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seriousficTitle: If You Need Somewhere To Fall In Love
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,905
Characters/Pairings: Cara/Dahlia
Previous: Part 1
Next: Part 3
Summary: Dahlia gets to know Cara better and finds out that she doesn't know her at all.
Cara retreated again behind the shield of distance. Around her, Dahlia realized, Cara was as skittish as an owl in daylight. She wondered if it was shame, and if so, was Cara ashamed of who she'd been or what she'd become?
The plight of the taken girls faded so fast from Dahlia's mind that when she did think of them, she thought she herself might've made a good Mord'Sith. But Cara was alive. The thought suffered no competition. Her best friend was alive. Dahlia refused to let her memory fade again. Every daydream was of how Cara had changed and stayed the same. She had grown beautiful, not the beauty of a flower in a poet's verse, but the beauty of a jewel or a statue. Only Cara had carved herself into what she was. Dahlia knew her well enough to be sure that even if she had been forced into being a Mord'Sith, her final form was of her own choosing.
Cara's sister Grace was another story, a woman who seemed to have entirely fit into the vessel she'd been poured into. Her life, her family, her home, her breeding, they had all built her into a woman of decency and predictability. It was odd to look at her. Like seeing a Cara who had never been taken.
"Do you ever think of Cara?" Dahlia asked her once, when she stopped by the inn to enjoy a warm dinner and the new batch of wine that'd been delivered.
"Every day."
"It must be hard," Dahlia said, because she could be conniving at times. "Not knowing what really happened to her."
"It's enough to know that she's at peace now," Grace said.
Dahlia poured her another drink.
***
Just knowing Cara was alive had the strangest effect on Dahlia. She cried less. She smiled more. It was a hard time to quantify. But as a child, Dahlia had learned that happiness didn't last, and the world did its best to agree with her. There was word of a new Seeker, the one who would fulfill the prophecy. There had been talk before, but this was different. Instead of one story being embellished, a new adventure seemed to spring up each week. The Seeker and his beautiful Confessor and his wise old Wizard. What kind of person wouldn't be overjoyed to think that the days of Darken Rahl were at an end?
The same kind of person who could fall in love with a Mord'Sith, Dahlia supposed. Every time she heard Richard Cypher's name sung or cheered, she thought of Cara being cut down by the Seeker or the Confessor or the Wizard, heedless of her childhood, not caring that she had had parents and a sister and a best friend.
Cara returned, finally, a Mord'Sith putting an end to Dahlia's torment. There was simply a knock at the door and when Dahlia answered it, there she was. Cara was different, subtly, not in appearance but in the aura of power she projected. She didn't swagger in, she approached her customary seat like a penitent going to an altar.
"Darken Rahl is dead," Cara said once they were both seated.
Dahlia's hands flew to her face, not over the fate of Darken Rahl, but at the thought of what Cara would've gone through before she let assassins get to her Lord Rahl. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"I killed him," Cara answered.
Dahlia took a closer look at her. Cara was usually so impregnable that Dahlia had taken the crack in her façade to be simple weariness. But it was more than that, she realized. Even as a child, Cara had never gone anywhere without a purpose, and that headstrong single-mindedness had carried over into her days as a Mord'Sith. But now, for the first time Dahlia could remember, Cara looked lost.
"I returned the children. Their parents should be proud. None of them have broken yet" Cara continued. For her, the lives of innocent children came second to her master. "The Lord Rahl won't have need of Mord'Sith where he's going. And… it's not something you're strong enough to live with. You're not Mord'Sith."
"Thank you," Dahlia said at last. She bustled off to make a pot of tea. She was weak. She couldn't sit and stare and wonder what had become of the girl she knew. "Have you been eating? When something went wrong before… before we grew up, you always forgot to eat."
"Whatever you have for me will suffice."
Dahlia began adding her special herbs and spices to the broth, the ones she'd been saving for a special occasion. The busy work cleared her mind of Cara in that hateful leather. "So what will you do now?"
"I will do what the Mord'Sith will do."
"And what's that?"
"I don't know yet."
"You could stay here."
Cara looked up sharply from her reverie. In her eyes was surprise, bordering on hope. Those eyes narrowed. "I don't think you have enough beds."
