Cara’s nostrils flare, her eyes darkening as she steps even closer to me, close enough to touch. Her gaze travels across my face, lingering at my mouth as her lips part. She wants to close the distance between us. To give us what we both desperately want, but she doesn’t move. My heart pounding, I imagine the softness of her mouth, the warmth of her breath. I want to take it inside me. Take all of her inside me.

I see the struggle on her face as she decides what to do, her brow tightening, eyes searching mine. Letting her see what I feel for her I do not turn from the intensity of her gaze, allowing it, revelling in it, growing under its power as she moves up close to me in one step, the battle within herself making her body tense. Glancing down I see her hands at her sides, balled into fists. I want those hands on me, in my hair, on my face.

“Cara,” I murmur, barely recognising my own voice.

She brings her face close to mine and I feel the heat of her, the tickle of her breath as it blows hard from her nose. Her nose grazes mine and I close my eyes, praying to the Spirits that she will give me what I want. Cara’s lips are so close, but I don’t reach for them with my own, needing to know she also wants this enough to be the one to take that first step, to do something that is so opposite to who she believes she should be. To take control of her own destiny rather than listen to the voice inside her that tells her she isn’t allowed this, that her duty is more important than this.

Almost feeling her mouth on mine, those beautiful lips, my heart throbs and trips, stomach twisting as the world seems to tilt and leave me spinning. I want to beg her to kiss me. I want to take her.

I feel the shudder that runs through Cara even though we’re not touching, and suddenly there is pressure on my mouth – the barest contact. The softest contact. I sigh, body vibrating as her lips brush mine – so full and warm - and I fight the urge to grab her, to kiss her hard, to give in to a desire I have never known before her. As the pressure shifts, pressing a little firmer, everything suddenly stops abruptly. My heart, my breathing, the kiss.

“Well that’s a novel way to fetch water,” Garen grunts, no more than a few paces from us.

Cara pulls away so violently I almost topple over, my legs unsteady.

“You followed us?” Cara asks angrily, whipping her head round to glare at the other Mord-Sith.

Pulling air into my lungs in the hope to calm myself and regain some semblance of control, I grab at the water skins, move past Cara and quickly dip them into the stream, my face burning with a blush I have no power over. I keep my head lowered, a mix of embarrassment and shame making my hands shake. I know I should feel neither of those things, but it could have been Richard who had stumbled upon us, and I dread to think of what could have happened then, what could have been said, or done.

“You’re lucky it was me, and not The Seeker,” Garen replies, a smugness to her words as if she could read my mind. “He thought you’d been gone too long and was about to run after you.”

I turn and notice Cara’s eyes darting into the forest where Richard and Zedd remained. She looks worried, her eyes wide. I hate to see even the slightest glimmer of alarm in those eyes, and I know instantly that I should not have pushed. Should not have asked her to kiss me here.

“I convinced him to stay behind,” Garen continues. “A mere thank you will suffice.”

She glances my way and I push down the urge to stand and grab her by the throat. Cara’s jaw clenches and she glares at Garen almost as fiercely as I, though Garen is right, and we should be grateful she managed to convince Richard not to come lurking into the forest after us.

“Thank you,” I grind out, standing with the now full water skins.

I feel so foolish to have been caught. Foolish to have been so stupid and reckless.

“You’re welcome, Mother Confessor,” Garen says with a grin that sours my mood even more.

A sigh breaks the tension as Cara runs a hand through her hair, her face the picture of despair, and frustration.

“We should get back,” Cara grumbles, glancing briefly at me.

With a nod I step beside her but she moves forward, pushing into the leaves ahead and away from me so quickly I can’t help but feel my heart ache with the sting of her rapid departure. We had barely kissed, just the slightest touch, but I know she will be cursing herself for it.

Shaking my head as I do my best not to become weighted down with the impossibility of this situation anymore than I am, I lower my gaze to the ground and begin to follow Cara as she stalks off. A hand stops my progress, resting lightly on my arm.

“If you’re serious about this, give her time,” Garen says, lifting her hand away as I glare at it, then glare even harder into her eyes. “This won’t be easy for her.”

I almost laugh.

“Not easy for her?” I repeat, doing nothing to hide my sarcasm. “It isn’t exactly a picnic for me either.”

Anger boils within me – at myself, at Garen, even at Cara - and I begin to push past the Mord-Sith. She stops me once again. I almost knock her to the floor, but I remember that she is injured, and that this isn’t her fault. I may be angry that she knows too much and has seen too much, but this is not her doing.

“The Lord Rahl is everything to a Mord-Sith,” Garen says, her voice low as she looks beyond the warning in my eyes, her tight braid making her appear even more severe than before. “That she can even imagine betraying him, let alone acting on that, is testament to how much she must feel for you.”

