trancer21: (LotS I Cara/Kahlan 3)
[personal profile] trancer21
Title: Mrs. & Mrs. Mord’Sith
Fandom: Legend of the Seeker
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan, Cara/Denna
Rating: Mature for consensual sex between two adult women, random acts of violence, the occasional Kink!Sex, including Confessor!Kink.. and a partridge in a pear tree!
Spoilers: Season 1 & 2
Word Count: Chapter Two - 6796; Total - 47283
Summary: Cara and Kahlan are married spies, with a *mostly* picture perfect marriage. But, when Cara's past catches up to them, their lives are about to change in the most unexpected of ways.
Disclaimer: "Legend of the Seeker", its characters, and the situations depicted are the property of ABC Studios, and Terry Goodkind. This piece of fan fiction was created for fun and not profit.
A/N: Everything I know about the Sword of Truth books I learned from the tv show, fan fic and Wiki.
A/N #2: Um, yeah, this fic pretty much takes book-canon and tv-canon, tosses it into a blender with a fifth of Everclear distilled in a rusty bathtub, beer bongs it then vomits it all over the page!

Mrs. & Mrs. Mord'Sith


Chapter One


“We’re out of tampons.”

Kahlan shook her head. She didn’t have time for this. She *really* didn’t have time for this. Of course, that didn’t stop her from skidding to a dead stop in her tracks. “What?”

“Tampons,” Cara responded dryly. “A feminine hygiene product used to stop..”

“Cara,” lips mimicking a smile, Kahlan forced the words through her clenched teeth. “Sweetie, I know what tampons are. I also know I’m on my way out the door, to go to Zurich, to terminate an illegal arms smuggler. Just exactly when am I supposed to buy tampons?”

At the sound of feet shuffling, Kahlan turned to watch her wife saunter towards the breakfast table. Her wife. Kahlan was already running late, flustered and irritated because she was running late but just thinking the words - my wife - was enough to make her heart skip a beat. Her wife, in the white, tuxedo shirt she was wearing when they first met.. and nothing else. The buttons undone to an indecent degree, showing enough cleavage to make Kahlan lick her lips.

Cara padded, no, sauntered towards the breakfast table, all big-cat contented but still on the prowl. Her mussed, honey wheat hair haloed by the morning sun spilling in through the windows. She sat down at the table spread with the food she’d cooked for the two of them while Kahlan hurried about their home - pancakes, fresh and hot coffee, fruit, scrambled eggs, bacon. And Kahlan felt a hard pang of guilt at Cara having done all this for her, and Kahlan not having the time to share it with her.

“I am assuming,” Cara said, taking one of the pancakes off the stack. She tore a bite-sized piece off with her fingers. It was completely unconscious, the way Cara slid the piece seductively into her mouth. Even when she wasn’t trying, Kahlan found everything Cara did completely erotic. “That you’ll be returning at some point. How hard is it to kill an arms dealer? Anyway, when you return, stop at the store and buy some tampons.”

Kahlan narrowed her eyes suspiciously, the corner of her lips pulling upwards. “And what will you be doing while I’m gone?”

Cara pushed her syrup-covered thumb into her mouth then, very deliberately, slowly pulled it back out with the wettest pop Kahlan had heard since, well, about three hours ago. “Waiting for you to return,” she drawled. “When I’m not wondering why my wife couldn’t have breakfast with me before she left.”

“Cara..” Kahlan didn’t intend to whine, it just came out that way. It’s not like they never received individual orders, or hadn’t been separated for longer than seemed necessary since they’d been married.

Kahlan stepped towards Cara. She reached out, brushing the backs of her fingers against Cara’s cheek. Like she could put every emotion she felt into the scant touch.

“How was your meeting?” Cara asked, breaking off another piece of pancake. “With Richard?”

Kahlan’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape. *That’s* what this was all about. She lowered the hand brushing Cara’s cheek to grip the back of Cara’s chair. Kahlan turned the chair, angling it away from the table and towards herself before lifting a leg and straddling Cara’s lap. She pressed her lips gently to Cara’s forehead, then added another gentle kiss to the tip of Cara’s nose.

“Cara,” Kahlan lifted her right hand, the back of it facing Cara. “See this little band of metal? I didn’t stand on a beach in Hawaii..”

