V. FRAGILE
Richard jolted awake and lay still, trying to decide what had torn him from his slumber. The woods were silent, and thick, gray fog hung like a gloomy blanket over the ground. He judged it to be very early. There was a faint lightness to the east, nothing more, and Zedd sounded to be still in the midst of some of his heaviest snores.
Untangling from his covers, he sat up to find that Kahlan was gone again. Lately, she had begun to claim last watch each night, and was often gone from the camp when he awoke. It made him uneasy, her alone in the woods, but she always returned with fresh firewood or water or some berries for breakfast just as the sun was painting the sky in ribbons of pink and gold. In the past, he would have teased her and asked her a question about where she went so early in the morning without him. Now all he could do was be glad she came back.
Something troubled him though about her empty bedroll, and he frowned at it, his thoughts still slow and sluggish. Yawning, he scrubbed his hands over his face and then back through his disheveled hair, fighting against the lingering film of sleep that dulled his mind. He never woke up rested anymore. Not now that every other night brought dreams of what he'd done to her. There could be no peace when Kahlan wept.
Bleary eyed, he sat there awhile longer and, another enormous yawn later, it hit him. It was the fact that her bedroll was there at all. Most mornings he awoke to find it already neatly rolled away. But there it lay, and terribly rumpled at that, as if she had leapt from it in a tremendous hurry.
He hauled himself to his feet, stretching out sore muscles as he stood, and picked his way around Cara's sleeping form to kneel beside the abandoned blankets. They were still warm to the touch. She had not been gone long, and he bowed his head at the realization; it had been her leaving that had roused him. Richard closed his eyes, trying not to surrender to the steady ache in his chest. But the lingering warmth of her blankets was as near as he came to her these days.
He worried that she feared him now, and so he tried to give her space. Zedd offered him encouragement, promising that with time, it would all work out. His grandfather meant well, he knew, but every word of advice only twisted something inside him into anger. He had begun resorting to silently listing all the trails around Hartland in alphabetical order just to keep from snapping back. After all, what woman wouldn't fear the man who'd taken her against her will? Wouldn't hate him? That she remained at his side said nothing about him. Kahlan stayed for the quest.
A bitter voice inside his head reminded him that that too was his fault; he had been the one to tear the veil. Richard straightened up and shuffled over to the remnants of the fire. If he got breakfast going before the others woke, they could at least get an early start and cover more ground in the search for the stone. One foot in front of the other all day long. He followed the compass; it was the only thing left he could still do. The only plan he bothered to make anymore.
Crouching over the dying embers, he was about to begin prodding them with a stick when he heard a weak, whimpering sound somewhere behind him. Surprised, he twisted around and tried to see past the fog choked trees that ringed the camp. All was gray mist and obscurity. He couldn't see much further than the tip of his nose.
Kahlan's bedroll lay close by, tangled and abandoned – a troubling reminder that something was not quite right – and he straightened up, calling softly for her. There was no answer. Richard stole to the edge of the camp, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His heart hammering against his ribcage, he listened to the silence and the slow drip of early morning dew drops, straining his ears for any sign of danger. A faint cough came from the same direction as the whimper, followed by what he swore sounded like someone retching.
"Kahlan?" he called again, louder this time.
She didn't answer.
Forgetting everything save for his worry for her, Richard hurried through the dense fog, running towards the sound. He didn't have to go far before he came across her doubled over on her knees. One arm was wrapped around her stomach, the other holding her weight up as she vomited, her fingers digging into the damp earth for support. "Kahlan," he murmured, dropping down beside her without a second thought.
He pulled her long hair out of the way and ran a hand down her back. She trembled violently beneath his palm. It struck him that this was the most he'd touched her since he'd been confessed, and his hands froze, suddenly unsure of their place. He let go as she shuddered to a stop and straightened some, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her hair was wild; her face white. Dark shadows hung beneath her blue eyes.
"You're ill?" he asked. The crisp morning air now smelled like a sick house, and she looked about to collapse.