"Not them. Just you." Dahlia set down the broth in front of Cara. She stepped back as Cara ate a spoonful, saying nothing. She wondered if she'd shocked her.
"If I wanted to disappear, there are many towns in D'Hara. What's so special about this one?"
"I'm here," Dahlia retorted, taking a step closer.
Cara glared into Dahlia's eyes as if offended by the display of emotion. "What's so special about you?"
Not that Cara would appreciate it, but it was a flash of rage that made Dahlia kiss her. She'd show Cara what was special about her. Almost immediately, she thought that this might be Cara's first kiss, the first that meant anything.
She thought she might have ruined everything, but Cara didn't pull back, didn't try to. It was like she was trying to absorb the moment. When Dahlia stopped kissing her, she looked serene. So Dahlia kissed her again, this time trying to fill her to the brim with everything Cara had missed, being a Mord'Sith.
Cara flushed at the affection and pushed Dahlia back. She'd taken all she could take. "You shouldn't have done that," Cara said falteringly.
"I should've done that a long time ago," Dahlia said with the same newfound conviction that had touched Cara's lips. Dahlia didn't kiss Cara again, but no kiss could've been as intimate as the hand she laid on Cara's arm. Most people wouldn't have dared touch a Mord'Sith. Dahlia rested her hand on one. "Stay."
Cara didn't look at Dahlia, but at the hand on her arm. The fingers uncalloused, the knuckles unbroken. Hands that had never held a weapon or throttled the life out of someone. "My place is away from you. If you knew the things I've done—"
"Things you were forced to do."
"There are things I want to do to you. Things people aren't supposed to want for someone they love."
"I'm not a blushing virgin, Cara. I'll survive."
"You'll be broken." Cara pushed Dahlia's hand off her. "Right now I want… I need… to put you in your place. It's killing me to be this close to you. I have to force myself not to hurt you. I can't do it forever."
"You can change. I can fix you, we can fix you!"
"There is nothing to fix," Cara said, dry and worn. "I will always be Mord'Sith."
Dahlia's hand sat alone on the table as she began to cry. It wasn't for herself.
As much as it tested her, as much as it agonized her, Cara put her hand on Dahlia's once more and squeezed it as gently as she could. "If I weren't, I would like to be as you are."
***
Both the rejoicing at Darken Rahl's death and the fear of the Keeper passed Dahlia by. Cara took up her thoughts. Every blonde hair, every scrap of leather was a reminder. But Dahlia welcomed the pain. It was like she'd taken a piece of Cara into her heart, a piece that was Mord'Sith. She practiced swordsmanship with an old soldier, toughening her hands with calluses, and wore leather next to her skin. Dahlia was rewarded with dreams of Cara, keeping her memory as fresh as a trickling wound.
After a month of absence, Cara reappeared. She'd changed so drastically it was a shock to recognize her. Cara's hair had been cut short and free, falling to the nape of her neck, immediately tempting Dahlia to run her fingers through it. And her dress… was it one of Grace's old outfits that she'd outgrown after the pregnancy? There was something about the sight of Cara in a dress—torn between compensating for her unintimidating clothing and trying to fit in. It'd be adorable if not for the sad story behind it.
Dahlia gave her a straight line, since sarcasm always seemed to temper Cara's mood. "You're back."
"I had nowhere else to go." Cara sat, as if trying to hide her summery dress from view. "I'm staying with my sister. It's… simpler to be with her than with you."
The unspoken wish that she could be with Dahlia made Dahlia's stomach fly. She knew Cara's meaning. She'd asked a great many travelers about the Mord'Sith, and outside the salacious stories one facet became clear. In order to accommodate the Lord Rahl, Mord'Sith were forced to use violence and love as the same thing. If Cara were to be with Dahlia, the same instincts that made her such an effective warrior might also destroy Dahlia.
Never had Dahlia wanted to take a risk more. But it was Cara's choice. Dahlia never wanted Cara to be forced into something she didn't want ever again.
Dahlia brought a bottle of wine with her to sit by Cara. Cara looked at both the bottle and Dahlia, but didn't take either.
"Cara, what happened?"