The words rock me a little and I feel tears spring to my eyes.

I look away, shamed again for needing Cara so.

“If you love her, let her come to you in her own way, in her own time,” she adds, a note of sadness making me glance up at her.

I can see instantly that Garen still cares deeply for Cara, perhaps loves her as she once did, but there is a resigned look on her face. She knows they will never again have what they once shared. I almost feel sorrow for her, for them, but I want Cara’s heart to be mine and mine alone. There are questions that I need to ask, however, even though they might hurt me or make me jealous. There is so much about Cara that I don’t know of. Those questions will have to wait, as I remember that Richard is probably pacing back and forth waiting for my return.

Biting my lower lip as I find myself wanting to admit that I do indeed love Cara, I nod, not wishing for Cara to hear it from anybody but me. I know what Garen is trying to tell me, and I know I must remember that Cara and I can’t allow desire to burn everything around us to the ground. We need to be sensible, and certain of what we’re doing. I need to respect Cara’s unwavering loyalty to Richard. With that in mind, I finally walk past Garen, a determined awareness in my heart persuading me that I will speak with Richard as soon as possible and tell him that I cannot belong to him. If I can remove just one obstacle, then surely the rest will follow.

When I reach the others, Garen following slowly behind, I offer Richard a small smile, avoiding Cara’s eyes. I notice the frown, even deeper now on Zedd’s brow, but push aside my concern.

We build a small fire and have a cooked lunch, Richard and Zedd getting as much information out of Garen about the surrounding area as they can, though Zedd offers more grumbles and mumbles than anything else. He is still determined to make Garen feel as unwelcome as possible.

I do my best not to look Cara’s way too often, knowing if my gaze lingers I will remember just how it felt to finally have her lips on me, and I would blush profusely at my thoughts.

“You look troubled,” Richard says as he sits down beside me, the others clearing things away and preparing to leave.

My chest tightens and I take a quick look at Cara as she tightens the saddle on her horse, her body turned from me.

“Is something wrong?” he presses.

I feel the warmth of his hand on my thigh and fight tears, biting back all the emotions somersaulting inside me. If I speak I might say something that could never be taken back, that will break the dam.

Never have I felt so impossibly stuck between what I want and what I am.

“We’ll talk later, Richard,” I say with a forced smile I know won’t reach my eyes.

He furrows his brow deeper, about to ask more from me, but I stand, brushing at my skirt.

“Where are we headed now?” I ask, hoping to distract Richard.

For a moment it seems like he will ignore the question and persist with his own, but with a shake of his head he straightens himself and answers.

“We’ll head to the cottage. I think that’s where we’re supposed to go,” he says.

I nod, sure he’s probably right. He has more insight than even he knows – an innate skill of a Seeker.

Without fuss, and only the odd huff from Zedd, we begin to ride again, making our way down a track long ago abandoned and left to the encroaching trees. It’s slow going, and by the time we reach a clearing with a dilapidated cottage set in the middle, the sun is beginning to slip away leaving the day to cool around us.

I shudder slightly as I feel rain in the air, dark clouds heading our way. We stop and Richard runs a hand up and down my arm in an attempt to help warm me, but all it does is make me stiffen and look towards Cara. She is sat rigid in her saddle with Garen between her legs, their eyes searching the building ahead and the lake beyond.

The place seems quiet, truly abandoned, but a small wisp of smoke coming from a mostly crumbled chimney makes us all approach warily.

“We’ll circle around the back,” Cara suggests, turning her horse from us and making her way to the side of the old house.

Staying close to the tree line she moves out of sight and I feel a sense of dread that I find difficult to bury. I know she’s completely capable of protecting herself, and with Garen with her it would take many men to overcome them, but I still find myself wishing I could keep her within sight.

As they secure the back of the cottage Richard slips from our horse, gripping the hilt of his sword as he slowly walks up the overgrown path towards the front door. I pick up the reins and follow behind, the horse tipping his head left and right as he protests our slow gait. Nobody comes to the grimy windows or opens the door, so I jump down alongside Richard, ready for anything.

With Zedd bringing up our rear, Richard pauses at the door that barely looks attached, some of the hinges coming away, rusty and old. There is broken glass to our left where a window has blown through, and the roof barely seems capable of keeping out even the slightest drizzle; yet somebody must be in there for the smoke to be rising into the darkening sky.

I start as Cara appears from the opposite side of the building she left from, her eyes catching mine briefly, making me want to smile, to reach out and connect with her in any way I can. She looks away and dismounts.

