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With preparations for the quickly approaching Solstice fully underway, it seemed the whole of Ayndindril was overflowing with happiness. But, unbeknownst to many, this light-hearted gaiety did not extend to the Confessor’s palace where a lovelorn Kahlan tried, once again, to calm her increasingly agitated children since it had become apparent that yet another day would pass without their other mother’s return.
Seated on the edge of her daughters’ bed, she found herself once again facing the barrage of questions that had all but become their nightly routine since Cara had left for D’Hara, nearly two months prior.
“Will mommy be here before Solstice?” Sonja, the oldest, asked and Kahlan nodded.
“She said she’d try her hardest,” she said but, honestly, even she was beginning to have her doubts. Cara’s last letter had been sent weeks ago and, though they communicated almost daily by journey book, the last two months had been hard and, more often than not, she found herself wondering if Richard would ever be able to rule his country without the aid of his truest Mord’Sith.
“But when?” her youngest, but by far most precocious daughter, pressed.
She couldn’t help but laugh slightly at her scrutiny; their Confessor instincts were already beginning to develop and, though it was all but impossible for one Confessor to read another, they could still sense the hint of a lie her words held.
“You read her last letter as surely as I did,” she said, running her fingers through Dahlia’s dark hair, “She promised she would return as soon as she was able,”
Seemingly unimpressed by this outdated information, she crossed her small arms around her stuffed horse (a present from her dear Uncle Zedd). “But will she?”
“Your mother promised that she’d try, Dahlia,” she said, pressing a kiss to the small brunettes forehead before repeating the motion on her eldest, who was already on the cusp of sleep. “When has she ever let you down?” she whispered into the quiet room and, for a moment, she was unsure whether she meant the words for her children…or herself.
***
A hundred leagues away in D’Hara, a red-clad Mord’Sith stood across from her Lord Rahl, the war room empty but for the two of them, and silent but for the sounds that echoed from outside.
With her eyes trained on - but not seeing - a tapestry of a long forgotten battle, Cara Mason griped the bridge of her nose tightly between her thumb and forefinger, irritation forcing her already impeccable posture impossibly straighter. “Let me make sure I understand this,” she began, her voice as sharp as the blade she felt no need to carry. “I promised my children I would be home before the Solstice…”
“Cara, be reasonable-” he began but she cut him off with the splayed fingers of her free hand.
She started again, “I promised my children I’d be back before the Solstice and you,” She whipped her head around to meet his eyes and it was not she who flinched, “Have delayed me here for an extra fortnight to discuss preparations for a journey you won’t take until next year?!”
Richard Rahl, leader of D’Hara and legendary Seeker of Truth, shrank under the fierceness of the Mord’Sith’s glare. “Cara, I needed you,” he protested weakly, “The last time I planned a trip without you-”
“Which was also your fault!” she snarled, nostrils flaring like those of a Galean thoroughbred, “You planned a diplomatic journey to Hartland – a place that has still not fully recovered from Darkan’s damage – and didn’t tell me at all, Richard. I had to hear it secondhand from Berdine; I nearly killed my horse getting here before you left,” And, despite what some people claimed, she was not heartless. She’d grown fond of the animal, handpicked for her as it had been from the best Aydindril had to offer. Kahlan had a keen eye for horseflesh, which Cara attributed to to her Galean blood.
She shook her head, anger returning as she refocused on her point, “I am supposed to be your First, Richard, your general, your Hand; it undermines my authority when I almost kill my horse intercepting you,”
He had the good grace to look ashamed. “I didn’t think I needed an army to go home, Cara,” he said quietly and, despite herself, she felt her pool of anger start to dry up.
“This is your home, Richard,” she said evenly, “You’ve stood as the Lord Rahl of D’Hara, as you were always meant to, for the last seven years,”
“And what good have I done?” he demanded, his eyes flashing as her met hers once more, “Every good thing D’Hara can claim can be traced to your hand-”
“And my hands are yours,” she interrupted smoothly, “Do not forget that I am a tool, Richard, as replaceable as your sword,” she rolled her eyes, mentally cursing herself, “Well, perhaps not your sword…” she mumbled, annoyed at the oversight and potential derailment of her argument.
