The rain is coming down heavily when we reach Mistress Dominique and the horses. She – unlike Garen – is dressed in brown leather, her hair tightly braided, a scowl on her face.

“You’re late,” she says briskly as Garen reaches her first.

“I got here as fast as I could,” Garen counters, glancing back at us as if we’re the biggest inconvenience she’s ever dealt with in her entire life.

“I told you that should have rescued the Mord-Sith and left the others to rot,” Dominique bites.

I feel Richard reach for the hilt of his sword beside me and Cara steps towards the other two Mord-Sith before they continue.

“We’ll take the horses now,” Cara states, ending the conversation, reaching for the reins of one of the tall steeds.

“Wait, you’re . . .” Dominique looks Cara up and down. “We rescued her?” she asks Garen with a sneer. “Why?”

“She’s Mord-Sith,” Garen replies.

I feel the tension in the air as she glares at Dominique, daring her to question her decisions further.

“But she betrayed our Lord . . .”

“She’s still Mord-Sith,” Garen interrupts. “Now stop wasting further time.”

Garen grabs the reins of another horse, leading it towards me. I can see that Dominique wishes to say more, to protest more, but Garen’s back is towards her and her patience is clearly reaching breaking point.

I see the anger in her eyes, but then it is quickly replaced by a flicker of surprise before she pushes me aside, looking behind us from where we came.

“They’re here already,” she says. “Somebody must have seen us leave.”

We all turn to see a mob of guards, swords aloft, quickly descending on us. Their horses are at full gallop, nostrils flared and steam lifting from their bodies and filling the air.

“We can take them,” Richard quickly decides, seeing that we do not have time to mount our horses and run.

I look towards Cara who is already out of her cloak and pulling her agiels free, her lips curling into a sadistic smile as she feels the familiar pain rush up her arms from them. I suddenly worry that she might get hurt, but I know we’ve done this plenty of times. We’ve faced more than this and survived.

The sound of Richard’s sword sliding from its sheath, and my daggers being tugged from my boots is joined by the grunts of horses and the shouts of men as the guards rattle towards us, dismounting quickly. They obviously have one goal; to kill us.

“Turn around and we’ll let you live,” Richard calls out to the first advancing guard.

The answer is nothing more than a gruff laugh as the guards run at us with fury in their eyes.

“Keep the horses safe,” Garen yells to Dominique as she too pulls her agiel out of her pack and steps beside us, ready to fight.

With a clash of steel and the scream of agiels, we clatter against the guards. I use my daggers to deflect one of the guard’s sword thrusts, quickly noticing that Zedd is lingering back, not using his magic. I deduce with annoyance that he’s unwilling to release magic with two unfamiliar Mord-Sith so close. He doesn’t want to risk them using the magic to control him. I ponder yelling to him to help, but the fight intensifies as the guard I’m battling with is joined by another.

Cara grunts not far behind me, digging her agiels into the weakest spots. She must have finished her foe because she’s suddenly beside me, protecting me from a blow that might have been fatal. It gives me the opportunity to slide my dagger into the chest of the other guard, pushing deep until blood froths from his mouth with a gurgle and he drops heavily to the floor.

Grabbing the throat of the man Cara is pummelling, I push her aside and release my power into him, feeling it rush through me as I sink into the warmth of it, the completion. I was only a few days without my magic, but I missed it, I missed this rush.

Nobody can know what it’s like to feel this powerful, this full of love, full of a quiet calmness that directly opposes the chaos of magic . . . unless they’re a Confessor. It cannot be explained, described, understood. It fills me up, spilling out of me and engulfing whoever is in my grasp. To be without this is torture.

Cara stays back, shifting her attention to one of the already few remaining guards, and once confessed I order the man in my grip to fight for us. He turns his sword on his companions without question, striking out and killing one instantly. I take a deep breath, ignoring as best I can the shaking in my limbs after using my power, and move on to the next foe, daggers flashing in the rain as I whirl this way and that to avoid the lumbering strikes of his sword. They are mostly well trained but thankfully slow.

My next thrust ends the life of another guard. Making a quick turn I see Cara landing a kick to the head before she grabs the man’s neck and twists. The crack rings out and she sneers, almost laughing as she pushes his limp body to the floor. This is a side to her I’ve seen much in battle; the true Mord-Sith that powers her, that lives in her veins. It’s almost as beautiful as it is appalling.

I notice that the cut on her forehead is bleeding again, dribbling garish red into her eyes. My heart twists in my chest and I take a breath before I do something stupid like run over to her and fuss. That would never do; she would ignore me for days if I demeaned her in such a way, and of course, Richard would think me quite silly.

