Handing the parchment to Cara for her to read I thank the boy that brought it and tell him we’ll come right away with him.

“The Seeker’s in trouble?” Cara asks even though she’s just read the same words I did.

The boy shrugs his shoulders, obviously unaware of exactly what’s happened.

“The note says the guards have detained both Richard and Zedd,” I say, turning to Cara.

“I know what it says,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “I can read.”

I feel the sting of her words as if they’d lashed me like a whip; the atmosphere between us uncomfortable and awkward. Cara is not in any mood to be trifled with now and I ready myself for the inevitable confrontation we’ll have. When she’s in a bad mood it puts me on edge, and that always leads to an argument.

Taking the parchment from Cara, I glance over the words once more. They say nothing much more than that we’re required in the town, and that the townsfolk are intolerable of more than just Mord-Sith. I wonder how we’re supposed to enter if they insist that Cara stays outside, but the hastily scribbled words telling us both to come quickly makes me speculate that perhaps something has changed. I’m also curious as to why they would detain both Zedd and Richard. They had been allowed to pass freely through the gates, and surely no town would choose to anger or disrespect The Seeker.

“We need to go,” I say, untying my horse from the tree.

“Wait,” Cara stalls, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder for the briefest of moments.

I turn to look in her eyes and for a second or two neither of us speak, or move. The warmth from her gloved hand penetrates through several layers, heating not just my shoulder.

The boy sniffles, waiting patiently close by. I’d almost forgotten he was there at all; I get so easily lost in Cara’s eyes these days.

“Are you going to tell Richard about . . . last night?” Cara finally asks, a hint of trepidation tainting her usual confidence.

“Of course not,” I answer without hesitation.

Not only do I not want him to grow suspicious of Cara and her intentions towards me, I also do not wish to hurt him, or give him cause to question my own feelings on the matter. It’s best that we keep this between us, even if we intend to bury it and never speak of it again.

Cara lowers her hand from me but doesn’t move away. I sense that she wants to say something more, or ask something, but despite her slightly parted lips no words are forthcoming.

Distracted by those very lips - those very perfect lips that I now long to feel against my own – I fail to hear the boy clearing his throat until it sounds like he’s about to cause himself permanent damage. Whipping my head to look at him I realise I must appear rather annoyed at the interruption as his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush red.

“Give us a moment, please,” I say softly, trying to temper my agitation.

He nods his head and turns away without argument, but I hear him grumble something about strange ladies and scary leather.

“Cara, we can’t tell Richard that . . .” I begin, but find myself at a loss.

We can’t tell him what? That I want Cara and that she apparently feels the same? I’m not even certain that those two things are entirely true . . . though I have to admit that I’m much more sure now about my own desires at this point.

“No, Richard mustn’t know,” Cara continues for me when I fail to elaborate. “You are meant for the Lord Rahl and thinking of you in . . . in the way that I have is punishable by death.”

Cara looks away from me as if admitting what she just has is excruciatingly painful. I guess for her it is; she’s not only admitting that she’s coveting her Lord’s future wife, she’s also admitting to a certain level of weakness for not being able to control how she feels.

I guess now I know for sure that last night wasn’t just an anomaly; she really does desire me in the way I do her. This makes things much more perilous and complicated.

With a sigh I also look away, my gaze falling on the small boy, then on the town below us. Whatever we feel we have to push it aside, do our best to continue just as friends, especially right now when we’re required to do our duty at Richard’s side.

“Richard would never punish you that way,” I say before turning back to my horse. “He’s not Darken Rahl.”

“Maybe not, but . . .”

“We say nothing,” I interrupt, reassuring her, though the guilt rises in me to almost unmanageable proportions.

Tugging my horse closer I allow Cara to walk past me so she can untie her own. I do my best not to stretch my hand out to bring us together in an embrace that would be impossible to step out of.

“This . . . thing between us,” I begin unsteadily. “If it’s too strong for us to ignore then . . .”

“Then I will leave,” Cara vows before I finish.

I shake my head and start to tell her that that’s not what I would want, and not something I could probably even live with, but the small boy grows impatient and bounds towards me, reminding us loudly that Richard needs our help right now regardless of whatever we’re both trying to deal with.

