax and when she couldn’t, she focused on the children who were silently scratching at their chalkboards, oblivious to her suspicions. The magic kept moving until it found the girl with glossy light brown hair. As soon as the furtive spell touched her, it disappeared into the springtime air, never seen, never known.

Dahlia blinked and looked up from the sloppy drawing of a flower she had been scribbling instead of the answer to the basic arithmetic equation that Miss Cronson had written on the larger blackboard at the front of the modest classroom. She decided she didn’t like her flower and erased it, swinging her bright brown eyes to the blonde girl sitting next to her. Cara, her best friend, hunched over her work. She diligently worked at the math problem while her legs kicked back and forth underneath the hem of a new dress that Cara’s mother had sewn the week before. Dahlia’s was a matted yellow, not unlike the color of Cara’s hair, and dark green. It was her favorite.

“Cari,” Dahlia whispered once Miss Cronson looked away, “Want to play after school today?”

Cara’s green eyes flickered up to see if the teacher was paying attention. Satisfied, she replied with quiet eagerness, “I found a nest of baby birds behind my house.”

Dahlia’s eyes immediately widened, silently communicating her approval. They were a pair of girls who had the common interest of finding small animals and critters in need of help. Injured animals, stray cats and dogs, were often brought home to be cared for, much to the chagrin of their parents though they were never denied. Dahlia was suddenly looking forward to the afternoon.

Miss Cronson’s eyes swept back across the room, landing on the two knowingly. They quieted instantly at being caught, eyes dropping to slates and dust covered fingers. Dahlia liked her teacher well enough, she was nice and helpful, but sometimes the older woman looked at the children with unsettling calculation. Dahlia, too young to recognize her own suspicion, assumed that was the normal behavior of teachers.

There was little time for the remainder of class and it was passed in relative silence broken by the school mistress’ lessons and quiet whispers of other students. Occasionally, Cara or Dahlia would write each other clumsy, misspelled notes or doodles, stifling their giggles behind their hands. When the school period ended, the dozen or so kids started filing out, happy to have the rest of the day to themselves.

“You did very well today girls,” the teacher walked over to Dahlia and Cara, stopping them so that they were the last three to leave.

“Thank you, Miss Cronson,” came the chorus, ever polite.

“Though you have the habit of paying more attention to each other than the lesson,” the lines surrounding the older woman’s mouth curved around the benevolent smile at the pair of chagrined expressions she received, “And what do you two plan on doing with your day off tomorrow?”

“My father is taking me fishing!” Cara declared excitedly, standing on her toes with her elation.

“Doesn’t that sound fun? Do you know where?” There was a demanding quality in woman’s voice that the two girls failed to notice.

Cara rocked back and forth on her heels, words spilling from her mouth in the careless way that children spew, “The stream by our house. He says the fishes come back up the river now and that it’s easier to catch them. He says I’m old enough to learn how.”

Miss Cronson hummed in agreement, though her smile held a secret, and turned her attention to Dahlia, “And will you be fishing too?”

Dahlia shook her head sadly, “I don’t like putting the worms on hooks. It looks like it hurts awfully to be stuck on one.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s very painful.” Indulgence glinted in the Miss Cronson’s eyes, “Just staying home then? I’m sure that’s not very fun.”

Dahlia ducked her head and whispered like she had a secret, “Cari says she found a bird’s nest at her house.”

Cara interjected immediately, exclaiming, “I’m gonna show Dahlia and we’re going to feed them and raise them because their mama bird is gone!” She bit her lip, knowing her enthusiasm got the best of her, but having not real intention of curbing it.

“How very sweet of you,” Miss Cronson ushered the girls toward the door, “I suppose I should let you go so the little birds aren’t so lonely.”

Dahlia and Cara went, talking with animation about plans of a birdhouse and foraging for seeds as food. When their voices finally disappeared, Miss Cronson walked back to her desk and sat down. A hidden bottom was within one of the drawers and from it she pulled a worn, leather journal. She dipped her quill in ink and began writing.

Sisters, I have chosen two with promising potential…

* * * * *

The final hour of light was settling, casting the dried grass in golden hues and darkening the green of the forest into warm browns. Cara and Dahlia were only a little ways into the forest behind Cara’s house, just out of sight behind the bend of the nearby stream. They had already coddled and fed the three little sparrows nesting in a branch that was easy to reach for two determined nine–year–olds. The incessant, hungry chirping had elicited a near constant stream of giggles from the girls. Quiet had settled over the nest once the little bellies were full.

Cara’s mother had already called for them to return home for dinner, but their pleading had garnered them a few extra moments of play in the fading sun. Dahlia’s father had come and went, intending to bring his daughter home for dinner but relented when the girls put on their cutest pleading faces to let Dahlia stay for not only dinner, but for the night. With no school on the next day’s horizon, it was an easy request to fill.

“Shouldn’t we go back soon?” Dahlia asked Cara, who at the edge of the stream, trying to spot a fish. The shadows were growing longer and heavier by the minute and Dahlia didn’t like the darkness, even if Cara’s house was so close by.

The blonde flailed her hand at Dahlia, “Quiet,” she whispered, “I see one right… there.”

Dahlia tip–toed next to the other girl and crouched down next to the stream, eyes straining to see past the kaleidoscope of water for the fish that Cara had spotted. A dark shadow scurried, then swam quickly upstream, dragging two pairs of eyes with it in fascination.

“I bet father will catch it,” Cara trailed off momentarily, “Tomorrow.”

Dahlia looked up at the distraction in Cara’s voice, but the blonde was no longer looking down into the water. Her body held an unnatural stillness that caused the hair on the back of Dahlia’s neck to stand on end.

“What-,” started Dahlia, but Cara was suddenly pushing, prodding, dragging her away from the stream.

Cara shushed her emphatically, small fingers brushing urgently against her shoulders, her mouth, “We have to go-to the-to the rock. Father said to run to the rock. We have to go to the rock. Hurry!”

Dahlia followed her, confused, as Cara kept repeating the rock-the rock?-and that they needed to get to it. They followed the stream, Dahlia barely keeping up with Cara’s chaotic strides.

“Cara?” It was spoken with so many questions and Dahlia felt fear scrawling up and down her spine with greater and greater urgency. Cara had never acted so panicked, so distressed.

“The rock, Dahlia!” Cara pulled the other girl forward near violently.

A large boulder was before them, just big enough to reach a hand–span above their heads but twice as wide and long. A small, thick bush grew at its base, innocuous. Cara pushed it aside, revealing a niche at the bottom of the boulder, the dirt dug out beneath it that made the little crevice bigger, but gave no sign beyond the brush of tampering. It was barely big enough for one of them.

Just one of them.

“You need-don’t say anything, quiet-father said to pretend to be invisible,” the blonde girl’s words scarcely made sense, but Dahlia understood.

She needed to be tight–lipped like hide–and–go–seek. Cara pushed her in without prelude until Dahlia could only feel the damp earth on her bottom and the chilled stone at her back. Her legs were scrunched up against her chest and Dahlia’s mouth buried in her knees, muffling her labored breaths.

“Cara?” Dahlia spoke softly one last time.

“Hush,” Cara let the dense bush fall back into place, coating Dahlia in relative darkness, “Don’t move.”

