I feel the hard stone floor beneath me shift as if I’m on a boat, swaying this way and that and making my stomach lurch. I know I’m on no boat however; there is no salt air, no breeze, and as I open my eyes they instantly seek out and spot Cara as she lies on her stomach beside me. We’re in a room. A small room as far as I can see. But I have little opportunity to discover where or why at this point; my main concern is Cara.

Swallowing thickly and lifting myself on shaky arms, I reach out to touch her shoulder. She’s clearly unconscious, as was I, but there is blood in her hair. Her face is turned from me but the shallow, rhythmic breaths indicate she is still not awake or aware. Not that I feel particularly awake or aware either.

“Cara,” I say quietly, not wishing to alert anybody that might overhear, or that may be standing guard.

My gaze flits around us, making sure we’re alone in this room. We are, and save for a bed at one corner and a door that opens up into what looks like an indoor privy, there is nothing and nobody else in here with us.

“Cara!” I say a little louder as I get no response.

Giving her shoulder a small nudge, I move closer on my knees, still feeling shaky. They must have drugged us both, though I don’t know why or what they plan to do with us.

I suddenly think of Richard and Zedd, wondering if they suffered the same fate. Worrying that if they did they may not be in any position to help themselves, let alone us.

Moving my hand softly through Cara’s hair, I wince as her blood coats my fingers. Panic begins to take its grip of me and I shake her more firmly. I position myself to be able to see her face and grimace at the bruise and the deep cut on her temple. That’s where the blood obviously came from but the flow seems to have slowed to a stop. My fingers gently brush back blonde hair from the wound, careful not to hurt her even though she wouldn’t feel in her unconscious state. I don’t think I could find it within myself to ever hurt her now. No matter the circumstances.

“Please wake up,” I whisper, not only a plea to Cara but also to the Spirits, a plea for this remarkable woman to live another day by my side.

Cara mumbles, her body shifting slightly, and I silently thank the Creator.

“Don’t try to move too quickly,” I say, my hand resting gently on her shoulder. “You were knocked unconscious, and I think we were both drugged.”

Another mumble and Cara attempts to raise her head to look at me. Her eyes are clouded, not the vibrant green that I’m so used to.

“Where are we?” she asks, her voice rough and low.

“I don’t know,” I answer, sitting beside her as she turns over and also attempts to sit.

Her movements are slow and I have the urge to help, but I know she’d probably slap my hands away and tell me my assistance isn’t needed.

“The guards attacked us?” Cara guesses, reaching up to feel at her temple.

“Yes.”

“Can I kill them?” she asks as her fingertips graze the nasty bruise on her head.

I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head as she gives me a serious look that makes it clear she’s not joking. She will kill them if we see them again, probably without any kind of permission from me.

“Have you tried the door?” Cara questions, doing her best to stand, wishing to take back control even though she’s in no fit state right now.

“Not yet, I was too busy trying not to vomit.”

I push up from the floor and get to my feet, swaying slightly. A miniscule window lets in enough light to see by, but the sun is going down already and the corners of the room are becoming shadowed. It’s unnerving and makes me shudder as I wonder what might happen to us here, at the hands of people that obviously have no qualms about attacking without cause.

As Cara continues in her attempt to stand I offer her my hand, surprised when she actually takes it in order to help herself up. It’s warm and strong in mine and I hide the small tremble it causes. Maybe things are changing between us in ways I didn’t foresee only weeks ago. And now that we’re both aware of a mutual attraction, I can only imagine things changing further. I’m not sure how I feel about that, how comfortable I am with what we might become, though I know we should never be lovers. Not if we’re to keep from hurting and betraying Richard. Whatever happens, I must remind myself of that.

“I’ll try the door, you check in there,” Cara instructs, walking cautiously forward.

I notice her sway a little but don’t rush to her as I wish I could.

Watching her momentarily, I eventually convince myself that she’s not going to fall suddenly and hurt herself further. The small room to the side is indeed a privy, furnished with a large bowl already full of water next to the privy hole. I turn and find a small stack of cloth balanced on a lone chair. Those are for drying with I guess.

