part viii

i wish to be beholden to you

In an instant, the assassin was hers. Kahlan could not deny the pleasure that confession brought her, although it was deadly and dangerous it was the one part of her that Kahlan could never abandon. When she had, it had nearly meant her end. It had felt so raw and hollow to lose her magic to the chimes, and when it had flooded back to her it had felt so close to this.

All of her pain, her anger, and her fury pummeled into the woman, sending her rocketing back with the sheer force of it. Thunder without sound, quick like lightning, in less than the snap of her fingers the assailant was on her knees begging for the Mother Confessor's affection.

"Why did you try to kill Mistress Cara?" Kahlan asked, not a shred of sympathy in her voice. Her hand removed from the woman's shoulder as she waited for an answer.

"I was ordered to by Brother Narev."

"Who is Brother Narev?" Kahlan asked, to which Nicci interjected.

"A leader in the Fellowship of the Order, the group which the Imperial Order fashioned itself after," Nicci told her. "Brother Narev was the one who was the most antagonistic toward Richard in Altur'Rang."

"Why did he order you to kill us?"

"He saw you in Altur'Rang, carrying Richard's body out of the city. Of course he would try and have you followed."

"We were so distracted, we didn't even stop and think for a moment," Cara hissed, and without looking Kahlan knew that the Mord-Sith was reaching for the calming touch of her agiel. "Could we send her back to get information for us?"

"We could, but it's likely that she would be found out as a confessed person," Kahlan mumbled as if to herself. "How long is this Brother Narev's reach? Does he have much power beyond the mists of the Old World?"

"As of now, no. But that could change," Nicci told her. "The Imperial Order has invaded the Three Territories, but the actual ideology of the Fellowship of the Order has not arrived. The people of the Midlands, specifically, are too diverse and city-state like to conform to such a communal way of life."

"D'Hara is a different story," Kahlan said, looking now at Cara for a brief moment. "It would be all too easy to bring the D'Haran people, so used to monarchy, under the rule of the Order."

"This is a conversation for later. We should dispose of this woman now, then be on our way," Cara interjected, and although Kahlan agreed, she had her fair share of trepidations.

"We don't have anywhere to go, do we?" Kahlan asked, to which Cara raised an eyebrow.

"Aydindril, the People's Palace, even the war camp… we have many places to go, Kahlan," Cara assured her, but Kahlan was not convinced. Just the thought of returning to any of those places right now, without Richard, made Kahlan want to curl up under a tree and sleep forever.

"I… we can't go back just yet," Kahlan told them. "We have to visit the Mud People."

"What are you talking about, we don't need to visit the Mud People," Cara shot back, hands on her hips. "They're of little help to us, especially with a war on."

"We're going to the Mud People, that's final, Cara," Kahlan said with all the weight the Mother Confessor could bear. "Then we can argue about where to go next."

Kahlan and Cara stood there as if in a fight to the death, staring at one another, still as stones. It was a battle for Cara, she knew, to even think about disagreeing with Kahlan, but part of her so desperately wanted that for Cara. In the last few weeks without the Rahl bond, Cara had changed ever so slightly; although never malicious, she would still defy Kahlan's orders or wishes in favor of her own whims. Even when it came at her own disadvantage, Kahlan could not help but smile at it. Cara, it seemed, was growing into her own person more and more each day.

But now was not the time for Kahlan to be persuaded differently. Today, the world was falling in around her, and all Kahlan wanted was to feel safe. If there was one place that no one would look for her, it would be in the Wilds of the Midlands with the one folk of the territory who never failed to grant her their earnest authenticity.

"I am not putting any mud anywhere on my body. Not for anything," Cara told her, and Kahlan could not help but let her lips curl up, just a bit, at one edge.

"Will you go, Nicci?"

"I will also not muddy myself for any ritual. But I suppose I will have some company in that," Nicci offered, her eyes glancing just once to Cara. The Mord-Sith, while still wildly unfriendly, did not voice her distaste for the sorceress. It was an improvement, if even a small one.

"What are we going to do with her?"

Kahlan frowned. "I will do as I always do—set her free and tell her to live an honest life."

Nicci shook her head. "Absolutely not. There is a war on, Mother Confessor. If you let her live and the Order finds her confessed, they will kill her themselves. And rather unsympathetically."

Kahlan felt something sticky and awful well up in her chest at the thought. The last time she had wielded a weapon, it had killed the one she loved most in the world. The last time she had made judgment on ending a life, it had been when she was violated and alone. Kahlan wished that life had not dealt her this deciding hand, but that ship had long since sailed.

"Cara…"

"Gladly," the Mord-Sith piped up rather quickly. "I need something useful to do."