At first, Dahlia could see nothing, but she heard Cara pacing around the rock, heard unintelligible noises of anxiety. The little brunette shifted and she had all of a sliver of a view beyond her hiding place. She understood very little of what she saw, flashes of color, until she realized that it was Cara moving back and forth in front of the boulder. She had a handful of grass in one hand, frantically rubbing it along the path they took. Their steps were wiped away, but Cara’s amateur efforts did little to actually hide their tracks.

Heavy footsteps, creaking of leather. Dahlia knew, she understood and terror gripped her like never before. Her parents had told her what she was supposed to do if she ever saw a woman in red leather. Mord–Sith.

A dark brunette woman appeared in Dahlia’s line of vision, but she was moving swiftly. The damning crimson of her leather snapped toward Cara, fingers like snakes around the blonde girl’s wrist.

“Where’s your friend, child?” The Mord–Sith holding her arm snarled harshly, “If you tell us we won’t hurt you.”

“No!” Cara struggled valiantly, uselessly, tugging against the iron grip, “Let me go!”

The Mord–Sith ignored the blonde and spoke to another who appeared just behind her, “Search the forest, she can’t be far.”

Mord–Sith were familiar with families attempting to hide their daughters, finding and creating make–shift safe havens in case the women of the cruel sisterhood appeared. Sometimes it worked, but more often than no,t the simple and ignorant peasants were not clever enough to save their girls. Mord–Sith laughingly called the search for these hiding spots as “finding the cache,” turning the hunt into a game as to which Mord–Sith would find hiding place first. Whoever discovered the terrified girl won the privilege of being the first to bring the girl into submission. The first to touch innocent skin with an agiel. Though not competitive, there were a handful of Mord–Sith who were lauded for their talent to track and find a cache.

Cara stilled momentarily as she watched the other Mord–Sith start searching the ground for tell–tale tracks, nearly at a loss, but her cunning mind-such a smart, sweet girl-worked quickly, “If I tell you where she is, will you let me go?”

The intense, piercing focus of the Mord–Sith turned to Cara while Dahlia’s heart pounded loudly in her ears. Had she heard Cara correctly? Her best friend was offering to betray her? Her small brown eyes started stinging with oncoming tears and her fingers tightened painfully on her dress. She was too close to run if Cara revealed her, at the mercy of her friend’s loyalty.

“Of course,” the Mord–Sith lied easily, manipulation lacing her words like the dark web of an agiel on alabaster skin, “We only need one of you. Tell me and I’ll let you go.”

Dahlia eyes clenched shut, her body vibrating with fear. Once taken, adult and child alike, no one was ever seen again. If Cara could save herself, why wouldn’t she?

The blonde child’s voice shuddered as she replied, “Her father already came for her. T–To bring her home for dinner. T–They should s–still be on the path, or at her h–house,” Cara pulled at her wrist again with pleading gentleness, “Please? Please, let me go.”

“Sister Nathair said the other house is neighboring. It should be across the cut of forest.” The Mord–Sith ignored Cara, tilting her head in the direction of Dahlia’s homestead. The other woman left in a dash.

Dahlia watched as the brunette tormentor started dragging Cara away, back toward Cara’s house and the main road. Cara screeched and clawed at the hand that held her, but nothing slowed down her kidnapper. Dahlia wanted to help, to rush out and pound her fists against the red leather until Cara was free, but terror froze her like a heavy stone at the bottom of a winter river. When Cara’s eyes locked on the brush that Dahlia was hidden behind, so intense and purposeful that Dahlia was sure that Cara could see her, it felt like a jolt through her young body, that she should do something, anything at all. One of the most important people in Dahlia’s life was about to be carried away to a nightmare that parents didn’t just use to threaten their children into obedience, but visibly terrified adults as well. Just as she was about to command her body to move, Cara shook her head ever so slightly, as if she knew exactly what her best friend intended. The small brunette stopped herself and her last image of Cara were frightened green eyes.

When she couldn’t see Cara anymore, Dahlia tucked herself into a tight ball, limbs pressed hard and uncomfortable against each other. She buried her face into her thighs and cried quietly, tears heavy with dark emotions she had never known. She cringed when she heard Cara’s father yelling in alarm, distantly. His roars became howls of agony, then his voice was silent. There were faint cries and the sound of horses.

Dahlia did not know how long she stayed tucked in the crook of the boulder. Night’s darkness had laid its blanket for a couple of hours already. A chill settled in her bones, making her shiver, but she was too afraid to venture out. What if the Mord–Sith were still there, merely waiting for her to appear? She couldn’t see them in the dark.

A scuffle sounded close by. Dahlia stilled, holding her breath as she tried to peer into the forest, faintly illuminated by the moon. Had the Mord–Sith come back? Perhaps it was just an animal, the wind playing among the leaves. The scuffles became the tramping of feet, of someone searching.

“Dahlia? Dahlia? Are you there?” The brush was suddenly pushed aside and the worried, tear streaked face of Cara’s mother appeared, “Oh, dear spirits, you’re okay!”

At the sight of a friendly face, Dahlia couldn’t contain the sudden burst of emotion, every loud sob that she had held in bubbling forth from her trembling lips. Cara’s mother quickly reached out, pulling the crying child into her arms. They held each other tightly, the blonde mother crumbling to her knees. Their tears held relief, but more for the sorrow of a young, noble girl named Cara Mason.

* * * * *

In another world, Dahlia had admired her flower picture and because she liked it, she skipped home to pick a bouquet of daises from the meadow close by. She would have made a crown of dandelions and pretended to be a princess until her mother called her in for dinner. She would have been home the next day with no savior when the Mord–Sith came for her.

One simple thought instead of another.

That was how the Spell of Undoing changed everything.

Part 2

Twelve years later…

It was easy to accept her fate when she had nothing worth cherishing. She stood among the ranks of the deadliest, most elite warriors of D’hara, but she was nothing more than a tool to the reigning Lord Rahl. This didn’t bother her, she filled a purpose and a duty that only a select few could and that filled her with pride. Despite that, she disdained her sisters and their insignificant power plays for Darken’s favor. She loathed every slave she broke, each proving how weak and frail people truly were underneath their pretty words and snake oil smiles. The world she lived in was shadows, blood, and puppeteered pleasure.

Through the years she had tried pursing semblences of relationships, telling herself it was about pleasure and power, not about the desire to hold someone close and help her forget about the dungeon she awoke to every morning. She could never spend too much time in the company of any one sister, their darker ambitions eventually rearing their disgusting heads.

Constance gave her body in return for influence, thinking that her empty gift of pleasure was worth enough to keep anyone twisted around her finger. Triana schemed and plotted to bring herself glory in the hopes of one day leading her own temple. Cara took to unceremoniously dismissing her bedmates as soon as pleasure had been sated because letting them stay always led to tiresome and disappointing pillowtalk.

The only sister that Cara tolerated and consistently sought out was Mistress Denna.

Their first few times could be described as savage at best. They tore at each other, biting, clawing, and leaving so many marks on each other’s skin that the other sisters began rumoring that there was a rift between her and Denna, the battlefield a spread of red silken bedsheets. It may have been.