"Many things." Now Cara did take the bottle, only to press its cool weight against her forehead. It was an unexpectedly human gesture. "There was someone else, Dahlia. A Mord'Sith."
Dahlia didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. "You never made me a promise, Cara."
"With Darken Rahl dead, I thought we could be left alone, to go extinct. Like swords rusting away. But Triana was turned against me." She looked at Dahlia, one eye distorted through the sea-green liquid. "I killed her."
More things unspoken. This time, a warning. That if Cara loved someone, it was poison.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Cara stamped the bottle down in front of Dahlia. Dahlia didn't blink. "Would you like to make a toast?"
Dahlia pulled the cork out between her thumb and forefinger, Cara's eyes on how her arm muscles rippled. She hoisted the bottle into the air—"Here's to that dress!"—and drank.
"Not a very auspicious toast," Cara commented, accepting the wine from Dahlia.
"You haven't seen how you look in it."
With a smile, Cara rolled her eyes. "With my sisters dead, I pledged my services to the Seeker."
"Why?"
"He's trying to stop the Keeper from destroying the world. I like the world. Parts of it, at any rate."
Dahlia blushed. "Wait, the Seeker is here?"
Cara took a long drink. "We parted ways."
"Why?"
Cara replied instantly. "The Mother Confessor is a bitch."
Dahlia got the feeling Cara didn't want to talk about it. "Well, your sister must be glad to have you back."
Cara snorted at the turn of phrase. "Ecstatic. She can't wait to find out what happened to our father."
"What did happen?" Dahlia asked, and weathered Cara's gaze. "I understand the Mord'Sith taking you, but why your father?"
"So I could kill him," Cara answered off-handedly. The drink had slowed her wit to the point where she made the remark as if Dahlia were one of the Mord'Sith she had spent her entire adult life with, someone who would take the statement as a fact of life. Her father wasn't Mord'Sith and wasn't a Rahl. Why should it matter how he died?
But when Cara finished her drink, she saw Dahlia was staring at her in horror. The way people were supposed to look at Mord'Sith.
Cara spoke quickly, almost babbling. "He was the reason the Mord'Sith took me. He sold me to them, he sold us to them. They would've taken you too if you hadn't hid."
Dahlia backed away. She had seen Cara as her friend, locked up inside Mord'Sith training but still the little girl who had filled her summer days with play and laughter. Now she saw her as Mistress Cara, sister not to Grace but to the Agiel.
Cara got up like a volcano erupting. Dahlia could literally see the training taking over, in her narrowed eyes, her contemptuous sneer, and in the hurt that echoed in her voice. "That's right. Show respect for your betters."
And then, because she wasn't slipping anymore, wasn't Cara anymore, she noticed the guards on the outside blocking the exits, almost scratching at the doors like hungry dogs. They burst in, surrounding Cara, making sure she was well and truly outnumbered before they fought. Heroes en masse. Cara drew her Agiels.
Dahlia got between her and the town guard. "Don't fight, Cara, don't hurt them! They have families, they have kids!"
Cara's gaze burned into the Dahlia as the guards waited, a dozen sharp points aimed and ready. Cara paid them no mind. Her eyes stayed on Dahlia. Hating her. But she dropped her Agiels.
"Master Rahl guide us," she chanted as she was dragged off. "Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered…"
The guards left her Agiels on the floor. Against her better judgment, Dahlia tried to pick one up. The pain lingered for hours.
***
In the stocks, the threat of what Cara might do if she ever got loose earned her a wide berth. But with Darken Rahl dead, fear wasn't the commodity it had once been. Soon, the rocks began to fly. Grace tried to shield Cara as best she could. She didn't know what Cara had done to their father.
Dahlia lingered in the back of the crowd, close enough to hear the stones thud against Cara. She wondered what could drive an innocent person to kill their own father, or if it was the province of monsters alone.
Cara never made a sound, no matter how many rocks they threw, but Grace did. She berated the crowds, but didn't know Cara well enough to offer any defense, so she just repeated "She's my sister! She's my sister!" over and over again. Dahlia imagined herself picking up one of those blood-scored rocks that had ricocheted off Cara and throwing it at her tormenters, but she didn't.