Although she knew that violence was like the embrace of a long lost lover for Cara, Kahlan did not have the stomach to stay. She had softened much after Richard's death, and instead of whipping herself over it, she had begun to lean into her kindness once again.

—

At the sight of the grasslands, the skulls atop the pikes, and the sound of delightfully alive music in the air, getting closer to the Mud People's land felt like coming home. Kahlan had to admit she had missed this way of living, the last time she had seen the Mud People was when the Chimes had stolen all the magic out of the world. Those were fraught times, perhaps just as fraught as the current times.

"Kahlan!" shouted a voice, and at once she knew it as Nissel, the healer. Smiling, Kahlan found her through the tall grasses and embraced her fully, Nissel's sticky mud getting in her own hair.

"It's so good to see you," Kahlan replied, happy to be using her Karnor dialect again. "We are here for a short while, we are simply stopping by on our travels to see you. This is Cara and Nicci."

"Well met, Cara and Nicci," Nissel replied, her tones in Middle Tongue were halted but the meaning was understood. "Where is Richard With The Temper?"

Kahlan's stomach turned black and rotted. Of course they would ask about Richard, the thought had crossed her mind but there had been so much else to think about. What was she supposed to say?

"That is a story for later, Nissel."

"A story for later, then. After you've eaten," Nissel smiled. She did not embrace Cara and Nicci in the same way, and in fact she put a good amount of distance between herself and Nicci, but Cara seemed to interest her.

"Your hair, it's like gold," Nissel commented, pulling Cara's shoulder to turn her around so she could better investigate the long, blonde braid that fell down Cara's back. Kahlan felt a flush of worry run through her and hoped that Cara would oblige all the touching that came with interacting with Mud People.

"So it is," Cara told her, her blue eyes taking in Nissel piece by piece, as if she were sizing up the woman. "Do you have something for us to eat?"

"Come, follow," was all Nissel could say, smiling and taking Cara by the hand.

"I thought you said they wouldn't look us in the eyes," Cara murmured to Kahlan.

"They know that if I trust you, they can trust you. I am an honorary Karnor, after all."

"A what?"

Kahlan smirked again. "You didn't really think they called themselves 'Mud People,' did you?"

The Karnor were as reverent to Kahlan as they always were, but only the few that she had befriended came up to her and embraced her. The three women made their way through the sprawling village following the gentle Nissel, walking past old folk weaving baskets, young children running about and screaming in the streets, and a few adolescents fitting feathered armor onto each other.

A tall, wiry figure adorned with hunting-mud came into view and Kahlan's stomach did somersaults. The warrior's light, green eyes seemed to pierce into her soul, his face altogether impassive, but there was a tinge of bemusement wavering on his lips. Instinctively, her hand grabbed Cara's wrist in an effort to stop her from taking hold of her agiel—realizing it was dead and she was overreacting, Kahlan shot Cara an apologetic look and lowered her hand to rest at her side.

"Gilsigg," he smirked. My friend.

"It's good to see you again, Savidlin."

"Who are the golden haired people who are following you?" Savidlin asked, his eyes going to Kahlan's hand on Cara's. "Why does she wear blood red armor? Why is that other one dressed like death? And where is Richard With The Temper?"

"There is so much to tell, Savidlin, that if I were to start now, I would still be talking in a year."

"Then what a year it will be," he smiled, his hand grasping Kahlan's shoulder. "Break bread with us."

Kahlan did not feel like crying anymore, but she did feel like all she wanted was Cara's arms around her, squeezing every sorrow from her chest so that she did not have to bear the weight of all this pain any longer. All of the times with Richard in the Karnor village came rushing back to her; his strong figure in the waning moonlight, his big hands on her shoulders, their wedding night—it was all too much. It was all too soon. It was all not enough.

And then she felt it, like dappled sunlight through the trees, it was the feeling of Cara's hand pressing on her back.

It was then that Kahlan realized everyone was staring at her, for she had stopped walking in the middle of the street as Nissel and Savidlin tried leading them to the longhouse to get a warm meal.

Kahlan looked at Cara's face for a long moment in an attempt to ground herself. In Cara, there was always this calm sense of patience, even in the throes of battle, and moreover there was a tiny part of Kahlan that was sure it would always be there.

We don't split up. We don't leave.

We ride together, always.

It would always be there—that hand, that dappled sunlight, that endless feeling that someone was there to catch her as she fell. Smiling, she secretly took Cara's hand and walked behind the others with her. Kahlan looked up to see Cara staring straight ahead, clenching her jaw as if to hold herself back. Kahlan wondered why she had never noticed these things before, and why she was so attuned to them now.

