Chapter 2: Sisters of the Agiel
Gracie felt sick. She also felt as though she were moving. She forced herself to do no more than open her eyes a fraction.
The first thing she saw was dark hair. And with that, her memory came rushing back. She and Shadow, playing the Chasing Game. And then a dark figure in the corner of the porch…Gracie's eyes closed again in shame. She had neglected her duty to her brothers, to her parents, to herself. How could she have let herself get distracted like that?
Although it was odd that no adults had been nearby. She knew, of course, that today was an important day—Lord Rahl was supposed to be in peace negotiations all day, and Mother and the other women who guarded Lord Rahl were there, too, because everyone knew peace negotiations were always in constant threat of violence.
Still, it was unusual for there to be no one older than she and Shadow guarding the children. The Midlands were a dangerous place.
Nothing could mitigate her own responsibility, however. Gracie wanted to cry, not least because of the sickening ache of her head and limbs, where the motion of the cart jolted her.
She chanced a glance up, to verify that it was indeed a cart. Beside her, Rega stirred. Instantly, Gracie put a hand over her mouth, but it was too late: the figure ahead of them reined in the horse, and dismounted.
"So you're awake," the woman said, smiling darkly.
She looked about Mother's age, and Gracie noted with unconscious attention to detail her dark cloak and the glimmer of blonde hair beneath it. She carried a white oblong object, and Gracie squinted, trying to remember where she had seen a similar object lately…
"You're a Mord'Sith!" Rega gasped, in tones of deepest betrayal. Of course! Gracie felt a fool. Lord Rahl's sworn protectors, and his children's reluctant babysitters, were still known by that name. Berdine and Alina and Rikka and Nyda and…
Still, Gracie felt puzzled. She knew the white weapon was dangerous, of course—the Sisters of the Agiel, as they preferred to be called, always kept it out of the reach of children. But theirs were dark red or black, not white. And anyway, she had seen a similar weapon somewhere else, not among the Sisters—lying unattended on a shelf somewhere. But where?
Meanwhile, Rega was glaring at their attacker. "Return us to the palace at once!" she ordered.
The Mord'Sith laughed. "I think not, Princess. Are my sisters so tame, to run at the beck and call of the Seeker's get? If I didn't know it was impossible, I'd say they were all Confessed."
"What do you want?" Gracie asked, trying to distract their attacker's attention from Rega. "And who are you?"
"I am Denna," she said, "And what I want is the throne of D'Hara, the Midlands, Westland, and the Southlands. Just ultimate power, really; is that so much to ask?"
She didn't seem to expect an answer, but Rega gave her one anyway. "Yes!" she said, very hotly.
Denna laughed again, and added, "And you two are going to help me."
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"Watch over my boys," Cara said, looking at Kahlan. She felt sympathy for the other woman's pain, so like her own, but only from very far away. Almost all her mind was focused on the task ahead, laying it out in steps. Leave the boys somewhere safe…"And don't let any of them be Confessed."
"I won't," the Mother Confessor said. Her face was impassive—her Confessor face. "Just bring my Rega back to me."
Cara nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She turned abruptly, and Richard called after her, "Don't leave without me!"
"There's something I need to get," Cara called back, lengthening her stride. She didn't need to explain; let Richard track her when he and Kahlan had finished their lengthy farewells.
Cara knew Kahlan wanted to come with them, but it was too dangerous, both for her unborn child and for those left to look after the older children. Confessors were a risk, and only Kahlan could be trusted to keep them and those around them safe at a time like this.
Cara entered her empty home, and went directly to the fireplace. She removed a brick in the mantel—high enough that small children were unlikely to come across it—and pulled out her red leathers.
She hadn't worn her Mord-Sith uniform since she put aside her Agiels, when she and Benjamin decided they wanted children. Daily use of Agiels killed unborn children almost before they had the chance to grow, so Cara stopped using them.
It seemed logical not to wear her leathers, either. Without her Agiels, she barely counted as a Mord'Sith anyway.
Now, though—now she longed for the simplicity of physical pain. It was as nothing to what she felt.
As she pulled on her leathers, Cara was relieved that she still fit into them. Four pregnancies, not to mention how much easier it was guarding Richard when he more or less lived in the same place, and she was still thin.
She had just finished when Richard entered the room. "Ready?" he asked.
"One more thing," she said, running a hand through her blonde hair. It was too long, now, to leave it loose. She couldn't believe that she had been so careless as to grow it out, knowing it could be used as a weapon against her, or merely a distraction.
And yet, she reflected, perhaps she had been subconsciously anticipating the moment when she would return to what she had once been.
"Braid my hair for me?" she asked, turning slightly to look at Richard.
He raised his eyebrows. "The Mord'Sith braid?"
"If you can't do it—" she started to say, coolly.
He scowled. "Come here."
She obeyed, bending her head back so her hair rippled, in blonde waves. Richard touched her scalp, gently, and gathered her hair in a handful, on top of her head. Neither spoke.
At last, when Richard had nearly finished Cara's braid, he said mildly, "You could have had one of the Sisters do this, you know."
"It's meant to be done by someone close—a friend," Cara replied.
"We will find them," Richard said abruptly. He wanted to fret at the delay, but knew that Cara needed the support. Besides, comforting her distracted him from his own fears.
Cara wore her leathers like a costume, and her face was a mask as cold and impersonal as Kahlan's Confessor face. The braid was the last step; as his bodyguard, she had never had the opportunity to lose her fighting edge, but this was different. Now her transformation back into a Mord'Sith—the kind who never let emotion rule—was complete.
Well—almost. Cara reached up and pulled her Agiels from their dusty corner of a shelf. Richard watched her, but she didn't wince, or show any sign of the pain they had to be causing her.
She turned to him. "I—" and she looked down at her Agiels, unseeing. "I can't help thinking—that this is my fault."
"No," Richard said at once. "You couldn't have known—I thought I had someone on guard—" he added inconsequentially. When they returned—if they returned—he would have words with Berdine and the others.
"Not that," Cara said, still looking down. "It's my fault—because I don't deserve to be this happy—I don't deserve Benjamin, and I certainly don't deserve Gracie, or the boys. This is my punishment."
Richard smiled bitterly. "If so," he reminded her, gently, "you're not the only one being punished."
Cara nodded, face blank once again. She raised her Agiels, and in one smooth motion sheathed them at her waist. Then she waited for Richard to lead the way, as she always did, and fell into step behind him.
She didn't look back at the house: one way or another, when she returned, this would be over.