In a way, she wished he would just hurry up and get it over with. The waiting was making her crazy. She wanted to scream, but she refused to allow herself to. She couldn't help dreading how much he would hurt her, how long it might last—how it would undoubtedly be repeated not just this night but in the nights to come. Had not his bull-weight been pressing her down into the bed she would have been trembling in terrible anticipation.
"No," he said to himself. "No, this is not what I want."
Kahlan was bewildered. She wasn't sure she had heard what she thought she'd heard.
He let go of her legs, letting them slip down onto the bed as he pushed himself up on his hands. She wished he weren't lying between her legs so that she could draw them together.
"No," he repeated. "Not like this. You don't want this, but it would only be onerous. You would not like it, but nothing more.
"I want you to know who you are when I do this. I want you to know what I mean to you when I do this. I want you to hate this more than you have ever hated anything in your entire life. I want to be the one to do this to you both. I want to plant the memory of what it means to you in your mind when I plant my seed in you. I want that memory to haunt you for however long you might live, to haunt him forever, every time he looks at you. I want him to learn to hate you for it, to hate what you have come to represent to him. To hate your child, the child that I will give you.
"To do that, you have to know who you are, first. If I do this to you now, it will only dull you to it, spoil the exquisite suffering it would cause you if you knew who you were when it happens to you."
"So then tell me," she said, almost willing to endure rape to know.
A slow, sly smile came to him. "Telling you is no good. Words would be hollow, without meaning, without emotion. You have to know. You have to remember who you are, you have to know everything, if this is to truly be rape… and I intend it to be the worst rape you can suffer, a rape that will give you a child that he will see as a reminder, as a monster."
Staring down at her, he slowly shook his head with the self-satisfaction of the dimension of his intent. "To be that, you have to be fully aware of who you are, and everything this will mean to you, everything it will touch, everything it will harm, everything it will taint for all time."
He abruptly rolled off her to the side. Kahlan drew in a breath that was almost a gasp.
He gritted his teeth, and his big hand seized her right breast. "Don't think you've escaped anything, darlin. You'll not be going anywhere. I'm only seeing to it that it's a lot worse for you than this would have been, tonight." He chuckled as he squeezed her breast. "Worse for him as well."
Kahlan could not imagine how anything could make it worse than it would have been. She could only imagine that to him, rape cast guilt on the victim. That was the way he thought, the way the Order thought, that the victim was to blame.
He abruptly shoved her out of the bed. She landed painfully on the floor, but at least her fall was broken by somewhat soft carpets.
He looked down at her. "You will sleep on the floor, right there, beside the bed. Later, I will have you in my bed." He grinned. "When your memory returns, when this will destroy you. Then I will give you what you deserve, what only I can give you, what only I can do to ruin your life… and his."
Kahlan lay on the floor, fearing to move, fearing that he might change his mind. She felt heady relief that this night she would not have to endure it.
He leaned over the edge of the bed, closer to her, peering down at her with his disturbing black eyes. He shoved his big hand between her legs so unexpectedly that she cried out.
He grinned at her. "And if you get the idea of trying to think of a way to sneak away, or worse, to do me in while I sleep, you had better forget it right now. It won't work. All it will get you is time in the tents, later on, after I've ruined everything for you. I'll see to it that all those men will have you, right there where my fingers are. Do you understand?"
Kahlan nodded, feeling a tear run down her cheek.
"If you move off those carpets beside the bed tonight, then the power of that collar will stop you. Do you wish to test it?"
Kahlan shook her head, fearing her voice might fail her.
He withdrew his hand. "Good."
She heard him turn over on his side, facing away from her. Kahlan lay perfectly still. She could hardly breathe. She wasn't sure what had happened this night, or what it could all mean. She only knew that she felt more lonely than she had ever felt in her life—at least, the part of her life that she could remember.
In a strange way she almost wished he had raped her. If he had, she would not now be trembling in fear of what he'd said, wondering what he'd meant. Now she would have to wake each morning not knowing if that was the day she recovered her memory. When she did, it was somehow going to make that rape all the worse, make everything worse, far worse.
Kahlan believed him. As eager as he had been to have her, and she knew very well how eager he had been, he would not have stopped at that point unless everything he'd said was true.
Kahlan realized that she no longer wanted to know who she was. Her past had just become too dangerous to her for her to want to ever know who she was. If she knew, he would do the worst to her. Better that she remain in oblivion, and safe from that.
When she heard his even breathing, and then his low, rumbling snore, she reached out and with trembling fingers pulled on her underthings and then the rest of her clothes.
Despite it being summer, she was shaking with icy dread. She pulled a nearby carpet over her as she lay beside the bed, knowing better than to test his word about the consequences of any attempt to escape. There was no escape. This was her life.
She now only hoped to keep the rest of it buried and forgotten.
If she ever remembered who she was, then her life would get infinitely worse. She wouldn't let that happen. She would stay behind the dark shroud. This night she was a new person, separated from who she had been. That person had to remain forever dead.