Giving Cara a troubled glance I mount my horse, pulling the small boy onto the saddle in front of me. Cara flicks her reins without another word and leads us back down the hill, her body swaying with her steed though her back is as straight as it possibly could be. She’s on alert and I suddenly feel very glad that I won’t be going into the town alone despite the awkwardness that has once again settled around us.

Once we reach the gates I push out my feelings and slip into the role of Mother Confessor as if it’s armor, hardening myself enough to feel my station. To know that I should command respect no matter where I am. I dismount, helping the boy from my horse as the same guards from earlier approach.

“We were expecting you,” one of them says. “Please follow us.”

I look over at Cara, sporting a similar worried brow that denotes she’s just as puzzled as I am. We say nothing to each other as we walk through the gates leading our horses. The small boy scampers off and I watch as people around stop what they’re doing, all eyes on Cara. The sounds of a busy market trickle off and I become very aware that we should maybe have been more cautious; an ominous atmosphere descends and I move closer to Cara subconsciously. She doesn’t move away.

The guards say nothing as they lead us towards the large villa I’d seen from the hill and Cara lightly touches my arm, surreptitiously pointing out two even bigger, beefier guards at the entrance. They don’t make eye contact with us and as we come to a halt my heart begins to quicken in anticipation of what might happen next. I don’t like this at all; something feels wrong.

As we stop outside the villa’s large front door I turn to one of the gate guards and ask him what’s going on.

“Where’s The Seeker, and Zedd?” I ask further, but he ignores my question.

“I need to take the horses to the stable,” he says gruffly, moving as if to grab the reins from both Cara and I.

“Don’t come any closer,” Cara advises, her voice low and dangerous.

Her hand flinches, heading towards her agiels, but he proceeds no further, obviously taking no chances.

“It would be prudent to comply,” the guard insists, his nostrils flaring as he gives Cara a look of disgust.

“We’ll do no such thing until we know what’s going on,” I interject, anger licking at the edges of my restraint. I really don’t like the way he’s looking at Cara.

“Fine, then you can wait here for the magistrate,” the guard huffs, stepping away as the two guards at the entrance turn towards it and pull open the large double doors.

The wood creaks and cracks and Cara grips tighter to her reins, her eyes flick to me and I try not to appear quite as anxious as I feel but she must see that I’m uneasy.

“Should we flee?” she asks in a whisper only I can hear. “We could come back later, at night, to find Richard.”

Pondering it momentarily I take a quick look around us. Most of the townsfolk are going about their business now but the gate we came through is closed and bolted. There are several armed guards up high on the wooden towers at either side and I have a feeling we would come up against resistance that even we couldn’t handle. For now we have to follow their lead, though I don’t have to be happy about it.

“No, let’s see what happens first. Maybe this magistrate can tell us more,” I tell Cara.

Her jaw is tight and eyes narrow as she controls her natural instinct not to obey people that have no business telling her what to do. If Cara does decide to make a move I pity the guard who’s looking quite plainly down his nose at her as if she’s something he brought in on his shoe; there’s a fire burning behind her eyes.

Just as I’m about to query the guards further a lean man with a straggly beard hurries through the now open door to the villa, stopping just before us. His eyes are dark and beady and his robes engulf him as if they’d been tailored for a much larger man.

“Ah, the Confessor and the . . .” He looks at Cara, his lip curling as if the words would poison him to speak. “The Mord-Sith.”

I step forward before Cara does, giving this weasel-like man a smile I doubt he deserves. Offering my hand in greeting, I hope keeping neutral and calm will ensure that whatever trouble Richard is in will allow for an easy solution.

“The Mother Confessor,” I correct him. “And this is Car . . .”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupts. “We know who you are, your wizard explained.”

He doesn’t take my hand, staring at it as if it were made of molten rock and would sear his very soul. Instantly I decide that this man does not like Confessor magic, and as I look into his eyes I clearly see that he’s trying to conceal that fact, but it’s not easy to hide from a Confessor’s gaze.

“Where’s Richard?” Cara asks bluntly, moving up beside me to make her presence felt.

“I’m Albert Thorne, the magistrate of this town and the region around it, and I can tell you . . . he’s in rather a pickle,” he says almost jovially, pulling at his wiry beard with scrawny fingers.

“A pickle?” Cara prompts, rising her eyebrows.

“Indeed,” the magistrate confirms. “Maybe if you come inside we can talk more freely. Guard?” he calls, “take the horses to the stable and see that they’re well looked after.”