There’s no window in the room, only the door in and out.

“Well, at least we’ll be able to relieve ourselves if needed,” I comment as I return to the main room.

Cara tries the door with no luck. It seems to be thoroughly locked.

“I’m definitely going to kill them,” Cara growls, her hands moving around the hinges of the door to find a weakness.

She notices the sliding panel at head height just as I do, sliding across a metal cover that reveals bars at a small opening to look through.

Moving closer I peer into the space beyond with Cara, seeing nothing but darkness.

“Is anybody out there?” I call out. “Why are we being held here?”

Nobody answers at first but I hear a clanking sound that reverberates down the corridor this room is obviously on.

“Kahlan?” somebody calls from far down the corridor, and I realise almost instantly that it’s Richard. “Is that you?”

Of course, I remember now that the magistrate said both Richard and Zedd were being kept in a cell. I guess that can now also be said of both Cara and I.

“Richard?” I call back, pushing my face close to the grid on the panel.

“Thank the Spirits you’re ok,” Richard shouts. “You are ok aren’t you? And Cara?”

“We’re fine,” Cara answers beside me. “Where are we?”

“They threw us in this cell when we asked to leave,” he replied. “Are you locked in too?”

“Very,” I say. “And the door is thick. I don’t think it will break.”

“No, it won’t,” Richard confirms. “This one is just as thick, and tough. Even the Sword of Truth can’t break it. But at least they didn’t take it from me.”

“Do you think there’s magic at work?” I ask.

“A powerful magic is wrapped all around this building,” Zedd replies, making his presence known.

“Zedd,” I call, grateful to hear his calming voice, “did they hurt you?”

“Nothing but my pride, child,” he answers. “They pulled me about like the frail old man I am without my magic.”

“So you can’t use magic here either?” I ask, needing confirmation that it’s not just my confessor magic and Cara’s agiels that are being affected.

“My fingers are as devoid of magic as my belly is of food right now,” Zedd answers.

My own stomach growls at the mention of food. Cara glances down at my belly, but she doesn’t smirk as she normally would. Ignoring the fact I’m very hungry now, I continue talking with Richard and Zedd – trying to get as much information as possible - as Cara moves to the window. She pulls over the bed towards the small opening, standing upon it so she can just about see outside. The window’s size prevents any escape, as do the bars that clearly indicate that this is indeed a cell.

“All I did was give a flower to a small girl in the market,” Zedd says as he explains why they’d been arrested. “Just a little magic to produce the flower and suddenly all the guards were upon us.”

“We didn’t fight, thinking it was just a misunderstanding,” Richard continued, “and then once we were in this building . . .”

“Once you were here you couldn’t fight,” I finish for him.

Though he would have been brave enough to take on all the guards to free both Zedd and himself, without the power and magic of the Sword of Truth it would have been impossible to get away with both of their lives.

“They must have sent the messenger to lure us here,” I say, mostly to myself.

“What was that?” Richard shouts. “I think we’re at opposite ends of this corridor, so you’ll have to speak up.”

“They lured us here,” I reply loudly. “Then they attacked us.”

Worry begins to set in as I wonder how in the Creator’s name we’ll escape this place.

Cara comes and stands beside me once again, her fists clenched and her jaw tight. Her anger is plain to see and I feel it also growing inside myself, wishing to get my hands on that scrawny magistrate and wring his neck. We’re innocent of any crimes, yet here we are incarcerated with seemingly no way of escape. Our only hope probably lies with the governor. I recall the magistrate mentioning his immanent return several times.

“Has anybody spoken with you since they put you in your cell?” I ask Richard. “Have you seen any guards?”

“A guard came round a few hours ago, shortly after we heard a lot of shuffling and banging, which was probably them bringing both of you down here,” he answered.

“The guard looked in on us but wouldn’t answer our questions,” Zedd finished for him.