“This is the only door in or out,” she says, nodding to the door Richard is about to rap his knuckles upon. “Let me,” she adds, pushing her way through us, standing at the foot of the door, her body ready for attack.

“Cara, there’s no need to . . .” Richard begins, but a curt look from Cara stills his tongue.

She bangs heavily on the wood, the frame shaking, dust and flakes of old paint tumbling to the ground. There is no answer and I wonder if maybe we’re taking too big a risk. Anything or anybody could be inside. It could be a trap – wasn’t it Garen who mentioned this place? So far from anything, from where the Stone had been leading us before it decided to have us turn back on ourselves.

I look closely at Garen as she remains mounted, her hands gripping the reins. She seems nonchalant, uninterested; maybe too much so, as if she knows something we don’t.

“Be careful,” I find myself saying to Cara, stepping closer.

She glances my way but once again bangs on the door, harder this time. With a crack and a clatter the door pulls from its remaining hinges, thudding to the floor beyond, dust and debris lifting into the air and whooshing outwards.

Cara takes a rather unfortunate deep breath as she steps back, a series of sneezes and coughs bringing tears to her eyes as dust pours into her lungs. I grab her arm and pull her towards me, away from the entrance as she is momentarily disorientated. Her hand reaches out and grasps on to me as she swipes at her eyes. Richard does the same, coughing and waving dust away to peer into the darkness that emanates from the cottage. Fortunately most of the dust blew past me, depositing itself mainly on Cara and Richard.

I feel Garen jump down from her horse beside me, stalking ahead, agiels in hand. Her leather creeks and groans as she waits, listening. The sound surprises me – Cara’s leather is always silent, soft. I wonder if maybe Garen’s leather is newer, having been bundled up in one of the packs in the cave we spent the night in. Nothing about her seems soft and I’m more wary of her now than ever. Watching her, my hand still on Cara’s arm, I almost expect Cara to push her aside and take control again, but one look in Cara’s face makes it clear that her eyes are still full of dust and grit. She blinks rapidly, finally pulling away from me a little as Zedd watches from beyond the drifting cloud still gently billowing from the doorway.

“Is there anybody there?” Garen calls out.

There is no answer, but instinctively I feel a presence inside. My eyes meet Richard’s and he nods, understanding.

“Stay here,” he says, pulling his sword free with a resounding ring.

Garen gives him a look that clearly states she thinks he has lost his mind, her defiant stance making her seem as if she is towering over him.

“Don’t listen to him,” Cara says with a cough, her throat full of dust. “Go in.”

She indicates for Garen to enter, and to my surprise Garen doesn’t wait to be asked twice. Ignoring Richard’s gaping mouth as he begins to protest, she steps onto the door and into the house.

Richard follows, annoyance flashing in his eyes as he holds his sword aloft.

“Are you ok?” I quickly ask Cara, before she can take off after them into the small house.

“Of course,” she answers gruffly, though her eyes are watering.

I lift my hands to her face, trying to remove some of the dirt that is clinging to her skin; thumb gently brushing over her dusty eyebrows and wet cheeks. She swats me away before I can do more, but I see a brief glimmer of gratitude as I drop my hands and let her be.

She instantly follows Richard and I wait with Zedd for the all clear, seeing no point in putting us all in danger. Feeling Zedd’s gaze boring into me I look his way. There is confusion in his eyes; but more than that, I see pity there, and a reflection of my own pain.

“Be careful, Kahlan,” he says softly.

I crease my brow, seeming confused, and shrug off his remark. I won’t allow him to shake me or prick at me with even more guilt.

Taking a breath I look away from him.

“You can come in,” Richard calls from within the cottage; I practically sigh in relief.

I squint into the darkness and enter, Zedd following slowly behind. Finding myself in a narrow hall I turn towards the open doorway to the left where the orange glow of a fire creeps its way over cobwebs and years of filth.

“It’s just an old man,” Richard says, and I watch as Cara rolls her eyes, giving him a look that makes me think of a parent chastising a child.

“There is no such thing as ‘just’,” Cara says. “Zedd is an old man, and there is certainly no ‘just’ about him!”

Rightfully scolded, Richard nods, realising his mistake as he lifts his sword higher.

“Who are you?” he questions the old man, who is slumped on the floor in a corner, a tatty blanket wrapped around his seemingly frail body.

The man’s eyes are wide, his skin so pale I can see blue veins standing out under the scant light of the fire in the hearth. He looks afraid but we have to be careful. Stepping forward a little – placing myself between the two rather intimidating Mord-Sith – I lean down to catch his eyes.

“Tell us who you are,” I say softly. “We won’t hurt you.”

Cara makes a sound behind me that clearly states she makes no such promise. She’s unaware that I am ready for any eventuality, however. All it would take is the lifting of my hand to him to take his will away and leave him helpless.

