The rest of the day passes with very little said between Cara and I, our minds occupied with our own thoughts, our eyes avoiding each other. I know I pushed her too far by questioning her earlier, and I know I should apologise, but I can’t feel completely sorry for discovering that Cara can possibly love. The apology would be false, just as the claim that I can continue to doubt or ignore how I feel about Cara. There are some things a Confessor must adhere to, and the truth is at the very top of that list.

I wish I could confide it in her, explain myself and tell her that I wish to care for her in ways she wouldn’t allow; but I bite my tongue, certain of the rebuff I would receive, and certain that right now it’s better not to say anything than risk what we already have. Than risk upsetting or angering Richard and throwing all our lives into confusion. Too much is at stake. The truth must stay inside me, only to be heard by myself.

When the light begins to fail from outside, casting shadows around the room, I slump onto the bed. Cara is seated on the chair, her fingers running up and down one of her lifeless agiels, bored and frustrated beyond belief as we do nothing but wait for the coming morning. I surreptitiously watch her, the furrow of her brow increasing my guilt. The tight line of her lips making me nervous and unsure. The newness of our friendship, of our understanding of one another, makes these shifting feelings between us a hazardous landscape on which to keep our footing. Neither of us knows which way to step for the best.

I do know that Cara would stay loyal to Richard with all her will, with all her Mord-Sith determination, if I were to say nothing more about what we so clearly want from each other. If I were to forget this desire, this yearning, and never speak of it with her again maybe we could overcome it. Maybe we could form a solid friendship that would never stray. But my heart is already calling to her and I doubt my strength, my own will. I doubt my ability to resist such temptation.

So many things clamber to escape from my mouth, to break the silence, to break the tension, but I still say nothing. I watch as Cara slides one agiel back into her holster, only to pull out the other and run her fingertips just as reverently over that. Leather on leather, desperate to feel the pain. I wonder what kind of magic has been placed upon this building. Wonder at its origin and its strength.

Searching within myself to find any shred of my Confessor magic, I find none. It makes for an emptiness inside me, and it’s beginning to leave me feeling incomplete. Wrong.

“I’ll be glad to get out of here,” I mutter, unsure if Cara will hear, though not really worrying if she doesn’t; the words were mainly meant for myself.

I glance her way to see one of her eyebrows raise.

“I know,” I say with a sigh.

I don’t need her to tell me that it was an unnecessary and obvious statement, and that she would expect no less.

“Hopefully tomorrow,” she responds after a brief pause, her voice sharp but low, a mix of subtle emotions teasing at the edges.

Nodding, I turn away from her again, staring up at the ceiling as I lay back on the bed. My mind begins to wander to the Mord-Sith that is hopefully going to set us free; to Garen, Cara’s one time lover. The word lover bites at my heart, but it would be incredibly silly of me to feel jealousy over Cara’s bed-mates from the past; I know she’s had many more than her fair share. Garen, however, was obviously more than just a means by which to relieve tension. There was more to it, more to them. Though I would like to know what kind of relationship they had, a big part of me wants to pretend that Cara doesn’t have a past at all. Doesn’t have a story that tells of separation and possible heartbreak.

I want Cara all to myself.

These thoughts are full of trepidation and unease, and I search within myself to find a place of quiet sanctuary from this burning inside me, but without my magic to focus on I find myself drowning in possibilities and I can’t seem to pull myself out. I have to have Cara. I have to allow myself to love; it’s what a Confessor is.

Pulled this way and that by my emotions and duty, I feel quite dizzy.

Sitting up I look Cara’s way, finally believing I have the right words to let her know that I can’t fight what I feel, but as I open my mouth to speak the guards noisily clutter the corridor with their rattling keys and their grousing. I bite down, practically grinding my teeth as they reach our door and order us to move back as they did the previous evening, bringing in food and water as we wait.

I’d come so close to ruining everything. How could I possibly forgive myself if I gave in and jeopardised everything we know? Everything with Richard, with the quest, the precious friendship I have now with Cara. It would all have been destroyed at my hand, with my words.

I fight back the tears that suddenly threaten to fall; once again reminded that a Confessor – though she’s the very embodiment of love – is expected to surrender her heart for the good of higher things, for duty, for honour, for everything but herself.

