A/N: I haven't had a good time. Obviously. I let it go too far and I actually wouldn't be better and here if it weren't for some of you. So thank you. I have a lot of catch-up to do writing-wise, and I'm sure you wouldn't mind seeing it happen. Thanks for being here, for enjoying this story, for your patience, and for those of you that maintain faith in my writing abilities.
There's almost a hundred alerts and that just astounds me.
A finger absently brushed back dark hair, but the tilt of his head made it fall forward again. He was too occupied to notice. He straightened. The smile wouldn't leave his face. "Grace."
The Mord'Sith froze, still partially bent over. Her fingers twitched as if trying to remind her they were supposed to pick up Dahlia's knife, but that smooth, regal tone just couldn't be. "My Lord?"
Pleasure washed through him, and, once more, he ached to have his physical form. He knew she remembered their… sessions. Knew it from the tremor in her voice only he caused. "Come now, I haven't seen you in so long, Grace." To his satisfaction, she stiffened further at the sound of her name. The blonde Mord'Sith finally stood upright, facing him, head raised in a pride he'd love to shatter, over and over. "I have services for you to perform, dear Grace."
Her grip on Dahlia's knife brought little comfort. Hazel eyes flicked to Raina's sleeping form, flicked back to Darken.
"Now, now. It's just the two of us at the moment. Unless you'd rather have someone else occupy you?"
Still, she said nothing.
Anger and hatred twisted inside of him. He'd underestimated Dahlia, something he had thought impossible. Dahlia had some obsession with Cara, and always kept Grace close for some reason. So, of course, he'd expected Dahlia to control Grace as some stupid manner of holding onto Cara but he didn't think she'd have so much sway that Grace didn't answer him. He owned her, owned all of them.
Darken stepped closer, allowing green flame to follow in his footsteps.
She stepped backward.
He smiled. "There's nothing to fear. I come to you for your aid, so that I can return to you. Guide you. I'm certain that you've noticed the chaos, the ruin in my absence." Darken paused, pleased to see the hesitation in her eyes. "I only request that you kill a general. General Fenn." He casually waved a hand, stepping back. "Look into it yourself, if you haven't heard. He facilitates the downfall of D'Hara."
Without any sort of gesture, Darken vanished.
The green tones of the Underworld welcomed him, and he paused, savoring his progress. The pieces were falling into place. One more task, and then he'd just have to wait. His smile faltered, and he stilled. He had yet to conceive a proper plan.
"Something wrong, Darken?"
The ever-strange press of the Keeper greeted him, and in that moment he found his resolve. He smiled. "Not at all. I'm simply preparing to visit my dear brother."
"The wonders of a son."
Darken frowned, staying there even as the Keeper's presence faded. Something was entirely different about the Keeper in that encounter. Something almost human. "Interesting," he murmured, rubbing his knuckles. After turning it over in his mind, he stirred himself. He had a brother to visit, after all. A long-awaited visit.
In but the blink of an eye, Darken found himself standing over the sleeping Seeker. He had company, and Darken wanted this to be particular to them, so he'd only pay this visit as a dream. A rather real dream. Darken's smile twisted, and he stared harder at the man in his slumber. How was it that he'd found the Seeker so instantly, so effortlessly? Perhaps it was their shared blood, the only bond possible between them. He shook himself. This disgrace to the Rahl bloodline did not deserve his thoughts.
"Brother."
And Richard awoke instantly—or so he believed. He jumped to his feet, hissing Darken's name, and reached for a sword that wasn't there.
"Looking for something, dear brother?" Though he still smiled, nonchalant, a sense of disquiet crept into him. He only saw undiluted, ugly hatred in Richard's eyes.
"I don't need a sword to kill you."
Darken's smile vanished. "You cannot kill the already dead."
"Then I'll come to the Underworld and end you."
Darken stepped closer, raising his chin slightly. "Try it, dear brother. I'll open a rift just for you." He reigned himself in, calming the desire to crush the Seeker, who dared speak so boldly against him. Another smile. "But dear brother, you are for the Keeper."
In the midst of Richard opening his mouth to reply, Darken's hand burned on his chest, and he let out a strangled scream.
As he withdrew to the Underworld, Darken couldn't stop thinking about what he'd sensed during the marking, about the black hatred and madness staining his brother's heart.