“Naked,” Cara added.

Kahlan smiled, not so mirthfully. “That’s because you burned down the hotel with all our clothes during your bachelorette party.”

Cara closed her eyes, head tilting back as she groaned. “You’re never going to let me live that one down are you?”

“Are you always going to get all jealous and insecure every time I have a meeting with Richard?”

Cara cracked opened an eye, peering at Kahlan through the sliver of an opening. “The two of you did date.”

“Yes, we did date,” Kahlan sighed, tired of retelling the same story. “He’s a nice guy and I was going through that whole ’second-time virgin’ thing that was happening within the Confessor’s Agency.”

“Yeah,” Cara’s face scrunched up. “That was kinda weird.”

“Very,” Kahlan agreed. “But, Richard and I broke up, and I met you. I fell in love with you.” She drew her arms over Cara’s shoulders as she leaned forward, their faces inches apart and getting closer. “Difficult as you sometimes made it. I fell in love with you.” She planted a kiss on the side of Cara’s nose. “You proposed and I said yes. And even though I was standing naked on a beach in Hawaii because you burned down our hotel, I exchanged vows with *you*.” Kahlan planted another kiss on the other side of Cara‘s nose. “I promised to cherish, honor, obey..”

“I’m pretty fond of that one,” Cara smiled, her hands drifting up Kahlan’s thighs, her fingers drifting under the hem of Kahlan’s shorter than regulations skirt.

“Cara..” Kahlan husked. “I’m going to be late.”

“Be late,” Cara whispered, drawing her tongue over Kahlan’s bottom lip, fingers already drifting between Kahlan’s legs. “For me.”

Kahlan would have protested but she was already gone. Her eyelids lazily closed shut, mouth going slack as Cara’s fingers slipped between silk and skin, over and into flesh already gone warm and wet at that first touch of Kahlan’s lips on Cara’s face.

Cara’s free hand thread into Kahlan’s hair, tightened, holding her there as Cara assaulted Kahlan’s neck with lips and teeth. Cara always loved to use her teeth and the feeling of them scraping against Kahlan’s neck sent a hard shudder down Kahlan’s spine.

Already, Kahlan could feel the magic building within her, bubbling, surging outwards as her thighs tensed and her hips rolled onto Cara’s fingers.

“Cara..” she whimpered breathlessly. The hand in her hair tightened to an almost painful grip, pulling at Kahlan’s scalp.

“Kahlan,” Cara husked, demanded. “Open your eyes. I want to watch you come.”

Another whimper but Kahlan obeyed. She forced open the eyelids that felt like they’d been weighed down. Her pale, blue eyes black as midnight, insides coiled and clenching, her magic expanding like an overfilled balloon then Cara jutted her fingers hard and deep and the balloon popped.

Kahlan had always feared this moment, when pleasure and magic collided. To be in this moment with someone she cared for, someone she loved with the knowledge that to do this would be to take their free will, turn them into her slave. Something Kahlan could never do to someone she loved.

Then, Kahlan met Cara. Call it fate or destiny but Kahlan had fallen in love with the one person in the world who was immune to a Confessor‘s magic.

Kahlan trembled and shuddered, collapsing onto her wife who continued stroking, pushing Kahlan further and further over the edge until there were no more trembles or shudders for Kahlan to give.

And the arms on Cara’s shoulders tightened as Kahlan drew her closer, like she could meld their bodies into one. Because she didn’t want to let go. Not now.

Not ever.

Somewhere, in her completely spent body, Kahlan found one tiny bit of energy. Energy she used to mumble into Cara‘s shoulder. “I love you.”

Cara wrapped her arm tight around Kahlan’s waist. “I know.”




Like taking candy from a baby. All of her kill orders, Cara mused as she brought the bouquet of white tulips to her nose, should be so easy. Checking her watch, Cara noted she was 17 minutes early. Perfect.

She stopped before Room 617, leaning against the doorframe as she knocked on the Confessor named Kahlan Amnell’s door.


“I’m coming!” Kahlan hopped on one foot, pulling her strappy heel onto the other one. Cara was early. EARLY. And any thoughts Kahlan had about backing out of their date ended with Cara’s (early) knock on the hotel room door. She slipped on her other shoe, standing up straight and taking a moment to smooth out her dress before opening the door.

