Relieved didn't begin to explain how Kahlan felt upon breaking through the tree line, getting a proper view of the long-dark sky. She'd considered throwing herself on the ground or curling up against a tree to sleep more than once and her body ached so terribly that not even seeing the small town could sway it from its rhythm. Step, step, step; one foot in front of the other. She shifted her pack, altering her course slightly and bumping into Cara in the process. They both stumbled, Cara just grunting in annoyance and nodding when Kahlan half-heartedly pointed toward the inn.

"If someone attacks us, can you just glare them to death?"

"If they're within range."

Kahlan was too tired to laugh, and too grateful to enter the inn. She was, however, thoroughly surprised to see the bartender welcome them with such a warm grin and gesture to some young man. But if that surprised her, his words blew her away.

"My favorite blonde! Come, sit." He ushered them to a table the young man was setting drinks at and, while Cara fell into her chair heavily, he pulled out Kahlan's with a nod. "Mother Confessor."

"Thank you." She said slowly, looking between him and Cara, her gaze lingering as the blonde grabbed the young man's shirt long enough to growl something about food. "I didn't know you knew each other."

"She saved Tommy Boy's life and made such a ruckus those bastards decided we weren't worth the trouble when your man got here with his warning."

Cara paused in the middle of accepting a bowl to stare at the barkeeper curiously, but then she harrumphed and started eating her soup. Kahlan looked down at her own bowl and decided to let it cool a little. "Warning?"

"Yeah," piped in the young man. "Came in saying he spoke for you and you and our friendly blonde here killed Elysan and were comin' on back to deal with them."

"Smart." Cara said between spoonsful, taking a moment to catch his eye. "Not friendly." When his smile faded, she continued eating.

Kahlan tried the soup, giving a brief smile in appreciation before continuing. "I imagine it was more eventful than that."

The bartender nodded, waving the young man away. "There was a small scuffle and a few of them are in Rhan's house, but they've mostly holed up there." His eyes drifted to Cara before settling on Kahlan again. "I'd hoped you'd return before they left to pass judgment." The towel was taut in his hands. He wasn't seeing them anymore.

"How many is a few?"

He looked at Cara as if she'd suddenly appeared there, then he noticed her empty bowl, waving to the young man again. "Four."

Kahlan continued eating her soup, curious if Cara was going in a direction she suspected.

Cara leaned back, drumming her fingers on the edge of the table. Then she said, "Four should be easy enough."

"And thorough," he whispered, but he didn't seem to be talking to Kahlan anymore.

Kahlan cleared her throat. "If they've stayed this long and remain ignorant of our being here, we'll get them in the morning and I will pass judgment."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Of course, Mother Confessor."

"Where's the man that came with the warning?"

He picked up her empty bowl, handing it off to the young man, not looking at her once. "He died."

There was something in the way he said it that made Kahlan think the death wasn't an accident or fault of the other slavers. Blue eyes searched his manner, searched for more of what set off her suspicions. They shifted to Cara, discovering the blonde physically there, but mentally elsewhere. Kahlan's attention reverted to the bartender, eyes observant, tone conciliatory. "Forgive me, I should have asked your name earlier."

"Everyone calls me Ave. Now then, let's see what we can do about baths for the two of you."

Kahlan noticed the ghost of a smirk and promptly diverted her attention, expecting a snide comment about being thrown in a river, but it never came. Curiosity brought her gaze back to Cara, feeling an unpleasant shift of her insides upon seeing the slightest evidence of Cara's eyebrows drawing closer in spite of the otherwise blank expression. Kahlan stood abruptly, noticing Cara's eyes didn't track the movement. "I might throw you in the river so I can have a bath first."

Cara's response was automatic, but in an artificial sense. She took a half-second too long to smirk up at Kahlan, too long to gesture toward the stairs in mock politeness, and offered too much silence.

Ave's return stirred Kahlan. She gave him a polite smile as he affected a strained, apologetic one.

"I'm afraid only one of our rooms is fit for use." His smile twisted, became bitter. "Vandalism, because terrorizing us wasn't enough."