Which was only a small part of the reason she was surprised by the sound of his laugh. “No, you’re right. You are exactly as replaceable as the Sword of Truth,” he said, holding up his hand to forestall any argument, “But…I see your point and , as always, I thank you for it. So, if you’re finished putting your Lord in his place,” he teased, even as she ducked her head in due deference, “What are you still standing here for?”
She smiled through her bow, her stride long, “You’ll write if the situation changes in the south?” she asked and, though it was phrased as a question, it was clear that there was only one acceptable answer.
“Of course, Cara; what would D’Hara be without it’s Scarlet General?”
***
As Solstice eve drew near its inevitable end, Aydindril was quiet, most of its citizenry resting as peacefully as the earth did beneath its annual blanket of snow. This peace extended to every corner of the Confessors City; every corner, that is, except for the Mother Confessor’s bedchamber whose doors were thrown wide as Cara stomped inside, snow clinging stubbornly to everything from her boots to her eyelashes even as her shoulders shook beneath her heavy winter cloak. (Her attempts at convincing Kahlan that ‘Mord’Sith do not feel cold’ had, thankfully, not made it past her first winter in the White City).
The sound of the Mord’Siths muted curses, combined with the, ahem, spirit, of her entrance was enough to rouse the children from where they’d fallen asleep in their mothers arms. When the two girls launched themselves at her legs, she almost fell (almost, because, while nearly blue from the cold and clearly exhausted from her journey, she was still a Mord’Sith and Mord’Sith never falter) before she caught herself and leaned back on her heels, eyes closed in contentment and her still-gloved fingers threaded through two-toned hair.
Kahlan, half-risen from their bed, grinned so wide her cheeks hurt, relief and happiness and love shining in her eyes, and as Cara’s own eyes opened and she saw her expression mirrored in that familiar emerald gaze, she couldn’t help but shudder beneath the heat of it.
***
Hours later, when the girls had been returned to their own beds and they lay, entwined beneath the coverlet, Kahlan with her head on Cara’s naked chest, losing herself in the familiar rhythm of the heart beating steadily beneath her ear, and Cara with her arms wrapped loosely, but intimately, around her, did she speak the thought that had haunted her for weeks.
“We didn’t think you’d make it,” she admitted quietly, her soft voice loud in the silence that had settled in the wake of their reunion.
“You should know better than to doubt a Mord’Sith, Confessor,” she chastised, though Kahlan can hear the smile in her words, “I never make a promise I don’t intend to keep,”
“As evidenced by your homecoming,” she said, earning a quiet laugh from the blonde that sounded like thunder under her ear.
“You saw the stars then?” she teased wickedly, “I heard no mention of them but, since both the Spirits and the Creator herself were so heavily featured, I assumed you were, at the very least, headed in the right direction,”
Despite herself and their years together, she felt her cheeks flush and buried her face in Cara’s neck, rolling her eyes as she chuckled under her breath, undoubtedly feeling the heat burn against her skin. “You are horrible,” she mumbled, smiling when her lips brushed her pulse point and she felt the blonde shudder under her mouth. It was nice, sometimes (always) to know that she had the ability to affect her wife as surely as she affected her.
“Mmm, that is most definitely not what you said,” and, even though she couldn’t see it, she knew – in the way she knew her name and the shape of Cara’s smile – that there was a wicked gleam in the Mord’Sith’s eyes, “I could repeat it, if you’d like,”
She smacked her weakly with the back of her hand, honestly too tired to do anything more, “Don’t you dare,” she warned, shaking her head as much as she could without actually having to lift it, “Horrible,” she repeated and, once again, the blonde laughed.
“You love it,” she said and she was powerless to disagree.
“I love you,” she corrected, as her eyes drifted shut, “Though you make it difficult, sometimes,”
“I don’t mean too,”
The sudden heaviness in her wife’s voice had no place there and she voiced that thought with a soft kiss to her pulse point, “Shh,” she urged, mouth flush against her throat, “To sleep with you,”
Cara shuddered and shifted slightly beneath her before letting out a soft, contented sigh, “As you wish, Confessor,”
Pleased at her gentle agreement, she hummed contentedly, already halfway to sleep, “Mmm, goodnight, love,”
“Goodnight, Kahlan,” she felt a kiss pressed into her hair and smiled as she drifted off, “Happy Solstice,”