First, Kahlan saw the flowers. White. Tulips. Then, green eyes peering rakishly over the bouquet at her. And then there was the tux. Black, perfectly tailored to Cara‘s slender frame. White shirt underneath. Black bowtie.

“You’re..” Kahlan stammered, swallowed hard. “Early.”

“I hate waiting.” Cara shrugged, extending the flowers to Kahlan. “These are for you.”

“Thank you,” Kahlan said as she took the flowers, a faint blush creeping on her cheeks at the sensation of Cara’s fingertips brushing over the backs of Kahlan’s fingers. There was something possessive about the scant contact, calculating, like she’d been marked.

“Are you ready?” Cara withdrew her hands, tucked them into her pockets as she leaned against the doorframe.

“Not yet.” Kahlan stepped back and felt the blush on her cheeks deepen. The look in Cara’s eyes had gone from rakish to practically wolfish as she looked Kahlan down then up. The red dress had been an impulse buy. Something she’d bought because she’d been feeling fat and bloaty that particular day.

She’d never worn it for Richard. She couldn’t figure out why she even packed the thing for what was supposed to be an assignment.

Kahlan walked towards the dresser, picking up the gold necklace she’d set aside to wear for the evening. “Would you mind?” she asked, draping the necklace around her neck and turning her back to Cara.

“Not at all.”

Kahlan bent slightly at the knees, tilting her head forward. A shiver ran down her spine at the feel of Cara’s fingers against her neck as she swept Kahlan’s hair to the side. Kahlan lifted her eyes towards the mirror, watching Cara’s reflection as Cara fastened the necklace. She felt another shiver as Cara met her gaze. Kahlan was on assignment to find and catch the world’s deadliest assassin and, here she was, about to go on a date.

And she didn’t even know Cara’s last name.

“We don’t have to go to dinner,” Cara spoke to Kahlan’s reflection. “We could stay here,” she paused, leaning until her lips were a hair’s breath from the shell of Kahlan’s ear, voice lowering to a throaty whisper. “And I could make you come.”

It was a phenomenally bad idea, for a whole host of reasons. Kahlan, at the moment, was just having a hard time finding a reason to say no.


Hand in hand, they walked in silence on the moonlit beach. Their free hands holding their shoes as the surf rolled over their feet.

Their date was, in a word, perfect. Kahlan did most of the talking but when Cara did speak, she was charming, witty, intelligent.. and chivalrous, their conversation free of the not-so double entendres Kahlan had come to expect in the short time she’d known Cara.

Kahlan nudged Cara with her shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“A penny?” Cara snorted. “I’m worth way more than that. Penny for my thoughts?” She stopped, turning towards Kahlan. “Tell me I’m going to see you again.”

She watched as Kahlan’s eyes twinkled with moonlight, lips curving into a shy smile. “I don’t even know your last name,” she breathed, like she was exasperated but anything but.

Cara leaned into Kahlan. She dropped her shoes to free her hand, cupping Kahlan’s chin with her fingers, eyes focused on Kahlan’s lips as she brought her face closer. “Tell me I’m going to see you again.”

Uncertainty flickered across Kahlan’s face. Then her eyes were on Cara’s lips, tongue licking her own. “Yes,” she breathed as their lips connected.

Like taking candy from a baby. Cara had been assigned to kill Kahlan Amnell and it was going to be so easy. So easy.

She just couldn’t figure out why she continued to stay her hand.




“You stopped for coffee before you called, didn’t you?”

Kahlan laughed at Cara’s accusation because, well, it was true. Her favorite café was only a block from her hotel, with it’s cute little tables, fantastic coffee and a view directly overlooking Lake Zurich.

“We had our second date here,” Kahlan sighed wistfully as she recalled the memory. “Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Cara answered and Kahlan could practically *see* the blonde rolling her eyes. “I’d also been sent to kill you. Do you remember that?”

Which was Kahlan’s cue to roll her eyes. “Well, if you’re considering ‘le petite mort’ as killing..”

“Multiple ‘le petite morts’,” Cara retorted

“Fine, whatever,” Kahlan’s smile broadened. Her cell beeped in her ear, she pulled the device away to look at the screen. “Cara? Can I call you back? This is important.”

“More important than phone sex?”