"Poor methods." Cara's words held disapproval but her tone, absent.

Kahlan's gaze swept over to the stairs, specifically avoiding Cara. "We're mature enough to make due, I'd hope." In her peripheral vision, she saw his eyebrows shoot up, as if to say maturity had nothing to do with a Confessor and Mord'Sith sharing a room. Her sigh filled the silence. "Can we?"

"Take the room." Cara stood, demanding Ave's attention. "Show me the second best one."

His eyes flicked between the two of them, but he eventually led her up the stairs and Kahlan watched them go. Tiredness weighed heavily upon her, and yet more burdensome was the unjustified apprehension left in Cara's wake. Maybe it was justified—they'd spent an amount of time together and Kahlan needed her to find Richard. So maybe the cold, gnawing feeling inside was justified by the barrier in those green eyes a few moments ago. Mord'Sith couldn't be read by Confessors, obviously, and Cara was a guarded person, but, it was just the barrier. Originally Cara let Kahlan see her pride, her bold and raw nature. She was allowed to see evidence that the Mord'Sith held internal turmoil. She was allowed to see mischief written across her features. And, just once, she was allowed to hear a genuine laugh.

But a few moments ago they weren't the eyes of a Mord'Sith. A few moments ago they weren't the sharp eyes giving glimpses of what could possibly just be the beginning of Cara. It wasn't just in the eyes, but the empty smirk, the lack of authority she normally exuded.

It was the utter denial of everything Cara was and might be.

"Mother Confessor?"

She blinked at Ave, realizing it wasn't his first attempt to gain her attention. "Yes?"

"This way," he said slowly, almost making it into a question, and he didn't lead her up the stairs immediately.

Stepping into the room, Kahlan swept a critical eye across it.

"I'm sorry for—"

"The room you showed her."

Ave's mouth clicked shut. From her tone, there was obviously no room for argument and, with intense blue eyes on him, he motioned with his hand before doubling back down the hall. He stopped in front of a door with some lines carved on it, hesitating to look at the Mother Confessor directly. "I, I wish you luck. Your water will be sent to your room."

She nodded to him and stared at the jagged grooves in the wood until Ave's steps down the stairs faded. As she continued tracing the random patterns with her eyes, Kahlan became increasingly aware that her standing there had nothing to do with Ave's presence, or lack of it. This was ridiculous. And she was tired. She swung the door open, pausing at the sight of Cara's back as the woman stared out a window.

"I wondered how long you'd stand out there." Receiving no response, she turned her head slightly. "Hurry up and finish bothering me."

Kahlan entered the room, made no other move. She didn't know how to address the problem, didn't know how to put a name to it, didn't know why it mattered. She only knew there was a problem and it mattered. Spirits, she felt so tired and lost in these turns of fate. "Lost," she said softly. The word made Cara turn. Curiosity peeked from behind the barrier in those green eyes, but something Kahlan couldn't place snuck out in curiosity's wake and she found herself continuing without her consent. "You're lost." After a moment, her eyes fell away and she left without another sound besides the creaking of the door behind her.

Kahlan found little solace, instead finding some tired distance from things as she lounged in the first hot bath after too long. It soothed her aching body to some degree and she nearly fell asleep while the water cooled so she shook herself and abandoned the bath, giving into the lure of sleep.

Darken stood with the massive doors at his back, surveying the mass of writhing bodies. It was quite boring after doing it for however long, the pain of others doing nothing for him as he didn't cause it and the constant nature of it stole the meaning from him. Besides, his own pain was gone—a false kindness from the Keeper. It just meant he could send Darken to his knees whenever he felt so inclined. The thought made his lip curl and he crossed his arms over his bare chest. Here, he was less than a man, and that simply would not do.

"In this, we share something."

Darken gripped his bicep to cover his surprise. The Keeper's habit of suddenly speaking into and around him was still… unnerving. "My Lord?"

"I've spent entire decades doing nothing but watching them. You've basked in the glory of, what was it?"

He knew damn well what they were. Darken unfolded his arms and affected a smile as he turned toward the doors, as if welcoming a friend, though no one was there. "Devotions."