—

Word had spread quickly around the village of Kahlan's arrival. All of her visits to the Wilds had not been like this, but over the course of many years of careful friendship, the Mother Confessor had inevitably won the Karnor over. Kahlan took the time to learn their language, understand their customs, and most of all she did not bother to fully bring them into the Midlands city-state system. The Karnor and all the people in the Wilds had their own way without the magical boundaries to enforce it, and Kahlan did not see the point in making them angry by imposing her ways upon them.

Nicci sat at a table all alone, and until a child came and sat beside her she did not move, speak, or eat. Kahlan looked over every now and again and saw that each time the child scooted closer to Nicci on the bench as they prattled away in their native tongue, Nicci ate just a little more. It had never occurred to Kahlan that Death's Mistress would be out of her depth in a place like this. Kahlan supposed she had not encouraged any other sort of behavior from the woman—after all, these were Kahlan's people, in a way, and it had been her decision to come here. There was no real place in the Karnor village for Nicci. Kahlan wondered if there was any place where Nicci belonged outside of the Old World.

Cara was across the table from her, silent not out of discomfort but because she could not seem to stop eating. It had been a good, long while since they had eaten a warm meal, and since the Karnor rarely disappointed in that area, Cara was in excellent hands. They had ladled out a bowl of creamy, mushroom soup along with a crusty, fresh heel of bread. Along with the meat promised later that evening from a fresh hunt, Kahlan had no doubt they would be well taken care of. Perhaps she and Cara would finally get some well-earned sleep. Kahlan had spent so many weeks waking up tired that she saw no point in trying to get more than three or four hours of slumber.

A young Karnor woman, Maryn, had struck up a conversation with Kahlan and Cara, making sure she sat beside the skeptical Mord-Sith while they ate.

"She eats like a bear," Maryn remarked, looking Cara up and down. Cara seemed to notice, her blue eyes trained on the dark haired woman but only for a moment. "And she looks strong like a wolf."

"She is a Mord-Sith, and she is very strong. We've been to war together for the last year," Kahlan agreed, to which Maryn frowned.

"Does she have a mate?"

Kahlan shook her head, attempting to act as if the conversation were not about Cara. Kahlan felt a pang of guilt for talking about Cara like this, but she assured herself that it was not out of malice.

"Do you love bodies like hers?" Kahlan asked, unsure of how to word her question in Karnin.

"All bodies are beautiful to me," Maryn smirked, then reached over to Cara next to her and squeezed her firm bicep. Kahlan nearly choked on a mushroom from her soup. "How do I tell her I like her body?"

"Our new friend has taken a liking to you," Kahlan told Cara, to which the Mord-Sith frowned but did not retract her arm from Maryn's soft grasp. "She wants to compliment you."

"I work hard for how I look. Let her compliment me, but she should know that flattering a Mord-Sith does not get you very far."

"Cara is stubborn, you'll have to work on her a bit," Kahlan smirked, winking at Maryn. "You look strong, Cara."

"You look strong, Cara," Maryn repeated, smiling when Cara sheepishly nodded.

"She is a great warrior to you?"

"She is not a warrior. She is my friend."

"That's not the word you want to use," Nissel noted from the table behind them, clearly having listened to their conversation. "Halbin"

"Cara is not my…" Kahlan trailed off, all at once feeling a heat rising to her cheeks. When Cara's eyes met hers, Kahlan felt as though the world was melting around her. "No, I meant friend."

"As you wish, Kahlan," Nissel smiled warmly. "Speaking of, where is Richard With The Temper?"

Sadivlin perked up at the mention of his friend. "Surely he is at the People's Palace, and Kahlan has just come by herself to visit us."

Cara put her spoon down, her fingers grasping the wood tightly. Kahlan felt the floor drop out from under her.

"Richard is dead. He was killed in Altur'Rang. Richard is dead," Kahlan barely managed. There were no tears but instead the swell of grief overwhelming her, rising in her throat like thick bile. The whole room seemed to devolve into silence, as if there was no language in the world that could answer such a terrible statement. Kahlan had never said it, not since she had told Cara while she held Richard's limp form in her arms. But he was dead. He was gone. It was over.

Kahlan did not hear the words of her friends as she quickly excused herself and hurried out of the long house in search of air that was not so hot and suffocating. Kahlan could not find it outside either, and as the ground beneath her seemed to shake she had no choice except to huddle herself on the side of the clay house, sit down on the ground, and hold herself by the shoulders.

Richard was dead.

Richard was dead.

Richard was dead.

"Breathe, Kahlan," came a voice, and she saw Cara hurry into view and hold her by the shoulders. Her eyes were like a babbling stream of water, all relief and cool, soothing touches.