As I move towards the other two Mord-Sith I see that they are struggling against three very large guards, the men’s shouts and accusations clearly conveying their hatred of Mord-Sith. Agiels scream out as they hit flesh but Dominique falls to the ground as her knee is shattered by a violent kick. My stomach turns and I run towards them at the same moment that Cara does.

We arrive too late as Dominique almost loses her head to a sharp blade and Garen – her attention flickering only a moment – takes a nasty slash at her side. She jumps just quickly enough to avoid the sword making its way through her entire body, but she stumbles to her knees.

“No!” Cara yells as she reaches the last two guards, her body a roar of anger and skill as she puts herself between them and Garen.

I add my daggers to her fight and we finish the last two guards as one, striking to their hearts until they scream their last.

Cara swiftly checks the slain Mord-Sith, shaking her head as she sees the deep cut to her throat. She will not be able to bring her back.

“Don’t forget that one,” Garen says, ignoring Dominique’s lifeless body and pointing to the confessed guard as she pushes herself up from the floor.

“He’s confessed,” I respond, breathing heavily from the fierce fight, from the adrenaline still coursing through me.

Richard reaches us, his face a grimace as he sidesteps Dominique, Zedd following behind.

“Kill him,” Garen insists.

“I will do no such thing,” I protest, looking to Cara. “He’s harmless now.”

“Why do we need to kill him?” Richard asks, stepping close to me in support – though his closeness suddenly makes me itch.

Garen sighs as she inspects the cut in her linen shirt and the blood oozing from it, the crinkle in her brow showing that she’s in pain even though she’s doing her best to hide it. Cara does the same thing; as if cuts, blood and bruises are an everyday occurrence. Which I suppose they are in a Mord-Sith temple.

“If word gets back that he’s the only guard left alive in this party,” Garen says, nodding towards the littering of bodies before us, “then they’ll send more. If he’s dead, we have more time before another party comes searching.”

I want to protest but I can’t help but see the logic in what she says. Even if I send him in the opposite direction to the town his uniform makes him stand out in these parts, it could jeopardise our escape if more guards are sent for us too soon. But I can’t just kill him; I already took everything he is.

My gaze finds Cara’s despite Richard’s soft hand on my arm indicating that he wishes for me to look to him for guidance.

Cara gives me a slight nod, agreeing with Garen it seems. I lower my eyes to the ground, my hand tight around the handle of my dagger. Confessing is different to killing, no matter the similarities – taking somebody’s life. I falter, watching as the poor man looks to me with such devotion in his eyes.

“Command me, Mistress,” he says eagerly when I finally lift my eyes to his.

“We need to hurry,” Cara states gruffly as she stalks up beside me, grabs my dagger from my hand and plunges it into the chest of the confessed guard.

I gasp in a most ridiculous way, as if seeing somebody killed before me is something I’ve never witnessed before. Of course I’ve witnessed death, plenty of times, and at my own hand, I just . . . sometimes Cara’s actions shock me.

“Now we can go,” Cara says, pressing the dagger handle back into my hand.

The brief look into her eyes I’m granted lets me see that she didn’t just kill the man in cold blood to hurry things along; she did it so that I didn’t have to. I’m at once grateful and slightly irritated. Irritated that she didn’t think I had it in me to do what is necessary. We will talk about that later, however, as the day is getting no younger and the rain no lighter. We need to find a safe place to hide.

My attention turns to the body of the Mord-Sith who I suppose is indeed far beyond the Breath of Life; her throat too severed to receive it.

“Should we take her with us?” I ask as Cara grabs the horses, easing one towards Richard.

He takes the reins once he sheathes his sword, his jaw tight and muscles tense. I can see that he isn’t happy; annoyed that he’s suddenly not the one fully in charge. Annoyed that Cara took a life without his input, without us deferring to him for alternatives. Thankfully he remains quiet for now as Garen bends down beside the fallen Mord-Sith, slipping the dead woman’s agiel from its holster. She tucks it beside her own then closes Dominique’s eyes, her touch gentle.

“I will have to leave her,” Garen replies. “We were going to direct you to a trail through the forest and make our way back to the temple. One of the horses has bolted,” she says, and I only just realise that we are indeed a horse short. We now only have three instead of four. “You take them, I’ll walk back.”

“You can’t walk, you’re injured,” Richard says, pointing at the blood oozing steadily from Garen’s side.

“All this chattering is taking too much time,” Cara warns with a huff. “Garen, get on the horse,” she instructs with a glare.

“But there isn’t . . .”

“Now,” Cara commands.

Garen opens her mouth to protest once more, but one look from Cara decides her fate and she allows Cara to help her up onto the horse’s back with only a small grumble. I would chuckle if we weren’t surrounded by dead bodies and the prospect of having to fight for our lives yet again.

