A/N:
Timeline: During "Reckoning" (SPOILERS!)
Spoilers: Sacrifice,
Reckoning
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or situations or
anything with respect to Legend of the Seeker.
I am not financially profiting from this story.
The One in White
Part Two: The One in White
"It is written that the Seeker will be betrayed by the one closest to him.
You will be betrayed by the one in white . . ."
Your hair is tickling my nose.
Oh, my fair-haired, precocious boy, I can smell the hay and the horses from the stables where you played. Didn't I tell you not to go there? Oh well, let me kiss the cuts on your knees and mend the holes in your tunic. Let me look at your eyes, just like my mother's and my sister's and mine. Such a pretty blue, did you know? Don't cry, don't cry.
Is it laughter that bubbles deep within these lungs of mine? Can it be that I still breathe and sing and laugh after so long a time enslaved? And can it be that I still desire life, even when all I fought for in my youth has crumbled to ash? Or is it only in moments like these that I have trouble remembering the touch of Richard's lips on mine, or the sound of his voice.
I traveled with Richard and Zedd for a year only, and out of so many years what is one to the ever-expanding vacuum of time? Sometimes I am not sure if they existed or not. There are no tales of the Seeker; no one mentions his name. But he is not dead, only far far away. Sometimes, though, it matters very little to me if he can find a way to right the past. He will reunite with another Kahlan from a different time. I will never see him again.
It's unavoidable, I'm afraid, to refrain from wondering what Richard would think of me if he saw me now, garbed like a concubine in the fine clothes Darken Rahl has purchased for me. I almost hope that I will not survive long enough to see him again, for I would feel ashamed standing before him so fallen in this used and tired body that has been my prison keeper's property so long that I cannot remember what it was like to desire another or why I desired anyone at all.
Nicholas is my life now. Richard, Richard, if you were here, you would understand how I could love him. He lay in my arms, shaking and vulnerable, but I couldn't kill him. May the spirits go with you. May the spirits protect you. May my sacrifice turn to good in the end.
* * * * *
The spindle was only half wound when Alice, her lady-in-waiting, came before her and laid the mangled animal at her bare and oiled feet. Kahlan slipped them into her golden slippers and set down her morning's labor. The day was already growing hot, and the thick scarlet curtains of velvet were drawn back to let in the breeze from the atrium. Outside the sounds of children playing had suspiciously ceased.
"What is this?" she asked, turning away to the window. But she knew what it was. It was the spawn of her husband's prized pointer, the very pup Nicholas had coveted for himself. Her husband had given it Alice's nephew instead, out of spite, for he considered any attachment to a living thing a weakness.
Her son, the Prince, was standing far below her balustrade upon the inlaid stone of the atrium floor. He was at the center of a small gang of boys, mostly older than him and picked from the upper echelon of D'Hara's families. But they were silent today, seeming listless. Her son, usually their leader, stood apart from them, and a strange kind of unquiet had fallen among them.
Alice was explaining, "It was run over by a cart, my lady, and I would never ask anyone else, but you have been so kind to me. You see, my nephew won't know the difference if I can get another just like it."
"Yes, yes, take it away. Of course you can have a new one. Just please, take this poor thing and bury it."
Alice gathered her pathetic bundle and curtseyed, preparing to leave the room, but Kahlan stopped her. Looking at her son, a strange idea had occurred to her. "Alice, was it really a cart?"
"Yes, my lady."
Kahlan pursed her lips together, sensing the truth, even where Alice did not. With a great sigh that heaved up from beneath her faltering heart, she tried to still the tears that were threatening.
"Why did you bring this thing here to me?" she cried. And her shoulders began to quake. At this, Alice set down the bundle and swept across the room to enfold her Queen in her arms.
"Oh my lady, my lady, it isn't what you are thinking. He is good."
"Is he?" she wept. "Yes yes, it's so silly of me. So silly."
"He is good. You must believe it."
* * * * *
"Let me do it."
Is that his voice? Are those lips that I kissed when he was just a baby in my arms curled back into that savage snarl? Is he a child, or was he ever? Why did I stop for a moment to bid that last, fatal farewell? Why didn't I dash out his brains when they first laid him in my arms?
The guards are pulling at the sleeves of my dress as the haul me out of the throne room. My daggers are in their hands, my neck is collared still, my husband will not look at me, and my son is pulling me to my death. It seems only fair, considering what I was about to do. But there is not a hint of hesitation in those dead eyes of his, not a sign of care. I cannot bear to look at him again, knowing what a snake I have brought into this world.
The axeman is fast; the steel blade is well-sharpened, and it doesn't hurt. I'm surprised by how easy it all is, just like falling asleep again after a nightmare.
Richard, are you there? I failed you. Forgive me.
