The New Age
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, and I do not profit from this story or its characters.
Author's Note: Yes, I know. Took me far too long, but here it is! Thank you to all those who have patiently fainted for this story. I hope you like it!
Chapter One
Katia rode her red steed out to a large opening in the middle of a forest of trees. Her long and red Confessor's dress billowed in the hard gusting wind, and although she knew a storm was looming in the sky she still stubbornly walked toward the swaying flowers with her journal in hand. Her horse stamped its hoof in protest, and she shushed it before sitting in the windflowers. Brushing long ash blonde hair out of her face, she began to write.
Journal,
It is my sixteenth year, and I am loveless and alone. My mothers do not understand why I am so sorrowful and dark. They have each other, but I have no one to love or understand. This day is to be full of celebration, but I am not celebrating with them.
Drops began to blur her words, and she snapped the journal closed with a gasp before hurriedly rushing toward her stallion and riding as fast as the horse could go back toward the Confessor's palace. When she got to the stables, the boy seemed to stare and gawk, unused to seeing a princess alone. She turned to stare back, her eyes wide and challenging, and he gulped and seemingly occupied himself by feeding the horse a carrot. Katia, well versed in sneaking in and out of her mothers' palace ran barefoot back to her quarters, but jerked to a halt once she saw her mother's green angry stare and crossed arms.
"What are you doing out of the place?" Cara asked, her eyebrow raised above eyes just now beginning to crease with age. Katia balked with an attempt to reply, but a hand was raised in response.
"That doesn't matter. You are expected in your mother's chambers. Hurry before she becomes even more irate. You are already late." Cara sighed and smiled despite herself. As Katia sullenly turned to leave, she felt something poking at her back. It was the handle to a beautifully crafted sword, weighted for a woman and with an intricately carved brass handle.
"Happy Birthday, Katia. I hope that the day you wield this it goes deep into Richard Rahl." Katia took it tenderly, her eyes filled with wonder and awe.
"It's beautiful, Mother!" The girl whispered. She looked up to see pain and sadness in her mother's eyes. Of course she had heard the stories that Rahl was once good and kind, but twisted love had turned his heart to hate and evil. It seemed so abstract to Katia to read those stories of him as the Seeker, because who he was now is so incredibly different it was like reading about two different people. What kind of love could do such a thing to a man? It bothered her some nights, when she stayed up late in the palace libraries reading or studying his prophesies.
She ran down the long stone hallways toward the Queen's meeting room, her soft lamb skin boots slipping on the smooth stone in her hurry. When she arrived, she saw her mother's worried expression cloud over into anger.
"I'm here, Mother." She panted, scrunching a freckled nose in worry at Kahlan's expression.
"Good to know you planned to attend your own birthday." Came the Mother Confessor's low voice. Katia kept her head down, not daring to look at her Mother as the royal outfitters sized her for the gown she was to wear to her daughter's birthday assembly.
Kahlan's eyes met the sword that was sheathed to Katia's side surreptitiously.
"Of course she would. Still a Mord-Sith, even stripped of all that leather." Katia looked up confused, then with sudden awareness her hand lay almost subconsciously on the sheath. Kahlan laughed at the action, then flicked her hand toward the women who seemed primed to fuss over Katia's mussed hair and sullied Confessor's dress.
"Let them tend to you. Your birthday festival is approaching." Katia nodded, head low and scolded. Kahlan smiled at her beautiful daughter, feeling lightness in her stomach at the thought that she wasn't the one to carry her, or have that connection to her. Though she knew better and had come to peace with it in sixteen years, that distance of connection could be felt in all their interactions. She always considered herself the softer of her and Cara, but with Katia, she was always the disciplinarian. She mourned the fact that she couldn't get past such formality, but Cara let her practically get away with murder, so someone had to lay down a firm hand with the free-spirited girl.
"Katia." She called out. But the girl was distracted with the hand maidens combing her long hair and fussing with her clothes. "Happy Birthday, my sweet girl." She mouthed to herself.
The celebrations swept throughout Aydindril like wildfire, and throughout the city streets there were partiers and revelers stumbling drunkenly to the pubs and city centers, all celebrating the princess' ascension into adulthood. Truth be told, while they were indeed overjoyed that Katia had come of age, they were also just looking for any reason to be merry and drunk when normally they would be working. There were many of the palace guard out patrolling the streets, but most were "patrolling" the inside of pubs, though it was essentially harmless. Crime was much lower now in the past decade, as the people were happy, working, and fed, and cruelty from those governing the masses was generally kept under control. However, amongst all the happy celebrators below the palace, in her chambers sat one very sullen girl looking out at them below.
I am in a beautiful dress. I am made up to be something I do not feel I am inside. I do not belong. Happy Birthday to me.