I merely watch as Cara mounts the horse, sitting snugly behind Garen, ready for us to leave as soon as we can. Again, I feel jealousy. I feel an ache inside me as I wish it were me with Cara’s body pressed so closely.

“Kahlan?” Richard questions, touching my lower back as he tries to catch my eye. “I asked if you were ready.”

I blink, certain that I heard no such question.

“I’m ready,” I answer anyway, shouldering my pack and allowing Richard to take my hand and help me – unnecessarily – onto a horse. “What about the bodies? We should burn them.”

“I will, my dear,” Zedd responds. “Just as soon as she is far enough away from me.”

He nods towards Garen, his bushy eyebrows pulled low in a scowl.

“She is coming with us,” Cara states in a tone that does not broach argument. “You can catch up.”

With nothing further to add Cara digs her heels into the horse’s flank and heads for the tree-line. Richard shrugs, his eyes looking a little bemused.

“Bah!” Zedd grumbles. “Uppity Mord-Sith.”

I shake my head but allow him his grumbling as Richard grabs the saddle and tugs himself up onto the horse, sitting behind me.

We head after Cara into the forest, leaving Zedd to burn the bodies so they don’t follow us as banelings. I know he’ll be back with us in no time so I don’t bother my mind with worry. We’re soon weaving our way in and out of trees, Cara’s horse just ahead, our pace quick enough to feel like we’re making good time but not too quick for the horses as the forest becomes more dense with each step.

We suddenly reach a trial crossing us and Cara pulls her horse to a stop, turning to speak.

“We head right here,” she says. “We’ll move quicker now until we reach a smaller trail.”

I notice that Garen’s head has lolled forward a little, her eyelids heavy. She’s still losing blood.

“Is she ok?” I ask, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Garen answers with a hiss, loose dark hair slick to her head with a mixture of rain and sweat.

It’s still drizzling, and though the trees are doing their utmost to spare us the worst, if we don’t find shelter soon and tend to Garen’s wound she could become very ill. I’m unsure how that would affect Cara. Bringing this Mord-Sith with us clearly indicates that she cares about her, at least in some way. She barely batted an eye when Dominique was killed, yet she rushed to Garen’s aid the instant she was in trouble.

I notice how much Garen is leaning on Cara, and how Cara’s arms are holding her up as she reaches around her to the horse’s reins.

“How far?” I ask.

“No more than a candle mark,” Cara answers.

They must have spoken whilst riding for Cara to know where we’re headed and how long it will take.

I glance down once more at Garen’s side and the slash in her shirt. If she had been wearing her leather she may have escaped the brunt of the blow, but her disguise failed to protect her in any such way. As blood drips from her onto her thigh I pull my pack from my back, rustling within it until I find what I’m looking for.

“Use this to stop the blood flow,” I say, urging Richard to move our horse closer to Cara’s.

“Kahlan,” Richard mutters. “But that’s your . . .”

“We don’t have time to look for anything else and Zedd has the majority of our things with him; it’s fine,” I assure, offering my white Confessor dress for Cara to take.

She looks at it then up into my eyes, gratitude and . . . something else softening her face.

I nod, lifting the dress to her as she reaches out to take it. Garen grunts, and I suppose it’s the closest I’ll probably get to a thank you from her, but I see enough gratefulness in Cara’s eyes to make do.

“We could find something else,” Richard whispers behind me.

“No time, Richard,” I remind. “It will wash.”

Though I know I will just have to either scrub at the dress myself or have Zedd spell it clean, Richard is only looking out for my best interests, and he thinks he should defend my station as Mother Confessor even though he doesn’t really understand what it means to be the Mother Confessor. It is just a dress. A person’s life is worth more than that, even if they are a Mord-Sith. And Garen has proved she is somewhat less wicked than most of the Sisters of the Agiel by agreeing to help us as she has. She could have walked away, or refused to help anyone but Cara. I have to do my best not to judge her because of what she is, but who she is. I learned to do that with Cara.

Not that I believe Garen has the same strength of compassion deep within her as Cara has, but I still will not allow her to just bleed to death.

We start the horses forward once again, slowly as Cara helps Garen hold the white material at her side, putting pressure there to stem the flow of blood. Feeling Richard stiffen behind me, I turn as he does to see Zedd catching up with us as his horse eats up the dirt trail with its quick hooves.

We greet him with a smile and he gestures for us to continue.

“Everything is taken care of,” he says. “I’ve even done a little to help cover our tracks.”

With no further interruptions we head onward once again, deeper into the forest. As Cara said, we make good progress until we reach a smaller trail, hidden by thick branches. In single file we navigate through trees and foliage, the patter of rain still finding its way through the canopy to keep us all glistening with rainwater.

Just as I begin to feel quite miserable as my leather sticks to me and the horse’s wet skin chafes at me, we slow to a stop, Cara’s horse at the front.