She wondered who the man could be that Jagang had talked about. She feared to imagine what Jagang was going to do to him, through her, that would so destroy him.
She forced those thoughts away. That was the old her. That person was gone forever, and would remain so.
In the depths of loneliness and despair, Kahlan curled up in a ball and wept silently in racking sobs.
* * *
CHAPTER 48
Richard walked in a daze, watching the ground before him lit by moonlight. Through that dark, hazy state, only one spark of anything seemed able to burn through.
Kahlan.
He missed her so much. He was so tired of the struggle. He was so tired of trying. He was so tired of failing.
He ached to have her back. To have his life with her back. To hold her… just to hold her.
He remembered the time, years before, in the spirit house, when he had not known that she was the Mother Confessor and she had been feeling desperately lonely and overwhelmed by the crushing secrets she had to keep. She had asked him to hold her, just to hold her. He remembered the pain in her voice, the pain of needing to be held, comforted.
He would give anything to do that now.
"Stop," a voice hissed at him. "Wait."
Richard halted. He had trouble trying to care what was going on, even though he knew he should. He could read the tension in her posture; she was like a bird of prey cocking its head, lifting its wings the slightest bit.
He couldn't seem to escape the thick lethargy that weighed him down so that he could think it through. Her deportment appeared to be the coiled potential for aggression, but underlying that he saw a hint of fear.
He finally managed to summon the concern to try to understand. Then, in the moonlight, he saw what Six was watching: what looked like a vast encampment spread across a valley. Because it was the middle of the night, things were relatively quiet down below. Even through the numb miasma of her pres
ence, Richard felt his level of concern rising.
He saw something else, too. Past the valley encampment, he saw, up on the high ground beyond, a castle that he thought he recognized.
"Come on," Six hissed as she glided past him.
Richard trudged after her, once more sinking back into the indifferent haze where all he could think about was Kahlan.
They walked for what seemed like hours through the countryside in the dead of night. Six was as quiet as a snake, moving, pausing, then moving again as she made her way along minor trails through thick woods. Richard felt comforted by the smell of balsam and fir trees. The moss and ferns delighted him with childhood memories.
The delight of the woods evaporated when they walked along cobbled streets, among closed shops, past dark buildings. There were men in the shadows, pairs of them, carrying pikes. Richard felt as if he were in a dream watching it all pass before his mind's eye. He half expected that all he would have to do was imagine the woods again and they would appear.
He imagined Kahlan. She did not appear.
Two men in polished metal armor rushed out of a side street. They fell to their knees before Six, kissing the hem of her black dress. She slowed only slightly for their groveling supplication. They followed along as she continued up the streets, becoming escorts for the night's shadow trailing darkness behind her.
It all felt so dreamy. Richard knew that he should fight it, but he couldn't make himself care. He cared only about doing as Six told him. He couldn't help himself. Seeing the flowing form of her charmed him, looking into her eyes captivated him, hearing her voice bewitched him. Without his gift, she filled that empty void within his soul.
Her presence somehow completed him, filled him with purpose.
The two guards with them gently rapped on an iron door in a great stone wall. A small door on the inside over a small slit in the iron door opened. Eyes peered out. They widened a little at seeing the pale shadow before them. Richard could hear men on the other side rushing to draw, back a heavy bar.
The door opened and Six slipped through with Richard in tow. He saw great stone walls in the moonlight, but paid them little heed. He was more fascinated by the snaking shape leading him through the silky night.
Once they passed through great doors, men rushed about, opening yet more doors, shouting orders, and bringing torches.
"This way," one man said as he led them into a stone stairwell.
Down they went, spiraling and turning, ever deeper. Richard felt as if they were being swallowed down the gullet of some great stone beast. As long as Six was taking him, though, he was content to be swallowed. At lower levels, in a dank corridor, the men led her into a gloomy place. Hay was scattered over the slimy floor. Water echoed as it dripped in the distance.
"Here is the place you requested," a guard told her.
The heavy door squealed in rusty protest as he pulled it open. Inside, on a small table, he lit a candle with the torch.
"Your room for the night," Six told Richard. "It will be light soon. I will be back, then."
"Yes, Mistress," he said.
She leaned toward him a little, a thin smile slitting her bloodless face. "If I know the queen, she will want to begin immediately. She's quite impatient, to say nothing of being impulsive. She will no doubt bring the big men with whips. I expect that before the morning is over she will have the flesh torn from your back."
Richard stared. He couldn't make his mind grasp it all. "Mistress?"
"The queen is not only vicious, but vindictive. You are going to be the object of her venom. But not to worry; I still need you alive. You may suffer excruciating agony, but you will live."
She turned with a billowing flourish and swept out the door, a shadow swallowed into the darkness. Men funneled out the door after her. The door banged closed. Richard heard the lock click home. Before he knew it, he was suddenly standing alone in a stone room, deserted, forsaken, forgotten.