My cheeks grow wet despite my resolve not to crumble, and I hold myself as still as I can as the guards do their jobs in silence. A silence that Cara soon fills.

“When is the governor to arrive?” she asks them, turning her head to look their way as we stand with our backs to them.

“How should I know?” One of the guards grunts in response.

“Then I demand to see the magistrate,” she continues. “You have no right to keep us here.”

Another of the guards laughs. “You’re a bitch Mord-Sith. We’ll keep you here as long as we want,” he grates. “And the magistrate’ll soon let some of us show you how we treat your kind in this town.”

From the tone of his voice and the breathy laughter that follows it’s clear what he means, and my blood instantly boils. Unable to even imagine anybody touching Cara in such a way I brush away the tears from my cheeks and twist my body in order to wipe the smirks from their faces, but a strong hand stays my momentum and I find myself restrained by Cara.

Her eyes meet mine, sure and steady, a silent plea within them not to do anything rash on her behalf.

“Don’t make us have to restrain you,” the largest guard warns.

“That won’t be necessary,” Cara responds tightly, her hand still gripping my arm. “You can leave us.”

The guard huffs, nodding for his comrades to leave the cell, though one makes a lewd remark on his way out and I almost dive after him, only the hand holding me back saving me from such a mistake.

“It isn’t worth it,” Cara soothes, the barely restrained growl escaping her lips indicating that she too wanted nothing more than to tear those men limb from limb.

“I just . . .” I fight to breathe past the sudden anger. “I won’t let them hurt you,” I vow.

Cara looks deep into my eyes, truly inside me.

“I know,” she accepts without question.

For a moment we’re caught up in each other, and I sense the change in our friendship so clearly. So noticeably. Cara would never have allowed me to suggest she needed protection or help before, and certainly not from me. She would have told me in no uncertain terms that she could take care of herself, and that my misguided anxiousness about her safety was completely and wholly uncalled for. My chest feels heavy at the thought, so full of everything I shouldn’t even consider accepting.

Why does this have to be so difficult?

With a final squeeze of my arm Cara finally lets go of me, moving towards the meal the guards have brought us. We eat sullenly, quietly, the air stifling with tensions we cannot hope to just brush aside.

“At least they have a decent cook,” Cara says suddenly, though she fails to meet my eye.

“I’m sure Zedd is probably already planning another visit,” I suggest.

That gains me a small lift of Cara’s lips as she nods in agreement. She doesn’t smile often, especially not for frivolous reasons, but when she does it makes me want to rush over and hug her. Of course, if I did such a thing I would find myself sprawled on the floor having been unceremoniously shoved away. So I just enjoy her smiles from afar, burning with the need to tell her how beautiful she looks when she does it.

After a few more spoonfuls of stew, Cara glances my way, an expression on her face that I can’t quite place. I raise an eyebrow in question, but she shakes her head and turns away again, as if stopping herself from saying something, or asking something.

I know I shouldn’t push, but the curious glint in her eye has me wondering.

“What is it?” I ask.

Cara doesn’t answer right away, choosing to take her time ripping some bread for her bowl of stew. I shrug my shoulders, believing no answer will come, but then Cara breaks the silence once again.

“Mentioning Zedd made me think of magic, and the lack of it here,” she says.

I wait for her to elaborate but nothing more seems to be forthcoming. I could have sworn she appeared to want to ask me something, however. Almost jumping when she continues, I feel my heart begin to thud loudly with what she might be implying.

“Your Confessor magic,” Cara says. “It doesn’t work here.”

Her gaze is fixed to the floor. I place my half eaten bowl of stew beside me, watching Cara as she attempts not to fidget on the chair by the window.

“No, it doesn’t,” I confirm unnecessarily. There’s a slight tremble to my words that I hope Cara won’t notice.

Taking a deep breath, Cara lifts here eyes to mine, but only briefly before looking away once again.

“If you were in here with Richard you could . . .” she begins, but her voice falters and her shoulders stiffen.