“What?” Kahlan gasped, cheeks blushing. They hadn‘t done *that* in awhile. Then, she realized her wife was joking. “You’re incorrigible.”

“If incorrigible is Swedish for ‘missing my hot and sexy wife’ then, yes, I’m totally incorrigible.”

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Kahlan laughed.

“Fine,” Cara huffed. “If I start growing hair on my palms..”

“Bye sweetie,” Kahlan disconnected the line, then reconnected. “Dr. Anderson.”

“Mrs. Mason,” he answered chirpily in her ear. “Glad I got in contact with you. I got the results of your physical and I have some.. unexpected news for you.”

“Unexpected?” she asked. “This couldn’t wait?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to wait for this,” he answered, his tone serious. “Especially if you‘re already on assignment.”

Kahlan listened intently, her fingers trembling as they softly pressed to her lips.


The moment Cara hung up the phone it rang again. She looked at the ‘Caller ID’ lips already smiling as she lifted the phone.

“Good morning, Zedd,” she used her best ‘Charlie’s Confessor’s’ voice, the old TV series about a covert group of female confessor’s and their mysterious benefactor. Cara had always had a crush on Sabrina. Even as a child, she definitely had a type.

“Cara,” Zedd’s voice was serious in her ear. “Get out, now!”

In a former life, Cara and Kahlan’s home had previously been a boat repair warehouse, a cavernous space with high walls and a view of the bay. From the corner of her eye, Cara saw a shadow move across the wall. Something dropping from the roof. There were snakes in the area, mostly the small, non-poisonous variety. But snakes didn’t unfurl like this one, or its companion five feet away. Already, she was moving towards the gun stowed underneath the breakfast table, only to find it missing. Her eyes went to the long, rectangular table on the other side of the room. She‘d cleaned her guns last night and the gun that was supposed to be under the dining table still sat in parts across the room.

“What’s going on Zedd?” she asked.

“You’ve been burned,” his gravely voice rumbled. “Both of you!”

Cara dropped the phone, going into a low crouch as the windows shattered under a hail of gunfire.


The hairs on the back of Kahlan’s neck stood on end. She was sitting at her café table, elbows on the surface, fingertips rubbing tight circles on her temples at the sudden pounding of her skull as she desperately tried to figure out what she was going to say to Cara. Then, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on edge, goose pimples rippled across her skin. One of the reasons why she’d been hand-picked by the Confessor’s - her almost sixth-sense perception.

Kahlan lifted her eyes, not a lot, just a little. Just enough to get her bearings. It was Tuesday, late-evening in Zurich. The streets weren’t packed with people, they just weren’t scarce either. Kahlan removed one of her hands on the table, slowly drifting it down to the gun strapped to her thigh.

Her eyes went to her cup of coffee as a tiny red dot drifted over the surface. Kahlan jerked backwards. Both hands reaching under the table, she flipped it up, the surface exploding as the bullet struck.

A sniper, a fucking sniper, and all Kahlan could do was run, internally cursing herself for compromising her safety - open water on one side, tall buildings on the other. Cara would smack her across the back of the head if she were here.

Kahlan ran north, towards the bridge. Bits of pavement exploding as the bullets continued to rain down.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!!” she screamed at the small group of people ahead of her. But, it was too late. She felt the bullet as it whizzed by her ear, could only watch in horror as it struck a woman carrying several shopping bags in the head.

Eventually, Kahlan knew she’d be out of the sniper’s range. But how many innocents would die before then? Another bullet whizzed by, striking the dirt next to the sidewalk. Kahlan made her choice and ran towards the water. She reached the edge as another bullet hit too close to home, the pain in her arm burning as she dove over the edge of the walled embankment.

Early Spring and the water was still ice cold. Kahlan’s chest seized, her body instantly reacting to the sudden shock. Despite her body’s reaction, Kahlan stayed submerged, hurriedly swimming towards the bridge where there’d be some form of cover.

Fifty feet from the bridge, her lungs began to burn, her muscles screamed, body already trying to shut itself down. She went to the surface, lungs exploding then coughing violently from the water in her mouth. Her fingers trembling, Kahlan forced them to grip the metal bars of the ladder. Hypothermia had already set in and she shivered almost violently as she pulled herself up to street level.