"Devotions." The Keeper's echo of the word held a pretentious smile, as if he thought Darken hilariously stupid. "It is much the same for me. I remember when Panis came along. That was positively delightful. Oh, but forgive me, I digress."

No he didn't. Every word was intended, and the Keeper knew Darken knew it. Darken faced the sea of bodies once more, bile rising in his throat. "There is nothing to forgive."

"You are too kind to me. Allow me to repay you, yes?"

"If it pleases you."

"Then the first of my gifts."

Tingling filled Darken, from bottom to top—all of which he doubted was necessary—and he felt a gentle press against him as though he wore clothes. His gaze fell and he more so saw than felt his nakedness being covered. He swept his red coat out behind him, enjoying the sound of it. Being clothed, or at least having the option of it, made him feel right with himself and he hated it because that was precisely what the Keeper wanted. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Of course. Though, it's not as if I can have you parading about naked while representing me." Almost as soon as Darken absently rubbed one of his knuckles, the Keeper's laughter boomed throughout the Underworld. "This brings me to my second gift, but there is a price, my dear Darken."

Not only did Darken's pointless breathing have a price, but everything was a mockery of him, and neither fact was at all hidden. No, rather, they said, I own you. "I'd gladly pay any price."

"And gladly you will. You see, my price is also a gift. I want you to mark your brother for me, which you may do after you use this gift."

Mark Richard. It would definitely be a pleasure. "Which gift?"

"The gift of an offer."

The press of the Keeper's presence left Darken and it didn't take him long to give an understanding incline of his head. "Banelings. How interesting." This, he could use.

Wakefulness slammed over the brunette. She buried her face in a pillow and groaned, deciding to deny the existence of the world for a few more minutes. A few minutes that felt too short. She rolled over and squinted out the window long enough to determine it was around noon, causing her to lie there with the simple question of when she'd last come close to sleeping so long. She couldn't remember such a time. Kahlan stretched, taking note of all her aches, and dressed mechanically as she thought of the slavers in that poor person's home. As if sensing the lack of food in its future, her stomach rumbled. The confessions would further drain her, but she'd already slept too long.

And no one had come for her. Kahlan paused in lacing up her dress, a few things from last night connecting with this morning, and she hurried with her dress. Still tugging on a boot, Kahlan burst through the door, taking the stairs two at a time and missing one entirely at the bottom. Not a moment later did she find the eyes of Ave. Everyone else distinctly averted their gaze, but cold blue eyes left Ave to settle on Cara, to silently demand her attention.

The blonde continued with her breakfast in spite of the choked silence. This, now, this was just an inevitability. An interesting one. There was just something inside of this particular Confessor, something the Mord'Sith didn't have words for. But Cara had a strong feeling whatever it was had a lot to do with a brand of madness she'd never seen in anyone. In the unrelenting silence, she at last looked up. As expected, the Mord'Sith found the hard eyes of the Mother Confessor—who managed to give an impressive aura despite her ruffled hair, Cara noticed. Gazes locked, Cara saw a certain swirl of emotion she recognized quite well.

"Mother Confessor," Ave started, as though the weight of her gaze was on him. "The fault is mine. I asked the Mord'Sith to—to deal with those animals."

"The judgment was mine to give." Still she kept her gaze on Cara. It was as if he had never spoken.

"Animals get put down, Confessor."

Kahlan took a step closer, fingers twitching at her side. The lack of challenge in the Mord'Sith's voice felt worse than her defiance, because it made it seem there hadn't been any defiance at all. "Confessors deliver justice."

"Not this time!" Ave cried, slamming a fist on a table. He recoiled even though she seemed to take no notice of him. "I've always hated Mord'Sith, but this one, this one delivered justice last night. Creator help me, I wish she skinned them alive." Ave clenched his jaw and stared at nothing as tears escaped his eyes. "Confess me if you have to, but this was the last… the last thing I could do for my daughter."

Kahlan turned in time to see him slump into a chair and she moved, setting a hand on his shoulder. Both her eyes and voice were distant, but still she said, "You have my apologies, more than I can ever convey."

