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After her first month in the Confessors City, Cara had come to one slightly troubling conclusion.
Aydindril was obsessed with revelry.
It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the odd bout of frivolity because she did; she was Mord’Sith, after all, and no stranger to the pleasure (and pain) indulgence could provide. But it seemed like every time she turned around preparations were underway for the next celebration and she was starting to wonder how they kept them all straight.
Luckily, as the future mate of the Mother Confessor, she was excused from most of the peasants strange celebratory traditions and the few from which her status did not excuse her, were quickly overlooked due to her being a Mord’Sith, a fact very few were willing to overlook.
Not that she would’ve spared the city or its citizens too much of her attention anyway.
But, despite her own lack of interest in Aydindril’s near obsession with joviality, she really should have been prepared for the way Kahlan – different when ensconced within the walls of her city than she had been on the road – reacted to them. How excited and sincerely pleased she was to see her people celebrate the harvest or the moon or whatever it was they were celebrating this week.
And, as annoyingly aware of the Confessors moods as she’d become, it didn’t take her long to realize that there was one tradition the White City offered that never failed to sour the Confessors mood.
At the start of every grand affair, one of the stewards would approach Kahlan and ask her if she would do them, the citizens of Aydindril, the honor of starting the dancing. And, every time, without fail, the brunette would smile, a small, accommodating thing, and tell him no. She handled it with grace, of course – that was how she handled everything – and the steward moved seamlessly to the highest ranking member of the Council who, in turn, always accepted.
The first time it had happened, she’d noticed that there was something oddly…ceremonial about the way he’d approached her, like he expected her to say no. And, since she had only spent a few months in Aydindril as the Mother Confessor, Cara had naturally assumed that was how it had always been.
And she wouldn’t have given it another thought…except she noticed something like longing in those familiar blue eyes as they took in the festivities from the separateness of the Mother Confessors throne and , little by little, the sight broke her heart.
So, when All Spirits Eve* came and, with it, Cara once again found herself presented with the duty of standing beside a decidedly, albeit quietly, dejected Confessor, well, that was it. She’d had enough.
If Kahlan wanted to open the stupid festival or feast or whatever, than as her mate, Cara was honor bound to do everything in her power to make that want a reality.
Through a few none-to-subtle encounters with the palace staff over the next few days, she came to the conclusion that the next major Aydindril affair would happen in a little more than a months’ time. And so she decided that the Solstice Gala, which brought the Winter festival to a close and also happened to be one of the grandest, if not the grandest, occasion of the year, would begin with the Mother Confessor.
As far as Cara could tell, there was only one problem with this decision. Though she, indeed, had many skills, not one of them had its place on the dance floor. But, while inconvenient, that, in and of itself, was not the problem.
No, the real problem was that, out of the few people she knew and even fewer she liked, there was only one she could ask for help while still keeping her ultimate goal a secret.
Even though the thought was enough to make the nearly unshakeable Mord’Sith shudder in something akin to horror but she squared her shoulders beneath her leather and prepared to swallow every last bitter ounce of pride she possessed if that was what it took. She had no choice.
Tomorrow, she was going to have to see the wizard.
Stomping into the wizard’s tower with a scowl, she waved off the offer of an escort and let her instincts guide her through what seemed like an endless series of mazelike hallways before she found what or, more accurately, who she was looking for.
It took longer than she would’ve liked, the place reeked of magic and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, but it all proved worth it when she pushed open a thick, wooden door and found one Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander, the only remaining wizard of the First Order, pouring over a stack of ancient scrolls intently.
Zedd, for his part, looked up sharply at the sound of the door to his private study being so rudely forced open, only for his face to light up in surprise as he took in this, his most surly of visitors. “Cara, my dear!” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome! What can I do for you on this fine day?”
She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes; what was it with these people and unfounded cheerfulness? Still, she knew better than to voice this particular thought aloud; not when she needed his help. “I find myself in the unpleasant position of requiring your assistance, wizard,” she began slowly, meeting his eyes with her own steely gaze.
“Of course!” he said brightly, carelessly shoving the stack of scrolls to the side and affixing her with his full attention. “What seems to be the trouble?”
She swallowed, eyes dropping briefly as she sorted through the weaker of her emotions in search of the determined fire that had brought her this far. “I need to learn how to dance,” she said quickly, muscles tensing beneath her leather as the words seemed to echo throughout the small room.