Surely she can’t be suggesting that I’d wish to lay with Richard, or maybe she just hasn’t quite grasped what she’s become to mean to me. Clearly she doesn’t know that being with Richard in that way is not something I want now. But if I correct her, if I indicate that my interests are solely wrapped up in her . . . there would be no easy way to avoid further temptation. Honesty has never been something I’ve avoided before and this strange sense that I’m betraying who and what I am makes me feel ill, nauseous.

“I wouldn’t do that,” I respond boldly, deciding that sincerity should always be what leads me.

She looks my way, so much emotion in her eyes that I find myself taken aback, surprised by what I can see even as the failing light leaves us sat in shadows. There are questions she wants to ask but daren’t, and the knowledge that this courageous, normally impudent woman is afraid of the things she feels makes me lose the very last shred of hope not to completely fall under her spell. She must be so confused, desperately clinging to what she knows, to the rules of everything the Mord-Sith stand for. I see such conflicting emotions within her and I want – need – her to know that she’s not alone in this.

“Cara,” I say softly, making sure her gaze does not leave mine. “What I feel for Richard has changed. You . . .”

“You shouldn’t say anymore, Kahlan,” Cara interrupts, rising from the chair abruptly.

“I know I shouldn’t,” I agree, filled with shame, with guilt; but the way she says my name has me so close to revealing exactly what she doesn’t want to hear. “I can’t pretend that everything is the same as it was.”

“You said if we can’t ignore this ‘thing’ between us then I should leave,” Cara recalls. “So once we’re free of this idiotic town I’ll try to explain to Richard that my service to him would best be conducted in another way, elsewhere.”

She speaks in a rush, pacing the small room, from the window to the door and back again. But she’s wrong; I didn’t say she would have to leave. I distinctly remember her coming to that conclusion on her own.

“Cara, I didn’t say that,” I tell her, though her pacing continues as if she hasn’t heard.

“I could still help with the quest to find the Stone, just . . . in my own way,” she persists, her hands in tight fists at her side.

“Look at me,” I instruct, my voice soft, hoping she will understand and accept what I have to say.

The blur of red leather slows to a stop and Cara turns to me, folding her arms across her chest, her brow furrowed. If it were anybody else I would say she looks worried, anxious, but I’ve never seen this side of Cara before so it’s a little hard to say for certain what’s written on her expressive face.

I want to stand, move closer to Cara, but I know that would entice me to reach out to her and at the moment I think she’d probably react with anger.

“I didn’t say you would have to leave, Cara,” I tell her. “If we can’t control the way we . . . the way we feel,” I say, noticing how the word makes Cara’s jaw clench in defiance at the assumption that she even has feelings, “then I’ll have to tell Richard.”

Cara’s eye go wide, her hands dropping back to her sides as she looks at me as if I’ve gone completely mad.

“Tell him what?” she asks, uncharacteristic panic raising her voice. “You can’t just casually tell the Lord Rahl that I want to bed his future wife.”

I ignore the fact that she’s suggested this is only about sex – I know there’s more to it than that, otherwise she wouldn’t be in such a muddle over it – and finally rise from the bed to stand in front of Cara.

“There would be nothing casual about it,” I accept. “But I can’t lie to him. I’ve tried and it’s making me question everything about myself. This is making me question everything about myself,” I add, indicating the both of us.

“Then we need to stop this,” Cara says, her back straightening as she tries her best to cling to what she thinks is her duty.

“We haven’t even started,” I remind Cara, indulging in this pettiness with her.

“Last night?” she reminds me, raising her eyebrows.

I feel a blush spread across my cheeks and know I can’t deny that we crossed a line last night that we shouldn’t have. Even though we didn’t really touch I’m not foolish enough to insist it meant nothing.

My body recalls how it felt to be so close to Cara as she touched herself, as she gave in to what she needed. I can remember every sound, every scent, the sensation of her hair against my face. Maybe we have already stepped beyond what we should have, and it’s too late to turn back now. I’m going to have to explain things to Richard and hope he doesn’t hate me. I’m going to have to trust in Cara and what she feels. I can’t even begin to imagine what my sister would think of me for wanting Cara in the way I do and I decide not to think about that yet; I can’t deal with the guilt that I’m already struggling with.

“Kahlan,” Cara says, the tone of her voice making my skin prickle.

I look up into her eyes, only just realising that I’d drifted in my mind, with my thoughts. She’s closer now than before.