The street was empty, the light dim from the streetlights a block and a half away. Kahlan, arms wrapped around her stomach in her soaked clothes, made her way towards a tight alley to get away from any prying eyes and avoid suspicion.

As she turned the corner, her reflexes kicked in, leaning back heavily as a hand wielding a knife slashed towards her throat. Kahlan grabbed the attacker’s wrist, swung her leg upwards, kicking him square in the stomach. An assassin, judging by the hardness of his muscles. But, she was Kahlan (formerly Amnell) Mason. Hand still holding his wrist, she jerked him forward, keeping him off balance and struck him hard across the jaw with her freehand. Then hit him again, until his lip split, and she felt his bones crack under her knuckles.

He surged forward, like a linebacker making a tackle. But that just put him within Kahlan’s proximity, within arm’s reach. Amateur. She grabbed him by the throat, her magic surged within her, and he instinctively dropped to his knees.

Eyes turning black, she gazed into his and the color of his eyes matched her own.

“Command me, Confessor,” he said reverently.

“Why are you trying to kill me?” Kahlan demanded.

“I was hired.”

Her brows furrowed as she loosened the grip around his neck. “By who?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice tinged with sorrow at the realization his Mistress was distressed from his inability to provide an answer. “The contract was made by phone, the payment by wire. He just said you and your wife had been burned..”

“What?” Kahlan gasped. She staggered backwards, eyes returning to blue, only one thought, one word in her mind. “Cara.”


The windows exploded inwards, first from gunfire, then from the two assassins rappelling down from the roof.

Cara dove onto the floor, sliding towards the kitchen area, wearing nothing but the tuxedo shirt she‘d had on when Kahlan left that morning. The three thousand-dollar island, with its hanging pots and Italian masonry that Cara had built herself, served as Cara’s only barrier and exploded into bits around her as both men continued firing.

She reached up with both hands, because she’d built the kitchen island, because she knew her own home like the back of her hand, Cara reached up and pulled the two largest knives from the magnetic holder she knew was there.

Cara turned, quickly rose and, with a smile on her lips, threw both knives. They connected, hitting both men square in the chest. Before Cara could claim her victory (and reclaim her knives), the front door burst open. There was the deafening bang of a flash grenade, choking smoke instantly filling the air.

In a low crouch, Cara ran across the floor, towards the two dead men littering her home. She yanked off both their weapons, reloading both clips and rising as the front door suddenly filled with more men in tactical gear, masks and weapons aimed, the lights from their sights cutting through the thick smoke.

Firing both weapons at once, Cara streaked towards the now broken windows. She leapt through, feeling the bullets of returning fire whizzing past her. She hit the ground, rolled into a crouch, eyes scanning the exterior. She darted towards her ‘55 silver Porsche Spider, the kind James Dean died in. There’d only been 90 made that year and the man she‘d ‘acquired‘ it from, well, he wouldn‘t miss it seeing as how he‘s dead. Cara leapt over the back, sliding easily into the driver’s seat. Key already in the ignition, Cara turned it, heard the engine purr and slammed on the gas.

Bullets pinged off the metal, some connecting and Cara growled because she didn’t have time to kill the assholes who shot her car. Tires spinning on the rocky surface of her driveway, she made a hard right turn through the cut open entrance, already a blip on the horizon by the time her attackers mobilized to give chase.

“Amateurs,” she muttered.



Zedd sneered distastefully at the rude and *loud* words in his ear, hoping, Sally - a recent divorcee who’d just moved up from Pensacola - hadn’t heard the angry woman’s voice and misconstrued the conversation.

“Cara,” he spoke calmly, setting down his mimosa. “Glad to see you’re still alive.”

“I’m Cara Mason,” she answered. “Of course, I’m alive. Back to the topic - WHAT THE FUCK, ZEDD!! I‘ve been burned?”

“My daughter,” Zedd said sheepishly to Sally, his hand discretely covering his phone. He turned in his seat, facing away from Sally. “Can we have this discussion someplace a little more discreet?”

“Warehouse district,” Cara answered quickly. “You know where.”


Kahlan knew going back to her hotel was not an option. Whoever was trying to kill would most definitely have people covering it. But, she was also completely soaking wet. She’d warmed a little but there was still the threat of hypothermia. She needed new clothes. She needed a place to hide.