The hymns burned in her throat. Burned her blackened soul. This life of pretense had to end.
"Sister Nicci."
She blinked. Dragged her gaze to some Sister whose name she couldn't bother to remember. She tilted her head a little, unable to stop the twitch of her lips. She could see the Sister's foolish smile through both their veils.
"Your devotion to the Creator is so admirable. Whenever you remain kneeling, I'm certain She speaks to you."
Nicci almost blasted the Sister with lightning right then and there. Almost. She simply rose and bowed her head for a polite moment. "You always offer kind words."
She left, fingers twitching until she clasped them in front of her as she wandered. Nicci heard the Prelate, and her magic roared inside of her so violently that dizziness struck her. An abrupt turn. A hand bracing against the wall again and again to aid her hurried steps. By the time Nicci reached her room, the dizziness had faded, but she found no peace. She stayed there the rest of the day, and paced well into the night.
They could attack now. Surprise the Prelate. With that old woman's Han, she could kill everyone in the palace. The Sisters of the Dark would have the Palace of the Prophets overnight.
One, fell swoop.
An end to this charade.
She could start it now, then get her fellow Sisters in Darkness. Walk right into the Prelate's room, feigning some desperate need and end it all right there. The old fool trusted her enough and was too vain to suspect anything.
Yes.
"Sister Nicci."
She stopped. She didn't know when the room acquired a green glow. She should know. She turned, finding the sole candle lit with green flame. She fell to her knees. "My Lord."
"You seem disturbed."
She didn't say anything. Didn't know how he could know… Unless one of her Sisters told Him. But why?
"Allow me to ease you, child. You know you can rely on me."
Truth. And yet some part of her was repulsed by it. Twisted, as if to say, "And when can there be Nicci, Nicci who relies on Nicci?" but she said no such thing. She said only one thing. "Yes."
"Your time comes. What is a few weeks compared to all of your time here?"
"A few weeks?"
He laughed, understanding her real question. "It is written."
She watched the flame return to its normal color as the Keeper's presence faded. "So let it be done."
Berdine took measured steps, tense transfers of her weight. She was relaxed, but only in a troubled sense. Only as a Mord'Sith sensing something coming her way, only as a tactician awaiting an inevitable change in play. She could feel the tension in other Mord'Sith, but suspected they didn't know the cause of it.
Just instinct.
Not even instinct stopped a fist from colliding with her jaw. She braced herself for the fall, making little of it. She sat up, opening and closing her mouth. Her jaw clicked. Good thing Cara wasn't around. Berdine really didn't want the lecture about paying attention and not living in her head. Of course, given the facts—not realizing she'd walked into the dining hall, getting punched in the face—she might've needed that lecture.
"Look at me, you little bitch."
The unmistakable sneer in that voice snapped the tension in Berdine like a bone.
"When I tell you to do something, you do it."
Berdine looked up in a way that was almost casual. Before she even spoke, she knew her voice was as cold as the hatred inside of her. "Elle."
The woman's face twisted, her features as harsh as her personality. Rather, her lack of one. "Mistress Elle."
She rose, a slow, fluid motion made more intense by her stare. "Now, why would I call you such a thing when you're inferior to the blood on my boot?"
Elle made a terrible noise, the fire in her eyes as bright as the red of her hair. "I don't like when people play with my things. I especially don't like when some bitch proclaims she's better than me."
"'Proclaim' is a big word for you and I'll have you know that I do not play with shiny things."
A few laughs broke the tense silence, but Berdine only thought of where Elle got the idea that she'd said anything about the infernal woman.
Elle's fist came at Berdine's face with wicked quickness, barely evaded. But Berdine cursed herself as an agiel screamed into her ribs.
The older woman's speed was meant to distract, and damn if it hadn't been distracting.
A fist caught her jaw. Her legs were kicked from under her. The agiel followed her to the ground and she heard the woman whisper in her ear.
"I own Raina. Maybe I'd think about owning you if you weren't such a brat." She giggled, a strange, disturbing sound.