When Cara had Denna pinned beneath her, she gladly gave into the urge to smash the back of her hand across Denna’s face. The older blonde’s head would snap hard to the side, lip splitting, cheek reddening, her breath coming heavy and quick.

She would look at Cara, and say, “More. Give me more.”

Cara purged herself in Denna’s blood, then returned the favor.

It was enough for her until Darken Rahl began calling her to his chambers in the evenings. Other sisters started to avoid Cara in the days following those nights, when she became quicker to reply with her agiel or cruel words. Denna never skirted her, purposefully sought her out.

They spoke very little, other than to direct and convey their needs. Months passed this way, a ritual of appearing in each other’s quarters and leaving afterward without prompting. A day came that Cara lingered, feeling more ravished and tired than usual after covering Rahl’s marks with Denna’s. They did not touch afterward and the other blonde lay a small distance across the bed, tangled in crimson sheets, eyes closed though she wasn’t sleeping. Cara couldn’t say why she didn’t get up and leave as she routinely did, but she stared aimlessly at the dark specks of their blood, scattered along the bedspread like little secrets.

After several long mintues in silence, Denna spoke softly, in a hidden voice that pulled Cara’s eyes to her, “Pain is the one experience common to every living thing. It unites us.”

The phrase was commonly repeated during their early years of training, but that night it took on an entirely different meaning. Cara became aware of her discontent then and that Denna felt it too. They had learned to find comfort in pain, the only constant.

“Have you ever thought to end it?” Cara replied wistfully, somehow knowing she could speak with a certain frankness.

Denna’s eyes opened and gazed distantly beyond the stone ceiling, “Always.”

Suicide among Mord–Sith was an unspoken secret. When a sister took her own life, those that knew her went on as if she didn’t exist. To die outside of battle was a dishonor. Life was nothing but pain and misery and taking the easy way out was seen as nothing more than cowardly and frail. True Mord–Sith were neither.

Neither spoke of it again, but the trysts continued. No questions, no comments, just knowing glints reflecting in their eyes.

* * * * *

Two months after Lord Rahl starting taking a sexual interest in Cara, she missed her blood cycle. She could have lied to herself, told herself that recently heavy thoughts had affected her body’s routine. It was not unheard of, but Cara couldn’t even believe the words from her own lips. Her adept and survivalistic mind didn’t let something as silly as stress bother her.

She was with child and no doubt existed about the paternity of the father. She had stopped taking other male lovers once she began regularly visiting her lord’s bed.

The knowledge of her situation in the following days plagued her mind to distraction, so noticeable that Denna confronted her.

Their mouths melded together, her fingers deep inside Denna, Cara thrust rythmically while trying to think of anything other than the envitable time that her body would start changing. Rahl heritage would be deduced quickly, leading to a temperary suspension from missions, possibly confined to the temple until delivery. Too many thoughts, too many doubts to ignore with only her own mind for company.

Denna suddenly ripped her mouth away and pushed Cara off of her, sitting up and glaring, “What,” she growled, “is it, Cara?”

“Nothing.” Cara reached her hand toward Denna’s slick center, but the other woman caught her wrist before she could continue where she left off.

“Are you thinking of someone else?” the older blonde’s eyes drilled suspiciously.

Cara gave Denna a pointed look, brow raised. Even if she had been thinking of someone else-in a way, she had-their arrangement was a convenience. A certain empathy mutually shared, but they didn’t pretend to actually care for each other beyond the fact that they enjoyed being free from the silly machinations of other sisters.

Denna huffed in frustration, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Cara opted to diffuse and laced her voice with teasing smugness, “I can understand if you’re becoming attached. I’m very skilled.”

“Right now, your skills are in question.” Denna shot back and practically threw Cara’s hand down on the bed, but a smirk curved at the corner of her lips.

Cara rolled her eyes, letting the words roll off of her, “My problems are my own.”

Nobody had ever stopped Cara in the middle of sex and she would never admit, slightly embarassing. She hadn’t realized her thoughts becoming that much of a distraction.

“If it’s going to take you a whole candlemark to make me come,” the words were blunt, but the playful lilt let Cara know that Denna wasn’t takin it personally, “then it starts becoming my problem.”

“If you hadn’t stopped me-”

“Shut up,” Denna interrupted, languidly laying back down, legs spread and knees bent, “and start fixing your mess.”

Cara knew Denna referred to pleasure left undone, but those words echoed a harsher truth. She would deal with it tomorrow because right now the display of wetness still coating Denna’s curls had Cara licking her lips. Cara settled on her heels and reached to touch, but Denna’s foot suddenly planted itself between her breasts, stopping her.

“Since your fingers weren’t quite up to the task,” Denna extended her leg, pushing, forcing Cara to retreat toward the foot of the bed, where she kept a chest on the floor, “You should get the harness for assistance.”

Tomorrow, she would fix her problems. Tonight, she forgot about them.

* * * * *

Children of Mord–Sith are taken at birth. Boys to fight for the D’haran army or the Dragon Core and girls to be raised in the red leathered sisterhood. Mother and child rarely met and the bond of family was almost always non–existant.

Knowing her child lived, however far and unknown, was a fate Cara could accept. If only she were so lucky.

She knew as soon as she delivered the newborn, Lord Rahl would have his own flesh and blood taken from her and killed immediately. No heir was tolerated, no chance was allowed to grow into an adult and challenge Darken’s throne. No quarter was given in Darken’s pursuit to destroy, not just defeat, all of his opponents. He lusted for all types of power and immortality was merely one goal on a list of many. Were he to have his way, he would rule the three territories for all eternity. There was no need for a child to continue his lineage.

Cara continually told herself that her loyalty and devotion to Lord Rahl rose above any mere being, hersef included. Mord–Sith did not feel attachment to anyone or anything besides their master. She needed to start letting go now.

Everytime she tried to convince herself, it only brought painful fantasies to light. She would never hold her baby in the moments after labor. Boy or girl, she would never be able to teach it the ways of the world. How to be strong and withstand the worst and most terrible challenges. How to ride a horse or how to fight. None would come to be.

She could no longer avoid thinking of her father. A weak, greedy man that she had been honored to kill. She had done it for the sake of her sister, who he had been willing to sell for a pocket full of gold. Weak, so weak and broken, and Cara vowed she would never be like him.

She was alone in her quarters when her epiphany realized. She looked down at her stomach, covered by the buckles and leather of her corset, ready to be stripped after the end of the day. Her father had been weak. She was not. He had abandoned his child. Would she as well? Did she say she would not become the failure that her father had been?

Everything conflicted and contradicted. A new loyalty rose within her, took hold.

The summer was passing quickly and soon she would be unable to hide her growing belly. Cara had sacraficed everything, her childhood, her mind, and body.

No more, not this.

This child was hers and hers alone, Darken Rahl be damned.

* * * * *

The good spirits, for once, must have been looking out for her because opportunity came a few weeks later. Her stomach had developed a noticeable bump that was barely hidden by her corset and only if she kept the buckles a notch looser. Fortunately, Lord Rahl resided at another temple since he didn’t like staying in one place for long stretches of time, ever cautious and paranoid of plots against him. She couldn’t have imagined that it worked so well in her favor.