"But?" He asked miserably.

Her hand slid off his shoulder and her eyes drifted to Cara, willing the woman to feel her gaze and look at her. And Cara did. "But the Mord'Sith and I must talk." After a moment, Cara nodded once and stood. Kahlan walked out, not stopping until she'd went around back and past the stables. "You disobeyed me."

"I'm not under your command."

Again with that damned tone, as if she fully understood the situation she'd placed Kahlan in and accepted whatever decision she made. It made something inside of Kahlan twitch, the acceptance. Where was the fight in this woman? "In the Midlands, the Mother Confessor's word is law." She faced the blonde, noticing green eyes weren't entirely veiled as they had been. But the traces of that damned acceptance, the yielding. She was glad for the barrier the Mord'Sith had erected because if the woman showed any more of this, Kahlan would punch her in the face out of principle. "You are in the Midlands."

"You are the Mother Confessor."

Kahlan glared, it being the only thing saving her from breathing a sigh of relief at the snide comment. At least, she hoped it was meant that way because the only other possibility was acknowledgment that she could pass judgment on the Mord'Sith. "As long as the agreement we have is valid, you cannot go around doing things against my expressed will."

"Because your expressed will is law," Cara said slowly. "Perhaps I should convince someone to write down everything you say."

Snide. Definitely snide. "If someone said you were funny, they lied to you."

"No one would dare say such a thing to me, Confessor. Though I see you no longer look torn between confessing me and thanking me."

"Excuse me?"

She regarded Kahlan for a moment. "I did what you could not." She left before a response could be given, or perhaps she knew Kahlan shouldn't give her one.

The tranquil time between afternoon and evening found Kahlan talking with a group of people about plans for getting the town back in working order while Cara mostly milled about who knew where. Having spent the past few hours taking in the state of things, Kahlan and the townspeople had a basic plan.

A blond man that had introduced himself as Darrick and acted as Kahlan's second in command clasped her hands. "Creator bless you, Mother Confessor. You couldn't have come at a better time."

The crash of a chair cut across Kahlan's response as a boy on the threshold of being a man stormed out of the tavern, followed after by a wide-eyed girl.

Kahlan stared at the door, barely hearing Darrick. "Forgive Zen, Mother Confessor. His elder sister was… taken and I fear my words struck him."

It made Kahlan's heart ache. She wanted to go after the boy, but she got the feeling it wouldn't go over well. She couldn't fault him. "And their parents?"

Darrick hesitated. "Mary was all Zen and the little one had."

Kahlan brought a hand to her face. This was why she fought, risked her life, passed up almost any selfish desire she could have. And it still wasn't even close to enough. "I think we've done all we can for today. Tomorrow we start cleaning up. A fresh start."

"Yes, Mother Confessor."

Ave nodded and people murmured their agreement and goodbyes before taking their leave.

Darrick lingered, at last clearing his throat to get Kahlan's attention. "You cannot save everyone."

She smiled bitterly. "I know."

Kahlan awoke to a familiar ache in her body, but it was lessened compared to yesterday. She dressed mechanically, noting it was probably a couple hours after dawn, and headed downstairs to fill her complaining stomach.

Ave paused at the sight of her, signaling his assistant, and made an obvious effort to keep from grinning. He failed miserably.

"What?" Kahlan asked sleepily, plopping into a chair.

"Nothing. I just…" He shook his head and laughed before disappearing into the kitchen. He returned with a plate of food for her and sat across from her, still staring. "I'd've never thought I'd see the Mother Confessor looking like she just rolled out of bed." His face softened, oblivious to her blush, and he leaned over the table to smooth out her hair. "You're just a young woman that should be enjoying life."

A powerful urge to cry crashed over Kahlan and she swallowed it back with effort. She didn't know if it was the tender, fatherly gesture or his words, but she chose not to address either of them, forcing a smile onto her face. "These are strange times."

He looked at her, understanding her change of topic and nodded. "Strange. I don't think that's the word for these times. Your Mord'Sith, maybe, but not these times."

Her Mord'Sith.