As if on cue a loud clanking, rattling noise echoes around the walls and a gruff voice shouts for us to be quiet. A door slams shut again, more rattling clearly indicating that we’re also locked in the corridor as well as these cells.

“We’ll speak later,” Richard calls, trying not to do so too loudly. “Don’t worry, Kahlan. I’ll get us out of here somehow.”

The conviction in his voice is calming but I think our release may only come once the governor arrives. Hopefully any misunderstanding can be dealt with then, swiftly. If not then we’ll have to plan on our escape by other means.

“We’re at ground level,” Cara informs me as I move away from the door, noticing that the disappearance of the sun has all but left us in complete darkness now. “The bars on the window won’t budge.”

I can hear the frustration in her voice and I share in it equally.

Watching as Cara pushes the bed back where it was, I let my mind try to wrap itself around this conundrum, hoping to discover some way in which we can get out of here with as little fuss as possible. I fear it will not be a simple task, however, and at the moment I am at a loss as to what our options might be.

Maybe one of the guards will be sympathetic if the governor insists we remain. Or maybe we could catch the attention of somebody outside and send word to . . . I realise that there really isn’t anybody near this town that we could send word to.

“You need food,” Cara suddenly says as she stands before me, her hands on her hips as she studies me.

“We both do,” I remind her, unwilling to seem weak in comparison to her.

I realise my words were short and harsh as Cara narrows her eyes and turns from me, her jaw even tighter than before.

“I’m sorry, this is just . . .”

“Infuriating?” Cara finishes for me. “I swear, once my agiels are alive again I will shove it down the breaches of everyone involved in keeping us here until they pass out from the pain, then I’ll . . .”

“I don’t think I need to hear anymore,” I interrupt, feeling a little faint and sitting down heavily on the bed.

It’s only a single sized bed, the mattress is thin and the blankets worn, but they seem clean enough. In fact for a cell the place isn’t bad at all, and with a privy it will be much less difficult being trapped here. Though it seems we’ll need to share the bed, which makes things difficult on a whole different level. I can’t think about that right now. Can’t think about how awkward it will be after what we talked about earlier.

“I’ll call for the guard,” Cara says walking towards the door, her stride now confident and sure. Hopefully the blow to her head has left no lingering damage. “We need food . . . and another bed.”

She looks over at me and the bed, her eyes only just visible in the darkness further from the window. I can see instantly that she’s worrying about this arrangement as much as I’m beginning to.

“Guard!” she yells, making me jump.

“I doubt they’ll just . . .”

Clanking followed by grumbling echoes towards us and suddenly a large face is peering in through the panel at the door.

“I brought food,” the guard says gruffly.

I raise my eyebrows in much the same way as Cara does, moving from the bed to get close to see if I recognize the guard from earlier. I don’t, and he doesn’t seem the type that might be willing to help us.

“We also need another bed,” Cara tells him as he jangles his keys, unlocking the bars so that they drop down, allowing him to slide two bowls of stew through the small panel.

Grabbing the bowls I quickly place them down on the mattress and go to stand back beside Cara. The guard laughs and shakes his head no.

“One bed per cell,” he says. “You share.”

“It’s too small,” Cara complains.

She hands me a small loaf of bread and a waterskin the guard pushed toward her. I put them by the bowls. A table would be better, but I guess there’s a shortage of furniture in this place as well as manners and fair justice.

“Then sleep on the floor,” he responds, leaving no further room for discussion as he slams the bars back into place and moves further down the corridor.

Watching as Cara grips a handle of one of her dead agiels, holding it tight in her grasp as she glares into the now empty space, I do my best not to think anymore about the sleeping arrangements. Really, I suppose it’s the least of our worries, and at least we now have food.

A trickle of blood runs down Cara’s temple as she continues to glare at the door and I’m reminded that she was knocked unconscious only a short while ago.

“Let me see to that,” I say, gesturing towards Cara’s head.

Her fingers go up to swipe at the blood, a sigh escaping her lips.

“It’s fine,” she insists. “I’ll clean it in there.”