She continues. “I know I can no longer deny that I . . .” Cara’s gaze travels the length of me and I react as if she’d just touched me all over with her hands, every inch of me hot, aroused. “That I desire you. That I think about you. You’re a very attractive woman.”

My lungs feel suddenly starved of air and the distance between us, though less than before, feels like a chasm so wide I fear I might plunge to my death if I were to take just one step forward.

“But you understand that Mord-Sith don’t . . . we can’t . . .” Cara looks away, clearly finding the words difficult because they’re a lie.

I see conflict within her, eating at her, daring her to let herself believe what she’s feeling. I know she’ll fight it, however. She’s been taught that emotions like love are bad, weak, something the Mord-Sith should despise. Whatever it is she feels for me is obviously making her battle with herself. Maybe she has been falling for me as I have for her, though I can’t know for sure. I do know that it’s not as simple for her as just wishing she could have her way with me, regardless of what she might be trying to convince herself is true.

She cares for me, no matter how much she might wish to tell me otherwise.

In the short time we’ve known one another we’ve come to depend on each other in ways that would have been unfathomable to imagine when Cara first joined us. She protects me in battle even more than she does Richard, and I know that it has nothing to do with Richard’s insistence that she do so. Maybe it began that way, but I’ve seen the change in her, as much as I’ve seen it in myself.

The growing attraction I have for her has blossomed into more, and I somehow know that it’s the same for Cara. Lust may have been the spark for whatever burns inside her, but it’s not the only thing sustaining it now. I see a need in her eyes that mirrors my own.

“I know that you can feel, Cara,” I say, ignoring the flash of anger across her face as I guess what it is that’s making her so apprehensive. “You said yourself that Garen had fallen in love with you, so love for a Mord-Sith is entirely possible. And I can read more from you everyday, through your eyes.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t look in my eyes,” Cara rails, her stance as defensive as her words.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” I agree, trying not to get as defensive in turn. I don’t want this to turn into an argument. “But your eyes are . . .” I take a breath, finding the truth on my tongue and unable to temper it. “Your eyes are beautiful.”

Anger is replaced by something altogether softer on Cara’s face, just for a moment, before she turns from me, walking away as if in disgust.

“Don’t say things like that, Kahlan,” Cara mumbles as she fruitlessly grips at an agiel in its holster. “It makes it . . .”

When she pauses, sighing in her inability to come to terms with obviously confounding emotions that she wishes to suppress, I offer my guess at what she cannot say.

“It makes you unable to deny that you feel something for me?” I propose, much braver than I ought to be, much more daring than I should allow.

She offers no answer, her head hung low so that I can’t see her face for the curtain of blonde hair hiding her away.

“I’m Mord-Sith,” she eventually says, as if the words alone can stop her feeling. As if saying it out loud will convince me that she’s nothing but the leather on her back and the years of pain she’s endured, and that her relationship with Garen had never happened.

There is more to Cara than even she knows. More to the Mord-Sith. I see it more and more. I see it now as I step towards her and her body tenses, as if ready to be struck, to be punished for her heart’s betrayal.

“You can no more fight this than I can,” I insist. “And I will have to tell Richard eventually. I can’t live a lie with him; it would cost more than you know.”

The pain that jabs at my heart just imagining that conversation makes me swallow hard, fighting back tears. I feel pulled, ripped in two; half of me wishing to stay loyal to my Seeker, to continue to love him for the comfort he gives me. The other half of me aching to hold Cara, to know her touch, her kiss, her soul, completely.

I’m unable to suppress the faint sob that bubbles up inside me, the salt of my own tears now coating my lips.

Weeks of suppressed emotion wells up inside me, spilling free, engulfing me. I feel my knees go weak and I drop to the floor, a trembling mess of woe. All my own making.

I should have fought harder. I should have loved Richard the way that I was meant to.

To fall in love with a Mord-Sith who doesn’t want to feel, doesn’t want to betray what she is, is a mistake I don’t think I will ever fully forgive myself for. But she moves me in ways that make me forget I’m the Mother Confessor, last of my kind, sworn to protect the world from the very woman before me. The woman I can no longer be satisfied just to one day call a friend.

I want more than is possible, and more than I can have.