The guard who’d previously tried to take them steps forward once again, a smug expression making Cara practically snarl at him. She holds her horse firm beside her, almost daring him to take it. I try not to smirk as his smugness falters, but I can’t stop my lips curling just a little as Cara’s intimidating stance makes a man three times her size question his ability and prowess. I’ve seen fiercer men practically fall at her feet before an agiel even connects with skin.

“They’re not cooperating,” the guard grunts to the magistrate, virtually pouting.

“The horses and your belongings will be perfectly safe,” Albert coos. “And we need to discuss the unfortunate incarceration of your wizard and The Seeker.”

I can sense that Cara would rather chew her own arm off than relinquish any quick means of escape so easily, but we really do need to discover why they’re holding Richard and Zedd. Our choices are limited.

“We have your word, as magistrate, that they’ll be safe?” I ask, my face hard and uncompromising.

Albert nods, stroking his beard before flicking a hand towards his guard in a gesture for him to hurry.

“Perfectly safe,” he says. “Now, if you’d like to follow me we’ll take our conversation inside, away from prying eyes.”

Looking over my shoulder as I hand my reins to the guard I notice that a small number of people have gathered not too far from us, watching our exchange. This town just gets more and more peculiar.

“If one hair on my horse is damaged, or one buckle on my bags undone when I get them back . . . somebody will pay,” I hear Cara warn the guard as she too gives up her horse, following my example without question.

“No need to worry,” Albert assures, gesturing for us to enter the villa before him.

Taking one last look outside, then at Cara, I give him a wary nod and then enter. I’m eager to see Richard to make sure he’s ok, and get to the bottom of whatever problem landed him under the magistrates care. I suspect it’s probably just caution on the magistrate’s part, but something in the back of my mind warns me that it might not be so simple.

“This is a little odd,” Cara remarks as we follow the magistrate down a long, narrow hall. “I don’t think we should trust . . .”

Her words are cut short as a handful of burly, well equipped men file out of a room at the end of the hall. They don’t seem intent on kindness and I feel Cara tense beside me. She lifts a hand to an agiel and abruptly pulls it away again, staring at me with wide eyes.

“What is it?” I ask her, feeling panic rise within me as I see a flicker of fear in her eyes that I’ve never witnessed before.

Cara grabs my hand and places it over one of her agiels, her brow heavy as she frowns deeply. I move to jerk my hand away wondering why she would do such a thing, but as my palm hits the smooth surface of the leather I realize instantly that I feel no pain. I hear no hissing scream as flesh makes contact with the agiel.

Grabbing it more firmly, I feel my heart sink in my chest and my body shudders as I quickly contemplate what it could mean. The agiels wield painful magic only when the Rahl bloodline is alive, so that must mean . . .

“What have you done with Richard?” I yell at Albert as the soldiers finally reach us in the narrow hall. “I demand to see him right now.”

He turns to me, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring. Cara pulls out her agiels regardless of their ineffectiveness now. Her stance is defensive and she moves just a little in front of me, making my heart skip for just a moment as I feel utterly protected by her.

“The Seeker is fine and you’ll see him soon enough,” the magistrate sneers. “I was hoping we’d conduct business a little less . . . violently. But I see your Mord-Sith has other ideas.”

His eyes glance down at Cara’s drawn weapons but at this point I’m in agreement with Cara; my hands instinctively reach for the daggers tucked in my boots, fingers resting on the handles but not yet sliding them free.

“Take them,” he calls to the men now surrounding us. “The governor can deal with them all when he gets back.”

“One step closer and you’ll lose something vital,” Cara growls at one of the men closest.

“Now, now,” Albert soothes, looking altogether bored of the exchange. “There really doesn’t need to be any bloodshed, and besides . . . I’m sure you’ve noticed that your agiels are ineffective here.”

Cara looks my way, her scowl shifting only slightly in question, as if I have the answers to this man’s riddles. I have no idea what’s going on, however, and I’m losing my patience. With a move too quick for the magistrate to avoid I lunge for his neck with my hand outstretched. Gripping my fingers around his throat I give him a second in which to beg for me not to confess him. He says nothing, his eyes staring right at me with only a slight hint of panic within them.

“I’m sorry I have to do this,” I say quickly before letting my magic roll through me and into him.