Saying nothing more, Cara disappears into the privy, the sounds of water splashing nudging out the silence. Before long she emerges with slightly damp hair where she has washed out the blood and the cut on her head looking slightly better. It probably needs stitching but we have nothing in here to do that with. I will try not to fuss over her about it as she will only demand that I stop.

“Come and eat something now,” I say, sitting on the bed and offering a bowl to Cara. Hopefully getting some food in her will stave off any dizzy spells she might have.

She takes the bowl, looking at it dubiously as she stands close by. I rip the bread in two, squinting in the scant light as I dip some in the stew and lift it to my mouth to take a bite.

“It could be poisoned,” Cara suddenly says, rushing towards me and halting the progress of my hand with a firm grip of my wrist. “Or drugged.”

I hadn’t thought of that, my stomach ruling my head in a way that even Zedd would find amusing - as it’s normally Zedd that thinks with his stomach over all else.

“Why would they . . .” I begin, but before I can get the rest of my question out, Cara lifts my hand to her mouth, her lips and teeth pulling the sodden piece of bread from my fingers.

The shudder that runs through me is more than obvious, and I only just manage to suppress a moan as I feel full lips grazing my fingers as she takes the small sample of food from me without hesitation. I know it’s a completely inappropriate time to think of her in such a way, but I can’t help enjoy the warm feeling that floods through me, or the way her eyes find mine as she licks at my fingertip, cleaning it of gravy.

My breath comes rapidly and I try to look away from Cara’s eyes, but I find it impossible. I desperately want to know what those lips feel like on mine; how they would possess me, how they would taste.

As Cara raises an eyebrow I blush profusely, finally able to tear my gaze from hers. Ignoring the small smirk on those delicious lips, I get control of my body as best I can; chasing away the arousal she sparks within me so easily.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say, hearing the deeper timbre of my own voice and blushing further. I lick my dry lips and take a breath. “We could have just not eaten the food.”

“Well I haven’t dropped down dead so at least we know it’s not poisoned, and we can fill our stomachs,” Cara explains, her own voice betraying her.

As if also noticing that she sounds a little breathless she pulls away, dropping my wrist as if it’s burning through her skin. She backs away quickly from the bed with her bowl and spoon.

As much as I know she did it for all the right reasons, I don’t like that she’s so willing to risk her life before mine. Richard told her to keep me safe as she would keep him safe, but somehow, I know there’s more to it than that. It can’t just be out of loyalty to Richard, it can’t just be because of her attraction to me. Maybe she feels more for me than she should. I know I feel for her. I know that I’ve tried not to; wanting to claw these feelings out of me to save us both from the complications of it all. There is no ridding myself of these feelings, however, they are inside me and burning out of control.

“It’s actually quite good,” Cara says, nodding as she spoons the stew into her mouth.

Before I find myself lost in thoughts of her lips once more, I concentrate on my own meal, taking tentative spoonfuls and filling my stomach with the bread. Unfortunately I can’t help but think about the way her mouth had been upon my fingers and as I lift a bite of bread to my lips I slip the finger she’d licked further into my mouth than necessary, hoping for a hint of her taste, a glimpse of how hot and beguiling her tongue would be.

She seems to notice, but instead of smirking or raising an eyebrow as I would expect, Cara just watches me. I can see her quite clearly as she leans against the wall just under the window, allowing the moonlight to cascade over her; her gaze is fixed to my mouth, her nostrils flaring as if she needs more air than is in the room.

I know now that she wants me as I want her, but to see it so obviously is like stripping away the layers of caution I’ve constructed, ripping away the promises I’ve made to myself and Richard. With a flutter in my stomach I turn my head, pretending to busy myself with the waterskin before I rush to her and finally discover just how good it would feel to have that body pressed against me, those lips and that tongue colliding with mine.

