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“You don’t believe in the Creator?” Kahlan Amnell exclaims, wholly unable to contain her surprise or continue focusing on the trade agreement spread out before her. And she'd thought today would be uneventful.
She should've known better.
From her place beside the window overlooking the famed White City of Aydindril, Cara Mason huffs out a breath lined with clear amusement. “You sound surprised, Confessor,” she drawls, glancing back at her over her shoulder and offering a glimpse of what has become her signature smirk. “I’d have thought you expected nothing else from a Mord’Sith.”
Though Kahlan has to fight for a moment to regain her focus, to remember there are more important things than the quirk of full lips or the way sunlight gilds Cara's blonde hair in gold, she does, eventually, manage it. (Still, if the mischievous glint in green eyes is any indication, her brief struggle has not been overlooked.)
Truth told, she’s never given much thought to what the Mord’Sith believe or if they believe anything at all. In the not-so-distant past, it had been easier to think of them as mindless killers, tools who willingly bowed to Rahl’s tyranny. Since meeting Cara, since knowing her, loving her, things have become far less black and white and Kahlan has long since come to accept that there's far more to the Sisters of the Agiel than she and her fellow Confessors ever allowed themselves to see.
“I never thought about it at all, really,” she admits, earning a grunt from Cara that makes her smile. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
Turning her eyes back to the view, she shrugs. “No.”
Kahlan waits for more but, when Cara says nothing else, she can't help but chuckle. Though she loves her with all her heart and wouldn't change her for the world, Cara can be something of a difficult conversationalist at times. “Why don’t you believe in the Creator?”
And, once again, Kahlan finds herself treated to the view of elegant muscles working beneath skin tight brown leather as they pull together in a casual shrug. “I don’t believe in anything I can’t see or touch.”
“But you believe in the Keeper.”
“Who we fought, more directly than not, for the better part of a year,” Cara counters. “Beyond even that, He and I were already well acquainted by the time I pledged myself to Richard.”
Kahlan opens her mouth to ask what, exactly, that means before realization strikes and she feels just a little foolish for needing to wonder at all. “The Breath of Life,” she says, earning an affirming hum. “But if you believe in Him, why not in the equal opposing force?”
“Because I’ve died hundreds of times and still seen no proof of Her,” she says matter-of-factly. “She has no army, offers no aid or council. If She does exist, She is, at the very least, supremely unhelpful.”
Kahlan gapes at her; she can’t not. “ Cara !”
“What?” she asks, looking back at her. As soon as their eyes meet her smirk falls away, replaced with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. “She is.”
Kahlan can't believe what she's hearing. “The Creator is the greatest force of good the world knows,” she hears herself say.
“Is that so?” Cara drawls. “Forgive me for thinking that was you and Richard. The people who risked their lives, repeatedly , to save the world.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “As far as I'm concerned, even the wizard’s done more good than She has.”
“I can’t believe you’d say that,” Kahlan says softly. “I can’t believe you mean it.”
Cara shrugs. “You did ask, Confessor,” she reminds her.
“So I did.”
The furrow in her brow deepens as she turns to face her fully, a sudden intensity in her eyes. “You’re upset with me,” she says after a moment, her tone unreadable.
Kahlan shakes her head and offers her a small, hopefully reassuring, smile. “No, Cara, of course not. It’s your right to believe, or not believe as the case may be, in whatever you wish.”
“But you still disapprove,” she says as she stalks forward, not stopping until she's standing flush against the opposite side of her desk and looking down at her through narrowed, discerning eyes. “Still think me…” her lip curls in what Kahlan would think was mockery if not for the otherwise overwhelming softness of her expression, “blasphemous.”
Kahlan looses a slow, deep breath. “I don't think you’re blasphemous , Cara, I promise. But the Sisters of the Light, to say nothing of my mother or sister Confessors, taught me to always think of the Creator as my greatest ally,” she begins thoughtfully. “To hear you so casually dismiss Her…does not sit well with me, I admit.”
After a moment of what Kahlan thinks is increasingly tense silence, Cara dips her head. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Kahlan.”
How far they’ve come for her to so readily – and honestly – say such a thing. Kahlan can't help but smile. “It’s not that I’m offended , I’m just, well, surprised, I suppose. There aren’t many in the Midlands who dispute the existence of the Creator and fewer still who would admit it so openly.” Her smile widens. “As always, I find your honesty refreshing. No one challenges my view of the world like you do, my love.”
Cara tilts her head to the side, curious and just a little bit suspicious. Isn't that just like a Mord'Sith to be wary of traps, even when she knows there aren't any. Spirits, Kahlan loves this woman. “You like that I speak my mind,” she says slowly, clearly choosing her words with care. “But don’t like what I say?”
She chuckles. “That’s not exactly how I'd put it, love, but it'll do for now.”
“That makes no sense.”
She laughs. “It doesn’t have to.”
Cara looks at her askance and shakes her head. “You’re a very strange woman, Confessor.”
“Maybe I am,” she says as she smiles up at her. “Are you complaining?”
The corners of Cara's mouth rise not in a smirk but in a real smile, the kind that never fails to make Kahlan weak in the knees. “No, Kahlan,” she says, her voice going low and throaty as she looms over her. “I'm not.”
She feels heat settle across her cheeks. “I love you, you know.”
With one hand on the desktop to steady herself and the other gently raising her chin, Cara leans down and erases the space between them, breathing her answer against her lips before claiming them in a soft kiss. “I know, Confessor.”
Kahlan hums, eyes fluttering open as Cara's thumb brushes across her bottom lip. “What were we talking about?” she murmurs, earning a huff of gentle laughter.
“I'm sure you'll remember soon enough,” she says, that mischievous spark reentering her eyes as she pulls away. “In the meantime,” she taps the stack of documents on her desk, “I think you have work to do, Mother Confessor.”
“Yes. Right. Of course,” she lets out a slow breath and, through sheer force of will, manages to banish the lingering giddiness from her voice if not her face. “I suppose you have duties of your own to attend to, General Mason.”
Now standing tall on the opposite side of the desk, Cara nods. “An unfortunate, if unavoidable, truth. I'll be with the homeguard if you've need of me.”
“I trust you'll be finished before the evening meal?” she asks.
Cara bows her head, closed fist pressed to her heart. “By your will, Mother Confessor.”
“Until tonight, then.”
“Until tonight, Confessor,” she says, heading for the door.
Halfway there, she pauses mid-step, shoulders growing tense beneath her leathers. “I love you too, you know,” she says softly. But, before Kahlan can so much as open her mouth, she's vanished into the hall.
Kahlan smiles. “I know, Cara,” she whispers, twirling a feather quill between her fingers. “I know.”