Zedd blinked once, twice, and then a third time, his expression never wavering. Like the shock of her request had broken him. “I’m sorry, my dear, I thought I heard…” he trailed off, shaking his head as if to clear it, “Never mind; these old ears of mine must be going at last. What was it you needed?”
Cara sighed, rolling her eyes skyward and leaving them there as she spoke, “Teach me to dance, wizard,” she repeated in irritation, meeting his eyes once more, “I’ll not ask again,”
He blinked again and she could tell by his slowly changing expression that he was on the verge of laughing at her. She narrowed her eyes, “If you wish to keep that tongue of yours, you will not laugh,” she threatened.
He pressed his hand to his mouth and was silent for long minutes before he managed to loose a single word, “Why?”
She huffed, crossing her arms almost petulantly. “Why do you think? It’s for Kahlan,”
Almost immediately, his countenance shifted into one that was marginally less difficult for her ego to accept and, despite her mounting agitation, she felt herself relax beneath his gently appraising stare. “Has she…asked you for this?”
“No,” she said softly, her anger leaving her as she thought about the Confessor, “But…do you know the start of every dance?” she asked and, if the slight change of subject surprised the old wizard, he gave no indication of it, nodding sedately.
“A tradition as old as the city itself,” he said and Cara could only grunt in agreement because of course it was. Practically every tradition the White City had to offer was older than its impractical white walls. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“I’ve noticed that it…it hurts her, when the peasants ask for her honor and she’s expected not to give it,” her eyes danced away but she forced them back to his even as her voice grew quiet. “And I…I dislike seeing her in pain,” she admitted and, though the admission made her distinctly uncomfortable, she maintained her straight posture through sheer force of will.
Zedd hummed under his breath, continuing his gentle appraisal of the Mord’Sith before nodding slowly, a grin settling on his mouth. “You’ll do everything I tell you?”
She frowned. “If you promise not to breathe a word of this to Kahlan…” she began, wetting her lips, “Then I will do anything you ask. Within reason,” she added warily, not trusting the gleam in the wizard’s old eyes.
He clapped his hands together, almost startling her, before moving to rise. “Well, then, not a moment to waste!” he eyed her once more and her frown deepened as he clicked his tongue disapprovingly, “I have a feeling we’ll have a lot of work to do…”
Though she’d spent nearly a full year in the White City by the time winter arrived in earnest, Cara couldn’t help but be impressed with the state of it as the Winter Festival began. With the regular sapphire and silver adornments of the city replaced with bold but tasteful swatches of scarlet and gold, it was almost like being back in D’Hara. Well, except for the genuinely happy expressions on the faces of its citizenry and the general sense of merriment but, really, one couldn’t have everything.
To show Kahlan she was ‘getting into the spirit’ – as well as silently apologizing for the subtle way she’d been avoiding her over the last month – she even allowed herself to be persuaded into a new set of leathers. Though still done in the trademark Mord’Sith crimson, these were sewn with strands of golden thread and had the addition of an admittedly fetching, albeit frivolous, matching short cape.
Kahlan, too, had indulged in the services of one of Aydindrils finest seamstresses, emerging from the palace in a breathtaking snow white dress that, while made in the same vein as her standard Confessor garb, was far more elegant, slipping over her curves like the caress of a lover. Cara almost couldn’t wait to retrace its path after the gala was over and their own, private celebration could begin, and she didn’t bother containing the urge to tell her so. Luckily, the blush of her cheeks went charmingly with the rest of her ensemble and the few people who noticed assumed it had to do with the chill in the air.
The pair made a brief appearance at the Festival proper, Kahlan smiling shyly as she was showered with compliments from her citizenry, before moving to the main hall where she took to her throne with all the authority her title afforded her. Cara, as was her way, stood just to the left of the hallowed seat, her arms crossed behind her back as she surveyed the crowd.
Before long, the rest of the gentry had assembled and she watched with mounting anticipation as attention found its way to the steward, who moved through the crowd only to drop to his knee before the steps of the Confessors throne.
He cleared his throat and the room quieted in order to hear him speak, “Would the Mother Confessor do us the honor of opening the dance?”
She opened her mouth to respond, undoubtedly in the negative as she always did, only for Cara to step forward and smoothly interject, “The Mother Confessor would be delighted,” she said, unable to keep from smirking slightly at the wave of conversation that swept through the crowd.