Beside her, a woman came to the crowd holding her skirt so it could carry a pile of rocks. Dahlia felt her hands become fists. She had to do something. No matter what, Cara was still her—
A man slapped the woman's arms so she let go of her skirt and the rocks tumbled to the ground. "Is this how your parents raised you, to throw stones at a defenseless prisoner? Is that how the Creator made you?"
He wasn't from Stowecroft, you could tell just by looking. He held himself higher. And no one Dahlia had ever met could carry a sword like that at his waist like it was no more than a tool.
"Who do you think you are?" someone asked anyway.
"I'm Richard Cypher."
Dahlia added her voice to the chorus. "The Seeker!"
***
It was ridiculous. Insane! To repay D'Hara for its crimes, they wanted to punish one of the victims! As if one of the children they accused the Mord'Sith of taking weren't Cara.
Dahlia paced her inn like a tiger in its cage, trying to calm down. Yes, there was going to be a trial, but the Seeker was defending Cara. They would see she was… what she was, and then they would take her far away, to wherever the Stone of Tears was. Dahlia could get on with her life. She could meet someone else. She could walk through the streets without people whispering that she loved a monster. She could be normal. Cara couldn't, but she could.
After all, it would be one thing if Cara were a schoolteacher or a farmer, but she wasn't. She was Mord'Sith and that wasn't what Dahlia wanted in her life. She didn't want bloodied kisses or scratches raked down her back or locks of hair pulled from her head, like she'd seen on the bargirls other Mord'Sith had taken. She wanted Cara. She just wanted Cara.
She wanted Cara more than she wanted a fairy tale prince to sweep her off her feet, more than she wanted people not to whisper as she went by, more than she wanted to never hear of the Mord'Sith again.
No. She wanted all those things. But she needed Cara.
The courthouse wasn't far.
***
When she'd left, Richard had been talking about how Cara had been broken into the shape she now held. As if anyone who'd known the child she had been could believe she'd become that by choice. But it was on her way back that she realized it was too late. There was thunder without sound and her ears rang anyway. Someone had been confessed.
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,905
Characters/Pairings: Cara/Dahlia
Previous: Part 1
Next: Part 3
Summary: Dahlia gets to know Cara better and finds out that she doesn't know her at all.
Cara retreated again behind the shield of distance. Around her, Dahlia realized, Cara was as skittish as an owl in daylight. She wondered if it was shame, and if so, was Cara ashamed of who she'd been or what she'd become?
The plight of the taken girls faded so fast from Dahlia's mind that when she did think of them, she thought she herself might've made a good Mord'Sith. But Cara was alive. The thought suffered no competition. Her best friend was alive. Dahlia refused to let her memory fade again. Every daydream was of how Cara had changed and stayed the same. She had grown beautiful, not the beauty of a flower in a poet's verse, but the beauty of a jewel or a statue. Only Cara had carved herself into what she was. Dahlia knew her well enough to be sure that even if she had been forced into being a Mord'Sith, her final form was of her own choosing.
Cara's sister Grace was another story, a woman who seemed to have entirely fit into the vessel she'd been poured into. Her life, her family, her home, her breeding, they had all built her into a woman of decency and predictability. It was odd to look at her. Like seeing a Cara who had never been taken.
"Do you ever think of Cara?" Dahlia asked her once, when she stopped by the inn to enjoy a warm dinner and the new batch of wine that'd been delivered.
"Every day."
"It must be hard," Dahlia said, because she could be conniving at times. "Not knowing what really happened to her."
"It's enough to know that she's at peace now," Grace said.
Dahlia poured her another drink.
***
Just knowing Cara was alive had the strangest effect on Dahlia. She cried less. She smiled more. It was a hard time to quantify. But as a child, Dahlia had learned that happiness didn't last, and the world did its best to agree with her. There was word of a new Seeker, the one who would fulfill the prophecy. There had been talk before, but this was different. Instead of one story being embellished, a new adventure seemed to spring up each week. The Seeker and his beautiful Confessor and his wise old Wizard. What kind of person wouldn't be overjoyed to think that the days of Darken Rahl were at an end?