News came from the message room, where various journey books and correspondence were kept under guard. Cara stood at the dias, arriving after being notified by Triana, a journey book lay open as she read the words appearing in scratches of black and red splotches. One of the smaller, outskirt temples was requesting a quad of sisters. Assistance was needed in ferreting out a network of rebels who were successfully finding out which girls the Mord–Sith were planning to kidnap and hiding them away before the children could be taken. Cara’s knee–jerk reaction was to wonder why soldiers hadn’t been sent in to decimate the town if it was knowingly harboring members of the resistance. She read who the correspondent was and from where, and was glad for the fact that it didn’t happen.

Mistress Nathair, from Stowecroft.

Many years had passed since Cara last saw the teacher who personally broke her into the ranks of Mord–Sith, but she remembered the woman quite clearly. Older, blonde hair fading to white, piercing grey eyes, and strong features that would be mark her as a Mord–Sith if it weren’t for the fact that Nathair was a master at dissembling. She was a proud woman too, in her ability to find, procure, and produce the best fledgling Mord–Sith. Denna was a fine example and Cara had been-until now. Mistress Nathair would not want to raze a town that she had invested over two decades of work into garnering a relationship with all of the townspeople. Her position as the only schoolteacher within leagues provided invaluable information on the resistance and prime pickings of children not only in Stowecroft, but the nearby towns and villages that sent their children to her for an education.

“I will lead the quad,” Cara stated once she finished reading.

Triana looked at Cara sharply. This mission was small, more to artificially soothe Mistress Nathair’s ego at being unable to find the rebel perpetrators herself. The excuse had been that the sisters at her disposal were already engaged with guarding and breaking previously captured prisoners. Necessary or not, a quad would be sent in respect to Nathair’s seniority and contributions to the temples.

Cara, through her own success and Lord Rahl’s favor, had enough influence to make decisions that were accepted with little questioning, but for her to take this mission was still unusual. She was a strike captain better known for her brutal efficiency in battle, manipulative strategy, and uncanny ability at finding her opponent’s weakness. Cara wasn’t expected to waste her time on small, delicate missions when the Lord Rahl’s assault on the Midlands was finally gaining momentum.

However, there was more that Triana knew. She couldn’t help but coyly reveal, “Though I suppose in your… condition, you would be required to refrain from more vigorous missions.”

Something trembled inside Cara and she disciplined her voice into not betraying her, “If the sisters were more concerned about their duties and less with politics,” she carefully kept her expressions blank, her voice plain, refusing to look at the other woman and tersely keeping her eyes on the pages before her, “then this assignment wouldn’t require my presence to make sure it’s carried out properly.”

Triana stepped from Cara’s side to the front of the dias, putting herself in Cara’s line of sight. “Then let me lead it, I’ll prove to you how qualified I am.”

“No,” Cara responded quickly, too quickly by Triana’s narrowing eyes. Her own green gaze flickered back down to the page to write a reply, breaking her eye–lock with the brunette. “You may accompany, of course, but there is still much I need to talk about with Mistress Nathair. Confidentially.”

Triana didn’t respond right away, trying to uncover another hint to Cara’s motivations after not getting the reaction she hoped for. Cara looked up once more, brows cinching together in rising intolerance for the other woman’s presence. Triana never held up against Cara’s intimidating aura, this time was no different and she left without another word.

Once alone, Cara felt drained, felt the weight of what she was doing sap her strength. Triana played her hand too early, but Cara perceived the real threat behind it-her secret was out.

* * * * *

Cara idly tied the laces where her sleeve covered her glove, dressing herself alone in her quarters the morning planned to set out for Stowecroft. She was reaching for her corset and neckguard when the door to the creaked open, followed by the purposeful clacking of boot heels. She half–turned, looking over her shoulder to find Denna walking toward her, a prowling sway in her hips. She stopped at Cara’s side with a dangerous slink, reaching out to take the neckguard from Cara’s hand.

“Turn around.” Denna commanded quietly.

Cara obliged, facing her back to the other blonde. Denna reached over Cara’s head and wrapped the neckguard tight, practiced fingers quickly pulling and tying the strips of leather cord. The routine felt soothing, filling time without filling it with useless words. The corset came next, following the same process around Cara’s abdomen and sides. Her body jerked minutely, the scrape of leather the only sound.

Finally, “You have dressed yourself alone for the past month,” Denna simply stated, her fingers easing on the tension of the ties, securing them much looser around the midsection. There was too much intent to be a coincidence. With a pull at the shoulder, she turned Cara around to face her, locking their gazes and communicating everything they wouldn’t say aloud, “Good luck. With your mission.”

“Of course,” Cara impassively responded, “Do you expect me to fail?”

Denna looked down and hummed neutrally while she connected the last buckle and strap between corset and neckguard. Her hand lingered on the buckle, trailing along the metal for a split second of a moment. When she stepped back, she clasped her hands in front of her, indulgent smirk in place once more, “Of course not.”

Cara couldn’t tell what Denna knew or did not and it unnerved her, a buzzing tingle at the base of her neck. The older blonde spun on her heel to leave, but she paused slightly to give Cara a crisp, subtle nod. It relieved an invisible weight across Cara’s shoulders.

It rekindled her resolve.

* * * * *

Her quad reached the borders of Stowecrofts region just as the sun lowered through the last stretch of sky.

Tersely doling out instructions, Cara didn’t like how heavily she was relying on her own reputation and assumed influence to keep the rest of her quad in line and unaware of her plans, “Nathair is still parading around as a civilian,” she explained for the separation, “hoping someone will loosen their tongue around her. You three, keep northeast and wait at the base of the Azrith Cliffs. I’ll meet Nathair alone, then catch up with you.”

Cara purposefully ignored the suspicious cast to Triana’s eyes.

Quads generally stayed together, a small enough group to travel with little notice and with speed, but large enough to prove a formidable force against as many, usually more. Fortunately, Triana and the other two rode east without question. It was a simple goose chase, meant to keep the other Mord–Sith out of her way and buying her time that she desperately needed. Once her quad realized that nobody would be meeting them, they would track back to where they parted, but Cara would have at least a three hour head start, maybe more, depending on how quickly her ruse was found out.

Instead of continuing true north, Cara angled west, toward the Azrith Peaks, a snow–capped mountain range with a handful of strenuous passes. The beautifully, jagged landscape created a natural border between D’hara and the Midlands.

Cara felt an affinity and a familiary with the wilderness that surrounded her, remembering the early years of her training as a Mord–Sith. Most took place within the vast boundaries. She knew the Drowning Caves, the hills and valleys and dense forest, the lay of the land a study of warfare once it became apparent she possessed a knack for it.

Dusk began creating creeping shadows as Cara rode on her horse along the small but well traveled main road. It connected the homesteads to the town and to each other. Eyes the shade of the darkening forest keenly took in every detail, watching for a landmark that would lead her to the home she long stopped calling home, though it was never forgotten.

Nothing but the direction felt familiar until Cara came from around a bend of rock outcroppings, a fork in the road and a wooden sign appearing a short ways ahead. The scene rocked her sense of deja vu, that she had turned this corner many times and seen the road split, marked by wood and post. The sign read “EVERARD” and Cara saw the flashes of a young brunette girl in her mind’s eyes. Play, and laughter. To veer left, toward the sign, the trail would slowly become private and intimate, opening into a clearing of a house that Cara visited many times in the past. To follow right would lead to another branching in the road with a sign marked “MASON.”