But Kahlan shook her head and reached for an exposed tree root with a trembling hand, gripping it to pull herself back to standing. The sight of her so unsteady forced him to ignore his own apprehension, and he took a gentle hold of her elbow, easing her to her feet. He let go again as soon as she was upright in case she didn't want him touching her, but Kahlan made no mention of it. She had one of their waterskins with her, and she took a drink from it, turning away as she swished the water in her mouth and spat it on the ground.
Slinging the strap to the waterskin back over her shoulder, Kahlan started walking deeper into the woods. He hesitated a moment, and then went after her. Her movements were cautious and slow, and in a few strides, he'd caught up with her again. "You look ill," he insisted, unable to simply shrug off his concern. He'd never seen her look so pale.
Kahlan stopped abruptly and stared off through the gray morning in the direction of the camp. He stopped beside her, standing still in the forest and the fog, waiting. It had been a long time since they had been so alone, and he couldn't help but stare at the shape of her mouth, at the tiny, delicate shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks. Even as sickly and disheveled as she was, he still found her beauty overwhelming.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Can Zedd heal you? We don't have to travel today. We can take a day off, and you can rest."
"Zedd can't heal me," she said in a strange, hoarse voice, and when she finally looked back at him, he found tears glimmering in her eyes.
"Why? Kahlan, what is it?" He felt too scared to breathe. His mind raced over a long list of plagues both common and rare; she'd been this weak the time she nearly died from the Fire Fever. "What's happened? I can find you a healer. Please, tell me."
She shook her head, whispering, "No." A lone tear escaped to spill down her cheek. "I'm not ill, Richard…" His name left her lips as a faint, mournful wail, and she trembled when she met his eyes. "I'm with child."
His jaw went slack, and he nearly choked on the words. "With child?" he echoed. Before being confessed by Annabelle, he'd always imagined having a child with Kahlan would make him happier than anything else could. A part of him he thought had died that day flickered faintly back to life like a candle not quite gone out, and he thought of picking her up in his arms, maybe spinning her around. And laughing. There should be laughing in delight over their child. But then he remembered how she'd wept beneath him, and all he managed was, "Are you certain?"
The hand hovering over her stomach clenched into a fist, and she pressed it harder against herself. "Very."
He nodded, not knowing what else to say. Her eyes still brimmed with tears, and when she blinked, another one started to fall. Hastily she brushed it away. "You're upset," he said. He wanted to beg her not to cry, but she shook her head.
"How can I be upset? It's why we…" Her voice wobbled, "Why I, why…in the first place."
"Right," he said, his tone seeped in bitterness as he remembered Annabelle's words to him. They were why he had memories of saying things to Kahlan, of doing things to her that nothing, not even a knife to his throat and the promise of death, could make him do. He remembered the eagerness he had felt to please his mistress, his desperation to do all that she asked. The gaping abyss of self-loathing that had promised to consume him if he failed in his task.
He had succeeded.
Their eyes met in silence, and all he saw there hurt and held him captivated. They turned away at the same time, as if it hurt as much for her as it did for him, and began walking farther from the little clearing where the others slept.
They had no destination that he knew of, but together they took a silent detour around an old tree trunk long tumbled to the ground. Dew drops hung from the fungus growing on its rotting bark. It was so quiet he could hear the whisper of her skirt brushing against the dried leaves, and he fumbled for something to say, "How long have you known?"
"Since we stopped outside Trenning Village," said Kahlan, her eyes trained on the ground. That had been nearly a week ago. And right before she'd begun to claim last watch each night. "But I suspected for awhile before that," she added, and by the heaviness to her voice he knew she'd been worrying a long time, all alone.
"Have you, um," he began, still finding it strange to speak to her without Zedd or Cara there. His tongue tripped on every word. But Kahlan lifted an expectant eyebrow and glanced his way and didn't seem to mind. He tried again, "Have you been getting sick all that time?"
She gave a slight shake of her head. "Not so much at first. It's been getting worse."
Richard stopped walking and turned to face her, his fingers ghosting over her arm before falling away. His skin tingled where it had touched the fluttering edge of her sleeve. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked. He hated the thought of her suffering by herself. If there was one thing he wanted for her, it was that she should never have to be alone. She had already endured more loneliness than most just for being born a Confessor.