The same kind of person who could fall in love with a Mord'Sith, Dahlia supposed. Every time she heard Richard Cypher's name sung or cheered, she thought of Cara being cut down by the Seeker or the Confessor or the Wizard, heedless of her childhood, not caring that she had had parents and a sister and a best friend.
Cara returned, finally, a Mord'Sith putting an end to Dahlia's torment. There was simply a knock at the door and when Dahlia answered it, there she was. Cara was different, subtly, not in appearance but in the aura of power she projected. She didn't swagger in, she approached her customary seat like a penitent going to an altar.
"Darken Rahl is dead," Cara said once they were both seated.
Dahlia's hands flew to her face, not over the fate of Darken Rahl, but at the thought of what Cara would've gone through before she let assassins get to her Lord Rahl. "Are you alright?" she asked.
"I killed him," Cara answered.
Dahlia took a closer look at her. Cara was usually so impregnable that Dahlia had taken the crack in her façade to be simple weariness. But it was more than that, she realized. Even as a child, Cara had never gone anywhere without a purpose, and that headstrong single-mindedness had carried over into her days as a Mord'Sith. But now, for the first time Dahlia could remember, Cara looked lost.
"I returned the children. Their parents should be proud. None of them have broken yet" Cara continued. For her, the lives of innocent children came second to her master. "The Lord Rahl won't have need of Mord'Sith where he's going. And… it's not something you're strong enough to live with. You're not Mord'Sith."
"Thank you," Dahlia said at last. She bustled off to make a pot of tea. She was weak. She couldn't sit and stare and wonder what had become of the girl she knew. "Have you been eating? When something went wrong before… before we grew up, you always forgot to eat."
"Whatever you have for me will suffice."
Dahlia began adding her special herbs and spices to the broth, the ones she'd been saving for a special occasion. The busy work cleared her mind of Cara in that hateful leather. "So what will you do now?"
"I will do what the Mord'Sith will do."
"And what's that?"
"I don't know yet."
"You could stay here."
Cara looked up sharply from her reverie. In her eyes was surprise, bordering on hope. Those eyes narrowed. "I don't think you have enough beds."
"Not them. Just you." Dahlia set down the broth in front of Cara. She stepped back as Cara ate a spoonful, saying nothing. She wondered if she'd shocked her.
"If I wanted to disappear, there are many towns in D'Hara. What's so special about this one?"
"I'm here," Dahlia retorted, taking a step closer.
Cara glared into Dahlia's eyes as if offended by the display of emotion. "What's so special about you?"
Not that Cara would appreciate it, but it was a flash of rage that made Dahlia kiss her. She'd show Cara what was special about her. Almost immediately, she thought that this might be Cara's first kiss, the first that meant anything.
She thought she might have ruined everything, but Cara didn't pull back, didn't try to. It was like she was trying to absorb the moment. When Dahlia stopped kissing her, she looked serene. So Dahlia kissed her again, this time trying to fill her to the brim with everything Cara had missed, being a Mord'Sith.
Cara flushed at the affection and pushed Dahlia back. She'd taken all she could take. "You shouldn't have done that," Cara said falteringly.
"I should've done that a long time ago," Dahlia said with the same newfound conviction that had touched Cara's lips. Dahlia didn't kiss Cara again, but no kiss could've been as intimate as the hand she laid on Cara's arm. Most people wouldn't have dared touch a Mord'Sith. Dahlia rested her hand on one. "Stay."
Cara didn't look at Dahlia, but at the hand on her arm. The fingers uncalloused, the knuckles unbroken. Hands that had never held a weapon or throttled the life out of someone. "My place is away from you. If you knew the things I've done—"
"Things you were forced to do."
"There are things I want to do to you. Things people aren't supposed to want for someone they love."
"I'm not a blushing virgin, Cara. I'll survive."
"You'll be broken." Cara pushed Dahlia's hand off her. "Right now I want… I need… to put you in your place. It's killing me to be this close to you. I have to force myself not to hurt you. I can't do it forever."
"You can change. I can fix you, we can fix you!"
"There is nothing to fix," Cara said, dry and worn. "I will always be Mord'Sith."