“There’s shelter that way,” Cara indicates with her head.

“Are we far enough away from the town?” Richard wonders aloud, his body both hot and cold at my back, making my dress even damper with his closeness.

“Yes,” Garen answers weakly, not bothering to lift her head.

I see that blood has seeped onto my dress at her wound, and her skin is deathly pale.

“Then we should stop,” I say.

Cara’s eyes meet mine before she takes us down a small hill towards what looks like a cave as the forest breaks out into some rocks; a stream bubbles and flows not far from where Cara dismounts.

“We will be safe here,” Garen says, her breath catching as Cara helps her down from the horse.

We all follow suit, tethering the horses to the trees, as sheltered as they can be. I know Cara will probably lead them down to the stream for some water before long as she’s always been the one to ensure that our horses are well cared for. It’s just one small glimpse into the compassion she has within, though I know she’d argue that it’s just practicality leading her.

Cara helps Garen walk towards the dark cave, Richard ahead, his eyes focused and hand firmly gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to face anything that may launch itself from the shadows at us.

“There should be supplies within,” Garen instructs.

I can see that she’s getting weaker as Cara all but carries her into the mouth of the darkness. Feeling wary but confident the cave is not occupied, I follow as Richard beckons us all inside.

“It’s empty,” he says, “apart from these packs in the corner.”

“We left them here,” Garen explains.

I wonder just how many times they have had to use this cave to rescue Mord-Sith captured by the town. My head aches at thinking as I try to appreciate why the town feels the need to protect themselves from the Mord-Sith by imprisoning as many as they can, yet knowing that it is wrong for them to treat them the way they seem to. I vow to ask Garen more about the situation later, if she’s able to talk, and if I’m able to ignore the pang of jealousy in my gut long enough to converse with her.

Attempting to shake some of the water off my cloak I flick it out at the mouth of the cave, dislodging the drops of rain laying on the surface, yet failing to make it much drier. The rain has soaked through everything.

Happily I notice that Richard is pulling out dry blankets from one of the packs in the cave, laying them out on the floor behind a small circle of stones that have the charred remains of a fire within it. The fire pit is close to the opening, yet far enough within the cave that the rain is not reaching it, or the blankets.

“I’ll start a fire,” Richard informs us all, clutching at some dry kindling that he’s scooped up from beside the packs.

The thought that Garen must have done this specifically for us – bring blankets, firewood, and probably food – makes me smile her way, though she is focused solely on Cara as Cara lays her gently down onto one of the blankets. I will have to thank her for all this later.

For now, we need to make sure she doesn’t die from her wound.

“Zedd,” I say, getting his attention as he rifles through the packs. “Will you be able to help Garen?”

“Mistress Garen,” Garen corrects with a scowl as Cara pulls away my dress from her side.

“Mistress Garen,” I rectify.

“Help?” Zedd asks, stuffing something into his mouth and chewing as he continues to rifle.

“Yes, help,” I emphasise. “She needs to be healed.”

“Well, I’m sure Cara has that well under control, Kahlan,” he responds, holding my gaze as if I were asking him something completely abhorrent.

Of course, I guess, he still doesn’t want to use his magic around her in case she uses it against him or manipulates him through it. I suppose I can’t blame his caution, but with all of us here I don’t see the potential risk that he so obviously does.

“Zedd, it would be helpful if you could . . .”

“I won’t use magic,” he interrupts before I can suggest it.

Cara grunts and gives him a look that clearly relays her feelings on the matter, but she says nothing as she hands a water skin to Garen, helping her drink. The moment of tender care she gives Garen causes me to forget for a moment that I should be persuading Zedd; such is the strangeness of one Mord-Sith showing such warmth and concern to another.

Maybe this is how they are, though. How would I know? I only know what I’ve been told and taught, I only know of their harshness and cruelty from the things they do to others in Darken’s name. I have no idea if they take care of one another in much the same way as one would take care of a family member.

The way Cara gently eases Garen to lay flat as she pulls the shirt away from her wound and carefully inspects the damage suddenly fascinates me. Is this just something between the two of them, or do all Mord-Sith have this innate compassion?

For a moment my gaze is transfixed, on them. On Cara’s hands as she pulls off her gloves. On Garen’s eyes as they travel over Cara’s face. On the way they seem to be in a world of their own, a world with no Seeker, no Wizard, not even me.

A burning pain settles behind my ribs as I watch. They have a history, a past, and something I can never have with Cara: an intimacy that speaks volumes.

With my throat dry and my eyes wet I turn away.

Maybe this is for the best. To see what I can’t have without causing so much pain, without risking too much. Cara can never truly touch me the way I would want – the way she wants - as she’d be confessed, killed.

With Garen she has no such worry.