Berdine's hand locked onto Elle's wrist, holding the woman's agiel to her side. The confused look on Elle's face vanished with the press of an agiel under her chin. Elle blindly punched at Berdine and tried to yank her hand free from the brunette's vice-like grip. Berdine clenched her jaw, uncaring about Elle's blows. She drove the agiel against the woman's face and fell back, pulling Elle with her as she started thrashing, desperate to get away. Berdine's leg hooked around Elle.
"Let go, you bitch!"
Berdine didn't.
Elle grew wild.
Berdine didn't. She couldn't. Not if she wanted to stay conscious. She wrenched Elle's hand from her side and turned it viciously.
Elle convulsed under the violent caress of two agiels, then stopped.
Berdine pushed the woman's body off her, chest heaving. She knew the world wasn't spinning, but it definitely looked like it. Breathing was almost too much. She didn't dare touch her side. Any additional bursts of pain might knock her out, and that simply wouldn't do after sharing pain with Elle and proving she was stronger. All she wanted was to be anywhere else, alone. But something made her kneel beside Elle's body. She gave her the Breath of Life.
Elle screamed a weak, pathetic scream of rage.
Berdine punched her, grabbed her disheveled hair, slammed her face into the stone floor in a rather gentle manner for a Mord'Sith. "You don't even own yourself."
Elle's face hit the stone, over and over.
Berdine rolled the dead woman over so everyone could see the mutilated remains of her face. She stood, halfway looking at each Mord'Sith. They all had the same, basic expression. Except one.
Denna was smiling at her.
Something hit Raina's shoulder and her agiel snapped out as her eyes opened. Dark eyes focused on the twitching muscle in Grace's face for a moment. She withdrew her agiel. "You shouldn't wake a Mord'Sith that way." In the raw, still-new light of the day, Raina saw the blonde stiffen, slight as it was. She crouched, idly twirling her agiel. She didn't smile at Grace's subtle recoil.
"We have a mission."
Raina said nothing.
"We are to kill General Fenn."
Though nothing of her demeanor changed, Raina recognized the name.
"Say something." Under Raina's intense stare, Grace grew agitated and stood. "This is not an honor I have to share with you. Lord Rahl himself trusted me with this task."
That distinct, Mord'Sith bravado, wearing hatred like a coat made of ice during an endless winter.
Raina's agiel slammed into the side of Grace's knee. As the blonde fell, Raina rose, delivering a terrible uppercut that caught Grace in the soft spot beneath her chin. She crumpled backward gracelessly. Raina casually checked for a heartbeat. She slapped Grace's face a few times.
Coming back to consciousness, Grace made a strangled noise. Pain shined in her eyes as she attempted to swallow. She didn't even try speaking.
Raina forced Grace to look at her. "No."
Kahlan was anything but surprised when Cara rose from the fire as if she heard something. She walked away from camp. Patrolling. It had been the one word Kahlan got out of her since they left the first town. Once. For the last three nights, the Mord'Sith opted to leave and, naturally, Kahlan asked where she was going. After that first night where Cara said "Patrolling,"—as if it were the most obvious thing—and the next two where her face indicated she thought little of Kahlan's intelligence, the Confessor simply refused to ask tonight. She had to save her energy anyway. Kahlan didn't even want to think about how much ground they'd covered, travelling well into the night and starting again before dawn. They made one stop, only long enough to change horses. Their supplies had run low and Kahlan was certain that their conditions would decline soon, yet she wasn't worried. The Mord'Sith had become more restless than yesterday. Kahlan figured they were close to Richard.
Strange how that made her feel as though there were vipers in her stomach.
Cara returned to sit and stare at the fire.
The night was uneventful.
Around noon, Cara stopped just outside of a small town. "This town. The tavern."
Kahlan stared at her. "How can you be so sure?"
A muscle in Cara's face twitched. "A Mord'Sith recognizes this kind of hatred." She dismounted.
Kahlan followed suit, dismissing the Mord'Sith's eerie precision. Richard didn't hate anyone. He was too caring of a man—unless he truly thought Kahlan was dead because of that wizard. Certainly a Mord'Sith would recognize hatred bred from the death of a loved one.
"Are you ready or would you like to take a nap?"
She focused on Cara again. Her companion was tense, staring into town. "I'm ready to form a plan instead of just run in there like crazed murderers." Kahlan ignored the Mord'Sith's stiffness, ignored the pit in her own stomach. It had been uncalled for. She couldn't worry about it now. She settled into thinking. It wasn't long before she felt eyes on her. "I take it you have a plan."