She held every intention of taking the right–hand path, to the one place she cradled a small chance of hope. It didn’t take her long, but as she advance and grew closer to the sign, the images of Dahlia only became stronger, more intense, clearer. Dahlia as frozen as a deer, wide–eyed and frightened as she was urgently guided into a hidden dugout. Blurry portraits of a familiar woman who might–have–been a Mord–Sith. She could recall running through tall grass and chalk covered fingers. Yellow, on a green dress. A desire to know and see if that little girl still existed whispered temptingly from the depths of her memories.

Still, she kept right.

She heard the noise of something approaching from behind well before she saw the origin moments after she passed the homestead sign. She turned off the road and dismounted a small distance where the dense forestry would keept her mount hidden. The creaking of wheels and clattering of hooves became recognizable while she stealthily snuck back to get a closer look at who was approaching. She could make out a single horse drawing a wagon cart, the driver the only person. Though cloaked, Cara had the feeling the driver was female. Instead of traveling past Cara, the cart journeyed toward Everard and the noise of the wagon and horse faded until it became ambient, sound slowly swallowed by the waking night life.

Though her plan told her to keep heading as she was, the urge to follow the stranger down the other road did not go unnoticed. She couldn’t decide whether to trust the suspicious tense hunch in driver’s shoulders or whether she was justifying a reason to satisfy a curiosity.

Cara trusted her instincts. After retrieving her horse, she backtracked to venture the other path.

Part 3

Cara followed the driver to a modest cabin, though it was too dark to make out many details from the distance of the tree line. Cara couldn’t decide whether it match her memory or not, but light lit from inside the windows. The driver’s shadow–defintiely a woman, by the looks of the riding skirt–came back outside and ruffled around in the back of the wagon. Two small children appeared, shucking off a blanket that covered them during the ride. They all went inside.

Cara knew that she had just found one of the links in Nathair’s problem of rebels, or perhaps just this one rebel, smuggling children away before Nathair could get to them. She smirked mirthlessly, feeling the humor at stumbling upon the very reason that she was sent to Stowecroft.

Cara’s instincts were telling her that the rebel was the now–grown Dahlia of Cara’s faded memory. She could be completely wrong, her logic nagged. She shouldn’t care about finding out whether she was right or not, but she didn’t see herself returing to D’hara–if she even made it out alive. It might be her only chance and it fueled a need to know.

* * * * *

“We’re turning back.” Triana announced.

Rikka’s brow furrowed, “We have orders to wait here.”

“She should have been here by now.” Triana reasoned, turning to her horse and pulling herself up into the saddle, “Our assistance might be needed.”

Laughter was the response, “I doubt that Cara, out of everyone, would require help,” a trace of a smirk graced Rikka’s lips. “Besides, orders are orders.”

“And I’m not inclined to break Mistress Cara’s.” Hally piped up as a humorous warning. She wasn’t sure what was going through Triana’s head, but she didn’t want to get dragged into her personal battle against Cara.

Triana felt anger boil beneath the surface of her leather, a sharpness in her breathing the only outward sign.

When the Cara first showed up at the People’s Palace, she was all confidence and cheeky retorts with a list of accomplishments trailing behind her like minions. Triana wanted nothing more than to put Cara in her place, envious of how easily she moved through the ranks. She wanted to break Cara, humiliate her, and hear the word “mistress” slide from Cara’s tongue in submission.

However, Cara continued to outshine those around her, somehow weilding an arrogance not normally possessed by most Mord–Sith. Cara’s captives were quickly broken, and eager to please. She dominated the battlefield, the face of war creating harsh lines that made her a fearsome opponent.

Triana saw the opportunity for seduction when she caught Cara’s lingering gaze on other sisters, appreciation certainly not unheard of, but she could take advantage of it. She managed her way into Cara’s bed, tried to dominate her there. Yet, Denna’s talents kept Cara tight–lipped and dismissive of everyone else. Cara stopped calling on Triana, seemingly forgetting about her. Between the two blondes, Triana found herself unable to find her way out from either of their shadows and it infuriated her.

Things would change. She knew Cara’s weakness.

“Yes, she would never ask for assistance.” Triana stated with a passing air that hardened, testing purposefully, “But we must consider the life of the Lord Rahl’s unborn child as well.”

Hally and Rikka glanced at each other, silently realizing that neither had been aware and feeling the subtle reminder that their duty and loyalty was ultimately owned by Darken and not another sister of the agiel. They both looked back at Triana, ready to let her take the lead even though they felt uneasiness about the circumstance.

Triumph simmered in Triana’s veins, feeling the scales of power starting to tip in her favor.

* * * * *

Buzzing tension coursed through Dahlia’s body. She knew it wouldn’t go away until the two girls resting in her bedroom were safe, a place much further away than her own home. The quiet reigned, the girls comforted by each other and Dahlia’s reassurance that her return to the bedroom would be accompanied by hot cocoa. In truth, she needed a moment to gather herself so that she could give the girls a strong, positive front. Mord–Sith were prowling the forests around Stowecroft, stealthy and observing, their presence like a omniscient eye she constantly needed to avoid. It felt like a shadow of a predator she could see from the corner of her eye, finally catching up after years of running.

She walked to the firewood by the front door, thinking of how much time her and the girls had to rest before leaving. She still needed to pack a few supplies, food for the journey, and letters she had not yet written.

Reaching down, Dahlia lost the sense that she was alone, her distracting concerns suddenly forgotten. The floor creaked too closely and she had no time to react and process the Mord–Sith filling and bursting through her doorway. A red–leathered hand shot out toward Dahlia’s face and she instinctually brought her arm up to ward herself. Instead, her wrist found itself caught in an unyielding grip. She lashed out with her other arm, to hit or scratch–anything–but she swiped at nothing but air. Her world spun as she was jerked forward, twisted, her back slamming against the wall with enough force to knock her breath from her lungs.

Dazed, she felt leather cover her mouth, making the task of breathing even harder. Her vision tilted, unfocused, while she was forced to suck in small desperate streams of air through her nose. She was pinned near immobile by a solid feminine body, one arm pressed tight at her hip by the grip on her wrist, the other free. Her limb didn’t seem to understand her attempts to use it and instinct twitched her body in weak resistance.

It was only a matter of a few seconds, but time felt still as her senses came back to her. The Mord–Sith restraining her was all beautiful curves and deadly aura, reminding Dahlia of the steep, narrow path that lead up the face of the Azrith Cliffs. It held the view of an immense, vast landscape, but taking attention away from the path and a misstep could lead to serious injury, if not death. The blonde before her exuded the same need for attention.

There was a small dagger in Dahlia’s boot, but she felt too restrained to attempt retrieving it. Trying to overcome a trained Mord–Sith by force required more strength and dexterity than Dahlia possessed.

She would wait for an opening, it was her only choice.

Cara, on the other hand, expected to recognize a young Dahlia in the features of the woman before her, but she still felt taken aback by the strange familiarity the woman possessed. The shape of grey eyes, with their fiery determination to resist and fight, gave Cara glimpses of the Dahlia she never knew. In her earlier years, when the red leather still felt new, her mind wandered every so often, sometimes fantasizing about her childhood playmate, wondering at a life she might have experienced.