Dahlia's hand sat alone on the table as she began to cry. It wasn't for herself.
As much as it tested her, as much as it agonized her, Cara put her hand on Dahlia's once more and squeezed it as gently as she could. "If I weren't, I would like to be as you are."
***
Both the rejoicing at Darken Rahl's death and the fear of the Keeper passed Dahlia by. Cara took up her thoughts. Every blonde hair, every scrap of leather was a reminder. But Dahlia welcomed the pain. It was like she'd taken a piece of Cara into her heart, a piece that was Mord'Sith. She practiced swordsmanship with an old soldier, toughening her hands with calluses, and wore leather next to her skin. Dahlia was rewarded with dreams of Cara, keeping her memory as fresh as a trickling wound.
After a month of absence, Cara reappeared. She'd changed so drastically it was a shock to recognize her. Cara's hair had been cut short and free, falling to the nape of her neck, immediately tempting Dahlia to run her fingers through it. And her dress… was it one of Grace's old outfits that she'd outgrown after the pregnancy? There was something about the sight of Cara in a dress—torn between compensating for her unintimidating clothing and trying to fit in. It'd be adorable if not for the sad story behind it.
Dahlia gave her a straight line, since sarcasm always seemed to temper Cara's mood. "You're back."
"I had nowhere else to go." Cara sat, as if trying to hide her summery dress from view. "I'm staying with my sister. It's… simpler to be with her than with you."
The unspoken wish that she could be with Dahlia made Dahlia's stomach fly. She knew Cara's meaning. She'd asked a great many travelers about the Mord'Sith, and outside the salacious stories one facet became clear. In order to accommodate the Lord Rahl, Mord'Sith were forced to use violence and love as the same thing. If Cara were to be with Dahlia, the same instincts that made her such an effective warrior might also destroy Dahlia.
Never had Dahlia wanted to take a risk more. But it was Cara's choice. Dahlia never wanted Cara to be forced into something she didn't want ever again.
Dahlia brought a bottle of wine with her to sit by Cara. Cara looked at both the bottle and Dahlia, but didn't take either.
"Cara, what happened?"
"Many things." Now Cara did take the bottle, only to press its cool weight against her forehead. It was an unexpectedly human gesture. "There was someone else, Dahlia. A Mord'Sith."
Dahlia didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. "You never made me a promise, Cara."
"With Darken Rahl dead, I thought we could be left alone, to go extinct. Like swords rusting away. But Triana was turned against me." She looked at Dahlia, one eye distorted through the sea-green liquid. "I killed her."
More things unspoken. This time, a warning. That if Cara loved someone, it was poison.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm not." Cara stamped the bottle down in front of Dahlia. Dahlia didn't blink. "Would you like to make a toast?"
Dahlia pulled the cork out between her thumb and forefinger, Cara's eyes on how her arm muscles rippled. She hoisted the bottle into the air—"Here's to that dress!"—and drank.
"Not a very auspicious toast," Cara commented, accepting the wine from Dahlia.
"You haven't seen how you look in it."
With a smile, Cara rolled her eyes. "With my sisters dead, I pledged my services to the Seeker."
"Why?"
"He's trying to stop the Keeper from destroying the world. I like the world. Parts of it, at any rate."
Dahlia blushed. "Wait, the Seeker is here?"
Cara took a long drink. "We parted ways."
"Why?"
Cara replied instantly. "The Mother Confessor is a bitch."
Dahlia got the feeling Cara didn't want to talk about it. "Well, your sister must be glad to have you back."
Cara snorted at the turn of phrase. "Ecstatic. She can't wait to find out what happened to our father."
"What did happen?" Dahlia asked, and weathered Cara's gaze. "I understand the Mord'Sith taking you, but why your father?"
"So I could kill him," Cara answered off-handedly. The drink had slowed her wit to the point where she made the remark as if Dahlia were one of the Mord'Sith she had spent her entire adult life with, someone who would take the statement as a fact of life. Her father wasn't Mord'Sith and wasn't a Rahl. Why should it matter how he died?
But when Cara finished her drink, she saw Dahlia was staring at her in horror. The way people were supposed to look at Mord'Sith.