Ave grimaced in light of her stare. "I'm sorry, Mother Confessor. I, it's just," He stopped to rub his face. "There's just something about that Mord'Sith and something about you. The Mother Confessor and a Mord'Sith, listening to each other. Having understanding. It's obvious. I even forget your stations." Still receiving that stare, he paled further. "I didn't mean—"

"It's quite alright," She interrupted with a tight smile. "I understand." Not entirely a lie. "But I haven't heard any explosions and the sun hasn't fallen from the sky so I have to ask when she went to her room last night."

His smile at Kahlan's attempt to lighten the conversation died as he stared at her with a pity she didn't understand. "I don't know, honestly, but she left before dawn." Ave scratched his chin. "But that was after looking in on Tommy Boy."

"Left?" Kahlan echoed.

The bartender blinked at her, realizing the implications of his words. He rapped his knuckles on the table. "Here. Left here."

A long breath whooshed out of Kahlan. She didn't even know she'd stopped breathing. However, she did know the cold feeling ebbing out of her veins. Dread. "You said she checked on Thomas?"

Ave tapped her plate to remind her to eat, only speaking once she picked up her fork. "She asked—"

"Asked?" Kahlan interrupted, though the food in her mouth made it sound like "Assthks."

He openly grinned. "Demanded. I don't think that woman knows how to ask for anything. She demanded to know where he was, looked like she might stomp his face into the ground when he smiled and she called him a damned idiot. Strange Mord'Sith."

"Has she done anything?" Kahlan had no doubts about the man understanding her actual question.

"Besides hide?"

She stopped chewing to stare at him. Swallowed. "Hide?" She said it as though the word were foreign.

"No one's seen her much." Ave heaved his shoulders. "I don't think anyone's reacted to her this way and we've never reacted to a Mord'Sith this way. Never thought of it. Being indebted to a Mord'Sith," he trailed off absently.

Kahlan turned over his words. The way he used them created similarities between the lot of them and Cara, but she had to wonder how much of it was reciprocated by the Mord'Sith. Yet she couldn't fathom the woman hiding away somewhere. She had to be doing something. "Before dawn?"

He took a moment to process the change in conversation. "Yes."

"Any idea where?"

Ave shook his head and went back to serving some of the people straying in or from upstairs.

Kahlan returned to her now cold food, debating between finding out what Cara was up to or helping with the cleanup first. She hadn't seen the blonde since their tense conversation—did Mord'Sith avoid people?—and just the thought left Kahlan's mind jumbled. She promptly decided on helping the town and just disregarding whatever Cara was up to unless someone complained. It's not as if the woman had someone tied up somewhere and was just torturing them for entertainment. She hoped.

Today was going to be a long day, and as if she needed further proof of it, Cara walked in. Except, the Mord'Sith didn't so much as glance in her direction and no one reacted to the woman's presence so Kahlan briefly wondered if she was hallucinating. She pressed her fingers against her eyes.

And nearly poked them out a few minutes later when something thudded onto her table.

"You forgot your Truthful Sword yesterday."

"Sword of Truth," Kahlan corrected absently, staring at it.

"That's what I said."

Kahlan blinked up at Cara, looked at the sword, blinked up at Cara again. "You are absolutely strange."

The Mord'Sith offered a flat stare that suggested she thought little of Kahlan's intelligence. In turning to leave, she nearly walked over someone.

"Sorry, sorry," he blurted, looking away as if that would save him from the venomous glare.

"Darrick, hello."

The pleasant tone was too heavy, so Cara glanced at the Confessor, catching her eyes for a moment before focusing on this "Darrick" person again. She took the smallest step back, smirking when he started breathing again.

Kahlan rubbed one of her temples with a sigh. She wanted Cara to back off, not seem as if she were allowing Darrick to breathe. But Cara let him breathe and Kahlan took her blessings as they came to her. "What is it? I was just about to look for you." As Darrick hesitated, Kahlan finally noticed a stillness settling over the tavern.

He cleared his throat once, twice. "No one's wanted to ask, but we all want to, need to, to know. What—Did they—" He grimaced, giving up on speech due to the gloved hand painfully gripping his bicep.