When Cara didn’t do anything, Dahlia shifted, pushing with her shoulders and her free hand. Cara responded by pressing closer, pressure as warning.

“Stop and listen carefully,” Cara explained slowly and clearly when she caught Dahlia’s gaze, “You can fight me and watch as my sisters storm in here and take the children,” she just needed to get win a moment to explain, “Or you can stop struggling and the girls won’t be hurt.”

Furious rebellion lit Dahlia’s eyes, even as her body stilled. Cara pulled away the hand covering Dahlia’s mouth, taking the lack of movement as acquesience.

“Good, now–”

Dahlia jerked harshly, forcing Cara to shove her roughly back against the door, “I won’t believe your lies, Mord–Sith.” Her free arm came up to strike, but only managed a deflected blow against Cara’s shoulder.

Cara’s fingers twitched, her whole body tensing with the instinctual need to physically strike Dahlia in response. Dahlia must have felt the intent, her shoulders hitching up as if she could protect herself against the abuse she believed was inevitable. Cara’s limbs trembled, but she controlled herself.

What was she trying to accomplish by coming here? Following Dahlia felt important at the time she made the decision, driven by impulsive curiosity. She should cut her losses and leave.

Pinned, Dahlia kept her guard up, ready for the incoming blow to give her a reason to fall to the floor and pull her knife, but Cara stepped away from her instead.

“I shouldn’t have come here.” Cara spoke, mostly to herself, disappointed for pursuing a foolish lark. What was she expecting? She didn’t want to be there anymore–shouldn’t, there wasn’t even time–and moved to exit through the front door still ajar from her rush inside.

Dahlia didn’t necessarily understand why Cara gave her an opening, but saw it for opportunity. The agiel had yet to be drawn and with the distance between them she may have enough time to grab her knife and defend herself. Cara saw the intent in her body lines, intuition telling her that Dahlia was either going to strike out or run. She didn’t want to hassle with either scenario.

Speaking gravely, Cara paused at the door, “My sisters will be here soon and I can’t be here when that happens. I suggest you leave very quickly. For your sake. And the girls.” She snapped her attention outside, intent on not lingering.

With Mord–Sith gone and the children unharmed, Dahlia experienced a bewilderment that she never associated with the infamous red leather. She saw the violence in the other woman’s eyes, wanting to be released. She thought, for a brief moment, that the Mord–Sith would strike her down, but the thrumming energy suddenly disappeared, sucked inward behind inner walls that Dahlia both understood and did not.

She could think of no reason for a Mord–Sith to barrel into her home–obviously aware of the children–just to leave. Was it subterfuge? Something to catch her off guard? But she couldn’t think of a possible reason for a Mord–Sith to try and trick her. What would be the point? There was a certain practicality to the Mord–Sith. All that was needed was to kill Dahlia and take the girls like intended–problem solved. If they were determined enough to see if there were others involved, torture would be the method. In some ways, Mord–Sith were predictable.

Dahlia’s thoughts inevitably wandered to the idea that this Mord–Sith might be–dare she think it–Cara Mason, finally returning like Dahlia imagined so many times. Time had dulled her hope, but a small slice was always carefully guarded. Could it be possible?

Though common sense told Dahlia not to extend her trust, she couldn’t help but try.

Cara’s stride, long and purposeful, quickly took her by Dahlia’s horse and the horseshed. She briefly considered taking the animal, if only to prove that her trip here hadn’t been an entire waste. She was traveling light, both for appearance and efficiency, but she would be able to travel easier with a second horse. Images of Dahlia and the two girls making a run by foot leaped to her conscious, unexpectedly making her uneasy. Cara didn’t bother with the reasons and told herself that she already had everything she needed, leaving the horse behind.

She reached the treeline when footsteps sounded behind her.

“Wait!” Dahlia yelled while running down the worn path to the treeline, catching up to the blonde woman who was nearly sprinting away.

Cara turned and met her impassively.

“You came here for a reason,” Dahlia asked out of breath, “It wasn’t the girls, or you would have taken them.”

Though the threat of danger still hovered closely, it no longer clouded Dahlia’s thoughts. She took in full lips and the subtle melding of sharp lines and smooth covers. The darkness muted golden wheat hair and green eyes, but she remembered somewhat from the firelight in her home. Dahlia felt recognition, but she almost didn’t remember what the girl of her childhood looked like anymore. Even so, she felt rising confidence in her Mord–Sith’s identity.

“You’re…” Dahlia swallowed, her throat dry, “Is that you, Cara?”

Something in Cara swelled, “Yes, Dahlia.”

A soulful breath escaped Dahlia, carrying the hundreds of questions and answers with it. There were no words, but a faint smile emerged. She stepped forward, a hand reaching out to touch, as if to make sure Cara wasn’t just the good spirit of a long lost friend.

Highlights on Cara’s red leather shifted like spiders, showing the sudden tension in the blonde’s body. Dahlia stopped with blackened green eyes boring into her. She felt the aura exuding from Cara wasn’t intimidating, but uncomfortable. A reminder that was untimely for a reuniting of old friends.

Dahlia remembered the day Cara was taken, much of it unfocused though the emotions were still vivid. After Cara’s mother found her, Dahlia found herself brought back to her home, parents clutching at her with relief and love. They collaborated and did everything in their power to make sure she would be safe. With one child already lost, they refused to lose another.

So much happened since, creating lives that were interlaced despite being so far apart. Whatever reason Cara returned, they both had obligations that rose above standing outside in.

She stepped back, giving Cara her personal space.

“Come back inside?” Dahlia offered.

Cara nodded after a heartbeat. She followed Dahlia, studying the loose braid that was shorter and messier than her own. She wondered that anyone could turn their back on her so easily. Cara couldn’t think past that to perceive a certain happy relief radiating from Dahlia. She trailed alongside, barely a step behind, because her heart still remembered love even though her mind forgot.

* * * * *

The hooves of horses pounded a steady rhythm on the forest floor. Triana, Hally, and Rikka finally reached the area where they part from Cara. There was company.

On foot, a Mord–Sith watched them come to a stop, Triana taking the lead position.

“We’re here on order to assist Mistress Nathair,” announced Triana.

“I am Nathair,” the other woman stated, eyes narrowing as she took in the number of Mord–Sith before her, “Three? A quad was supposed to arrive tomorrow morning. Where is Sister Cara?”

Triana pursed her lips, “We were here hours ago. Cara is our strike leader, but she parted to meet you.”

Nathair looked irritated, something was out of place, “She told me–”

“She’s deserting,” Triana said without reserve, feeling the gleam in her eyes at knowledge that this would destroy Cara’s hold over everyone, “She told you tomorrow, but she’s nowhere to be found. She is carrying the Lord Rahl’s child and this deception of hers is no coincidence.”

Rikka and Hally kept silent, the play of power beyond their influence.

“You mean to mark her a traitor?” Nathair declared gravely, “If you’re wrong–”

“Then I will bear the consequences. That will pale in comparison to Darken Rahl’s punishment,” Triana stared down menacingly at Nathair, “If I’m right.”