Something rather like sorrow darkened the blue of her eyes. "We're supposed to be finding the Stone of Tears. I didn't want this to be a distraction. And everything's been so strange between us…" She looked away from him up at the towering trees to where the fog was beginning to lift. The sudden vulnerability in her voice nearly clawed his heart open, "I didn't know what to say, Richard."
"I know," he said, fidgeting with the leather bracer on his wrist. He'd been tongue-tied since the moment the quillion set him free. "I'm sorry."
Kahlan pushed her lips into a small, determined smile. "At least I won't be the last Confessor anymore."
No. There would be another. Their child. The reality nearly took him to his knees; Kahlan was going to bear his child.
Back in Hartland, it was understood that if a man got a woman with child, he wed her. If he didn't, he'd have her angry father, brothers and uncles all knocking down his door. He wondered how it worked in the Midlands. With the Mother Confessor. Kahlan had always claimed the two of them could never marry, but she hadn't been carrying his child then. He scuffed the toe of his boot against a loose patch of rock and watched the pebbles scatter, feeling every bit the unpolished woods guide from Westland.
"Kahlan?" She made a soft sound in answer, and he stumbled over his words, "Do you want to marry?" Her eyebrows shot straight up, and his heart began to beat too fast, as if planning an escape from his chest. He could feel his face heat. "I don't know, in the Midlands if…what's the proper thing to do, but I love you and—"
"I can't," she interrupted with a shake of her head. Her eyes were wet; the last of the color gone from her cheeks. "I can't marry you," she whispered. Kahlan pressed the back of her hand to her mouth a moment, squeezing her eyes shut. He felt like he was falling backwards off a cliff, his stomach in his throat. She kept talking and he fell further, "I thought you'd understand why now more than ever. You know what confession is like. How could I possibly be a wife to you?"
"I didn't mean…" He wouldn't be surprised if she never desired him again. "I wasn't trying to say we'd have to be together in that way. But, if we have a child together?"
She let out a thin little moan. "Please, can we talk about this some other time?"
"Sure," he said quietly, wishing he'd never said anything. Of course she didn't want to marry him now. Not after what he'd done. "Whatever you want, Kahlan." He glanced up from the rut he was working into the forest floor with the toe of his boot, wondering if he should offer to go away and leave her in peace. He had already done enough harm. But Kahlan stood stock still, a strange look passing across her face. She gripped the trunk of the nearest tree hard enough to turn her knuckles white, her other hand clutching at her stomach.
"Are you okay?" he asked in alarm.
She doubled over in answer, and he snatched her hair back just in time as she retched into a clump of dried grass at the base of the tree. He watched her, sick and miserable because of him, and wished that he could pull her into his arms and hold her like he used to, close enough to feel her heart beat. But when she stopped heaving and straightened up, his hands fell limp and useless to his sides. She sagged against the tree trunk and took a halfhearted sip of water.
"We should get back," she mumbled. "The sun's coming up."
But she stumbled twice before they made it so much as halfway to the campsite. Once over such a large, obvious root even a blind man could have avoided it, and the second time over nothing at all. He longed to carry her back to her bed. Instead, Richard shot her a pointed look and sat down on a log, sighing inwardly with relief when she settled beside him. After a moment, she let her eyes slip shut.
"I'll be all right soon," she said as if she could sense him fretting. "It's always worst when I first wake. That's why I get up so early."
They'd passed a wild pear tree a while back, but when he offered to go get her some to give her back her strength, Kahlan only groaned, waving the idea away. She seemed too tired to talk, and he didn't know what else to say anyway, so he sat there feeling useless. Kahlan was having his child, but she didn't want to wed him, and he couldn't think about that much without feeling like he had a hole in his chest. Now she didn't even want him to fetch her anything. He stared down at her stomach, feeling such a strange mix of sorrow and wonder that he found it hard to breathe.
"Isn't there anything I can do?" he said at last.
Kahlan eyes fluttered open slightly, and she looked at him through slits of blue. "Just sit here with me? A little longer?" she asked, tentative as a footstep on fragile ice, as if she feared he would say no. He couldn't manage any words around the sudden lump in his throat, but he nodded his head and stayed beside her. She smiled then – a shy, hopeful twist of the lips – and leaned to the right, her shoulder coming to rest against his.