"They died fighting." Cara released him and stopped in the middle of nodding to the Confessor. There was something in the brunette's face. She strode out the tavern hurriedly, her only destination—somewhere else. Wonder. When was the last time someone looked at her with wonder? Had they ever?

The feeling of being watched pulled Cara back to awareness. She didn't know when she'd stopped walking, but she recognized the building, and the old woman staring at her. The tailor. "What?"

She flinched at Cara's tone and halfway ran inside her shop. The Mord'Sith blinked a moment, then started walking away, but paused to stare curiously when the tailor burst outside with a package and stopped a few feet from her. "I finished the Mother Confessor's corset."

Cara stared.

"I need more time for her white dress. Couldn't get the blood out, started a new one."

"Couldn't you just replace the sleeve?"

The tailor's mouth fell open. "Wha—what kind of barbarian are you?" She seemed oblivious to Cara's raised eyebrow. "This is the Mother Confessor, not some common woman! Replace the sleeve. Hmph."

Why was she having this conversation? "Is she not a woman?"

"And you?" The tailor shot back.

Cara's jaw tightened and a glare stole over her. "I am Mord'Sith," she said woodenly.

"And a woman still! But you demand the best for your leathers. I mended them under your eye and how's that oil, hmm?" She stepped closer and prodded at Cara even as the Mord'Sith slapped her hand away. "Best you'd seen, I wager."

"It is adequate."

She eyed Cara. "Best to use it as a wax, but was in a rush. Slight difference in ingredients. I'll write them for you. Give you some for the road." She nodded sharply, shoving the package into Cara, and walked back into her shop.

Cara sighed heavily. This whole not beating, maiming or killing any of the townspeople thing was really starting to agitate her. She looked at the bundle in her hands, briefly considering opening it. If her leathers were anything to go by—she wouldn't have known they'd been cut and absolutely drenched if she hadn't been wearing them for said abuses—the Confessor's corset had to be in top shape.

"Get in here already!" The tailor called out.

A short while later, Cara quietly walked the woods surrounding the town without purpose. At least, it would seem so. She shifted the small pack over her shoulder, having decided she'd rather hang onto the Confessor's corset in case her suspicions were right. They usually were. She'd felt watched yesterday, and walked a particular area at least three times. Now, she was threading her way back to a path leading to town, eyes constantly checking for life. Cara reached the path and followed it away from the town until she found a number of broken branches. Sure enough, a little way into the trees, she stared into the eyes of an obviously uncomfortable horse. Fortunately it made little noise as she passed and she crept along, following the evidence of her stalker to the man himself, half sitting against a tree, staring beyond it. Cara smirked. He was waiting for her to walk the same as yesterday, from the best spot she'd already picked out.

He turned too late to properly respond, but in time enough that her pack caught him across the face. Sprawled on the ground, he stared up at her through some of his dark hair, rubbing his face. "Is there a body in there?"

Cara hefted the pack, her smile predatory. "Are you volunteering?"

He vigorously shook his head. "Can I stand?"

"Sit." She watched him comply, lips pursed, and crouched when he looked up at her, noticing how his eyes followed her attentively. "You're not a fool."

His mouth opened uselessly, but he settled for bowing his head.

Cara glared at him, fully aware he wasn't the source of her frustration. She hated schemes, and hated being a part of them. But she wasn't stupid, either. She stood, grabbing his hair to make him do the same. "Strip. Now."

He didn't hesitate.

Cara examined him, possibly taking an hour, and a few things she had suspected became apparent. Dahlia had absolutely nothing to do with this. He obviously had clear instructions and intelligence and his Mistress… Well. He was perfectly broken as far as Cara could tell. Completely compliant, but his body was as strong as his mind. And there wasn't a single scar on his body that seemed related to his breaking. Cara only knew two Mord'Sith restrained and dedicated enough to accomplish such a thing. And one of them was, ironically, too uncontrolled to resist marking her handiwork.

Cara started pulling off one of her gloves, raising an eyebrow at his smile. "What?"

"You're as much as my mistress said you would be."