Only, I feel no magic. I feel no surge of energy crashing through my body ready to engulf both me and my confessed. With a sharp gasp I let go of the man’s neck, looking at my hand as if the answer lies within it.

My confessor magic is gone.

“Your magic doesn’t work here,” Albert informs us roughly, rubbing his neck where my fingers have left red marks behind. “No magic does.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling stricken at the sudden loss of my power.

Cara moves closer to me almost imperceptibly, her arm brushing against mine as she continues to grip her agiels. For a brief moment I want to reach out and cling to her, hold on to something solid and reliable, but I fight the urge, giving the magistrate a steely glare that brings with it a clear warning.

“We do not tolerate magic in this town,” he spits, backing away as the burly men move even closer to us, cutting off any hope of escape. “Which is why your wizard is now in one of our cells, along with The Seeker stupid enough to draw his sword at my judgment.”

“Your judgment?” Cara questions angrily.

I can see her sizing up the men, fingers tightening on the handles of her useless weapons. Her breaths are coming quicker and there’s a distinct glow about her that makes her seem more dangerous yet more beautiful all at once. I’ve seen it many times now and every time I’m left stunned by how it makes me feel. But now is not the time to be noticing such things; our safety is in peril and we have no realistic way of fighting our way out of this.

“The wizard used magic within our city walls and refused the punishment, so now they’re our . . . guests. Until the governor returns at least,” Albert explains. “I see now that we need to protect ourselves from further abuse at your hands.”

He claps his hands and the guards descend, grabbing for both Cara and I to restrain us. We both move on instinct, back to back. I slip my daggers from my boots and hold them aloft though I know it’s fairly pointless now. We’re not only outnumbered – which is not normally a problem – but with no real means of escape and no weapons to compete with the heavy swords the men have pulled, we are forced to accept that this is one fight we can’t win.

“If you cooperate it will save us all some time,” Albert huffs.

Feeling Cara rigid and ready for anything behind me I almost decide we should just try our best to fight our way through this mess, but Richard and Zedd are here somewhere and we can’t just leave them. Still, I don’t feel comfortable lowering my guard and just going along with their demands. My hands keep a tight grip on my daggers and Cara presses closer to my back with hers as two of the men step forward, hoping to place chains around our wrists.

“What should we do?” Cara asks over her shoulder to me.

“Fighting would probably be a mistake,” I reply, finding comfort in her warmth and scent despite the ominous circumstances.

“Yes, it would,” Albert agrees, listening in. “No harm will come to you here unless you resist with force.”

“I want to pull that man’s beard off and shove it down his scrawny neck,” Cara hisses.

“I’m sure you’ll have your chance,” I say in a whisper, “but it might have to wait.”

Lowering my daggers, I glare at the magistrate. This will only be a temporary surrender, but he’ll pay for treating us this way.

“Fine,” I say gruffly. “Let us talk somewhere less . . . threatening.”

“I’m afraid the time for talk is over,” Albert insists.

The men rush forward as one and before I know what’s happening I feel cold steel around my wrists and a hand covering my face. A hand holding something soft that smells sickly sweet.

I struggle as best I can and I feel Cara doing the same, her muscles flexing and straining against the large guards. I try to turn to her but my legs feel suddenly wobbly and the hall is growing darker, the walls seemingly pressing in on us until I’m falling to the floor on my hands and knees.

“Kahlan!” I hear as Cara reaches out a hand to me.

Briefly, I feel her fingers touch my back, glancing across my shoulder as she tries to keep some contact between us. Through the blackness and the abrupt nausea I try to answer, to find her hand with mine, but the world is spinning too fast.

“Ugh!” Cara grunts, still attempting to throw off the guards. “Get your filthy . . .”

I hear a gruesome thwack and Cara’s body falls limp to the ground with a loud thud, her back towards me.

“Cara?” I rasp, slumping further forward as my knees give out completely.

I’ve been drugged. Something is pulling me under its spell and I can no longer fight it, though I manage to turn my head to see the trickle of blood spreading slowly across the tiled floor where Cara’s head is resting. I feel pain shooting through me at the sight and my fingers slip into silky soft, blonde hair as I frantically search for the cause.

But I can no longer see properly and despite my desperate need to know that Cara is ok I finally succumb to the dark completely, unable to help. Unable to ensure the woman who is creeping into my heart will even live past this day.