Trust

"Mama," Nila said in a high, little girl voice. "You're here."

"Of course, sweetheart," said Kahlan, gracefully sinking down on the edge of her daughter's bed.

"They won't let me get up until tomorrow," Nila complained. "But at least I don't have to go to lessons." She made a face.

"Don't you like your lessons?" Kahlan objected. "You know how important they are."

Nila shrugged. She looked down at her hands on the red coverlet, and then seemed to come to a decision. She raised her eyes to Kahlan's face. "Mama? I just—when I was in the dungeons, Mistress Cindi told me Father didn't care about me, that no one did—I was just the extra, Nicholas is the heir—" even through her distress, Kahlan noted the way Nila's lip curled when she mentioned her brother.

"Sweetheart," she said, reaching out to smooth back Nila's dark hair, so like her own. "I will always care about you, you know that."

"Yes. That's what I'm saying," Nila said patiently. "I thought—I thought it might be true. About Father." She looked at Kahlan then, cool blue eyes serious. "But I knew you would always protect me—you wouldn't abandon me."

"Never," said Kahlan, touched. "You mean more to me than anything."

(Even if Nila had elected to keep her Mord'Sith guardians—Kahlan did not see that their protection was worth much, when they were at least as dangerous as anything they guarded Nila against. Yet how could she take away something that made her poor daughter feel more secure? Kahlan hated the Mord'Sith for hurting Nila—she wished she could have Confessed the Underworld-cursed Mistress 'C-something', so that she would feel the agony Kahlan had, when Nila was missing.)

Nila held out her arms, and Kahlan embraced her. As she inhaled the soft, clean scent of soap and little girl, Kahlan felt so thankful.

She didn't think she could love anyone more than her daughter—and that was when the memories struck her, assailing her mind and heart like a sudden arrow storm. She stiffened.

"Mama?" Nila asked. "What's wrong?"

Kahlan took a deep breath, and pulled away, her fingers lingering on Nila's hair. She told herself Nila had Darken's black hair and blue eyes, not her own.

It didn't help.

"Sweetheart," she said, "there's something I need you to do."

"Right now? Can I go downstairs again?" Nila asked hopefully.

"No, not right now," said Kahlan slowly, seriously. "Someday, when you're an old woman, the Seeker is going to come back."

Nila looked puzzled. "But he's gone. Everyone says so."

"Nevertheless," said Kahlan. "He's going to come back, and he's going to need your help. He should have everything else he needs—but he won't be able to save the world if you don't help him."

"Save the world from what?" asked Nila.

Kahlan looked toward her daughter's window, out into the wide world, where the Resistance no longer held sway, where the people had hospitals, and no more war…and wondered.

"Someday you'll understand," was all she would say.

"I love you, Mama," Nila said.

That night, for the first time, the face in Kahlan's dreams, mouth open in a wordless scream of betrayal and reproach, wasn't Richard's—it was Nila's.

Was she doomed to betray the trust of someone she loved?

Darken came to see Nila the next morning. She was still supposed to rest, but she was sitting by the window, looking out, instead of in bed, and Darken guessed she longed to be out and about.

"Good morning," he said warmly, holding out his arms.

After a moment, Nila came to him and he hugged her close, shutting his eyes and letting himself feel the relief of knowing that she was all right. Then he tucked her back in bed, where she belonged, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"That's where Mother always sits," she told him gravely.

"Indeed," Darken said, and took a deep breath. "Nila, I want you to know that I never intended for this to happen. The Mord'Sith are there to protect you and your brother when I can't—" he had to pause, trying to get his temper under control.

It still made him wild with fury to think that Mistress Cindi had dared hurt his daughter, and now that she was dead, the rage seemed only to be increasing. Darken was jealous that Kahlan had killed Cindi—it was a pleasure he'd hoped to reserve for himself.

(And she still hadn't seemed to understand his anger, bleating on about his heir as though Nicholas were the only important thing—true, Darken had once felt that way, but that had been before he actually became a father. Or had Cindi merely feigned misunderstanding—had she been plotting against him? What kind of world was this, where he couldn't even trust his First Mistress? Dahlia at least showed the proper respect…)

"It's okay," Nila said. "I trust Mistress Dahlia. And I just want Ruxsendra to be okay—I'm so worried about her!"

"Don't be," Darken said, blinking. Ruxsendra would join the ranks of the Mord'Sith, and he would make certain she never attempted to follow Cindi's traitorous example. If she took after her aunt at all, she would doubtless prove as loyal and efficient a support to Nicholas as Cara had been to him. That symmetry pleased him. "She'll be fine. And so will you—is that understood?" His voice was sharper than he'd intended—Nila's eyes flashed.

"You're angry with me!" she accused. "It's just like Mistress Cindi said—you don't really love me, it's all Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas—"

Darken was shaking his head in vehement denial, quite forgetting that of course it wasall Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas—the boy was his heir.

"Nila, you are my daughter and I love you very much," Darken said quietly.

Nila scooted closer, and threw her arms around him. "Really?" she asked, in her best charming little girl voice.

Darken hugged her close. "Of course, really," he said. "Did you think I didn't?"

"No," she muttered.

Darken was horrified at the thought that his own daughter could doubt his feelings for her. He'd known, of course, that he wasn't doing a good job as a parent when he couldn't find her for three days in his own Palace, but this—!

And yet, even when she hadn't believed he cared for her as more than Nicholas's big sister, she had not cried once. And she hadn't broken, either.

As furious as Darken was that Mistress Cindi had laid a hand on his little girl, it was still fascinating to find that she was so strong—truly, she was worthy of her Rahl blood.

"I'm proud of you," he whispered against her hair, willing her to believe him.

She was a marvel—already she clamored to be up and out again, already she saw what another child might not realize, that Cindi had, thank the Creator, been working alone and that new First Mistress Dahlia was loyal to the House of Rahl—she was resilient and bright and precious, and still Mistress of Darken's heart.