In the silence, terror began to seep into his bones. Why would a queen want to hurt him? What did Six need him alive for?
Richard blinked. As the moments passed, he felt his mind working to understand. It felt as if the farther away Six went, the better he could think.
After the torches were gone, it was a while before his eyes adjusted to the light of a single candle. He looked around at the stone room. There was only a chair and a table. The floor was stone. The walls were stone. The ceiling had heavy beams.
It hit him like a thunderclap.
Denna.
This was the room where he had been taken when he had first been captured by Denna. He recognized the table. He remembered Denna sitting in that very chair. He looked up and there, right where he remembered it being, he saw the iron peg.
His wrists had been in iron manacles. Denna had hung the chain holding them together over that iron peg. He had hung from it as Denna tortured him with her Agiel. Horrifying images of the night Denna had broken him flashed through his mind. The night she had thought she had broken him, anyway. He had partitioned his mind. But he remembered the things she had done to him that night.
And he remembered what had prompted her to such violence.
He had been hanging there when Princess Violet had come in to watch. The princess had decided that she wanted to participate, to join in his torture. Denna gave the little monster her Agiel and showed her how to use it on him.
Richard remembered Violet bragging about how she was going to have Kahlan raped, tortured, and finally killed.
Richard had kicked Violet hard enough to shatter her jaw and sever her tongue.
This was that room.
Richard leaned back against the stone wall and slid down to sit and rest. He needed to think, to figure it out, to understand what was going on.
He was leaning against his pack, so he pulled it off and set it in his lap. A thought struck him and he looked through the pack, pushing his war-wizard outfit and gold cape aside until he found the book Baraccus had left for him. He thumbed through the pages. They were still blank. If only he hadn't lost his gift, he would have been able to read the book. If he knew how to use his ability he would have been able to save himself. If only.
He suddenly had a thought. He couldn't let them find this book. Six had the gift. Some form of it, anyway. He couldn't let her see this. Baraccus had hidden it for three thousand years. It was meant for no eyes but his. He couldn't fail such a trust. He couldn't let anyone know about this book.
He got up and paced around the room, searching for any place he could hide the book. There was no place. It was a simple stone room. There were no cubbyholes, no niches, no loose stones. There was nowhere to hide anything.
As Richard stood in the center of the room, thinking, he looked up and saw the iron peg. He moved through the room, inspecting the beams. There was one beam, running parallel to one wall, without much room between the beam and the wall. The beam, like most in the ceiling, had long cracks from when the freshly cut beam had been hewn and then dried. An idea struck him.
He immediately pulled the chair over and climbed up on top of it. It wasn't high enough. He pushed the chair out of the way and dragged over the table. After stepping from the chair to the top of the table, he at last was able to reach the iron peg. He wiggled it, but it was stuck tight. He needed that iron peg if he was to hide the book.
He hooked his hands over the peg and used all his weight to spring up and down. At last the peg began to loosen. Working swiftly and using all his muscle, he finally managed to get the peg to wiggle. He wiggled it back and forth until he was able to pull it free.
Richard dragged the table over to the side of the room near the dark corner, and got up on top. He inspected the crack in the beam, finding a place where it wandered toward the top, near the cross-planks overhead. He wedged the iron peg into the split in the beam, working it in until it was stuck fast.
He retrieved the pack and crammed it up in the tight space between the beam and the wall. Once he ha
d it as high and as flat as he could get it, he shoved it along the beam until it wedged above the iron peg. He tested the pack by tugging on it but it was stuck tightly in place. It wasn't going anywhere.
He hopped down and put the table and chair back where they had been. The pack was a color similar to the aged oak of the beam, and it was in the shadows. Unless a person was looking for it, he didn't think anyone would notice the pack lodged up where he had put it. Besides, it was the best he could do.
Satisfied that he had done everything he could to keep the book, and the war-wizard outfit, from falling into the wrong hands, he lay down on the cold stone floor against the opposite wall and tried to get some sleep.
He found it impossible to sleep thinking about what Six had promised him for the next day. Fear gnawed at him, making his mind race. He knew he needed to get some rest, but he just couldn't calm himself.
He did feel a sense of relief to be away from Six. He'd lost all track of time since he had been with the wisps and Six had been there as he left the ancient trees. He couldn't think when he was with her, couldn't do anything. She consumed his entire mind.
His entire mind.
He remembered being in this room before, with Denna. She had told him that he was to be her pet, and that he would be broken to her will. He remembered telling himself that he would let her do what she would, but that he would save a piece of himself, put it away, and not allow anyone into that part, not even himself, until he needed to unlock that safe place and be himself again.
He had to do that again. He couldn't allow Six to have all of his mind, the way she had since she had captured him. He could still feel the weight of her influence, the pull of her will, but now that he wasn't in her immediate presence it seemed so much less by comparison that he felt free of her and able to think. Able to decide, to a degree, what he wanted.