* * * * *

Inside, Dahlia moved toward the bedroom, turning to Cara when she reached the door, “I have a lot to ask you, but I need to check on the girls. I didn’t exactly leave them feeling safe.”

“I don’t have much time.” Cara replied, surprised when she sounded more contrite than terse like she intended.

Dahlia dipped her head with acknowledgement, “I’ll be quick.”

She didn’t shut the bedroom door behind her and Cara could hear the murmur of voices, a tangle of panic and reassurance. She listened for their conversation while her eyes took in the spread of food–much of it dried fare–laid out on the table. A few oilcloths were spread in the remaining area, ready to wrap and protect the food. A saddle bag was slung over the back of one of the chairs.

It seemed that she wasn’t the only one who planned a journey.

Footsteps, too light to be Dahlia’s, padded from the bedroom. Cara turned leisurely to see a small girl with rich, wavy brown hair and D’haran blue eyes.

“Miss Dahlia says you’re a real Mord–Sith,” the little brunette said bluntly while she hugged the doorframe, not necessarily afraid, but cautious, “But that you’re a good one.”

Cara’s eyes flickered up to Dahlia standing just inside the bedroom. Her grey eyes begged indulgence when Cara’s thinned in distaste.

“I’m very mean,” corrected Cara, thinking it perfectly reasonable that children should fear the sight of her, “And that makes me a very good Mord–Sith.”

The little girl’s eyebrows scrunched together, trying to decipher whether Cara’s words meant she needed to be scared or not.

Dahlia gestured aimlessly, slightly at a loss for the right words, “I just don’t want them to be afraid right now.”

“They’re smart to fear me.” Cara replied matter–of–factly, “I’m dangerous.”

Dahlia’s eyes swept up and down Cara’s red leather, “I’m hoping we don’t have to worry about that.”

Trust was there, fragile, but tangible.

Cara met her gaze solidly, “You don’t.”

Cara took in the second child clutching Dahlia’s riding skirts from behind, a little taller than the first. Her thick dark hair was tied into a ponytail and her shy chocolate gaze shied away from Cara’s when they met.

“This is… Miss Cara, girls,” Dahlia kneeled down and put a hand on a shoulder each, reassuring, then looked up at Cara with a smile, “This is Berdine and Raina.”

Berdine kept a skeptical eye on Cara as Raina murmured a quick, skirt–muffled greeting, “Hi, Miss Cara.”

Berdine’s brow line suddenly relaxed with discovery and she piped up, “Are you running away from the Mord–Sith too?”

Surprised that the small girl managed to guess her course of action, Cara replied unthinkingly, “I am.”

Dahlia’s eyes bore into Cara wondering if she heard correctly, if the blonde was merely humoring Berdine.

The blue–eyed girl hummed in pleasure at her good guess, “That makes sense.”

“We’re running too,” came Raina’s subdued voice.

Berdine barreled forward with words, one step in Cara’s direction, “Are you coming with us?”

Cara’s mouth opened, wanting to reply, but nothing came out. It took her a moment to spit out a simple, “No, I’m not.” How was it so easy for a child to lose their fear of her?

Deja vu creeped through Cara, feeling a familiarity in Berdine’s trusting eyes and Raina’s innocent curiosity. It had been a very long since she witnessed a child untouched by corruption and longer still since she felt what she saw in their faces. She wasn’t sure what she wanted more, for the children to be shoved back into the room, all their terrible reminders locked away with them, or kept right where they were so she could just watch them.

Would her child be so raw and guileless?

Dahlia must have seen the inner turmoil or had a sense of it because she started ushering the children back into the room, “Come now, girls, back to bed. We’ve a long ride tomorrow."

There was no protest, but Berdine kept her eyes on Cara as she was gently pulled into the room. Those blue eyes were observant, fascinated with Cara–a monster who was not a monster. Cara returned her stare, if only because it somehow felt like a contest. If it was, oddly enough, Cara couldn’t say she won.

Dahlia was back in moments after firm, yet gentle words of rest. With the door closed and the girls tucked away for the moment, Cara and Dahlia were left alone in the front room. Neither was sure how to breach the silence. What to say after so many years?

Where to start?

“I’m glad you’re here.” Dahlia expressed, all sincere honesty, “I never forgot you.”

Cara didn’t know how to verbalize her response, how she felt the same. Instead, she ducked her head in a small nod of acknowledgement. Dahlia smiled, for the both of them, seeming to understand, but nevertheless, Cara felt uneasy.

“I was going to make cocoa,” Dahlia changed the subject, hoping they could talk while she prepared the drinks, “Would you like some?”

“No,” Cara replied curtly–cocoa was a flimsy luxury to a Mord–Sith, and wryly added, “Thanks.”

Dahlia couldn’t help but think of when they were children, rushing through dinner on nights that they knew they would get a steaming mug of cocoa for dessert. She remembered how Cara used to wrap her hands around her cup, loving the way the liquid slid down her throat and warmed her up from the inside. Dahlia still enjoyed the sweet drink and it saddened her to think that Cara didn’t care for it anymore.

She concentrated on Berdine and Raina instead, “It should help them sleep,” she pulled a small canister from the cabinet, “They’ll need the rest. We’ll be leaving in a few hours.”

Cara’s heart and head were a mess, but focus came rushing back to the forefront. She quickly latched on to its stability and familiarity.

“You can’t wait that long,” urgency threaded Cara’s words. “My sisters will be here much sooner than that.”

A chill ran down Dahlia’s spine and she turned to look at Cara, “The Mord–Sith?”

Cara nodded, “Yes, there isn’t much time.”

“They know I have the girls?” Dahlia shook her head, eyes breaking from Cara’s to dart around the cabin as if she could find the answer of her misstep within it.

“No,” guilt touched Cara for the first time in many years, “I brought them to your doorstep.”

“Because you’re running.”

“Yes,” Cara thought of the bigger reason, held inside her, “I need to leave too,” she looked at the travel food laid out, thought of how many things Dahlia had to accomplish first to depart, and made a split second decision to do what she could, “I’ll get your horse.”

Dahlia reached out and grabbed Cara’s wrist before the Mord–Sith rushed off, “They’re that close?”

Cara refrained from her automatic reaction to jerk her hand free, but she still stepped away to break the contact, “I sent them toward the cliffs, but I won’t take chances.”

She wished she hadn’t brought Triana, but it seemed like a small thing at the time to keep the other woman quiet about the pregnancy. There was a possibility that Triana might convince the other two to turn against her, which is why Cara chose Rikka and Hally as the remaining quad members. They were loyal and unlikely to question Cara’s commands, but she knew that for all of Triana’s follies, she was a smart woman.

Dahlia couldn’t afford to be wrong either. She chose the side of caution, which meant she needed leave as soon as possible. She nodded to Cara, “The saddle is in the horse shed. I’ll get the girls.”

Cara gathered her horse first, the mare wasn’t far, before saddling Dahlia’s. She hadn’t said it aloud, but she doubted Dahlia and the girls would be able to outpace any pursuers with only one horse between all of them–but she was sure they would try. If they were lucky, the Mord–Sith would follow her instead, leaving the others free to escape. Cara was okay with this.