With a gruff, probably long underused voice he answers.

“I am but an old man,” he says, eyes watery as he looks at me. “I didn’t mean to do those things . . . he left me no choice, he . . .”

Moving to my side Cara points an agiel threateningly at him.

“What things?” she asks abruptly. “Who?”

“He has no magic of his own,” he continues, muttering as if to himself.

“The man is clearly senile,” Garen grunts, striding around the small room, poking at furniture with her agiel, looking behind things, into things. “And this place is disgusting.”

I almost want to chuckle as I notice the look of revulsion on her face. Turning back to the old man, I ask, “What is your name?”

He seems confused by the question, his lips quivering, gaze lowering to the ground.

“I was once an important man,” he answers at length as Richard sheaths his sword and lowers himself to meet the old man’s eyes. “Once as young as you,” he continues, giving Richard a cracked smile.

Unsure if we need to be here, or if he still poses any kind of threat, or is of any use, I back away a little, leaving Richard and his kind eyes to gather more information. I stay within the room, listening to the explanation that comes with difficulty, Cara not far behind me – her presence always in my awareness.

After some time and Richard’s gentle probing we discover that this decrepit old man was once the governor of the town we had been captured in. He had been usurped by his brother; forced to use the little magic he knew to cast an enchantment over the villa and its cells. Forced to leave at the mercy of his brother, never to return.

“He was jealous of you,” Zedd guesses, offering the man a drink to ease his now parched throat. “For the magic you possess.”

“Yes, though I have very little of it,” the old man – Harte – answers, greedily taking from the water skin. “Our father was disappointed in my brother. It twisted him. Made my brother desperate for power.”

“Is that why he doesn’t want magic in the town? Because he doesn’t want anybody to have what he doesn’t?” Richard asks.

Harte nods, handing the water skin back to Zedd with a grateful smile.

“He wanted me to put a spell on the entire town, but I wasn’t strong enough for that,” he says, lowering his head as if in shame – his self worth destroyed years ago by his brother. “He banished me when I began to question what he . . . what he was doing with the Mord-Sith.”

Both Garen and Cara step closer at that, their eyes hard and accusing.

“And what exactly was he doing?” Cara asks, danger in every syllable.

I try to catch her eye but she is focused solely on the man now hunched up in a worn old chair.

“It helps keep the people happy,” he answers. “He tells them they are safer from the Mord-Sith in these parts now, because of him, but I saw what he allows in those cells, and it . . . it isn’t right.”

Garen grips her agiel tighter, holding herself stiff on the other side of me to Cara.

“They are not any safer,” Garen spits. “His actions have been foolish. Any day now we plan to take the town and wipe it from the map.”

There is real venom in her words and I shudder as the old man’s eyes look up at her sadly.

“He takes Mord-Sith?” I ask unnecessarily.

“He called it preventative,” Harte replies. “Take them before they can take our children. Though his ideas may have been well intentioned, his methods . . .”

I don’t need him to continue to understand – just remembering the lecherous looks and crass words the guards had used with Cara leaves me cold. Fighting cruelty and brutality with equal cruelty and brutality is never the answer.

“We try to rescue as many as we can,” Garen suddenly says, her voice softer than usual. “Though we can not be broken any more than we are, the things they do in that prison . . .”

My stomach clenches, a wave of nausea making me desperate for air. This room is stifling, dusty, and my head is beginning to pound. Why the compass brought us here is still not clear, but certainly there is something that must be done or learned. Perhaps we’re needed to prevent an all out assault on the town by the Mord-Sith, or maybe there is more to the story than we know. Whatever it is, we cannot allow it to take too much time away from our quest for the Stone of Tears. We must get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.

“Richard,” I say, gaining his attention as I step towards the door. “Can I speak with you?”

He raises himself from the dirty couch he was perched on, following me to the chilly night outside.

“I know,” he says, before I can ask any questions or tell him my thoughts. “We need to know why we’re here and what to do.”

Richard begins to pace, his brow furrowed as he allows the Seeker in him to take over, to guide him. Slipping the compass from his pocket his brow creases further. Stepping beside him I see that it’s now pointing back into the forest.

“This is leading us to the town,” he says with confidence.

“How do you know?” I question.

“I just do,” he replies, looking up into my eyes. “We need to go back.”

The change in him is instant as he places aside his fears and concerns and embraces all that he truly is. I feel confident in his choice, and secure in the knowledge that it is my duty to follow his lead. No matter what else, I am still his Confessor.

“Should we take Harte with us?” I ask, nodding towards the broken old cottage.

“Yes,” he says, giving my arm a squeeze before heading back through the door.