Her eyes narrowed and she dismissed the idea of investigating his scalp. "Open your mouth again."

He gave her a slightly bloody grin before obeying.

Cara kind of liked him. He'd shown her the blood on his teeth to confirm her suspicion and had a particular glint in his eye, even as he continued to stand there naked with his mouth open. He was a perfect pet. Cara rolled her eyes and reached two bare fingers into his mouth, discovering a "D" cut into the roof of it. The question was if she'd gotten it to bleeding when she hit him or if he did it himself, and who kept the cut fresh. She sighed, pulling her glove back on and ignoring the intrigued tilt of his head.

"When my Mistress told me to look for you, I didn't think I'd find you in the company of the Mother Confessor."

Cara's jaw tightened. "Temporary agreement."

"Temporary agreement," he repeated, as if he had to consider her words. "Where is her beloved Seeker?"

"Occupied."

"My Mistress will want details."

She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes Denna has to do things herself." He bowed his head in acknowledgment and she continued, "What does she want?"

"My Mistress wants her desires."

Denna sure knew how to pick them, Cara had to give her that. "What are you supposed to do?"

"Find you, report back." His eyes shined and he stood straighter. "I found you, not that bastard. My Mistress will be pleased… Won't she?"

"I'm sure," Cara said drily, disgusted by his obvious quest for Denna's affections, but it was also funny. "I'd have to kill you to keep you from mentioning the Confessor." It wasn't a question, but she appreciated the fact that he nodded. So many would've lied. Begged. She sighed. "Why is she looking for me?"

He stared at her intently, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What kind of answer would you prefer?'

Cara smelled a scheme. Damn Denna and her schemes. She could keep them. "Any plans for the Confessor?"

"Nope."

"There will be after this," she muttered.

"Doubtlessly."

"So what is it about me?"

He regarded her seriously. "I don't believe anyone knows the extent of that answer yet."

She suppressed the urge to drive her fist into his face. "What does Denna want with me?"

"Perhaps her message will clear that up." He cocked his head toward the end of the sentence, asking permission. He brightened considerably when she sighed heavily. "Find Elias in Ferres Bend, we have much to discuss. Trust no Mord'Sith but us two, soon to be three."

"How helpful," Cara said after a pause. Leave it to Denna to talk in riddles just to piss her off.

"Elias will put you in contact with my Mistress when you're ready. I should go back now." Receiving no objection, he started pulling on his clothes under her watchful eye. What should have been brief darkness as he put his shirt on became total emptiness as a result of Cara's hand slamming his head against the tree once, twice, a third time for good measure.

She looked down at Denna's unconscious pet. "I can't let you go just yet."

A familiar scene played out as Duskuun again burst into the most isolated room of the Exalted Palace.

Again, he stared into the eyeless holes of his friend's face. "Evermore, please."

Knowing Duskuun would accept their silence, Evermore adjusted their hood before moving to a bookshelf composed of an entire wall of the large room. They selected a book, running gloved fingers down its spine. Their voice, a blend of two voices overlapping each other at any time, quietly reached Duskuun. "Can you smell it?"

Duskuun closed his eyes, breathing in deeply. "There's so much. A ripple in Time. Runtah shifting, someone coming closer to one of its Doors. More than someone. Realms—"

"Focus."

"On?"

"Madness taints its essence. Focus."

"Vintar is dead." Duskuun's brow furrowed, eyes opening. "Unless you mean he is Restoring himself."

"You suppose within a limited area."

"A Lost House is returning? Is it him?"

Evermore shook their head and their voice rumbled sadly. "Your heart blinds you. Something wicked this way comes."

They returned the book as Duskuun left. Selected another. The oldest journeybook. They sat at the dark stone desk, removing a glove to provide ink. A careful hand poised over the page, hesitant. A wry smile crossed their face, and they began to write.

Even Gods hesitate. When your footsteps slow, continue. Do not stop. Madness will offer you its hand, wearing a variety of faces. Accept only the one known to you, banish all others. Something wicked this way comes on the wings of mad desire.

Only blood and purity can stop it.

Whatever the cost, keep blood and purity in each other's company.