She kept her head down as she walked the sidewalk, arms still folded tightly over her chest. The couple before her were young, attractive and looked completely in love. And Kahlan felt a pang in her chest because they reminded Kahlan of her and Cara, and already, she felt guilty over what she had to do.

As they passed, she bumped the male slightly, offering her apologies even as she kept walking. She turned the corner, exhaled as she leaned against the wall before taking inventory of the man’s wallet and Blackberry. Then she dialed and placed the device to her ear.

“Hello?” Zedd answered.

Kahlan almost cried out at the sound of Zedd’s voice. “Zedd! Someone put out a burn notice on me, on Cara. Oh God,” her hand went to her mouth. “Cara? Is she okay?”

“Kahlan, calm down,” Zedd spoke softly, calmly. “It’s my other daughter,” he whispered. “Cara’s, well, Cara. Of course she’s fine. First things first, are you safe?”

Kahlan looked around. “For the moment.”

“Good. I’m going to see Cara,” he paused to sigh wearily. “Now. We’ll fix this. Just give me some.. time.”


Cara slammed hard on the brakes, the car fishtailing slightly as it rolled to a full stop. Instantly, she was out of the car and opening the trunk. Cara reached for the duffel bag where she always kept a spare change of clothes, hurriedly putting them on. As she finished zipping her fly, she lifted her head at the familiar sound of Zedd’s pink Cadillac convertible.

Zedd parked his car next to Cara’s, hands already raised defensively as he exited the vehicle. To the average person, Zedd looked like any other retired Floridian; with his long, white-gray hair pulled back into a ponytail, sunset printed Hawaiian shirt, khaki’s and leather sandals. The average person had no idea Zeddicus ‘Zedd’ Zorander was a Wizard of the First Order and former Director of the M.B.I. (Magic Bureau of Investigation).

“Cara..” his voice was both pleading and warning. Cara was having none of it.

“I‘ve been burned!?!” she practically screamed as she came up to the old man, green eyes ablaze with fury. “Someone burned me? And KAHLAN!?!”

“Cara,” Zedd attempted to place his hands on Cara’s shoulders, only to have her shirk from his touch. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down,” she spat back, needing to direct her anger somewhere before she exploded. “They tried to kill me. In my HOME!” There was hurt in her voice on the last word, like something safe and sacred had been violated, and Cara had no idea who to blame for it. “Have they gone after Kahlan?” She stopped, her entire body rigid still as her eyes went wide. She then turned on her heel. “I have to go..”

Zedd reached out, grabbing Cara by the arm. She whipped her head towards him, her eyes going to the fingers wrapped around her bicep then back up to the wizard. Anyone else would have been afraid. Zedd wasn’t anyone else. “Now, hold on. You’ve been burned, Cara. The best thing you can do right now is stay where you are.”

“The *only* thing,” she said, placing her hand on Zedd’s and just a little forcefully removing his fingers from her arm. “I’m doing right now is finding my wife. If anything‘s happened to her..” her voice trailed, trembling slightly.

“Kahlan’s fine..”

“You spoke to her?”

“Yes.” He watched as some of the tension dissipated from her body.

“Where is she?”

“Cara. We need to find out who burned you.”

“Me?” Her eyes squinted, head turning slightly as she looked ahead. “Both Kahlan and I were burned, what makes you think this is just about me?”

“What makes you think this is *not* about you?” Zedd sighed, pulling his best ‘concerned grandfatherly’ look. “You were a double agent, Cara, for years. It’d be easier to find out who you haven’t pissed off enough to burn you than sift through the list of who you have.”

“Thanks, Zedd,” Cara snorted. She lowered her head, features obscured by the curtain of blonde hair falling over her face, her voice going soft, almost childish and lost. “And I put Kahlan in the crosshairs. If anything happens to her..” Cara turned her back to Zedd, bringing her arms up and folding them across her chest.

They weren’t friends. They would never really be friends. There was too much darkness in their shared pasts, lines crossed and broken that could never be repaired. Zedd would never call himself Cara’s friend but they were close enough that she allowed him to see her like this - vulnerable, emotional, scared. And, Cara might not have been a friend, it didn’t mean she wasn’t family.