After readying the horses, she came back inside to find Dahlia huddled with the girls, fastening their cloaks. Everything was already packed, though there didn’t seem to be much.

“Everything is ready outside, “ Cara stepped to the table and picked up the saddle bag, thinking it felt light if Dahlia planned to be traveling for more than a few days. She walked back outside to fasten the pack, while Dahlia finished with Berdine and Raina.

“Thank you,” Dahlia murmured, Berdine and Raina tight on her heels. She saw Cara move to stand beside her horse and understood that this was a parting. She wished they had more time, but they didn’t, “Where will you go?”

It would be better if Dahlia didn’t know, “Across the peaks.” Cara said vaguely, though there was only one place to go if she wasn’t going to be staying in D’hara.

“To the Midlands?” Dahlia asked, aware as well, then as if it were the next obvious step, “Do you intend to seek asylum?”

Cara didn’t have a plan beyond crossing the mountains–there were other pressing matters. Getting across one of the trails before the early snows set in would be task enough. After, she needed to be prepared for anyone hunting her from D’hara. Assimilating into the Midlands seemed less daunting beside everything else.

She felt a small knot of irritation form at not thinking of the importance of blending in. She couldn’t exactly run around in her red leathers, so marked a Mord–Sith, in the land of Confessors.

Admitting the oversight was out of the question, and instead, “You seem to know a bit about that,” Cara observed.

“Is this goodbye?” Berdine intruded without reserve, somewhat hopping into the open space between the adults, “I thought you were coming with us?”

“I’m not,” Cara returned dryly.

“Come with us,” Dahlia interjected, insistence in her voice, “Winter will take the cliff pass before you get through it, even if you travel by yourself.”

Cara shrugged, a hint of a grin, “It’s just a little snow.”

Dahlia didn’t pay attention to the slight rebuff, persisting, “I’m taking the girls to a hunting lodge my father made. There are more horses, supplies, and a north pass that will be a lot easier and just as fast as the high routes.”

Cara didn’t reply, wanting to accept, but feeling like she needed to refuse. Traveling with three others, two of them children, would make her easier to track.

Dahlia sighed and tried once more, “I know people in the Midlands that will help you. I’ve done this before and they haven’t caught me yet.”

Cara huffed with humor, “I found you.”

“Yes, but not because you wanted to kill me.”

It seemed a good enough point to Cara.

“Okay,” she agreed, confidence and determination to follow through burgeoning inside and making her feel that the decision was sound, “Quickly.”

Cara looked down to the two children, realizing one would be riding with her, the other with Dahlia. It couldn’t be avoided unless someone was willing to walk, but that would only slow them down. She went for the closest child and swept Berdine up into the saddle gracefully. The little girl squeaked in surprise, tense with fright as she was seated. Cara ignored it, used to the reaction, and mounted behind her.

Berdine pushed firmly into Cara’s torso, seeking solid surface, “I’ve never been on a horse.”

“Afraid?” Cara asked absently as she watched Dahlia mirror her with Raina and felt Berdine nod, “You won’t fall.”

Cara wouldn’t let her, obviously. She said it with such fact that Berdine couldn’t help but believe her.

* * * * *

Dahlia led them, knowing the path they followed by heart, the moon her guiding light. The two girls were showing the first signs of falling asleep after adrenaline kept them up. They had already been riding for at least half the night, the first stretch of time traveled in silence. They needed to attract as little attention as possible, but it was harder for the girls who couldn’t help but trade whispers occaisonally. For Cara and Dahlia, even after they both knew they could afford some noise, they kept a comfortable silence.

Dahlia’s eyes flickered between the ground, the darkness ahead, and Cara beside her.

“Do you remember Miss Cronson?”

The question was unexpected and Cara felt her jaw clench, “Yes.”

“Was that her real name?” Dahlia asked thoughtfully.

“No,” Cara breathed, wondering that Dahlia knew, “She was Sister Nathair.”

Dahlia didn’t reply. Cara glanced at her, seeing her lost in thought. The brunette’s eyes were cast forward, but seeing more than the path before her. The quiet didn’t bother Cara. She could feel the turmoil bubbling inside her in warning. She would rather not talk about the past. She didn’t like dwelling and she’d never acknowledge just how much of a dweller she really was.

The girls were finally asleep, even Berdine as the little girl slowly lulled into relaxing, full lean against Cara. The arms on either side of her were secure and strong, creating a circle of red that was both safe and terrifying. Raina still had the easier time of it, being the quieter and less active of the two.

They left the main game trail they were following and started riding alongside a small dried–up creek. Cara took note of how much they were ascending even though the moutains weren’t visible through the night and the shadowed treetops, but she guessed they were more or less climbing the base of the mighty landscape.

When Dahlia spoke again, her voice was hushed for the sake of the girl huddled against her torso, “She–Cronson, Nathair–is very good at blending in. Everyone still thinks she’s the sweetest schoolteacher in all of D’hara.”

“But you know the truth,” Cara stated.

“Stowecroft doesn’t get raided like other villages. The girls are just gone one day and the rest of us don’t hear about it until it’s all said and done. How did they decide who was worth taking?” Dahlia shook her head, because the answer had been right under everyone’s noses. The ease and simplicity that a Mord–Sith infiltrated their small town seemed obvious in hindsight, “Who knew all the children well enough? It seemed pretty simple to put together once I became suspicious.”

Blonde brows scrunched together for a moment, “You said everyone else isn’t aware. Why haven’t you said anything?”

“Like I said,” Dahlia repeated, shifting as Raina fidgeted in her unconscious, “Stowecroft isn’t raided by the Mord–Sith. If I told the militia, they would capture and kill her. Then what? They still need their girls.”

“So you watch Nathair instead and take the girls before she does.” Cara concluded, a touch impressed.

Dahlia nodded, “That’s right,” she sounded something close to satisfaction, “The town had another classroom built into the schoolhouse. I teach the older kids since Miss Cronson insisted on staying with the younger ones–no surprise,” she tightened herself around the small girl in front of herself, a brief protective hug, “She wasn’t perfect, not all the time. I could see the way she looked at the children, weighing their worth.” Dahlia huffed, disgusted, “I suppose, after what happened to you, I don’t trust so easily.”

“You really think so?” Cara asked abrubtly, “You’ve told me everything. I could kill you now and take the girls.”

Dahlia sighed, though she didn’t fear the words for threat, “Is that your way of asking why I trust you?”

“I’m still a Mord–Sith. If necessary, I have no problem with sacraficing you to save myself.” Cara laid out cooly.

Dahlia hummed and Cara gave her a side–long glance, sensing Dahlia musing over the response. A careful smile graced Dahlia’s lips when she looked to Cara, “I’m not so sure you would have.”

“You forget what I am,” Cara spat darkly, a mix of warning and reminder.

“Is that why you were taken?” Dahlia pointed out with pensive rhetoric because even if she was overlooking that fact that Cara was Mord–Sith, she still remember the person Cara was before, “And I wasn’t?”

Cara looked away, jaw flexing with irritation, feeling like she was biting back a retort that she didn’t have in the first place. She took in the shapes and shadows cast by the forest, silent and unaccepting of character Dahlia saw in her.

Dahlia gave herself an indiscernible nod, confident in her rising trust for Cara.

TBC