"Cara—"

"I know. I know. Hush-hush," Cara said, an old D'Haran word pattern that Kahlan had not heard in a long time. "Breathe in… breathe out… breathe in…"

Kahlan had not realized that she had been hyperventilating, but now that the air was sucking into her lungs again she saw that Nissel was there too, one hand on Cara's shoulder and the other was holding Kahlan's hand. Her keen, healer's eyes searched Kahlan's face and body for any further signs of distress, of hurt, but she would find none—it was only alive in her heart and head. Both things which Nissel could never really fix. There was no cure for loved ones lost to Death.

"Richard was a good man," Nissel told her with a gentle squeeze of her hand. "Strong man. We will celebrate his life. We will send him up to the Spirits with such excess no Karnor has ever seen. I promise you that, Kahlan."

Kahlan could only nod, her eyes still trained on Cara's face. It felt like the only thing that mattered. Kahlan only wanted to fall apart in front of Cara.

"Nissel, can we…"

"I will leave," Nissel said to Cara, patting her shoulder before getting up and walking back into the longhouse. Kahlan saw Nissel speaking in hushed tones to Savidlin, her hands expressively detailing what had happened. Savidlin bristled at the news told to him again, his head turning to look at Kahlan and Cara every so often. They both eventually went inside.

Cara sighed and sat beside Kahlan, their thighs and arms touching and making Kahlan feel like there was something to hold onto. Without thinking she took Cara's arm and squeezed it tight with both hands.

"Is there anything more than this?" Kahlan asked. "It feels as though it will never end."

"It doesn't end, but it does lessen," Cara said in her low drawl. "You start to think of other things, you start to understand that nothing can undo what has been done, and you think of it less and less."

"All I can think about is that it was all a waste of time," Kahlan murmured.

"What was a waste of time?"

"Our marriage… our love… it wasn't meant to be," Kahlan told her. "How many times did we have to put ourselves on hold so that we could save the world? And look at it—everything is exactly as we left it. And the only thing that changed was Richard died, and I became crueler."

"War changes us," Cara assured her. "Sometimes for the worst. But you were doing what you thought was right. We cannot see every path, that is a prophet's job, and even their sight is fallible."

"But what I did must be wrong. Nothing came of it. I can't understand what I did wrong," Kahlan could not stop the tears from muddling her speech, her hands grabbed Cara's arm and brought it onto her lap. The Mord-Sith turned her head, and when Kahlan looked over their noses were mere inches apart. There was no avoiding Cara, not now.

"You live, like I do, in a world of black and white. There is either this or that," said Cara. "Richard lived in that world too. But we can not always be right, we can not always be good. Sometimes, we just must be. If we ponder every decision and bury ourselves under the weight of being good, then we will never get to the living part of life."

"My life is not my own. I have always been a Confessor, then the Mother Confessor. I am beholden to everyone but myself. The Midlands, my powers, Richard…"

"I will tell you this, and it is one of the only things I know for certain," Cara said, placing her hand on top of Kahlan's knuckles. "You can choose your life. It may feel as if you cannot, but you can always choose your life. Do not let anyone or anything make a decision for you. We are only people, we cannot save the whole world. At some point, Kahlan… we'll have to quit."

Kahlan's heart felt heavy with the weight of Cara's grave warning. It was hard to speak, the words got stuck in her throat. Kahlan turned her head away but could still feel Cara's eyes watching her, waiting for a reply.

"Would you judge what I chose if I chose to leave all of this behind?"

Cara let out a small chuckle. Kahlan felt her chest tighten, but it was easy to turn her head to look back at the Mord-Sith. It was so simple to look at Cara and know the answer before it was spoken.

"I… enjoy our time together, Kahlan," Cara said with a hesitance that Kahlan had never heard from her. "I would not want to give that up, not for the world. You do not wish to be beholden to anyone… but I wish to be beholden to you, Kahlan Amnell. I want to stand by someone who I…"

"Who you what, Cara?" Kahlan asked. She wanted so desperately to know the words on the tip of Cara's tongue. Their lips were so close to each other, all Kahlan would have to do was lean in so slightly. It could be an accident, their kiss, and even at the thought of it Kahlan felt a beautiful warmth rush over her.

Cara retreated into herself, Kahlan saw it before she heard it. The Mord-Sith sucked in a regretful breath and shook her head, pulling her arm from Kahlan's hands.

"We should return to dinner, we will worry everyone. You didn't get to eat enough, you'll feel better once you do."

Kahlan could only nod, for she was reckoning now with the hole in her heart she never knew she had until she looked into Cara's eyes and wished to drown within them.