Cara slowly developed a smirk.
Kahlan narrowed her eyes. "I want it to be known that I am against this."
"This is going to be fun."
Despite her best efforts, Kahlan soon stepped into town. She only barely stopped muttering about "Stubborn Mord'Sith" before a man approached her.
"Mother Confessor! What a pl—are you alright?"
She followed his eyes to the pink stain on her white sleeve. "Yes, thank you. I just wanted to stop and rest at the tavern."
He frowned. "If you're sure." He walked away.
Kahlan didn't bother with him. No one else stopped her. She took a deep breath before entering the tavern.
"Hello!"
She smiled tentatively at the barkeeper. It was strangely empty. He didn't have reason to stand right behind the bar and his smile was too big. "Slow day?"
He nodded. "Just enjoying the peace in my place."
It didn't feel exactly like a lie, but it didn't feel exactly right either. "What would you recommend?"
"What?"
"What would you recommend I drink?"
His mouth opened somewhat stupidly and the sound of someone bursting in removed the need for him to say anything.
Cara carelessly dragged a man's body in.
Kahlan heard the ring of metal and whipped around, eyes turning black.
When his eyes returned to their original color, he dropped the dagger. "Command me, Confessor."
Instead, she turned around. "You couldn't come in a minute later?"
Cara crossed her arms. "I didn't think alarming people," she paused to kick the man at her feet, "would be helpful. It's not my fault you're slow."
Kahlan recognized him, the man that spoke to her before she reached the tavern. He was still breathing. She sighed.
"And clumsy."
"I am not clumsy!"
"I'm certain the log and the bucket agree with you."
Kahlan glared before turning back to the man. "Where's… What's his name?"
"Elthier, Ely, Elson—"
"Elthier?"
"Don't look at me like that. You know wizards have stupid names."
"Elysan?" The Confessed man cut in.
"Yes," the women said at once.
He almost ran to the side of the bar and pushed against it, grunting loudly. It gave and slid a few feet, revealing a set of stairs.
Kahlan heard the Mord'Sith mutter something like "Of course," but she just asked the man about what was waiting for them.
"Elysan's got a few men with him and the Seeker and the old wizard. Anything else, Mistress? Let me help you. Protect you."
"No. Stay here." She looked to Cara, who nodded once. She stopped on the first step. "What happened to the owner of the tavern?"
"I killed him and told everyone I bought it and he left."
Cara snorted. She probably thought one or both parties to be stupid. Kahlan shook her head and descended.
If crazed wizards with malicious intentions had meetings, Kahlan wanted to know when and where because dank, underground things or caves couldn't be the only options for setting up evil plans. Darken Rahl was dead, but at least he didn't work out of a hole fit for rats.
After a few minutes and minor musings on ascending and descending so many steps, Kahlan reached a door. She pushed it open and carelessly walked inside. "Another cavern, I see." She retained her composure, heedless of the numerous eyes on her.
Elysan briefly help up a hand even though none of his men moved. He smiled. "A little hard to kill, are we? I admit, I'm almost impressed. Almost." He sighed, as if acknowledging a long-hidden burden. "There are some things we must do ourselves."
Kahlan felt something violent in her as Elysan raised his hand, something different from the Con Dar.
Too many things happened far too quickly for her to embrace that feeling.
Zedd shouted, throwing what could've been a stone, or some other small object. Elysan howled as smoke engulfed him. Something knocked Kahlan aside as lightning shot toward Zedd, but it hit some barrier and rocketed back toward the young wizard. His angry howl gave way to agony.
The smoke had yet to clear and the stench of burned flesh was far too present when Kahlan looked up at Cara, still looking for threats. "You have horrible timing!"
"Kahlan!"
"I have perfect timing, Confessor."
Elysan's thugs, intent on fleeing, didn't fight the Seeker as he rushed to Kahlan's side.
Cara hurriedly left the Confessor's side, sparing Richard Rahl not a single glance. Elysan likely kept the Rada'Han key on his person. Kahlan's voice made her turn, but the woman's words were drowned by a pained shout in a strange language. As the cavern shook, Elysan laughed violently, and coughed, and fell silent. Fragments of the ceiling fell.