Blinking up at her, surprise and confusion slipping through her Confessors mask, she raised a cautious brow, “I would?”
Cara looked down at her, her smirk softening into a smile as she offered her her hand, “You would,” she confirmed and, if the sudden catch in the brunettes throat was anything to go by, she understand all the words the Mord’Sith hadn’t said.
A slightly bemused half smile played on her lips as she inclined her head to the steward and rose, a stunning pillar of white in the scarlet ballroom. “I would,”
The ballroom was officially awash in whispers as Kahlan took Cara’s proffered hand and followed the Mord’Sith to the center of the floor. Her eyes were wide, almost shy, as the blonde stepped in that much closer, left hand settling at the base of her spine and the right, still entwined with her own, rising to the proper height without prompting. She, in turn, laid her left hand, shaking slightly though it was, on Cara’s shoulder, naked fingers sinking into the unfamiliar lushness of her silken addition.
The music, a waltz she vaguely recognized, began almost as soon as they’d assumed the position and she couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her as she was gracefully led around the floor.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” she admitted breathlessly, as Cara drew her in close and ever-so-gently dipped her backwards.
Full lips crept upwards before blossoming into a satisfied grin as she guided her back to standing. “I have many skills,” she purred into her ear before they were off again, steps as light on the floor beneath them as the music was in the air.
There wasn’t much time for talking after that, not with the skillful way Cara directed them around the floor, her steps as graceful and sure as they would be on the battlefield.
But, as all good things must, the song found its inevitable end and, as the last notes sounded, the hall erupted into near thunderous applause, the sound of which brought a charming flush to Kahlan’s cheeks. Inclining her head at the low stage where the musicians were seated, she once again grasped Cara’s hand and the two of them returned to her seat.
A fast-paced tune began as soon as their shoes left the floor, the nobles flocking together with an unusual gusto, apparently eager to enjoy this most rare of balls, and the sound provided an ideal cover for Kahlans still-quickened breaths.
Looking up with a small, slightly breathless smile, she uttered a quiet, “You didn’t have to do that, you know,”
Cara frowned down at her, eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “You think I would leave you unhappy if there was something I could do to change it?”
She lowered her eyes to their joined hands, her thumb idly tracing the vein on the back of the blonde’s own. “You noticed?” she asked quietly, a hint of something like shame in her voice.
“I notice everything about you,”
Kahlan glanced up at her through her lashes, squeezing her hand lightly. “You are impossibly sweet when the mood strikes,”
She snorted in derision. “Mord’Sith are not sweet, Confessor,”
She smiled, a soft, secret thing, that made Cara’s heart do strange things beneath her breast. “Perhaps they are not,” she said, “But you are,”
Any arguments she may have had fled at the sight of the sincerity in Kahlan’s eyes and, instead, she offered the brunette a small, unassuming nod and echoed the light grip on her hand.
A comfortable silence overtook them, then, one they’d spent the better part of the last two years building, and it wasn’t broken until Kahlan spoke again, a smile both in her voice and on her lips.
“You’ll thank Zedd for me, won’t you?”
Cara’s eyes leapt to her face, equal parts searching and incredulous, urging the brunette into laughter that, in turn, forced a scowl onto her features. “He told you,” she said, her voice dangerously low as she turned her eyes to the crowd in search of a flash of gray hair. The wizard had to be here someone and when she got her hands on him, she’d-
“He didn’t tell me,” Kahlan said suddenly, drawing her attention back from the crowd, “But you just did,”
Cara’s scowl deepened as she turned her silent curses inward. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she muttered, watching with annoyance as the Confessor made a show of wiping away tears of amusement.
She shook her head and fixed the Mord’Sith with a smile. “I can’t believe you really did go to Zedd though…”
“It appears I would do anything for you,” she deadpanned, her stoicism belied by the open affection burning in her light-colored eyes, “Even this.” She cleared her throat then and, for the second time that night, extended her hand whilst nodding subtly towards the dance floor, “What say you, Confessor? The night is young yet,”
Positively beaming up at her, she accepted her hand with a graceful nod of her head. “Of course,” she said, rising to her feet, “Mustn’t allow all of Zedd’s hard work go to waste,”
That year for the first time in Aydindril’s recent history, the Mother Confessor not only opened the Winter Gala, but closed it as well, a Mord’Sith at her side all the while.