Cara spoke quickly, almost babbling. "He was the reason the Mord'Sith took me. He sold me to them, he sold us to them. They would've taken you too if you hadn't hid."
Dahlia backed away. She had seen Cara as her friend, locked up inside Mord'Sith training but still the little girl who had filled her summer days with play and laughter. Now she saw her as Mistress Cara, sister not to Grace but to the Agiel.
Cara got up like a volcano erupting. Dahlia could literally see the training taking over, in her narrowed eyes, her contemptuous sneer, and in the hurt that echoed in her voice. "That's right. Show respect for your betters."
And then, because she wasn't slipping anymore, wasn't Cara anymore, she noticed the guards on the outside blocking the exits, almost scratching at the doors like hungry dogs. They burst in, surrounding Cara, making sure she was well and truly outnumbered before they fought. Heroes en masse. Cara drew her Agiels.
Dahlia got between her and the town guard. "Don't fight, Cara, don't hurt them! They have families, they have kids!"
Cara's gaze burned into the Dahlia as the guards waited, a dozen sharp points aimed and ready. Cara paid them no mind. Her eyes stayed on Dahlia. Hating her. But she dropped her Agiels.
"Master Rahl guide us," she chanted as she was dragged off. "Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered…"
The guards left her Agiels on the floor. Against her better judgment, Dahlia tried to pick one up. The pain lingered for hours.
***
In the stocks, the threat of what Cara might do if she ever got loose earned her a wide berth. But with Darken Rahl dead, fear wasn't the commodity it had once been. Soon, the rocks began to fly. Grace tried to shield Cara as best she could. She didn't know what Cara had done to their father.
Dahlia lingered in the back of the crowd, close enough to hear the stones thud against Cara. She wondered what could drive an innocent person to kill their own father, or if it was the province of monsters alone.
Cara never made a sound, no matter how many rocks they threw, but Grace did. She berated the crowds, but didn't know Cara well enough to offer any defense, so she just repeated "She's my sister! She's my sister!" over and over again. Dahlia imagined herself picking up one of those blood-scored rocks that had ricocheted off Cara and throwing it at her tormenters, but she didn't.
Beside her, a woman came to the crowd holding her skirt so it could carry a pile of rocks. Dahlia felt her hands become fists. She had to do something. No matter what, Cara was still her—
A man slapped the woman's arms so she let go of her skirt and the rocks tumbled to the ground. "Is this how your parents raised you, to throw stones at a defenseless prisoner? Is that how the Creator made you?"
He wasn't from Stowecroft, you could tell just by looking. He held himself higher. And no one Dahlia had ever met could carry a sword like that at his waist like it was no more than a tool.
"Who do you think you are?" someone asked anyway.
"I'm Richard Cypher."
Dahlia added her voice to the chorus. "The Seeker!"
***
It was ridiculous. Insane! To repay D'Hara for its crimes, they wanted to punish one of the victims! As if one of the children they accused the Mord'Sith of taking weren't Cara.
Dahlia paced her inn like a tiger in its cage, trying to calm down. Yes, there was going to be a trial, but the Seeker was defending Cara. They would see she was… what she was, and then they would take her far away, to wherever the Stone of Tears was. Dahlia could get on with her life. She could meet someone else. She could walk through the streets without people whispering that she loved a monster. She could be normal. Cara couldn't, but she could.
After all, it would be one thing if Cara were a schoolteacher or a farmer, but she wasn't. She was Mord'Sith and that wasn't what Dahlia wanted in her life. She didn't want bloodied kisses or scratches raked down her back or locks of hair pulled from her head, like she'd seen on the bargirls other Mord'Sith had taken. She wanted Cara. She just wanted Cara.
She wanted Cara more than she wanted a fairy tale prince to sweep her off her feet, more than she wanted people not to whisper as she went by, more than she wanted to never hear of the Mord'Sith again.
No. She wanted all those things. But she needed Cara.
The courthouse wasn't far.
***
When she'd left, Richard had been talking about how Cara had been broken into the shape she now held. As if anyone who'd known the child she had been could believe she'd become that by choice. But it was on her way back that she realized it was too late. There was thunder without sound and her ears rang anyway. Someone had been confessed.