Zedd inhaled deeply, reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder only to draw it back knowing how Cara would take it as a sign of weakness. She’d been trained to think the only strength that mattered was physical, nothing Zedd could say would show her how wrong she was, or how strong Cara was, even when she was ‘weak’.

“You’ll get her back,” he spoke softly, masking his own uncertainty.

Cara turned, her head still bowed unable, unwilling to look the wizard in the eye. “Will you help me?”

He smiled, chuckling softly under his breath. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, now would I?”


Kahlan stirred, jostled awake from the sudden slowing of the train. A cabin, where she could stretch her legs and sleep properly, would have been better. But, she already felt guilty about stealing Martin Csokas’s wallet and didn’t want to do too much damage to his bank account before he realized his wallet had been stolen and called his bank.

The ticket for the train had been cheap, certainly cheaper than her jeans, sweater, jacket and boots, and she benefited from having an empty seat next to her. But, sleep had not come easily for Kahlan. She was thousands of miles from home, from Cara. Burned. Wiped off the grid, with no access to cash or the influence of her Sisters, the Confessor’s. Contacting her biological sister, Dennee, would only make things worse for Dennee instead of better for Kahlan.

The door to the front of the car opened, Kahlan leaning her head to get a better look at the Conductor as he entered the car.

“What’s going on?” Kahlan heard someone ask.

“It’s nothing,” the Conductor smiled politely, even if it was fake.

But, it was more than nothing. Kahlan could see the flashing lights of police cars. Two miles from the Italian border and the train had been stopped in the middle of nowhere as opposed to the station just across the border.

The Conductor slowed his step as he approached Kahlan’s seat. Kahlan slumped down, attempting to feign sleeping but she was already too late. She’d made eye contact with the Conductor. She should have used Martin Csokas’ credit card to buy sunglasses.

“Excuse me, Miss?” the Conductor smiled politely, speaking in Swiss.

Kahlan, who spoke 17 languages, played dumb, playing the role of ‘dumb American tourist’. “Sorry,” she grinned sheepishly.

“Oh, American,” his smile faded a bit, more out of the uncomfortable situation presenting itself than Kahlan’s nationality. Behind him, Kahlan could see three police officers entering through the open door of the train car. Despite the uniforms, Kahlan seriously doubted they were police officers.

The Conductor continued, “If you would please come with me.”

“Of course.” Kahlan rose from her seat. “Just let me get my bags.”

She reached for the overhead compartment just as the faux officers approached the Conductor. It didn’t matter that the bag wasn’t hers, all that mattered was that it was big, and heavy. Kahlan slung it at the Conductor, hitting him square in the back. Balance lost, he lunged forward, colliding with Kahlan’s would-be assassins.

Kahlan darted in the opposite direction, the car erupting into commotion. She reached the rear door, yanking it open. The cold night air hitting her face as she lunged towards the ground. Seconds later, she was in the woods and running. Out of cash, quickly running out of options.

It was going to be a long night.

And an even longer trek to Venice.


[The GNN (Global News Network) graphics dissolve into the image of reporter Cooper Jones. Cooper, in his jeans and white, button down shirt, a breeze blowing the top of his silver-gray hair, stands in the middle of an empty four-lane highway. Behind him stands a wall, twenty feet high, with windowed guard stations flanking either side of the road where the wall cuts over it.]

Cooper Jones: The D’Haran Wall, one of the great construction feats of modern times. Second only to the Great Wall of China. It took ten years to build, starting in 1952, at the height of the Cold War, when then ruler of D’Hara, Lord Panis Rahl, ordered its construction.

[Image switches to black and white file footage of the walls construction, of desperate people trying to flee and soldiers shooting them down.]

Cooper Jones: But Rahl could keep his people in but he couldn’t keep progress out. Even after the collapse of the House of Rahl, democracy has been slow. Ravaged by civil wars, coups, all taking place behind the wall Rahl built, democracy trickled through the magic barrier. Slowly, D’Harans on the other side of the barrier have begun to see the slow trickle of freedom. Two weeks ago, without warning, the guard stations from shore to shore went empty. Then today, again without warning, the magic barrier that has stood along with this wall for over 60 years vanished. An olive branch from current Prime Minister Dell Brandstone, signifying an opportunity for peace between our two great nations? I, and the world, can only hope so.


Chapter Two


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October 2012

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