It feels awfully hot in here, the air sticky as I gulp down some of the water, careful not to take too much in case the guards plan on this being our only waterskin for the duration of our stay. The guard had trudged back down the corridor from Richard and Zedd’s cell with a string of grumbles and complaints, locking the corridor loudly behind him once again. Hopefully there will be a more pleasant guard later when their shifts change. Either myself or Cara could try to charm him into gaining more information, or perhaps the promise of a sneaky release. It will be a long shot, but worth keeping in mind.

The atmosphere has grown rather awkward along with the stifling heat and I fuss with my bowl and brush crumbs from the bed, finding myself fidgeting and unable to look at Cara without my thoughts straying. Moving to the privy, I put my bowl on the floor just outside and quickly glance within. I need to relieve my bladder but I feel rather uncomfortable having Cara so near by. I know it’s silly, but my cheeks flush as I turn to her and indicate that I’ll be using the facilities.

“I need to . . .” I stutter.

Cara nods, moving further from the privy and towards the bed.

“Of course,” she says, lowering her eyes from me as she obviously notices my embarrassment.

Busying herself with the waterskin, Cara turns her attention from me and I find myself liking her even more for such a simple kindness. She’s quickly stealing my heart.

The door to the privy doesn’t quite close fully, but I know Cara will do her best to ignore the fact. The hole looks to lead down to a drain that has running water trickling through, carrying any waste with it. It could be a possible escape route if we’re here for an extended period, but I really don’t wish to think about one of us squeezing into such a tight, unsanitary space at this point.

I do my business and wash my hands and face in the bowl, using the small bar of lavender scented soap that was resting on the cloth towels. Placing the towels on the ground, I take the rickety wooden chair they were balanced upon back into the main room with me, placing it close to the moonlight coming through the window.

Cara walks to the door and shouts down to Richard, asking if they had been fed and watered similarly to us. He says they were, and that they plan on retiring for the night in the hopes that morning will bring a swift conclusion to this ridiculous incarceration.

I know we should do the same, but as I look at the bed I feel my stomach tightening and my hands growing damp. Neither of us can possibly sleep on this hard floor so we’ll have to share. On one hand I really, really would enjoy that, but on the other much more sensible hand I know it will only drive us both crazy with want.

“You should use the bed,” Cara suggests, as if reading my mind. “I will be fine on the floor.”

I almost agree, but I can’t possibly allow her to spend the night on such a hard surface. Though a small part of me knows I should accept, I shake my head.

“We can both use the bed,” I say firmly. “If you sleep on the floor you’ll be too stiff to react properly if we need to fight our way out of here.”

The excuse is flimsy at best but I hold her gaze, making it obvious that arguing this point would be worthless. She knows I’m right, and I can also see that she wants to share with me, to be close to me, just as much as she knows she shouldn’t.

“Fine,” she responds, rolling her eyes. “If you think it’s best.”

Before I can assure her that I do think it’s best, she stalks to the privy, undoing the buckle on her belt before she even reaches the door.

“I also need to pee,” she states without a hint of embarrassment.

I look away from the door as she closes it as far as it will go, the sound of her belt jangling and her leather creaking as she pulls it from her thighs making my head spin. To distract myself I fold back the blanket on the bed and push at the mattress. It isn’t that much softer than the ground but at least we’ll be away from possible scurrying creatures in the night.

Disregarding as best I can the fact I can hear Cara reliving her bladder, I momentarily pause and wonder if I could pull my dress off and leave myself in the corset alone – it is awfully warm in this enclosed space – but it would probably be a mistake. It’s better if I remain fully clothed.

Cara seems to have other ideas as she stalks from the privy with her buckles still undone and her fingers working herself out of the top portion of her red uniform.

“What are you doing?” I ask, more shrill than intended.

“Undressing for bed,” Cara states as if I’m being terribly dense.

“Undressing?” I ask further, panic evident in the way my eyes have widened and my voice has risen to an almost comical pitch.

She cocks her head at me, pausing before freeing herself from the confines of the leather, but she doesn’t pause long, obviously deciding that the need to be cool far outweighs the need to keep ourselves from excessive temptation.